Eleanor Hayes The Arrival The rain had been falling over St. Aldwyn’s for two days without pause, a relentless curtain of silver that blurred the hedgerows and emptied the cobbled streets of its usual chatter. Nestled in the heart of the town was the Blackthorn Inn, a Tudor-fronted building whose dark beams sagged with age, whose windows glowed like watchful eyes in the storm. On that particular evening, a carriage stopped at its door—a rare sight, for few visitors chose to travel in such weather. From within stepped a tall man in a deep maroon coat, his boots striking sharp…