The Brightest of Dreams

by Susan Anne Mason

  “I understand, sir. Thank you.” Quinn put on his hat and continued out the door. It appeared these indenture contracts held far more weight than he had imagined. But he’d come too far to let anything sway his mission, legal implications or not.

  If his brothers decided to leave their employment and return to England, they would have to take their chances.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Your brothers are in Elmvale and Caledon?” Mrs. Chamberlain’s brow furrowed as she and Quinn walked out of church on Sunday morning. “How did you come by this information? Surely the director didn’t tell you this.”

  “Not at first.” Quinn stood to the side to let the other congregants pass. He was surprised how much he’d enjoyed the service. Somehow the atmosphere in the charming brick building reminded him of home. “The man came around after we’d talked for a while.” Quinn didn’t reveal that he’d also stolen a glance at the main ledger, fearing he might have broken some law. Best if no one knew that part.

  “Impressive,” Mrs. Chamberlain said. “You must have won his trust. But then, I understand there’s a new superintendent since Mr. Owen retired. Perhaps he is more forthcoming than his predecessor.”

  “It appears so.” Quinn breathed in the scent of budding roses that lined the church walkway and attempted to rein in his impatience. He needed to bring the conversation back to the point at hand. “I was hoping you might know where these towns are located.”

  Mrs. C. nodded. “Caledon is north of here. Over an hour by train. Elmvale is about double that distance, I believe.”

  “Oh.” His stomach knotted. He would have to inquire at the train station if it would require two separate trips. Not to mention there’d still be a voyage to Peterborough to find Becky. It was beginning to look like Quinn would be in Canada a lot longer than he’d anticipated. But before he left Toronto, he needed to look into Julia Holloway’s whereabouts.

  Jonathan and Emmaline joined him on the walkway, while Mrs. Chamberlain excused herself to speak with Rev. Burke. Emmaline looked as fetching as she had on the ship with her colorful outfits. Today she wore a bright blue suit with a matching feathered hat.

  She grinned and came forward to give him a hug. “Quinn. I’m so happy to see you. Jonathan told me you’d been by while I was out.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” He smiled. “How is the search for your father going?”

  “Very well.” She took him by the arm. “It turns out my father is a prominent member of society and is running for mayor.”

  “You’ve met him, then?”

  “Just once.” Her expression fell. “It didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

  Jonathan fell in step beside them. “Her father was more than shocked by her arrival and is taking some time to process Emma’s presence here. But I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  “I hope things go more smoothly next time you meet.” Quinn patted her arm.

  “How is your search going?” Emma lifted a hand to hold her hat in place as the breeze picked up.

  “I’m making a bit of headway, but it looks like I have three separate towns to visit now. However, before I leave Toronto, there’s something else I must do.” He paused as they neared the street and turned to Jonathan. “You mentioned a soldier friend you intended to look up while you’re here. Have you made contact with him?”

  “Not yet, but I plan to soon. Why?”

  Even though much of the church crowd had dispersed, Quinn lowered his voice. “I’m looking for a Canadian soldier who spent some time in a military hospital in England before being sent home to Toronto. Do you have any idea of the best way to find him?”

  Jonathan frowned. “You didn’t mention this chap on the ship.”

  Quinn shifted on the walkway. “I’m doing a favor for my employer back home. He’s trying to find his niece, who came with this fellow. His lordship asked me to be discreet as he’s unsure of the nature of their relationship.”

  “A wartime romance?” Emmaline’s brows rose.

  “Perhaps,” Quinn replied. “But I believe she initially came over as a caregiver. The man was in a wheelchair.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Emmaline’s features softened. “Sounds similar to Jon’s friend.”

  Jonathan nodded grimly. “Reggie lost a leg in battle. In his last letter, he said he’s been seeing a doctor at the military hospital here who’s helping him adjust.”

  Quinn brightened. “That might be the perfect place to start. Where is this hospital?”

