The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (8 page)

A murmur had begun as he had started on his weekly list of dull misdemeanors, and it was growing louder. There was a crash at the back of the church. Mr. Macbean had sprung to his feet, knocking over his stool.

"Exodus chapter twenty two verse eighteen," he roared, shaking his fist at the minister. "
'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'
Do your duty, Mr. Robertson, and clear these evil women out from among us."

To interrupt the minister while he spoke from the pulpit was such a rare and shocking thing that a shudder of delicious horror swept the congregation. They had all turned to stare at Mr. Macbean, but now their heads swiveled around again to see what the minister would do.

"To clear out evil," Mr. Robertson said, fixing Mr. Macbean with such a stare that the man fumbled for his stool, righted it, and sat down again. "Yes, indeed. I have another text to preach to you today."

He laid his palm down on his Bible, quoting from memory: "From the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew:
'Woe unto you, hypocrites! For you devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayer.'
"

An inarticulate objection came from the back of the church, but Mr. Robertson ignored it.

"I have heard," he said, his pink face flushed, "of heathenish practices and old superstitions practiced by many on this island. Oatcakes and milk left outside for the fairies and other such uncanny beings. Charms being told over sick cattle. Wicked and fruitless attempts to cure sickness by the use of herbs and ointments. Spells being cast to find a missing shilling or suchlike. Things no Christian soul should tamper with."

"He's got them there," Granny muttered beside me. "The old ways are still alive. The things I could tell!"

"Leviticus, chapter nineteen," Mr. Robertson went on. "
'Ye shall not use enchantment!'
If these two women are found to be guilty of such sins, of which I have some doubts, they will of course be punished. But I say to you, all of you, look first into your own hearts and see to your own behavior.
'Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone!'
"

I didn't hear the rest of Mr. Robertson's sermon. It went on for long enough. The half-hour glass ran out of sand and was turned twice before he'd finished.

Mr. Robertson's words had obviously had an effect, because nobody tried to harm us as we were taken back to the tolbooth. Heads were bent and eyes were cast down as the people hurried by. I heard some disappointed mutterings, though. Mr. Robertson, it was clear, had not come up to Mr. Stewart's thrilling standards.

***

The market cross of Rothesay stands outside the tolbooth, and it was here that everyone gathered to gossip after the service. Mr. Robertson's sermon had impressed one man at least. Our jailer, Donald Brown, looked at us with more doubt than disgust when he opened up the tolbooth to let us in.

"I'm not saying that I think you're innocent, Elspeth Wylie," he said. "You're a crabby old hag with a mean tongue in your head and a wicked heart in your chest. But whether you've lain with the Devil or not is not for me to say. The girl looks as frightened as a mouse. I'll not think ill of her till I have to. I'll do as Mr. Robertson says and give you the benefit of the doubt till I hear the evidence in the court tomorrow."

He seemed to have surprised himself with this long speech and added, "So, I'll let you have a couple of stools to sit on, and if you give me a penny, I'll bring you some porridge."

Granny had been listening with her arms crossed on her chest and the usual deep frown scoring her forehead. I longed for her to smile and show some gratitude and meekness, but it was like wishing for a rose to bloom in February.

"And where would I get a penny?" was all she said.

"I've got some oatmeal in my bundle," I put in. I was smiling for the two of us until my cheeks cracked. "If I give you a cupful, you could get porridge made for us, Mr. Brown."

He took the oatmeal with a grunt and came back a moment later with two stools. Granny sat down on hers, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes, but I set mine beneath the window and found that if I stood on tiptoe I could see the people below.

There was no sign of Mr. Robertson, but Mr. Macbean and Annie were standing with the folk of Rothesay clustered around the pair of them, their heads leaning forward as they listened.

After a moment or two, one of them looked up toward the tolbooth, and I ducked out of sight. When I looked back again, the first drops of a shower of rain were pattering down, and the group was breaking up. Annie and Mr. Macbean were hurrying toward the tolbooth. They stopped to shelter under the eaves, right below our window.

