# The Strange Experiences of Tina Malone/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V.
DESPAIR AND SOLITUDE.
"And back to my own again."
It slipped out involuntarily—I could see that she was glad to leave me.
And so it had ended. As I watched her going down the stairs to her own rooms I knew somehow that all the old feeling had gone.
She did not say so openly, she wanted me to feel that things were just the same, but I knew they were not.
That was on Saturday evening.
On Sunday I thought I would stay in bed late. I had had morning tea and was cuddling up cosily among the blankets with a book when my bell rang.
"Who's there?" I called from the passage.
"Aren't you up yet?" said a voice.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"It's I, Michael Grant. Isn't Mrs. Parker there?"
"No, her rooms are downstairs," I said.
"Oh, I thought she was there," came the answer in the sleepy drawl of a cultured Irish voice.
Naomi came rushing up two minutes later.
"Put on your things, dear, and come down. It's Mick Grant. I want him to meet you. Come and entertain him while I dress. I had to huddle on my things anyway."
I ran down and spent a little time there but I knew they were old friends and I soon made an excuse to get away.
I went down later in the day but I could see that Naomi had quite changed towards me. She seemed to be hiding something from me—there was a wall between us.
I took my conge already in spirit.
It was on St. Patrick's Day, I think, that, looking down at her from my window, I said,
"Come up and have some tea, Naomi."
"I can't," she returned. "I'm going out to lunch. Beatrice Lamb has written to me; such a foolish letter. I've torn it in half."
"I feel inclined to have a good cry," I said, "I believe I'll go to a picture show."
"Go and sit in a church instead," she said.
Friends no longer, and now the Priestess seemed to take my place.
I hesitated now before I ran down as usual to say good-night and sit a few minutes to talk with her.
"I would like to get Alice Griffiths here to talk to Dr. ​Felton," she said one day. "I want to hear them talk politics."
"Well, I'll ask her to tea," I said.
"And then you can all come down to me for the evening," she said.
Alice and Naomi were old friends who had had a tiff and I had patched it up. The stitches were not of the firmest and I knew why her wish to bring the two politicians together had gone no further than a suggestion for me to carry out the deed by an invitation.
So we agreed. She would write to Dr. Felton and I to Alice Griffiths.
Alice wrote to say that she would be very glad to come and I fussed about and prepared some puddings and things the night before.
I woke in the middle of the night—it must have been towards morning, and felt as if I could not bear to meet that man. He was a doctor who worked in laboratories and I had always to shut down a thought of victimised animals when I heard of him. I hated the thought of shaking hands with him.
I jumped out of bed and wrote a letter to Naomi saying that I would not go down to her rooms but would send Alice down after tea. I slipped the note under her door. I dashed off the letter and said what I felt about Dr. Felton because I knew she took dislikes to people herself and would understand. I said, too, I felt I must go away if she kept the quarrel up any longer. I did not know what I had done that deserved such treatment and that I was tired of the old rubbish about vibrations. I wrote affectionately, hoping that she would get back to her old self.
I went down later with my rubbish-tin and looked in at her door, feeling shy but sure that the wall must be down between us.
She looked daggers at me.
"Did you get my letter?" I asked with a little hesitation.
"Tina Malone," she said, "I can't understand how you can write me such a letter."
She stood up her tallest, and there was a fierce look in her eyes.
"Why?" I asked, utterly taken aback by this reception of what I had merely meant for a letter of affection.
"An insult to a friend of mine."
"But not to you, Naomi."
"You said you hated me for having let you meet him."
"I didn't," I cried impetuously. "It was not meant at you at all. I only have aversions to people sometimes. I know you have been different to me ever since we had that little tiff, and I think it's silly not to make up."
​"But you show you hated me," she said, softening a little, and there was an under-note of pleading.
"You know very well I want you to be happy and to meet anyone you like. I've never wanted to quarrel. But I will not meet that man."
"I'll have him down here," she said, "and Alice Griffiths can do as she likes about coming down and anyone else who likes to come. I shan't go up to tea."
I turned away feeling better. I had quite counted on the wall having fallen down.
That evening Alice Griffiths came and was very happy at the thought of reunion with Naomi.
