The Brightest of Dreams

by Susan Anne Mason

  The earl stared at him like he’d sprouted horns. “You might be proud, but I certainly am not.” He swiped a hand over his mouth. “At least she had the good sense not to come back here and bring further shame to this family.”

  Quinn’s gut clenched as though he’d received a physical blow. “Because she married someone from a different social class? Doesn’t having a respectable husband count in your world?”

  “You know the answer to that as well as I.” Lord Brentwood glared at him. “I don’t mean to be cruel, but you’re a mere servant, while Julia comes from a noble lineage. No one in our class would deem her marriage respectable. Not to mention the baby.”

  Though Quinn had been prepared for a less than enthusiastic response to their union, he’d counted on the man’s good opinion of him to temper his reaction. However, it had become obvious that his only value to the earl was as someone who could shine his shoes or pick out a suitable necktie for dinner. Quinn stiffened his spine. “I’m sorry you feel that way, my lord. I suppose it was foolish of me to think you’d be grateful that Julia is safe and that I’ve done everything I could to guarantee her well-being and protect her. If you’ll excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.” He turned and crossed the room but paused at the door. “Just to be clear, I am tendering my official resignation as your valet. I wish you and your family Godspeed.” He gave a slight bow and left the room.

  This time he did not return to the servants’ entrance. Instead, he walked boldly through the entry hall, past the surprised butler, and exited through the main front door.

  CHAPTER 30

  After his disastrous meeting with the earl, Quinn thought the day could get no worse.

  He was mistaken.

  At the Camberwell Infirmary, the head nurse did not seem inclined to let the four of them see their mother. Quinn had to use his most persuasive skills to finally convince her.

  “You should prepare yourself,” the woman warned. “She’s not long for this world.”

  “I’m sure once she sees her family,” he countered, “she’ll soon be on the road to recovery.”

  The woman only sniffed.

  Quinn returned to the area where Becky, Cecil, and Harry were waiting. “We can go in. But be warned. The nurse said Mum is not doing well.”

  “All the more reason she needs to see us.” Cecil rose and straightened his jacket.

  “Exactly what I told her. Now let’s go in. Quietly.”

  Becky kept a protective arm around Harry as they entered the dimly lit ward. Quinn nearly gagged at the dreadful odors of illness and unwashed bodies. Becky pulled out her handkerchief and held it over her nose.

  Never had he wished more fervently that he could have afforded a private hospital for their mother.

  The room contained twelve metal-framed beds, six on each side. Quinn headed to the far side of the room, near the rectangular windows, where Mum had been when he’d last seen her.

  Sure enough, she lay on the last cot. Her face looked gaunt, the hollows in her cheeks more pronounced. Her graying hair splayed out over her pillow.

  “Oh, Quinn.” Becky’s anguished whisper said it all.

  Harry rushed to the bedside. “Wake up, Mum. It’s me, Harry. We came all the way from Canada to see you.” He put his hand on the bedrail. “Becky and Cecil are here too.”

  Quinn stood back and allowed the others access to their mother. After all, they were the ones she needed to see.

  Her lids flickered, and slowly her eyes opened.

  “My baby.” Mum raised one of her hands toward Harry. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes, Mum. But I’m not a baby anymore. I’m twelve now.”

  Her frail fingers touched Harry’s cheek. A tear escaped, sliding onto the thin pillow.

  “I’m here too, Mum.” Cecil moved closer.

  “Cecil. Look at you. All grown up. You look just like your father.” She turned her head. “Rebecca, is that you? My goodness, you’re a real lady now.”

  “Hello, Mum.” Becky moved forward and grasped their mother’s hand. “I’m here for a visit, but I’ll be going back to Toronto soon to get married.”

  Their mother’s pale eyes widened. “Married? But you’re so young.”

  Quinn frowned. It seemed Mum had never received Becky’s letter. Either that or she’d forgotten her news.

