A Crimson Dawn (12 page)

Emmie rushed over and drew him into the warmth, proudly introducing him all round. He seemed unusually tongue-tied, but the kind Runcies soon put him at his ease, pressing a mug of hot tea into his frozen hands and asking him about the news-sheet.

‘I'll have to charge for it - maybe a penny or tuppence,' Rab suggested.

‘Weekly or fortnightly?' Mr Runcie asked.

‘Haven't thought…'

‘You could try and get advertisers,' Emmie suggested.

Rab laughed. ‘Get the capitalists to pay towards their extinction, eh?'

‘Donations,' Sophie suddenly announced. ‘That's how we pay for newsletters. You need a fund-raiser for your cause.'

Rab stared at her. ‘My readers are not going to be the type with money to throw around like you suffragettes.'

‘Suffragists, if you don't mind,' Sophie corrected him with a cool smile. ‘And you don't know yet who your readers will be. Presumably you want to attract as wide an audience as possible - not just preach to the converted?'

‘Miss Sophie's right,' Emmie agreed.

Rab seemed lost for words.

‘Do you have any examples of articles or editorial?' Philip Runcie prompted.

Rab dug into an inner pocket and pulled out some crumpled pieces of exercise paper. Philip skimmed over them and passed them around. Rab sat tensely while they read. Emmie gave him a reassuring smile.

‘Perhaps a monthly issue to start with?' Mabel suggested. ‘Test the water?'

‘You say you are going for a variety of opinions, Mr MacRae?' Sophie's look was challenging.

‘Aye,' he answered stiffly. ‘There's little enough free opinion allowed around Crawdene and Blackton.'

‘Do you mean by my father - or the union officials who intimidate women suffrage campaigners?' she answered sharply. Rab's protest was cut short. ‘I suggest you offer your pages to guest writers, covering the themes of the day. They might not be the editor's opinion, but will provoke debate on the issues.'

‘Such as women's suffrage?' Rab grunted.

‘Precisely,' Sophie nodded.

‘And you, no doubt, would like to write the first article, Miss Oliphant?' he asked, his tone sardonic.

Sophie gave a broad smile. ‘If that's a commission, I'd be happy to accept. Though I think I should write under a nom de plume, to avoid giving my father a seizure.'

After that, the afternoon passed in lively talk and planning of the first issue. They argued over content, layout and what to call it, agreeing finally on the Blackton Messenger, to be sold fortnightly for a penny-ha'penny.

Sophie gave Emmie and Rab a lift in her brougham as far as Blackton crossroads. As Rab pulled up his collar against the frost, she quipped, ‘Don't worry, it's too dark to have been spotted riding with an Oliphant.'

He glanced up at her. ‘Or for one of your father's spies to have seen you giving succour to a MacRae.'

They heard her laugh as she drove off into the gloom. Emmie slipped an arm through Rab's as they walked up the hill to Crawdene.

‘It went well this afternoon, didn't it?' she asked. ‘I told you they were canny people.'

‘Aye, you were right,' Rab agreed. ‘Maybe I'll get the Runcies to write a piece about the Quakers - how they opposed the Boer War.'

‘Ooh, a religious article,' Emmie teased. ‘This news-sheet is sounding dangerously bourgeois.'

Rab squeezed her arm. ‘You're right again. See what happens when I spend half a day in the company of the middle class!'

They walked on in companionable silence.

‘You liked her, didn't you?' Emmie suddenly asked.

‘Who?'

‘You know who - Miss Sophie,' Emmie laughed. ‘Don't think I didn't notice the sly looks you were giving each other.'

‘Don't be daft,' he blustered.

‘Well, she took a liking to you.'

‘Emmie,' he said impatiently, ‘you've been reading too many penny romances while I've been away.'

Emmie laughed. ‘So you haven't taken a fancy to her?'

‘No.'

‘Not even a tiny bit?'

‘Give over, Emmie!'

As they reached the village outskirts, Emmie stopped to draw breath.

‘Rab, have you ever been in love?'

‘Why the sudden interest in love, Emmie?' he asked, amusement in his voice. ‘Is it because you've fallen for a lad? It is, isn't it? I can see you blushing even in the dark.'

