Off the Record (3 page)

‘We’ve decided to change our plans,’ said Charles Otterbourne after a few minutes’ intense conversation. ‘If Professor Carrington is agreeable, it would perhaps be as well if he explained his work to me right away.’

‘Just as you like,’ grunted the Professor through puffs of smoke.

Molly saw her father control his temper with an effort. ‘Molly, my dear,’ he said turning to her, ‘I intended to escort Mr Dunbar around the factory this morning. That, I’m afraid, is no longer possible. Could you take care of him and Mr Carrington?’ He cast an unfriendly glance at the Professor before turning back to Dunbar. ‘I’m sorry to have to change the arrangements at such short notice but I can escort you round the factory this afternoon.’

Dunbar regretfully shook his head. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Otterbourne, but that won’t be possible. I understand you’ve got a fine concern here and I would like to see it very much. Perhaps we can make an appointment for another day?’ There was a definite gleam in his eye. ‘I’m sure we can work together to our mutual benefit. However, I must be away back up to town. There’s a meeting of a learned society I’m pledged to attend, you understand. The Professor is giving a paper, aren’t you, sir?’ Alan Carrington nodded agreement.

With his plans for the day in ruins, Charles Otterbourne gave in with reasonable grace. The two Carringtons carried the wooden crate into the study. Gerard Carrington appeared a few minutes later. ‘The guv’nor’s well away,’ he said with a grin. ‘He’s giving poor Mr Otterbourne the full works. He won’t be finished for at least an hour, probably longer.’

‘Would you like to see the village?’ asked Molly. ‘We can drive down in the car or we can walk if you’d rather.’

Andrew Dunbar shook his head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lewis, but I’ll have to decline. I have some papers I intend to discuss with your father and I’d appreciate some time to look at them. I meant to read through them on the train, but I didn’t have the opportunity.’

‘The guv’nor wouldn’t stop talking,’ explained Gerry Carrington. ‘He was on good form, wasn’t he Mr Dunbar?’

‘He was very loquacious,’ agreed Mr Dunbar. ‘And very informative. Is there a room I can use, Mrs Lewis?’

‘You can have the library,’ she said. ‘You’ll be free from interruption in there.’ She turned to Gerard Carrington. ‘Shall we have coffee in the conservatory, Gerry?’ She felt mildly self-conscious as she said his name but he obviously liked her using it.

He smiled warmly. ‘That’d be nice.’ His smile broadened. ‘Now the guv’nor’s safely taken care of, I can relax for a bit.’

The remark gave her the oddest sense of kinship with him. He obviously cared about his father and that protectiveness was something Molly was very familiar with.

The Professor didn’t fit into the world but neither did Dad. Molly suddenly knew Gerry Carrington would understand how she felt about her father. He was vulnerable. Dad had to have the world run by his rules; he simply couldn’t cope in any other way. He had to be surrounded with an armour of deference because without it, he would be as helpless as a crab without its shell. He was, as Steve said, a pompous old tyrant with no sense of humour. She knew that, but there were worse failings, weren’t there? He might be an old tyrant, but he was a kindly old tyrant and she loved him. Steve was usually privately and cheerfully disrespectful about her father but every so often, he was serious. ‘It’s crazy, Molly,’ he protested. ‘Why on earth do we all have to live by his rules? We’re not children.’

‘We don’t have to,’ she said. ‘We just have to pretend.’ It was kinder that way. So in London she danced, drank cocktails and went to card parties, and Steve couldn’t understand that, for Dad’s sake, she was willing to lead this odd sort of double life, but it was for Steve’s sake, too. She didn’t like the double life; she seemed to have been on edge for ages. It was so difficult to simply relax. Gerry, she thought, would understand. The knowledge made her feel slightly shy.

They sat in the conservatory together. Gerard Carrington seemed completely at home, talking about their surroundings, his father and Steve. He really was a remarkably easy person to get along with.

‘What does your father’s machine actually do?’ she asked. ‘What makes it so special?’ She half-expected to be told it was too difficult for her to understand – Steve usually made a joke if she asked a question – but Carrington looked at her with a sort of hesitant enthusiasm.

‘Do you really want to know? To put it very simply, it uses electrical impulses to record and play at length on to a magnetized ribbon.’

