‘Nicolas! Nettie, Sorcha!’ cried the woman, holding up a hand to attract their attention as she staggered down the sands, her chest heaving. ‘They’ve taken Beatrix!’

The women stopped what they were doing. The net Sorcha was mending rolled off her thighs and pooled onto the sand as she slowly stood.

‘Who?’ asked Nettie. Her voice was thick. ‘Who has taken Beatrix?’

The other women put their work aside and waited impatiently while Katherine caught her breath. The old men who sat outside the cottages lining the harbour walked across the road and jumped down onto the sand so they too could hear what she had to say. Thomas Brown tilted his head towards Sorcha in an unasked question; she pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Bent over, her hands still upon her knees, Katherine raised her freckled face. Her cheeks were red, the broken veins around her nose and along her chin prominent. ‘The constables,’ she gasped. Hands flew to mouths. Wide-eyed looks of shock were exchanged. ‘They came to Beatrix’s house and marched her to the Mortons. They said the bailies want to question her.’

‘At the Mortons?’ asked Nicolas, confused. ‘Why there?’

‘What about?’ asked Thomas.

‘What do you think?’ asked Nettie sharply. She glanced at Sorcha, untied her apron and slipped it over her head. ‘Come on. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here waiting to hear what’s going on. I’m to the Mortons.’

‘Me too,’ said Sorcha, taking off her apron and throwing it on a creel. She raised a quizzical brow at Nicolas.

Nicolas refused to meet their eyes. ‘I’ll wait. Someone should be here when the boats return.’ Sorcha knew what she wasn’t saying: Best not be seen together.

‘Aye, no need for us all to go,’ said the oldest of the fishwives, the kindly Therese Larnarch, bending back to her work. The others swiftly agreed.

‘I’ll wait with the lasses,’ said Thomas, picking up a needle and joining Therese.

Nettie frowned at them in disapproval. Fearing her friend might say something she’d later regret, Sorcha grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away. ‘Let’s go. Sooner we find out what’s happening, sooner we’ll be back.’

By the time they reached Routine Row, they were simply part of a throng heading for the Morton house. Linking arms, Sorcha, Nettie and Katherine pushed through those gathered outside, until they were in their midst.

Sorcha’s heart sank as she heard the way people in the crowd were talking about Beatrix.

‘She cursed me, I tell you,’ said a woman behind them. Much to Sorcha’s dismay, it was Mrs Robertson, the cooper’s second wife, someone who’d known Beatrix her entire life. ‘The words that came out of her mouth were like none I ever heard before.’