Юлия Красинская – The Hodgson’s Dossier, or Shadows over Adyar (страница 9)

"Can I help you with something, mister?" her voice rang out, soft and melodic, like the chime of a bell. She put down the letters and took a step forward, emerging from the beam of light.

"Good morning, lady," Richard extended his hand towards the girl. "I am Richard Hodgson! I would like to see Madame Blavatsky."

"Good morning," Lilian smiled her gentle smile. "My name is Lilian Carter. Unfortunately, Madame Blavatsky and Colonel Olcott," she spread her hands slightly, and a flicker of genuine regret appeared in her eyes, "they urgently departed for London three days ago. Unforeseen Society matters."

Hodgson felt a slight pang of disappointment, quickly replaced by curiosity. The field remained open, and the opponent – or rather, the object of study – was not where he expected. But before him was a living, direct source of information. And a very attractive one.

"Oh, I understand, business," he tried to make his voice sound annoyed, not professionally irritated. "It's a great pity to miss them. I've come a long way to… to get closer to them and to the truth!" and here he wasn't lying in the slightest. He theatrically lowered his head, feigning bitter disappointment.

"You came to them? Specifically?" Lilian asked softly, with concern.

Hodgson nodded, looking past her, with the air of a man whose hopes had been dashed. "Yes, I've read Madame Blavatsky's works. It changed my life, I swear to you, Miss Carter!" his voice grew stronger, sounding with sincere, almost fanatical fervor.

Lilian moved closer. Her face expressed genuine sympathy. "Oh, Mr… Hodgson, isn't it? I sympathize with you so much. This is a terrible turn of events."

He looked up at her – the eyes of a man grasping for any straw. "Miss Carter, what should I do? I can't just leave. Not now. Not after everything…"

His gaze swept over the portraits of the Masters on the walls, as if seeking their support.

"You must stay!" Lilian almost blurted out. "Adyar is a home for all seekers. It's a community of like-minded people. The spirit of the Masters lives here, within these walls, in their works, in our work!"

Hodgson clutched at this straw. A timid glimmer of hope appeared on his face. "You think so? I could stay? Live here? Help with something? I'm not rich, but I'm ready to work. Clean the garden, transcribe manuscripts. Anything!"

Lilian looked at him. His despair, his fervor, his readiness to serve – everything spoke of a sincere and selfless seeker. She had seen such people here. Energetic, devoted, and naive. Lilian herself had once been like that, appearing on the doorstep of Helena Petrovna's London apartment, penniless, but with a soul full of faith and hope.

"Of course, you can stay!" she said decisively, feeling responsible for her "brother in faith." "There's a free room in the guest house; you passed it in the park. It's small, but cozy."

"Thank you, Miss Carter! You have no idea what this means to me. I… I feel like I've found refuge after a long storm," Hodgson sighed deeply, as if a huge weight had been lifted from him. A sincere, masterfully feigned gratitude bloomed on his face.

"Please, call me Lilian," she said softly. "We are all one family here."

Hodgson felt a dizzying success. He hadn't just infiltrated; he had been accepted into the family as one of their own, as a suffering adept. Under the guise of a devoted follower, from this moment on, he would have access to the heart, to the holy of holies of the Theosophical Society. He smiled, and such boundless gratitude shone in his eyes that no one would have thought to doubt his sincerity.

"I hope my presence won't be too much of a burden for you, Lilian?"

"Not at all!" Her smile widened.

Thus, time slowly passed, awaiting the return of Madame Blavatsky and Colonel Olcott. Richard honestly and diligently helped Lilian with the society's current affairs, dealing with organizational matters, preparing documents, and correspondence: he carefully sorted letters, checked lists of participants for upcoming lectures, and helped prepare materials for new classes. Lilian valued his help. During their joint work, they discussed the latest news from the society, shared thoughts on upcoming events, and how best to prepare for the teachers' return. Imperceptibly, they grew closer to each other.

One evening, they were sitting in the gazebo after a recent tropical downpour. Lilian was silent, watching the last raindrops fall from the leaves of the mango tree. Her face, usually illuminated by a soft smile, was thoughtful, almost sad. Richard sat opposite her, not breaking the silence, radiating calm, unobtrusive attention – the posture of a genuinely interested listener.

"You know, Richard," she suddenly began, quietly, without looking at him. "With your sincerity and diligence, you remind me a lot of my brother, William."

"You have a brother?" Hodgson asked, genuinely surprised.

"I did," Lilian said with sadness in her voice, standing up. "He died two years ago in the battles at Kassassin in Egypt, just short of reaching Cairo." – Her voice trembled, but she pulled herself together and continued. – When we were still children, he and I were left complete orphans. We grew up in St. Mary's Orphanage in Devonshire. The only one who was kind to us then was the old nanny. She taught us to look out for each other and always stick together, – Lilian fell silent, gazing into the darkening garden. – We were everything to each other. We shared the last crust of bread, warmed each other on damp days, dreamed…

Richard listened, holding his breath. His calculating role as an adept momentarily receded before the real pain in Lilian's voice.

“Lilian…” – he murmured, touched by her sincerity.

“When he went to the front, – the girl continued, – we swore to each other: no matter what trials life sent, we would remain good people. Kind and honest. He promised he would return. But…”

A thick, heavy silence hung in the air. Richard didn't know what to say. His own mission suddenly seemed so sordid in the face of this girl, who genuinely believed in people. He silently pushed a clean handkerchief across the table to her. Lilian mechanically took it, clutched it in her fist, but didn't wipe her tears.

“Then I was left alone, Richard. Completely alone,” – Lilian whispered, turning to him. – “The world became empty. It turned gray and cold. I thought I wouldn't survive this loss”, – she raised her eyes, filled with such longing that it caused Richard physical pain. – “And then I heard about her. About Madame Blavatsky. That she could hear those who had passed. That she”, – Lilian brightened, a fire of faith igniting in her eyes, – “could communicate with them! I gathered my few belongings and came to the door of her London apartment. I fell at her feet. I begged!” – Lilian's voice trembled with emotion. – “And she heard me, Richard! She gave me hope! Through her, William speaks to me. Writes me letters. Gives me advice. Tells me that it's good there. That he's waiting for me. That he's proud of me”.

She pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the folds of her dress, carefully unfolding it.

“See? His handwriting. I'd recognize it out of a thousand. He asks me to live. To grow. To bring light to others. Like we dreamed”.

Richard looked at the trembling paper in Lilian's hands. And something inside him turned over. This girl sincerely believed the letter was real. That her deceased brother had written it. It wasn't a trick or a hoax for her. It was the only thread to a beloved, dear person.

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