They spent an hour in the vast, dusty expanse of the Rumpole attics. There were no more suits of armor and no swords. When the last corner had been investigated and the last trunk prized open, the girls went back to the schoolroom to embroider slippers and the men went downstairs to read newspapers or play billiards or whatever it was that young noblemen did on Sunday afternoons. Pip sat at her desk and tried to marshal her thoughts into some kind of order. They felt as tangled as a briar patch, and it wasn’t just her thoughts that were tangled; her emotions were, too. This new knowledge was simply too huge and too shocking to make sense of.
Magic was real? Faerie godmothers actually existed?
Impossible, said a voice in her head. But it wasn’t impossible because she’d seen it with her ow
