Free The Betrayal of Maggie Blair by Elizabeth Laird

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.

Chapter 9
    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