A Crimson Dawn Read online

When Sam proposed to Louise, with Mr Curran’s permission, and she accepted, everyone looked to Tom and Emmie. But every time she thought Tom was about to bring up the subject of marriage, Emmie changed the conversation.

  One time, Tom lost patience. ‘You know what I want, Emmie. I want us to be wed, like Sam and Louise. I love you, Emmie. Don’t you love me?’

  Emmie squirmed with embarrassment. ‘Aye, but…’

  ‘But what?’ Tom cried, baffled.

  ‘I’m only eighteen; we’ve plenty time,’ she countered.

  ‘I’ve saved up enough, Emmie. We can afford our own place. There’s two rooms ganin’ for rent in Berlin Terrace. Just think of it? Our own home. No one telling us what to do, plenty space. You can do it up however you like. How grand would that be, eh?’

  Emmie felt a surge of excitement at his talk. He wanted her that much. The thought of having their own place also thrilled her. No more sharing a stuffy attic with the noisy MacRae boys, or tripping over each other in the cramped kitchen. And Berlin Terrace was not far from China Street so she could call in whenever she wanted and go round for Saturday tea.

  ‘Give me time to think about it,’ Emmie answered, giving him an encouraging peck on the cheek.

  ***

  She put off making a decision all summer. Only to herself could Emmie admit the real reason for her indecision: Rab. For the truth was, Emmie had always adored him. From the very first time she had clung to his back and nestled her face in his curly hair, on the way up to Crawdene, she had loved Rab MacRae. When Rab had said that love was always wanting to be with the same person, Emmie had known for sure. She felt a dull ache when he was not there and lived in anticipation of the next meeting. Ridiculous to think he might ever marry her; he had made his contempt for marriage plain and never once had he given her reason to hope. He did not love her in that way and would be astonished if he knew just how much she cared for him.

  Even though Emmie knew it was fruitless to go on hoping, a small part of her believed that if she waited long enough, waited until she was older and wiser, Rab would grow to love her. All at once, he would see her as an equal, a grown woman, and not just little Emmie. This was why she put Tom off every time he pushed for them to get wed.

  Rab came to the printing press whenever he had a spare moment. His news-sheet was popular but struggled to finance itself. Emmie knew that Miss Sophie kept it afloat with anonymous donations, but she was sworn to secrecy. Rab assumed his patron was some prosperous freethinker, a Quaker or a union leader.

  Emmie was well aware that Miss Sophie always happened to call in at the press on evenings when Rab would be busy preparing the Messenger. It was obvious to all of them, apart from Rab himself, that Oliphant’s daughter was in love with him. Emmie tried to quell her feelings of jealousy.

  Finally, Mabel Runcie let slip her concern. ‘It worries me where it might lead. Sophie is so used to getting her own way. Even Charles has cautioned her about being foolish over Rab. Philip spoke to him about it - and we’ve tried to dissuade her from coming in quite so often.’

  Emmie was startled. ‘But she can’t possibly think of marrying Rab?’

  ‘She’s quite capable of thinking such a thing, even though it’s out of the question,’ Mabel fretted. ‘It would be just like her to defy her father and make Rab elope with her. Social differences mean nothing to her - and she is brave enough and foolhardy enough to do just about anything.’

  ‘Rab would never do such a thing,’ Emmie was adamant. ‘He is very aware of social differences, however much he detests them.’

  ‘Yes, my dear, that may be true. But Miss Sophie is very much in love with him - she’s told her brother as much. Rab might find the attention flattering, might even be tempted to enter into a liaison to defy Oliphant. Sophie can act impulsively and regret her rashness later. She has a rich father to run back to - but what of Rab? He could lose his job.’

  Suddenly, it struck Emmie that what Mabel said was true. Rab could be impulsive too. He had run off to Glasgow without a thought to the future; he could do it again.

  Mabel looked at her pleadingly. ‘Perhaps you could have a word with him - warn him to give her no encouragement?’

  When Emmie plucked up the courage to tackle Rab about Miss Sophie’s infatuation, he laughed it off as ridiculous. They were crossing the quad towards the printworks, having been to a Saturday lunchtime lecture. Emmie noticed the Oliphant brougham through the far archway and her heart sank.

  ‘It’s not just me. Mrs Runcie’s worried too,’ she said.

