Duntit f’ae dowg tae devil.
(Pursued by misfortune.)
Sorcha stormed into her cottage, followed more sedately by a crestfallen Nettie and a resigned Captain Ross.
‘They won’t find it,’ said Sorcha, swinging around to face them. ‘Not in Beatrix’s house or Nicolas’s. How can they when, like this pact with the devil, a wax image is just something the men forced her to admit in order to justify arresting her?’
Nettie shooed Captain Ross further into the room and shut the door.
Sorcha fell into a chair and dropped her head into her hands. She could barely think, she was so angry, so despondent. She’d not felt so powerless since… since… Davan died. Back then, as she held his little body in her arms, unable to breathe life into his wee blue form, make his sweet heart beat, she’d made a promise to never again allow herself to be in a situation she couldn’t control. Yet, here she was. Sometimes, no matter how much you wished to alter things, they simply were. It was like what old Thomas Brown would say, ‘You canna hold back the tides.’ It was so unfair. Raising her head, she stamped her foot.
Nettie knelt beside her, prodding the fire back to life. She placed a comforting hand on Sorcha’s leg and gave it a squeeze. ‘I know, lass, I know. This be madness. But we can’t let it affect us. We need to be calm, to think. Let’s have a drink and discuss what to do next. We have to be smart. Beatrix and Nicolas are going to need all the help they can get.’
‘And friends,’ said Sorcha, pulling the scarf from her hair and letting it fall in her lap. ‘And friends.’
‘Aye,’ said Captain Ross. Sorcha had almost forgotten he was there. He stood by the window, his back to them, looking up and down the street. He turned to regard them. ‘It seems your bailies and the reverend want to handle this matter themselves. Made no difference how many times I mentioned Edinburgh, reminded them of the law, legal procedure, they were having none of it.’
‘But,’ said Sorcha, taking the dram Nettie passed to her gratefully, ‘I thought the law states they have to notify the city magistrates in instances of witchcraft. They may have dealt with it themselves last time there was an accusation, but what happened at Bargarran changed everything. Edinburgh did not come out of that affair well.’
‘Let’s pray none of them forget that,’ said Nettie quietly, offering a drink to Captain Ross.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Please, captain, sit down,’ said Sorcha, remembering her manners. ‘I’m not being a very good hostess. I can barely think straight. I could scarce believe what Alick told us at the Tolbooth.’ Alick Brigstowe was the Tolbooth keeper, a man with a large belly, bent legs and a gnarled hand — his other one having been amputated after it became caught in the rigging on her da’s ship. Unable to fish with one arm, Alick had been given the job of managing the Tolbooth thanks to her father, who had used his influence as a boat owner to arrange it. There was no love lost between Alick and the reverend; Alick was one of those led astray by the soldiers and more likely to be found drinking ale on a Sunday than attending kirk. He refused the coin the captain offered him when they first knocked on the door of the Tolbooth and demanded to speak to the bailies, and instead reported back all he could hear through the door. It was his information that allowed them to leave before the constables and warn Nicolas.
‘They beat her,’ said Sorcha then downed her drink in one gulp. ‘They beat poor auld Beatrix.’ She shook her head as if to banish the thought.
‘I’ll never forget the sound of her screams. Thank God her William wasn’t there to hear them.’ Nettie shuddered. ‘The bastards. And now we know exactly what she’s been accused of, thanks to Alick.’
Sorcha stared at the fire as it took hold. Wind whistled down the chimney, blowing smoke back into the room. Squinting through the worst of it, she went over what Alick had revealed. ‘You don’t think Beatrix was telling the truth, do you? That she renounced her baptism?’ She raised her limpid turquoise eyes to Captain Ross, then Nettie.
‘Nae,’ said Captain Ross. ‘I think she was telling the men what they wanted to hear.’
‘I agree,’ said Nettie. ‘Anything to stop being hit. In naming Nicolas, she named someone she knew would be strong against the reverend. Against these base accusations. Nicolas laughed when we told her, bless her. Unlike Beatrix, it’s not worth their while to imprison her.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Captain Ross.
Nettie whirled her whisky as she considered how to answer him. ‘You’re not so ignorant as to miss my meaning, are you, captain? Once someone’s named a witch, then the town council is entitled not only to fine them and their families, but also to take a huge portion of their wealth — something like two-thirds or at least a half. Beatrix has means. Nicolas, on the other hand, is as poor as a kirk-mouse, not worth arresting, not really. I’m not sure what the reverend or the bailies hope to get out of questioning her, except perhaps something to help convict Beatrix, who, of course, possesses both property and coin.’
‘Purge the village of sin, unite them in a quest to renounce the devil, that’s what the reverend said according to Alick,’ added Sorcha dolefully. ‘As if it’s only auld women or the likes of Nicolas who sin in the first place.’
‘What you both say might be true,’ said Captain Ross carefully, ‘but what if, like today, Mrs Laing and Mrs Lawson are… persuaded to name more women as witches? Women with more to lose — or, should I say, to give to the council?’
Nettie and Sorcha shared a look. Sorcha nodded grimly.
Nettie gulped. ‘It’s what we’re afeared of, laddie.’
‘They tried to wrest the boat and house from me once before, after mor died, and failed,’ admitted Sorcha.
‘What she means, captain,’ added Nettie, ‘is the reverend tried — by marrying her off to one of his sons, no less.’