  “I’m old enough to know a good man when I find one. A man as good as Daddy.” Becky kept her tone soothing, and for that Quinn gave her great credit. She’d held back any ill feeling or resentment she bore her mother, as though sensing what the woman needed to hear.

  Mum looked at each of her children. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t take care of you. I thought you’d be better off in the home. I had no idea they’d send you across the sea.” More tears brimmed in her eyes.

  “We know, Mum.” Becky smoothed the hair from her forehead. “It’s not your fault.”

  Quinn blessed his sister for saying that and hoped that she had truly come to believe it herself. As he had.

  At last, Mum’s gaze landed on Quinn, and her lips trembled. “You kept your promise, son. You brought them all back to me.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “I told you I would.”

  She gave a wan smile, then turned to Harry. “I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing. But first I need to rest awhile.”

  A patient in another bed began to cough. Suddenly Quinn became aware of how much space the four of them were occupying. Now that Mum had seen everyone, they could take turns visiting with her so as not to tax her strength. Her eyes had already drifted shut.

  “Come on, everyone. Let’s give Mum a chance to rest. We can come back later, maybe one or two at a time.”

  They all assembled back in the waiting area, a windowless room with two rows of plain wooden chairs.

  Becky dropped onto a seat with a sigh. “I’d like to talk to Mum alone when she wakes up, if nobody minds.”

  “I don’t mind.” Cecil slouched in a chair against the wall and pulled his cap over his eyes.

  “Fine with me.” Quinn chose a chair near the door. “Let’s give her an hour or so to rest before you go back.”

  Harry sat beside Becky, his head on her shoulder. It wasn’t long before he nodded off.

  After half an hour of sitting, Quinn’s muscles began to twitch, begging for movement. With nothing but torturous thoughts of the earl and Julia to scramble his brain, he needed some room to breathe before he went barking mad. He pushed to his feet and jammed on his hat. “I’m going for a walk. Tell Mum I’ll be back later.”

  Without waiting for a response, he exited the building.

  The first draw of fresh air, laden with the smell of salt and fish, filled him with new energy. Taking long strides, he headed back toward the boardinghouse. He had something he needed to do before he changed his mind.

  At the front desk, he paid the proprietor for some notepaper, ink, and a pen, then headed to their room. Though still rankled by Lord Brentwood’s harsh reaction, Quinn couldn’t leave things as they stood. After all, he was still the man who had taken a chance on Quinn as a footman, and he was still Julia’s uncle. In addition, Quinn owed the earl the money he had advanced him for the job he had just quit. Quinn wanted to make it clear he would repay him as soon as he found a new position. There were a few other things he wanted to say as well, and the best way to ensure he could say his piece without he or the earl losing their tempers was in a written note.

  Half an hour later, Quinn blew on the last page to dry the ink. He’d laid his heart out on the paper, explaining how in Canada his marriage to Julia would not be viewed as a disgrace, and that Quinn would always ensure Julia and the babe were well provided for. He thanked the man for all the years of employment and even dared to mention that his brother Cecil would make an excellent groom at the Brentwood stables if the earl needed any extra hands. Quinn included a small portion of the funds he had left as a show of good faith for repaying the loan. Below his signature, he
penned the address of the boardinghouse as well as the infirmary where he could be reached. Whether or not the man responded would be up to him, but at least Quinn had done what he could to make things right between them.

  Quinn sealed the envelope, put it in his pocket, and left the inn. He passed by the earl’s townhome, where he left the letter with Mr. Davis, and continued back to the infirmary. By the time he reached the waiting area, he felt much more settled.

  He’d done the best he could by his employer. The rest was in God’s hands.

  “Are you ready for this?” Geoffrey’s deep voice pulled Harriet from her surveillance of the road in front of her.

  The hill didn’t seem quite as daunting as it had the last time she’d been here. And the house itself could actually be called picturesque. Perhaps forty-five years had given her enough distance to view Hazelbrae with dispassion.

