All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

S o much had changed since she put Harry’s body in a casket and loaded it on a plane bound for New York in what was the most surreal moment of her life.

She was living at Dugald Croft for one thing.

That wasn’t planned. Robbie had every intention of flying home with Harry’s body until Sarah made it clear she neither expected nor needed her daughter to come home. She was too angry to deal with her right now. Too resentful to listen to her daughter’s anxieties, phobias, drama and grief. Robbie was better off staying where she was until Sarah was in a better place mentally and emotionally to cope with her.

That had stung. Robbie dealt with it by unpacking the suitcase and canceling her flight. Staying in Edinburgh was not what she wanted, especially since she’d lost Deacon as her one and only friend. Casey Manderville made one or two attempts to fill the void but Robbie had the impression he was being bullied into it by his father.

She didn’t know why Alastair Manderville would care until Penelope said he was carrying a torch for her mother. He still had feelings for Sarah Listowel who was Sarah Stewart when he knew her.

It was possible. Robbie had read of people who were like that–Jay Gatsby with Daisy, for example. She’d never met one in real life before. Alastair tried to be personable with her, but it didn’t ring true. He stared at her like he was hoping she’d turn into her mother and when she didn’t, he became bored with her and couldn’t wait to be free of her company.

Penelope and Millicent assured her the Black meant well, but he was a hard man to warm up to. It was those two who suggested she start auditing classes at Locksley Hall Academy.

“If you have to be stuck here,” said Millicent, “you might as well get something out of it.”

“You don’t have to be a student to audit a class. It is considered self-exploration and a very noble pursuit,” Penelope added. “We’ll get you signed up. What subjects are you interested in?”

Robbie resisted at first, thinking she wouldn’t be able to handle attending classes, but once she was looking through the Academy’s programs, she began to get excited at the prospect of learning something new.

And it was a great way to kill time before going home for Christmas, she reasoned. Sarah didn’t mean to exile her permanently. When she got home, she would be so much improved, her mother wouldn’t even recognize her.

In the end, Robbie did it for Harry. To honor the wishes he had for her, and she was so glad she did.

The classes were amazing. The lecture hall theater was an academic dream. Chalkboards and seats that were constructed of wood, polished smooth from centuries of backsides warming them.

Students who were studious, serious about learning, arriving early, leaving late, bent over books and academic papers in the library–which was another Locksley Hall revelation.

She didn’t expect to love it so much, that was her problem. She didn’t expect to feel so comfortable and that she never wanted to leave. After a year of confinement and horror, her life was finally falling into place.

Then Mrs. Cameron knocked on her door and told her she had to move out.

“I’m sorry, Miss Listowel, but you’ll have to vacate this room by the end of the week. It has been let to a full-time student who has come to Locksley Hall on a scholarship. I’m sure if you had informed me of your plan to stay behind, alternate arrangements could have been made. As it is, there is nothing I can do.”

It seemed to Robbie that the house manager was frostier with her than she’d been before and she wondered what she had done to offend her.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“I have no idea where you’re supposed to live now. I was under the impression that you’d be going home with your poor brother. I expect you could ask for Deacon’s help if you are still on speaking terms. I don’t imagine that he would be after the treatment he received.”

So that was the reason for the frostiness. “Deacon treated me very badly, Mrs. Cameron. I bet he didn’t tell you what he did to me when he ran off to complain.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me. He wouldn’t. He’s not the sort to complain about anyone, no matter how badly they treat him. I heard about your behavior from the publican who was sorry to have to eject Deacon when it was as plain as day that Casey Manderville was behind the scuffle. He said it was your tongue-lashing that provoked the fight. They managed to rub along alright until you came along. Setting one lad against the other. Shameful, and not what I expected of you, Robbie Listowel.”

Robbie had not bothered to argue with the woman or try to defend herself. What she had said to Deacon was how she felt, though she took no pleasure from it.

It didn’t matter now. She was sitting in a late afternoon class, in one of the finest private colleges in the world, listening to a brilliant speaker deconstruct Chaucer. Snow was falling outside, the theater was lit with soothing overhead lights, and she had never felt so at home in her life. She let the feeling wash over her, enjoying it for once instead of tensing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Penelope and Millicent had responded to her call for help by moving her into Harry’s old room in Dugald Croft.

“It’s only fair,” Millicent said. “He would want it this way.”

“Agreed.” Penelope had nodded but she seemed less thrilled with the idea of having Robbie under the same roof.

Robbie had packed her suitcase and moved out that morning. Dugald Croft was intimidating as all hell, but as she unpacked her belongings and hung them up in Harry’s closet, she began to sense that he was with her.

Less of a sensation than her imagination at work, but she felt his presence. Not overtly, like a cold breeze or a prickling at the back of her neck. More like a soft, warm blanket that enveloped her as soon as she stepped into the room.

