Page 15 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Finn sat in one of the worn wooden chairs by the large kitchen table, head throbbing from the strike he had taken earlier.

The midday sun, pouring through the high mullioned windows, brought a gentle warmth that clashed with the tension coiled inside him.

Amelia hovered at his side, worry flickering in her gaze as she examined the shallow but persistent cut on his scalp.

Across from them stood Marianne Penrose, her posture taut with concern.

The kitchen itself, large and built for bustling household staff, had a certain rustic charm—pale stone floors, a wide hearth, and countertops of scuffed but sturdy oak.

Amelia set down a dishcloth she'd been using to dab at Finn’s cut, exhaling in frustration.

“We came here thinking it might be a closed book—heart attack, end of story—but with an intruder rummaging around and you taking a blow to the head, I’m starting to think Brynmor Hall is more dangerous than we realized. ”

Finn tried to smile through the dull ache radiating across his temple. “Yes, well, I can confirm that the blood coming out of my head feels pretty active. If that’s a gauge for how lively this case is, we’re in trouble.”

Before Amelia could muster a retort, Mrs Hughes entered, her right hand trembling slightly, carrying a ceramic bowl of water and a small tray loaded with medical supplies—cotton pads, antiseptic, and gauze.

“Mr. Wright, Miss Winters—here you are,” she said.

“I’ll leave these for you. If there’s anything else you need, please call.

” She set them on the table, gave a respectful bob of her head, and then exited, disappearing through the kitchen’s open doorway.

Amelia reached for the antiseptic bottle first. “Let’s get you cleaned up, partner.” But before she could begin, Marianne lifted a hand in gentle protest.

“Let me,” the widow said softly. “I trained as a nurse years ago, before I married James. I might be a bit out of practice, but I can handle a cut on the scalp.”

Finn offered a nod. “I appreciate it, truly.” He glanced at Amelia, who shrugged and stepped aside.

Marianne rinsed her hands in the bowl of water, then eased onto the seat beside Finn. She dabbed a cotton pad with antiseptic and leaned in, her expression grave. She touched the cloth to his wound with a gentle pressure, and he winced at the sting.

“Sorry,” Marianne murmured. “Almost done. We need to stop the bleeding.”

As she worked, Finn studied her face. Pale from shock or from sorrow, or both, her eyes carried faint rings of fatigue. She’d done her best to remain poised—especially around her children—but the strain weighed visibly on her.

Just then, the kitchen door swung open. Donald, the cook, stepped inside. He wore a stained apron from his morning's labors. "What in the—?" he blurted, halting at the sight of Finn's bloodied hair.

Finn forced a reassuring half-smile. “Don’t worry. I had a bit of a scuffle. Nothing too grave.”

Donald let out a short sigh, leaning one hand on the table. “A scuffle with what exactly? The entire house is talking about how you chased someone out to the woods. Is that true?”

Amelia nodded. “He was definitely an intruder—broke into James’s study upstairs, rummaging around, then fled.”

A grim line formed on Donald’s lips. “If it’s that dangerous, maybe us staff should pack up. We’re not paid to wrestle with criminals.” He turned to Marianne. “Ma’am, if the house is under attack, you can’t put us in harm’s way. Might be wise to close the place for a bit.”

Marianne set aside a bloodstained pad and reached for a fresh one, her voice tense but firm. “I’m not shutting Brynmor Hall just because someone broke a vase or two. I won’t let phantoms chase me and the children away.”

Donald’s eyebrows rose. “Well, the phantoms might not give you any choice, ma’am,” he murmured under his breath. Then, shaking his head, he ducked out of the kitchen, perhaps returning to his cooking domain.

Finn twitched at the sting when Marianne pressed a final wad of gauze to his head. He noticed Amelia cast him a concerned look.

“Thanks,” he murmured to Marianne. “So, you think you can patch me up with that nurse experience?”

Marianne placed a strip of bandage carefully over the cut, securing it. “I think so. At least until you can get it checked properly. There.” She gave the gauze a final pat, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Apologies if I was too rough, I’m a bit out of practice.”

He offered a mild grin. “You’re doing fine. And I’m a big boy—some bruises and head wounds come with the territory.”

