A Crimson Dawn (48 page)

Quietly, she entered the cottage, not wanting to wake the children if they were already asleep. All was quiet. She put down Rab's case. Peering into the gloom, she could not make out a shape in Barny's bed. She glanced at the big bed, but he had not crawled in there either. Puzzled, Emmie went to look in the cot. It was empty. She felt the first stirrings of unease.

She turned to Rab. ‘They must be in the other cottage - maybe Mary wouldn't settle.'

Emmie went quickly, not waiting for Rab to follow. She called out to her friends.

‘Hello! We're back!'

The door to the Runcies' opened and Philip stared out in alarm.

‘It's all right,' Emmie reassured, ‘it's only me. Look, Rab's here!'

‘My dear boy.' Mr Runcie came forward, seized his hand in a firm shake and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come away, come away.'

He seemed agitated, glancing around nervously.

‘The bairns are with you?' Emmie queried.

Philip avoided her look. ‘Please come inside.'

Emmie rushed in ahead of the others. The room was lit by the rush lamps that the Kennedys had taught them to make. Laurie was sitting in a chair by the fire. He stood up the moment he saw her, his arm in a sling. Even in the dim light she could see the cuts and bruising around his left eye.

‘What's happened?' she gasped. ‘Where are the bairns?'

Laurie gulped. ‘He came to fetch them. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. Knocked me down. I didn't—'

‘Who?' Emmie demanded, yet the dread inside told her who.

‘Tom Curran,' Laurie said, almost in tears. ‘I'm sorry, Emmie, I'm so sorry.'

She swung round and faced Philip. ‘Barny? The baby?'

‘He took them both,' the old man said. ‘I couldn't stop him - he attacked Laurie.'

Emmie pressed her hands to her head, crying out in horror. ‘No! It can't be true. My babies. Please, no!'

‘When did it happen?' Rab asked hoarsely.

‘Just after Emmie left,' Philip replied.

‘It's like he was watching,' Laurie said, ‘waiting for the right moment.'

‘The coward!' Emmie cried. ‘Why didn't he face me?'

‘Wanted to know where you'd gone,' Laurie said unhappily. ‘I didn't want to tell him.'

‘He knows about Rab getting out?' Emmie demanded.

Laurie nodded.

Philip explained, ‘He forced Laurie to tell - he had a gun, Emmie. He was so angry I feared he would use it.'

Emmie was shaking violently. Rab reached out to hold her.

‘I'll go after him, bring them back,' he panted.

She pushed him off. ‘Don't be daft you can hardly stand. Tom would kill you.'

Shock was followed as quickly by a sudden rage. How dare he take her children? Tom did not love them - Mary was not even his. Madness and spite were all that drove him. Well, nothing would stop her getting her children back.

‘I'm the one that's ganin' after him,' she declared savagely.

The nearer Emmie drew to Crawdene, the greater she dreaded it. Only the thought of seeing her children again spurred her on up the bank. She had been travelling since early light, walking into Standale to save their ancient pony, leaving Rab sleeping an exhausted sleep. She had left before he woke, not wanting to risk another confrontation.

‘You'll not go on your own to face that man,' he had fretted, both knowing that she would.

He was too ill, Philip too frail and Laurie too injured. Besides, she wanted her friends to stay and tend to Rab.

‘I want you to get well again,' Emmie had countered. ‘I need you to be strong, Rab, not dead,' she had added bluntly.

He had faced her bleakly. ‘Are you coming back, Emmie?'

‘Course I am. Why shouldn't I?'

‘You once said you'd go back to Tom if it meant keeping Barny,' he reminded her.

She had turned away. ‘It won't come to that,' she answered brusquely. ‘I'm bringing the bairns home, not stopping in Crawdene.'

Now, as she trudged up the steep bank, fixing her sight on the familiar skyline of pithead and hunched terraces, her heart banged in fear at the ordeal ahead. Emmie decided suddenly to go to Mannie's and seek out Helen. She would ask Rab's mother to go with her so she did not have to face the Currans alone.

Emmie tried to ignore the looks of astonishment and curiosity from passers-by as she hurried up the main street. One or two raised a hand in half greeting, then stopped selfconsciously. Others were openly hostile.

