The Keeper of St. Jude's
The fog came off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow as old wool, and Arthur Pendleton pulled his coat tighter against it as he climbed the broken steps of St. Jude's Church. He had nowhere else to go. Three months since the East India Company had found his ledger entries wanting, three months since his name had been whispered in the counting houses like a curse, three months of...
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