Concordia hated attics. They were the most dreary places. Except for cellars, which were worse. The rain was drumming steadily against the roof tiles as she set down her lamp and started peering into boxes.
After two hours, her neck ached and she was ready to give up for the night. She’d found all sorts of items from childhood: spinning tops, hoops, baby dolls, old clothes for dress-up. She’d even found a woman’s bright red hooded cloak that had given her an idea for a masquerade ball costume. She set it aside. Unfortunately, she found no papers of any kind from her father. Not many of his possessions were here.
She sighed. His clothes and personal items must have been given away long ago.
Hot and tired from her exertions, she sat down on a trunk to catch her breath. Now what?
She lean
