A Crimson Dawn (42 page)

When she woke, it was dark. Restless noise ebbed and flowed around her. Someone was singing and crying softly at the same time. She tried to move, but her body felt as heavy as iron. A damp cloth had been placed on her forehead. She slept again. In her fretful dreams, someone hovered over her, wiping her face and body. Sometimes it was like ice melting, at others like scalding water trickling down her body. She cried out and tried to push them away, but was never strong enough. Emmie knew she was trapped for ever in a world of ceaseless torture, pitiful noise and frightening faces. She would never be rescued because no one knew where she was. Or perhaps she was already dead and this was Hell…

The next thing she was aware of was an orderly standing over her, shaking her awake.

‘Doctor's here to see you,' the woman said briskly.

Emmie's eyes hurt as she tried to focus. She was in a barred cell, but lying on a bed with a mattress, in between sheets. Her head rested on a pillow. It felt so good she did not want to lift it.

‘How are you feeling?' the doctor asked awkwardly.

Emmie puzzled. ‘Where am I?'

‘In the prison hospital. You've had a fever.' He hesitated. ‘And you've suffered a miscarriage.'

Emmie stared at him. What was he talking about?

‘You've lost a lot of blood,' he went on, more matter-of-fact. ‘You won't have to return to hard labour. I've recommended that you stay here until you're well enough to be released.'

He turned to go. Emmie struggled to raise her head.

‘Miscarriage?' she whispered.

He looked at her and nodded. ‘The early stages - but you were pregnant. Did you not know?'

Emmie gulped and shook her head.

‘I'm sorry,' he said quietly, and left.

Emmie could no longer take refuge in strange delusions. Her body felt as fragile as dead leaves, but her mind was clear. She was pregnant - had been pregnant. Tom's terrible visit had borne one delicate flower - a second baby. Imprisonment and hard labour had crushed it. Tom, if he cared at all, would blame her. If not for her reckless actions, she would never have been sent to prison. Guilty thoughts whirled around her head. Did she mourn this baby's loss? How could she when she did not even know of its existence? Yet she felt empty, desolate, cheated. A brother or sister for Barny, gone.

How had she not guessed? Thinking back, she had not had a period for over two months, but she had vaguely put it down to bad diet and the strain of prison duties. In truth, she had not thought much about it at all. All her energy had been put into staying alive, lasting her sentence without losing her mind.

Perhaps it was the one thing that might have brought her and Tom back together, bound them in an uneasy truce. A baby. The symbol of a new start, a new life. Now the chance was gone. It would be best if Tom never knew.

After two days, Emmie was able to stand and move around the cell. She stood at the open bars and tried to talk to the staring woman opposite with the bald patches. She had observed her pulling out clumps of hair and weaving the strands around her fingers. She talked to herself while she picked out the hairs on her arms, berating herself in a language Emmie did not recognise.

‘You have bonny hair,' Emmie smiled. ‘Why do you pull it out?'

The woman stared at her suspiciously, coming to her cell door and gripping the bars. She babbled in her own language.

‘I'm sorry, I don't understand.' Emmie shrugged helplessly. ‘Why don't you plait it? You'd suit that.' Emmie took a coil of her own lank hair and demonstrated.

The woman stopped her frantic pulling. For a fleeting moment, Emmie saw understanding flicker in her dark eyes as the woman half smiled. Then she was babbling and sobbing again. Emmie gave up.

The next day, Emmie was transferred to the main hospital wing. It was three days till her release and she was permitted to write a letter home. She composed a brief note to the MacRaes, saying she would make her own way back to Crawdene to collect Barny. She had been allowed no correspondence during the six weeks and had no idea what had been happening in the outside world.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, finishing the letter, one of the orderlies came in with her dinner. Emmie could see from the grey of her dress that she was an inmate. Emmie barely glanced up as the woman put down the tin of watery potato stew.

‘Ta,' Emmie said. The woman did not hurry away as they usually did.

‘Want me to take that for you?' she asked.

Emmie looked closer. There was something familiar about the voice, the shape of the face under the voluminous cap. She looked into the woman's bold dark eyes. It couldn't be? The woman's broad mouth pulled into a wry grin.

‘Nelly?' Emmie gasped. ‘It's never you?'

