The Victorian Fortune Telling Doll

This short story was written by Shazeda Begum for the We Are Wednesbury Magazine, as part of this year's Young Writer's programme.

Lilia, a nervous young journalist goes to Wednesbury to find inspiration for a journal piece she’s writing. In this small town, she finds inspiration in its local museum and becomes fascinated with a Victorian Fortune Telling Doll. After learning about rumours that the fortunes of this doll came true, including the tragic death of the museum’s old caretaker, Lilia is determined to find out more. But will her curiosity take her down a dangerous path?

Lilia stepped onto her platform at the tram stop and looked around. She’d never been to the town of Wednesbury before and the idea of exploring a new place by herself made her anxious. Pulling out her phone, she searched ‘places to go to in Wednesbury’. “There’s got to be something around here”, she muttered to herself. After a few minutes of scrolling, she saw a museum six minutes away from the tram stop. “Yes!” Lilia loved museums: they were quiet, you could walk through them alone and people didn’t bother you.

She began to make her way to the museum and pulled up a document on her phone. The reason she was exploring this new town was because she was doing some research for a local publication. Lilia had been writing for as long as she could remember and was beginning her journey as a journalist so, when this opportunity came up to write for a local magazine, she decided to take it. There was one slight issue: she didn’t like talking to people. The idea of speaking to people brought up anxiety, stress and overthinking. Irrational thoughts arose to the surface and she would freeze. But if she was going to continue down this path, she needed to overcome this gnawing anxiety.

It was that time of the year when the cold started to bite. Passers-by walked briskly with their hands in their pockets. Lilia was warm in her thick, brown teddy-bear coat. It was mildly busy but not crowded for a Saturday afternoon. When she finally reached her destination, she stood in front of a row of old, Victorian-style buildings side-by-side. The big, green oak doors of the museum were snuggled between a post office and a building with the words ‘Wednesbury Art Gallery and Museum’ written on the top. She made her way inside and was greeted by an elderly man at the front desk.

“Um hello, is there an admission fee?”, Lilia asked.

“Come again?”, the elderly man asked, cupping his right ear.

Rubbing her hands nervously, she repeated, “Do I need to pay?”.

“No, not at all. The two rooms behind you are open and there’s a gallery upstairs. There are another two rooms upstairs too so you can’t get lost”, he explained. She tried to listen for other people in the museum but it seems she was their only visitor. The idea that she was the only one in this museum comforted her, like she was the main character in an abandoned mansion of curiosities.

“Yes, thank you”, Lilia replied, feeling awkward and wanting this conversation to be done, “and when do you close?”.

“We close at 2pm but it shouldn’t take you long to see our rooms. I’d recommend that you start with our toys exhibition just behind you, people love that room.”

She checked her phone and saw she only had forty minutes to look around. She hastily shuffled to the room behind her named, ‘Toys through the Years’. Lilia grew up with toys in every corner of her house when she was younger so when she walked into this toy exhibition, nostalgia hit like a ton of bricks. The exhibition featured toys from as early as the 1600s. They were displayed in glass cabinets and each one was labelled with its respective time period. There were Nintendos, old teddy bears, rocking horses, card games, dolls and board games. She admired the old Teletubbies lined up next to each other. remembering her own Teletubby that she owned during simpler times.

She walked around the room looking at the other cabinets, eventually coming across a cabinet labelled ‘1800s’ which was full of Victorian-style toys. Lilia hummed happily to herself enjoying this time on her own. Her eyes scurried over the details of a rocking horse and a dolls’ house when, suddenly, they fell upon what looked like a small skirt. She crouched down for a better view and saw that it belonged to a doll. Lilia noticed her miniature, white head popping out from a red petticoat and two peach-coloured dots on her face showing blushing cheeks. She wore a little bonnet and, in one hand, she held a tweed basket whilst in the other, three broomsticks. But it was the skirt which caught Lilia’s eye. She’d never seen a skirt in this style before. Each pleat was made out of individual papers in muted colours of reds, browns, blues and greens. Curiously, she read the description next to the doll:

‘Victorian Fortune Telling Doll – the dress of pleated paper has a fortune written on each pleat. A pleat would be opened each day and that will tell the reader their fortune. This particular doll was donated to the museum by Sally Best.’

“Sally Best?”, Lilia thought to herself.

The elderly man from the front desk walked in to check on her. “Get everything you needed?”

Lilia jumped in surprise, nearly tripping over her coat. “Yes, yes, I really like this exhibition”, she replied as she stood up.

