A Crimson Dawn (25 page)

Emmie had not been down to the Settlement in many weeks, but the Guild decided to provide warm clothing again through the coming winter. When she took a sackful of clothes one November day, she found her friends in an agitated state.

‘The police raided the printing press two days ago,' Flora told her, showing Emmie around the workshop. The filing-cabinet drawers were still gaping open, their contents spilling. ‘They confiscated all copies of this week's paper. Philip was taken in for questioning.'

‘Why?' Emmie asked, appalled.

‘They were running an article on the number of casualties - accusing the Government of withholding the true figures.'

‘Are the Runcies all right?' Emmie asked quickly.

Flora nodded, her face strained. ‘Philip was released, but only after a lot of questions about the Fellowship - they wanted names and addresses. He refused to give them. Thinks it's a matter of time before they come back. Next time they might close down the printing press. Mabel's in a terrible state - very shaken.'

Emmie glanced at the wreckage around her and thought of the kind Runcies being treated like criminals. She followed Flora to the Runcies' small flat, shocked to see how frail and gaunt-faced Mabel looked. She could hardly stand to greet her, and wheezed as she spoke. She was cheered to see Emmie but grew exhausted quickly and they did not stay long.

Standing in the dank quad, Emmie asked angrily, ‘What can I do to help?'

Flora looked hard at her. ‘I won't involve you in any of this unless you are quite sure you know what you're getting into. It could land you in a lot of trouble.'

Emmie gulped. ‘I've stood back and watched for too long,' she said stoutly. ‘I want to do something to stop this war.'

Flora smiled and took her by the arm. ‘Come inside.'

Later that day, Emmie left, the precious envelope of papers entrusted to her tucked into the lining of her coat.

‘Give these to Rab,' Flora had instructed. ‘Tell him to hide them. They're duplicate lists of NCF members and details - just in case we are arrested.'

Emmie had nodded, amazed at her calmness.

‘Tell him not to come to the printing press this week - he must manage without our help for the time being. The Runcies don't want him implicated in anything here. They know they are being watched now.'

The next day, Emmie screwed up her courage to go and see Rab. She had hardly seen him to speak to all year; a nod in the street, passing on the doorstep at his mother's, that awkward encounter after Sam had died. She decided to take Barny with her to make it seem like a casual visit. The day was dark, the clouds lowering and burdened with coming rain.

Barny ran ahead, hopping across the mossy yard as if he knew where he was going. Rab's door was ajar. He banged it open and ran in.

‘Rab!' the boy shouted.

‘Hello, bonny lad,' Rab laughed in surprise.

Emmie walked in to find Barny wrapped around Rab's legs, Rab ruffling his dark hair. She was amazed her son remembered him after all these months. Rab looked at her with vivid blue eyes through thin-wired spectacles.

‘Didn't know you wore readin' glasses,' Emmie blurted out.

He took them off, self-conscious and reddening. ‘Mannie gave me a lend.'

‘Look like a real revolutionary,' she teased. ‘They suit you.'

They stared at each other, suddenly tongue-tied. Barny tugged at Rab's hand.

‘“Grandfather Clock”, singing,' he urged, pulling Rab towards the piano.

‘“Grandfather Clock”?' he grinned. ‘Why not!'

It made Emmie think of the last time when music had been pouring out of the room, drowning Rab's grieving.

She said, ‘No, you're workin'. We'll not stay.'

Rab's look was sardonic. ‘You stay away over a year and turn up for half a minute. I think we can both spare the time for a cup of tea.'

He played Barny his favourite song twice through. Then Rab made a pot of tea and cleared a space on his paper-strewn kitchen table, chatting all the time to Barny. Only when he had poured tea did he sit down and eye Emmie.

‘I hear about you from Mam. You look grand, Emmie.'

She blushed and quickly pulled out the package from Flora, explaining why she had come. Rab was full of concern to hear about the raid.

‘You're taking a risk coming here,' he said quietly. ‘What would Tom say?'

‘I think you know what he'd say,' she answered, glancing away.

‘Is that why you stopped coming?' Rab asked. ‘Stopped writing for the
Messenger
?'