While she was taking off her hat I thought I would make a last attempt.
I ran downstairs and knocked at the door.
Naomi opened it.
She was drying a cup and her eyes filled with tears as she saw me.
"Oh, Naomi, do come up to tea."
"Dr. Felton has wired to say he is not coming; I won't go up to tea, but anyone who likes can come down," she answered.
I could not help it, her eyes were still on mine and full of tears.
I bent forward and kissed her.
"No," she said with fierce firmness and drawing back.
But I bent forward and made her let me kiss her.
She kissed me on the other cheek and turned away quickly.
But she would not come up—Alice and I went down after tea.
Alice claimed to be psychic.
"I can always tell 'atmosphere'," she said. "I always seem to be able to tell what sort of things are going on round me—what people are feeling and things like that," she said.
"Oh, do tell us what you feel. What do you feel here," said Naomi, quite bright again.
"Here," said Alice, pausing, and her face seemed to be drawing in the surroundings with all the air of a clairvoyant or medium, "here I seem to feel—conflict—Something has happened—there's been conflict here. It's over now but something must have happened in this room."
There was a pause.
Naomi looked at her with serious eyes.
"And what do you feel about my rooms," I asked, half laughing.
"All harmony and happiness there," said Alice, "but here a struggle—it has passed away but I seem to feel that it has been here."
"Oh, bother the occult," I said, "here they think too much of vibrations and dreams and visions and rubbish. ​I like open air and the good old material world with its solid earth," and I looked at Naomi as I said "I like people who take simple things as simple things and don't see hidden meanings in trifles."
Naomi's eyes hardened and I could feel from that minute that there was no hope of peace. The quarrel was "on" again and the brief peace was gone.
"You're quite right. Keep to good material earthly things—it's much better. It's not safe to dabble in the occult," said Alice.
"What did you say that to Alice Griffiths for?" said Naomi, next day, when I happened to see her.
"What?"
"What you said about the Occult."
"Why not?" I said.
"You know the prejudice her church has against Spiritualism and all that."
I turned away.
"Something has made you different, Naomi," I said, "you're not the same to me at all."
"I have nothing but friendly feeling for you," she said, "I have not changed at all."
"Friendly feeling!" I said, "with that hard look in your eyes!"
"You leave my eyes alone," she said fiercely. "Why can't you be like other people, and love everyone alike?"
I turned away impatiently. Evidently the Priestess had got a firm hold over her, so firm that she seemed to be directing all her judgment of things.
I knew it was one of the views of the Occult School that no feelings should be personal, that to love one person humanely was a thing to be withstood, and to love anyone for their faulty little ways which gave them individuality in my eyes was a thing they considered verged on madness.
The White Priestess and her School had evidently taken charge here. I was not only "of the earth, earthy," but a most reprehensible person because I had a romantic nature and loved Naomi a little for her artistic value and her many little human weaknesses.
Anyway from this time I felt that my company was only "put up with" in Naomi's flat. Her friendship with the Priestess grew and strengthened. They were together now just as she and I had been together in the past. It was she who had all Naomi's confidence. It was she who helped her arrange the rooms to be re-let. They would stop talking as I passed them in a self-conscious way, and I passed them by with a cold "Good-morning."
It was not Naomi's nature at all to be cold. It was not her habit to let anyone feel left out. One of her chief charms had been the wish to share her friends. It made ​me wonder if I had been used as a "blind." I knew she had done this often with me in the past when she wanted me to play gooseberry or play propriety. But she had always wanted me to meet her friends and had wanted them to meet me, and as hers and my tastes were both Bohemian, I was only too willing to fall in with her wishes. But I felt now that the White Priestess had completely got her under sway.
So I was left out.
I made one or two little attempts to make up but it was useless.
It was dreary living there and feeling that I was not wanted by anyone. The cold ways of the Occult School which professed to "love all the world," and yet pulled their skirts aside from an individual worked me up to a feeling of abhorrence. I knew it was not natural to Naomi to feel like this. I longed for her companionship.
One day, obeying an impulse, I wrote another letter to her and left it on her milk can so that she should get it the first thing in the morning.
