All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Thirteen

“I got your text,” the woman was saying. “Now, what is this all about? Harry Listowel is no longer with us. You know that as well as I do.”

It was too late to stop her. His eyes snapped to Robbie’s face. She stared at him with blue eyes wide and frightened, stark against a milk white face.

“I am Harry’s sister. Where is he?”

Mrs. Cameron shot Robbie a look and then turned awkwardly to Deacon, lips pursed as though he was to blame for her mistake. “His sister? I was not aware he had a sister, and I’m not so sure I can believe it now. There is nothing between you in looks. Our Harry was the very devil for looks.”

Robbie didn’t respond but Deacon sensed she was building up to hurl a volley of questions that Mrs. Cameron was not going to appreciate.

“Robbie Listowel, this is Mrs. Cameron, our housekeeper in a way. She is employed by the Academy to manage the building,” he added, hoping she would catch the warning in his voice and calm down. “Robbie has come here from the U.S. to find Harry. Her family hasn’t heard from him for several weeks and they’re worried.”

“Well, I can tell you where he’s gone. Up the road to live with the other mucky-mucks. Harry shifted ages ago, yet it’s me who has the burden of minding his flat, keeping it tidy in the event his lordship returns from the dead.”

Robbie choked.

“It’s just an expression,” Deacon said hastily, then turned to Mrs. Cameron. “Robbie needs to get into Harry’s rooms to look around. She thinks he might have left a clue about where he’s gone. Is there any objection to you letting her in his flat?”

“There’s no rule against it that I know of.” The woman shrugged her ample shoulders. “I’m in there every other week to give it a good dusting and I haven’t seen anything like that lying about. But you are welcome to try if it means that much to you.”

Jimmy elbowed his way around the lady, carrying two steaming plates of food. “One full Scottish and one American plate. Enjoy. Move along, Mrs. Cameron. You make a better door than window. Come away with you and let the young people get on with it.”

“Fetch me when you’re ready to set off,” she said with a wave. “I’ll be over here, having a cup of tea.”

Deacon listened to Jimmy and Mrs. Cameron bicker about taking up a table on a busy morning for a single cup of tea and wished his problems were that simple.

Robbie tucked into her breakfast like she hadn’t eaten in a week. He wished he knew where his appetite had gone. A full Scottish was not going to go down easy with this knot in his stomach.

He tried to remember what was in Harry’s rooms before he was brought into the Order of the Blood Banner and moved to Dugald Croft. Listowel didn’t bring much with him as Deacon recalled. The bulk of his possessions were still in the flat.

Mrs. Cameron wouldn’t know what to look for, if she went in there at all and about that, Deacon had his doubts. Cleaning an empty flat when she could be down at the bingo was not Mrs. Cameron’s speed.

However, she was an employee like the rest of them, beholden to Locksley Hall for her wage. She wouldn’t jeopardize that by agreeing to let Harry’s sister search his room if she thought Robbie would find anything incriminating.

But then again, Mrs. Cameron wouldn’t know what was incriminating because she didn’t know a crime had taken place.

Deacon caught himself. There’s no crime here. Harry is being reprogrammed, that’s all. He can come back anytime he wants. He obviously doesn’t want to.

Then what about Robbie? What was he going to do with her? How was he going to convince her to give up and go home while she still had her face?

He set his fork down and exhaled. That was a dark thought. The original families of Fuil Bratach were bloodthirsty and vengeful when crossed. Torture, murder, kidnapping and confinement of those who threatened the Order had ensured its survival for hundreds of years.

Deacon lifted his gaze to Robbie’s pretty, pensive face. Alastair wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t hurt her. Send her home with a flea in her ear, that was the worst he would do.

“You said something before Mrs. Cameron came up to the table,” she began. “You said ‘I can’t do this for a whole weekend.’ What did you mean by that?”

This was it. This was his chance. If he was going to protect her from herself, he had to do what Alastair asked him to do and keep her near. Keep her near….

“I meant that I can’t be around you for a whole weekend without wanting to kiss you.”

