The Brightest of Dreams Read online

  The man glanced over his pince-nez glasses and gave Quinn a stony stare. “Your cheerfulness will get you nowhere, Mr. Aspinall. My answer will be the same today as it has been the last three times you’ve been here.”

  “Four,” Quinn said quietly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been here four times. This makes my fifth.”

  Mr. Churly snorted. “Then you’re five times a fool, for my answer has not changed. I am unable to divulge the whereabouts of your siblings. That information is confidential.”

  From the corner of his eye, Quinn became aware of movement. He glanced over to see a young woman emerge through a curtain from a back room. She came forward carrying an armful of books and set them on the counter, sparing Quinn a sympathetic glance. He recognized her from his previous trips to the office.

  “Never mind gawking, Miss Holmes. Get back to your station.” The clerk’s harsh tone made the girl wince.

  “Yes, sir.” She gave a slight lift of her shoulders, as though apologizing to Quinn, before ducking back into the recesses of the building.

  Quinn held back a sigh. Unlike the boorish Mr. Churly, Miss Holmes exuded sympathy. Quinn sensed an underlying desire to help him. If only he could speak with her alone, he was certain he could persuade her to give him the information he so desperately needed. Unfortunately, it appeared Mr. Churly never took a break from his duties.

  “Please, sir.” Quinn took out the worn photograph he carried with him, one depicting all his siblings together, and laid it on the counter. Perhaps the sweet faces of Becky, Cecil, and Harry would sway the man. “I’ve traveled a very long way to find my family. It would mean the world to me—and to my very ill mother back home—to learn where my siblings are and how they’re faring. Won’t you help me?” Quinn was not above begging at this point.

  As the clerk begrudgingly glanced at the photo, his hand stilled on the ledger. Then he cleared his throat, placed the pen in the inkpot, and released a loud breath. “It’s not that I don’t empathize with your plight, Mr. Aspinall. But from what I understand, the children who are sent here through Dr. Barnardo’s organization—the ones who aren’t orphans, that is—have been relinquished by their parents. The families no longer have any rights to them. You certainly cannot interfere with your siblings’ placements. They will be subject to binding contracts, and as such, their employers won’t take kindly to anyone trying to contact them or perhaps attempting to lure them back home.”

  “I understand, sir.” Emboldened by this divulging of at least some bare facts about the children’s plight, Quinn leaned forward to look the man in the eye. “I only want to ensure they are healthy and happy so I can report back to my mother.”

  May God forgive me for this fib.

  When Quinn had learned his siblings had been shipped off to Canada without his mother’s consent, he’d vowed to do everything in his power to get Cecil, Becky, and Harry back where they belonged.

  Maybe then his mum would have a reason to live.

  The man gave him a long look, this time not in anger or annoyance but in sympathy. Hope fluttered to life in Quinn’s chest. His lips curved upward in anticipation of the man’s capitulation at last.

  But then the clerk shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I could lose my job if I gave out that type of information.” He lowered his voice. “Your best bet would be to try the Fairview receiving home on the outskirts of the city. Some of the orphans are processed through there. Otherwise, I’d suggest traveling to Toronto. I understand Dr. Barnardo’s has several receiving homes in that area. Perhaps you’ll have more luck there. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” He rose from his stool, gave a stiff nod, and disappeared through the curtain behind him.

  The same stab of disappointment pierced Quinn’s chest. He still had no concrete idea where his younger siblings had been sent. Yet maybe he’d received one tidbit of information he could use. All he had to do was figure out the location of the Fairview home.

  He pocketed the photo, shoved his cap back on his head, and turned for the door. A brisk wind blasted his cheeks the moment he stepped outside. Though it was almost June, the proximity to the ocean kept the temperature at springlike levels. Quinn huddled inside his overcoat and pulled the collar up around his ears, scanning the buildings across the street. Perhaps he could find a taxicab. Surely the driver would know the whereabouts of the residence.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Aspinall?” A tentative voice came from the alley between the Inspection Office and the next building.

