Off the Record (16 page)

‘Do it!’ she commanded, her face a tragic mask. ‘If you do not, I will. It was little enough in all conscience. He flung me a pittance, a trifling bagatelle, the crumbs from his table.’

Looking round the snug drawing room, Jack couldn’t help wonder at the size of some of the crumbs.

‘You have been in receipt of nine hundred pounds a year,’ said Mr Bryce with a touch of reproof in his voice. He clearly didn’t think nine hundred a year was too crummy either.

‘Nine hundred,’ she echoed. ‘A mere competence when I had never been accustomed to consider money.’ She allowed a few moments’ silence for contemplation of her plight, then her voice took on a firmer note. ‘But now, Mr Bryce, what is it now?’

‘I have already warned you that the firm is not doing as well as could be hoped. However, Mr Dunbar did have an income from various stock holdings and a sizable amount in the bank. You should be comfortably off, Mrs Dunbar.’

‘Exactly.’ She clasped her hands together and looked earnestly at Rackham. ‘You see, Inspector? Andrew – poor Andrew – could never have realized what his petty economies meant to me. I existed on a shoestring, scrimping and saving, eternally penny-pinching and making do. Now I shall be a rich woman.’ She opened her hands wide. ‘The world is mine once more.’

‘I wouldn’t put it like that exactly,’ said Mr Bryce. ‘You can not afford to be too extravagant, you understand.’

She looked at him coldly. ‘It isn’t a matter of mere money. There is a richness of spirit that cannot be entered in a clerk’s ledger. I have regained my freedom. It is not something that can be assessed in mere monetary terms, but to me it is a pearl of great price. I am my own woman once more; free from the shackles I so blindly placed upon my own wrists. I know what you are thinking, Inspector!’

This was so unlikely to be true Jack had to look away for a moment.

‘Even now, although you fight to conceal it, I can see the suspicion, the growing doubts, the stark accusation in your eyes.’

‘No you can’t,’ said Rackham, stung.

She ignored him. ‘
J’accuse!
That is what is in your heart. I know I had a lot to gain. I realize what interpretation could be put on it if I tried to hide the fact. My poor mother suffered at both the hands of the press and the bar of public opinion. I have learned that it is better to reveal everything!’ She cocked an eyebrow at Rackham. ‘You know who my mother was? She was,’ she said, not waiting for an answer, ‘Violet Cautley.’ She caught Rackham’s expression. ‘I see you know the name. Even now, her name is a byword. She was hounded, Inspector, positively
hounded
and her life made unbearable but she was innocent, as I am innocent of this monstrous accusation.’

‘I haven’t actually accused you of anything yet,’ said Rackham in desperate self-defence.

‘It is in your mind!’ She raised an arm as if to shield herself. ‘Can you understand my emotions? Would I – would any woman – want to endure what my mother endured, to be the subject of ill-nature gossip and speculation?’ With a wave of her hand she put this option to one side. ‘Find out what you will, Inspector, but you will find I am innocent. I know that as a gentleman, you would take my word but as a policeman, you are forced to be nothing more than a calculating machine, collecting crumbs of
facts.
’ She made the word
facts
sound slightly indecent. ‘It will tell you nothing but what you know in your heart to be true.’

Rackham reddened and ran a finger round the inside of his collar. ‘Unfortunately, Mrs Dunbar, that’s about the size of it. Collecting facts, I mean. Tell me, when did you last see your husband?’

She sat back with a wistful, reminiscent smile. ‘The last time? How sad that sounds. It is, perhaps, a mercy of Providence that sometimes the future is not ours to apprehend. Sometimes, I – foolish as women are, swayed by a desire to pierce this veil which clouds us – sometimes I have yearned to see beyond, to see further than the few steps which the Merciful All-Knowing illuminates for us.’

Hector Ferguson gave a short sigh. ‘The last time you saw my stepfather was the afternoon he returned from Stoke Horam. That’s what? Nine or ten weeks ago now. It was the day Charles Otterbourne and Professor Carrington died.’

‘So it was,’ she agreed distantly. ‘Poor Andrew was perturbed.’ She unleashed another wistful smile. ‘Although we could not live together, Andrew occasionally liked me to accompany him to public events. There was a dinner that evening he wanted me to attend. You might not know this, Inspector, but I was on the stage before my first marriage. The public were very kind to me. Andrew was well aware that, in my own small way, I am still held in regard.’

‘He would wheel you out if he thought it would influence a deal,’ said Ferguson.