‘Fancy her showing her face round here,' one woman declared to her companion, not attempting to lower her voice.

‘Aye, the cheek of it,' the other agreed.

Emmie ploughed on, red-faced. At the turning to India Street, a man blocked her way. She recognised him as a workmate of Tom's, a chapel member.

‘Let you out of prison, have they?' he sneered. ‘Too soon, if you ask me.'

Emmie tried to pass. He stepped in front of her again.

‘Crawling back, are you? I doubt Tom'll have you. Soiled goods, from what I hear. MacRae's fancy woman.'

‘Let me past,' Emmie demanded.

‘You're a disgrace to this village,' he said, spitting at her feet as he walked away.

Emmie hurried on, gulping down her panic. For the first time she felt fear for her own safety. She could only guess at the rumours that must be flying around the village about her and Rab. They were already vilified by many for being pacifists, criminals who had been imprisoned. But that was nothing to the censure they would face for being adulterous, no matter that her husband was violent and abusive.

She rushed into Mannie's yard. The brick paving was cracked and choked with weeds, the outhouse that had once been Rab's printing works was half fallen in. The back door was bleached in the sun, its dark red paint peeled away. An air of neglect hung over the ramshackle house. Emmie knocked and opened the door. Inside, Helen's room was half bare of furniture, the table and chairs gone, but the floor was scrubbed clean and a jam jar of bluebells adorned the work bench under the window. Emmie nearly burst into tears to see them, a sign that Helen's spirit was not broken.

She went outside and knocked at Mannie's door. When she was on the point of giving up, the door opened and the old man hobbled out. His puzzled look cleared as recognition dawned. They clasped each other in delight.

‘By, lass, it's good to see you,' he croaked. ‘Helen's been that worried about you. The things we've heard. Some say you're back in prison, others that you're on the street.'

‘But I wrote and told her all was well - that Rab was gettin' out,' Emmie protested.

‘Rab's free?' Mannie cried. ‘We didn't get any letter.'

Emmie quickly explained why she had come. ‘Tom's stolen my bairns,' she said bitterly. ‘I want Helen to come with me to get them back.'

Mannie's face clouded. ‘She works at the manse - cleaning for the Attwaters. Takes Peter with her - his nerves are bad since he came home last month. Mr Speed wouldn't take him back.' He gave her a sorrowful look. ‘Emmie, don't get your hopes up. The Currans aren't going to hand over the children just ‘cos you ask them. And you being with Rab - well, people round here don't approve.'

He glanced away, embarrassed. ‘It's not been easy for Helen - you've caused a bit of a scandal, if truth be told. She's lucky to get the Attwater job - minister's more forgiving than most of his congregation.'

Emmie bristled. ‘It's nothing to do with Helen. People shouldn't hold it against her.'

‘Aye, but they do,' Mannie said, his look awkward.

Emmie saw that her presence was making him uneasy, for all that he was pleased to see her. She would have to face the Currans alone.

‘Tell Helen and Peter I called.' she said, turning away, her heart sore.

‘Aye, lass, take care of yourself,' Mannie called after her. ‘And all the very best to Rab!'

She felt a wave of loneliness as she left India Street. How she had wanted to feel Helen's comforting arms about her, as protective and loving as when she was a child. But what Rab and she had done had made Helen an outcast in her own village. She felt ashamed, despite her love for Rab. But more, she felt mounting fear that her mission to reclaim her children was hopeless.

Emmie forced herself to carry on round to Berlin Terrace. Only the thought of seeing Barny and Mary gave her the courage to knock at her old door. There was no reply. She tried to open it, but the door was locked. Peering through the dirty window, she saw her old kitchen was in shadow, no fire burning in the grate. It looked unlived in. As she contemplated going round to the front of the house to try the other door, a woman appeared at the upstairs window.

‘What you want?' she called. Emmie did not recognise her.

‘Where's Tom Curran?' Emmie demanded.

‘At his mam's,' the woman answered. ‘No one's lived there since his missus ran off with a conchie.' Then she slammed down the window before Emmie could ask any more questions.

With mounting dread, Emmie made her way up the village to Denmark Street. She wondered if she was imagining the gathering of lads on the street corner, the muttering of women at their doors as she passed. Was word spreading that quickly that the notorious Emmie Curran was back?

