The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-22 19:20:51 -

The Pale Meridian

14th November, 1892. I have counted the hours since I left the counting house in Leeds. Fourteen. My feet are blistered, and the mud on the lane to Harrowgate is thick enough to swallow a boot. I am here for the ledger. It is a specific thing, bound in green leather, kept in the iron safe in Silas’s study. It holds the accounts of the orphanage my father built, the same orphanage Silas gutted...

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