A Crimson Dawn

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m still a child,’ Sophie complained. ‘I’m a woman of twenty-five.’

  ‘Still young enough and silly enough to need protecting from all this radical nonsense about equal rights. Women aren’t made for politics - it’s a man’s world - we have to make tough decisions for the good of others. Women’s natures are naturally soft, more suited to domestic life.’ He stood over his daughter, smiling indulgently, warming to his theme. ‘That’s why there are certain professions that only men should undertake, like politics, high office, business.’ He glanced at Charles, who was standing mutely, staring into the fire where Flora’s note had turned to hot ash. ‘And doctoring,’ the major added. ‘Women doctors are unnatural, if you ask me. Your mother and I don’t want you associating with that Jameson woman again.’

  Charles turned and glared at his father. ‘Mama thinks nothing of the kind. She has nothing against Flora or any women doctors.’

  Major James was dismissive. ‘I believe I know best what your mother thinks.’

  ‘And how would you know that?’ Charles challenged. ‘You don’t spend five minutes a day in her company. You never ask her opinion on anything.’

  ‘Your mother’s health is very delicate,’ his father blustered. ‘She doesn’t want to be troubled with questions that don’t concern her.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Charles expostulated. ‘Flora was right. You want to control everybody. I must be mad to even contemplate taking over this parish. You’d never let me be free to run it as I see fit - you’d always be interfering.’

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘And you’re quite wrong about Flora. She’s a wonderful doctor - the most dedicated, compassionate, hard-working woman I know.’

  ‘What’s she got to do with anything?’ the major barked.

  ‘Everything,’ Charles said with passion. ‘I don’t want Hauxley’s patronage or a comfortable parish. My place is at the Settlement - that’s where I’m needed. And that’s where Flora is, so that’s where I want to be. I want to marry her, but if she won’t have me, I’ll make do with her friendship.’

  ‘Charles, that’s wonderful!’ Sophie cried.

  ‘Marry that woman?’ his father thundered. ‘Not while I’m alive and breathing you won’t!’

  ‘I’m sorry if you can’t see what a splendid person she is,’ Charles defended, ‘but you can’t stop me.’

  ‘I can - I’ll disinherit you!’

  Charles looked at him pityingly. ‘It would be a relief not to inherit all this,’ he cried.

  ‘Don’t be such a pig-headed fool—’

  Charles walked past him.

  ‘You’re making a huge mistake. Your older brother would never have been so stupid. I’m ashamed of you!’ his father raged.

  Charles turned at the door. ‘I know you are, Papa,’ he said, saddened by the realisation. Then with a small bow of dignity, he walked out.

  ***

  Flora was woken by urgent knocking at her front door. She threw on her dressing gown to answer it before Nell or Mrs Raine were woken. It would be some anxious patient with a feverish child, no doubt.

  ‘Charles?’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing - what’s happened?’

  ‘Let me in, Flora, please?’ he said in agitation. She stood aside at once.

  ‘Is it Sophie? Has she had a turn for the worse? I’ll come immediately if she needs me.’

  Charles spun round in the hallway. ‘No, not Sophie. It’s me …’

  ‘Charles, whatever’s the matter?’

  Running his hands in his habitual manner through his unkempt hair, he suddenly became aware of her undressed state. He blushed and stammered, ‘I’m so sorry - I’ve got you out of bed. I shouldn’t have come this late—’

  Flora stepped towards him. ‘For goodness’ sake, tell me.’

  He studied her bare feet. ‘I’ve turned Hauxley down. I want to stay at the Settlement. Papa’s thrown me out.’

  ‘Oh, Charles, I’m sorry …’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s a blessed relief.’ He met her gaze. ‘And I couldn’t have done it without your words ringing in my head about standing up to him.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  He reached out and seized her hand. ‘He didn’t throw me out for turning down the parish - he did it because I said I was going to marry you.’

  ‘Charles!’

  ‘I told him how wonderful you were and that if I couldn’t marry you I would settle for friendship. I know you said you didn’t want to marry me, but maybe in time you might change your mind …?’ He looked at her, unsure.

  Flora put her hands up to his face and smiled. ‘I want us to marry.’

  ‘You do? But you said—’

  ‘It’s you I want, Charles. Not Blackton Heights or a fancy vicarage. If you are really free from all that, then yes, I long for us to be married.’