  “I’m ready.” She clutched her handbag tighter, looped her arm through Geoffrey’s, and began the steep climb to the residence.

  As they entered the intimidating front door, she did her best to quell the nerves rolling through her system. Unlike the last time she came here, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a survivor. A woman of substance who ran her own business. A person not to be trifled with.

  And with Geoffrey beside her, a steadying presence in his dark suit and clerical collar, there was no reason to assume the worst.

  “Good day, ma’am,” Geoffrey said when they reached the reception desk and he’d doffed his fedora.

  The stout woman looked at them. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Reverend Geoffrey Burke. And this is Harriet Chamberlain. We’d like to speak to whomever is in charge here.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. But we have traveled quite a distance for this meeting.”

  “May I ask what your visit is concerning?”

  Harriet stepped forward. “My sister and I came here many years ago as young girls. Unfortunately, my sister died here, and I have some questions I’d like answered.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open for a moment. She quickly recovered and rose. “Please wait here. I’ll find out if Mrs. Whitaker can see you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Several minutes later, the woman returned with a taller woman in her wake.

  The statuesque brunette stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Mrs. Whitaker, the directress here.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Reverend Burke, and this is Mrs. Chamberlain.” Geoffrey smiled at the woman.

  “What can I do for you?” She looked at them both warily.

  “May we speak in private?”

  “Of course. Follow me.” Mrs. Whitaker glanced at the receptionist. “Hold my calls for the next half hour, please.”

  Harriett’s stomach churned as they entered the directress’s office. As she scanned the room, memories flooded her senses. Coming here as a terrified child, awaiting placement. Being summoned here when Annie died.

  Once they had all taken seats, Harriett lifted her chin. “Mrs. Whitaker, I came here many years ago with my older sister as a Barnardo child. We were given different placements and subsequently separated.”

  The woman nodded.

  “I won’t bore you with the details of my life, but I will tell you my sister Annie suffered the pain and humiliation of an unwanted pregnancy at the hands of her employer, and with nowhere else to turn, she . . .” Harriet faltered, words failing her.

  Geoffrey laid his hand on her arm, his gaze on the directress. “In a moment of despair, Annie took her own life. She was only fifteen years old.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Whitaker’s brow furrowed.

  “At the time of her death,” Harriet continued, “I was overwrought, being only twelve years old myself. I never found the courage to return and find out where she’d been buried. I hoped you might be able to look up her records.”

  “I can try.” The woman pursed her lips. “What was your sister’s surname?”

  “MacPherson. Annie MacPherson. She died in 1875.”

  “While I’m not totally familiar with the history of this establishment, I do know that most of the girls who passed away while living at Hazelbrae were buried on a plot of land behind this building.”

  “Is there any way to find out for certain?”

  “I can check, but it might take some time.”

  “We don’t mind waiting,” Geoffrey said.

  Mrs. Whitaker inclined her head. “Suit yourselves. But I will ask you to wait in the outer room.”

  “Certainly.” Geoffrey rose and extended a hand to Harriet. “We’ll take a walk about the property and meet you back here later.”

  As they exited the main entrance, Harriet took her first deep breath since their arrival. She inhaled the fresh air infused with the floral scents from the surrounding gardens, and the tightness in her chest eased.

  “Shall we attempt to find the burial grounds?” Geoffrey asked. “Perhaps we might discover the grave ourselves.”

  Harriet doubted it, but she allowed him to take her by the arm.

  They strolled across the lawn to a rear gate that opened to a less manicured area beyond. Wordlessly, they walked amid the taller grass mixed with wildflowers. When they came to the edge of a wooded space, Harriet spied rows of tiny white crosses. She froze for a split second before surging forward. How could there be so many girls buried here?

  Her throat constricted as she spotted a larger carved cross. Slowly, she approached it until she could make out the words.

  In memory of all the precious souls lost here. May they rest in peace. Amen.

