Violet,
I'm so glad that you're getting along alright, you will be happiest there. I do have exciting news which has developed since I left you. Oliver and I have decided to get married! He proposed to me the day after I returned - I am so happy!
The date and all of the other things are yet to be decided, but of course you and your friends are all invited guests. Be sure to inform Alma, for I'm not too sure she'll be happy if all her children leave for a wedding without her knowing!
Write back soon. All my love,
Aggie.
I lower the letter onto Miss Peregrine's desk; I'm almost bursting with excitement at the engagement. She folds the paper up and tucks it back into its envelope. With a warm smile, she places it into a file which was standing against a bookend. Within the file, I spot what appears to be several photographs - and on the face of the file it reads:
Letters - Agatha Elliot
Concerning Violet Louise le Doré
Letters from May 8th 1923
Photographs from October 15th 1925
One week after I was born - I think to myself. Miss Peregrine widens her bird-like eyes once she spots me looking at the file.
"Miss Peregrine, what is in that file?" I question, intrigued into what Aggie had sent her all these years. The headmistress pushes her lips together, before slowly pulling the file back into view. Upon opening it, I see the photographs are of a familiar little girl - whom I used to often see around my own home in gilt frames.
"Your aunt and I have been conversing in letters since she left the children's home when we were teenagers. She would occasionally send me photographs of you."
Miss Peregrine spread out the pictures across her desk as if they were a deck of cards. They're already ordered: the first one depicts a much younger Rosanna seated on a garden chair, her golden curls turned grey by the development of the picture. In her arms she holds a baby - who's face is crumpled in a screech. I chuckle at my sister's obvious discomfort. The date at the bottom reads October 15th, making me about a week old in this particular scene.
The next image is of a definitively older child - perhaps around two or three years old. Her auburn curls have already grown past her ears, however due to the discolouration, my hair does not appear it's normal rusted tone - it has become a dark grey shade. This time I'm smiling at the camera.
"You look rather like Agatha in that one." Miss Peregrine explains to me, and I smile broadly as I reminisce.
The headmistress' clawed fingers pick up another picture. I'm a lot older now and sitting on the swing which still hangs in the garden at home. The date claims it was taken on my tenth birthday in 1936. As ever, I'm clutching a book and I'm wearing a tulle party dress with - from what I can remember - matching satin shoes. I'd received them as gifts from my parents and they were my prized possessions for a short while. My mother had styled my now waist-length locks into two pigtails high on my head. In hindsight, I looked ridiculous - they were so tight my features had been pulled upwards drastically.
Looking away from the dreadful image, the final picture in the display catches my eye. Upon picking it out, I realise it's more recent. Taken in September 1942, it shows Rosanna and I in the garden. My sister is dressed in a clean, crease-free white blazer and pencil skirt and a straw boater is balanced on top of her head. Her expression is the definition of excitement - her eyes are bulging and her smile appears hard to contain. The younger sister, on the other hand, is looking less than impressed at being woken up so early. She's still wearing her floral nightdress and her hair is in disarray. However, she had forced herself from the comfort of her bed to wave off her sister as she goes to catch her train to the North.
I distinctly remember that photograph being taken. My father had gotten up early to get dressed and fish out the camera from his drawers. My mother and I were not as prepared, hence my unappealing state.
"I'll leave them on my desk if you ever want to come and have another look." Miss Peregrine purrs, gathering up the photographs and sliding them under her ink pot.
I'm ushered from her office as she has 'important business to take care of', so I wander from the top floor back to my bedroom.
As I walk, I hear an odd fizzling sound, followed by a loud cry and plenty of cursing. The commotion is followed by one of the doors before me swinging open, and I'm quick to move out of the way as Olive skids past in a frenzy. She runs down the stairs, her shoes squeak against the floorboards.
"Water! Bandages!" She shrieks, her voice ripples back upstairs and makes my stomach churn. Something bad must have happened.
I'm distracted from Olive's screaming by a horrific, choking stench wafting from the now-open door. Covering my mouth and nose with some of my hair, I wander over to the doorway and the smell only becomes stronger.
"Bloody shitting bastard!" A familiar voice cries from inside.
Enoch sits at his desk, holding his hands before him. The stench is coming from a broken flask on the floor; a clear fluid lies in a puddle among broken glass and a cork. It fizzes on the rug.
His eyes flick up to me as I examine the bizarre scene from a distance.
"Don't just stand there, you idiot! Do something!" He roars, clearly in pain.