Cat hears the door at the far end of the library squeak open and thump shut, and she pauses.
‘Have you seen this?’ Robin Durrant’s voice is loud and abrupt as it breaks the silence. She hears the slap of the newspaper being thrown down hard.
‘Robin!’ The vicar’s pleasure makes his voice ring. ‘Our picture? Yes, I saw it. I think it’s come out rather well, although—’
‘I’m not talking about the picture, I’m talking about the gossip that’s been printed about me by this … this Snitch character!’ Robin snaps. His voice is rich with outrage; Cat can hear the angry sneer on his face. She bites her lip to stifle a sudden bubble of laughter, and takes a few tiny steps nearer to the library, peering through the crack between the double doors. Robin stands over Albert with his jaw working into tight, furious knots, while the vicar reads the short piece. Touched a nerve, did it? Cat thinks.
‘Really, Robin, this Snitch person is the lowest kind of journalist, and everybody knows not to heed a single thing he writes. Please don’t let it trouble you …’ Albert clears his throat diffidently, and speaks soothingly.
‘Imaginary folk, he calls them. Imaginary! Does he take me for a complete fool? How dare he assume he knows more about such things than I do? How dare he?’
‘Really, Robin, there’s no need to take it so much to heart … nobody will pay it any mind,’ Albert says, his voice now laden with growing anxiety.
‘And that quip about finding a pot of gold for my father … what is that supposed to mean? Have they been to Reading, then, and pestered my father? Have they been asking the servants there what my father thinks about theosophy?’ Robin demands. Cat holds her breath, waits in the agonising pause for him to put two and two together, and guess the source of the gossip. Her heart pounds in her ears.
The vicar murmurs something that Cat cannot hear, his voice meek and unhappy.
‘They have no idea what they’re talking about – these small-minded idiots, smirking at me through their moustaches … no idea whatsoever. And no idea who I am, or who I will become!’
‘Robin, please … there really is no need to be so upset—’
‘Oh, but there is! For years I’ve been surrounded by doubters and naysayers and people who like to ridicule what they cannot understand. I’m sick of it! I will revel in their contrition when my name is known around the world! When I am at the right hand of Madame Blavatsky herself! Then they will eat their words!’
‘Indeed they will, Robin,’ Albert says, uncertainly. Through the narrow gap Cat can see his stunned expression, the way he stands, face and body turned to the pacing theosophist like a flower turned to the sun. As Robin draws near he raises his hand, as if he would lay it on the other man’s arm; but the theosophist turns away again, stalks angrily to the window. There is a long pause in which the vicar is frozen in shock and the theosophist squeezes his hands into angry fists. Cat daren’t move in the silence. She can’t trust her feet to go completely unheard.
‘Our progress has been too slow. Far too slow,’ Robin snaps at last. ‘Almost a month I’ve been here, and we have seen nothing. I have felt their presence, yes … but they will not coalesce. That bungling photographic studio you sent me to returns blank, overexposed frames, again and again. It will not do, Albert!’
‘No, of course, I’m so sorry … Well, what must we do?’ Albert asks, and Cat almost feels sorry for him, so complete is his supplication. ‘How might we progress?’
‘A theosophist must strive to live cleanly, ethically, and to benefit his fellow man with everything he does. Kindness, and generosity, and understanding.’ Robin speaks as if to a child, biting off the words. ‘Purity is of the essence. But above all, one must strive to bring the teachings of the Divine Truth to as wide an audience as possible. It is in this last respect that I must increase my own endeavours.’
‘But how?’ Albert presses. As they speak, Cat edges away along the corridor, so she can still hear them, but can dart away if need be.
‘I mean to provide the world with incontrovertible proof that theosophy is the truth,’ Robin says. ‘A photograph. I will show mankind the reality of the elemental world; I will be the architect of an international acceptance of theosophy, and in doing so I will silence these fools who are so quick to ridicule!’
‘I’ll help you, of course. Whatever you need me to do. I am learning so much, all the time. I hope in the future to become wiser, more adept …’ Albert says, eagerly.