Capital Union, A (5 page)

Jeff left for a meeting in Glasgow early the next day and said I could phone him at the Scottish Home Rule Association if I needed him. He left the number on the phone table and I looked at his beautiful writing for a long time after he had gone. Each letter was so carefully formed.

After some porridge, I walked out onto the Blackford Hill to check my snare because it would have been wrong to leave an animal to suffer in it, but there was nothing. The little silver ‘O’ was like an empty promise and could hardly be seen against the grass. I felt sad as I walked back empty-handed. My feet skited on the gravel on the way down the path and when I reached the street, the concrete seemed to smother the land.

After lunch, to try and cheer up, I was polishing the brass on my front door, to be more like the bonny houses in Stirling, when the phone rang. I wiped my hands on my pinny and said, ‘Morningside 4125,’ like Jeff taught me, and he said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Agnes. It’s me.’

He sounded as if he had been running and said that
something
very bad was happening. I was to take the key to his desk from under the plant pot and burn all the letters in the first three pigeonholes on the left. I was to be quick because there was not a minute to lose, and he was going for the train at Queen Street now, and would be home as soon as possible.

My hands were shaking. I had only been in Jeff’s study once. It smelt of old books and dust motes danced against the window. The wastepaper basket was full and I thought I could run a duster round the place once I had dealt with Jeff’s letters. The bundles of envelopes rustled as I pulled them out. Some came loose and fell on the floor, so I stuffed what I could into my pinny and went through to the kitchen. The fire was almost out when I opened the range door, and the grit left in the coal scuttle seemed to smother the flames when I put it on. Smoke bit at the back of my nose and made my eyes water, but I poked the letters in and went out to the garden to find some twigs to get the blaze going. I couldn’t ask Mrs MacDougall for any coal as she was on her own, and not nearly as well off as she made out. I climbed over the mansion wall to pick kindling from under the trees. The grass was long and damp, and white moths flew up from the plants as I walked through them. The wild garlic smelt bitter as it crushed under my feet, and I had to watch for the nettles. I had forgotten what good soup they make, so I picked a few of the young tips. They don’t sting if you grip them just right, and then I added some dandelions. I was sitting astride the wall, trying to work out how to get down without dropping all my sticks and field greens, when a voice said, ‘Mrs McCaffrey?’

I looked up to see the English man from the rally yesterday. Before I could answer, the policeman with him said to watch I didn’t kiss him, in case I was a fairy in my green dress. My hair was full of leaves and bits of sticky willow, but the man in the suit didn’t laugh. He didn’t know he would disappear for seven years if I was one of the Gentle Folk. He was looking at my legs and just said, ‘Help her down off the wall, officer.’

Mrs MacDougall’s curtains twitched. I expect she heard him say that they were here on Crown business and had a
warrant
to search the flat. I told them Jeff wasn’t in and they said they knew that as they had been upstairs already.

‘I am not sure it is wise to leave your door open when you are out, Mrs McCaffrey,’ the man said, so I told him I always
left it open when I was out at the back green because maist folk were honest.

He held my arm very tightly on the way up the stairs, and when I said, ‘Get your hauns aff me,’ he laughed and said, ‘You’ll need to translate for me on this one, officer.’

Then I remembered I was an Edinburgh lady now. I stood up straight and said a real gentleman would introduce
himself
. He bowed and said he was Mr Grenville Ford, Assistant Director of Intelligence for His Majesty’s Government. I told him I didn’t care if he was King George himself, he had no right to enter my house uninvited and he showed me his
warrant
and declared I was mistaken on that point, he had every right.

There was a smell of smouldering paper as we went into the hall. I knew then that none of the letters had burnt. I
wondered
why Jeff wanted rid of them. Mr Ford guided me into the drawing room and asked me to take a seat. I didn’t want to because I was all maukit from climbing over the wall, but he said, ‘Sit down, Mrs McCaffrey,’ in a very stern voice, as if I was back in school and about to get the belt.

‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘That remains to be seen. I need to ask you some questions about your husband. Can you look at me when I am speaking to you?’

I was pulling the leaves out of my hair and when I looked at him, he sighed and opened his notebook. ‘Let’s start at the beginning to keep the record straight. What is your full name?’

