He faced the bailies. Only Vernour looked at him directly, his thick lips pursed. William Bell had turned aside, refusing to watch proceedings. Of all the bailies, Patrick was least certain about him. There was a time he’d been a friend to the McIntyres, defending Astrid to the villagers, aiding Charlie in his endeavours, encouraging Sorcha to step out with Andy Watson. But with Charlie’s passing that bond had frayed, until the drowning of the Watson lad had given it cause to unravel. Surely, now, any sympathy he might feel for Sorcha, for her demon-touched friends, would be sundered for good.

If not, he would have to ensure that was the case.

‘Time, sirs,’ said Patrick, straightening his shoulders, ‘to use whatever means we have. It’s the only language the devil understands.’

Not waiting for their assent, he spun around and, making sure Beatrix saw him, nodded to Angus Stuart.

The stick landed again and again. Across Beatrix’s shoulders, stomach, legs. There was an exclamation of dismay swiftly stifled. Patrick could have sworn it came from Bell. He waited for an objection. There was none. Only the noise of the constable’s ponderous panting echoed about the room. Not even the Laing woman made a sound. Twice the constable slapped her face so hard her head snapped back. Blood spattered her cheek. A tooth ricocheted off the wall, rolling into a crevice beside the shelves that held the council records.

At first, Beatrix remained defiantly silent. But slowly, as the blows kept raining upon her, some softer than others, as if the man delivering them was weakening, she tried to speak even if only to hurl insults. When, at the reverend’s order, another constable took the first one’s place and commenced with renewed vigour, she began to whimper then wail.

Outside, voices cried out in protest as Beatrix’s fractured screams pierced the thick walls.

‘For godssakes, Patrick,’ said Bailie Bell, half-rising out of his chair as blood poured down Beatrix’s cheek from a laceration on her temple.

‘It’s for God’s sake and the sake of this town I do this,’ cried Patrick. Bailie Bell looked to the other men for support. When none was forthcoming, he slowly sat back down. The constable continued.

When the stick landed on the hand clutching the arm of the chair, breaking two fingers, Beatrix shrieked like the banshees in the tales the Irish sailors told.

Patrick signalled for the constable to cease.