Darkling Cottage
Monday 18th November

 

Dearest Alfred,

Today a Very Important Person came to visit. You’ll never guess who so don’t even try! All Papa said beforehand was that this person was an expert, by which I assumed he meant in photography.

Yet who should arrive? None other than the world-famous author of the Sherlock Holmes stories! Yes, he was HERE in Darkling Cottage! It was thrilling and confusing, but most of all really rather terrifying.

It turns out Papa knew Sir Arthur Conan Doyle through his regiment. He’d also read Sir Arthur’s articles on psychic matters in that magazine he gets called The Strand, and so decided to contact him for advice. When Sir Arthur received Papa’s telegram, he jumped straight in his motor car – a fine shiny green one with a fold-down roof – and drove the hundred miles to our house without stopping. We received the telegram to say he was coming just half an hour before he arrived.

Imagine the panic! And yes, there was a moment before opening it when we thought the telegram brought news of you. Once we’d recovered, Mama insisted I change into my best blue frock. I didn’t know what was wrong with the one I was wearing; I could brush off most of the mud. But you know how particular Mama is. She didn’t believe my picture one bit, and if Sir Arthur were about to find us out as fakes, then we’d jolly well be tidy ones!

Our visitor arrived just after two. With him was a man called Mr Robinson who, it turns out, really is an expert in photography. Yet all eyes were on Sir Arthur. Have I told you how tall he is? Honestly, his head touched the light fittings! Papa showed our guests to the library. Mama and I followed. Anna and Mrs Cotter were also invited to meet the great man himself, and to see my picture. It hit me then that this wasn’t a secret any more, not even just between Papa and me. Now a whole roomful of people would be in on it, which I confess only added to my nerves.

Before he’d even seen the picture, Sir Arthur said he’d like to ask me some questions. His hands were tucked in his waistcoat pockets – I almost imagined it was Sherlock Holmes about to interview me. Papa looked on, awestruck.

Sir Arthur started by asking what I’d seen in the wood. I didn’t know quite what to say at first, especially with other people in the room, all there to listen. But Sir Arthur was very kind and patient, and said did I know children were more in tune with the spirit world than adults? Mama cut in to say actually I’d had ’flu at the time. Mrs Cotter and Anna shared a look. But dear Papa patted my arm and explained I was a Chime Child, which Sir Arthur agreed might have a bearing on my case.

Next he was shown the photograph. On picking it up off the table, Sir Arthur first held it at arm’s length. Then he brought it very close to his face. He peered at every single inch of it, top to bottom. It was most nerve-racking to watch.

By the time he invited Mr Robinson to inspect the picture himself, I felt positively sick. Eyebrows went up. Notes were made. Then heads close together, they spoke in low, excited voices. I was desperate to know what they were saying.

Finally Sir Arthur joined us at the fireside. He cleared his throat in a way that made me more nervous, if that was possible. It was his and Mr Robinson’s opinion, he said, that the picture wasn’t a fake. There was a clear sense of movement in what was a single-exposure shot. Strange, too, he said, how the fairy’s figure cast no shadow.

Papa seized my hands. We both started laughing like lunatics. Now, Alfred, I knew that picture wasn’t fake: I’d taken it myself. But to hear someone else say so was the finest thing. He believed me! Sir Arthur Conan Doyle believed me!

And how did Mama take the news? She looked uncomfortable, but thankfully she busied herself arranging coffee cups and cake. Not that I wanted cake – I was too stirred up for anything!

After forcing down what refreshments I could manage, Sir Arthur insisted I take him ‘to the very spot’ where I’d seen fairies: I desperately hoped we’d see one. The sun was low in the sky, a proper winter sun that dazzled between the tree trunks. It made me think of sunsets, and for a moment I felt sad, like I’d reached the end of a brilliant story. Only nothing had ended, Alfred, in fact it was just beginning.

Even so I was jolly relieved when a fairy did appear. Not only that, she hovered exactly at our FAVOURITE place, where the tree grows strangely. When I pointed her out to Sir Arthur, he seemed unable to see her himself, yet he didn’t think I was pretending. He just said it proved I was a Chime Child.

He said another thing too – this’ll interest you. That strange O-shaped branch? Well, apparently it’s a FAIRY DOOR, a very magical spot where fairies pass between our world and theirs. No wonder we picked that beech tree above all the others.

There’s more.

Beside me, Sir Arthur suddenly flinched. His hands went to his head and he ducked as if warding off a blow. Then something hit me – doof! – right on the forehead. Another hit me on the arm. Then the leg. Then the shoulder. The ammunition, I realised, was vicious little pea-sized stones.

And the sniper?

My fairy, who was invisible to Sir Arthur but who I could see all too clearly. She was glaring right at us. Other fairies had joined her on the branch, or, should I say, at the fairy door. And let me tell you, scowling and glowering at us, they looked awfully fierce. It was most unsettling. I felt ashamed that my fairy should be unfriendly, and confused as to why she should be so now. They stayed there too, arms folded, staring down at us. It was we who retreated in the end.

Back at the house, Sir Arthur laughed it off. He called it typical fairy mischief and said it only made my case stronger. I don’t know, Alfred. Those fairies didn’t seem happy. Perhaps they just wanted to be left alone. The problem now is that Sir Arthur wants more photographs.

I’m beginning to wonder what on earth it is I’ve started.

More soon,

Your sister.