‘Wait,’ says Ma. ‘She needs a physician first. Look at the terrible state of her. She is dazed and confused. Sit down on that stool, Maggie, before you faint. Is there a physician in Duddingston? Or mibbie we should take her to a medical man in Edinburgh. Get her examined there.’

I sit, feeling suddenly in desperate need of a chair, as though my legs can no longer carry me. As though I have been walking for miles and could not take another step. Someone puts a shawl over my knees and another shawl over my shoulders, yet still I shiver.

‘An Edinburgh physician, are you mad?’ cries Da. ‘We don’t have that kind of money.’

‘Well then,’ says Ma, ‘she should come back to Musselburgh to get seen there. The constables can come and find her, if they want to arrest her.’

Joan speaks again. In truth, our eyes have hardly left each other all the while. She avoids lowering her gaze to my neck. ‘What do you think we should do, Maggie?’ It is the first time my sister has ever asked my thoughts on anything. She has never sought my counsel, only told me what to do or bickered and fussed all the way through our years together.

The thought of going back to jail terrifies me. Days I sat in that shithole, waiting to be hanged with all the other criminals. I try to say something, but the words are stuck in my throat. I grip the shawl to my breast. The snake flashes before my eyes again and I shake it away.

‘Say something, Maggie,’ says Ma. ‘Let us know you are all right.’

But I cannot. I shake my head.

‘She is struck dumb,’ says Da. ‘And disobedient too. She was never like this before.’

‘Perhaps being struck dumb is her punishment,’ innkeeper Prat replies. ‘And branded too – look at the gash on her throat. That will leave a scar.’

‘It will,’ says Joan. ‘It looks rotten, Maggie. You’ll have to wear a kerchief over that for the rest of your days.’

‘It should fade in time,’ murmurs Ma. ‘Bruises do, even the worst ones. Now will someone pour the poor soul a drink: a whisky or a rum, if you have it. That might help her to talk.’

The innkeeper does as he is told.

‘She will be hanged again,’ says one of the men. I can’t tell how many there are, nor who is who, for they buzz like bluebottles around me. He says it slow. I think I hear a bit of pleasure in his voice too.

‘We can’t take her back to Musselburgh,’ says Da. ‘It will cause a riot. The house will be mobbed. We’d better go back into town.’

Da looks at Ma, and Ma nods. She always does what he says. She’s had too many slaps from him. Too many of her own bruises.

‘Perhaps for the best, Maggie,’ she says.