Emmie shrugged. ‘That day Barny ran up to you at the rally … Tom gets jealous easily. Didn't want him gettin' the wrong idea.' She glanced at him. ‘And the
Messenger
- didn't know what to write any more - what to think.'

‘And what about now?' Rab pressed.

She looked at him directly. ‘I think the war is wrong - for all the reasons you said and people wouldn't listen to. I want to do something, because of what's happened to the Runcies, to all of us, to Sam …' she faltered. Tears stung her eyes.

Quickly, he put out a hand and covered hers. His grip was warm, strong, encouraging. She saw his jaw clench. He could not speak of his brother yet, but she saw the compassion in his eyes.

Emmie whispered, ‘Give me a job to do and I'll do it - leafleting, anything.'

Rab smiled. ‘You can start by writing something for this week's
Messenger
. I'm running out of paper, but I'll put it out on brown if I have to.'

Emmie sat at the table and wrote her first column as Artemis in sixteen months. She exhorted ordinary women to work for peace, to stop their husbands and sons being used as cannon fodder, to resist conscription. Rab read it and grinned.

‘We'll both end up in gaol at this rate.' He looked at Barny building a house with dominoes by the hearth. ‘I'll take out the bit about conscription - can't have his mam being arrested.'

Emmie fixed him with a look. ‘Leave it in - I stand by every word. What would happen if every woman hid behind her bairns? Nowt would change. I don't want Barny to grow up and be in the next war. I'm doing this for him.'

He gazed at her for a long moment. ‘By, lass, I've missed your company.'

Emmie reddened. Softly she asked, ‘Then why did you stop coming round to your mam's on a Friday when you knew I'd be there?'

Rab answered in a low voice. ‘I thought it better if I stayed away. I'd grown to care too much.'

Emmie stared at him, her heart thumping. What did he mean? She wanted to ask him but dared not. Suddenly she longed to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him so that he would know how much she cared for him. But such actions would be madness, a betrayal of Tom. She held herself in check, even as her heart thumped.

She thanked him for the tea and called to Barny it was time for home. Rab thanked her for bringing the documents from Flora and Charles. The charged atmosphere of moments before dissolved into an awkward formality between them and Emmie swiftly left. Even so, she knew that by going there that day she had stepped over some invisible barrier from safety into danger and the unknown.

The revolt against conscription brought new allies to the peace movement: trade unionists, chapelgoers and socialists who had hitherto supported the war. In January, as a Military Conscription Bill was being passed in the Commons, the Miners' Union and the Labour Party voted heavily against any conscription. Britain had always relied on a volunteer army; conscription was the mark of despots. Even the Reverend Mr Attwater preached concern at such a development.

‘Far better for young men of strength and courage to go forward and fight for the nation's salvation,' he exhorted, ‘than to be forced against their will.' But he added a severe caution against the unpatriotic. ‘Those who choose to belittle the sacrifice of our brave soldiers and sailors, or incite them to mutiny, are to be despised. The words of Artemis in the ungodly
Blackton Messenger
are unbefitting for a woman, if indeed they are written by one. I urge you, brothers and sisters, do not buy or read such vile treason.'

Emmie was unnerved by such condemnation and hardly dared glance about, thinking her flushed face would give her away. Louise gave her a suspicious look but said nothing. She knew Emmie had stopped writing her column after war broke out and probably doubted she would dare write it now. Tom never suspected her.

As renewed speculation as to Artemis's identity grew, Emmie continued to write impassioned articles for the
Messenger
. The publication was reduced to a couple of pages fortnightly because of paper restrictions, but people were still buying it. Rab told her it would be safer to give her column to Helen to pass on to him, rather than be caught visiting Mannie's. On two occasions, Rab's room and workshop were raided by the police, but both times the small hand-press had been removed in time; once to the MacRaes' outhouse and once to a friend of Mannie's. Rab was tipped off by a young constable, Johnny Collier, who had attended Jonas's socialist Sunday school, and all the police found to take away were a handful of pamphlets and unmarked essays.

But after a spring assault on the Western Front by Germany, the mood turned belligerent again. Asquith denounced those who tried to start a peace debate, and striking leaders on the Clyde were arrested for halting armaments production.