  ‘Women’s gossip.’ Rab was derisive.

  ‘You’re the only one who doesn’t see it,’ Emmie said, stopping him with a hand on his arm.

  He looked at her with amusement. ‘And why are you so concerned for my moral welfare? I was a lost cause years ago.’

  She blushed furiously under his blue-eyed gaze.

  ‘Listen, what if she says something indiscreet to Major Oliphant - implying there is something between you? He could have you sacked - or the family evicted like he’s threatened before. Have you thought of that?’

  Rab shook his head in disbelief. ‘But there’s nothing between us. I only see her when I come to the Settlement - if she happens to be around.’

  ‘She plans it, Rab. Sometimes she waits around all day in the hopes you’ll come in.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘It’s true. Why else do you think she helps out on the Messenger? She doesn’t believe in socialism or the anarchist movement. She just wants it to be a success for you. Look,’ Emmie pointed to the carriage, ‘she’s here again.’

  Rab pulled on his beard, growing uneasy.

  ‘But she has other things to do here. She doesn’t help me that much—’

  ‘Doesn’t help?’ Emmie threw up her hands in frustration. ‘She keeps it ganin’ with her money. There wouldn’t be a Messenger without her.’

  Rab stared. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Those monthly donations,’ Emmie said pityingly, ‘who do you think’s got the money to pay for them?’

  Rab looked dumbstruck. ‘Miss Sophie?’

  Emmie nodded.

  Rab gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Oliphant’s money. What a daft fool I’ve been.’ He pushed past her.

  ‘Rab, wait,’ Emmie said, alarmed by his thunderous look. ‘What are you ganin’ to do?’

  ‘Have it out with her.’

  Emmie rushed behind, pleading with him not to say anything rash. Sophie turned, startled by the door banging open. Her smile of greeting turned to confusion at Rab’s sharp words.

  ‘The money for the Messenger,’ he demanded, ‘is it Oliphant’s?’

  Sophie flushed. ‘It’s my money - not that you were supposed to know.’ She threw an accusing look at Emmie.

  ‘No! You didn’t want me to know that all the work I’d done was built on Oliphant charity. Blood money squeezed out the pitmen - that’s what’s been keeping the Messenger going!’

  ‘There’s no need to be so dramatic,’ Sophie defended. ‘What does it matter where the money comes from? I did it because it means so much to you.’

  ‘I’m not one of your little causes,’ Rab cried. ‘I thought you believed in what we were doing.’

  ‘I totally disagree with most of it.’ Sophie was blunt. ‘But I agree with your right to print it - as long as it doesn’t incite bloody revolution.’

  Rab cried out with impatience. The Runcies withdrew quickly, beckoning Emmie to follow.

  ‘I did it for you, Rab,’ Sophie tried to explain. ‘I care for you greatly.’

  He stared at her, disbelieving. ‘Don’t talk daft.’

  Sophie went to him and grabbed his hand. ‘I’m not. I’ve fallen in love with you - and I know you have feelings for me too, don’t you?’

  Emmie glanced back from the doorway. Rab was shaking his head. She hurried out, but could still hear them.

  ‘How could I? You’re an Oliphant—’

  ‘You don’t care for
social differences and neither do I,’ Sophie declared. ‘I’ll find a way for us to be together - just tell me you care for me too.’

  ‘I can’t deny I like your company,’ Rab admitted, his anger deflating. ‘But it would be impossible—’

  ‘Nothing’s impossible,’ Sophie said eagerly. ‘We could run away to Glasgow together - live in that commune you told me about.’ She pressed his hand to her lips.

  Rab pulled away gently. ‘And when you’ve tired of free love and me, what then? You go back to Oliphant and your life of privileges - I’m out of work.’

  ‘I’m not some silly child playing games,’ Sophie reproached. ‘I want to be with you.’

  ‘You don’t know me,’ Rab answered. ‘If you did, you would know that I’d never give up me work here to follow you.’

  ‘That job at the pit?’ Sophie was scathing. ‘You can do better than that.’

  ‘That’s just to put bread in me mouth,’ Rab said. ‘My real work is teaching - and the Messenger - doing my bit to bring about socialist revolution. So that men like me father are not beholden to men like yours. Or me to you.’

  ‘I don’t want you beholden to me either.’ Sophie was impatient. ‘I want us to be equal in marriage.’

