Chapter 18
March 1896
The Armstrong attic was not a congenial place even on a sunny day, as Concordia well knew, so it was with a thumping heart that she approached the attic stairs, lamp in hand, so late on this miserable rainy night.
As before, the knob turned easily and silently, although the wooden steps creaked loudly enough to be heard over the steady drumming of the downpour outside. The sharp smell of rain, filtering through the eaves, mingled with the usual smells of mothballs and dust.
Her breath caught in her throat. Was that a glow, at the end of the attic?
As she paused, uncertain what to do next, a figure detached itself from the gloom, coming toward her. Concordia yelped in terror and backed away.
“Miss! Miss Concordia! It’s just me!” Annie said in a strained whis
