The reading of the will took place on a Tuesday in November, the kind of London day where the fog doesn't lift so much as it descends with greater purpose, pressing against the windows of Gray's Inn like a tenant who has forgotten how to knock.
Henry Ashworth sat in a chair that was too large for his frame and listened to a solicitor read words that would alter the geometry of his life. He was twenty-four years old, a junior clerk at a Liverpool shipping company on Lime Street, and the sole heir to the estate known as Blackmoor Manor in Yorkshire. The solicitor, a man named Pembroke whose face seemed carved from the same pale stone as...
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