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The Ashes of YorkshireThe mirror in the drawing room had survived three centuries of Ashworth family history, and now it would survive Eleanor. She lay in the four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, her body a map of thin bones and blue veins beneath the quilt, and watched the afternoon light fail through the Yorkshire window. The moors were beyond the glass, dark and vast, the wind moving across them...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 11 Views 0 önizleme
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The Ashes of YorkshireThe mirror in the drawing room had survived three centuries of Ashworth family history, and now it would survive Eleanor. She lay in the four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, her body a map of thin bones and blue veins beneath the quilt, and watched the afternoon light fail through the Yorkshire window. The moors were beyond the glass, dark and vast, the wind moving across them...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 7 Views 0 önizleme
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The Ashes of YorkshireThe mirror in the drawing room had survived three centuries of Ashworth family history, and now it would survive Eleanor. She lay in the four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, her body a map of thin bones and blue veins beneath the quilt, and watched the afternoon light fail through the Yorkshire window. The moors were beyond the glass, dark and vast, the wind moving across them...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 11 Views 0 önizleme
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The Ashes of YorkshireThe mirror in the drawing room had survived three centuries of Ashworth family history, and now it would survive Eleanor. She lay in the four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, her body a map of thin bones and blue veins beneath the quilt, and watched the afternoon light fail through the Yorkshire window. The moors were beyond the glass, dark and vast, the wind moving across them...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 4 Views 0 önizleme
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The Ashes of YorkshireThe mirror in the drawing room had survived three centuries of Ashworth family history, and now it would survive Eleanor. She lay in the four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, her body a map of thin bones and blue veins beneath the quilt, and watched the afternoon light fail through the Yorkshire window. The moors were beyond the glass, dark and vast, the wind moving across them...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 6 Views 0 önizleme
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The Engineer of YorkshireThe first time Edgar Hawthorne descended into the Yorkshire cavern, he thought he was entering a cathedral. The tunnel dropped away from the moorland like the throat of some vast and sleeping creature, and at its bottom, beyond a threshold of iron grating and gaslight, the cavern opened before him with a violence that stole his breath. It rose above him perhaps a thousand feet—higher than any...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 15 Views 0 önizleme
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The fog came down over the Yorkshire moors like a shroud being drawn across the world. Julian Ashworth stood at the window of his room in Blackwater Hall and watched it swallow the hills, one ridge at a time.He had been here three months and seventeen days. He counted the days because counting was one of the few things he could still control. Below him, in the darkness that lay beneath the hall like a secret, the arena waited. Julian turned from the window and looked at Silas, who lay on the stone floor by the fireplace. The silver fox was almost fully grown now, its fur holding the moonlight even...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 31 Views 0 önizleme
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The fog clung to the Yorkshire Moors like a shroud, and Arthur Pendelton walked into it with a magistrate's warrant in his breast pocket and his fiancée's memory in his heart.Eleven days. Eleven days since Eleanor had stepped off the coach at Harrogate Spa, intending to write to him from the inn, and never did. No ransom note. No witness. Only a single white glove found on the moor path, its lace torn as though something had caught it and pulled. Colonel Harrington had given him the uniform and the documents with a look of profound pity. Arthur did not accept pity....0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 16 Views 0 önizleme
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The fog clung to the Yorkshire moors like a shroud, thick and grey and cold. Arthur Ashworth stood at the edge of the abandoned mine shaft, his one good boot sunk in the wet peat, watching the rope disappear into darkness.Below him, four brothers were descending. George first, then Thomas, then William, then Henry. They had tied the rope to the old oak at the shaft's edge, checked the knots three times, and now they were going down to find what their father had been raving about for five years. A golden creature. That's what Edmund Ashworth called it. In his lucid moments, between the fits of madness that had...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 20 Views 0 önizleme
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The fog on the Yorkshire moors had a way of swallowing sound. Edwin Hartnell noticed this on the morning his son returned.Arthur had been gone for four months. The constable from Haworth had come to their stone cottage with a note found caught on a hawthorn bush near the Scargill gorge. The note was in Arthur's handwriting, though Edwin would later wonder about the slant of the letters. It read simply: I am coming home. Do not send searchers. Edwin read it three times. Then he washed his face, put on his best...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 13 Views 0 önizleme
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The fog on the Yorkshire moors had a way of swallowing sound. Edwin Hartnell noticed this on the morning his son returned.Arthur had been gone for four months. The constable from Haworth had come to their stone cottage with a note found caught on a hawthorn bush near the Scargill gorge. The note was in Arthur's handwriting, though Edwin would later wonder about the slant of the letters. It read simply: I am coming home. Do not send searchers. Edwin read it three times. Then he washed his face, put on his best...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 13 Views 0 önizleme
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The Faded BouquetThe Yorkshire moors do not forgive. They take from you slowly, the way tide takes sand from the shore — not with violence, but with a patience that borders on cruelty. Eleanor Ashworth knew this, though she had not yet learned its full meaning. When the solicitor from Harrogate delivered the letters in autumn of 1887, they arrived wrapped in brown paper and sealed with wax the colour of dried...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 30 Views 0 önizleme
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The Pale PathThe rain in Yorkshire does not fall so much as descend, a heavy grey curtain drawn slowly from the heavens to seal the world below in its damp embrace. It was the sort of rain that seemed designed not to wash things clean but to press them deeper into the earth, to turn the lanes of Blackthorn Moor into rivers of liquid clay and make every footstep a negotiation with the soil itself. Eleanor...0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 6 Views 0 önizleme
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