‘Mrs Jeff McCaffrey,’ I said.

He stopped me with his hand. ‘Your first name,’ he said.

‘Agnes Margaret. My maiden name was Thorne and my husband sometimes calls me Pip. He makes a joke about…’

‘Address?’ he said, and it was then I felt like I was waking up in Jeff’s world and that I had been lost in a dream before, and nothing had been real. I didn’t like Mr Ford with his grey moustache and the lines on his forehead that pulled the skin onto his eyebrows, or his eyes that were as sharp and black as
a craw’s.

‘How long have you been married, Mrs McCaffrey?’ he asked. I told him it would soon be a year, and he glanced at my belly like Mrs MacDougall, and I put my hand across it. ‘Children?’ he asked, and I said, ‘No, not yet.’

‘Seems our man is neglecting more than one of his duties, eh, Mrs McCaffrey?’ And he looked at me as if he expected me to laugh.

‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’

‘I think you know,’ he answered.

I told him I had no idea and he said, ‘So why are you
burning
letters in your kitchen and not making bread, or whatever it is that a good Edinburgh housewife usually does?’

‘Because my husband asked me to.’

The wrinkled skin above his eyebrows shot up, but he just nodded and made a note in his book. The officer came into the drawing room and asked him where he wanted the papers to go. He had a box full of Jeff’s things. I jumped up and shouted, ‘You can’t take those,’ but Mr Ford told me to sit down in a sharp voice, as if I was a dog. I insisted I wouldn’t unless he told me what was going on.

‘There is a war going on, Mrs McCaffrey,’ and he added that Jeff had declared in a letter to
The Scotsman
that he would not accept conscription. ‘Your husband has set himself against the government at a time of national emergency, Mrs McCaffrey.’ It put him beyond the usual niceties and what did I know about that?

‘It’s not my fault if people take me to rallies, or use funny German words.’

He leant forward. ‘What kind of German words?’ But the only one I could remember was ‘
der Tag
’.

‘Can you remember who said that?’

‘I think Douglas said, “
Komm der Tag
”.’

‘So was that Douglas Grant, Mrs McCaffrey?’

‘Mr Grant, but you needn’t think anything bad about him.’

‘I am not thinking anything yet, Mrs McCaffrey, but can
you remember what he meant when he said, “
der Tag
”? It means, “Come the day”. You will be helping your husband if you cooperate with us. I wouldn’t like to have to ask him the same question down at the station.’

I said I thought maybe they were talking about Douglas’ appeal, or Hitler in Norway, or something. He nodded and wrote some more in his book, then lifted his head as if he was listening and I recognised Jeff’s feet on the stair, taking them two at a time. When he rushed in, I was so glad to see him I began to greet. He looked as if he wanted to hit Mr Ford. ‘How dare you come into my house and distress my wife!’ he shouted.

I was proud of him. He looked so brave. Mr Ford held out his hand and said he was sorry to spring this visit on him but in the present circumstances he was sure he would understand the reason for his call. He passed him the search warrant. The wind went right out of Jeff’s sails and he sat down and glared at Mr Ford, who seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes
sparkled
. He was sure Jeff would understand that since a certain German had dropped in outside Glasgow so unexpectedly last year, His Majesty’s Government had been understandably alarmed at the prospect that certain, and he paused before he said the word – Nationalists – might have been tempted to accord him a warm welcome.

Jeff went bright red and said no Scotsman would have
anything
to do with a Nazi like Hess, but Mr Ford only replied that some Scotsmen were finding it a problem having anything to do with Churchill, either.

‘Scottish Nationalism is not National Socialism, Mr Ford,’ Jeff said, as if he was talking to a tumshee-heid. It went very quiet. They glared at each other and I asked if I could go to the bathroom but Mr Ford snapped, ‘Just a minute, Mrs McCaffrey,’ and they kept staring at each other, although I was bursting.

‘The day your lot added a capital letter to the word “
nationalism
” it became my business, Mr McCaffrey – it threatened
the body politic,’ said Mr Ford. ‘Politics is semantics writ large.’ He paused. ‘Your wife tells me you are a close associate of Douglas Grant?’

