When Sam requested the morning off to go and visit Clara, Mr Constable suggested they take the train up together as he had no appointments and had been meaning to visit a supplier of coffin handles in Bloomsbury. Sam didn’t mind travelling with Mr Constable, but he was relieved that he didn’t ask him the reason for his trip. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about Clara. Not even him.
Mr Constable and Sam found a train carriage to themselves. Sam had barely spoken to his father since their revelatory conversation about his mother so he was expecting one of Mr Constable’s well-intentioned conversations about the importance of family. Sure enough, as the train pulled away, Mr Constable said, ‘You’ve learnt a lot about your family these past few weeks. More perhaps than in those years which preceded them.’
‘I’ve learnt that my father stole as a child and, as an adult, was responsible for the murder of an innocent man,’ replied Sam.
‘Difficult things to learn at any age,’ said Mr Constable. ‘Your father has had to overcome a great many obstacles in his life, but he remains the most loyal, good-hearted man I have ever had the pleasure to meet.’
‘You have always taught me it is our actions that define us,’ said Sam.
‘When you reach our age and look back on your life, I guarantee you will feel ashamed of a great many things: transgressions you have made, people you have hurt, cruelties you have spoken. Even in my dull life, there are things I would rather not dwell on.’
‘But murder,’ said Sam.
The word hung between them as the train rattled onwards. ‘Have you always known about this business with my mother’s father?’ asked Sam.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Constable, maintaining eye contact. ‘I suppose that makes me a liar too.’
‘It was for my father to tell me. I imagine he asked you to keep it from me.’
‘He didn’t have to,’ replied Mr Constable. ‘He wanted to protect you.’
‘From the truth?’
‘From the pain.’
Sam had never experienced a conversation so stilted with Mr Constable. When the train pulled in at the next station a smartly attired gentleman looked at the carriage but, thankfully, thought better of it and chose another one.
Mr Constable sighed. ‘Your mother took her father’s death hard. That his death unlocked the door to her own happiness was no consolation. Your father had to live with that guilt.’
‘So you agree that he was guilty?’
‘No,’ stated Mr Constable. ‘It was worse than that. He felt guilty when he was not. At the time he had no idea what his brother had become. They argued shortly after and Jack left. He would not return until the day you saw him. But he left in his wake the consequences of his actions, and your father took on his guilt, with a conscience that Jack never possessed. Guilt is a terrible thing. It corrodes from within. It is something your father always wanted to protect you from.’
‘What have I to feel guilty about?’
Mr Constable fell silent.
‘I don’t want any more secrets,’ said Sam.
‘Even those which protect you?’
‘Even those.’
‘Your mother didn’t die of a fever. She died giving birth to you, Sam,’ said Mr Constable. ‘Your father kept this from you for fear that you would blame yourself for her death.’
Sam tried to let the words sink in, but they merely splashed around the edges of his mind, like water on stone. His mother had died bringing him into the world. How many more lies had his father told him?
Sam’s voice quivered as he asked, ‘Did he blame me?’
‘Never,’ said Mr Constable, without a moment’s hesitation.
The train trundled past a raised hedgerow. Dappled sunlight shone through, flickering on Sam’s face. He shut his eyes until a factory wall blocked it out.
‘That’s why I can see Them,’ he said. ‘That’s why I can see ghosts. Death must touch you. Jack got it from murdering, I from my mother’s death.’
There passed another moment of uncomfortable silence except for the rattling of the carriage.
‘What was she like?’ asked Sam.
‘A fine woman,’ said Mr Constable. ‘There was never a more troubled beginning to a love affair, but they loved each other more fervently than any couple I’ve ever known. The gossips talked as gossips will. First the courting of a widow, then the timely death of her dissenting father. Your parents were unable to reveal their love to the world. Their wedding was an understated affair. She was a troubled woman. But she eventually found happiness. The month before she died she told me she was the happiest she had ever been. Do you know why?’
Sam shook his head.
‘You, Sam. She was pregnant with you. She was so looking forward to meeting you and to spending every hour with you. You made her happy, Sam.’
The train made another stop where a woman climbed onboard with her two young children in tow. To the mother’s embarrassment the children were so excited about the train journey that they barely stopped chattering. Mr Constable, however, was his usual charming self and engaged the youngest boy in an amusing conversation regarding the workings of a steam train, a subject about which the boy turned out to be a great authority. Sam, for his part, was grateful for the distraction.
He knew now he could see death because of his birth. Every dead soul he saw with his right eye was a reminder of the woman who had died so that he could live.