The Forgotten Home Child

by Genevieve Graham

  “It’s not what you think, Mistress,” David said, his voice solid.

  “How dare you talk back—”

  “It’s about your sister.”

  “What about her?”

  “Tell her, Winny.”

  Winny didn’t know where to start. Just looking at Mistress Adams had her trembling, and she worried at a hangnail, drawing blood. “My friend Mary works for your sister. She’s her Home Girl.”

  A wave of disgust crossed Mistress Adams’s face. “Yes, I know about her. She’s got herself into some trouble, hasn’t she? What has this got to do with Doreen?”

  From her expression, her mistress obviously considered Mary to be a whore too. Of course she would. She’d have heard the whole story from her sister already. How could Winny convince her?

  “Spit it out, girl. I don’t have all day.”

  Mary’s face appeared in her mind, and Winny suddenly knew the only way she could help her was to speak the truth. “It wasn’t a Home Boy that got her pregnant,” she said. “She wasn’t whoring around. It was Master Renfrew. He did it.”

  Winny squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a blow, but none came. When she looked again, her mistress was staring at her. Her face was very pale.

  “I will insist that you not say anything about this incident to anyone else.”

  What did that mean? Who would she tell? Besides, from what David had said, telling anyone wouldn’t make any difference. Master Renfrew would get away with it anyway.

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Winny replied.

  Without another word, Mistress Adams turned and walked back outside, into the blustery dusk. It wasn’t until later that evening that Winny realized her mistress hadn’t disagreed with what she had said.

  The next morning, as Winny was doing her chores, she heard the truck start up, and she peered out of the barn in time to see Mistress Adams driving away. David stood outside the door, leaning on a shovel and watching the truck.

  “Where’s she off to?” she asked.

  “The Renfrews’,” he said, offering Winny a hopeful smile. “Maybe she listened to you.”

  seventeen JACK

  Is there anything else I can get for you boys? More tea?” Mrs. Cogan asked.

  While her husband was upstairs concentrating on Quinn, she had set a table in the living room with a delicate tea service, cheese, and biscuits despite the late hour. The room was plain but comforting, its simple rose wallpaper complemented by two green velvet armchairs, a small sofa, and three little tables. The heat from the fireplace felt like an embrace.

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” Jack said, though he was certain the three of them could eat twice what they’d already had. “But thank you for everything. We’ve not eaten this well in ages.”

  “Actually,” Cecil said, glancing sideways at Jack, “I’d love another cup of tea, maybe another biscuit?”

  “Surely,” Mrs. Cogan replied sweetly. “I’ll just get us a little more. We haven’t a lot these days, but what we have, we’re happy to share.”

  As she disappeared into the kitchen, the boys looked wordlessly at each other. It had been so long since anyone had helped them that this moment almost felt like an illusion.

  “Does this belong to anyone, or do we have a stowaway?” Dr. Cogan asked, emerging from the stairway. A small grey bundle peeked out from inside his hands. “She seemed quite comfortable in among the blankets.”

  Cecil stood and held out his hands. “Oh, she’s Quinn’s. Her name’s Cat.”

  “A good name, that.”

  The doctor set Cat in his arms, but she immediately leapt free and began investigating the warm room, her pink nose touching every surface with interest. Cecil offered the doctor his chair and went to stand by the fire, then they all waited in silence until Mrs. Cogan returned with a fresh tray. Once she had sat down herself, everyone’s attention went to the doctor.

  “I should say up front that I cannot make any promises for your friend’s recovery. He has a bad infection and is in grave condition,” he said solemnly. “You must understand that. I’ve given him something for the pain, and I have cleaned the wounds. I’ll do all I can, but I must admit I am not feeling optimistic.”

  Jack had known Quinn was in bad shape, but it still hurt to hear it. He didn’t need to look at the brothers to know they were feeling the same way. Silently, he cursed Warren and his daughters, then he cursed himself for not having done something to stop the beating.