Jeff looked at me and then nodded. Mr Ford straightened his cuffs. ‘I believe I noticed you, and your lovely wife, at the Bannockburn rally yesterday.’

‘Did you?’

‘Can I assume then that you are of the same mind as Mr Grant?’

‘Don’t pigeonhole me, Mr Ford. I have my own opinion on these matters and I certainly don’t like to be told what to do by Westminster. They aren’t forcing conscription on Northern Ireland.’

‘I am sorry you see it like that. It is a matter of some urgency that we garner sufficient forces to fight the Nazi menace and at the same time preclude an attack on another front. As you know, the Germans are in Norway on a northern offensive.’

‘No one will let them in here.’

‘Stable doors, Mr McCaffrey, stable doors. Who will hold them back if not you, or Mr Grant, or others like you?’

‘The SNP are forming a new resolution to clarify the
situation
,’ said Jeff.

‘I fear the time for resolutions, however worthy, is past, Mr McCaffrey. It is the time for action.’

‘If you would just let me finish? We are considering a
resolution
that would allow us to raise a Scots army under the auspices of the United Nations.’

‘And how will your pigeon-post resolution find its way past von Braun’s rockets? Scratch for feed in bombed-out cities? Wake up, Mr McCaffrey.’

Jeff looked like my father’s dog when he had a rat in his jaws. I asked to go to the toilet again because I couldn’t wait any longer. Mr Ford called the officer, who came with me along the corridor and waited outside the door. I was so embarrassed that I almost didn’t need to go any more. After I pulled the chain, I took a moment in front of the mirror to tie back my
hair. It was getting very long but Jeff didn’t like me to cut it. I was tired of all the men’s talk and worried that Mr Ford might be right about the Nazis. If Jeff didn’t want to fight, maybe he could go to work on the farm with my brothers, but he seemed set on being like Douglas. For a moment I wished he was Douglas, and not just running after him. I rubbed some carmine on my lips because they looked a bit pale and
wondered
what it would feel like if Douglas touched them.

The policeman gave me a smile when I came out of the
toilet
, as if he thought I looked nice, and he whispered, ‘Dinnae fash yersel’, hen, it will all pass,’ but I ignored him and walked straight into the drawing room.

‘I’d like to go out to the garden, Mr Ford,’ I said. ‘My
vegetables
won’t grow themselves and I need to water them.’

He nodded, and turned a page in his book. ‘Dig for victory, Mrs McCaffrey. That’s the spirit.’ He looked at Jeff, who stared straight ahead. A muscle was twitching in his cheek.

I wondered if I could sneak Jeff’s letters out and dig them into the earth, but the boxes had already been taken away. They were probably in Mr Ford’s car. The officer winked at me as I passed, as if he guessed my plan.

The garden was in shadow, and the birds were picking insects from the earth I’d hoed over, when Jeff came down to the back green. He put his arms round my waist and I leant against him, my hand still on the hoe. ‘You are a child of nature, Agnes,’ he said.

When I turned to face him, he was greetin’. I wiped away his tears, and he said, ‘Pip, Pip,’ and gave a watery smile. We stood there a long time, leaning together. He said Mr Ford was away now and the house would be quiet if I wanted to come up, but I knew the door to his study would be standing open, his papers gone and nothing would ever be the same again.

It was midnight before he came to bed that night. His typewriter rattled and the bell on the carriage rang again and again as it reached the end of the line. I could hear sheet after sheet being torn up. I worried about where he could get more
paper if he ran out. The moon had almost moved out of the top pane of glass in the bedroom when he came through. I hadn’t wanted to look at the blackout blinds, so I had left them up and a cool breeze was coming in at the top of the window. He was wearing the silk pyjamas Prof Schramml had left him when he went abroad, and he wiggled his eyebrows and said, ‘How do I look?’ But I wasn’t in the mood and turned over in bed. He said I wasn’t to be a soor ploom and that everything would be fine, but I didn’t see how it could be. ‘Don’t trouble yourself over it, Agnes. The Party will support me,’ but I told him I was tired of only getting half the story and that most women didn’t spend the evening sweeping up the ash from their husband’s half-burned letters. ‘I don’t want men I don’t know stamping round my house,’ I said, but he replied that the police were only doing their duty.