I knew I was lucky I had been kept in North Berwick overnight and not been taken to a bigger town. Our jail had burned down after the last witch-hunt – many people claimed it wasn’t an accident – and the new one had been built in a hurry and was much smaller. Malcolm Black had not been impressed when he slammed the door closed on my cell – shutting himself in with me.
‘Where is the equipment?’ he muttered to Gregor, who’d stayed on the other side of the bars. He was white-faced and looked tired. I hoped he was regretting taking things so far, but I doubted it. Gregor thought only of himself.
‘We have nothing.’
‘No pilliwinks to twist her thumbs?’
Gregor shook his head.
‘No caspie claws?’
I winced at the mention of the vicious device used to clamp women’s arms and crush their bones.
Again Gregor shook his head and Malcolm Black rolled his eyes.
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘We will go back to basics.’ He seemed quite pleased about it.
‘I will leave you,’ said Gregor.
‘Could you write up the bill?’
A smile danced around Gregor’s thin lips. ‘The bill?’
‘I fail to see why the town, or your good self, should pay for this woman’s punishment,’ said Malcolm Black. ‘She is clearly a woman of means. She should pay.’
Gregor smiled properly this time. ‘Indeed,’ he said.
‘Ten loads of coal for the burning and two barrels of tar.’ Malcolm Black looked me up and down. ‘She is not big, but it is good to have enough for unexpected events.’
I felt vomit in my throat and swallowed it down, wincing at the sour taste. I didn’t want Malcolm Black to know I was scared.
‘I will include your expenses,’ said Gregor, and with a definite spring in his step, he departed. Even though I hated him, and knew he felt the same about me, I was still sorry to see him go. Without his presence there was just me, left in the tiny cell with the most notorious and most malicious witch finder in Scotland.
Malcolm Black bent down and felt the stone floor with the palm of his hand. ‘It’ll do,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Take off your dress.’
‘No.’
He hit me so hard and so fast across the face that I didn’t realize what had happened until I was sprawled on the floor. I felt blood trickling from my nose.
‘Take off your dress.’
This time I complied, standing up shakily and noticing splatters of blood down my front from my nose. I dropped my dress on the floor and he kicked it into the corner of the room. ‘Now the rest of your clothes.’
Shivering in the cold air of the cell, and from embarrassment, I did as he told me, trying to hide my modesty with my arms.
‘Sit down.’
‘The floor is cold.’
‘Sit down.’
I realized what he had been doing when he felt the stones. He wanted me to be cold. He wanted me to suffer. He may not have had pilliwinks or caspie claws, but he was determined to hurt me, nevertheless.
‘You have been seen in the company of the devil,’ he said.
It was such an outlandish accusation that I laughed and immediately regretted it because Malcolm Black looked triumphant.
‘You do not deny it?’
‘Of course I deny it.’
‘The minister is scared of you.’
‘The minister is scared of everyone. He whispers his way through his sermons because he is so frightened of speaking in front of people.’
‘You killed Isobel Kincaid.’
‘I did not.’
‘The laird has told me how you administered potions to make her sick.’
‘Has he told you how I healed his mother, and his nephew?’
Malcolm Black’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do not deny killing Isobel?’
‘I didn’t kill her, I just wasn’t able to save her. She had the sickness.’
‘You have familiars.’
‘I have cats.’
And so it went on. Malcolm Black would ask me questions and I would answer. He never tired. He never got bored. He didn’t seem to feel the cold, wrapped as he was in a fur cape with his velvet hat on his head. Within an hour of being locked in the cell, I was shivering so violently that my jaw hurt and my teeth rattled in my skull. I sat on the freezing floor, hugging my knees to my chest and trying to stay warm, but it didn’t make any difference. My breath came in irregular pants of cloudy air and my fingertips were blue.
Yet still Malcolm asked me questions.
I started to get confused, my head hurting from the cold as he twisted my words and fired accusations at me. I muddled my words, lost my train of thought, couldn’t follow what he was saying.
‘Isobel died in pain,’ he said.
‘She did.’
‘Ah!’ he said in triumph. ‘You caused her pain.’
‘No.’ I held my head in my icy fingers. ‘No.’
