A Crimson Dawn (3 page)

‘She's hardly able to speak now, her breathing's so bad,' Flora told her. She took a deep breath and came out with her request that the MacRaes take her in for a while.

‘I know it's asking a lot and I won't think any the worse of you for saying no - and of course you'll have to consult your husband - but could we just see if the change in air helps? And it goes without saying that you'll be reimbursed for the cost of food and clothing. Mr Ol— er - friends of mine at the Settlement in Gateshead and I will help. A good diet would make such a difference to the girl; she's quite malnourished. You don't have to let me know now - but after you've had a chance to talk to Mr MacRae …'

Helen fixed her with a curious look. ‘Why are you doing all this for the lass?'

Flora hesitated. She had kept asking herself the same question. It was anger at the poverty she saw daily, the appeal from her friend Maria Dillon to intervene on behalf of her brightest pupil, the wish to do something for the helpless widow, Mary Kelso. But there were a score of Mary Kelsos in her area. It was Emmie herself - her lively, intelligent eyes - the potential Flora sensed in her, that goaded her to act. She reminded Flora of herself at such an age - a girl with a thirst for life. Why should Emmie be denied a future because of poverty and ill health? Flora's generation were going to change the world for all women - working-class women as much as any. In the meantime, if she could act to save one of her patients from dire poverty, she would.

Flora simply answered, ‘Her teacher asked me to help.'

Helen nodded. ‘Of course we'll take the lass. My Jonas and her da were like brothers. They may not have seen much of each other over the years, but they'd each do owt for the other. John would've done the same for one of our lads.'

Flora hid her surprise at the woman's forthrightness; she had expected a pitman's wife to defer to her husband's wishes in all things, especially on such an important matter. She felt a wave of gratitude towards the kind-hearted woman. ‘Thank you so much.'

‘And I won't hear of taking money off you.' Helen brushed aside her thanks. ‘What about the other lass?'

‘Nell? She's much more robust. Must be nearing leaving school. I had it in mind to offer her cleaning work at the surgery.'

Just then, the back door banged open to a clatter of boots and loud voices. Flora turned to see two youths in filthy jackets and caps stamp into the kitchen. Their faces were so smeared in coal dust, it was impossible to tell their ages.

‘Boots off, lads, before you take another step,' Helen ordered.

They stopped and stared at the well-dressed visitor. The slighter one pulled off his cap to reveal a thatch of dirty fair hair. He blushed and bent to untie his boots. The taller one with the curling dark hair gave Flora a keen gaze.

‘Are you the speaker for the night, miss?'

‘I'm afraid not,' Flora smiled, ‘though it sounds interesting. I belong to the Women's Suffrage Society in Gateshead as it happens.'

‘Fancy that!' Helen exclaimed. ‘These are my sons, Rab and Samuel.'

Flora introduced herself, gingerly taking the grimy hand that the elder boy thrust at her.

‘Boots off, Rab.'

But he carried on staring. ‘Would you like to gan to the meetin'? You could put in your penny's worth. There's plenty'll argue against you.'

‘Rab, leave her be,' Helen warned.

‘I'd like nothing better,' Flora said, ‘but I have calls to do this evening.'

Rab nodded. ‘You could come and speak another time. We like to hear what's ganin' on in the towns. If Oliphant had his way, there'd be no newspapers or books in Crawdene, save the Bible to read.'

‘Really?' Flora felt uncomfortable. Should she mention her connection with the coal-owner's family?

‘Aye, he's the ogre that owns everything round here—'

‘Rab!' his mother said sharply. ‘You'll get us all into trouble with that tongue of yours.'

Rab grinned as he pulled off his boots.

Helen looked apologetic. ‘Major Oliphant's the landlord - owns the Liddon pit and several others round here. You'll not repeat my son's words, will you? He's just having a joke.'

‘Of course I won't,' Flora assured her as she rose to go. Now would not be the time to confess a friendship with Charles. ‘I can see you have much to do. I'll leave my address and you can send word when it's convenient for Emmie to come and stay once you've had a chance to talk it over with Mr MacRae.' It still seemed possible to Flora that the patriarch Jonas might say no.

‘Who's Emmie?' Rab asked.