Her heart was pounding so fast as she approached the Currans' she could hardly breathe. But perhaps she would be lucky. Barnabas would be at work and maybe Tom would be too. She had no idea if he was back working at the pit. She would appeal to Louise and her mother to let the children go.

Emmie rapped on the door with the gleaming knocker. After a long moment of waiting, Louise answered. They stood staring at each other.

‘What you here for?' her sister-in-law asked in hostility.

‘You know what.' Emmie kept calm.

‘Tom doesn't want to see you.'

‘That suits me,' Emmie replied. ‘It's me bairns I want to see.'

‘You can't,' Louise said dismissively. ‘Our Tom won't allow it.'

‘Let me in, Louise, please,' Emmie said urgently. When Louise hesitated, Emmie pushed past her.

‘Mam! Tom!' Louise shouted in panic. ‘Emmie's here. I couldn't stop her.'

Emmie burst into the parlour, searching for her children. ‘Barny?' she called out. The room was empty. She rushed into the kitchen, Louise trying to grab her by the arm.

Mrs Curran rose startled from her chair, her mending falling to the floor.

‘Emmie. . .'

‘Where are they?' Emmie demanded. ‘I want to see my children.'

‘Hush, you'll wake them,' Mrs Curran said in a fluster. ‘They're having a nap.'

Emmie turned to rush from the room and make for the stairs. But just as she reached the door, a tousled-haired figure loomed over her. Tom pushed her back in the kitchen, his face creased from sleep, his look belligerent.

‘Wondered how long it would take you to come,' he sneered. ‘On your own, are you? Lover boy too scared to face me, eh?'

His face was fuller, a boozer's face with a purplish nose, his once handsome eyes bleary and faded. Like Rab he had aged, but not with malnutrition and hard labour. He looked as physically strong as ever, but his face was scored with bitterness and disappointment.

‘Tom, let me see the bairns,' she pleaded.

He opened wide his arms. ‘No kiss hello for your husband first?' he mocked. ‘Show a bit respect, eh?'

‘For a man who beats his wife?' Emmie said in disdain.

‘Don't speak to our Tom like that.' Louise was indignant.

‘But it's true, isn't it, Tom?' Emmie challenged.

‘You got above yourself,' Tom snapped. ‘But that's all in the past. I'm willing to forgive you - seeing as you've come back like a dutiful missus.'

‘You're never going to take her back, are you?' Louise cried in dismay. ‘She's shamed us all.'

‘I'll do what I want!' Tom shouted suddenly.

‘Tom, dear—' his mother began.

‘I haven't come back,' Emmie interrupted. ‘I've just come for my children,' She appealed to Tom. ‘They need their mam, surely you see that? They're too young to be without me. If you love Barny you'll let him come to me.'

For a moment she thought he was wavering, then the hard look returned. ‘You're not fit to be their mam,' he hissed. ‘I've seen the way you live - like savages in that dirty little cottage - and with those men. Do you whore for them an' all, Emmie, or just for MacRae?'

Emmie flinched at his invective. ‘Stop it, Tom.'

‘I'm taking care of the bairns now. They don't want to see you and I don't want you coming anywhere near them again. Not unless you repent of your sins and come back to me like an obedient wife should,' he challenged.

Emmie stared at him in horror. In that moment she knew she could never go back to him under any conditions. She despised the person he had become. She would wither under his harsh rule. And with a wave of despair, she realised that she could not subject her children to such a loveless home. Emmie remembered suddenly how terrified Barny had been at the violence in Berlin Terrace. Barny and Mary must not be brought up in such a climate of fear.

‘I'll never come back to you, Tom,' Emmie declared.

Just at that instant, a muffled wail came from the room above. Emmie's heart jerked.

‘Mary!' she cried. ‘Let me go to her.'

‘No.' Tom gave her a savage look of triumph. ‘You take one step and I'll take me belt to yer.'

‘Please, Tom.' Emmie was on the verge of tears as her baby's crying grew more insistent. ‘She needs her mam - I'm still feedin' her myself.'

Louise said, ‘She's taken fine to the bottle.'

Emmie ignored her. ‘Let me take the baby,' she begged, ‘please, Tom.'