March 16
It was a whim of Fate, I think, that brought me to Lansdowne Place; and Fate that will close this chapter of my life. I know that very soon I must seek new employment. HPB is very ill. She has sworn off further entertainments until her health improves, and so has no need of my assistance in demonstrating her psychokinetic powers.
I think the Countess would like HPB to keep me out of charity, but there is little enough money coming in to support the rest of the household. With work on the final volume of The Secret Doctrine now all but set aside, and Mr. Mead and the Keightleys assisting with HPB’s other obligations, there is little for me to do.
And that is not the only reason that I must leave Lansdowne Road. Over and over in my mind I have relived that moment when I stood revealed as HPB’s accomplice. What must Tom think of me now? I cannot bear the thought of ever facing him again.
If only I were like Alexandra, who dearly loves a new adventure. But I have neither Alexandra’s courage, nor her experience of the world, and I tremble at the thought of leaving this safe refuge.
March 30
This morning, while I was at the stationer’s buying pens and a new journal book, I was approached by an odd-looking woman, very tall and gaunt, with jet black hair and a pale complexion. She was dressed in a long, loose-sleeved jacket encrusted with jet beads over a flowing black silk skirt, and a black lace shawl draped over that.
“Eet eez the young Scottish lady, eeze it not?” she cried, as she strode towards me like some long-legged, black-feathered bird of prey. “Tell me, how fares my dear Madame Blavatsky?”
And then of course I remembered that I had seen her at one of HPB’s Saturday afternoons. It seems she is a psychic and medium, and she calls herself Madame Rulenska, though I believe the “Madame” is an affectation — when she forgets that she is meant to be Eastern European, her accent is broad East End London.
“Madame Blavatsky is not as well as we would wish,” I admitted, “but she remains in good spirits.”
“And is she still performing her parlour tricks?”
How dared she! Of course I leaped at once to HPB’s defense. “They are not tricks! Everyone knows that she has special powers.”
“Do we indeed. And a young lady assistant whose powers are perhaps — shall we say — even more special than Madame B’s?”
I stared at her, cheeks burning, too flustered to reply.
“Dearie, your little performance may have fooled those West End ladies. But I too have special powers, and I saw exactly what was going on.”
Hateful woman! I thought. (Though afterwards it occurred to me there was no disapproval in her voice.) In any event, I mumbled something about a luncheon appointment, hastily paid for my purchases, and fled the shop.
April 6
My dear Miss Jean Guthry,
Due to circumstanses arising from my practise of the psychic arts, I am taking the liberty of approaching you. That is to say, Miss Guthry, I find that pressure of business leads me to consider the timely employment of a qualified assistant. Should you in the near future find it nesessary or prudent to leave the employ of Madame Blavatsky, in view of the aforementioned sichuation I would be pleased to interview you.
I read this misspelled and convoluted message twice through before I understood that I was being offered a position; and I knew the time had come to make a decision.
“Oh my dear Jeannie,” said the Countess Constance, when I told her of Madame Rulenska’s letter. “And are you truly considering this offer?”
“I think I must.” With what sadness and regret I spoke those words!
“If only I could tell you, stay here, Jeannie. We are all so fond of you, But with Madame B. so ill, I know you must think first of yourself, and how you will manage . . .afterwards.”
We both understood the meaning of that half-whispered “afterwards.” Someday soon — very soon, it seemed — we must all of us go our own ways, and Seventeen Lansdowne Road would be no more.
“I know very little about this Madame Rulenska,” the Countess said. “Do you think she is a woman of good reputation?”
What could I say? The Countess knew as well as I that to the world in general, and to Madame Blavatsky in particular, all mediums were by nature disreputable.
“I suppose,” I replied, “she is no worse than any other.”
“Oh my dear,” cried the Countess. “As bad as that? Promise me that if she is unkind, or the work is unsuitable, you will leave at once.”
“I will,” I said. But I knew that it was an empty promise. Life has offered the Countess the luxury of choice; while I must make the best of whatever Fate or accident sets before me.
April 12
I have replied to Madame Rulenska’s letter. Tomorrow I will go to be interviewed at her house in Clerkenwell.