Nell gave a snort. ‘And who would have thought the saintly Emmie would've ended up in the nick too?'

‘Never saintly,' Emmie laughed.

‘No,' Nell agreed, ‘you were always more trouble than you let on.'

Emmie gazed at her long-lost sister. She ought to feel angry. The last time they had met, Nell had tried her best to break up her marriage and disappeared with her and Tom's precious savings. Nell had used them all: Dr Flora, Charles, Tom, herself - even the Reverend Mr Attwater. That was the way her sister was. Yet, after all that had happened, Nell's faults seemed almost harmless. From the day their father had died, Nell had determined to look after herself.

‘Still, you'll be out shortly,' Nell said brusquely. ‘Not going on any more peace marches, I don't suppose?'

‘Don't suppose anything,' Emmie said stoutly.

‘Must be daft,' Nell retorted. ‘Why do you bother? You could've died, from what I hear.'

‘I do it because I have to,' Emmie said simply. ‘For me, there's no other way to live.'

Nell shook her head in incomprehension. ‘What about Tom and Barny?'

‘I hope Barny's still there when I get out,' Emmie said quietly.

‘But not Tom?' Nell questioned. Emmie said nothing. Nell asked, ‘He gave you them marks on your shoulders, didn't he?'

Emmie looked at her startled. ‘What marks?'

‘I've seen them, Emmie, when I washed you down,' Nell said impatiently. ‘Don't pretend to me. You've got scars from a beating.'

Emmie looked into Nell's eyes and nodded. She shuffled over so Nell could sit beside her. ‘Was it you bathing me face when I had the fever?' she asked.

Nell sat down. ‘Yes. Someone had to do it. I worked out early on, you get clean sheets and better food if you work in the hospital. It was just chance I looked after you - gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.'

Emmie was not convinced by her sister's offhandedness. She covered her hand with hers.

‘Ta, Nelly,' she smiled. ‘I think you saved me.'

Nell withdrew her hand quickly. ‘No, you saved yourself. You're a tough 'un underneath that butter-wouldn't-melt look of yours.'

Emmie laughed softly. They looked at each other for a long moment.

‘Look at the pair of us,' Nell sighed. ‘Father would spin in his grave.'

‘What happened to you?' Emmie asked.

Nell fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. ‘Went back to Jackman. Things were fine and dandy till he got called up. Tried to get out of it by poisoning his skin with lead, but they saw through it.' Nell hesitated. ‘The thing was, me and Jackman, we never got wed. So I couldn't claim his wages. Sent the military round snooping - said I wasn't a deserving wife - meaning they thought I was a whore.' She gave Emmie a defensive look. ‘Well, what else could I do without job nor money? So I did what they thought I did anyway. Caught me down the quayside, with a sub-lieutenant. He got told to scarper, I got prison,' she said with a bitter laugh. ‘Suppose that shocks you?'

‘No,' Emmie replied, ‘nothing about this war shocks me any more. They should've paid you Jackman's wages. You're not to blame.'

Nell suddenly smiled. ‘Thanks, Emmie.'

They reached towards each other and briefly hugged. It felt so good to be touched that Emmie would have hung on, but Nell pulled away. She stood up.

‘Gives us the letter and I'll see it goes in today's post,' she offered.

Emmie put the wafer-thin paper into the envelope and sealed it. She wrote on the MacRaes' address. Nell glanced at it, but made no comment. She shoved it in her apron and left.

Afterwards, Emmie wondered if her sister would post it. She still did not trust Nell. She decided it did not matter. Soon she would be free and would make her own way home, even if she had to walk the whole way. She hardly saw her sister again, just once in the distance, to nod to each other. Emmie chided herself for not finding out how long Nell had left inside or where she would go on release. Nell seemed content to bide her time here rather than be left to fend for herself on the streets. All Emmie knew was that her sister was better at surviving than most.

The day of her release came. Emmie was stripped of her hospital clothes and given back her own. Even in the short period of imprisonment, she had lost so much weight that her skirt hung loose about her hips. They gave her a piece of string to secure it round her waist. She was escorted along the labyrinth of prison corridors, doors unlocking before her, then clanging shut behind. She shuddered at the sound of keys rattling and scraping in the locks as she was marched towards the main gates.

