A Scots Quair (99 page)

He nodded, not looking at her. And colour came back into Ellen's cheeks—oh, he was going to understand! She leaned
forward and told him all that she planned: he would get away from ridiculous jobs, Mr Quaritch had promised to find him another. They could save up like anything and get married in a year or so, have a dinky little flat somewhere in Craigneuks. Even that car down there at the inn—it had been hired with her money, hadn't it? Well, they'd soon get one of their own, you couldn't have any fun without money. And it needn't mean they must give up social work completely, there was the Labour Party—

He stood up then, dark and slim, still a boy, and brushed her off carefully, and the snow from his knees:
Go to them
then in your comfortable car—your Labour Party and your
comfortable flat. But what are you doing out here with me? I can
get a prostitute anywhere
.

She sat still, bloodless, could only whisper:
Ewan!

He stood looking at her coolly, not angered, called her a filthy name, consideringly, the name a keelie gives to a leering whore; and turned and walked down the hill from her sight.

The extremists were getting out of hand again said the
Daily
Runner
in a column and a half; and Duncairn was the centre of their sinister activities. There had been several strange and unexplained phenomena in the blowing up of the new wing of Gowans and Gloag's: and though no definite charge might be laid at any door hadn't there been similar occurrences abroad inspired by the Asiatic party of terrorism? And what had followed within a few months of the explosion?—a soldier of the North Highlanders arrested and court- martialled for circulating seditious literature in the barrack- rooms—an ex-employee of Gowans and Gloag's. He had been dealt with with the severity appropriate to his case, but behind the muddled notions of Private Watson what forces were aiming at the forcible overthrow of Society and suborning the loyalty of our troops? It was true the soldiers had no sooner become aware of the contents of the leaflets than, with admirable promptitude, they had seized the culprit and marched him off to the guard-room. The tales of
the barrack-room riots in his defence might be discounted as malicious gossip….

And here the sub-editor who wrote the leaders stopped and scratched his head in some doubt and stared at the Spring rain pelting Duncairn and streaming from the gutters of the grey granite roofs. He wondered a moment what had really happened when the furniture was smashed in two barrack- rooms and five rounds issued to the
NCO'S
? Better cut out that bit and keep bloody vague. Something about the absolute and unswerving loyalty of our Army and Navy throughout the hundreds of years of their history? What about Parker and the Mutiny at the Nore? Or, closer in memory, the Navy at Invergordon? Or the Highlanders in France? … Better miss it all out. Some blah about the bloody hunger-march now—

… In civil affairs the same state of things, culminating in the organizing of this hunger march down through Scotland and England to London. Hunger—there was none anywhere in Duncairn. For their own ends extremists were deluding the unemployed into the privations of a march that would profit them nothing, a march already disowned by official Labour—

Bailie Brown said Ay, B'God that was right, the Labour Party would have nothing to do with it: if the unemployed would wait another three years and put the Labour Party back in power, their troubles would all be solved for them. But of course it was no class party, Labour: wasn't it Labour had instituted the Means Test? It stood for a sound and strong government, justice for all, peace and progress, sound economy and defence of our rights…. And hurrying to the police court at ten o'clock he sentenced two keelies to two months a-piece, for obstructing the police near the Labour Exchange, and to show the low brutes what Reform would be like—

 The Reverend MacShilluck said straight from the pulpit we could see the mind of Moscow again, deluding our unemployed
brothers, ahhhhhhhhhhhh, why didn't the Government take a stern stand and put down these activities of the anti-Christ? The unemployed were fully provided for and the Kirk was here to guide and to counsel. Straitened means and times were the test-gauge of God….

