Page 36 of When You're Forgotten

Mrs.Hughes looked down, fingering the edge of her apron.“He… he had nightmares.Terrible ones, so my husband said.Wilkie often roamed the halls at night, claiming he heard voices.James teased him for believing ghosts haunted the place, but Wilkie never found it amusing.Then one night, he locked himself in that… that wardrobe in the cellar.”She paused, chest rising with a shaky breath.“But I can’t speak more of it.I’m sorry, I—”

A sudden chime sounded from her phone.Mrs.Hughes fished it from her apron pocket, glancing at the screen.In an instant, her face paled further.She quickly tapped to read the message, an anxious flicker in her eyes, then stuffed the phone away.

“Is something wrong?”Finn asked, suspicious of how flustered she looked.

She forced a stiff smile.“Pardon me, Mr.Wright, Miss Winters.I must attend to something.Excuse me.”Without waiting for their response, she turned on her heel and hurried off, leaving the silver tea tray abandoned on the side table.

Amelia raised her eyebrows at Finn, who exhaled heavily.“She knows more than she’s saying.”

“No doubt,” Amelia muttered.“But pressing her further now might push her into shutting down completely.Let’s regroup.”

They walked back toward the sitting room they’d just left.The hallway felt cooler, as though a draft had sneaked in from somewhere.A pair of uniformed officers lingered near a side entrance, conferring in low voices.With so many potential dangers—an unknown masked figure, or even external threats from Wendell— the police presence was a welcome relief, albeit minimal.

Once inside the sitting room, Amelia paused, letting out a frustrated sigh.“We’re stuck.The financial records aren’t here yet, and Mrs.Hughes just ran off before telling us about Wilkie.”She plopped down on the sofa, tapping her phone screen.“I’ll keep an eye on my messages in case Rob sends the warrants soon.”

Finn glanced at the large window that overlooked the estate grounds.Through the tall panes, he noticed a figure moving across the lawn.Squinting, he recognized Mrs.Hughes’s shape.She moved briskly, glancing over her shoulder as though ensuring nobody followed.Then she disappeared in the direction of the walled garden at the corner of the estate.

Finn’s heart quickened.“There’s Mrs Hughes, leaving the house.Could be the ‘something’ she had to attend to.Perhaps I should stretch my legs, I feel like visiting that walled garden.”

Amelia followed his gaze.“I get the feeling you’re about to go sneaking.”She smiled, knowingly.

“I shouldn’t leave you,” Finn said.

“If you think we can glean something more, you need to go,” Amelia said, her voice laced with reassurance.

He hesitated, remembering how they were both prime targets—Amelia for Wendell’s threats, and either of them for the masked figure.“I hate leaving you alone.With Catherine’s murder fresh, we can’t be sure it’s safe.”

She frowned, standing.“I’m not fragile porcelain, Finn.The police are patrolling the outer edges of the estate, and the sitting room is well within their territory.I’ll be fine.I’ll keep my phone on, obviously.”

He opened his mouth to object further, but caught the steely determination in her expression.“All right,” he conceded.“If you hear anything or sense trouble, call me.I won’t be long.Mrs.Hughes might vanish if I don’t move now.”

Amelia nodded, crossing to a side table to gather a stack of case notes.“Go.Meanwhile, I’ll dive back into the files.If the financial data arrives, I can start sifting through it.”

Finn mustered a half-smile, stepping forward to brush a reassuring hand along her arm.“Stay safe, okay?”

“You too,” she replied, leaning into his touch for the briefest moment.Then he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, striding out of the sitting room, leaving Amelia with a watchful look in her eyes.

*

Outside, the sky was patchy with clouds, the sun drifting in and out.Patches of damp lawn glistened, and the fresh air tasted cleaner than the hushed corridors of Brynmor Hall.Finn walked a brisk pace across the grass, crossing to the high stone walls that enclosed the walled garden.The gate stood slightly ajar.Through the arch, he could see rows of flowering bushes and neatly trimmed hedges—though the flowers were past their prime in the current season, many still offered a subdued, pleasant color.

He heard voices drifting from inside, low and urgent.Slowing, he moved with care, slipping to one side of the gate to peer in.Mrs Hughes was there, in her usual black dress and apron, her posture tense.And she was not alone.

She stood near a stone bench, talking to a man who kept his back half-turned to Finn’s vantage point.The man was at least in his fifties, broad-shouldered but lean, wearing a dark jacket and a flat cap.He gestured with animated hands, though the words came in hushed tones that made them difficult to decipher.

Finn edged closer, picking his steps gingerly on the damp ground.He paused behind a tall hedge, leaning just enough to overhear fragments of their exchange.

“…Now they want to know about Wilkie,” Mrs Hughes said, voice trembling with evident worry.“They keep pressing me.I can’t hold them off forever.”

The man replied in a raspy whisper, “This is all going to blow over soon, and once it does, we’ll be able to make plans.”His accent was local, but the tone bristled with secrecy.

Finn’s pulse quickened.Plans about what?Another cover-up about the Penrose tragedies?He crouched lower, shifting to see the man’s face.Mrs Hughes nodded anxiously, glancing around as though spooked.

Suddenly, the man stepped away, out of the walled garden’s far opening.Mrs Hughes lingered a moment, then followed a different path around the shrubs.The conversation had ended abruptly.Finn had only gleaned a snippet, but it was enough to confirm Mrs Hughes was indeed hiding something related to Wilkie’s death, or perhaps the more recent murders.

He decided to keep spying—maybe the man would show himself fully.Making a silent pivot, Finn circled the garden’s perimeter, his shoulders tense.Reaching the far side, he glimpsed Mrs Hughes departing toward the house, a worried expression etched on her features.She must not have spotted him.But the man…

Finn crouched behind a short hedge.A moment later, a figure emerged from behind the tall rose trellises.Even from this partial vantage, Finn could take in the man’s details: mid-fifties, with strands of gray hair peeking from under that flat cap, a lined face that spoke of a rugged life, possibly working outdoors.His jacket was scuffed in places, and though his posture was upright, he moved with cautious precision, glancing around as if checking for witnesses.

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