Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 8: ‘A Burning Ship and All That’

Standing in the hallway of Suki and Spooner’s house, Horse gave a little bow to the maid: ‘’Ello my dear.’ A cautious glance. ‘Bin a while ennit?’ The detail came back to him. But slowly. ‘Maggie’, was it? Or, or ‘Mildred’? Yes – Mildred. Mildred Morrison. She used to do a shift at The White Hart, then disappeared off the map. Story was that she had gone into service in one of the big houses. There was something about Mildred’s nature that – despite her pleasing appearance – reminded Horse of curdled milk.

Sukie Spooner beamed: ‘“Horse”? “Mr Horse” – my goodness – what a charming name. And is that an English accent that I hear? And which part of that wonderful country do you come from, Mr Horse?’

‘London, miss.’

Sukie’s eyes widened: ‘And from which part of that great metropolis do you hail, sir?’

Edward Kane. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

‘Bethnal Green, miss.’

Sukie Spooner savoured the words like fine wine swirling around her palate: ‘Ah - Bethnal Greeeen.’ She beamed ‘How lovely to be surrounded by nature.’

This was not how Mr Horse remembered Bethnal Green.

Sukie waved over to the maid: ‘Mildred – won’t you take the coats from our exotic guests.’

Horse helped Maisie off with her coat and he handed it to the waiting maid with a cautious little bow. He got a somewhat insolent (but un-noticed by the others) curtsey in return. Sukie Spooner took Maisie by the arm and commandeered her into the parlour. This left Horse alone with the truculent servant. He began to take off his coat and she looked him up and down and hissed at him: ‘Look at you, Horse. All dressed up, pretending to be a gentleman. What do you think you’re up to?’

‘Just helping a friend, Mildred.’

The maid scowled: ‘Aye – helping her off with her petticoats, like you did with me.’

‘Horse grinned: The way I remember, Mildred, you didn’t need no help to get those petticoats off, girl.’

‘Give me that coat. Ye’d better get in to your hoity-toity pals before they work out how common you are.’

Horse handed over the coat. He put his hand on her arm and looked around at the opulent surroundings: ‘I ain’t changed, Mildred. You’re the one what’s living in a mansion now.’ He looked her in the eye: ‘You done wery well for yourself, my dear, wery well. You should be proud.’

Unexpectedly, tears began to well up in the servant’s eyes: ‘Don’t be fooled by them, Horse. Don’t be fooled by all that,’ (here she mimicked Sukie’s effusive delivery) ‘“Greeeen”. The things I’ve seen in that room. They women are monsters. Liars. The two of them. And they treat people like…’

The simile was interrupted by the cooing voice of Suki Spooner from the other room, a pet rabbit with a spine of steel: ‘Mil-dred - what have you done with our charming Englishman?’

The maid turned her face and walked away.

*****

For the first time since they had met, Harry Humbie appeared to be interested in the proceedings that involved him so nearly. Was that a smile? ‘The wrong body? The wrong body???’

Kane frowned: ‘You will forgive me for saying, sir, but you appear to be amused.’

There were three people in the consultation rooms of Abernathy and Hawkes: Edward Kane, Advocate, senior partner, John Hawkes (taking scratchy notes with his quill pen) and languid client, Harry Humbie, son of the recently deceased Alexander Humbie.

The young Humbie shook his head: ‘The old man was a bit of a practical joker. I wager he would have liked this.’ He took a sip from the bone china cup and looked thoughtful for a moment: ‘I wonder if he planned the whole thing…’

Solicitor Hawkes shook his head: ‘Oh, that would have been impossible, sir. The whole procedure around what happens to those found...’ (again, he tried to be sensitive) ‘…in these unusual circumstances…are strictly regulated.’

‘Obviously not strictly enough.’ Humbie gave a lazy sigh: ‘So, where is the old boy’s body now?’

Hawkes looked sheepish: ‘I regret to say, Mr Humbie, that we don’t know, sir. I have arranged another meeting with Professor Peterson tomorrow and he will have retrieved the full notes of all the examinations from the day in question.’

Silence in the room. Then, out of nowhere, Harry Humbie spoke: ‘Ha! Disappeared. The old man…he always wanted a Viking funeral. Did you know that?’

Solicitor, Hawkes, stopped his scratchy writing for a moment and looked up: ‘Beg your pardon, sir?’

‘My father. He always said that – for his funeral – he would like a Viking funeral – a burning ship and all that.’

The solicitor looked horrified: ‘Oh Mr. Humbie, I’m not sure that the authorities would allow such a thing.’

‘My family is part-Viking. “Humbie” is a Viking name…you know that, surely?’

The lawyer shifted in his seat waiting for the next bizarre statement. Hawkes smiled and muttered: ‘No sir, I was not aware…’

‘My forebears hail from Jura – ‘The Deer Island’. We still have a house there. A cottage. The old man used to call it “hame”. Visited it once. Filthy little place.’

Mr Hawkes went into obsequious mode: ‘Abernathy and Hawkes had the honour of being your father’s firm of lawyers for more than two decades. He was certainly a man of singular energies.’

Humbie guffawed: ‘“Singular energies”. He used to joke (and I think it was a joke) that he inherited his – and I’m not sure how to put this – his “singular” energy – a sort of savage energy anyway – from his marauding forefathers. It was that urge to conquer every single day that woke him up at four of the clock each morning and sent him out into this unfriendly world to seize his fortune.’ He raised his teacup as if in cheers: ‘Carpe diem and all that.’

Hawkes gave a knowing nod: ‘Carpe diem – seize the day…’

Humbie mock-scolded his solicitor: ‘Wrong, Mr Hawkes. “Carpe diem” means “pluck the day”, not seize it. “Seize” would be “cape diem”. A common misconception. I only know that because the distinction – the difference of that single letter – was beaten into me by an enthusiastic Latin master. The beating itself, however, was a beating of the highest quality since it was administered at one of the best boarding schools that money could buy.’

Neither Kane nor Hawkes knew how to respond to this brittle type of humour, so they both said nothing. Humbie continued: ‘The old man would often remark that I lacked the Viking spirit. My response would be that it was beaten out of me so that I could become what he wanted me to be. A gentleman.’ He nodded to himself: ‘Anyway, I suppose that I must let you lawyers get on with my business in any way you see fit.’ He picked up his top hat from the desk: ‘No doubt you will keep me informed of your discussions with the good professor tomorrow. Until then,’ he gave a shallow bow, ‘I bid you good day.’

Edward Kane and Mr Horse Collected Short Stories Volume 1 is available on Amazon, Kindle and from all good bookshops