Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 17: ‘There Must Be Some Mistake’

Another small nod from Harry Humbie. Out of the darkness scurried a nervous little figure wearing a top hat and carrying a doctor’s bag and a long stick. The family physician. Summoned at this ungodly hour – at considerable expense – to confirm (or otherwise) the identity of the individual in that grave reserved for paupers. He rested his bag on the grass at the side of the cheap wooden box before him. The doctor then took the stick and poked it into the coffin lifting up the shroud that was covering the nether part of the body. He exposed the feet. No shoes. That expensive footwear had been quickly cannibalised by one of the entrepreneurial ladies of the funeratory system. The medic reached down, rummaged in his bag, and produced a large magnifying glass. He beckoned over to him the servants who were holding up the lanterns so as to shine the lights on the feet of the body and he bent into the box and studied the toes of the left foot. Much frowning and angling the magnifying glass until he stood up again. The doctor placed the magnifying glass back into his bag and then tossed the long stick into the open grave. He looked over at Harry Humbie, closed his eyes and gave a long slow nod of the head. Humbie gave a bow in return then, with a backward jolt of his head, indicated to the groundskeepers that they should load the newly exhumed coffin onto the waiting cart. Without saying a word Harry Humbie turned on his heel, walked to his own carriage, got in and rapped his walking cane twice on the interior ceiling of the carriage and ordered it to move off.

Edward Kane and his instructing solicitor, John Hawkes, had been silent witnesses to the event. Hawkes nodded his shaggy head before he spoke, this steam of his breath visible in the air: ‘Well, Mr Kane, I wager that closes the chapter here. The family physician has identified…’. But his comments were interrupted by a shout behind him: ‘Hup!’ Hawkes and Kane looked round and the driver of the cart carrying the freshly-exhumed coffin had lashed his reins, whipping the carthorse into action. The old Clydesdale pulled at the cart, straining to extract the wheels from the muddy ruts in the ground and Kane and Hawkes required to jump out of the way to avoid their coats being splashed by mud as the horse and cart moved past.

Hawkes pointed to his own carriage and smiled. ‘Shall we?’

Edward Kane. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

Kane climbed up into the carriage first and sat down. But what was that sound outside? Shovels in the wet soil? More digging? A mistake surely. The Advocate held up his hand to stop his solicitor coming up onto the carriage. He stepped down into the mud and walked over to the open grave. Ah! The two groundskeepers were indeed digging again and appeared to be filling in the open grave.

‘I beg your pardon, gentlemen…’. The men stopped what they were doing and leaned on their shovels. The Advocate continued: ‘I understand that the grave is to be left open – for the receipt of the other body later this morning…’

The groundskeepers looked at each other, then one took off his cap and spoke: ‘No sir. Sorry. Instructions from young master Humbie. Fill it up again.’

Kane shook his head: ‘There must be some mistake…’

The burly fellows looked at each other, then: “Sorry, sir – no mistake – young master Humbie was quite particular about it. Now, if you’ll excuse us…’ he looked up at the sky, ‘…we’d like to get finished before the rain comes on again.’ He replaced his cap, gave a quick doff in the direction of Kane, then wrenched the shovel out of the ground and started to dig again.

Kane got into the carriage. Hawkes looked over: ‘What to do, Mr Kane?’

The young Advocate leaned forward: ‘The first thing that we have of do is to catch up with your young client and ask him what the deuce is going on…’

*****

It did not take long to find the young client. An opulent carriage parked beside some basic open carts near the sandy beach in the middle of the night rather gave away the location without too much investigation.

But when Kane and Hawkes came down from their carriage, they were met with an unexpected sight: standing on the beach, the heretofore languid Harry Humbie was ordering his servants around in a near-military fashion.

Nearly five o’clock in the morning now and Kane peered through the darkness at the rag-tag assembly of people and things strewn along the beach.

One group – mostly young maids and footmen – had been placed on a bank of sand, just out of reach of the lapping water and made to huddle close together, now resembling a hastily-assembled church choir.

A long, sleek boat had been dragged across the sand into the water and had its nose pointing into the North Sea. Kane recognised it as an eight-oared ‘cutter’, like the ones he’d seen used in university boat races.

And there was another group of people. Of a different character. Rough men. Four of them (in their forties?) swarthy, with the look of sailors about them. Despite the freezing water, they stood there in that water, waist-deep, standing around the boat, stopping the cutter from drifting out to sea. But they were clearly attentive to Harry Humbie and waiting for a signal of some description. It was still a good hour from first light, and hard to make out anything in the gloom with any real clarity. And was that a fifth man? Sitting up in the boat?

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