Edward Kane, Advocate in A Promise is a Promise: Chapter 8

Edward Kane was sitting crouching over the old dining table that served as his makeshift study. He leaned back in his chair and stretched: “That would be a welcome distraction from the mysteries of this case, Mr Horse.”

Horse took the kettle off the fire and placed a large frying pan onto the burning wood. He put a slab of lard in the centre of the pan and watched as it melted and started to sizzle: “You still working on that marriage and mutt malarkey, sir?”

“If you are referring to the case of ‘Rosemary Daisy Thomas versus Thomas Tack Esquire’, then you are perfectly correct, Mr Horse.”

Horse spread the melting lard with a wooden spoon: “Begging your pardon, Mr K, but I thought you said that the spaniel case weren’t coming to court for a good few months, sir.”

Kane nodded and held up the sheaf of papers: “Ordinarily, yes. But my opponent, Jim Sim, has lodged this bundle of papers and I can’t work out why. He claims that there is something wrong with our case...”

Horse stirred: “Of course, there’s something wrong with your case, sir - a bloke sends the young girl a bit of a flirtation, and he ends up handcuffed, and halfway down the aisle with a mother-in-law in tow. Bloomin’ liberty, if you ask me...”

Kane shook his head: “I venture, Mr Horse, that you are employing your own perspective and - perhaps - your own experience here in what a clear beach of promise in this case.”

Horse said nothing. He kept on stirring.

Kane pressed on: “And - for the avoidance of doubt - there would be no acquisition of a mother-in-law by the groom. That poor lady, Rose’s mother - Violet Thomas – expired on the birth of the lad, Timmy Thomas.”

More silence. More stirring. Kane stared at the papers: “Jim Sim is an entirely agreeable fellow, but he is no fool. He claims that there is something wrong- legally wrong - with our case and he wishes to debate that before a judge. But, what any defect might be...”

Horse scraped some onions from a wooden chopping board into the frying pan. He began to wipe his hands on a ragged old cloth: “So, what’s in them papers that’s causing you so much grief, Mr K?”

Kane sat back in his chair: “That’s the problem, Horse. I can’t find anything. The answer must be in these old parish records somewhere. But how could they be related to a Breach of Promise case raised over a decade later? I am flummoxed.”

Horse put down the dishcloth and motioned over: “Can I have a swatch, sir?”

Kane handed over the papers: “Be my guest, Mr Horse.” He laughed: “But be careful the papers don’t end up in the liver and onions there. We have already lost one essential production to that culinary fate.”

Horse took the papers and began to read. He screwed up his eyes and followed the text by moving his finger down the page. Horse looked up: “Well, it’s all Greek to me, sir...”

“More precisely, Latin, Mr Horse. Parish records. Apparently, a certain ‘Father Patrick Flanagan’ preferred to make certain entries not in the Queen’s English, but the dead language of Vergil and Cicero.”

“And how are you meant to read all this, Mr K?”

Kane smiled: “With difficulty, Horse. With great difficulty.”

“But if it’s the church record, all wrote in Latin, then you’ll need to get a priest to read it, won’t you sir?”

“My thoughts exactly, Mr Horse. Fortunately, we have some months before the hearing itself.”

Horse pointed at the papers: “It’s something about bells and flowers by the looks of it. But this one here - why is there no writing on the first page, sir?”

Kane smiled. “That was at my request. No need to interpret that document. That is simply an example of the headed notepaper where Thomas Tack was employed. It’s the office whence he wrote the letter. It is a standard type of lawyer stationery, containing details of their address and the like.”

Horse ran his finger across the type as he read aloud: “Fergusson and Fergusson, Frederick Street, Edinburgh…”

“That sort of thing, Horse. A formal production at best, requested by me. It simply confirms the address of Thomas Tack’s employer. But it does add credence to the account of Rosemary Thomas.”

Horse read on, moving down, following the type with his finger and mouthing the words as he looked at the small printing at the bottom of the letter.

Kane continued: “Of course, the original letter with the written proposal has been partially destroyed, eaten away by a hungry ‘mutt’ - as you would have it.”

Horse nodded, said nothing and stared at the paper. Silence. No sound but the sizzling of the onions. Kane nodded over to the fire. “Mr Horse, may I suggest that own offices would be better employed by immediate attention to that promised tea and our supper? Bound to say, I’m starving.”

Horse, deep in the papers in one hand, almost without looking, lifted the sizzling pan from the fire with the other and lowered it carefully on to the grate on the floor.

Kane raise his eyebrows: “Mr Horse, I did not mean for your interest in this case to distract you from your usual duties...”

Horse cut across him: “Mr K - you says that the boy Tack proposed to the girl Rose with one of these letters...”

“Yes.”

“Identical to this one.”

“In every way, Horse. That is why a sample has been lodged. It is, I confess, the mainstay of our case.”

“And you’ve read this letter?”

Kane motioned over: “Not that one. That one is completely blank. Look at it - no writing, Mr Horse. It was the other...”

Horse interrupted again and pointed to the page: “But it’s got writing, sir. It’s got ‘Fergusson and Fergusson’ and the like.”

Kane resisted the temptation to sigh. He started to explain more carefully now: “The printed writing on the headed paper merely gives the name and address of the firm, as you can see, Mr Horse. It confirms...”

“But what about the other bit?”

What ‘other bit’?”

Horse moved his finger along the bottom of the page. “The bit what says: ‘Nothing in this comm...comm-yoo...”

“‘Communication’?”

Horse read on: “‘Nothing in this ...com...munication shall be con...construed as constitu...constituting a contract...’?”

Despite the promise of liver and onions for supper, Edward Kane, Advocate experienced a sudden loss of appetite. He motioned over to the letter: “Could I...could I see the letter again, please...”