And he wondered what Pootsy would have for lunch; and finished the service and got into the car and drove home, the streets shining white in the rain. And he let himself into the Manse, rubbing his hands, and called for the woman to come take his coat. But he heard no reply, the place sounded empty; and he couldn't find her ben in the kitchen or yet upstairs or yet in the sitting-room. In the dining-room he came on his desk smashed open and gaping, the Kirk fund gone, and where had the silver gone from the sideboard? But there in the middle of the desk was a note:
I've cleared off at
last and taken my wages—with a little bit extra as a kind of a tip
for sticking your dirty habits so long. Just try and prosecute and
I'll show you up so you can't show your face anywhere in
Duncairn—

In Paldy Parish and the Gallowgate, in Kirrieben, Eccles- griegs and Lower Footforthie, folk stood and debated with a bit of a laugh this hunger march that the Reds were planning. And those that had jobs said
Christ, look out, they're just
leading you off to get broken heads, they don't care a damn for
themselves or any other, the Communionists, the sods aren't
canny
. And those that hadn't jobs said
Maybe ay, maybe
no. Who got the
pac
rates raised if it wasn't the Reds, tell us
that?

Not that you were a Red, Christ, no, you had more sense, and you wouldn't be found in this daft-like March, you hadn't the boots for it for one thing. And the wife said
Mind,
Jim … or Sam … or Rob … you're not being taken in by this
coarse March of the Reds, are you now?
And you said to her
Away to hell. Think I've gone gyte?
; and took a stroll out, all the Gallowgate dripping and drookèd, most folk indoors but chaps here and there nipping in and out of the wynds and courts, what mucking palaver was on with them now?

Then, afore you could do a sneak back and miss him, there was Big Jim Trease bearing down upon you, crying your name, he'd been looking for you as one of the most active and sure of the chaps. The March wouldn't be a march unless you were in it to stiffen the backbone of the younger lads. And you said To hell, you hadn't any boots; and he said that they'd be provided all right and wrote your name down in a little book, and you saw Will's there and Geordie's and Ian's and even old Malcolm's—Christ, you could go if they were going; and it was true what Big Jim said, you wanted a pickle of the older men to put some guts in the younger sods—

And in and out through the courts and wynds and about the pubs all through that last week were Trease and that mad young devil Εwan Tavendale, prigging with folk and taking down names and raising the wind to buy chaps boots. The bobbies kept trailing after them, the sergeant called Feet and a couple of constables, who the hell were they to interfere? They'd never let up on young Tavendale since he'd shown up the explosion at Gowans and Gloag's as the work of the Government testing out gas to see its effect in a crowded shed. So you guarded him and Trease in a bit of a bouroch, a bodyguard, like, wherever they went, young Tavendale whistling and joking about it, a clever young Bee—and Christ, how he could fight! They said he was a devil with the queans as well, though you hadn't heard that he'd bairned one yet.

Trease said the last afternoon to Ewan that he'd better get home and put in a bit sleep, he'd want it afore setting out the morn to tackle the chave of the march down south, the windy five hundred miles to London. Lucky young devil that he was to be going, Trease wished it was him that was leading the March, but the ec had given its instructions for Ewan and intended keeping him down there in London as a new organizer—right in the thick….
And for God's sake take care
on the line of march to keep the sods from straying or stealing or
raising up trouble through lying with queans, they'd find the Labour locals en route were forced to give them shelter and help, never heed that, never heed that, rub it well in through all the speeches that the workers had no hope but the Communist Party.

Ewan said with a laugh that Jim needn't worry, rape Labour's pouches, but not its wenches, he'd got that all fixed;
well, so long, comrade. You'll lead us out with the band
tomorrow?
And Trease said he would, and then
So long,
Ewan
, and they shook hands, liking each other well, nothing to each other, soldiers who met a moment at night under the walls of a town yet unstormed.

The workmen from Murray's Mart had come up and bade in the house all the afternoon tirring the rooms of their furniture. Chris had made the two men each a cup of tea, they'd sat in the kitchen and drank it, fell grateful:
You'll be
moving to a smaller house, then, mistress?
Chris said Yes, and leaving Duncairn, and the older man gave his bit head a shake when he heard the place she was moving to. He doubted she'd be gey lonely, like. He was all for the toun himself, he was.