  “Let’s hear about you,” Dr. Cogan said, his voice a low, easy rumble. “Where are you lads from? How long have you been here?”

  “London,” Jack said. “London, England, I mean. We came this past June.”

  “We both grew up outside London,” Mrs. Cogan said. “We moved here many years back. It’s nice to hear a familiar accent.”

  “It’s nice to have proper tea again,” Cecil said, leaning in for another biscuit.

  Dr. Cogan smiled kindly, then he tilted his head toward Jack. “From what I have heard, your indenture is until the age of eighteen, correct? And how old are you?”

  “Seventeen, sir, and so is Edward.” He held out a hand. “Cecil is Edward’s brother. He’s the runt, you might say.”

  “I’m sixteen,” Cecil explained wryly.

  “Quinn’s sixteen as well,” Edward put in.

  “So you’ve a year or so to work off the payments owed to you.”

  Mrs. Cogan put her hand on her husband’s arm. “You can’t think to send them back to that awful man.”

  “Not at all. But these things must be done properly. I shall contact Barnardo’s this week and inform them of what happened. They, I assume, will want to speak with Mr. Warren. And after what I’ve seen, I imagine the authorities will be called in.” He paused. “Do you have an education?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said eagerly. “In England. We can read and write and all, and we’ve been trained for all kinds of trades. Metalwork, carpentry, the like. Warren was supposed to send us to school out here, but he never did.”

  “You’re smart lads. I can tell,” Mrs. Cogan said. “And what do you plan to do when you are done with your indenture?”

  “I must find my sister. After that, I’ve no idea.”

  Edward gave a small shrug. “I don’t suppose it matters much what we do. We just want to make an honest living, and maybe not have to look over our shoulders all the time. A bloke does get tired of that after a while.”

  “I can imagine he would.” Dr. Cogan tapped his chin. “I know of a few men who would be happy to employ a couple of strapping young lads such as yourselves. I do have some influence in this town that I should be glad to finally use, though if you’re inclined to work around this place, we’d pay you for that. Whatever you decide, I shall make sure it’s done right with Barnardo’s, then you’ll have nothing to fear.”

  “In the meantime, you’re welcome to live here,” Mrs. Cogan said. “We’ve a couple of spare bedrooms since our children moved out long ago. Your friend Quinn is in one of them now.”

  “We’re happy to sleep in the barn, ma’am,” Jack said.

  “Nonsense. Whatever for, when there’s room inside?”

  The boys exchanged a glance. “We assumed, us being who we are, you’d rather us sleep out there is all,” Edward said.

  Mrs. Cogan frowned, confused. “Who you are?”

  “Home Children,” Jack quietly reminded her.

  There was an awkward pause while Mrs. Cogan waited for further explanation, but they didn’t offer one.

  “The barn is for animals,” she said reasonably, “and it’s far too cold for you lads out there. No, no. You’ll sleep in comfort while you’re here.”

  Jack dropped his chin to his chest, dangerously close to tears, and Cecil and Edward did the same. After a moment he looked up again, his heart shining in his eyes. “We can’t thank you enough for taking us in. You don’t know what this means to us.” His voice cracked. “You really don’t.”

  �
�We’re only sorry you’ve been through this,” Mrs. Cogan said. “Such a shame. The government had no right to interfere in your lives.”

  “To be honest, ma’am, I don’t think it were done out of malice,” Edward said. “The truth is, what they say about us was mostly true back in England. London’s so crowded there’s no room to breathe, and we was dirty, ragged waifs living off what we could steal. Somebody had to figure out what to do with us. As much as we hated it, the orphanage and Barnardo’s fed us and took care of us, but they ran out of room. By sending us over here we reckon they thought they was doing the right thing for everyone. London gets cleaned up, the farmers here get help, and we get to live a better life.”

  “It’s just that they forgot about us once we got here,” Jack said. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it. There were too many of us to keep watch over.”

  Dr. Cogan clicked his tongue. “The papers say there are thousands of children like you being sent out here.”

