Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 6: ‘Nothing More Than a Jumped-Up Fishmonger’

Horse bristled: ‘I don’t mind paying for the scarf, dear, but I’ll be blowed if I’m paying for its passage from China an’ all.’

The manservant had stood before Mrs McMeechan’s little shop in Gladstone’s Land for a good half hour now, examining the cravats and handkerchiefs that were hanging on a rope by the window and swaying in the breeze. The handkerchiefs in particular were of a very fine quality, no doubt snatched surreptitiously from their owners in the crowd on a busy Lawn Market Saturday and sold on to the old lady for pennies.

‘Can you show me something cheaper?’

Edward Kane. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

Mrs McAllister – increasingly frustrated – narrowed her eyes and examined Horse: ‘Well, what is it for, son? A christening? A funeral?’

The manservant found himself struggling to explain that the evening’s event was one where they would try to communicate with the dead.

‘That’s not your business, my dear – now I want to see something that’s cheap.’

The old lady sighed: “Have you looked in the mirror?’

*****

‘Poison? Oh dear, oh dear…’

Professor Peterson stopped laughing, gave a rueful shake of the head and tapped his pipe on the wooden ashtray, emptying out the spent tobacco, and sighed: ‘You’ve been speaking to the unfortunate fellow’s son, haven’t you.’

‘How did you know?’

‘When it came to light that the man on the slab had been his late father, the young son came to see - or should I say “accost” - me out there on the quadrangle. Quite an objectionable young fella too.’

Hawkes and Kane looked at each other and nodded, but said nothing. The professor continued: ‘I brought him in here and showed him my notes. The lad seemed obsessed by the fact that his father had a considerable quantity of quicksilver in his system…’

Kane frowned: ‘Quicksilver? Wouldn’t that explain…’

The professor was immediately dismissive: ‘Oh – pish posh! The man on the dissection table was nothing more than a jumped-up fishmonger. He was always going to have raised levels of quicksilver. Mercury is a natural ingredient. It could have come from anywhere, especially fish. King mackerel, oysters – the little blighters are full of it.’

He struck a match on his desk and re-lit his pipe. He shook out the match. In his element now: ‘People are always looking for a reason for death. That young fella certainly was. But the truth is simpler than that.’ He picked up an hourglass that was sitting on his desk and turned it over. He watched the sand as it began to run: ‘You are on this earth for a little time and then that time runs out. In truth, people drop dead all the time for no reason. The hourglass has simply run its course.’ The professor looked up: ‘And then ‘clever’ men like me are consulted and we give a name – a reason – for this most natural of events. And our guesses – educated guesses, yes, but still guesses – become the settled narrative in the matter.’ He puffed on his pipe and chuckled: ‘Sometimes I feel more akin to a novelist than a scientist.’

Silence in the room. Contented puffing on the pipe. The young Advocate broke the silence. He smiled: ‘And what, if I may ask, was the educated guess in the case of Alexander Humbie?’

Professor Peterson leaned across. The desk: ‘I’ll tell you what it was not, sir. It was not a case of poisoning. But that young son – the one who importuned me in the quadrangle – he would have none of it. I mentioned the word “mercury” and it lit him up like a fuse. Just looking for trouble.’ He laughed: ‘I tell you, gentlemen, I have seen more quicksilver in the bodies of those fellows taking Blue Mass pills for constipation!’ He sucked on his pipe: ‘No. This chap Alexander Humbie – his heart stopped beating while he was asleep. I’ve plumped for angina pectoris – an unfortunate bastardisation of the Latin and the Greek – meaning, I suppose ‘a strangled chest’.

Professor Peterson stood up from his desk to indicate that the meeting was over: ‘And so, gentlemen – you have my narrative. I am sorry that I could not…’

Edward Kane held up his hand: ‘Forgive me, professor, I am extremely grateful, but a last question, if I might?’

Professor Peterson was far from happy. Took his Hunter from his waistcoat pocket and read the time. He sat down again and folded his hands on the desk, fingers inter-linked. A smile on his face, but not in his eyes: ‘Yes?’

Kane asked: ‘Do you think that the early childhood injury had any bearing on the final weakness in Mr Humbie’s heart?’

The professor grimaced: ‘The “early childhood injury”? I am not quite following you, sir. What injury?’

‘The injury to Mr Humbie’s foot. When he was a child. The little toe of his…of his…’. Kane had forgotten which foot. He looked over at his instructing solicitor. Mr Hawkes jumped in: ‘His left foot, sir. The ‘pinkie’ toe.’ He made a cutting motion with his hands: ‘Amputated. When the boy was ten.’

The Professor frowned as Kane resumed the question: ‘I have heard it said, Professor Peterson, anecdotally, of course, that there appears to be some connection between the toes and the heart. And I was just wondering…’

This time it was the professor’s turn to hush the Advocate. He held up his hand: ‘You will forgive me this time, Mr…Mr…’. Solicitor Hawkes jumped in again: ‘This is Mr Kane, the Advocate, professor. Peterson sat back in his chair: ‘Well, “Mr Kane the Advocate”, I’m afraid that you have been mis-informed here. True: problems with the feet – notably, the toes – are sometimes on account of the heart not doing its job properly – not pumping enough blood down there, for example. But the feet – or more precisely – the absence of a toe – were not a a factor in this case. Mr Humbie had all of his toes, believe me. Had he been in any way digitally deficient, as you seem to think he was, then that would have been recorded in my notes. And look…’ the professor held up his notes for examination by the visitors, ‘…no mention of such an issue here. Thus…’

Edward Kane sat back in his chair in silence. And had a startling thought.

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