Yet without the fishwives and the work they did, which fed the villagers and kept money in the council coffers, Pittenweem — and the villages beyond that also needed their services — would grind to a halt and all knew it. None more so than the fishwives themselves, who basked in the liberties they could take. Wilfully ignoring the social niceties governing the behaviour of women, refusing to be inhibited by the gossip and slander, they paraded about the streets in groups, chattering loudly, chuckling often, offering their opinions, back-chatting their betters, constantly telling the men what to do. The fishermen, understanding their worth, adored them and sought wives among them; the townsfolk mostly tolerated their presence, even if many lasses secretly longed to be one of them.

Yet to Reverend Patrick Cowper, the fishwives represented everything he disapproved of: loud, godless women, women either without men to control them, teach them how to behave and keep them tamed and quiet or refusing to accept their rightful ascendancy. That they were able to earn their keep and, in Nettie’s and Sorcha’s cases, had means and property besides, only added to their sins. They troubled him deeply, these wicked women. And now Sorcha McIntyre, the luminous-eyed beauty, was back among them.

Standing on the western braes, trying to disregard the freezing sleet piercing his exposed flesh, the reverend pulled his coat closer, screwed up his eyes and attempted to find her among the women and children working along the harbour. The smell of seaweed, fish and the decaying carcass of a seal that had washed up on the rocks below reached him. He wondered how the women could bear working in such conditions — the stench, the cold, the wet. And then there was the endless cawing of the birds, their constant nagging as they hovered above or skipped along the ground as close as they dared in an effort to steal food.

He could see Janet White, the one they called Nettie Horseburgh, a woman who appeared respectable with her mariner husband, even if, unnatural woman that she was, she didn’t dwell under the same roof as him. When Patrick first arrived in Pittenweem twelve years ago, his predecessor, Andrew Bruce, had warned him about the Horseburgh woman, saying she was nothing but trouble. Before Patrick’s time, one of the former bailies, Alexander Griege, named her a witch over her refusal to concede seats in the kirk. What did the hizzie do? Brought a charge of slander against the man. Nothing ever came of what was said about her, except in the way that bad fame attends a person. Unafraid of men in power, she took them on regardless of the consequences.