  Charles gave a laugh of triumph. He flung his arms about her and hugged her tight.

  ‘What’s all the noise about?’ a sleepy Nell asked from the top of the stairs.

  They turned guiltily, but Charles would not let her pull away.

  ‘Flora has agreed to marry me! Isn’t that the most wonderful news?’

  Nell’s pretty face lit up. ‘About time too. I thought you were never going to ask Dr Flora.’

  ‘Nell!’Flora reproved.

  Charles laughed. ‘How right you are, Nelly.’

  She descended the stairs, her face eager. ‘Does that mean we all get to live up at Blackton Heights? Eeh, wait till I tell our Emmie. She’ll be green as a peasouper with envy!’

  Charles and Flora exchanged glances.

  ‘No, Nell,’ Flora answered, ‘it most certainly does not.’

  The smile died on her face. ‘But the wedding will be up there?’

  Charles sighed. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘We’ll marry in the Settlement chapel,’ Flora declared. ‘There could be no better place.’

  Nell’s mouth curled in disgust. She whipped round and stamped back up the stairs in utter disapproval.

  Chapter 8

  Emmie stood at the back of the packed chapel, craning for a view of Dr Flora and Mr Oliphant.

  ‘It’s to be a quiet wedding,’ Mabel Runcie had told her, so Emmie was pleased to be asked. But standing there, among the throng of well-wishers, she realised just how popular the couple were with local people. This was no consolation to Nell. She had railed at Emmie on several occasions that summer.

  ‘Fancy not getting wed up at Blackton Heights! And none of the Oliphants will be there. They’ve cut him off without a farthing, so I’ve heard.’

  ‘Miss Sophie will come,’ Emmie had reassured.

  ‘She might if the fancy takes her,’ Nell was scathing. ‘She’ll make a grand entry and take all the attention. And it’s me who’s supposed to be bridesmaid - Dr Flora promised.’

  ‘It’ll be a grand day,’ Emmie insisted.

  ‘How can it, when it’s at the Settlement?’

  ‘But it’s a bonny chapel. Me and Mrs Mousy are ganin’ to decorate it. Uncle Jonas said I can pick all the flowers I want from the allotment.’

  ‘Won’t hide the smell of the riffraff who turn up.’ Nell was dismissive.

  ‘Nelly!’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ she pouted. ‘Most of them come from the slums.’

  ‘Just like we did, you mean?’ Emmie said.

  Nell’s look was furious. ‘Don’t ever talk like that to me! I remember when we were respectable folk, living in a grand house, even if you don’t.’

  Emmie grew impatient. ‘And you live like that now, so why are you always complaining?’

  ‘Because that precious Mr Oliphant is going to spoil it all,’ Nell snapped.

  ‘I thought you wanted them to wed?’

  ‘I did, until Miss Flora started talking about us moving out the house.’

  Emmie was surprised. ‘Won’t they set up house there together?’

  ‘No,’ N
ell said angrily. ‘She says we should move to the Settlement, ‘cos Mr Oliphant needs to be resident at the mission. Mrs Raine doesn’t want to move there and neither do I.’

  ‘But, Nelly, we’ll see more of each other if you do.’ Emmie was enthusiastic.

  Nell gave her a hard look. ‘That’s all right for you to say, but you can escape back to Crawdene after work. I’d have to stay there. It’s not a home, it’s an institution full of strangers coming and going all day long. If she thinks I’m going to live in that filthy part of town, she’s wrong. I’ll not go there, Emmie. They can’t make me!’

  Emmie had tried to calm her sister, but she would not be comforted.

  Now, straining for a view of her in her pale yellow bridesmaid’s dress, Emmie thought she looked happy. Given time, Nell would come round to the idea of living at the Settlement.

  She hardly had time to talk to her sister after the service. There was a large tea laid on in the dining hall, and Nell was surrounded by young men from the debating club while Emmie helped pour out endless cupfuls. Nell could change her expression and mood quicker than the weather, Emmie thought in amusement. With all this attention, perhaps Nell would settle into her new home quicker than she expected.

  Just before Flora and Charles left for their brief honeymoon in Scotland, Flora sought out Emmie.