‘Hasn’t that been done before?’ asked Molly, a wayward memory coming to her aid. ‘Wasn’t there a man called Poulsen? I’ve heard my father talk about him.’

Carrington looked at her with undisguised admiration. ‘Spot on. I must say how refreshing it is to meet someone who has an intelligent interest in the subject.’

She felt ridiculously flattered. Steve teased her and Dad declaimed but neither told her she was intelligent.

‘The guv’nor’s machine is an improvement on Poulsen’s. He developed a system of storing electrical signals on magnetized steel wire some time ago now but the sound was terribly distorted when it was replayed. On this machine the sound is very clear.’ Carrington leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘The guv’nor’s come up with the idea of magnetic ribbon wrapped round a cylinder. It’s tricky to use at the moment and he’ll have to come up with some easier way to manipulate the ribbon but the principle’s sound enough.’

‘Perhaps it’s a silly question,’ said Molly doubtfully, ‘but I don’t see how a sound can be electrical.’

Carrington grinned. ‘It’s a first-rate question. It really all goes back to Michael Faraday. As you know, Faraday’s major discovery was that a magnetic field can induce an electrical current, yes?’

Molly nodded to indicate she was comfortable with Faraday and magnetic fields.

Carrington flushed with pleasure. ‘You really do know something about this, don’t you? Now as far as sound recording and reproduction are concerned, the trick is to turn sound waves into an electrical impulse. Lee De Forest is doing some pioneering work on this in the States and some exciting breakthroughs are being made in the field of thermionic emissions. If you take an equation where
K
is Boltzman’s constant . . .’

He broke off, noting the glazed expression in Molly’s eyes. ‘Perhaps I can explain it without maths,’ he said tactfully. ‘A sound can be converted into an electrical impulse by using a carbon-filled microphone.’ He gave a wriggle of enthusiasm. ‘You see where this is going? The sound waves vibrate the microphone diaphragm so they’re converted into a varying electrical current. If you wrap an iron pole within a coil of wire surrounded by a permanent magnet – we’re back to Faraday again – an electrical field is produced and we can use that to make a picture, so to speak, of the sound waves.’

‘But you still need a way to turn that picture of the sound waves into actual sound.’

‘Exactly!’ Carrington pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘My word, Molly, I’m enjoying this conversation. I’ve never met a girl like you before. We can hear the sound by using a device which picks up the changes in the magnetic field, converting it to an electrical signal which is amplified so it’s powerful enough to make a diaphragm vibrate and reproduce the recorded sound waves audibly. You’ll appreciate there’s more to it than that, but that’s the gist of it,’ he said, looking at her happily.

He was so appreciative she felt a rush of pleasure. There was a button missing on his shirt, she noticed. She suddenly wished she could sew it back on for him. She had the oddest desire to look after him. It was the Otterbourne fault, she thought with a rueful stab of recognition.

‘Anyway, that’s the theory behind the guv’nor’s machine,’ said Gerry, picking up his coffee. He raised an interrogative eyebrow. ‘You were wary of him, I know.’ She rushed to deny it, but he shook his head. ‘He can be difficult but he’s had a lot to put up with. He had to retire early.’ He drank his coffee. ‘I’m glad he’s got this project to work on. He needs something to occupy his mind, to stop him from brooding. He likes to have me around, which is just as well. I can step in if he’s getting too outrageous. I understand what he’s talking about, you see, but I’m a bit of a plodder compared to him. He really is outstanding but he does find ordinary life very awkward. If things don’t go the way he wants them to, he doesn’t have any way of coping.’ He smiled at her. ‘We do, don’t we?’

The insight could be nothing more than coincidence, but it seemed so apposite, it took her breath away. She was saved from having to answer by the maid, Dorcas, coming into the room. The cook wanted to consult her about lunch and Molly, putting down her cup and saucer, followed her to the kitchen.

Hamilton, the butler, passed the biscuit tin to Eckersley, the chauffeur. The two men were good friends and always took their morning cup of tea together in Hamilton’s pantry, secure from the listening ears of the womenservants. Hamilton liked to be able to express an opinion without any danger of having it gossiped about in the village. ‘So what did you think of the Professor?’ he asked.