‘Stop it.' She pulled away, embarrassed.

‘It's not that Tom Curran?' He chuckled.

‘What's wrong with Tom?' Emmie was stung.

‘Nowt - for a good chapel boy,' Rab crowed. ‘Bet the most exciting thing he's ever done is beat Ongarfield in the amateur league.'

‘Just ‘cos you've seen a bit of the world, doesn't mean you're any better than the likes of Tom,' Emmie reproved.

‘No, course not. I'm sorry.' Rab threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘I'm just being protective of me favourite lass. Tom's a canny enough lad.'

Mollified, she said, ‘You never answered my question about being in love.' They began to walk on.

‘Maybes I have been,' Rab admitted.

‘How do you know?' Emmie questioned. ‘How can you tell?'

‘You want to be with that person all the time, I suppose. And it hurts when you're not.'

Emmie's heart twisted at his words. She suddenly envied whoever it was who had made Rab feel so strongly.

‘Did you - love her enough to want to marry her?' Emmie whispered.

‘Marry?' Rab's tone hardened. ‘Don't confuse marriage with love.'

‘But—'

‘Marriage is a capitalist trick - it's all about money and property and amassing more of it. There's no freedom in marriage, Emmie - specially for lasses. Steer clear of it as long as possible, lass.'

Emmie was dashed by his words. They walked the rest of the way in silence. As they approached China Street, they saw a figure smoking under the gaslamp and stamping his feet to keep warm.

‘It's Tom,' Emmie said, feeling awkward.

Tom ground out his cigarette, hurried forward and gave Emmie a bold kiss. He exchanged nods with Rab.

‘Where've you been? I've been waiting ages.'

She began to tell him about the afternoon at the print shop, but he was not listening.

‘If we hurry, there's a lantern slide show at the chapel the night. You can have your tea at ours.'

Emmie stood, feeling torn. She was annoyed with Rab for his dismissive remarks about Tom and marriage, yet she wanted to have an evening in his company, sitting around the MacRae kitchen table in lively conversation.

‘Louise and Sam are ganin' too,' Tom said eagerly.

‘I'll tell Mam you've gone to the Currans',' Rab offered swiftly.

‘Right you are then,' Tom said, taking Emmie by the arm. ‘Ta, Rab.'

Emmie glanced back at Rab and saw the amusement in his look. Her annoyance quickened. He could scoff all he wanted, but she was happy with Tom's attention and an evening of entertainment at the chapel. What did he know of love? He was too wedded to his pamphlets and politics to care. She would take love where she could find it, and right now she could feel it in the warmth of Tom's possessive arm round her waist and the admiring look in his hazel eyes.

She turned from Rab and slipped her arm through Tom's.

‘Haway, tell me about the lantern show, then.'

That June, Emmie attended a huge suffrage rally, walking into Newcastle in the pouring rain behind one of the hundreds of banners. The Settlement was full of visitors, some of them from the Continent. Frau Bauer from Germany and Dr Korsky from Hungary fascinated her with their thick accents and their talk of international gatherings. They smoked and laughed a lot. In the evening, they sang in the suffrage choir together, wearing the green sash of the Women's Internationale. Everyone was optimistic. The Government was revising the Conciliation Bill to allow women the vote, and the suffragettes had responded with a truce and a halt to window breaking.

At eighteen, Emmie was enjoying life. She loved her work at the Settlement, with its constant activity and variety of people. She often worked late for the Runcies and on Fridays joined in the choir practice. Sometimes, she managed to persuade Rab to sing with the Settlement choir.

‘It's not a church choir - we sing all sorts,' she cajoled, ‘and we're short of bass singers.'

Through the summer there were trips to surrounding villages and towns to perform at open-air concerts or church halls. Tom, Louise and Sam would turn up to watch.

Emmie was flattered by Tom's interest and the way he came and stood possessively by her when refreshments were being served, so everyone knew they were courting. She had grown fond of Tom. He worked hard, saved carefully, did not drink, was reliable and loyal. When they went out together with Louise and Sam, he was good company. He teased her in a kind way, held her hand and, at the end of the evening, pulled her into the shadows and kissed her on the mouth, making her heart hammer.

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.'