‘You just said that you caused her to die in pain.’
Had I? I couldn’t remember. I rested my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I was very tired now. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the cell, but my head was so heavy and I was weak from shivering. Maybe I could just sleep for a minute and then I would be able to understand the questions Malcolm Black was asking.
‘Wake up!’ he bellowed. His face was close to mine as he crouched down to shout in my face. ‘Wake up!’
By the time dawn broke, I just wanted the questions to stop. I wanted to sleep, and I wanted to be warm, and I cared about nothing else.
‘Widow Seton?’ Malcolm Black said. ‘Do you confess?’
I was lying on the freezing floor, trying to keep my eyes open.
‘If you confess, this will end.’
I moaned softly, at the thought of this being over.
‘Do you confess?’
Somewhere, very far away, I thought I heard Alice. My little girl, calling me. ‘Ma?’ she said. ‘Hold on, Ma.’
I lifted my head from the flagstones and listened.
‘Widow Seton?’ Malcolm Black said.
‘Shhh.’
‘Ma!’ Alice called again. She wasn’t here; she was in my head. In my heart. And somehow, knowing she was with me gave me strength.
‘Widow Seton?’
I pushed myself upright on arms that shook and looked Malcolm Black straight in the eye.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Do you confess?’
I gathered what little saliva I had in my mouth and spat at him.
‘No,’ I said.
Malcolm let out a roar of frustration and I think he would have hit me, had Gregor not arrived at that point.
‘We are ready,’ he said. He averted his eyes from my nakedness. ‘The members of the assize are gathered in the meeting hall.’
Taking a deep breath and drawing all my strength, I stood up, facing the men unashamedly. ‘Let’s go,’ I said.
Gregor turned away from me in disgust. His displeasure made me stronger. I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin.
‘Get dressed.’ Malcolm threw my dress at me and feeling like it was a victory of sorts, I tugged it over my head, grateful for its warmth.
With Malcolm in front of me and Gregor behind, I walked through town from the jail to the meeting hall. It wasn’t far and it was still early morning, but the street was busy. People had turned out to see the witch stand trial, it seemed. I had expected jeers and taunts but the people were quiet. Heads bowed. I looked for Alice, worried that although she had run as I told her, she might not have gone far but instead stayed in town to see my fate. But I couldn’t see her and I was glad. Perhaps she had made her escape already. Perhaps right now she was hiding in a cart, speeding towards Edinburgh. I hoped so. I didn’t want her here, seeing this laughable trial.
Up ahead in the square I could see the barrels of tar and the piles of coal. I had already been found guilty, before my trial began. Perhaps it was hopeless, but I was going to keep fighting until the first flames licked my bare feet and the smoke singed my nostrils.
Inside the meeting hall, I was forced up two wooden steps to stand on a box. The crowds had followed us in, and now huddled together in silence as I stood, swaying slightly, in front of them. I looked for Alice again and felt calmer – but disappointed too – when I couldn’t see her.
‘Widow Seton,’ Malcolm Black began, ‘you are charged with the following offences …’
He droned on, reading through the list of charges, which sounded more ridiculous the longer he spoke. That I’d danced with the devil on top of Berwick Law. That I’d killed Isobel Kincaid because I envied her youth and her handsome husband. I rolled my eyes at that one. That I’d conjured up storms and caused my John to drown. That I’d been seen speaking to demons who took the form of cats in my garden. That I had soured the milk and stopped the Kincaids’ chickens laying. That was Alice, I thought. I felt a bubble of laughter in my throat and bit down on it. This whole situation was absurd but it wouldn’t do to giggle. And really, there was nothing funny about my daughter being responsible – not that I really believed she was responsible – for the witchcraft I was now charged with.
‘Ma?’ I heard her voice in my head again. But louder this time. And when I looked up, there she was, pushing her way through the crowd, followed by Davey – and Christy – Kincaid.
My heart lifted in joy to see my daughter, and then crashed in fear as Malcolm Black stopped reading the charges and his gaze fell on her.
‘Who do you think you are, intruding on this trial?’
Alice – my brave, beautiful girl – stood in front of him looking defiant. ‘I am Alice Seton,’ she said. ‘And I have something to say.’