Small lotus outline on the inner wrist

The mere behind Ashby Mill has done a thing I cannot explain to Mother, so I am telling you instead, since you always believed the strange things before anyone else did. Last Tuesday a single flower stood up out of the black water where there had been nothing but duckweed and the old iron hoop from the cart. Mr Pell from the forge says it is a lotus. He says he saw one once in a book belonging to a sailor, which is the only reason I believe him at all.

It has layered itself like a bud that cannot decide whether to open, with a rounded base sitting low on the water and four or five petals curling up from it. Two more lean out at the sides, as though they were tired of holding still. I walked down with my sketchbook and tried to draw it, but every line I put down looked like a lie, so I used only the pen. One black outline, nothing inside, because I did not know what colour it wanted to be.

Mrs Harrow says the flower only opens when no one is watching. I have tested this three evenings running. Tonight I hid behind the alder with my breath held, and when I looked again it had shut its petals tight, as neat as a fist.

So I am sending you the drawing. Keep it somewhere dry. When you come home, we will go down together, and you will look at it first, and then perhaps it will finally show us what colour it is.

Your loving sister, Edith