O’Flahertie Wills Wilde.
In haste and love and please advise at once—I’m having difficulty breathing.
Juliet
Night Letter from Sidney to Juliet
13th August, 1946
Let’s believe it! Billee did some research and discovered that Oscar Wilde visited Jersey for a week in 1893, so it’s possible he went to Guernsey then. The noted graphologist Sir William Otis will arrive on Friday, armed with some borrowed letters of Oscar Wilde’s from his university’s collection. I’ve booked rooms for him at the Royal Hotel. He’s a very dignified sort, and I doubt he’d want Zenobia roosting on his shoulder.
If Will Thisbee finds the Holy Grail in his junkyard, don’t tell me. My heart can’t stand much more.
Love to you and Kit and Isola,
Sidney
From Isola to Sidney
14th August, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Juliet says you’re sending a hand-writing fellow to look at Granny Pheen’s letters and decide if Mr. Oscar Wilde wrote them. I’ll bet he did, and even if he didn’t, I think you will admire Solange’s story. I did, Kit did, and I know Granny Pheen did. She would twirl, happy in her grave, to have so many others know about that nice man and his funny ideas.
Juliet told me if Mr. Wilde did write the letters, many teachers and schools and libraries would want to own them and would offer me sums of money for them. They would be sure and keep them in a safe, dry, properly cooled place.
I say no to that! They are safe and dry and chilly now. Granny kept them in her biscuit tin, and in her biscuit tin they’ll stay. Of course anyone who wants to come see them can visit me here, and I’ll let them have a look. Juliet said lots of scholars would probably come, which would be nice for me and Zenobia—as we like company.
If you’d like the letters for a book, you can have them, though I hope you will let me write what Juliet calls the preface. I’d like to tell about Granny Pheen, and I have a picture of her and Muffin by the pump. Juliet told me about royalties and then I could buy me a motorcycle with a sidecar—there is a red one, second-hand, down at Lenoux’s Garage.
Your friend,
Isola Pribby
From Juliet to Sidney
18th August, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Sir William has come and gone. Isola invited me to be present for the inspection, and of course I jumped at the chance.
Promptly at nine, Sir William appeared on the kitchen steps; I panicked at the sight of him in his sober black suit—what if Granny Pheen’s letters were merely the work of some fanciful farmer? What would Sir William do to us—and you—for wasting his time?
He settled grimly among Isola’s sheaves of hemlock and hyssop, dusted his fingers with a snowy handkerchief, fitted a little glass into one eye, and slowly removed the first letter from the biscuit tin.
A long silence followed. Isola and I looked at one another. Sir William took another letter from the biscuit tin. Isola and I held our breath. Sir William sighed. We twitched. “Hmmmm,” he murmured. We nodded at him encouragingly, but it was no good—there was another silence. This one stretched on for several weeks.
Then he looked at us and nodded.
“Yes?” I said, hardly daring to breathe.
“I’m pleased to confirm that you are in possession of eight letters written by Oscar Wilde, madam,” he said to Isola with a little bow.
“GLORY BE!” bellowed Isola, and she reached round the table and clutched Sir William into a hug. He looked somewhat startled at first, but then he smiled and patted her cautiously on the back.
He took one page back with him to get the corroboration of another Wilde scholar, but he told me that was purely for “show.” He was certain he was correct.
He may not tell you that Isola took him for a test drive in Mr. Lenoux’s motorcycle—Isola at the wheel, he in the sidecar, Zenobia on his shoulder. They got a citation for reckless driving, which Sir William assured Isola he would be “privileged to pay.” As Isola says, for a noted graphologist, he’s a good sport.
But he’s no substitute for you. When are you going to come see the letters—and, incidentally, me—for yourself ? Kit will do a tap dance in your honor and I will stand on my head. I still can, you know.
Just to torment you, I won’t tell any news. You’ll have to come and find out for yourself.
Love,
Juliet