  “I don’t know. But Mrs. C. might.”

  “Did I hear my name?” The woman walked over, the cheery-looking minister right on her heels.

  “You did.” Jonathan smiled. “First of all, Reverend Burke, this is Quinten Aspinall, a friend we met on the ship.”

  “Pleased to meet you, my boy.” He shook Quinn’s hand. “Always happy to talk to someone from back home.”

  “Thank you, sir. And may I say I enjoyed your sermon this morning.”

  “You may indeed.” The man gave a hearty laugh.

  “Mrs. C.,” Jonathan said, “do you know where the military hospital is? Quinn is looking for a soldier who may be there.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is he a friend?” Mrs. Chamberlain’s curls lifted in the warm breeze.

  “No. I’m actually checking on him for my employer back home. When Lord Brentwood found out I was coming here, he asked me to look up Private McIntyre if I landed anywhere near Toronto.” Quinn held his features in check while a bead of perspiration slid from under his cap.

  Mrs. Chamberlain turned to the minister. “Geoffrey, what’s the name of the doctor who’s working with the injured soldiers?”

  “Dr. Clayborne. He works at the military hospital on Christie Street. I’ve heard he’s doing wonders for the wounded. That would probably be the best place to start.”

  Quinn looked from Mrs. Chamberlain to the minister. “Thank you,” he said. “Until recently, I felt so alone on this journey. You have no idea how much I appreciate your support.”

  Rev. Burke clapped a meaty hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “We’re right here whenever you need us, lad.”

  Swallowing a lump in his throat, Quinn nodded. “I’ll let you know how I make out.”

  On her hands and knees, Julia moved the bucket of water across the floor of the hospital corridor. She wasn’t supposed to be working today, Monday being her usual day off, but the man who normally did the afternoon shift had called in sick, and they’d asked her to fill in. An extra shift meant a few more dollars toward the back rent she owed Mr. Ketchum. She only prayed another payment would be enough to keep the landlord from evicting her.

  She rinsed the scrub brush in the bucket, then began scouring the tiled floors. After an hour, her back groaned in protest. She had no recourse but to ignore it. There were many more hours to go before she’d finish all the floors on the lower level.

  A low murmur of voices caught her attention. Perhaps Dr. Clayborne was working today. The thought brought a smile to her lips. In her opinion, the man was a guardian angel. During the time Julia spent as Sam’s caregiver, Dr. Clayborne had been extremely solicitous, allowing her to observe their physical therapy sessions and giving her advice as to what she could do to benefit Sam’s recovery. But more importantly, the kind physician had helped her deal with the fallout from Sam’s tragic death, and it was because of Dr. Clayborne that she had this job at all.

  She moved around a corner and paused to sit back and catch her breath before starting the next corridor.

  The voices drifting out into the quiet hallway became more distinct.

  “Thank you for seeing me, doctor. I’m hoping you can help me locate someone.”

  Julia perked up, the lilt of the stranger’s distinct British accent beckoning to her like a beacon from home. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help glancing at the open door to Dr. Clayborne’s therapy room.

  As much as she wanted to hear the conversation, Julia knew she co
uld be fired if anyone caught her. She returned to scouring the floors with added vigor, hoping the physical exertion would help her forget her problems—and her homesickness—for a while.

  “The man’s name is Private Samuel McIntyre. He spent some time in hospital in England before returning home. I thought he might have come here for further treatment.”

  Julia’s hand slid on the soapy surface, and she all but fell face first onto the linoleum. Why would someone from England come all the way here to ask about Sam? Other than ending up in a British hospital during the war, Sam had no real ties to England. Yet the stranger’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, like a memory she couldn’t fully grasp.

  “Is he a relative?” Dr. Clayborne asked.

  “No. Just a fellow soldier. I’d like to learn what’s become of him since he’s returned.”