  ‘Marriage?’ Rab said in derision.

  ‘Yes, marry me, Rab!’ she urged. ‘Now do you see how serious I am about you?’

  Rab was amazed. ‘You’d really give up everything you’ve got to marry me?’

  ‘Why would I have to give it up?’ Sophie asked. ‘We could live on my private income - and you could teach or do your newsletter anywhere you choose.’

  Rab gave a short laugh. ‘I can’t say I’m not tempted.’

  ‘Then let’s do it,’ Sophie cried.

  ‘No.’ Rab was suddenly serious. ‘How could I live off capitalist money and preach socialism at the same time? We can never be together - not as long as the class system exists.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Come back and ask me after the revolution.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant; I’m being serious.’

  ‘And so am I,’ Rab said.

  She looked at him in frustration. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there? You’re promised to someone else. You can’t accept me, out of loyalty to another woman.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Is it Emmie?’ Sophie demanded.

  ‘Emmie? Course not - she’s just a young lass.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Nobody,’ Rab said in frustration. ‘I’ve no intention of getting wed to any lass - not even you. I don’t love you, Sophie, and I don’t want to take your money either.’

  She glared at him, scarlet with indignation. ‘So you throw my love and my help back in my face! What a fool you make me feel.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Rab answered.

  ‘No,’ she said, turning away. ‘Nevertheless, I feel very foolish. Foolish to have so misjudged your feelings for me.’ She grabbed her hat and gloves from the table. ‘I’ll not trouble you again, Mr MacRae. You’ll no longer have to endure my presence at the Messenger.’

  ‘Sophie, please—’

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ she cried. ‘We are no longer friends on equal terms. You have made it quite clear that is not what you want.’

  She pushed past him and stormed from the room, nearly knocking Emmie out of the way in the entrance as she rushed for her carriage.

  ‘There was no need to tell him about the money,’ Sophie accused, looking on the verge of tears.

  ‘It just came out,’ Emmie said, embarrassed.

  ‘I’m not taken in by that,’ Sophie answered bitterly. ‘You’re all against me - you, the Runcies, my brother. Why don’t you want me to be happy with Rab? What is so frightening about that?’

  ‘Your father would never accept it,’ Emmie answered back.

  ‘My father has nothing to do with this—’

  ‘Aye, he does,’ Emmie persisted. ‘He has power over all of us - our jobs, our houses, even you, Miss Sophie, no matter how much you gan on about being equal with men.’

  For a moment, Sophie stared at her with a mix of anger and sorrow.

  ‘Don’t be so impertinent!’ she cried, then swept past without another word. In minutes, the brougham was clattering away from the Settlement.

  Emmie went into the printing room, glancing warily at Rab. She had overheard everything, including his dismissive comment about herself. He was standing by the window, deep in thought. Emmie went back to her work, setting blocks on the printing press. He looked so shattered, as if realising too late he had made the wrong choice. She felt sick with guilt that the row between Rab and Miss Sophie was all her fault. She should have kept out of it, let the friendship take its own course.

  As she bent her head to her task, Emmie faced up to the bleak truth. Rab did not love her in a romantic way. He had made it clear he was not the marrying kind. She should put behind her any silly thoughts of ever being Rab’s wife.

  Emmie heard him cross the room. She looked up to find him watching her, his face grim.

  ‘How long have you known about the money?’ Rab demanded.

  ‘Several months,’ Emmie admitted. ‘What does it matter where the money came from? It was being put to a good use.’

  ‘The principle matters!’ Rab cried. ‘I wouldn’t take Oliphant’s blood money if I was starving.’

  ‘Then you’re daft!’

  ‘Maybes,’ he glared, ‘but that’s the way I am.’

  He marched from the room without another word.

  ***

  Within a month, Rab had been sacked at the pit for arguing with the overman.

  ‘They’ve been itching for an excuse to get rid of him,’ Jonas protested to Helen, ‘Ever since he’s agitated over unfair rent allowances.’

  Emmie wondered whether Sophie could have had any influence in the matter. Had she told her father about his talk of revolution? There was no way of knowing. Sophie no longer came to the printing works.

