“What would you have us do, search their rooms?” Robert asked.
When the Worthingtons remained silent, he realized that was exactly what they wanted him to do. Oh, good God. He’d rather try to strangle a wild boar with his bare hands than go through Ian Cameron’s room.
He could just picture that cold, disdainful stare while he fumbled through the man’s belongings.
But he didn’t know what else would appease them.
He and Georgina exchanged a worried glance. Searching the servants’ rooms felt like a betrayal of their trust. A betrayal of the trust he had in them. But what was the alternative—the Worthingtons calling on the nearest sheriff, who might send someone to search the rooms anyway, and then writing all about their dreadful ordeal with the wicked Townsend family in their book?
He tried to imagine what Theo would do in his place. He was the head of the family. He would have made the decision and known he was doing the right thing, because that was simply how Theo was. Sure, strong, a leader.
Robert had never led anyone or anything in his life.
What decision would Theo make if he was in this position?
Robert didn’t know. His gut twisted as the Worthingtons watched him. As his sister watched him.
“Very well,” he finally said. But unlike Theo, he had no sense of conviction, no idea if his choice was the right one or the wrong one.
They went to the cook’s room first—with so few servants and such a large space, each had their own private chamber. The Worthingtons didn’t go into the room themselves but waited nearby in the hallway. Robert wasn’t sure how to take this…it could mean they trusted Robert and Georgina to report anything they found. It could also mean they didn’t trust them quite enough to let them resolve the matter entirely on their own. Robert decided not to dwell on it.
The cook’s room was small, with a plain bed and mattress and a washstand. A small window looked out onto the rain-drenched moors. It didn’t take much searching to determine that the cook didn’t have any of the stolen items. The pit of unease and guilt in Robert’s stomach seemed to grow heavier. But he and Georgina continued on.
Then they went to Catriona’s room, and next, Jane’s.
There was nothing in either room. But he hadn’t expected to find anything, either.
He found himself hesitating outside Cameron’s door. The other servants had household duties to attend to during the day, but most of the time, Cameron spent his days outside. Robert wasn’t sure what he did when he was confined to the castle because of heavy rain. Was he in his room right now?
Georgina seemed to sense his unease. She knocked softly, and when no answer came, pushed inside.
Robert instantly felt like he was trespassing. Even more so than he had in the other servants’ rooms, for some reason. Cameron’s room was tidy, but Robert soon realized this was not necessarily by choice but because Cameron had so few possessions. Some clothes in the wardrobe, though not many. A small trunk by the bed that couldn’t possibly fit very much.
He could have bought more for himself, on his salary. Robert wondered why he didn’t as he thought about his own bedchamber. His own wardrobe had five different cravats, a dozen waistcoats, several pairs of boots and shoes. His desk was piled high with as many books as it could contain, and he had a bit of an addiction to quills. (He was quite adamant that an author should never find themselves lacking a good quill.)
And aside from those things, there were a dozen trinkets he’d collected throughout the years—pocket watches or silver toothpick cases or comfit boxes or things that had been given to him as gifts. Robert’s own room looked like a place that was well lived in.
Cameron’s room looked like a place meant for leaving. Robert knew it was a guest room, but weren’t these all of the possessions Cameron had rescued from the fire? He’d told Georgina he’d managed to save everything.
Robert knelt by the trunk and lifted the lid. The brown-and-green plaid was folded on top—he ran his fingers along the heavy wool fabric and then snatched his hand away when he realized to an onlooker it might appear like he was caressing the garment. Which he obviously wasn’t. He was simply admiring the fine craftsmanship.
He pushed the plaid aside, rather abruptly, and paused when he saw a wooden figurine, whittled into the shape of a fox, with graceful, flowing lines and a sharp, intelligent face. It was beautifully done. He wondered if Cameron had made it himself or if it had been a gift. And then his mind inevitably drifted to whom it might be a gift from.
Well. It didn’t matter. He was supposed to be looking for stolen goods, not fondling Ian Cameron’s possessions.
It was simply…the other man was so guarded Robert had never thought he would have any kind of glimpse into his private life. Of course, it wasn’t as if Cameron had allowed this.
Robert’s stomach tightened.
He was about to shut the lid when he noticed a long sheet of foolscap with strange markings on it resting at the bottom of the trunk. He stared for a moment, not certain what the dots and lines were, and wondering if that messy, sprawling writing was actually Cameron’s. It seemed so at odds with everything else he’d seen.
One of the labels read Taurus. Another Cygnus.
Robert sucked in a breath.
They were constellations.
Was Cameron an amateur astronomer? Robert would have thought his feet were planted firmly in the earth; he couldn’t imagine him looking up at the stars. But here was proof, physical and indisputable, that Ian Cameron might be more than he seemed.
He shut the lid, feeling like the worst sort of trespasser, and stood. He caught a glimpse of a small end table by the bed, and his stomach pitched when he saw a copy of The Adventures of Constable Whitley.
“Why does he have that?” He only realized he’d asked aloud when Georgina answered.
“I lent it to him. We were discussing it at breakfast, remember? I thought he might like to read it.”
It was lying facedown and teetering precariously on the edge of the table, as though Cameron had dropped it there without a second thought and never glanced at it again. He’d felt so indifferent to Robert’s work that he hadn’t even taken the time to place the volume neatly on the table—Robert resisted the urge to go over to the book and straighten it and whisper reassuring things to it.
“Robert,” Georgina said.
He turned, recognizing the edge in her voice. She was kneeling on the other side of the bed. Straightening, she withdrew from underneath the bed a pair of stockings, unmistakably silk and a very bright shade of red.
Robert stared, stunned.
Georgina pitched her voice low. “Do you think…”
“No,” he answered, his own voice sounding quiet and far away. “He wouldn’t…” But Robert trailed off. The evidence that he had was right in front of him.
“It’s a little strange, though, isn’t it?” Georgina whispered. “The rest of the room is so untouched. Why would he steal something and simply leave it under the bed for anyone to find?”
“Are you saying someone might have put it there?”
She lifted her shoulder. “I find that just as easy to believe as Mr. Cameron being a thief. Annabel has been friends with him for so long, and she isn’t a poor judge of character.”
But how well did their sister-in-law know him? Did she know he whittled foxes and made charts of the stars? Robert didn’t think Cameron was capable of thievery, but how could he be sure? Some men were addicted to danger. Some men might have put something they stole in an easily locatable place simply to see if they would be caught.
Robert certainly didn’t know what thoughts were hidden behind those cool gray eyes.