Page 41 of The Midnight Secret

‘Money always talks,’ he murmured, winking at her and making her stomach somersault.

She watched as he walked away, marching briskly through the revolving doors, heads turning at his handsome profile, his jaw set with a determined jut. No one could possiblyimagine, she thought – watching them watching him – the purpose of his quest. They probably thought he was going to buy a pack of cigarettes. How difficult was it to buy a new car, twenty minutes after arriving in a new country?

She slid her thumb over the folded slip of paper. It had been torn from the notepad but it felt silky against her skin, a stolen whisper on a warm night. She could see the Canadian Pacific insignia through the back of the paper, feel the impressions made by the pen as the name had been written down.

She opened it up and stared at it:Joseph Landon.

Joseph Landon. Joseph Landon, she repeated to herself. It was a name she had never heard until an hour ago, but now her entire future – her entire life – depended upon it. This man had no idea of the importance he had suddenly assumed in their lives. There was no one more vital to their happiness than him. Who even was he? Where was he? What was he doing right now? She closed the scrap of paper again as reverently as if it were a prayer book and slipped it back into her coat pocket.

She had a name, and soon James would have a car. They would be on their way, with everything they needed for the next step of this pursuit.

At last, at very long last, their luck was changing.

Chapter Eleven

James returned with a car within the hour. It was a Ford Model A, painted deep maroon with black hubs and creamwheels. He had paid almost double what it was worth new – $1,000 was more than the average annual salary, and the owner had handed over the keys almost without question. Cash in hand didn’t require an explanation. James had also bought a map and some pretzels in a brown paper bag, and they started out on the road less than ninety minutes after they’d docked.

Although it supposedly had a top speed of 65 mph, the car struggled to nudge past forty, and they drove for four hours before reaching the outskirts of Quebec City. It was large – far larger than Flora had expected, with tall factory chimneys in the distance speaking to heavy industry and rapid industrialization.

She looked on, mute and overawed that they were finally here. This was it. After a month at sea, they had arrived in the city that was Mary and Lorna’s last known destination. They passed through historical city gates, along narrow streets and wide boulevards, roads chaotic with so many cars and trams that made Glasgow look like a provincial village in comparison. Flora sat straighter and pointed at an extravagant green-roofed building on top of the hill.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

James peered up at it and smiled, but he looked tired. ‘Château Frontenac. Our bed for the night.’

She already knew it would be wonderful. Sumptuous. He had done – was doing – so much for her, getting them over here against all the odds, tackling every obstacle that sprang up in their path.

Her eyes fell again to his reddened knuckles, and she wondered how Digby Tucker was explaining his black eye to his wife. If James hadn’t come back for his scarf...

‘You’re so pale, darling,’ she murmured, reaching an arm across and stroking his hair.

He nuzzled her back. This morning’s disturbance had shaken them both, even if it had led to a breakthrough of sorts. ‘So are you.’

‘I’m fine...I feel the best I’ve felt in months.’ She refused to believe they were too late. She would not consider that this might be where the trail went cold, where their hopes might die. No one could go through all this, only for it to be for nothing – surely?

She looked out of the window, scanning for the tall cranes, railway tracks and grain silos that would announce the docks. Billboards flashed past, bearing slogans she couldn’t understand. What if this Joseph Landon only spoke French?

‘Do you speak French?’ she asked him.

‘Un petit peu,’ he replied, but then, seeing she didn’t understand, added, ‘A little...Enough. Don’t worry, I know how to make myself understood.’

The immigration hall was located on the Princess Louise quay, where all the Canadian Pacific Empress liners docked. The building was three storeys high and faced with barred windows,but beyond its sturdy walls there was only a flimsy chain-link fence as a barrier between this side, Canadian territory, and the other side by the water, where the passengers and immigrants disembarked.

James parked and Flora jumped out to get a better look. She had glimpsed the black hulk of a docked ship, and she gasped as she saw gilded letters across the hull:Empress of Scotland.

‘That’s it!’ she breathed, taking in the sight as if it was magical. It had brought their child over here safely. ‘James, they were on this very ship.’

James nodded, but his gaze was fastened upon the railway track that lay on the other side of the fence, between the ship and the immigration building. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

They headed for the main door, where a sign hung saying ‘Welcome Home to Canada’. They stepped into a main hall, tall-ceilinged, bright – and deserted. Wooden benches ran the length of the room, some of them askew; there was a letterbox, a glass-windowed telegram cubicle, and a reception desk. ‘No Smoking’ was painted in large red letters on the wall; there was a sign for a foreign money exchange...

James’s shoes sounded on the strip floors as they walked through. ‘Hello?’ he called, his voice ringing off into the distance. ‘...Anybody here?’

They moved into the next room. It was smaller, with numerous partitions for dividing the crowds that would pass through here in the summer months – men; women and children; Canadian nationals; British subjects; American citizens; foreign nationals. A row of cubicles was set into a wall, tubular structures like cages positioned in front of the cubicle windows as if to keep the immigrants set back. Glossyplaques were mounted above the windows: Intercolonial Railway; Grand Trunk Railway; Canadian National Railway; Canadian Pacific Railway. A door leading out. Passengers could literally disembark, be processed through Immigration and step onto a train – one of many lines – that would take them anywhere in Canada. They wouldn’t even need to step foot in the city. The ease of dispersion in this vast country concerned her.

Behind them a door slammed, footsteps crossing the floor in the other room.

‘Hello?’ James broke into a sprint, disappearing through the doorway as Flora hurried after him. She stepped through moments later to find him in conversation with a man who looked more than a little startled.

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