Helen raised a hand to silence him. ‘I'll explain after.'

‘I'm very grateful,' Flora said, taking the woman's hand. ‘I can see you are good people.'

Rab laughed. ‘That's not what they say about us down the chapel.'

His mother glared at him. ‘Take no notice,' she sighed at the doctor.

Flora turned at the door with a smile for the mischievous Rab and his bashful brother. They grinned back. As she left, a small skinny boy appeared at the loft hatch overhead and peered down at them.

‘That's our pet ferret,' Rab joked, as the boy dodged out of sight.

‘Our Peter, he means,' Helen said with a roll of her eyes. ‘He's a bit shy - not like some.'

On the way home, free-wheeling down the bank from Crawdene, Flora had pangs of doubt again. Was the house too small? Where would Emmie sleep with all those boys? And that Rab - so quick to speak his mind, like a moth flying at a flame. And she had not met the infamous Jonas, who was no doubt ten times more outspoken.

Then she shook off her worries. Helen MacRae was warmhearted and caring. She would welcome Emmie with open arms and that's all that mattered. She could not wait to tell Charles all about her visit. The thought made her pick up speed and race back to town.

In early August, Flora returned to the Kelsos with news that the MacRaes were willing to take Emmie. Emmie was asleep when she came, but was woken later by Nell shouting at her mother about the unfairness of it all.

‘Do you want your sister to die?' Mary finally snapped.

‘No.'

‘Then stop your complaining. The doctor's offering you work at the surgery once you're fourteen.'

‘Aye, scrubbing floors,' Nell said indignantly.

‘Least it's work,' Mary sighed. ‘If you keep in, she might give you a bit book-keeping or clerking.'

‘I'm ganin' to swing on the trapezes,' Nell declared.

Mary closed her eyes in despair. ‘If you're offered a job you'll take it and be grateful - then maybe we can leave this terrible place and find somewhere better for Emmie.'

‘Emmie! Always Emmie,' Nell railed and stamped out of the room.

After letters to and fro about travel arrangements, it was decided that her mother would take Emmie as far as Swalwell on the train. The MacRaes would fetch her from there. Emmie began to dread the moment when she would have to say goodbye to her mother. Nell made it worse with her stories of gloom.

‘Pit folk aren't like us. They live under the ground - and eat coal. Never get to see daylight. More like animals than humans, Dolly says. You'll be tret like a slave - like Cinderella.' She came at Emmie, making scary noises, laughing when her sister screamed.

The more their mother told Nell to stop her nonsense, the more she persisted. But on the last night, when Emmie could not sleep, Nell cuddled up close and stroked her hair.

‘Won't be for ever,' she whispered. ‘You'll get well again, then come back to me and Mam. Course, by then I'll be working for the doctor, so it'll be better than this.'

Emmie burrowed into Nell's hold. So often her sister was a monster by day, yet kind when they lay in bed together, their mother working late to catch the dying summer light. Tomorrow night there would be no one to cuddle.

‘Tell me the story of when we were bairns,' Emmie whispered. ‘About the house and the park.'

She was lulled to sleep by her sister's hushed words of a beautiful home with soft beds and a park nearby with grand railings and trees as tall as houses.

The next day, Nell carried Emmie's jute bag with her much-mended spare clothes, to the station. Even this short walk left her exhausted. Emmie hung on to her big sister and cried. She had been told there were only boys in the MacRae household. Tonight there would be no Nell. Even an angry, contrary Nell was better than no Nell at all.

‘Didn't mean it about pitmen being animals,' Nell muttered, kissing her on the head. ‘They'll be canny and kind and spoil you rotten. You'll not want to come back.'

‘I will,' Emmie sobbed, as Nell pulled away.

Emmie stared out of the carriage window for a last sight of her sister before she disappeared in the steam of the locomotive. She clung to her mother's clammy, calloused hand and wondered when she would ever see Nell again.

Her mother kept repeating, ‘They're good people. You'll be grand. We'll come and visit. It's not for ever.'

Emmie was too anxious to say a word.