It was twice the size of his flat in the old building and had a working wood burning fireplace. A desk with a good lamp for studying, a large sturdy bookcase and a sizable walk-in closet. But best of all was the window of lead-paned glass that had a window seat in front of it and a deep sill for balancing cups of tea, candles and notebooks.

She hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks. Her nerves were rock steady. The shock of Harry’s death had cured her. The worst that could’ve happened, happened and life went on.

Robbie opened one of the notebooks she had purchased for the class and lifted her pen. Not everyone used a laptop to take notes so at least she wasn’t the only one without a computer.

She was bent over the page, lost in concentration when a conversation behind her caught her attention.

“Did you hear about the cats?”

“I heard something but I wasn’t paying close attention. What cats are we talking about?”

“There was a colony of feral cats living in the old chimney square; you know the one I mean. A janitor found them dead.”

“Fucking hell. What happened?”

“Someone hanged them. Each one of them, hanging by a string on a metal bar. It was positively macabre. A mother and her five kittens. I’m not a fan of letting cats run wild–they kill the birds, but extermination is a bit extreme.”

“How did the janitor find them? I didn’t hear any reports about a feral cat colony on campus.”

“He’d been feeding them; when he found them, he went completely apeshit. Old Manderville had to be called in to calm him down.”

“Oh, I think I know the one you mean! The guy who flipped out in the pub a week ago. They were his cats?”

“So it seems. Killed last night. He only found them this morning.”

“That fellow is at the center of a few storms. With that temper, he likely did it himself. The RSPCA ought to be called in to investigate.”

The conversation abruptly ended when the professor barked at them to shut up.

Robbie’s blood ran cold in her veins. She stared at the page in front of her until it blurred. A high-pitched whine sounded in her ears and her heart began to race so fast, she thought she was having a heart attack.

All around her, people were scribbling down their thoughts and she had no thoughts, only fear.

Crippling, debilitating fear.

Everyone was staring at her. No, they are not. You are imagining it.

She jumped to her feet, clawing at her neck.

Someone whispered: “It’s her–the sister of that fellow who killed himself.”

“Threw himself from the tower at Arran after he killed a man. What is she doing here?”

“Young lady, take your seat or remove yourself from the theater. You are disturbing the other students.”

She heard the professor speaking but couldn’t understand the words. Robbie took a step toward the aisle and stumbled, falling against another student.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then froze when she realized that it wasn’t all in her mind.

Everyone was literally staring at her.

“Miss Listowel!” the professor shouted after consulting his seating chart. “Miss Listowel, remove yourself from the hall or take your seat. It is your choice.”

Someone started to laugh.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a couple of students pull out their phones to film the episode. Robbie started to shake.

“What’s wrong with her? Is she having some kind of a fit?”

“Will somebody please haul her out in a straitjacket, if it is not to much to ask.”

Peals of laughter.

Robbie made fists of her hands and pressed them against her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw the string of kittens hanging from a metal bar.

She screamed.

Deacon received a summons when he was in the Dining Hall, mopping up the floors after breakfast. The request came from Alastair to go to the Lecture Theatre Hall and drag Rowena Listowel the fuck out of there. She was causing a scene in front of the entire class.

He dropped what he was doing and raced down the freshly polished hall, his boots skidding on the tiles, to the wing containing the lecture hall.

Deacon wrenched the door open, prepared to break someone’s skull when he saw Robbie standing in the upper rows of the middle aisle, sobbing hysterically. He took the steps two at a time to reach her.

“Robbie. Robbie. It’s me. It’s Deacon.”

“She’s off her head, mate. You’re going to have to take her out of here on a stretcher.” The speaker reached out to poke Robbie in the arm.

Deacon snarled at him, a bearded idiot in glasses and a woolen cap. “Make a move to touch her again and I’ll break your arm. Say another word about her and I’ll rip out your tongue and feed it to the crows.”

He turned to Robbie who had calmed down slightly at the sound of his voice. “I’m going to carry you out of here, right? We’re getting out of here.”

He lifted her in his arms and glared at the students blocking his way. Without uttering a word of protest, they shifted and moved to open a path.

With Robbie in his arms, Deacon strode out of the lecture hall, bashing through the front doors. He marched across the snowy campus to the street.

Bringing her to his place was not his intention when he left Locksley Hall. Robbie didn’t want to go to Dugald Croft and Deacon couldn’t think of another place to bring her.

She was very light as though she had lost weight since he saw her last. No bigger than a bird. The snow fell heavily, clumping in her hair. Neither of them were dressed for wandering the streets. No hats, coats or gloves.

“I’m bringing you to mine,” he said.

She nodded against his neck and clung to him closer.