WHEN SAM ARRIVED BACK HOME, HE FOUND MR. Gliddon, the local grocer, as well as his two sons, who were talking loudly over each other while Mr. Constable sat patiently waiting for a moment to interject. Richard Gliddon, the elder brother, was in his mid-twenties and worked with his father in the shop. Sam was less familiar with Edward, the younger brother, who had moved to London in pursuit of a career as an actor. Mr. Gliddon himself had evidently died since Sam had last seen him, for, while his sons were sitting opposite Mr. Constable, Mr. Gliddon was standing in the middle of the desk, his words going unheard by the others.
"Our father deserves a send-off suited to a man who earned much respect in his community," said Richard.
"Our father would have shuddered at the cost of what you're proposing," said Edward, who wore a flamboyantly patterned coat.
"Exactly," agreed the late Mr. Gliddon. "Why waste good money on a dead man? I've always said that, haven't I, Edward?"
"I don't know how you have the gall to sit here speaking of our father's intentions," said Richard. "You, who up and left to chase your own foolish dreams."
"My father never thought them foolish dreams," replied Edward.
"Oh, he's your father now, is he?"
"I meant 'our.'"
"And how would you know what he thought, since you spent all your time consorting with thieves and vagabonds?"
"I call them actors and actresses," said Edward.
"You sit here and bicker, and yet neither of you can remember my only request!" exclaimed Mr. Gliddon.
"If your profession is such a noble one, perhaps you can foot the bill for the funeral," said Richard.
"I am proposing we minimize that cost, in which case, yes, I will gladly split the bill with you," countered his brother.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Constable, speaking quietly but firmly enough for both men to stop their quarrelling and pay attention. "The death of a loved one is a difficult time. It is a time when many of us say things we do not mean. It is, therefore, a time when the biting of one's tongue is sometimes the wisest course of action. A little thought before each word spoken can save a great deal of hurt and upset. I am sure we can find a compromise that will keep both of you happy while remaining true to the wishes of your dear, departed father."
"Well, I don't think there will be any surprise on which side of things the undertaker will be erring," said Edward. "He'll just want to maximize his profit."
Such a mild-mannered man was Mr. Constable that Sam had never seen him actually lose his temper, but it was at moments like this when he came the closest.
"I assure you," he said unsmilingly, "here at Constable and Toop we seek only to provide the most appropriate funeral for the dearly departed. Many in my profession would see the two of you, assess the budget likely available to you, and suggest a funeral to fit. Why have two horses in the cortege when you can have four? And let each of them be adorned with black ostrich feathers. Why an elm coffin when oak is available? And let us not forget all the other trimmings on offer to the grieving. I assure you, Mr. Gliddon, we have all of those things at your disposal, but I can also assure you that when my late father started this business, he did so with an intention of bringing integrity to the business of funerals. My partner and I believe above all else that a funeral should be a moment when the grieving family can mark the passing of a life in a way suitable to that in which it was lived. I knew and respected your father. I think it may be time for the two of you to remember some of that respect he garnered and act appropriately."
Edward Gliddon looked shamefaced. "It is a difficult time for us both," he mumbled by way of apology.
"For you both?" exploded the ghost of Mr. Gliddon. "How do you think I feel? One minute I'm walking back home from the pub, the next, I'm dead in a puddle."
Mr. Constable turned to Sam for the first time since he had entered the shop. "I think you know my partner's son, Sam Toop," he said.
The two men nodded and offered mumbled greetings.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," said Sam.
"Oh, everyone is very sorry now, aren't they?" said the late Mr. Gliddon. "That's all I hear now that I'm dead. 'Sorry for your loss.' Never heard so many kind words when I still had breath in my body."
"Sam, we are discussing what kind of funeral Mr. Gliddon might have wanted," said Mr. Constable. "But it is difficult. Mr. Gliddon passed very suddenly. There was no opportunity for us to discuss these details."
"Honestly," sighed Mr. Gliddon, "I told them both where I wanted to be buried: the same place as my father."
"Did your father never express an interest in a particular burial place?" asked Sam.
Father and sons turned to look at Sam. If any had heard tell of Sam's abilities, they had all clearly chosen to dismiss them as rumors spread by silly schoolchildren.
"Perhaps a place of significance to your family?" Sam prompted.
"I do recall one conversation …" said Edward. "We were all three there."
"The night Mother died …" said Richard, the memory flickering behind his eyes.
Edward nodded. "That's right. You remember? We sat there drinking that bottle of whiskey."
"Brandy," said Richard.
"It was port," said Mr. Gliddon.
"He said he wanted to be buried by Grandfather's side," said Edward.
"Finally!" Mr. Gliddon clapped his hands.
"And where would that be?" asked Mr. Constable.
"St. Paul's," said Richard.
"St. Paul's?" exclaimed Mr. Constable.
"Not the cathedral," said Edward. "A small church off the High Street in Shadwell with the same name."
"Ah." Mr. Constable stroked his chin. "Still, interment in churchyards, crowded as they are, is a tall order in this day and age. And I'm guessing that your father, living and working here in Honor Oak, was not a regular attendee at his father's church."
"It was where he was baptized, but no," said Richard.
Mr. Constable turned to Sam. "Sam, perhaps you could go there and speak to the rector?"
"It would be my pleasure," said Sam.
"Thank you," said Edward.
"It is what we are here for," said Mr. Constable. "To steer you through this difficult time. It is what we take pride in. Now, gentlemen, shall we discuss the rest of the details?"
Mr. Constable's hand passed through Mr. Gliddon's stomach as he opened a large book on his desk. Mr. Gliddon stepped out of the desk and peered over Mr. Constable's shoulder, while the undertaker spoke to the Gliddon brothers regarding types of headstones, materials for a coffin, the available adornments, the number of carriages and horses, and all the other countless details that went into the business of funerals.
Sam was relieved to have an excuse to avoid going upstairs. He still had the money Jack had given him to buy alcohol. He had no desire to see Jack drunk, but neither did he want to return empty-handed and risk angering his uncle. Better, he decided, to stay out of the house altogether for as long as possible. Even if it did mean a trip to London.
