The rain was easing up outside, and the noise of the water on the window panes and down the drain-pipes became less pronounced. The Professor nodded to himself and began to pack everything away. There was nothing else for it. He was too annoyed, I could tell, and it was getting late.
My failure dogged me all the way out from the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen.
We packed the bags, secured the boxes of photographic plates, stowed the vibrometer and thermometer and electroscope, and got ourselves ready to leave.
It was half past twelve when we finally closed the front door behind us and locked it securely. My heart sank a little. With the closing of the door went any chance that I might salvage my employment. More than that, though, I noticed that he did not even bother to instruct me to lock up as he suggested that he might.
History is a brutal teacher. One of the lessons I learnt early on is that responsibility is a measure of performance. The fact that the Professor did not see that I was fit even to turn a key in the lock meant that my days as a scientist were all but over.
With nothing left to lose, I ventured, “So that's my first investigation, then.”
He said nothing for a bit. Instead he checked and double checked his equipment, the keys, his hat, then the equipment again. I could tell he was not used to firing his apprentices.
Eventually he muttered, “Perhaps I was wrong about you. I thought that your skull might have housed a scientific mind, yes, one that is mature in thought and analytical in its approach.”
“No, I -”
“We won't get a cab here. We'll need to reach Turner at least. Come on, grab the bags and let's get going. We've got some walking to do,” he muttered, checking that the door was locked before hauling a satchel onto his back.
And that was the end of the night, really. I trailed behind the Professor, dutifully carrying the bags like a porter. I felt less like a scientist, and more like a lost boy. I wanted to explain everything, tell him all that had happened, but I knew that it would do no good. He had that look on his face, that look I knew only too well.
Employers past had had that look and it meant two things. The first was that the opportunity for discussion was over. The second was that my chance of seeing another pay packet was dropping rapidly.
We hailed a passing cab just further on. I was dropped off to my home, and bid a rough farewell. The manner of his departure left me thinking that the Professor would have no more to do with me.
It was unfair, is what it was! Should the Professor have experienced all that I had, should he have felt the icy touch, heard the disembodied voice, seen the hand print in the dust, surely he would have behaved as I had!
I turned the key to my door and trudged up to my room, not even bothering to clean my face. I was too wound up for that. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, quite tired, yet quite thoughtful. When the mind has too many unanswered questions, it battles other concerns for dominance.
I slept fitfully and ate little for breakfast. I think I was hungry, and I most certainly was tired, but my mind was preoccupied running through all that had happened.
By midday my thoughts had turned to salvaging what was left of my contract with the Professor. He had not said as much, but the silence in the cab ride back home, the stern look on his face, the way he averted his eyes; I was sure my employment was on the rocks.
Inevitably, I would have to declare to my family with much shame and regret that my tenure with the Professor was over, that I would have to rely upon them once more until I found another, generous benefactor to take in an inexperienced youngster.
There was a rough knock on the door, followed by another in quick succession.
“I'm coming, I'm coming!” I huffed, getting up from the kitchen table and shaking the melancholy from my shoulders.
It would do no good to present myself to whoever was at the door in such a glum state. I may have been unemployed, a failure without prospects, but the world did not need to know it. Forcing what I hoped would pass as a pleasant smile on my lips, I opened the door to find the Professor, biting his lip, hopping from one foot to the other.
“Professor!” I started, but he pushed passed me and made himself at home in the lounge.
“You thought you'd take the day off, laddy?” he hooted, dropping a satchel down and poking at a couple of the seats like he might poke at a dead rat.
“Ah, well, no, but...” I began, utterly lost for words.
“Ah, well, no, but what? Science doesn't take a holiday, you know? It keeps on, whether we're taking note of it or not. The world, lad, it's still kicking.”
“Yes, Professor, but...”
“But what? You're thinking that because you stayed up a little later last night that you could take the next day off?”
“No, Professor, but...”
“But what?”
“It's Saturday, Professor!” I burst.
His face dropped an inch. He hurriedly checked his watch, put it away and then checked his chronometer. His goatee beard wiggled a little.
“Oh. Well – So it is,” he accepted, then looked up suddenly. “Never mind that! Never mind that! There's much to be discussed!”
“Like the terms of my employment, I suppose,” I sighed.
I had performed a similar routine with many of my former employers. They would dance around the topic, um-ing, ah-ing, unwilling to get to the point, being that my services were no longer necessary. That I would have a bright future, somewhere else, under someone else's watch. That I had much to learn, youth was on my side, and careers were very malleable at my age.
“What about them?” he asked, confused. “Is there something I need to know?”
“Uh, no? I mean, that's why you're here, isn't it? To tell me that my contract is to be terminated?”
“Good Lord! Whatever for?”
“Well, you know. Last night. I was sure that you were upset with my performance.”
“You mean when you failed to note important happenings? When you disobeyed my direct orders? When you fell backward upon your rump?”
I nodded, ashamed. “Yes, Professor.”
“I see.”
He pulled on his beard a little, thinking to himself. Evidently I had made a good case for my own termination. In my mind, I kicked myself relentlessly.
“Hmm. Learning! That's what it comes down to! You make mistakes. I make mistakes. We all do! It's how we learn! But enough of this!” he cried as he looked about the lounge room with an air of dissatisfaction. “This won't do, not at all. No, this is not a proper environment for a scientific discussion. Besides, all of my materials are back at the laboratory.”
“Oh.”
“I need you at the laboratory, post haste!”
So sure was I that I would have been ushering him from the door, hat in hand, apologising and nodding, that I was completely unprepared. In fact, I was dumbstruck.
“Oh.”
“Well, don't just stand there like a bass, lad, get to the cab! It's waiting outside! Come on, get a move on!”
My legs were moving before my brain had a chance to catch up. The Professor nattered on about this and that on the way, important things, I am sure, of which I should have taken note, but my stomach was still running two feet behind the hansom, and my brain another two feet behind that!
At the laboratory, I used the time taken for the Professor to unlock the various doors leading off from the passages of his abode to bring the situation back under control. Up to this point, my mind was a blur. Now that I had a little breathing space, I became calmer.
Some of the words that he had spoken on the journey trickled back from my auditory memory.
“Exciting... water... conclusion,” he had said, “amazing... incompetence... are you listening?”
“Yes, Professor,” I blurted.
He turned around, key in hand, “Eh?”
“I, ah. I was listening.”
“I'm not so sure that you are, unless that outburst was in response to a voice you only just heard,” he said, peering at me closely through his circular glasses. “Are you feeling alright? Are you hearing voices even now?”
“Hearing voices? No, Professor, only yours.”
“Because if you are that could alter the outcome of the experiment greatly. Your recording of the voice within your ear relies on your being of sound mind and body,” he said, looking at me closer, “and you do appear a little off-colour.”
“I'm fine, Professor. I must confess that I was a little worked up over last night.”
He turned the last key and swung the door open, “Hmm. I can imagine.”