  Soon, Rab’s appearances at the Settlement almost stopped. The struggling Messenger was cut to a quarterly issue, the lack of funds made worse by gossip of an affair between Rab and Sophie Oliphant that scandalised the chapel readership. Further rumours that Rab was funded by the coal-owner caused derision among radicals, and sales almost dried up.

  Rab took to knife-grinding among the pit villages and towns along the Tyne. He cycled for miles across County Durham, sharpening tools by day and teaching adult classes by night.

  Emmie was impatient for independence and life as a grown woman. She was tired of being seen as young Emmie whom all the MacRaes felt they had to fuss over and protect, and she had given up on Rab completely. Finally, she agreed to marry Tom. He was cock-a-hoop. Immediately, he secured the two rooms in Berlin Terrace and set about decorating them with wallpaper chosen by Emmie from the co-operative store. His excitement was infectious and Emmie convinced herself that she would be happy with Tom. She threw herself into the wedding plans, overseen by Louise, her self-appointed expert on dress material, flowers and wedding teas.

  Louise, alarmed that her brother and friend might marry before her, declared that she and Sam would be married on the third Saturday in September, and Tom and Emmie the following one. The month was taken up with comings and goings between the Currans and MacRaes, arguing over the details. The Currans planned a chapel wedding and a temperance tea for Louise and Sam; the MacRaes wanted a party at the Clarion Club with a dance and a barrel of beer for Emmie and Tom. The Currans threatened not to attend.

  To stop the warring, Emmie announced that she intended getting wed in the Settlement chapel with tea and dancing in the dining hall afterwards. Tom was dubious, but Emmie talked him round.

  ‘It means my friends at the Settlement can attend - and there won’t be any drink, so your folks won’t be offended. And Charles Oliphant has agreed to marry us.’

  ‘Oliphant, eh?’ Tom chuckled, taken by the idea.

  Occasionally, Rab would turn up at China Str
eet, looking leaner and longer-haired, to goad Sam about marriage to a Curran.

  ‘Marrying the deputy’s daughter,’ he scoffed. ‘We know you’re just after Curran’s bigger house.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ Sam retaliated, ‘anything but have to share with you again.’

  ‘You’ve turned into a right bourgeois bugger,’ Rab snorted.

  ‘Aye, well, when I’m gone to Curran’s palace, you can have me bed in the attic. You’ll need it now you’re just a knife sharpener.’

  ‘And a teacher, you cheeky—’

  ‘Ooh, teacher,’ Sam mocked. ‘Bit middle class, isn’t it?’

  Emmie intervened. ‘I hope you two aren’t ganin’ to argue like this at me weddin’?’

  ‘If I was you,’ Sam winked, ‘I wouldn’t invite him. He’ll probably stand up halfway through the service and start singing “The Red Flag”.’

  ‘Well, at least I still remember the words,’ Rab laughed. ‘Not like some class traitors.’

  Bafflingly, Rab never made any comment on her own planned marriage. Until one day, when she went round to India Street with a box of eggs from Jonas. In the yard, a rickety table piled with exercise books was abandoned in the mellow sunshine. The sound of classical music being hesitantly played on a piano was drifting out of the open door. Entranced, Emmie stopped and sat down on a stool by the door to listen.

  When it was over, Rab came out, startled to find her there. Still moved by the notes, Emmie blurted out, ‘Who taught you to play like that?’

  His face was reflective. ‘A music teacher in Glasgow - she lived in the same boarding house.’

  ‘Was she the one … you know, when we talked of being in love …?’

  Rab nodded. Emmie’s insides twisted.

  ‘What happened to her?’ she asked quietly.

  He gazed at the table with the pile of books unmarked and Emmie thought he would not answer.

  ‘She had TB,’ Rab said abruptly. ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Emmie murmured. She stood up and put the eggs on the table.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Rab said suddenly. ‘I’ll fetch another stool.’

  He brought out two mugs of lime cordial and they sat in the warm yard enjoying the moment. They talked of the Settlement and his teaching; they reminisced about the past. Emmie had not had such a long conversation with Rab in months. It was relaxed and affectionate. But there was an underlying awkwardness. Perhaps it was because Emmie had conjured up his dead lover or because each knew that their relationship was about to change. In less than two weeks, Emmie would be married. As Mrs Tom Curran, she would have a new set of priorities and obligations. One of them was not likely to be sitting in the sun chatting to him about literature and politics.