Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 10: ‘Kill or be Killed’

‘Well, my friend, it sounds very shoddy to me.’ In the Reading Room, supplies of fresh, steaming coffee secured, Collins had listened to his friend Kane and was shaking his head as he polished his glasses with a small piece of silk.

Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 10: ‘Kill or be Killed’ (Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane)

Edward Kane nodded: ‘Yes. Unfortunate. I agree, my friend.’

Collins shook his head: ‘Worse than unfortunate, Edward. Worse than that. Consider the facts: a person of substance is taken ill on a coach and dies in the course of the journey.’

Kane sipped his coffee: ‘Yes…’

Edward Kane. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

‘The body is unclaimed, so as a matter of law – after the relevant period and duly certificated – it becomes eligible to be sent to the anatomy rooms of the university.’

‘Correct.’

Kane sat back in his chair. For once he felt the equal to his friend Collins in a matter of law, since Kane had spent an entire day in the Advocates Library poring over the legislation.

It had become increasingly clear that in the last twenty years there had been an explosion in the number of students studying Medicine in the universities. The students required to have a firm grasp of anatomy. In order to obtain such a firm grasp, dead bodies were required for the university anatomy tables. In previous times, grave robbing – a method of procuring and supplying such bodies – had been rife (many still recounted their memories of those two wayward Irishmen, Burke and Hare). Universities were increasingly nervous about the sources of the bodies being offered. Thus it was that legislation – The Anatomy Act of 1832 – was passed to stem the activities of the self-styled, grave-robbing ‘Resurrectionists’. The Act held that certain categories of dead body - as long as they had been properly certificated – were now fair game to service the steady flow of student needs.

Collins put on his glasses: ‘I take it that you have read the legislation?’

‘More times than I can count, Collins.’

‘And the certificates were in order?’

‘The certificates? Kane frowned. His focus had been on the category of body and the removal of the criminalisation of the anatomy process. The ‘certificates’ – were they strictly of relevance here?

Collins took a reviving sip from his coffee: ‘Isn’t that what this case is about? The body of “Mr A” has been labelled as the body of “Mr B” and has ended up on the anatomy tables. Thus the distinguished fish magnate, Mr Alexander Humbie was unceremoniously filleted and now – most likely – languishes in a pauper’s grave. While…’

Kane picked up the thought: ‘…while some other chap – a total stranger to the family – has been interred with all due ceremony in the Humbie family plot.’

Collins laughed: ‘So – what do the certificates say?’

Kane frowned: ‘They were sent off to the registrar. There were notes in the papers re-stating their content, but I confess that I paid them scant attention. The date and time appeared to accord with the narrative surrounding Humbie’s death.’

‘Do you have the notes there?’

Kane gave a rueful laugh: ‘Of the papers I have been permitted to take out of the office, these do include various notes. They are essentially formal in nature.’ He bent down, undid the little belt on his briefcase, opened, rummaged a little, then produced a slim sheaf of papers: ‘These appear to be…’

Kane looked up. Collins was already holding out his hand to receive the papers. Kane handed them over. Collins placed his glasses down on to the bridge of his nose and scrutinised them. He placed them on his lap. “Hmmmm…’

Kane raised his eyebrows: ‘Everything in order?’

Collins handed them back. ‘On the face of it, Edward. On the face of it. But did it not strike you as curious?’

‘What?’

Collins sat back in his chair: ‘That the body removal certificate was signed…by a confectioner?’

*****

Susan Spooner was wailing now and sister Sukie Spooner was struggling to keep up: ‘He says that he was just a boy. A noble son of France. Killed In his prime. By a man with the character of a horse.’ Sukie was almost apologetic as she translated for the people around the table. ‘Does that mean anything to anyone here?’

Mr Horse sat and said nothing. Of course, the message was directed at him. ‘Mr Horse’ was not his birth name. It was a name bestowed upon him on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo. Bestowed by no less than the Duke of Wellington himself. But the name stuck afterwards and in the years to follow, ‘Mr Horse’ became the only name by which he would ever be known.

And the voice from beyond the grave. He didn’t like to admit it, but Horse recognised it. A young soldier that Horse had killed in hand-to-hand combat. Fifteen, sixteen years old perhaps? But then, this was some forty years ago. Horse himself had been little more than a child himself. Kill or be killed. And why the rebuke now, after all this time? It was war. Kill or be killed. Wasn’t it?

*****

For better or for worse, things usually look different in the morning. This truth was borne out around the breakfast table of Edward Kane, Advocate. Two reasonably-sized sausages dispatched, a large piece of blackened toast in the process of being consumed and the nursing of a cup of Mr Horse’s tea – tea so strong that it was in danger of inviting its consumer to step outside to settle their differences – the young Advocate gave a little groan of fullness and contentment as he pushed his chair back from the table.

Manservant, Mr Horse, on the other hand, was positively sullen today. Kane tried to break the atmosphere. He held up his teacup: “Well, Mr Horse. Your tea-making abilities have lost none of their potency and I congratulate you on your capacity to produce a breakfast fit for nobility at a fraction of the cost.’

Horse replied. With a grunt.

Edward raised his eyebrows: ‘You’ll forgive me for saying, sir, but your mood may be in danger of affecting your manner.’

The manservant sighed: ‘Apologies, Mr K. I was a-tossing and a-turning all the night, sir.’

Kane smiled: ‘I find that surprising. I thought from your dapper mode of dress last night – and the fact that you had applied a razor blade to your usual stubble – meant that you were possibly meeting a young lady?’’

Horse nodded: ‘It’s…it’s…it’s nothing, sir. Just a dose of the morbs. It will pass, Mr K.’ He lifted his master’s plate from the table. ‘What have you got on today, sir?’

Kane got up from his chair: ‘Today, Mr Horse, I have a further consultation with a university professor, one Peterson – a sometime anatomist – to ascertain how he comes by his supply of bodies…’

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