Page 26 of When You're Forgotten

They trudged back toward the manor, footprints squelching in the muddy patches.At the main porch, a lantern cast a warm glow across the steps.Hobbs—Marianne’s driver—stood by the half-open door, arms folded.He seemed about to go inside when he spotted them.

“Mr.Wright.Miss Winters,” he said, dipping his head.“I was just turning in for the evening.Everything all right?”

Finn exchanged a look with Amelia, noting the mud stains on both their clothes.“We’re fine.We chased a noise out in the bushes, turned out to be a deer.How about you?”

Hobbs sighed, shifting his stance."I took dinner trays up to Mrs.Penrose and the children.She wants them in bed early.Tomorrow, I'm to drive them to a friend's place for their own safety."

Amelia nodded sympathetically."They're going away, then?Probably a good idea for everyone's peace of mind."

Hobbs pursed his lips.“It’s… an unfortunate business.They’re grieving their father, and now the house is full of uncertainty.Hardly restful for children.”He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair.“I hope this is over soon.”

Finn considered the stoic figure of Hobbs in the lantern light.“Do you personally believe James was murdered?”he asked quietly.

A flicker of emotion crossed Hobbs’s face—fear, perhaps, or reluctance.“I’d rather not stir the pot, sir.Some things at Brynmor Hall are best left alone.”

Amelia took a step closer, her tone gentle yet insistent.“We appreciate your caution, but we need every perspective.If you know something that might help us—”

Hobbs drew a slow breath.“There’s a story.Maybe it means nothing, but...well, James had an older brother, Wilkie.Died nine years ago, also under strange circumstances.”

Amelia’s interest sharpened visibly.“Mrs Hughes mentioned him briefly when we arrived.”

“Yes, Wilkie and Armand, that was Mrs Hughes’ husband…” he almost trailed off for a moment.“They were very close, actually.I don’t think Armand was ever the same after Wilkie passed.He died a couple of years later.”

“What did you mean by strange circumstances?”Amelia asked.

Hobbs scanned the dim yard, as though searching for eavesdroppers.“I was here that night.Wilkie vanished.We only found him the next day.By then, he’d—” Hobbs paused, swallowing.“He’d died in the cellar.Inside an old wardrobe, of all places.Shut himself in, apparently.”

Finn felt a chill prickle along his neck.“That’s… unusual.Why hide in a wardrobe?”

Shrugging unhappily, Hobbs continued, “We never knew.He was slumped over inside.Rigor mortis had set in.Terrible sight.Me and the groundskeeper at the time—Edwin Pierce—found him.It was like he’d tried to claw at the door from the inside.His hands were up over his face, locked that way, like he was fighting off something.”

Amelia let out a hushed breath.“That’s horrifying.Do you think it connects to James’s death?”

“I can’t say.But I do know that after Wilkie died, James became terrified.That’s when he had that panic room built.He said if something like that ever came for him, he wanted a safe place.”Hobbs paused, shoulders tensing.“Seems like in the end, it got him anyway.”

Finn’s mind churned with the parallels: Wilkie dying alone, presumably from a fear-induced or unexplained cause, James with a heart condition, alone in a panic room.“Sounds like the family’s ghost stories have fed into this.If Wilkie died under bizarre circumstances, James might’ve truly believed something haunted them.”

Hobbs regarded Finn with a sober gaze.“They’re not stories.I’ve seen them—spirits roaming the halls: a woman in a Victorian dress gliding through walls, and a man in old fox-hunting gear glaring at me.Then they vanish.They look angry, as if they blame us for something.”/

Finn didn’t want to challenge him on this, it wasn’t the time or place.He just nodded.

Amelia folded her arms around her muddy jacket, her flashlight clipped to her belt.“Either Wilkie and James were both victims of some intangible fear, or someone alive used that fear to kill them.If it was murder, terrifying them—especially if they had health conditions—would be enough, wouldn’t it?”

Hobbs nodded.“Perhaps.”Then he seemed to catch himself, glancing at the door.“Anyway.Enough talk of the dead.They say you’ll believe once you see them for yourself.I hope you never do.”

Before Finn could respond, an earsplitting scream cut through the evening air—a piercing shriek from somewhere within the manor.All three froze, hearts in their throats.

“That came from upstairs,” Finn gasped.

Amelia whipped around, yanking out her flashlight even though the hall was lit.“Is someone hurt?”

Hobbs’s face went pale, and he gestured for them to follow.Without further thought, Finn and Amelia bolted back into the house, the scream echoing in their ears like a dreadful call from the grave.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Finn dashed up the main staircase with Amelia a pace ahead, the lingering echoes of a woman’s scream ringing in his ears.Behind them, the steady footfalls of Hobbs pressed close, his breath ragged from the sudden sprint.The manor’s architecture seemed to warp in the panic—hallways that felt straightforward hours earlier now appeared twisting, lit by wall sconces casting ghostly shadows on the floral wallpaper.The old wood underfoot groaned and popped, as if the house itself disliked being so quickly traversed.

He thought of the children—Bella and Charlie—hoping they hadn’t heard the scream or, if they had, that Marianne managed to keep them calm.The entire family had endured too much tragedy already.More fear at this juncture would only compound the pain.

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