  ‘Thank you for helping, kind girl,’ she smiled.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed it, Doctor. The day’s flown over. You looked right bonny.’

  Flora laughed. ‘Take a box of food back with you, for Mrs MacRae, won’t you?’

  ‘Ta, Doctor.’ Emmie nodded.

  ‘And, Emmie,’ Flora paused and glanced over at the laughing crowd around Nell, ‘will you keep an eye on Nell while we’re away? It’s not that I don’t trust her - I just don’t want her getting moody and bored on her own. She hates not having company. But it’s just for a few days.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Nelly,’ Emmie smiled. ‘I’ll see if she’ll come and stay with us for a day or two.’

  Flora looked relieved. ‘That would be kind.’

  After that, the couple said their goodbyes, Charles giving Sophie an especially generous hug for defying their father and attending the wedding. They were waved away in a hired cab that was taking them to the station.

  ‘Don’t they look happy?’ Mrs Mousy beamed, unusually emotional.

  ‘Aye,’ Emmie agreed.

  The cook nudged her. ‘It’ll be you before long - or more likely your sister over there.’

  Nell was still holding forth in the middle of a group of young people, some of whom Emmie recognised from the amateur productions in which her sister had acted.

  Once Emmie had helped the Mousys clear and wash up, she looked for Nell, eventually finding her in the music room with some of the guests. They were gathered around the piano singing, Nell’s strong voice soaring above them all. Emmie beckoned her over for a word and finally Nell came.

  ‘Do you want to gan back to Crawdene with me? You can stay a few days while the doctor’s away. She said she’d like you to.’

  ‘Did she?’ Nell snorted. ‘And what about the MacRaes?’

  ‘Aunt Helen wouldn’t mind a bit - and I’d like you to come, Nelly.’

  Nell considered. ‘Is Sam still courting that friend of yours?’

  ‘Louise? Aye.’

  Nell glanced back at the others, who were calling her over for more singing. ‘Maybes in a day or two,’ she agreed swiftly. ‘Aye, I’ll come up to Crawdene - Tuesday or Wednesday.’

  ‘Grand,’ Emmie smiled. ‘I’ll call round for you after work.’

  ‘No, don’t do that - I’ll make me own way up,’ Nell answered. She gave Emmie a quick kiss on the cheek and pushed her towards the door. ‘Look after yourself.’

  Cycling home, a box of food tied to the front basket, Emmie wondered about Nell’s words. She was not convinced her sister would come; she had sounded half-hearted. She seemed much more interested in the singsong round the piano. Emmie did not mind, as long as she was happy. It had made her nervous when Nell had asked about Sam. The last thing she wanted was her flirtatious sister causing trouble between Sam and Louise, just for a bit of sport.

  It was a calm summer’s evening, lacking the usual wind off the fell. As she drew nearer the village and home, Emmie felt contented at the sight of men digging in their gardens, back doors thrown open to catch the soft breeze, and the sound of children calling down the back lanes.

  She pondered Mrs Mousy’s teasing words. It’ll be you before long . . .

  Emmie smiled to herself. If she could be half as happy with a man as Dr Flora appeared to be, then maybe she would marry.

  Tom had been increasingly attentive these past months, since the incident over Miss Sophie. He was kind and brought her presents, hung around waiting at the end of China Street so he could walk her to the shops. Sometimes she caught him watching her during Sunday services; he would wink and make her blush.

  ‘Come and watch me play footy in Lawson’s Paddock,’ he encouraged.

  ‘I’d rather read a book,’ she always replied with a laugh, dodging out of the way before he could kiss her.

  Tom was playful and uncomplicated, sometimes funny, occasionally bad-tempered. She enjoyed his company more often than not. Emmie looked out for Tom now, half hoping to see his lean, loping figure saunter out of the shadows, hands in pockets, watching out for her. But tonight there was no sign of him. Probably, with the long summer evenings, he was kicking a football around with his friends. She felt a momentary pang of disappointment.

  Humming, Emmie pushed the bicycle up the back lane and into the yard. Laughter reverberated out of the open door. Beyond the scullery, the kitchen sounded full. She squeezed her way past a couple of neighbours, friends of Jonas’s.

  ‘Here’s our Emmie!’ they cried.