Sorcha grimaced at the thought. ‘Needless to say, I declined the proposal. But surely, accusing any of us of witchcraft is a step too far even for the reverend and bailies.’
Sorcha looked around the room with an objective eye. There wasn’t too much of value here, though the garret was a different matter, filled as it was with nets, creels, ropes, iron and so much more. Memories to her, they’d make good coin if they were to be sold. And then there was the cottage itself, not to mention the boat…
Regretting he’d frightened them, the captain tried to change the subject. ‘Push it out of your minds for now. I could be wrong. In the meantime, don’t let the whisky go to waste.’
‘You’re right,’ said Sorcha, refilling their cups. She tipped some more into her own and waited for the other two to lift their quaichs to her. ‘Here’s to Beatrix and Nicolas. May God be on their side for a change.’
‘To Beatrix and Nicolas,’ echoed the captain and Nettie. They drained their drinks.
‘Now,’ said the captain, drawing his stool closer. ‘Let’s discuss our next step. We know from Alick that the reverend and bailies have no intention of informing Edinburgh at present. But what’s to stop me writing to my commanding officer and notifying him what’s going on? What’s to stop him letting the authorities in the city know?’
Sorcha felt a smile begin. ‘Why, nothing. The reverend’s made it clear you have no influence over what Weem people do. Which means, in essence, he has none over you.’
The captain gave an insolent grin. ‘My thoughts exactly. I’ll leave here shortly and attend to it at once. But if I might make a suggestion?’
‘Go ahead, captain, please. We need all the advice we can get, unlike the bailies or the reverend,’ added Sorcha.
‘I think it would be wise if you and Nettie, and perhaps some of the other fishwives, tried not to be seen in each other’s company for a while.’
Nettie and Sorcha looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘What?’ asked Captain Ross. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I see what you’re about, captain,’ Nettie said through her chuckles. ‘But that would raise more suspicion than it would subdue rumours.’
‘We always work together,’ explained Sorcha. ‘Nettie’s right. If we ceased to do that, then talk would fly.’
‘Like a witch,’ said Nettie, her eyes sparking with mischief.
‘So,’ said Sorcha with a shrug, ‘we’ve no choice but to place our faith in Edinburgh. And in you.’ Their eyes met. Sorcha forgot to breathe.
She lifted her glass in a toast before realising it was empty. Glad to be given something to do so she didn’t have to look at the captain again, she stood and poured.
Captain Ross held his quaich steady until the others were filled. ‘Here’s to the authorities in the city,’ he said.
‘May they see justice done,’ said Sorcha and they knocked cups and drank.
‘I’d best be going.’ Captain Ross put down his quaich. ‘I want this missive away by first light. The sooner we contact Edinburgh about Mrs Laing, the sooner something can be done to prevent what promises to be a travesty.’
Sorcha followed him to the door. As he stepped outside, she grabbed his arm. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Captain Ross. There’s not many in your position would do what you have.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Get involved.’
He smiled. Not for the first time, she wondered what he was thinking behind those dark eyes. ‘Don’t thank me yet, Mrs McIntyre. Let’s see what comes of this.’ He placed his hand over hers. ‘You should be prepared lest nothing happens. The authorities in the city may decide to leave Mrs Laing to the Weem council; especially after what happened in Paisley. As you correctly pointed out, the outcome there did the reputation of the city magistrates no favours.’
Sorcha looked grave. ‘I know that whatever we try may make no difference. But at least we will have tried. What they decide to do once they’ve been alerted is on their conscience.’
They stared at each other for a long moment. Above the captain’s head, clouds scudded across the sky; a flock of gulls floated in the thermals, dark against the sun’s glow. The wind whipped his black hair about his face, across his mouth. She looked at his lips, aware he was staring at hers.
‘Come away in or shut the door, will you?’ called Nettie. ‘The fire’s guttering.’
They broke away from each other, their momentary closeness interrupted. With an apologetic smile and curtsey, Sorcha stepped inside. Captain Ross placed his hat on his head and, with a small salute, strode down the road.
Sorcha closed the door and leaned against it, her hands clasped behind her. She grinned.
‘Look at you,’ chuckled Nettie. ‘Giddy as a wee lassie, and with all that’s happening too. I told you the day you returned he was a good ’un, didn’t I?’
‘You did, Nettie. Even so, I thought he’d never go.’
Peeling herself away from the door, Sorcha went to the fire. She pulled a small doll-like figure from her pocket and studied it. Nettie joined her, so close she could hear her breathing. Made of wax, it had a head of brown wool hair, disproportionate limbs and bright blue beads pressed into its tallow face for eyes. It looked like no one they knew, but they both understood who it was meant to represent. Sorcha had found it beneath Beatrix’s pillow when they’d raced to her cottage after Alick revealed what was happening. The captain had waited outside while the two friends did a quick search of the premises. Shocked to find it, agreeing it meant nothing but a poor attempt at punishment and humour, Sorcha had stuffed it in her pocket. Why they kept it a secret from Captain Ross she wasn’t sure, but she knew it was the right thing to do. The man was risking enough for them already.
‘Here’s to Beatrix and Nicolas,’ she said, holding the small wax figure aloft. What on earth Beatrix was thinking to do something so foolish, so reprehensible as to make a figurine of Peter Morton, she couldn’t fathom. Never mind, no one would find it now.
She threw it on the flames and put an arm around Nettie, drawing her close as they watched the damn thing become engulfed by flames before it swiftly fizzed and melted.