The Ashworth Trust
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the sort of Tuesday in Lancashire when the fog is so thick you can taste it. Edmund Ashworth stood at the window of his study in the Yorkshire manor and watched the rain blurring the landscape his family had owned for three hundred years and he had done nothing with for twenty-eight. The letter was from his uncle, Reginald Ashworth. It did not ask. It did not...
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