Mrs Dunbar’s lips tightened momentarily. ‘There are still people for whom I evoke fond memories of their youth. And if I could help Andrew, why shouldn’t I? He was still my husband, after all. And – and it was nice to meet people and know that I am not entirely forgotten.’

‘Excuse me, Mrs Dunbar,’ said Jack. ‘But if you hadn’t seen your husband for a couple of months or so before his death, how were you so sure of his change of mood?’

She said nothing for a moment.

‘I told you, didn’t I?’ said Ferguson. ‘Don’t you remember? We talked about how odd it was.’ He looked at Jack. ‘It was after that I started to wonder who I could ask about it and eventually I thought of you.’

‘That’s right, Hector,’ she said with a tinge of relief. ‘Yes, you told me about it.’

Hector Ferguson stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I saw him about two weeks after Charles Otterbourne and the Professor copped it.’

‘And that was the last time you saw him, wasn’t it, Hector?’

Ferguson looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ he said after a slight pause. ‘Yes, it must have been. You’re quite right, you know, Mother. It is funny to think you’ve seen someone for the last time. He’d come down to meet Captain Lewis. I thought he’d be beside himself about Professor Carrington’s death but he wasn’t.’

‘He had been,’ said Mrs Dunbar with a touch of reproof.

‘That may be so, but he got over it pretty quickly, didn’t he? He was going to meet Captain Lewis and talk things over with him. Perhaps he had the idea about asking Gerard Carrington to work on his father’s machine then, but if he did, he didn’t mention it.’ He looked at Mr Bryce. ‘Do you know when it was decided Gerard Carrington should take over the work?’

‘It was later that same week,’ said Mr Bryce, after a moment’s thought. ‘As you say, Mr Dunbar had come to London to see Mr Lewis and it was then the arrangement was made.’ His round face crinkled unhappily. ‘It was an awkward situation. We – the firm, that is – have a clear right to Professor Carrington’s machine. Mr Dunbar hoped that Gerard Carrington would complete his father’s work under the same terms that Professor Carrington agreed but Gerard Carrington refused to be bound by that contract.’ He stopped and looked at Mrs Dunbar with an apologetic air. ‘I know you have reservations about Captain Lewis, Mrs Dunbar, but in my opinion if it hadn’t been for his intervention, I believe Mr Carrington would have been a great deal more awkward about matters.’

Mrs Dunbar bridled. ‘Captain Lewis! Don’t talk about Captain Lewis to me! Andrew should never have got involved with Otterbourne’s. I distrusted Stephen Lewis from the moment I saw him.’

Hector Ferguson wrinkled his nose. ‘Did you, mother? I thought you got on perfectly well.’

She drew herself upright. ‘Naturally, Hector, I did not parade my feelings, but I have them, all the same. I do not expect you to understand my reasons. I have never concerned myself with matters of business.’

‘Which is why you asked Mr Bryce and me to accompany you to the meeting.’

‘But I do understand
people
,’ she continued, as if Ferguson hadn’t spoken. ‘Stephen Lewis has a shifty expression. Not only that, but he has grey eyes.’

‘What on earth have his eyes got to do with it?’ said Ferguson in bewilderment.

‘I have never trusted anyone with grey eyes. You may laugh, but the eyes are the window of the soul. Grey eyes are the token of a treacherous nature.’

‘You can’t honestly intend to run a business based on what colour someone’s eyes are, Mother. It’s crazy.’

‘It is nothing of the sort, Hector. This whole idea of an association with Otterbourne’s has been nothing but trouble from the word go. It was a disaster from the start. For all his reputation, in my opinion Mr Otterbourne had a most undesirable love of publicity with his so-called good works and his model factory and his model village and making sure everyone lived model lives. It was nothing but unwarranted interference and busy-bodying. Andrew might have had his faults but at least he was content to let his workers simply be, without constantly telling them what they should do and how they should live and what they should think. Charles Otterbourne was nothing more or less than a dictator and eventually he showed himself to be the fraud he always was. I am not an unfeeling woman. No one who has lived my life could be. Heartbreak has been my lot. I have known tragedy. I have supped sorrow with a spoon. I would not mock or jeer at the depths of misery which force self-annihilation, yet I tell you, I believe Charles Otterbourne received nothing but his just desserts. The mills of God grind slowly, Hector, but they grind exceedingly small.’

There was a stunned pause from the men in the room. Jack bowed his head as if moved beyond words. What he was actually doing was trying desperately not to look at Bill. He knew that if he did, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Mr Bryce made a
hrumm
noise. ‘And yet, Mrs Dunbar, the offer from Otterbourne’s is a good one. I understood you were perfectly satisfied. Captain Lewis is, I know, keen to proceed with the deal and I would be failing in my duties if I did not urge you most strongly to consider it.’