  Quinn turned to see the young woman from inside. She moved into the light, not fully coming onto the walkway. Wordlessly, she held out a piece of paper, her eyes imploring him.

  He walked closer, effectively blocking her from sight, and accepted the paper.

  “I have to get back before I’m missed,” she said. “But this might help with your search.” She turned to go, but Quinn reached out a gentle hand to stop her.

  “Wait. How . . . ?”

  “There were only three children with the name Aspinall. It wasn’t hard to find.” She pulled her shawl closer around her.

  “Thank you, miss. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “I think I do.” Her eyes filled with moisture. “My younger sister went missing during the explosion a year and a half ago. I searched for two days, fearing she’d been killed, until a kind woman helped me find her in one of the emergency medical centers. I can only imagine what you’re going through, being so far from home.” She gave a wobbly smile. “Godspeed on the rest of your journey. I hope you find them safe and in good health.”

  “Thank you again.” He squeezed her hand before she disappeared down the alley.

  As he watched her retreating back, Quinn prayed the girl wouldn’t get in any trouble for helping him. With unsteady fingers, he opened the folded paper. The scrawled handwriting read: Rebecca Aspinall, Hazelbrae, Peterborough. Cecil and Harrison Aspinall, Dr. Barnardo’s Homes, Toronto.

  He lifted his head to stare blindly down the street. Where on earth was Peterborough? Toronto, he knew, was a large city. He’d learned as much from his friends on the ship who were headed there. Quinn refolded the paper. He would find out where Peterborough was in relation to Toronto, and if it made sense to go there first, he would. If not, Toronto would be his next destination. Too bad he hadn’t learned this yesterday. He could have joined Emmaline and Jonathan on the train this morning.

  But no matter. God’s timing was always perfect. Quinn had to believe that. He shoved the slip of paper into his pocket and headed toward the train station.

  “Yer rent’s two weeks overdue. If you want to stay, I need payment in full today.”

  Julia Holloway’s foot stalled on the first stair that led up to her room on the third floor. She’d hoped to sneak by without her landlord hearing her, but he must have been waiting for her to arrive home.

  She turned to find the man, clad in a filthy undershirt that didn’t quite cover his belly, staring at her from the open doorway to his apartment. The sharp smell of sauerkraut and onions, mixed with ripe body odor, was enough to make Julia gag.

  “Are you going to give it to me now, or do I have to follow you up to your room?” Mr. Ketchum adjusted one brown suspender over his shoulder.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Julia swallowed back her fear as she rummaged in her bag for the last few dollars she had left. Funds she’d set aside to buy groceries. But eating would have to wait. She clutched the bills in a ball and held it out to the landlord.

  “Count it out proper-like,” he instructed, making no move to take the offering.

  Slowly she smoothed out the wad and counted it for him, bill by bill. “Four dollars.” She held her breath as she waited for him to take the money.

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s not the full amount.”

  “I . . . I know, but I get paid tomorrow. I’ll get the rest to you then. I promise.” She hated the quaver in her voice but was powerless to
stop it. Her part-time janitorial job didn’t pay much, and if she got evicted from this hovel, she didn’t know where she’d go. There wasn’t anywhere better she could afford, not on her limited income.

  Leering, Mr. Ketchum scanned her figure from the kerchief tied around her hair, past her plain dress, to the unflattering boots on her feet. “I can think of another way to pay me.” He took a step toward her.

  Julia used every ounce of willpower not to flee. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, sir, I’m not that type of girl.” She held out the money, willing her hand not to shake.

  Finally, he grunted and snatched the bills from her. She pushed her fingers into the pocket of her apron, discreetly wiping away the grime of his touch.

  “I want the rest by tomorrow, or you’ll find your things out in the alley.” He spat a brown stream of tobacco onto the floor by her boot, then turned and lumbered back into his flat.

  Julia did not waste a second. She flew up the three flights of stairs and down the hall to the room at the farthest end. With shaking fingers, she unlocked the door, let herself inside, and shut it, sliding the lock into place. She leaned her forehead against the wood, waiting until her heart rate slowed. Only then did she take a full breath and turn around.

  A gasp strangled in her throat. The blankets from her bed lay in a twisted heap on the floor. Her pillow had been ripped open, feathers spewing everywhere. The drawers in her small dresser had all been pulled open, her clothing rumpled and tossed.

  How dare he! Heat flooded her cheeks at the thought of Mr. Ketchum rifling through her undergarments. If he’d been searching for cash, he hadn’t found a thing. She kept her money on her person at all times for this very reason.

  She crossed the tiny space to retrieve the blankets and straighten the bedding, doing what she could to sweep up the feathers. Despite the horrid living conditions, she did her best to keep the room clean and tidy. It helped that she didn’t have many possessions. Her one satchel with a few changes of clothing was all she’d brought when she left England. Her fingers sought the gold chain around her neck, the one memento she’d kept from her former life. Inside the filigree locket was her only photo of her departed parents. Nothing in her life had been the same since their untimely deaths.

  Had she known that fleeing to Canada would only result in more tragedy, she never would have left Brentwood Manor and the protection of her uncle. How had her shiny dreams for the future turned into such a nightmare?

  She ran the chain through her fingers, then resolutely tucked it back beneath the bodice of her plain cotton dress. In this neighborhood, it wasn’t wise to display anything worth stealing.

  Julia walked over to the window, rubbed more of the dirt away so she could see the street below, then wiped her palm on her apron. Would she ever feel clean again? She yearned to soak in a hot tub filled with scented water, a luxury from home she often dreamt about. The best she could manage here was a quick wash with cold water from the ewer on her nightstand. Even if she managed to find the shared lavatory free, she could never relax in the tub, not with the many unscrupulous types in the building.

  Oh, Sam, why did you leave me? Why couldn’t you accept the help that was offered you?

  She bit her lip, fighting the sting of tears. This kind of thinking would get her nowhere. It wouldn’t help her toward her goal of saving enough money to escape this ghastly existence. And it wouldn’t help her find her purpose in life. After what had happened to Sam, Julia was more determined than ever to do something worthwhile. To be of service to those who suffered. Her thoughts turned to the injured soldiers she’d assisted during the war, a ministry that had brought her such fulfillment. Too bad her uncle could never understand that.

  Julia pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting a roll of nausea and homesickness. If only she could go back to Brentwood and see her aunt and her dear cousin Amelia again. But that simply wasn’t possible. Uncle Howard had made it clear that if she chose to leave with Sam, he would cut her off from his money and his protection. His ultimatum had only fueled her stubborn pride and made her more determined to go.

  Now, in the aftermath of the bridges she’d burned, Julia had never felt more alone. Whatever her future held in store for her, she would have to discover it on her own.

  CHAPTER 2

  Quinn stood outside the iron gate that guarded the walkway to a rather quaint-looking house. Tall and narrow, with a turret on one side and wraparound porch in front, the character of the building was eminently suited to a boardinghouse. Another of his shipmates, Grace Abernathy, had recommended this establishment, saying that her sister had found it charming and the proprietress who ran it very kind. Now if only Mrs. Chamberlain had a vacancy, he might finally have a place to settle for a while.

  How long that might be, Quinn had no idea. Uncertainty was the constant of this voyage; he never knew what to expect around the next corner. The train trip to Toronto had been uneventful in itself, giving him a long time to reflect on the next steps required to find his siblings, as well as how best to go about tracking down the elusive Julia Holloway.

  Lord, you’ve helped me get this far. I have to trust you to guide me from here.

  A man came around the corner of the house, wielding a bushel basket and a rake. With his cap slung low over his forehead, the man’s face wasn’t visible, yet something about him seemed familiar. When he lifted his head and spotted Quinn, the man dropped the basket and grinned.