Feeling that it must somehow bring things right I went down to the drying-ground later on, and waited for her to come out.
I was conscious of her on the verandah behind me and I turned with a smile.
But to my surprise I saw her fierce and haughty.
"Tina Malone! how dare you write me such a letter?"
I could hardly get my breath.
"How dare you write me such a letter? You will send me a written apology for it."
"A writen apology! What for," I asked.
"For daring to write to me as you did."
"What on earth have I said that was dreadful?" I asked, puzzled and mentally rehearsing the letter.
"You said things that no sane woman would have thought," she said.
I ran my mind through the letter again and caught at the words she might have objected to.
"I said it was unhealthy here the way you all take objection to simple things because you think its wrong for me to care for you, and that I felt I must go if you did not change," I said. "But I never thought you really thought that way yourself—it is only because Diana thinks it and has influenced you."
"You'll send me a written apology or you do not enter my flat again," she repeated.
"I'll do nothing of the kind," I said. "I meant all I said and I'll stand to it in open court if needed. I never meant it for you. You don't believe in those things really."
"But you meant it for my friends."
​"But I'm your friend too. I thought I was a great friend."
"You shall not enter my flat till you send me a written apology."
"Very well, you'll never get that." I felt in a fury now. Such idiotic nonsense as a written apology for a letter that had been written merely to make up a quarrel!
"Don't be silly, Naomi," I said crumpling up and laughing again. It was so absurdly melodramatic.
But there was no glimmer of a smile on her face, nor a sign of unbending.
"You send me a written apology or I shall send your letter to the Occult School."
"I have a copy of it," I said, "that I had scribbled off first and there's nothing in it to offend you."
"A written apology or you don't enter this flat again and I'll send your letter to the Occult School," she repeated.
"Very well, then, if you choose to take it that way. I'll take it to a legal friend of mine and ask him what he thinks of it."
I flounced round and went up to my own rooms, too angry at first to feel any wonder at such a storm in a tea-cup.
But from that time her doors were shut against me not only metaphorically, but literally. She locked them and kept them locked in case I should try to go to see her, and spoke to me through them if I tried.
Just once I did try.
I was sitting upstairs all alone one evening watching the sunset and I somehow thought how silly the whole thing had been. I looked round to see what I had for tea and only found sardines.
Of course the opener broke before the thing peeled off—they always do especially on Saturday afternoons.
I thought I would kill two birds with one stone.
I glanced at the Priestess' rooms. They were dark. She had gone to her Occult Lodge meeting.
I ran down to the back steps outside Naomi's back door and knocked.
"Who's there?" came from within.
"It's me," I said, "Naomi, let me in will you?"
"I can't let you in, I'm undressing," said she.
I laughed.
"Have you got a tin-opener?"
"No, I have not," she said.
I stared at the locked door before me and sat on in silence kicking my foot against the wooden step.
"Haven't you really?"
"Yes, I have one somewhere but I can't find it now."
"Oh, Naomi, why not comedy and not tragedy?" said I. ​"I'll have nothing for tea if you don't. I've only got a tin of sardines."
"Eat bread and butter," she said, "it will do you good."
I had hoped she was going to pass it off as a joke—But no, she kept the door locked and I went home defeated.
A day or two after this I asked my sister to see me and, knowing that I might not be home before she arrived I left a notice on my door that I had left my key with the little Anglican lady next door.
"Miss Morton wasn't in," she said.
"Well I do think Naomi or Miss Perkins might have asked you in," I said.
"Mrs. Parker did ask me in but I said I would not go in till I had seen you first," she said—Kitty was very loyal and I had written to her of my trouble.
"I ran down to ask her up to tea this morning but she was out," I said.
"She said she was coming up to speak to me after tea because she wanted to speak when you were there," said my sister.
"Oh dear!" I sighed, "She means to keep it up, then."
"She said you had persecuted her," said my sister. "What's it all about?"
"Persecuted her!" I repeated, perplexed and aghast. "Then she does mean to keep it up!"
I set to work to give her a rough outline of the little trifling squabbles that had brought the feeling about.
After tea Naomi sailed in and along the hall like a tragedy queen, letters in hand and stood before my sister.
