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Back The Darkest Shore
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Karen Brooks
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. EXPLANATORY NOTE
  7. PART ONE
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. PART TWO
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. PART THREE
  45. Thirty-Six
  46. Thirty-Seven
  47. Thirty-Eight
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Forty-Eight
  58. Forty-Nine
  59. Fifty
  60. Fifty-One
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. PART FOUR
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Epilogue: Autumn 1706
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. GLOSSARY
  75. LIST OF CHARACTERS
  76. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘Then you can’t have been listenin’ too hard to the others,’ mumbled someone nearby. ‘Since when has Beatrix Laing had a good word to say about anyone?’ There were chuckles. Sorcha began to relax a little.

‘All the bailies are inside,’ said the brewer, Graham Donaldson.

‘They’ve called the pricker and all,’ said the man beside him, the tavern-owner, Michael Bruce.

‘They’ll get a confession out of the auld bitch,’ said Widow Agnes.

‘You mean witch, don’t you, Agnes?’ said Michael. ‘Time to call her what she is.’

‘Och, prickers would get a confession out of anyone. They’d get one outta me,’ said Graham, thumping his considerable chest. ‘And I be no witch.’

‘You sure, man? Perhaps we need to ask your wife.’

Those nearby guffawed.

After that, Sorcha wasn’t sure who spoke, but the gist was the same. Everyone believed Beatrix was being questioned on suspicion of witchcraft. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Then again, the authorities had attempted to prosecute Beatrix before. But back then young James Todd hadn’t succumbed to fits, nor had there been any evidence of a charm; it had all come to nothing.

What was clear was that once again Reverend Cowper had been the one to lay the charge. Only this time he had demanded Beatrix be brought here, to the Morton house. Sorcha wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. They would soon learn.

Around them conversation rose and fell. The sun, which had been shining, became occluded by clouds, and pockets of cold shadow passed over them. The smell of burning peat and smoked fish floated in the air; the endless plash of the waves breaking on the shore could just be discerned.

They didn’t have to wait too long before the door opened and, in the company of two constables, Mark Smith and Simon Wood, Beatrix was escorted from the house. She looked old and frail. Dwarfed by the constables, she could have been anyone’s harmless grandmother. Raising her head, her sharp eyes took in the crowd, the leers, the curious, hungry stares.

‘Piss off, the lot of yers,’ she screeched. ‘There’ll be no burning today — or any day, if I’ve my way.’

There were jeers, some laughter but mostly dark mutterings. Honestly, thought Sorcha, Beatrix could be her own worst enemy.