"Now, Annie, if you want to please me, you'll speak up and say what you've said before, slowly and clearly," said Mr. Macbean. "The court will like your evidence. They'll want to hear it. No one will say anything unkind to you."

"Well, I don't know."

They were too close below the window for me to see them, but I could hear doubt in Annie's voice.

"There's things I'm not sure of," she went on. "I—I might have been mistaken. It's like Mr. Robertson said just now. To give false witness is a terrible sin."

"Your witness isn't false, girl." Mr. Macbean's voice was hardening. "You heard what you heard and saw what you saw. You couldn't have made up such details or imagined such wickedness. You have a plain duty, in the sight of God, to—"

"If only I was sure! It seemed at the time ... so ... and when I thought about it, it was like a story in my head. But now—Ouch!"

She broke off, and as clear as if I'd seen it, I knew that Mr. Macbean had grasped her arm in a bruising grip.

"You know my hopes for you. For both of us, Annie. You do as I wish and speak up, and I'll do all I've promised. But if you let me down, you'll be on your own. I'll deny it all. You'll get no help from me."

I heard his footsteps retreat, and a moment later I was looking down on his tall hat as he strode away toward the inn. Below the window Annie was quietly sniveling.

"Annie!" I called out, standing on the stool as tall as I could, though stretch as I might she still could not be seen. "Annie, it's me! Maggie!"

The crying stopped, and I could tell that she was listening.

"Don't say what's not true, Annie. All that about the ashes up the chain, it's lies. You know it is. You'll burn in Hell for lies. I'm not a witch, Annie. You know I'm not. You can keep the buckle if you tell them the truth."

I stopped, listening hard, my heart beating fast. There was a long silence, and I knew that Annie was biting her fingers.

"I'll not stand here listening to you!" she shouted at last. "You're wicked! You're evil!" And then she was off, and I watched her running after her loathsome master, as if she was afraid that I would call the Devil down on her. Which, to be honest, I would have done—if I'd had any inkling how.

The second night in the tolbooth was bad, but nowhere near as bad as the first. Mr. Brown closed the shutter, and although it was cold, we were spared the howling gale. He even gave us a blanket—a coarse thing smelling of horses and full of fleas—but it kept out some of the chill. We had porridge in our bellies too. Best of all was the hope that Mr. Robertson would soften the feelings against us and make sure that the court judged us fairly.

The knock came on the door when dawn had barely broken. I woke to the sound of the bolts scraping as Mr. Brown drew them back. I expected Mr. Robertson's light step, but instead of the tap of his leather-soled shoes, I heard the clang of iron-tipped boots and spurs ringing on the stone floor. The door swung open, and the sheriff's men came in.

"Come on, you idle hag. The court's waiting," one of them said, hauling Granny to her feet.

We were outside in the square a few moments later, our stomachs empty and our hair disheveled.

"Where's Mr. Robertson?" Granny asked.

One of the men laughed.

"You'll not be seeing him today. Word has come from Paisley. The court's to be held by the elders of Rothesay. Your precious Mr. Robertson's been sent back to Kingarth, where he belongs. The man's soft in the head when it comes to you. They'll get the right verdict here. They'll see that justice is done."

That's when I knew, in my deepest heart, that there was to be no justice for Granny and me, and that we had been condemned even before a word was spoken in the court. My knees felt like water, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. It was all I could do to walk the short distance to the Session House without falling to the ground.

***

Oh, they were a dour and solemn lot, those elders, sitting around a long table, their beefy hands laid out on the boards. They had been talking quietly, gray heads bent close to each other, but they fell into a chilling silence as we came in. I was so afraid that I could barely stand for shaking. Even so, I noticed that one or two of them looked at us with more doubt than disgust. I took from that a little spark of courage, hoping that a few of their minds had still to be made up.

The grand chair at the head of the table was empty. The man beside it stood up and cleared his throat.