"Read these," she said, handing them to Kitty.
There was a queer look on her face, her eyes were hard and her face like a mask—not a bit like the woman I had known.
My sister took them and read them.
"There's no harm in these," she said, looking up, her face softened and gentle, as she would speak to someone who was weak and ill, "I think my sister only shows she is fond of you."
"She must send a written apology. I will not have my friends spoken of so," she said.
She thrust me aside when I tried to break in.
"That will do," she said.
I looked up at her.
"I believe you've said something about me you're ashamed of," I said.
She winced and looked at me a moment with those hard eyes, then turned away.
I was determined now that the White Priestess should be present at the Tribunal.
​I ran out before anyone could stop me and brought her in to meet my sister.
She came along the hall and the Tribunal proceeded.
I was not allowed to speak.
The Priestess would not turn her eyes my way whether I addressed her or not, and Naomi stood a rigid tragedy queen.
Soon the Priestess covered her eyes with her hand while Naomi read the offending parts of the letter aloud.
They sounded so paltry, those little sentences now.
I could see my sister had only a feeling of pity for Naomi as if she were only foolish in bringing forward such a trifle.
But the Priestess and Naomi were hand in glove with one another and when I said:
"Come on, Kitty, leave them alone, I can't stay here if this sort of thing goes on."
"Then I am to take that as notice?" asked Diana in a voice of excited joy.
"Certainly," I said.
The next morning I felt sorry, it seemed such a trifle to go for.
I had been to work and work always brings back a feeling of sanity, and as I opened my door I found a long printed slip about a horse.
The Priestess had an idea that to encourage my love for animals was a sure way of leading me from perdition to the Higher Plane, and with them the horse stood for strength.
I picked it up. It had the Priestess' initials on it. I felt sure I was forgiven and hurried to her room. She had been entrusted with the letting of the rooms.
I told her I had thought matters over and it had been such a silly little squabble I would like to stay on if she were willing to let us start again.
To my surprise she made excuses.
"I've promised the rooms," she said, looking up with a smile of excited pleasure. "Someone who saw your room one day said, 'Oh, if I had only known you had a room like that I would have taken it.' She may not come at once, but its promised."
"You didn't take very long over it, then," I said.
I knew perfectly well who the "someone" was. It was an artist, an occultist, who had come to borrow a pencil from me and had exclaimed at the beauty of the view.
The Priestess would not let me withdraw but, ashamed of her behaviour, left for the country, and stayed away all the week that I was room-hunting and dismantling my rooms.
And Naomi!
Not once did she come near me.
​The desolation and despair of those seven days that followed is hard to forget. My cheerful friend in the neighbouring house happened to be away, and all alone, I pulled up my floor-covering, took down my pictures and packed my books.
I may say I hunted high and low for a newspaper cutting about "The Ass," to put under the Priestess' door as a payback for "The Horse."
New boarders came one day while the Priestess was away and the man eagerly set to work to make a vegetable garden out of the Priestess' pet herb patch.
"You're running into great danger there," I could not resist calling from my window. "That's an Occult Priestess' pet herb patch—Look out that your vibrations suit or you'll have a lively time."
He looked up, distressed, turned to see the havoc he had made of the "friendly" ferns and flowers, put down his spade and walked in dejectedly.
Flats were few and hard to find just then.
More material than ever, I felt as I stumped about over my uncarpeted floors hoping that every noisy footfall might stamp itself on Naomi's callous heart.
Every day I expected her to come up, if only to say good-bye.
She never came near me.
But on the last day as I returned for some of my things I saw her red dress, and in a second saw her hesitate as if wondering whether she would come towards me or turn tail and walk the other way.
She decided to do the former.
Nearer and nearer she came and my heart beat fast.
She crossed the street and came towards me.
I bent my head, and steadily looked on the ground, and passed on.
As I stood at my door fitting the latch-key in the lock, I turned.
She was going in at a neighboring gate.
She turned her face towards me—a white face full of agonised despair it looked to me that moment.
What had she done? What had I done? Why had all this happened and was this the end of it, I wondered as I opened the door and went through the empty rooms.