‘I worked with some of those lads,' Rab told Emmie when they managed to meet at China Street. They briefly discussed what should go in the next issue and Emmie brought news from the Runcies. The new Military Service Act was imminent.

‘The Quakers are talking of setting up a network to help those resisting conscription,' she whispered, not wanting Helen to overhear and be implicated. ‘Safe houses - maybe get lads out the country to Canada or America.'

Rab nodded. Emmie eyed him. ‘You'll be one of the first to be called up, won't you? As an unmarried man and no protected job.'

‘I'll appeal for conscientious objection,' Rab declared.

‘But you're not religious,' Emmie snorted.

‘Political conscience.' Rab gave a wry smile.

Emmie shook her head. ‘Reverend Charles is worried his father or Hauxley will sit on the tribunal and decide who goes. You wouldn't stand a chance in front of them.'

‘Not on my own,' Rab said with passion, ‘but I'll not be the only one. If enough of us refuse to go, we can turn the tide.'

Emmie was encouraged by his optimism.

Two days later, Helen came rushing round to Emmie's more agitated than she had ever seen her.

‘They set on him!' she cried. ‘In Blackton - beat him up proper.'

‘Who?' Emmie demanded, steering her into a chair.

‘Our Rab,' Helen replied. ‘He went to hand out leaflets with two other lads.'

‘Is he all right?' Emmie asked in fear.

Helen nodded, gaining her breath back. ‘Lads brought him to ours. Told him to rest but he's all in a state about you.'

Emmie coloured. ‘Why me?'

‘Thinks the police might gan round to his and search. He's worried they'll find papers about you and the
Messenger
.'

Emmie's stomach churned. She fetched Helen a cup of water, thinking quickly.

‘You take Barny to yours and I'll gan round to Mannie's,' she instructed.

She left before Helen and dashed to India Street. Mannie was there, clay pipe clenched unlit between his teeth. He took out the pipe and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

‘Had the press moved already,' he wheezed.

‘I need to search his room.' Emmie blushed. ‘I left some papers.'

He nodded for her to go ahead. Inside, she quickly rummaged through the piles of old newspaper and printed sheets. What she really wanted to find were the lists of names and addresses of the local NCF. She hesitated, then began to search his chest of drawers, finding nothing but well-worn clothes and sheet music. She looked among his books, under the bed, in the kitchen cupboard.

‘Don't be long, lass,' Mannie warned from the door. ‘Coppers could be here any minute, or that mob from Blackton.'

Where would he keep such secret papers? Emmie thought frantically. A sudden thought made her go back to the bed with its tartan rug and lift the mattress. There was the familiar brown envelope. She snatched it and stuffed it into her coat. On the spur of the moment, she seized the pile of leaflets from the table and stuffed them in a canvas bag that hung on the back of the door. She paused as she left.

‘Will this get you into trouble too?'

Mannie gave a wheezy laugh. ‘What can they do to an old gadgy like me, eh? Me hearin' will be twice as bad if they come asking questions,' he chortled.

‘Ta, Mannie, you're a good man,' she smiled.

‘Take care, lass,' he smiled back, propelling her out of the door. As she dashed across the yard, he locked Rab's door behind them and shuffled off.

Some instinct made Emmie go home first and hide the documents. She wrapped them in a towel and put them under Barny's mattress on the low cot bed. Tom would never come across them there. Then she hurried round to China Street.

Emmie's first sight of Rab's battered face made her feel faint. He was hardly recognisable, his left eye closed and weeping, dried blood around his cut and swollen lips. He was hunched in a chair by the fire, nursing his arm and bruised ribs. Barny was sitting at his feet, staring.

‘Rab talking funny,' Barny said, leaping up to greet her.

Emmie swallowed. ‘Oh, Rab!' She went forward and put a tentative hand to his face. He winced and she quickly withdrew.

‘Not - bad - as - looks.' He tried to smile.

‘Don't try to talk,' Emmie said in concern.

‘That'll be difficult,' Helen said drily, once again in charge of the situation. ‘You shouldn't stay, pet. Police are bound to come - best they don't find you here.'