Eckersley dunked his chocolate biscuit, raising his eyebrows expressively. ‘I think he’s a couple of screws loose, Mr Hamilton, and that’s the honest truth. I thought I was picking up a tramp when I saw him at the station.’ He bit into his biscuit reflectively. ‘He’s got a shocking tongue on him, to say he’s meant to be a gent. I mean, we’ve had scientific types before and plenty of them, but I’ve never seen the like of him, shouting and losing his temper and carrying on. I reckon young Carrington’s got his work cut out for him, looking after his Pa. More like his keeper, he was. He seemed a nice enough bloke but his Pa’s a right one and no mistake.’

‘Old Man Otterbourne was put out,’ said Hamilton. ‘He was as close to losing his temper this morning as I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.’ He nodded his head towards the door. ‘When I took their coffee in to the study they were at it hammer and tongs. I heard them.’ He adopted a high-pitched voice. ‘ “Don’t be an absolute fool, man!” That’s what the Professor said, true as I’m sat here,
and
a good bit more. His nibs didn’t like it above half, especially as I was in the room.’

‘What was he going on about?’ asked Eckersley with interest, reaching for another biscuit.

Hamilton shrugged. ‘Something to do with that machine of his. Edison or something or other came into it.’ He laughed. ‘His Highness had a face like thunder. I don’t think he’s ever been spoken to like that in his life.’

Eckersley grinned. ‘It won’t do him any harm.’ He stopped short. The door opening on to the kitchen garden was ajar and from somewhere very close at hand came a sharp crack. Eckersley thrust his chair back and stood up abruptly, his body poised, listening keenly. ‘That was a gunshot.’

‘It can’t have been,’ said Hamilton.

Eckersley waved him quiet. ‘It was. I know what I’m talking about. That was a gun.’

‘It’ll be a poacher in the woods,’ said Hamilton uneasily.

Eckersley shook his head. ‘No. It was too close. Come on, we’d better have a look and see what’s happening.’

Hamilton unwillingly got to his feet, sobered by Eckersley’s complete seriousness. The chauffeur was right; he’d served in the army for two years and did know what he was talking about when it came to guns.

‘I reckon it came from the back of the house,’ said Eckersley. ‘Shall we go along the terrace? It’s quickest.’

Hamilton was shocked. ‘We can’t do that! What if the master sees us? We’d better take a look in the hall.’

Eckersley’s mouth hardened into a straight line. ‘All right.’

On the other side of the green baize door the hall was deathly quiet. Once again, Eckersley stood, poised and listening. ‘The study,’ he said softly. ‘Can you hear it?’

Hamilton did hear it then, a little choking sob followed by rapid breathing. Straightening his waistcoat and squaring his shoulders, he pushed open the door of the study.

Professor Alan Carrington was kneeling on the floor, a gun held loosely in his hand. Beside him the body of Charles Otterbourne lay sprawled out on the hearthrug. He looked round as the door opened but said nothing.

Hamilton looked from the Professor to the horribly still body on the rug. There was a great dark patch by Mr Otterbourne’s ear. For what seemed an endless space of time, Hamilton couldn’t take in what had happened and then Eckersley spoke.

‘You’ve killed him!’

The Professor got to his feet and stared at them. ‘I killed him?’ He looked at the gun in his hand. ‘
I killed him
?’

Hamilton was shaking. ‘You bloody murderer. Yes, you killed him.’

The Professor’s face twisted in fury. ‘What the devil are you talking about? I’ll have you know I’ve done no such thing, my good man.’

It was the
my good man
that did it. As if someone had broken a spell, Hamilton started forward, Eckersley by his side. ‘Don’t you
my good man
me. You’ve killed him.’

The gun came up in the Professor’s hand and Eckersley made a dive for his arm. The Professor grunted and struggled. Hamilton tried to catch hold of him and, with a deafening blast, the gun went off, the bullet zinging off the marble of the fireplace. There was an utter confusion of shouts, blows and grabbing hands, then the gun went skittering along the floor and the three men fell into the hall in a heaving, struggling, yelling mass.

Hamilton felt a hand between his shoulder blades, pulling him away, and found himself looking into a distorted, shouting face he dimly recognized as that of Gerard Carrington. He fell back, panting, as Carrington wrenched Eckersley away from the Professor. The hall was suddenly full of people all demanding to know what was happening. Gerard Carrington had hold of his father’s arm and the womenservants surrounded Hamilton. Molly Lewis was with them. She was speaking too, but Hamilton couldn’t make out the words.