This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The telegram arrived on a rain-soaked Tuesday morning in October, its yellow paper dampened by the persistent drizzle that had plagued London for three consecutive days. Eleanor Blackwood set down her teacup with trembling fingers as she read the brief message for the third time: "Your great-uncle Aldrich deceased. Estate Ravenshollow Manor now yours. Immediate attention required. - Solicitor Grimsby."

Eleanor had never heard of Great-Uncle Aldrich, nor had she any knowledge of owning property beyond her modest flat in Bloomsbury. The inheritance seemed to materialize from the mists of family history like some specter emerging from forgotten shadows. Her father had rarely spoken of his extended family, mentioning only in passing that his relatives had long ago withdrawn to the remote corners of Yorkshire, content to live in solitude among the moors.

Within a fortnight, Eleanor found herself aboard a northbound train, watching the industrial sprawl of London give way to rolling countryside and eventually to the wild, windswept landscape of the Yorkshire Dales. The journey seemed to transport her not merely through geography but through time itself, as if each mile carried her further from the familiar world of gas lamps and busy streets into a realm where ancient customs still held sway.

The village of Ravenshollow appeared suddenly through the train window, nestled in a valley between two brooding hills. Stone cottages huddled together along narrow lanes, their chimneys releasing thin streams of smoke that dissipated quickly in the sharp autumn air. The station was little more than a wooden platform attended by a single elderly porter who regarded Eleanor with curious, watery eyes.