Her gaze dropped to her plate. “Oh.”

“Sorry. It was tough last night, trying to sleep. Sorry. I hate it when guys make girls responsible for their, uh–never mind. Look, we better hurry up and eat before Mrs. Cameron gets tired of waiting.”

She forked a bite of tattie scone into her mouth and avoided his eye. Great. All he’d done was make her uncomfortable. He should have kept his mouth shut. Charm her , Alastair said, like that was a skill Deacon had. He was a clod, unused to girls. Alastair knew that about his nephew.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Robbie said quietly. “I can stay in Harry’s flat tonight. I don’t want to lose this .” She gestured to the breakfast or maybe it was the whole cafe vibe she didn’t want to lose.

“You won’t. I come here almost every morning.”

Her smile was wide and spontaneous. “That’s not what I meant. I can’t let myself get distracted. Finding Harry and bringing him home has to be my only concern.” Robbie twisted in her seat and reddened. “My mother–she’s not happy with only me. She doesn’t think I can do this. I can’t let her down, Deacon. I’m scared to death, but I have to find him.”

Deacon nodded as though his stomach wasn’t churning and his blood hadn’t frozen in his veins. He nodded as though it was fine with him either way.

Alastair would have to be told that his plan to keep her distracted was doomed to failure. And then the Chief of Fuil Bratach would understand that Robbie Listowel was a real and present danger.

Mrs. Cameron took forever to find the key on her ring and then paused to comment on the state of the foyer. “Whose boots would those be? And that bag of trash doesn’t belong in the front hall. I’m not paid to pick up after you lot.”

Deacon muttered something incomprehensible, then excused himself to go upstairs to his room for something he forgot. Robbie was left alone with Mrs. Cameron when they entered Harry’s flat.

The air was stale. Stuffy with dust. No sign of life.

The housekeeper switched on a light near the door and a dull yellow sconce flared to life. The room was furnished much like Deacon Wake’s with a sofa and armchairs from a few centuries ago. Leather and dark wood paneling. Bookcases that ran floor to ceiling.

Robbie scanned the room carefully, taking in the smallest detail. There was nothing personal in it. No photographs, magazines, newspapers or clothing. A tidy room that could belong to anyone. The only indication that there was a person living here once was in the tiny kitchen. A moss green pottery mug was on the counter as though set there and forgotten.

Robbie’s heart jumped when she saw it. “I gave him this. You said you dusted here regularly?”

“I don’t clean up after them. They’re responsible for doing their own washing up.”

She lifted the mug carefully. It was clean inside. Robbie opened the kitchen cupboards one at a time. Plates, cups, tea kettle, a saucepan and skillet.

“Does everything come with the room?”

“Each flat is fully equipped and furnished. Not that it comes cheap, mind. This flat is four hundred pounds per month. The savings is in having the hot plate to do his own cooking. If he took his meals in the dining hall, that’s a separate expense.”

“Harry didn’t have that kind of money. Our mother had money but she was against him coming here so she wouldn’t have paid for his lodging. Where did the money come from?”

“A credit check is done before the flat is let to any student or faculty member. Someone must have vouched for him, but it would have to be someone with clout to get past the housing board,” Mrs. Cameron added with a grunt. She crossed her arms around her middle. “As I said, Harry moved out soon after arrival. I was not informed though he ought to have given me notice. It took me by surprise when your friend, Deacon Wake, told me Harry had moved on. I thought the lad was happy here.”

“You said he moved to the place up the road? Is that Dugald Croft?”

“Aye. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news. Harry Listowel was such a bonny, unaffected lad, too down-to-earth to be one of those blue bloods. Stranger things, I suppose….”

“What do you mean? Harry wasn’t anything special.”

“Not to the likes of you and me, but to those of them who place a value on these things, he is a direct descendent of one of the original families who founded the United Kingdom and that sets him apart. Regular folk keep their heads down and stay out of their way for the most part. If your brother is mixed up with that lot, you’d best keep well out of it too.”