  “Quinn, old chap. You’re here.” Jonathan Rowe rushed over to open the gate, then came out to clap him on the shoulder. “I thought you were staying in Halifax awhile longer.”

  “So did I. But I finally got some information on the children’s possible whereabouts.”

  Children. Perhaps that wasn’t the correct term to use anymore. Becky had to be nearing eighteen, Cecil sixteen, and Harry twelve, but they would always be children to Quinn. He swallowed, recalling the last time he’d seen them on the day he left to move into the earl’s household. The sight of their precious faces pressed against his side. The sound of their cries. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how scared they had been years later, shoved aboard a steamship on their way to a foreign land. Alone. Surrounded by strangers.

  Quinn forced away the anger that seethed just below the surface every time he thought about it. Jonathan didn’t deserve his irritability, nor his unpleasant mood. He summoned a wide smile. “It’s good to see you again, Jon. I trust you and Emmaline have found accommodations here. I only hope there’s room for one more.” Quinn managed what he hoped to be a lighthearted tone to his voice.

  But Jonathan didn’t smile in return. Instead, a look of regret crept over his features. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Mrs. Chamberlain doesn’t take male lodgers.” He nodded his head toward the side yard where he’d first appeared. “I’m staying in a cot over the garage, but only because she needed a temporary groundskeeper.”

  “Oh.” Quinn’s optimism faded faster than the rays of the sun behind a cloud. “I don’t suppose she could recommend another place to stay?”

  “There’s a YMCA on College Street. That would’ve been my next destination if Mrs. C. hadn’t offered me this position.”

  “How far is College Street?” A bone-deep weariness settled over Quinn. He felt like he’d been traveling forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper night’s sleep or a hot meal.

  “I’m not sure. Come up to the porch, and I’ll see if Mrs. C. is around. You look like you could use a glass of lemonade.” Jonathan opened the gate wider to allow Quinn onto the property.

  “That would be appreciated. Thank you.” He followed his friend to the homey wraparound porch.

  Jonathan gestured to the wicker chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Quinn had only been sitting for a couple of minutes when the front door opened and a plump woman bustled out, followed by Jonathan, who carried a tray of drinks.

  “Hello there. I’m Harriet Chamberlain
, and you must be Mr. Aspinall. Jonathan and Emmaline have spoken most highly about you.”

  Quinn jumped to his feet. “Yes, ma’am. But please call me Quinten.”

  Her pale eyes sparkled. “That’s a fine English name. I had a cousin with the same name back home.”

  “You’re from England?” He should have known by her faint accent.

  “Yes. I came to Canada as a young girl many moons ago.” A shadow passed over her features, but then she smiled again. “Emmaline’s not here right now. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

  Jonathan handed Quinn a glass, and the three took a seat.

  “I understand you don’t accept male tenants,” Quinn said after a long drink that drained half the glass.

  “I’m afraid not. But the YMCA has reasonable rates. It’s a very respectable establishment. You should do fine there.”

  “Thank you. I’ll just need directions to find it. This is indeed a large city.”

  “And growing by the day.” Mrs. Chamberlain chuckled. “How long will you be staying in Toronto?”

  “It all depends on what I find out about my siblings.” Quinn frowned, his gaze scanning the tree-lined street in front of them. “I need to locate one of Dr. Barnardo’s Homes. The one on Peter Street.” He’d long since memorized the information on that scrap of paper.

  Mrs. Chamberlain went white, and lines popped up on her forehead. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in some time.”

  “You know the place?”

  “Oh, indeed.” Her mouth was a grim line, which quelled Quinn’s faint stirring of hope. “It’s where most of the young lads are sent when they get off the ship.”

  A shiver of foreboding traveled down Quinn’s spine. “Why does it sound like that’s a bad thing?”

  She glanced over at him. “The house itself isn’t bad. The boys are treated well there. It’s where they go afterward that’s the problem.”

  “How so?” Quinn set his empty glass on the wicker table at his side.