  “I don’t reckon everyone ended up like we did,” Edward said. “We were supposed to have a good life out here.”

  Cecil snorted. “Maybe some did, but we didn’t.”

  “Have you seen any other Home Children?” Jack asked, always hoping for news.

  “No, dear,” Mrs. Cogan replied, getting to her feet and reaching for the dishes. “You’re the first.”

  Jack nodded, his heart sinking. He was starting to lose hope that he would ever find the girls.

  “You boys must be tired,” she said. “Let me show you your room, and we can talk more in the morning.”

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Jack paused outside Quinn’s door. He couldn’t stand the thought of their friend waking up to an empty room, thinking he’d been forgotten.

  “I’ll come in a little while,” he told the others. “I think I’ll sit with Quinn for a bit.”

  He opened the door and Cat slid in ahead of him, leaping onto the bed and curling up by Quinn’s shoulder. The air in the room was still and heavy with the smell of sickness, and a terrible sadness washed over Jack. Just days ago, they’d been working side by side on the barn, Quinn smiling placidly as he hammered in boards. Now he lay on his stomach, his shredded back exposed, his shallow breaths filling the room. Since coming to the Cogans’ home, it seemed the boys finally stood a chance of having a better life, and he couldn’t bear to think that Quinn might not be around to share that with them.

  He pulled a chair toward the bed. “Hey, Quinn. Cat told me you might want a little company. Exciting day today, huh? You ever been on a sled before?” His smile slipped. “I wish you could wake up and see where we are. These are some real nice folks, and I know you’d like Mrs. Cogan’s biscuits. Best things I ever tasted. I was lucky to get any, though. I thought Cecil might eat every one of them before I got a chance.”

  Jack didn’t expect a response, but it felt better to speak out loud. The silence was too much. He stood, then he walked to the window and peered out at the white world beyond. What a big, big world. Where would they go from here?

  “Jack.”

  He turned. Quinn blinked slowly up at him.

  “Hey, Quinn,” he said gently, resuming his seat. “You’re safe here.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Can you believe we found you a doctor? We’re in his house, and you, mate, are lying on an actual bed. No more wooden shelf for you. Cat’s right here.”

  Quinn’s cheek lifted slightly in a smile.

  “She wouldn’t leave you.”

  “Take care of her, Jack. When I’m gone.”

  He was surprised. He hadn’t thought Quinn understood what was happening to him, but maybe he did.

  “I will, if she’ll let me.” Cat had never shown any interest in being with any of the other boys. “She don’t like us much.”

  Quinn’s eyes closed, and Jack wondered if he’d gone back to sleep, but a moment later he was staring at Jack again. “I’m scared, Jack.”

  Jack’s throat jammed with emotion. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m right here. And the doctor will help you.”

  A tear rolled across the bridge of Quinn’s nose. “You were my first mates,” he said. “My only mates.”

  “You’re a good friend, Quinn. A good man.”

  “Good man.” He sighed. “I hope you find Mary and Winny.”

  There was no stopping Jack’s tears now. Quinn had never met the girls, but now Jack knew he’d listened in the dark to his stories. “I hope so too.”

  He heard a thump from the room next to Quinn’s, and Jack imagined the brothers getting into bed, lying beneath warm quilts. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, stretching his legs in front to be more comfortable. Wasn’t it ironic how Warren’s cruelty had chased them here, to this peaceful place? His farm had been the worst place in the world… and yet Jack would go back without so much as a whimper if only Quinn could get better.

  He jerked awake a little while later when he almost fell off his chair.

  “Don’t fall,” Quinn said. His voice was thinner than before. “Go to bed, Jack.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Quinn’s deep brown gaze held fast, though his lids looked impossibly heavy. “Thank you, Jack. For being my friend.”

  He closed his eyes, and Jack held his breath as Quinn’s back rose and fell for the final time. His face softened, and the gentle curl of his lip returned now that the pain was gone.

  No, Jack thought. He stared at Quinn, wondering how many times a heart could break before it finally stopped beating. No, Quinn, he thought. Thank you.

