The Coal Baron's Heir
The rain in Yorkshire did not fall—it hammered. It came down in sheets of iron, turning the streets of Huddersfield into rivers of coal dust and despair. In the great house on Blackwood Hill, Arthur Blackwood sat in the dark and listened to the mines sing. They called it singing. Arthur called it screaming. Six sons. Six boys his father had invested in, trained, groomed for the throne of...
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