  A long pause ensued. Julia could picture Dr. Clayborne’s serious features studying the man before him, attempting to determine if he should divulge any information.

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss my patients.”

  “I realize that, and I hate to impose. Could you at least tell me how I might contact him?”

  Julia’s heart seized as a spasm of pain ripped through her. She wanted to jump up and run away before she overheard anything else. But her knees remained glued to the hard floor. Her wet hands clenched the folds of her dress, dark stains of moisture spreading across her skirt.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Dr. Clayborne answered tersely.

  “I can assure you I have no ill intent. I simply wish to speak to him.”

  “As I said, that’s not possible.” A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you that Private McIntyre is dead.”

  Julia crumpled over her knees. Visions of blood and death, ones she’d tried so hard to erase, rose up to swamp her.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” the stranger said. “I . . . I thought he was doing well, despite being confined to a wheelchair.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t his physical health that did him in.”

  Julia clapped a wet hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. She’d never heard such bitterness from the physician before.

  “Forgive me,” Dr. Clayborne said. “That was uncalled for, as well as unprofessional. However, it galls me when a man has so much to live for and, despite all the resources offered him, chooses to end his life.”

  “He killed himself?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Another pause ensued, then, “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes, fine. This has come as a shock is all.”

  “I apologize for blurting out such tragic news. Let me get you some water.”

  Julia pushed to her feet and tossed the brush into the water with a soapy splash. Who was this person looking for Sam? Was he really a fellow soldier who’d served in the war? There was something recognizable about his voice. Or was it only his accent?

  She had to find out.

  Moving closer to the doorway, she gingerly peered around the frame. A tall man leaned against the wall, running his fingers through his dark hair.

  Dr. Clayborne handed him a cup of water and then, upon spying Julia, stopped cold. “Miss Holloway? Is there something I can help you with?”

  “N-no, thank you, doctor. I was checking to see if the room was empty so I could clean in here.” Her heart pounded against her ribs. Surely, he would know she was fibbing by her flaming cheeks if nothing else.

  The stranger jerked away from the wall. His eyebrows rose as he looked her over from head to toe. A flicker of recognition passed over his features before he schooled them into a neutral expression.

  Julia stared back, curiosity overcoming her discomfort at his perusal. She took in his wide shoulders, the shock of dark hair across his brow, the piercing gray eyes heavily fringed with thick lashes. While no one characteristic stood out, he did seem familiar. Was he one of the soldiers she’d treated at the medical center back home?

  “Miss Holloway?” the man croaked out. “Julia Holloway?”

  “Th-that’s right. And who are you?”

  “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Quinten Aspinall.”

  She frowned. Where did she know that name from?

  “We met at Brentwood Manor.” He moved closer, the pallor of his skin making his gray eyes seem to glow.

  Her uncle’s estate. Had she been introduced to him at one of the balls her uncle had thrown in her honor? “I’m afraid I can’t place you, Mr. Aspinall. Are you a friend of my uncle?”

  The man’s chin dipped downward. “I’m your uncle’s valet.”

  The quiet dignity in his voice jarred her memory at last.

  The unobtrusive young man who tended to Uncle Howard’s every need. Julia had always thought of him as steadfast and unceasingly loyal. Not to mention very handsome—for a servant.

  “Of course. Mr. Aspinall.” Her manners kicked in and she gave a slight curtsy, as though greeting him in Brentwood’s grand entranceway. “How nice to see you again.”

  And how very odd to be addressing a servant so familiarly.

  As she straightened, she smoothed a hand down her skirt, and the wet fabric brought reality rushing back. The last time she’d seen this man she’d been a frivolous young girl, concerned only with what gown to wear to the next soirée, sought after by a flock of eligible bachelors in London. Now she was a penniless worker, scrubbing floors for a living, wearing rags for clothing. Mortification burned her neck and ears.

  Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

  Quinn did his best to keep the shock from his face. The scrubwoman before him bore almost no discernible resemblance to the vivacious girl he remembered. Gone were the extravagant gowns, flashy jewels, and elaborate hairstyles.

  As his gaze skimmed over the large water stains that marred her simple skirt and the bedraggled kerchief that contained her blond tresses, he wanted to weep at the image before him. But it was her hands that grieved him the most. Red and raw, her knuckles looked like a prizefighter just finishing twelve rounds in the ring.

  She must have caught his stare for she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

  A throat cleared, drawing Quinn’s attention back to the doctor. He’d nearly forgotten the man was there.

  “It appears you two have some catching up to do,” Dr. Clayborne said. “I’ll be in my office down the hall if you need anything, Miss Holloway.” He threw Quinn a rather pointed look that seemed to dare him to do anything to upset the girl.

  “Thank you, doctor.” Once the man had left, Julia lifted her chin in a manner reminiscent of her cultured upbringing. “Why are you looking for Sam?”

  Quinn drew himself up to his full height and focused on her eyes. Brown and luminous, they were the one thing about her that hadn’t changed. “The truth is, I was looking for him in order to find you.”

  Her chin trembled. “Why on earth would you . . . Oh.” Her features hardened, and her eyes went flat. “My uncle sent you, didn’t he?”

  “He did.” There was no point in denying it. She’d find out sooner or later anyway. He only hoped she would let him explain.

  “I can’t believe he made you come all this way. For what purpose?” Julia clutched the tattered neck of her blouse and took a step back, as though she expected him to snatch her away.

  This was not how Quinn had planned to approach her. He needed time to determine the right words to convince her to come back to England with him. “Would you allow me to buy you a cup of tea and attempt to explain the reason for my journey?”

  She bit her lip nervously, and her gaze darted toward the door. “I’m working right now. I don’t get off until ten o’clock.”

  “I could come back then and walk you home.”

  “No.” She clamped her mouth shut, then sucked in a breath. “I must ask you to please leave. You may tell my uncle that you’ve seen me and I’m fine. That’s all he needs to know. Good day, sir.” She rushed out of the room.

  Frowning, Quinn follow
ed her. “There’s much I need to speak to you about, Miss Holloway. Where are you staying?”

  “That is none of your concern.” She grabbed a scrub brush from a metal pail of grayish water. “Uncle Howard made it very clear that if I left with Sam, he no longer wanted anything to do with me.”

  “But—”

  “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Aspinall, I have a lot to accomplish before the end of my shift.”

  How could a scrubwoman manage to make him feel like he’d just insulted a member of the royal family? She stared at him, arms crossed, until he had no other choice but to leave.

  “Very well. I hope to see you again before I return to England.” He tipped his hat and reluctantly headed down the corridor.

  As Quinn climbed the stairs to the main floor, he set his jaw, his mind grappling to make sense of what he’d just learned. Private McIntyre, the man Julia had come abroad with, had taken his own life. How had this affected her? Had she been in love with the man? Even if she was merely his caregiver, she must have been devastated by his death. And why was she now scrubbing floors in the military hospital?

  Nothing about Miss Holloway’s situation sat right with him, and he wouldn’t rest until he determined what was really going on.

  Since she’d made it clear his interest was not welcome, the only way he could see to accomplish his goal was to follow her when she left tonight. If he knew where she was staying, he might feel better. And at least he’d know where to find her once he devised a plan to woo her back to England.

  Because one way or another, he would come up with a means to persuade her. He couldn’t risk losing the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of getting his own farm and being able to provide a home for his family at last.

  No matter what he had to do to accomplish it.

  CHAPTER 5

  By the end of her shift, Julia’s back ached and her knees throbbed. Thankfully Dr. Clayborne had left in a hurry for some medical emergency soon after Mr. Aspinall’s departure, so he hadn’t had the chance to question her about their relationship. Perhaps, if she were fortunate, the doctor would forget all about Quinten Aspinall.