  Emmie smelled whisky on their breath as they made way for her. Jonas had a bottle out on the table he kept for special occasions. He was beaming. But it was the sight of Helen, her face red and puffy as if she had been crying, that made her stomach lurch.

  ‘What’s ganin’ on?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘Oh, pet!’ Helen threw out her arms. ‘What a day this has been! Haway in and see for yourself.’

  There was laughter as they pushed her forward. A bearded, dark-haired man rose from a stool by the hearth. There was something familiar in his brawny stance and the keen, blue-eyed look. Her heart thumped.

  ‘Little Emmie?’ He stared at her, equally disbelieving.

  ‘Rab?’ she gasped.

  ‘Aye, it’s the prodigal returned,’ Jonas boomed.

  Rab held open his arms and grinned. Emmie flew at him with a squeal of delight.

  ‘I cannot believe …! Why didn’t you say -?’

  They hugged tight and suddenly Emmie was overcome. A huge sob rose up inside and she burst into tears.

  ‘Emmie,’ Rab laughed and cuddled her, ‘it’s more of a shock for me. I turn me back for a minute and you’ve gone and grown up into a beautiful lass.’

  ‘A minute? Years, more like,’ Emmie half laughed, half cried. ‘What’s the beard for? Do all revolutionaries have to wear them?’

  ‘Aye, of course,’ he chuckled. ‘I see you haven’t lost any of your cheek.’

  He loosened his hold. Emmie quickly wiped away her tears, trying to compose herself.

  Helen fussed around, pushing Emmie into a seat at the table and pressing food on her, while gabbling out the story of Rab turning up on the doorstep at midday. The house had been a circus ever since, she complained, but the look of adoration she gave Rab told how happy she was.

  ‘I’ve a parcel of food on the bike,’ Emmie remembered, pushing the plate of baking away. ‘I’ve had a big tea, thanks, Auntie Helen.’

  ‘Aye, tell us all about this society wedding you’ve been to,’ Rab teased. ‘I hear I’m the only MacRae who isn’t a personal friend of the Oliphants these days.’

  Jonas let go an oath and
Helen gave him a sharp look. Rab laughed.

  ‘It was a canny weddin’,’ Emmie smiled. ‘They’re good people, so don’t you mock. Some folk just talk of social change - others get on and do it.’

  Sam guffawed. ‘That’s one-nil to our Emmie, Rab!’

  Rab pulled on his beard ruefully. ‘And apart from the debating society, what do they do at the Settlement to change the world?’ he needled.

  ‘They give lectures in every kind of subject, and run music clubs - drama, art. Some of the unions hold their meetings there and they have campaigns to press for better conditions - sanitation and that. And there’s the chapel—’

  ‘Ah,’ Rab cried, as if he had caught her out, ‘religion - the opium of the people. It’s just a bourgeois trick to keep the people passive.’

  ‘One-all,’ Sam chimed in.

  ‘Don’t talk daft,’ Emmie said hotly. ‘You can be socialist and Christian at the same time.’

  ‘Course you can, pet,’ Helen agreed. ‘Don’t rise to the bait.’

  But Emmie was stirred. ‘And there’s the printing press. We print all sorts for the ILP and suffrage societies.’

  ‘Aye,’ Jonas joined in, ‘our Emmie’s a suffragette these days.’

  ‘Middle-class ladies chaining themselves to railings in between tea parties,’ Rab goaded. ‘But what do they do for working-class lasses, eh? It’s universal suffrage we need, not just for bourgeois women.’

  ‘Ding-ding! Two-one to Rab, Emmie,’ Sam chortled.

  ‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you,’ Emmie cried. ‘There’s nowt bourgeois about the Runcies’ printing press - come and see for yourself if you don’t believe me. And you’re wrong about the vote. Plenty men already have it, but not one lass does. We’ll fight the lot of you to have our say in how the country’s run no matter what class we’re from. We don’t care about that - we lasses stick together!’

  ‘Knock-out punch from Miss Emmie Kelso,’ Sam shouted. ‘I declare her the winner.’

  Laughter rang around the crowded kitchen. Rab uncrossed his arms and gave Emmie’s hair a playful rub. She pushed him off and straightened it down.

  ‘Oh, lass, how I’ve missed all this. It’s grand to be back,’ he grinned fondly.