At Swalwell Station they stood waiting, Mary gazing round nervously for someone she recognised. Moments later, a broad-shouldered youth who had been eyeing them from the entrance sauntered forward whistling. His upper arms strained at the seams of his too-tight jacket. His blue eyes stared out from rings of coal dust that much scrubbing had failed to erase. To Emmie, he looked terrifying.

‘Mrs Kelso? I'm Rab MacRae - come to fetch Emmie.'

His deep booming voice sent the girl scurrying behind her mother, burying her face in her skirt.

‘Rab!' Mary said in amazement. ‘You're all grown up. Haven't seen you since you were Emmie's age. Must be sixteen by now?'

‘Seventeen,' he grinned. ‘Is that Emmie hiding in your dress? I don't bite, lass. Well, only when I haven't been fed.'

Mary tried to prise her daughter from behind her, but the girl clung on, whimpering.

‘Has your mam not come?' Mary asked anxiously. ‘I expected her to be here. Emmie's not used to lads.'

‘Mam's getting dinner ready and I can walk twice as quick.' Rab got down on his haunches. ‘Haway lass. Do you like liquorice?'

Emmie shook her head.

‘She's not used to the taste.'

‘By heck, you've a treat in store,' Rab chuckled, and produced a long string of the sticky sweet. He waved it at the frightened girl. ‘You bite one end and I'll bite the other.'

Her mother coaxed her out, encouraged by the boy's friendliness. He reminded her of a young Jonas.

Emmie peered up into Rab's intense blue-eyed gaze. Was he trying to trick her like Nell did, by offering something he would then snatch away? Swiftly, she grabbed the end of the dangling liquorice and bit into it.

Rab roared with laughter and let go his end. ‘You can eat the rest on the way to Crawdene.' He took the jute bag from Mary Kelso. ‘Haway, lass, it's mince and dumplings for dinner.'

Mary hugged her daughter briefly then pushed her forward. ‘Go with Rab now and be good for Mrs MacRae.'

Emmie walked a few steps, then the enormity of the moment overwhelmed her. She turned and gave her mother a beseeching look. But Mary waved her on. Emmie's vision blurred in tears and she swallowed hard, trying to be brave. Her mother would come for her soon. She gripped the black liquorice stick and turned to follow Rab.

Out of the station, she struggled to keep up with his big strides, and by the time they were at the edge of the village she was gasping for breath and crying for her mother. Rab, who had been chatting to her all the while about his family and the chickens they kept and the girls in the street she could play with, stopped and bent down.

‘Jump on me back, lass,' he ordered, ‘or we'll have grown beards by the time we get home.'

Emmie scrambled on to his back and clung on tight. Wayward curls of hair from under his cap tickled her cheek, but she liked the soapy smell of his neck. He strode up the hill, away from the river, as if she were weightless, talking to her between snatches of song. Emmie did not answer, but relaxed against his warm back, lulled by the rhythm of his walk, gazing at the swaying corn. She dozed off and woke to the sound of Rab's boots crunching on a cinder track.

‘This is the short cut through Oliphant's Wood,' he told her. ‘Me and Samuel catch rabbits in here, but you're not to tell anyone.'

Emmie gasped as the light filtered through the branches overhead.

‘You all right, lass?' Rab felt her tense. ‘We'll be out in a minute.'

‘I like it,' she whispered close to his ear, ‘the sun peeping through the leaves.'

She felt his grip tighten round her legs. ‘That's grand.'

He began to speak in a rhythmic voice, almost to himself.

‘Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.'

Emmie recognised the poem: ‘Up-hill' by Christina Rossetti; one of her favourites, which Miss Dillon had read to them often. Timidly, she joined in the final verse.

‘Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.'

They laughed in delight that each should know it. Emmie soon clammed up again as they emerged from the sheltered woods. Before her stretched narrow lanes strewn with washing and rows of brick houses puffing smoke. She felt dizzy at the vast sky overhead and the steepness of the hill dropping away below them. Children called to Rab as he ducked under a line of flapping shirts, curious to know who the girl was. Abruptly they turned in through an open door, Rab almost bending double, and a moment later he was tipping Emmie on to a high-backed sofa. ‘Delivered - one Emmie Kelso,' he panted. ‘Doesn't say much, but she can spout poetry.'