Amelia cleared her throat, speaking up. “Marianne, any idea who might want to break into James’s study? Do you know of someone with a motive to dig around in his business affairs?”

Marianne’s eyes flashed, frustration threading her voice. “It could be anyone, honestly. James had so many business pursuits—some legitimate, some riskier. I never knew all the details. Maybe they came to find documents or blackmail material. Or the combination to a safe. Who knows?”

Amelia leaned in. “So do you suspect they’re unrelated to his death, or do you think his demise is part of the same mess?”

With a heavy sigh, Marianne shrugged. “I truly can’t say. The children are here, so this is terrifying.” Her gaze turned inward. “I might send them away after all, somewhere safer. Their grandmother is in Devon. Maybe they should go back to stay with her.”

Finn, pressing a hand lightly to his newly bandaged scalp, nodded. “Yes, that might be wise, if you suspect more trouble is on the horizon.”

Marianne looked relieved to have someone second the idea. “Thank you. I can’t… I can’t let anything happen to them.”

She glanced at the half-open kitchen door as though expecting the masked intruder to crash in again.

Amelia set a hand on the widow's shoulder.

"We'll keep an eye on things here. The local law enforcement should also be notified.

Inspector Lloyd will want to know about the break-in, I'm sure.

Maybe he can spare some patrol cars to keep a watch on the entrance to the estate. "

Marianne gave a swift nod. “Yes, do let him know. Thomas Lloyd, right? Please make sure he investigates swiftly.”

Finn rose from his chair, testing his balance. “Marianne, you make a great nurse. The bandage feels secure.”

A faint traced her lips, and she looked oddly bashful. “You’re just saying that. I bet you’re a charmer with the ladies.”

He smirked softly, winced at a jolt of pain, then pointed playfully at Amelia. “Especially this one. Though she’s used to patching me up after I do something reckless.”

Amelia rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Too many close calls, that’s for sure.”

Marianne mustered a small laugh. "I'll leave you two be." She paused, drawing a breath as if gathering courage. "Thank you, for everything. I hope you can keep us safe."

Finn offered a grave nod. “We’ll do our best. We’ll find out who is doing this.”

Marianne turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.

A moment later, Mrs Hughes reappeared briefly to collect the leftover medical items, and then retreated again, leaving Finn and Amelia alone.

The quiet buzz of the refrigerator under the counter and the soft hiss of the stovetop pilot flame were the only sounds.

Amelia settled across from Finn, arms folded. “That was quite a chase you had. And from the look of your head, you nearly had it worse.”

Finn rubbed the side of his temple. “Whoever it was, they were agile. The short fight in the corridor proved that. They outran me handily.”

She raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Maybe you should hit the gym more often.”

He made a mock-offended face. “It’s not about me losing shape, all right? That intruder was just… well-trained or something.”

Both of them chuckled, tension easing momentarily. Then Finn grew more serious. “Before I left the house, Judd Aspen whispered he needs to talk to me about Marianne. He specifically asked for it to be away from her presence.”

“Think he’s got something big to spill?” Amelia asked. “He seemed a bit secretive.”

“Probably,” Finn answered. “He’s known James forever, so maybe he’s suspicious about how James died or about Marianne’s involvement in something. I’ll find out soon enough.”

Amelia patted his hand, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Go talk to him alone. If it’s personal, he might hold back if I’m around. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the sitting room, cross-referencing the staff lists and the timeline from last night’s incident.”

Finn gave her a grateful look. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

They parted ways, Amelia collecting her notes off the nearby counter as she slipped out.

Finn let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

The day had barely reached midday, and he’d already been assaulted.

Something about the entire situation screamed deeper conspiracy—and Judd might hold a crucial piece.

*

Leaving the kitchen behind, Finn ventured into the maze of hallways that composed Brynmor Hall’s interior.

The house, built over centuries, had mismatched wings and corridors that twisted unpredictably.

Some were lined with medieval suits of armor, others with portraits of stern ancestors.

Ornate rugs covered the wooden floors, muting his footsteps.

He kept an eye out for any staff or wandering family members, but the house felt strangely empty at this hour.

The faint hum of conversation from some distant part of the manor wafted through the thick walls, but each corridor he passed was deserted.

Sunlight filtering through high windows created patches of brightness on the floor, leaving the corners in half-shadow.