FairyTale: A True Story Page #5

I don't want to disturb 'em,

I... I just...

I just need to know.

Are they real?

I knew it.

I bloody knew it!

Pardon.

Morning.

Finish your drawings now,

everyone.

Excuse me, Mrs. Thornton.

I must take the girls home.

Elsie, Frances, come on.

Run along, then, girls.

I've got it.

What's this all about?

- Albert, it's nothing. Go on inside.

It's all rubbish. Go on home, all of you!

- Girls, may I ask a few questions?

You keep back.

- Did Sir Arthur put you up to it?

- Stay out of my house.

Get the girls upstairs.

I'm going to find Constable Lee.

- Quick, quick.

Where are you?

Oh, come on, fairies.

I do so wont to see you.

Oh, please, fairies.

I've got one! I've got one!

Is it a fairy?

They'll never come back now,

will they?

Did you see the way

my dad looked of me?

He's never looked of me

like that before.

Everybody here

is trespassing on my land!

Anybody still remaining

in five minutes

and I'll set my dogs

on the lot of you!

Tell Wright I want to see him of the manor.

- Excuse me. John Ferret, Bradford "Argus.

Do you believe you've got fairies

at the bottom of your garden?

Mr. Ferret, do I look like

someone who believes in fairies?

Well, if they do exist, would you be

considering charging them rent, sir?

May I?

Ah, it is beautiful,

isn't it?

I see why you children

love it so much.

Joseph?

Why'd you make him stop?

He'd be nearly 11.

He would have started half-time

working of mill when he were 12.

His childhood were nearly over.

He just... wouldn't let go of it.

It was his time to grow up.

Yours too, you know?

Elsie! Arthur!

- What is it?

London! We're going to London.

Sir Arthur's invited us.

Why?

- He's written a book about the fairies.

He wants us there

for the publication.

And are you going to visit with the

fairies at Kensington Gardens, then, girls?

Lovely.

Elsie.

- Arthur. What in heaven's name is going on?

The family's just making a brief trip to London.

- What? But...

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle insisted

they travel first class.

Sir Arthur?

- Excuse me, sir.

I'll be kind. I'll let you sit

next to the window.

- Thank you.

Are you sure you won't come?

- What use would I be?

- I could say please.

What happens if one of those

journalists asks me what I think?

What good's that going to do? I have a

match to play, and a manor to attend to

so don't worry about me.

You and the girls enjoy yourself.

Good luck with the tournament.

Can we go and wave good-bye?

- Go on then.

Tell Mr. Whitley

I want to see him in my office.

I see your girls

are to be the toast of London.

Says here the fairies

are bringing hope to the empire.

Fakes. Whole bloody lot of them.

- Aye. Nobody's proved that, have they?

This way. Come on.

Miss, I'll have a nice big smile.

Look, it's the fairy girls!

This way, everybody.

- Here we go.

Bye!

Miss, can you please ask your fairies

to make me feel better?

I'll try.

- Come on.

There, let's tuck

that sheet up a bit.

The fairies can't

make you feel better.

You'd have to ask your guardian angel for that.

- I've got an angel?

Of course.

Everyone has.

Mum.

That was nice.

I'm so proud of you.

And thank you.

- For what?

The photographs.

At present,

that is a rare privilege.

A matter of sympathetic

vibration, you see.

I'm hopeful that, soon, psychics may become

commonplace. Like seeing a cuckoo.

Hello, darling.

A beautiful dress.

Madam.

- Mr. Houdini.

Yes, but you cannot look of them directly.

Only out of the corner of your eye.

Ah! May I introduce

Mr. Houdini.

He was with us on that original trip to Yorkshire.

- Madam. Sir.

Excuse me, please.

- Yes.

- In fact, if this were a fairy party...

Sir Arthur, may I introduce myself?

Harold Briggs. Cottingley.

I must apologize for inviting myself,

but we share a few acquaintances.

I beg your pardon.

- Well, I own the manor.

The fairies in question are,

you might say, my tenants.

Hiding?

No.

Well... yes.

Me, too.

Come here.

Sit down.

Do you like fruit?

- Yes.

Apples or pears?

- Pears, please.

Can you manage, or would you like a table?

- No, thank you.

May I ask you a question?

- Go ahead.

Do you ever tell anyone?

- Tell them what?

How you do things. You know,

just to see the look on their faces.

Never. Never ever.

And I never will,

not even when I'm dead.

And shall I tell you something?

No one ever really wants to know

when you do tell them.

Can I ask you a question?

- Yes.

Will you come and see my show?

- Yes, of course.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we will match penny for penny

any purse you care to raise,

but I must warn you,

in all fairness,

Mr. Chalker here...

whom God preserve was not blessed by

the Almighty with the power of speech...

is the undisputed champion

of this county,

and is revered among the chess-playing

community in every town within 100 miles,

including Sheffield.

Well, all our money is on

Arthur Wright of Cottingley.

- Hello.

Clear!

Don't worry.

It's just a trick, like the circus.

Check.

Checkmate.

Bugger!

Are you alright?

- Yes.

Thank you.

Mr. Houdini. We were terrified.

- May I have you and the girls together?

Why, yes.

Did you like the show?

- Very much.

Are you going to ask how I did it?

- No.

- Mr. Houdini!

Have you seen these Yorkshire photographs?

- I have.

And do you believe

we're looking of real fairies?

Sir, I've spent much of my life

making the impossible true.

Why would I find it hard

to accept in others?

Well, I've interviewed you

before, Mr. Houdini,

and I know you don't stand for

any superstitious nonsense.

I fought against those who seek

to make a profit out of the grief

the pain and the loneliness

of their fellow human beings.

I stand against fraud, against the

exploitation of suffering mothers,

whose dead children are puppeteered

in front of their grieving eyes.

But I don't see any of that here.

I see only joy.

Any chance you'd tell us

how you escaped the tank?

Masters of illusion never reveal

their secrets. Thank you, gentlemen.

Are we going

to live here forever?

Of course not.

I know what "missing" means.

What?

I know what they mean

when they say my dad's missing.

It means they don't know

where he is.

What's it feel like

when you grow up?

I don't know.

I think perhaps it's different

for everyone.

Do you want to grow up?

Yes. I think I do.

Even if it means never seeing

the fairies again?

It doesn't matter

never seeing them again.

We'll never forget like

everybody else who grows up,

because we have the photographs.

That's why they're important

Whenever we start to forget,

to pretend nothing ever happened,

we can look at them,

and we'll remember.

I think I know how it is

to be grown up.

Yes?

- It's when you feel...

how someone feels...

who isn't you.

Frances.

Listen.

Daddy.

It's my daddy!

It's my daddy!

Thank you.

That perfume smells good.

- I'm not wearing any.

I know.

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