The Elf Service, Episode 16

In which Irving Jefferson finally comes clean and reveals himself to be dirty

All over the city children post letters to Santa Claus and they go undelivered and unanswered. Until Irving Jefferson founds the Elf Service, that is. The Elf Service is the story of charity, journalism and mayhem, the extraordinary story of an extraordinary young man, his extraordinary plan to make Christmas happen for the children of his city and all the extraordinary ways in which that plan goes extraordinarily wrong.

“I meant it about the drink, by the way,” Maddie Sharp was rooting around behind the bar of what had once been the bierkeller of the Hotel Metropolitan and which was now the headquarters of the Elf Service, “Savoir can’t have cleaned the place out entirely. You must be exhausted.”

“Lady, you don’t know the half of it,” Irving Jefferson was more recognisable now that he had lost his glasses and stethoscope and Tin Lizzie had beaten most of the whitening out of his hair. Maddie had eventually ejected the newsies and Jefferson had collapsed back in the chair at the head of the table. The table that had been, until now, the engine of the Elf Service.

“It's hard work,” he said, “Remembering the voices, remembering the names, the charities. That’s what they won’t appreciate, the hard work that went into it.”

“No, what they won’t appreciate,” said Maddie, “Is being conned by a quick change artist. Oh, for crying out loud, nothing.” She slammed a cupboard shut and then lifted up the phone on the bar.

“Room service?” she said, “This is the Elf Service. The cellar bar, right. Send down a bottle of champagne and two glasses,” she looked up at Jefferson, “You ready for a long night? Good. A steak sandwich, then. No, make it two.”

“I suppose I’m good for another front page,” said Jefferson.

“Oh, I can make this stretch,” said Maddie.

“Why should I talk to you anyway?” said Jefferson, half hoisting himself out of his chair.

“Because I’m going to write it up anyway and you might as well,” she said, “Because everyone’s going to be talking about you and they should get their facts straight. Because, and this is the important one, you like talking. Especially about yourself.”

“You know what I’ve found most objectionable,” said Jefferson, “That you think you’re better than me. Don’t give me any of that ‘facts are sacred’, ‘duty to the public’ thing, you do what you do because it means your name is on the front page too, known to all the city, you’re just in it for the fame too.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” said Maddie, “My name’s right there at the top of the piece. This is not the revelation you think it is. Ah, there’s the champagne.”

“We might as well do this properly,” she said, putting a sandwich in front of him and pouring him a glass, “Here’s to a memorable performance.”

“One that you’ll make sure is remembered,” said Jefferson, bitterly, raising his glass in a mock toast. Then he put it down again and sighed, “Ah, I’m just being a sore loser. It’s just your job. No, I’m sorry, your calling. I read that piece, of course I did. I’ve read it often, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you were angry. You write what you write not just for the fame, but because you care. And because you care, you get angry. You saw where that little girl lives, in the bottom of a wardrobe. You were angry. You were right to be angry. I was angry. I still am angry.

“I grew up just like her. No wait, I better tell the whole truth. It was the docks, not the Old Town, and I had my mother. So not entirely like Midge. But enough. Enough to make me angry, to make me desperate, to make me hungry.”

Maddie said nothing, but took a sip of champagne, put her notebook on the table and started writing.

“My mother knew enough that she knew I needed to know more. I needed an education. And she moved the earth to get me one. Every spare penny she had went on books, on schooling. And there weren’t many spare pennies, I can tell you. My mother used to joke that it was a good thing I was born on Christmas Day - actually true, that, can you believe it, born on Christmas Day - that’s a nice bit of colour for you - because that meant she only had to buy me one present a year.

“Wherever, however, you grow up, that’s what you think is normal. It takes learning to learn that’s not so. And as you learn how the world is, you might look back at what you thought was normal and think you were foolish, or you might look at what the world thinks is normal and think the world is foolish. You might start to know enough to know that the world knows nothing, and needs to be taught a lesson.”

He took a drink of his champagne and then swirled it in the dim light, making the bubbles fizz.

“You’ve had the Savoir lecture, haven’t you?” he said, “About how its all about luck? He said that to me and I thought how lucky you have to be to think that all it takes is luck. How lucky you have to be with where you were born, how you were raised, what you were taught to think was normal.”

“So what lesson are you teaching,” said Maddie, “To whom?”

“All these splendid volunteers,” he swept an arm out at the table before him, and spilled a little champagne in the process, “All giving their time freely and happily to do good for others. I’m teaching them that no good deed goes unpunished. That charity should be its own punishment. You know what a great writer once said? ‘We only need charity, after all, where there is poverty, and, like poverty, we should not have it at all.’”

“Quote me at me again and I shall sue you for copyright infringement,” said Maddie, “As punishment, you can explain this whole thing with the disguises to me. All the charities.”

“Charity in this town is a social affair,” he said, “People like to be seen to be charitable. It has cachet. