Once upon a time in a quiet village in Yorkshire, a man named Edward Whitcombe returned home one evening with a letter clenched in his fist. His wife, Margaret, was stirring a pot of hearty beef stew in their cottage kitchen, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air. Edward burst through the door without even removing his boots, his face alight with excitement.
«Margaret! You’ll never believe it!» he exclaimed, waving the letter. «I’ve inherited a fortune from a distant cousin in London! We’re rich!»
Margaret turned, wiping her hands on her apron. «Thats wonderful, Edward,» she said softly. «But who was this cousin? Weve never heard of them.»
«Who cares?» Edward laughed, kissing her cheek. «Now we can have everything weve ever wanted!»
But the next morning, Edward was no longer the man she knew. He strutted about as though hed been knighted, looking down his nose at her. Over breakfast, he said coldly, «Margaret, now that Im a man of means, I think we ought to reconsider our arrangement.»
She stared at him, her heart sinking. «What do you mean?»
«I mean,» he said, biting into his toast, «Ive risen above all this. And you well, youre rather ordinary, arent you?»
Margaret, wounded, sought solace from her dearest friends, Beatrice and Eleanor, at the village teahouse.
«Beatrice, Eleanor, you wont believe whats happened,» she whispered, her voice trembling. «Edwards come into money, and now he treats me like a servant!»
Beatrice scoffed. «The nerve! Has he even seen the money yet?»
Eleanor frowned thoughtfully. «What will you do?»
«I dont know,» Margaret sighed. «Hes become unbearable.»
Days passed, and Edward grew crueller, accusing Margaret of scheming for his wealth. One evening, as he leafed through catalogues of fine carriages, she finally stood her ground.
«Edward, we must talk.»
«Not now, Margaret. Ive no time for trifles.»
Her heart shattered. That night, she met her friends again.
«Beatrice, Eleanor, I cant endure this any longer,» she confessed, tears welling.
Eleanor squeezed her hand. «Margaret, we must confess something. The letter it was a ruse. We arranged it to reveal Edwards true nature.»
Margaret gasped. «You lied to me?»
Beatrice nodded grimly. «We saw how he treated you. We had to know if money would corrupt him. And it did.»
Margaret sat in stunned silence. Then, with resolve, she confronted Edward.
«I know the truth. Your inheritance was a trick. And youve shown me exactly who you are.»
Edwards face darkened with fury. «Youd believe them over me? Fine. If thats how it is, Ill leave.»
As the door slammed behind him, Margaret weptbut not for long. Beatrice and Eleanor arrived, their faces solemn.
«Theres more,» Beatrice admitted. «A solicitor from London did contact me weeks ago. There *is* a real inheritancefrom a great-aunt. We kept it secret to protect you.»
Margarets breath caught. «You mean?»
Eleanor handed her a slip of paper. «Call him. The fortune is yours.»
With trembling hands, Margaret dialled the number. When she hung up, her eyes shone. «Its true. Im to inherit a manor and a fortune.»
Her friends hugged her tightly.
«To new beginnings,» Beatrice toasted with a glass of sherry.
«To true friends,» Eleanor added.
Margaret raised her glass, her heart light at last. She was free, wealthy, and surrounded by those who truly loved her. And that, she knew, was worth more than gold.