‘There's someone here to collect you,' the warder said casually, as they crossed the final high-walled courtyard.

Emmie's heart leaped. ‘Who?' she asked.

‘Doctor someone,' the woman answered, unconcerned.

Emmie's weak legs began to shake. ‘Dr Jameson?'

But the woman was talking to the guard, who unbolted a low door cut into the massive iron gates. Then they were pushing Emmie through into the summer sunshine. She blinked, half blinded by dazzling light and the vivid green of a line of trees. The sudden colour made her dizzy. She groped at the wall to steady herself. The next moment, Flora Jameson was rushing towards her, arms outspread, and catching her in a tight embrace.

‘Dearest Emmie!' she cried.

Emmie clung on, too overcome to laugh or cry. ‘You're safe,' she croaked. ‘Thank God.'

‘Course I am,' Flora replied.

‘How did you know …?' Emmie said faintly.

‘MacRaes sent me after they got your letter,' Flora explained. ‘I've borrowed the Runcies' trap.'

‘Then they're all right too?' Emmie whispered in relief. ‘And Barny?'

Flora nodded and glanced around. ‘Let's not talk here. Come along, I'll tell you as we drive.'

She helped Emmie over to the horse and trap and pulled her into the seat beside her. As they jogged out of Durham City, Flora told her how the Settlement had been closed down and all their records seized after Osborne's allegations. A widowed Quaker landowner had offered refuge to the Runcies in a tied cottage.

‘That's where we're going now,' Flora said. ‘We thought it wasn't safe for you to return to Crawdene - not at the moment. This place is quite remote.'

‘B-but Barny?' Emmie stammered. ‘I must see him.'

Flora gave her a reassuring look. ‘Dear girl, of course you will see him. He's waiting at The Grove for you.'

Emmie's spirits soared. Tears of relief welled in her eyes. ‘Thank you,' she sobbed.

‘My poor child,' Flora said in sympathy, ‘you've been through such a lot. You look so thin and pale - and you've been ill with fever too. I don't suppose they gave you any of our letters?'

Emmie shook her head. ‘How did you know I'd been ill?'

‘Your note,' Flora said. ‘One of the warders scribbled on the bottom.'

Emmie caught her breath. ‘Oh, Nelly! That must have been Nell. She was in there with me - on the hospital ward.'

This time it was Flora who gasped in shock. Emmie told her all she knew of her sister. Flora was visibly upset by the sudden news.

‘Perhaps we could help her when she gets out?' Emmie suggested.

Flora gave a long sigh. ‘Perhaps. But, Emmie, I'm leaving the area.'

‘Leaving?' Emmie repeated.

‘I'm going to Wales to be near Charles. I hope to be able to visit him at the camp - he's allowed one visit every month. His morale is low, I can tell from his letters. I intend to stay there until he's released.'

‘But you'll come back when it's all over?' Emmie pleaded. ‘Open the Settlement again?'

Flora smiled wistfully. ‘We can but hope.'

After a pause, Emmie forced herself to ask, ‘And Rab? Did he come home?'

Flora looked ahead as she spoke. ‘Briefly.'

Emmie's heart twisted. ‘They've arrested him again?'

‘No,' Flora said, giving her a quick flash of a smile, ‘he's gone into hiding.'

Emmie's hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry of joy. Her vision blurred with tears. ‘That's grand,' she whispered. She waited for Flora to say more, but she did not. Perhaps she did not know where he was or did not want to put him in danger by telling even his closest friends.

They both fell silent as they drove upriver, leaving behind the most westerly pit villages and heading into wooded slopes on the fringes of Weardale. Emmie dozed to the rhythm of the carriage, unable to keep awake, even with the thought of seeing her son again so soon.

She was woken by Cobbles, the pony, slowing to a walking pace. They were passing through a set of rusty iron gates, half off their hinges. All around them was a canopy of high trees rustling in the June breeze, a cool green haven. Bluebells covered the ground on either side of the mossy track. Emmie's eyes smarted, her senses overwhelmed by the colours and smells of the woods. She gazed around in wonder. The trees thinned out on to open hillside, with a squat Georgian house sheltering beneath in the distance. It reminded her of the fell above Crawdene.