Free The Welfare of the Dead by Lee Jackson

Langley – yes, I recall. It sounds excellent, sir,’ says Siddons, raising his glass to Woodrow. ‘It is a pleasure to see you prosper, I can assure you.’
    â€˜One does one’s best,’ replies Woodrow.
    Siddons nods, smiling beneficently, but says nothing, merely raising his port to his lips.
    â€˜And your business, sir?’ asks Langley, turning to the old man. ‘Are you in the mourning trade too?’
    â€˜After a fashion, my good fellow,’ says Siddons, ‘after a fashion.’
    â€˜Mr. Siddons,’ says Woodrow, by way of explanation, ‘is in the undertaking line.’
    â€˜Please, sir, I beg you!’ exclaims Siddons. ‘You make it sound like I am a dealer in tea. I would prefer to say, if we must say anything upon the matter, that I minister to the dead. Discretion is the thing, eh?’
    â€˜Indeed. A difficult business, I should imagine,’ says Langley.
    â€˜I do not complain, sir, I do not complain, but you are not wrong. Ah, here are your drinks. And here is my steak! What do you say to that, Mr. Langley? Are you partial to
filet de boeuf?
’
    â€˜It looks excellent.’
    â€˜I recommend it – please, do order something. Yes, as I was saying, it is a trying business, especially for a man of sentiment; and there are so many details to take care of. And the mutes, sir! I would not recommend you ever deal with mutes – drunkards to a man.’
    The old man downs another gulp of his port, before slicing fiercely into his steak.
    â€˜We warn the bereaved, sir,’ continues Siddons, ‘but they will force wine and liquor on them. Like pouring water on a drowning man, it is. “Traditional”.’
    The old man takes another slice of meat, red and rare, and warms to his theme.
    â€˜Yes, the business takes its toll, I’ll give you that. I had a terrible time of it only this very morning. Arrangements for a pair of young girls, taken in their prime. Laid them out myself. I was quite overcome, sir.’
    â€˜I can imagine it would be awfully distressing,’ says Langley.
    â€˜It was, sir. Quite. Waived a crape hatband for the chief mourner. Gratis. Couldn’t bring myself to add it to the bill. Two and six I’ll never see again.’
    â€˜Two girls, you say?’ says Jasper Woodrow, with a peculiar urgency.
    â€˜Pretty little things. Drowned, playing by a lake. But what a place to play, eh? Still, referred the mother to your delivery people – wouldn’t leave the house till after the funeral.’
    â€˜Quite right,’ says Woodrow hurriedly, ‘only proper.’
    Mr. Siddons nods, piercing a potato upon the end of his fork. Jasper Woodrow, meanwhile, takes out his handkerchief and wipes his brow.

C HAPTER EIGHT

    â€˜A NOTHER MYSTERY, EH, SIR ?’
    Webb nods.
    â€˜Must be the week for it, eh, after that business yesterday? “A very delicate matter,” it says. Signed “Mr. S. Pellegrin, General Manager”.’
    Webb nods again.
    â€˜Can’t say as I know Stoke Newington too well, sir. How about you?’
    Webb shrugs. ‘Well enough.’
    â€˜Now, south of the river, that’s another matter. Lambeth, sir, now that was my old patch.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Know every alley like the back of my hand, sir.’
    Decimus Webb nods, a rather dejected look upon his face. It may relate to the fact that, for the second time in as many days, he is trapped in a cab with Sergeant Bartleby. Worse, that he has forgotten his pipe.
    â€˜How about you, sir? Know Lambeth at all?’
    Webb sighs. ‘I make do, Sergeant.’
    â€˜I expect you do, sir. Now, take the Lower Marsh, say, there’s a thieves’ kitchen, if ever there was. I could tell you a thing or two about the goings on there, sir, things that would make your hair curl.’
    Webb raises his eyebrows, touching his own slightly balding head rather