Eleanor watched day turn to night in a few short hours. The full moon rising in the sky. The coast of England visible. And when the plane arrived at Heathrow, the landing was easy and smooth, and when there was no one to meet her as she exited through Customs, no one with a sign, no one with a smile of recognition, she pulled the bag behind her, found her way to the London Underground, then through King’s Cross Station, and boarded a train for Yorkshire. All in a long day.“There she is,” the cabdriver said and pointed to an enormous stone house on the crest of a steep green slope. “That’s her, Trent Hall.”Eleanor got a glimpse of lights before the building disappeared behind some trees and a wall of stones chiseled to fit one against the other and hold without mortar. It was midnight when they passed through a break in the wall and climbed the mile-long driveway to the flat top of a hill, where the house stood wrapped inside another wall, this one covered with red-leafed ivy.