“Oh, didn’t mean to scare you”, he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be locking up in around 5 minutes”.

Lilia’s eyes widened. “It’s already been 40 minutes?” She fumbled for her phone and indeed, it was nearly 2pm.

“Lost track of time, eh?”, the elderly man chuckled: “Well, don’t blame you, I like to come in here and spend time looking, always find something new”.

“Uh…”, Lilia fumbled. She wanted to know more about the doll but also wanted to leave as quickly as possible. She thought about the story and steeled her nerves, “What can you tell me about this doll?”. His eyes followed to where she was pointing in the glass cabinet, “Ah, a small thing, you could easily miss it. We don’t know much about it but she’s been in the museum for years, long before this exhibition was created”.

“I’ve never seen one before”, Lilia wondered aloud.

“Yes, because they’re extremely rare. The fragility of the paper means they don’t last very long so it’s a miracle this one’s survived.”

“It almost looks brand new, as if it hasn’t been touched? Whose Sally Best?”

“She was the wife of William Best, he was the caretaker of the museum for a long time. But he died in 1941. Suicide,”

“Oh. How tragic”, Lilia solemnly replied. She nodded at the man and made her way towards the door.

“You know, there’s rumours that the fortunes from this doll actually came true.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked back at him, intrigued by his statement, “What do you mean, ‘came true’?”.

“Yes indeed. In fact, I can share something with you, to help you with your story. I’m not meant to give museum property to people but you seem trustworthy enough. You’ll just need to return it when you’re done – follow me”, he says gesturing with his hands.

She follows the man to a room near the front of the museum. Curious, she wondered what he could possibly give to her.

“Ladies first”, he gestures for her to enter.

She enters, into a room covered with shelves of old books, papers and artefacts. Not knowing where to look, her eyes followed the elderly man who was looking for something amongst the mess.

“This is where we keep the rest of the stuff. We haven’t sorted through it yet if you’re wondering why it looks like a bomb exploded in here”, he says walking towards her. In his hands, he held two, brown with age, creased envelopes.

“A month ago, when we began sorting through this mess, I found these two letters written by Sally Best. One is addressed to her son, Edward, and another that wasn’t addressed to anyone. Take them and see what you can find out. Just make sure to return them when you’re finished. Quite frankly, I’m interested in what you take from them.”

She found her hands reaching out to the letters ….

The Letters

Lilia was sat in a café called ‘Eat Well Café’, a 5 minute walk away from the museum. The interior of the café was simple with white walls and red accents, wooden tables and chairs, and a blackboard displaying their menu. Feeling peckish, she ordered a cottage pie with chips and some tea. She picked a seat at the back of the café and made herself comfortable, placing the letters in front of her. She stared at them, questions whizzing around in her head.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the waitress arriving with her order. “Cottage pie with chips and tea?” she asked with a perky voice.

“Yes please.”

Her food placed in front of her, the smell of the warm, buttery pastry from the pie made her mouth water. She began eating her lunch and opened the first letter from Sally addressed to her son, Edward.

10th August 1941

Edward,

You must come home, I’m worried about your father. He’s not well. I knew the museum closing during the war would hurt him but with the Ministry taking over, I see it breaking him a little every day. And I don’t know what to do.

We have tried everything to protect the museum but nothing has worked. They just came in and changed everything. And your father cannot take any of it. The incessant banging, we hear it every day. I’ve tried to talk to him, to care for him, but it’s not working.

I know you told me to stop entertaining it, but that doll, I read one of its fortunes. I know you don’t believe me but you cannot say that its previous fortunes were mere coincidences.

You must come back, for your father.

Your loving mother.

With shaky hands, Lilia put the letter back into its envelope. Her mind was racing with so many thoughts, she couldn’t differentiate between them. A fortune telling doll whose fortunes came true? It can’t be possible. Hastily, she searched for William Best on her phone. After several minutes of searching words like ‘Wednesbury William Best’ and ‘Wednesbury Museum caretaker death’, she found a newspaper written by ‘The Midland Advertiser’ dated August 30th 1941 about the tragic death of Mr. William H Best. Lilia’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes pondered over the extract which wrote:

The continual banging of the doors in the Museum and Art Gallery, which is occupied by the staff of the Ministry of Food was revealed at the inquest, as one of the reasons why Mr Best aged 62 hung himself in the West Gallery last Friday.

‘So he hung himself…was that what the fortune predicted?’ she thought.