May 22

When one claims extraordinary spiritual gifts, it is sad indeed that people are foolish enough to believe one!

Certain people, quite irresponsibly, believe that my spiritual abilities are sure to lead to Blancheflor's missing corpse. Perhaps next they will accuse me of consorting with resurrection-men. I have taken my Drops to succour myself in this time of need. Phinea is deathly afraid, with a face like she herself is the corpse.

My spirit guide has very sensibly suggested making inquiries of the doctor who prepared for the inquest, and oversaw Blancheflor's burial rites. Doctor Isling is likeliest by far to be behind foul play. He has sweaty hands and a wandering eye, and that is proof enough of anything.

Or perhaps the impertinent Hans Solus, overcome by his dark love? Blancheflor's own father Jacob, deluded into believing her miraculously alive? Or indeed the sexton of the graveyard, or an unknown criminal bent on mischief! As the Oldershaw would say, I have seen all sides of life in my time. This particular crime is unaccountable to me.

Perhaps certain people will place me inside their confidence as time goes by.

Perhaps I should take up fishing. I believe I should enjoy fitting a squirming worm upon the end of a hook, slowly.

Phinea generously offered me full half of her summer wardrobe's allowance—to which I accepted, gracefully. She took me on a walk around the park, in mourning, and introduced me to a music-agent and a line of credit. Then at last she capitulated.

"Lydia," she told me, waking me up in the middle of the night with a candlestick, "it was I who stabbed Blancheflor to the heart. Yes, it was I! And I know that you know, and I have been thinking over whether I ought to also kill you ..."

A charming woman indeed!

"But there is more you must know," she said. "Over the past two months I fed Blancheflor enough arsenic to kill several elephants, and watched her eat it. The doctor noticed its effect on her nails and hair. There is no mistake. And yet it did not kill her. She watched me, and she tormented me.

"I did not go to her room that night intending to strike her with the dagger. But as soon as we were alone, she taunted me about Lance. She said ... you can imagine what she said. Lance never loved me, and he would be her toy for as long as he lived. I could not bear it. I took up the dagger and struck her. Her breast gouted with blood. She was finally surprised at me.

"When I could see no heartbeat in her, I locked the door from the inside with gloves on. Then I clambered out of the window and down the vines. I returned to my own room from a side passage. No one saw me.

"I thought it was all over. But her body is gone, and I do not know why. I tell you now that I am afraid."

I ought to leave these people for now and for good, Diary. A railway to the Midwest or Deep South or possibly Far East calls my name. I do not think I have aroused sufficient hatred for anyone to trace me with ill intent.

And yet I fear that my knowledge is as dangerous as anything else in this affair, and ignorance shall not protect me.

For that reason, I suggested a plan of action to Phinea. We shall hold a seance with my Spiritualist colleagues, and in return for a small financial consideration they will learn all they can about the principal suspects in this incident.