  Harriett’s vision blurred, and she bowed her head. If only someone had cared enough about Annie to provide her with protection, perhaps her sister wouldn’t have felt the need to take her own life. If only Harriet had been with her, maybe she could have made a difference.

  Tears dripped down Harriet’s cheeks. Somewhere in this field, her dear sister and unborn child were likely buried.

  “Oh, Annie,” she whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  A warm arm came around Harriet’s shoulder. She turned her face into Geoffrey’s comforting embrace. As if sensing that words were unnecessary, he merely rubbed her arm, his silence providing the solace she required.

  When she quieted, he passed her his handkerchief. She blew her nose and dabbed her damp cheeks.

  “It doesn’t look like there are any names inscribed on these markers,” he said. “I can’t imagine how they’ll be able to locate Annie’s remains.”

  “Maybe they have a map or some such reference in the office. They must have had to keep records. These can’t all be anonymous souls with no one to remember them.” Her voice trailed off at the thought.

  “You’re probably right. Shall we head back and see if Mrs. Whitaker is ready for us?”

  “You go ahead. I’d like a few minutes alone if you don’t mind.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  When he’d gone, Harriet walked the length of the property, taking in every cross, searching for even one that might bear some type of marking. But all the crosses were identical. Plain white, no words. Harriet returned to what appeared to be the midway point and bowed her head. These poor girls deserved someone to remember them, to pray for them. And if no one else would do it, she would.

  How long she stood there Harriet had no idea except that the heaviness in her lower legs told her it had been a while. When she raised her head at last, she saw Geoffrey and Mrs. Whitaker walking across the field toward her. The breeze blew the tall woman’s hair around her face, and she clutched a piece of paper in her hand.

  “Mrs. Whitaker,” Harriet said, “I didn’t mean to make you hike all this way.”

  “I don’t mind.” She held out the paper to Harriet. “I found a reference to your sister. It indicates she is buried in a grave marked number 32. Here’s a map of all the site numbers.”

&
nbsp; Harriet scanned the pencil sketch of the property with the rows of crosses numbered in order.

  “I believe each cross is marked on the back. If you find number 32, you’ll have your sister’s resting place.”

  Harriet looked up. “Thank you. It will be most comforting to know for certain which one belongs to Annie.”

  “Shall we look together?” Mrs. Whitaker’s kind smile made Harriet’s throat cinch.

  She nodded, and the three of them began to search each cross for a number.

  Very soon, Geoffrey called out, “I’ve found it. It’s this one over here.”

  “I’ll give you two some privacy,” Mrs. Whitaker said. “When you’re finished, come back to the house and I’ll have some tea waiting.”

  “Thank you. Oh, and Mrs. Whitaker, do you know if anything would prohibit me from adding a marker to Annie’s grave? Perhaps a small plaque with her name and dates?”

  “I’m not sure of the policy, but I’ll check the handbook and hopefully have an answer by the time you return.”

  Harriet nodded, then turned back to the plain cross.

  The very least Annie deserved was to have her name visible so anyone visiting here would know she was so much more than just cross number 32.

  CHAPTER 31

  SEPTEMBER 1, 1919

  Quinn stood at the bottom of the ship’s gangplank, waiting as Becky said her good-byes to Cecil and Harry. A light mist hung in the air, threatening a harder rain to come. Quinn leaned his boot on a nearby crate and smiled at Harry’s exuberant hugs. Today, Becky was leaving to return to Canada. Harry had tried to coax her to stay longer, but with her wedding tentatively scheduled for the end of the month, she felt she had stayed long enough.

  It had been four weeks since they left Toronto, including twelve days of travel time and almost three weeks of visiting Mum each day at the infirmary. Quinn supposed Becky had stayed much longer than she’d originally intended, and he was grateful for the extra time because, just as Quinn had hoped, their mother’s health had shown a marked improvement after seeing her children again. The doctor had called it nothing short of a miracle to see her rally the way she had. In fact, he said if she continued to improve, she might be released within the next week or two.