Read Online The Betrayal of Maggie Blair by Elizabeth Laird - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Laird
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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
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
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