  As Jack wiped away his tears, his mind returned to Warren, and he felt a shift within his chest. It was a tightening, a hardening of sorts, as if his heart had sealed itself back together. Warren had killed Quinn, the sweetest, most innocent boy Jack had ever known. Someday, Warren would pay for what he had done. Jack would see to that.

  * * *

  The Cogans were kind and understanding, and they gave the boys space to grieve in their own way. They promised that as soon as the ground was soft enough they would bury Quinn in the churchyard where they went each Sunday. In the meantime, Dr. Cogan wrote to Barnardo’s and told them not only about the boys’ abuse and subsequent escape, but also about Quinn’s death. In the letter, he stressed that Warren must never be told where the boys were now living. Then they waited for a response. Jack could only imagine how furious Warren must be, and the thought made him smile.

  Despite the tragedy, the Cogans were pleased to have the boys in their home, and they made sure they were warm and fed. In return, the boys made themselves useful, working hard around the house and yard, fixing things that had fallen into disrepair, adding to the woodpile, taking care of the animals in the barn. Cecil fell naturally into the farm work, and the other two let him take charge.

  Edward had other interests. Over supper one night, he mentioned to Dr. Cogan that he was interested in learning more about medicine. Dr. Cogan patted his mouth with his napkin and smiled.

  “Is that right? Come along with me on my rounds tomorrow, if you’d like. See if it is something that appeals. The world can always use a man of science.”

  Later Edward told the boys what it had been like for him to accompany the doctor as he identified and treated people’s complaints. “He just seems to know,” he said, obviously impressed. “They would tell him what ailed them, and he’d ask questions, and from their answers he’d know just what to do most of the time. It was like doing puzzles, except he was helping people.”

  “You gonna do more of it?” his brother asked.

  Edward’s eyes danced. “I think so. I really enjoyed it.”

  Pleased to have an eager pupil, Dr. Cogan provided Edward with thick, heavy books which he read well into the night. Jack peered over his shoulder a couple of times, curious about some drawings he’d seen on the pages, but after Edward described what th
ey depicted, he kept his gaze elsewhere. Some things weren’t meant to be seen. Not by him, anyway.

  Two weeks passed before they heard back from Barnardo’s. The letter said they were sending a man out to speak with the boys and Farmer Warren separately, to get both sides of the story. The night before the inspector was due to arrive, the boys stayed up late, arguing about what to say to him. All of them wanted justice, and not only for Quinn. But it was complicated.

  Just thinking about what that man had done made Jack want to hit something. “He should hang,” he said quietly.

  “I agree,” Edward said. “But Dr. Cogan says we mustn’t call it murder.”

  “But it was!” Cecil cried.

  “It would be Warren’s word against ours,” Edward said. “And you remember what that policeman said to Jack about Warren. About what a model citizen he was.”

  Edward was right, and they all knew it. No one would side with Home Boys. As much as Jack wanted revenge for Quinn, that would have to wait. If Warren was declared innocent, there was a good chance the boys would be sent right back to where it had all happened. No, they needed to get out of Warren’s clutches, and that meant giving the inspector the bare facts, telling him how they’d been starved and beaten and treated worse than dogs. The specific details about Quinn’s death would have to remain vague.

  Barnardo’s designated inspector for the area was Mr. Brown, the man from the train station so many months before. Today he wore a jacket and tie under his overcoat. Jack liked that. It showed a certain amount of respect for their situation.

  Dr. Cogan brought the inspector into the living room and they all took a seat. Mr. Brown pulled out a small notebook and a pencil.

  “The boys have been ever so helpful since they’ve come here,” Mrs. Cogan said, setting down a tray of tea. “We’re just too old to run this place on our own.”

  Mr. Brown nodded. “I’m glad they’ve made themselves of use. We at Barnardo’s are very proud of our boys.” He turned to Jack and the brothers. “Now I understand you’d like to lodge a complaint against your master, Mr. Warren. Would you tell me the details from your standpoint?”