Edward Kane and The Voice of the Spider. Chapter 14: When in Wicklow
If sworn to tell the honest truth about the matter, then Mr Horse would have to admit that he was lurking. Horse was not a lurker by nature – preferring victory or defeat in open contest – but on this occasion his prospective opponent – Big Brendan – would have to be approached with a significant degree of caution.
Horse prided himself that he was not a “dirty” fighter, but Big Brendan had defined the ground rules in this field of conflict. The attack from behind, the smashing of a green bottle over Horse’s head, the activation of light-sensitive cells at the back of the eyes leading to the seeing of “stars”, the necessity of a hair wash and a bread poultice. This type of the old Spanish guerilla warfare was against Horse’s understanding of English fair play. But ‘When in Rome…’. Horse smiled to himself: ‘Or should that be. ‘When in Wicklow…’?
Horse poked his head through the front door and into the dim, dirty, crowded drinking den. Rings of candle-light on the tables, pipe smoke, music, gaiety. And there, at the back, propped up against the serving counter, the man-mountain they called ‘Big Brendan’. Horse tapped the area of his jacket just above his wrist. Yes – the nine-inch iron bar known as ‘Aunty Betty’ was there, lying in wait to pay all debts. But peering through the gloom, Horse was struck by something else. Was it possible? Flanked on each side of the oversized Irishman were two other figures. Both bigger than Brendan. Horse did a quick calculation. A confrontation with Brendan was one thing. Brendan+bottle versus Horse+Aunty Betty was certainly winnable for the English manservant. But if one of the others became involved? One of those other giants at the bar? Horse would be flung around the room like a rag doll.
An irritated Irish brogue from behind: ‘If you stand in the door any longer, son, you’ll be growing hinges…’. An auld fella trying to get through with his dog. Horse tendered an apologetic smile and backed out to let them past. Maybe this was not the best night to get even. He looked up. There was Brendan at the bar. Horse sighed and skulked away. Maybe just forget it…
*****
‘You will forgive me for asking, Mr Kane, but have you suddenly gone deaf?’
‘Not as far as I am aware, my lord…’
Kane was back in court before Lord Minto. It was not going well. The Lord Ordinary leaned forward: ‘You see, I have it in my notes here – and I remember specifically telling you last time, Mr Kane – that if the father did not attend court today, then I would dismiss your application simpliciter. Perhaps I did not say it loud enough?’
Kane bowed: ‘Neither the volume nor the import of my lord’s statement was in any way ambiguous…’
‘Then what the deuce are we doing here today?’
Kane held up a bundle papers: ‘I have my instructions, my lord.’
The judge gave a wolf-like grin before sitting back in his chair: ‘Well, I have no other business before me today…’. He craned his neck and looked out of the window, ‘…and it appears to be raining outside. So let us while away a good twenty minutes, while I hear you plead your impossible case.’
Kane bowed: ‘If it please the court…’
‘Doesn’t please me at all. Having to listen this bilge. And you will forgive me, sir, in the absence of the father in this case, if I assume the role of the contradictor – for the purposes of full argument, you understand.’
Kane’s heart sank. If the person making the decision has declared himself your opponent, then what were the chances of a fair outcome?
The judge/contradictor began: ‘Mr Kane, you will admit that the applicant here has no legal standing?’
‘Certainly…um…on the face of it, then…’
Lord Minto feigned annoyance: ‘No weasel words, sir, no weasel words!’
‘The issue of Lady Carmunnock’s locus, my lord, requires to be evaluated in light of the case law.’
Lord Minto sat back in his chair, his face the mask of an unfriendly grin: ‘Oh, this should be interesting. Proceed.’
Kane studied his papers, then looked up: ‘In the case of Scott of Raeburn…’
The Advocate’s submission was interrupted by a loud guffaw from the bench: ‘Scott of Raeburn? Scott of Raeburn??? That case must be…what…two hundred years old? And – in any event – Scott and his wife had been infected by Quakerism, had they not?
Kane had a sudden realisation. The judge – out of boredom, no doubt – had prepared the hearing as a kind of cat-and-mouse game. And the young Advocate had been chosen as the rodent in question. He nodded.
‘That is so, my lord. If I may move on, then, to the case of The Marquis of Huntley…’
The Judge’s second outburst of laughter was, if anything, louder than the first: ‘Oh, Mr Kane, I am so glad to be hearing your case now. Excellent entertainment, sir. So far, two cases from two centuries ago.’ The judge sat back in his chair. ‘Developing the theme of matters appearing in ‘twos’ – I assume that you know that the Huntley case had two principal features distinguishing it from your own argument: One – unlike in your own case – in that case, the father was dead, sir. Dead!’ The judge counted on his fingers: ‘Two: the child in that case was ultimately sent to live with the Protestant Archbishop of St Andrews!’ He scanned the court, pointed at Lady Carmunnock in her bath-chair and grinned: ‘I assume that your client is not the Protestant Archbishop of Edinburgh.’ More laughter: ‘Moreover, it appears that the cathedra in your case appears to have wheels on it.’
More laughter. Oh, the judge was having a merry old time. Not so the young Advocate before him. Lord Minto leaned forward: ‘You haven’t treated us yet to Baillie v Agnew, sir….’
‘I was coming to that…’
The judge smiled: ‘Perhaps I can assist you…’
Tomorrow in The Scotsman: The Properties of a Dream Under Opium
Edward Kane and Mr Horse: Volume II of the Collected Short Stories. Available from Amazon and Kindle