"Sir James Stewart, the sheriff, is absent on state duty, and I am empowered to open this court and to pass judgment," he pronounced. "A very serious charge has been brought against these women. They are said to be witches, users of malefice or witchcraft, and consorters with the Evil One." He looked down at the paper in front of him. "It is claimed that they have brought about, through their curses, the death of the boy Ebenezer Macbean, that they raised a storm that destroyed crops and sank a fishing boat with the loss of four lives, and that..." He picked the paper up, read the words slowly, shook his head with disgust, and went on, "that they took part in a witches' Sabbath where they did lewdly give themselves in lust to the Devil and did mate with him."

I glanced sideways at Granny. The sinews of her neck were taut, standing out like strings, and her jaws were clamped together. I knew her temper was rising and that the result would be disastrous. I tried to take her hand, but she shook me off. She was staring boldly at our accuser.

"I know you, Duncan Lamont." Her voice was loaded with contempt. "You're in the pocket of that greedy miser John Macbean. He's filled your head with his lies. He wants my cottage and my field—that's what this is all about. What did he promise you to bring this false charge against us?"

"Granny, stop it! Granny, don't!" I whispered, clutching at her sleeve. It was too late. A flush was rising in Mr. Lamont's cheeks.

"Hold your tongue, Elspeth Wylie," he said furiously. He turned to the clerk, who was scratching away with his quill on a long roll of paper beside him. "Note down what the accused has said. Add the charge of slander to her other crimes. Now let the first witness come forward."

It was then that I saw our accusers, sitting in shadow under the window. Mr. Macbean was there of course, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He was turning his broad-brimmed hat around and around in his hands. Annie was beside him, her eyes darting nervously around the court. But what made my heart sink even further was the sight of Mr. McKirdy from Ambrisbeg, Mr. Wilson from Ambrismore, and four or five others from Scalpsie, who had been shouted at and cursed by Granny many times in the past. They were staring at her with cold triumph in their eyes.

"John Macbean, the first witness," called Mr. Lamont.

Mr. Macbean stepped forward to the table, almost tripping over in his eagerness.

"The witch Elspeth Wylie laid a sickness on my son the night that he was born by placing him in a basket and swinging him around the hearth," he began. He was staring at a point in the wall behind Mr. Lamont's head and spoke as if he was reciting a text he'd learned. "She cursed the child at his christening in the hearing of many people present." I saw the row of witnesses nodding in agreement. "Ebenezer died from her cursing."

I was reliving that terrible morning, remembering how Granny's anger had seared the very air around her, how Mrs. Macbean had cowered on the horse over the baby in her arms, and how the party of guests had stared at Granny with horror in their eyes. Without meaning to, I stepped away from Granny. I had feared her then too. I had thought she meant to harm Ebenezer.

The witnesses were called one by one. Granny had put a spell on a cow and stopped its milk, they said. She had laid an enchantment on a field so that nothing would grow in it. She had brought sickness to a farmer and his wife and made their goat miscarry its kids. None of it was true. Granny had done none of these things, but I could see that our neighbors were sincere. They believed in her guilt. And Granny had brought it on herself. She had wanted to make herself powerful. She had tried to make them fear her. She had succeeded too well.

At last came the call I was dreading.

"Let the servant girl Annie step forward," Mr. Lamont said.

Annie had had time to compose herself. She no longer looked like a scared little rabbit. She put on the innocent, sickly smile that I now knew signaled a string of lies was about to tumble out of her pretty false mouth.

"Maggie's just as much in it too," she said, daring to look at me as if she was sorry for what she had to say. "She called up a whale to lie on the beach at Scalpsie Bay. It was an evil spirit. I saw her talking with it."

I wanted to shout out,
She's lying! It's not true!
but I was paralyzed with the shock of it.

It was a surprise to the court too. They were looking at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"And I heard her and the old woman talk," Annie went on, not daring to look at me now. She put her head charmingly to one side as if she was trying to remember. "They said they would dig up the body of Ebenezer Macbean and make a pie of his head and feet and hands."

"No!" I shouted, over the horrified buzz of talk. "That's a horrible thing to say! I would never think of such a thing! I love babies!"

"Be quiet, girl," Mr. Lamont rapped out. "What else do you have to say, Annie?"