Now, in the early fall of the evening, Chris went from room to room of the house, locking the doors and seeing the windows were snibbed up against the beat of the wind. The floors sent up a hollow echo to her tread, in Miss Murgatroyd's room a hanky lay in a corner, mislaid, she'd be missing it the morn and maybe sending for it. She'd said Eh me, she was Such Sorry that the place was breaking up, but maybe for the best, maybe for the best, she'd be Awful Comfortable in her new place she was sure. And would Mrs Ogilvie take this as a Small Bit Present? And this for young Mr Ewan, if he'd have it?—two Awful Nice books about the ancient Scots, such powerful they were in magic, Mr Ewan had once read the books and So Liked them.

Chris closed that door and went ben the corridor, to Archie Clearmont's, and peeped in a minute; he'd flushed, standing in that doorway, trunk behind him:
I say, I'm damnably sorry
to leave. Given you a lot of trouble, often. I say—and flushed again, looking at her. And Chris had known and smiled, known what he wanted, and kissed him, and watched him go striding away, and thought, kind,
Nice boy
; and forgotten him.

Nothing in here, nor in Mr Quaritch's, except the pale patches along the walls where his books had rested, still the fug of his pipe. He'd said
You were never meant for this,
anyhow. Mind if I ask: Is your husband coming back?
Chris had shaken her head and said No, they had separated, Ake was settling in Saskatchewan. And Neil had fidgeted and then proposed, she could get a divorce, he had some money saved, get a decent house and he wouldn't much bother her. When she shook her head he gave a sigh:
Well, luck go with
you if you're not for me
.

Mr Piddle hadn't bidden good-bye at all, he'd brought a cab and loaded in his goods, and gone cycling off in the rear of it, head down, neck out, without a
He-he!
And, queer, that had hurt Chris a bit she found—that the funny thing couldn't have said good-bye. The cracked pane in his window was winking in the light from the lamps new-lit outside as she looked round his room; then closed it and locked it. That was the lot. Oh no, there was one.

So she climbed up the stairs and stood in that, the room above her own, next to Ewan's, half-dark and quite empty but for its shadows. It had had no lodger a three months now, Ellen Johns herself had never come back from that week-end she'd gone away with Ewan: Ewan himself had come back mud-splashed as though he'd been walking the roads like a tink. And then next day a messenger had come with a little note, asking Mrs Ogilvie if she'd pack Ellen's things, Ellen was too busy to come herself and here was a week's pay in place of notice. And she hoped Mrs Ogilvie would be awfully happy….

Chris had ceased wondering on that long ago; but now, going down to the kitchen where Ewan sat and the fire was whooming and the supper near ready, she minded it as in an ancient dream. As she closed the door Ewan looked up, he'd
been deep for hours in papers and lists, marking off items of marching equipment, addresses, routes, notes for speeches: Chris had looked over his shoulder earlier and seen the stuff and left him a-be. But now, with that distant stare upon her, she asked if he'd ever seen Ellen since then?

He said
Seen whom?
and looked blank, and then shook his head.
Not a glimpse. Why?

Chris said Oh nothing, she'd just wondered about her; and Ewan nodded, forgetting them both, finishing his lists while she laid the supper, the house unquiet without furnishing, filled with rustlings and little draughts. Then she called Ewan to supper and they ate in silence, night without close down on Duncairn.

He said suddenly and queerly
The Last Supper, Chris. Will
you manage all right where you're going?

She said that he need have no fear of that, she was going to what she wanted, the same as he was going. And they smiled at each other, both resolute and cool, and Chris cleared the table and re-stoked the fire and they sat either side and watched the fire-lowe and heard the spleiter of the wet on the panes. And Ewan sat with his jaw in his hand, the briskness dropped from him, the hard young keelie with the iron jaw softening a moment to a moment's memory:
Do you mind
Segget Manse and the lawn in Spring?

Chris said that she minded, and smiled upon him, in pity, seeing a moment how it shook him, she herself beyond Such quavers ever again. But his thoughts had gone back to other things in Segget: that day that Robert had died in the kirk—did Chris mind the creed he'd bade men seek out, a creed as clear and sharp as a knife? He'd never thought till this minute that that was what he himself had found—in a way, he supposed, Robert wouldn't have acknowledged, a sentimentalist and a softie, though a decent sort, Robert.