Edward Kane and The Voice of the Spider. Chapter 15: The Properties of a Dream Under Opium
Kane’s heart was sinking. It had become obvious by now that the judge had already taken the time to set up the relevant cases in order to have the enjoyment of knocking them down like skittles. Lord Minto smiled: ‘You were about to move on the case Baillie v Agnew…perhaps you could help me with something first?’
‘Of course, my lord.’
‘Your client,’ the judge nodded towards the lady in the chair, ‘Lady Carmunnock – is she a blood relation?’
Kane had already made clear in his written pleadings that his client, the applicant, had no connection at all with the child. He gave a small, hesitant bow, as if expecting a slap on the head: ‘No, my lord.’
‘Then I cannot see how the case of Baillie can assist. In that case, the applicant was the grandfather…’
Kane saw a small gap to squeeze through: ‘But a material factor in that case – as in this – was the abusive conduct of the father…’
The judge sighed: ‘In that case, the father was deemed ferocious, and the children lived in terror. Is that the case here, Mr Kane? The young Advocate studied the papers before him. He gave a small shake of the head.
The Lord Ordinary grinned: ‘Didn’t think so.’ He lifted up the papers before him: ‘In fact, in your case, the child presents more like the parent of her father.’ He pointed to a part of the pleadings: ‘She reads and writes for the father. She assists him in his employment as foreman. She sounds more like a clerk than a girl of…’. He looked up, ‘How old is she again?’
‘Eleven years old, my lord.’
The judge nodded: ‘Remarkable. My eleven-year-old can barely feed herself.’ He looked at the window. “Ah – a clear blue sky. Well, Mr Kane, I assume that concludes your submissions?’
It was clear that the judge had finished. Even if the Advocate hadn’t. ‘My lord, I was about to address the court on the welfare of the child…’
Another laugh from the bench. ‘Oh, Mr Kane, you have already treated the court to a number of cases of some vintage – dare I say “antiquity” – and now your submissions are veering into absurdity. If anyone could come to court to argue on the basis of children and their welfare, then the line for applicants would stretch from here to the crack of doom. Now…’
The judge’s intended termination of the hearing was interrupted by his noticing an oddity in the courtroom. A child. The judge squinted over the bench and barked: ‘What the deuce is a child doing in court? Get her out of here.’ He shook his head: ‘This whole place is going to pigs and whistles…’
A burly police officer grabbed the child by the scruff of the neck. She squealed: ‘I’m sorry, your honour. I must have used the wrong door…’
The judged pointed to the child and sneered over to the Advocate: ‘Perhaps your client would like custody of that one as well…’
Edward Kane put his hand up to signal the police officer to stop: ‘My lord….’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m afraid “that one” happens to be the subject of these proceedings.’ He nodded towards the child: “That one” is the child…Peggy Boylan.’
The judge began to rub his temple: ‘This motion has acquired all the properties of a dream under opium.’ He gave a cursory, dismissive wave at the police officer: ‘Sit her down somewhere.’ The court officer, a firm grip on the girl, seemed paralysed by the order and began looking around the court for a suitable destination for the child. The judge gave a bad-tempered shake of the head: ‘For pity’s sake – get on with it – anywhere will do…’. Construing the word ‘anywhere’ literally, the policeman plonked the girl onto the bench directly in front of Edward Kane, her wee, thin legs swinging before her as she sat.
The judge grinned at this. More sport. ‘Now, young lady – we are all here because of you.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘That makes two of us. Now,’ the judge narrowed his eyebrows and examined the child before him. ‘what happened to your face?’
Was the girl blushing? She began to rub a fresh injury to her eye socket. ‘My da…he wasn’t very happy about all this…’
The judge shook his head and. pointed over to Lady Carmunnock in her wicker bath-chair, ‘Well, if you want a different parent, that lady over there wants to be your mother. What do you think?’
The girl looked behind, contorting her neck to get a view of the lady: ‘She’s a bit old to be a mother, eh? Would she not be better as a granny?’
Lord Minto covered his mouth in mirth. The girl continued: ‘And anyway, I’ve got a mother’
The judge leaned forward: ‘But where is she now?’
‘In Heaven, sir – with the Virgin Mary…’
Lord Minto shook his head: ‘How old are you, young lady?’
The girl beamed: ‘Eleven. But I’ll be twelve in three months.’
The judge smiled: ‘Eleven. Oh, that’s very old isn’t it…’
‘Aye. One of the laddies at factory said that in three months I was going to be a minor,’ she shook her head, ‘but I said that I didnae want to work down the mines.’
‘You don’t want to do that?’
‘No, sir. It’s hard enough working in the glass factory.’
‘It must be. At eleven.’ Lord Minto sat back in his chair. ‘I have an eleven year-old daughter, you know.’
The girl’s face brightened: ‘Oh! What’s her name, sir?’
‘Margaret.’
‘Oooh, oooh, oooh. That’s my name. I was baptised “Margaret”, but folk call me Peggy.’
The judge looked again at the papers: ‘I see that.’
The girl chirped: ‘And your Margaret – your own wee “Peggy” – does she work, sir?’
“Does she work?’
‘Aye. Does she work?’ She placed her finger on her chest. ‘Like me? Like…in a factory?’
On Monday in The Scotsman: No King Solomon, I Assure You
Edward Kane and Mr Horse: Volume II of the Collected Short Stories. Available from Amazon and Kindle