Evelyn Dunbar lifted her head and looked at him squarely. ‘I will not entertain the notion.’ She shuddered. ‘Stephen Lewis is not to be trusted. I know that glamorous, handsome type, with their smooth speech, fine clothes, slick manners and easy charm. I’ve seen any amount of Captain Lewises in my time. Stage-door Johnnies, the lot of them!’

‘Lewis isn’t like that,’ protested Hector Ferguson. ‘You make him sound like a tailor’s dummy. He’s a good-looking beggar, I suppose, and he knows how to enjoy himself, but you can’t hold that against him.’

‘I know, Hector,’ said Mrs Dunbar repressively. ‘I am never wrong about these things. Andrew trusted him and he paid the penalty.’

Hector Ferguson brought down his hand with a thump on the leather arm of his chair. ‘For heaven’s sake, Mother! Are you saying that Stephen Lewis murdered my stepfather?’

She winced. ‘Murder is a harsh word, Hector. But yes, I think it’s possible. More than that, even.’

‘That’s the third theory you’ve been certain of in as many minutes!’ said Ferguson in exasperation. ‘First Gerry Carrington killed him, then he killed himself and now you’ve accused Stephen Lewis. What earthly reason have you got for suspecting him?’

‘You may mock intuition, Hector, but there is such a thing in this world as
guidance
.’

‘It’s guiding you up the garden path this time,’ he said shortly. ‘Come on, Mother, you can’t be serious. Stephen Lewis can’t have bumped off my stepfather. He was nowhere near the place. I read as much in the paper.’

She closed her eyes in the manner of a Pre-Raphaelite mediaeval saint. ‘I make no claims to cleverness. There was a time I regretted that. Learning was something that, no matter how earnestly I desired it, was not mine to command. And yet, there was a purpose in that, as there is in all things. I have come to see that what the world calls learning is flawed. True wisdom knows the human heart. My intuition is never wrong.’

Ferguson snorted dismissively. ‘Apart from the times it’s not right. Wisdom or no wisdom, I can’t see how Lewis could be in two places at once.’

This time Jack couldn’t help looking at Bill. Bill’s eyes crinkled and his mouth was suspiciously tight. It was a good few moments before he could say anything but when he did, his voice, much to Jack’s admiration, was level. ‘Mr Ferguson is quite correct, Mrs Dunbar.’

‘It’s unfair to Mr Lewis that you should harbour such suspicions,’ put in Mr Bryce. ‘The offer from Otterbourne’s is very good. I’m not dismissing intuition, you understand, but it would be very awkward for us to deal with Mr Lewis if you take against him. It’s bad for business.’

‘Business!’ murmured Mrs Dunbar, subsiding back against the sofa.

Mr Bryce pursed his lips. ‘I’m afraid you will have to consider what is best for business, Mrs Dunbar. The firm is yours and you have to take the decisions. I will, of course, advise you to the best of my ability but the decisions are yours.’

‘Mine as well,’ put in Ferguson. He hesitated, looking at his mother’s bowed head. ‘I was looking forward to it. I’ve got plans, things I want to do. You
liked
my ideas. You said you wanted me to run the firm.’

Mrs Dunbar put her hand to her forehead. ‘That is no longer possible, Hector. I will probably sell the firm.’

Both Mr Bryce and Hector looked startled but it was Ferguson who spoke. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Can’t I? Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Bryce, but as I understand it, the firm is not doing as well as it once was.’

‘Unfortunately, that is so. We are, I may say, not alone. These are very hard times for any gramophone manufacturer. The quality of sound on the wireless is excellent and records have slipped out of fashion.’

‘Records sound tinny and outdated,’ said Hector Ferguson. ‘That’s why my stepfather was so enthusiastic about Professor Carrington’s machine. We might not have seen eye to eye about lots of things but he was right about that. If this machine is all it’s cracked up to be, we’ll go great guns.’ He leaned forward, his eyes bright. ‘Can you imagine it? As I understand it, we’ll be able to reproduce a sound that’s so close to the real thing you’ll hardly be able to tell the difference. I know musicians who can fill a dance floor. If we can capture any of the excitement of that sound, we’ll make a mint. It’s not just musicians, either, it’s singers too. At the moment, no one bothers much about singers. All the attention is given to band leaders but – I was thinking of you, Mother – you were famous
because
you were a singer. There’s no reason why a singer shouldn’t be a star.’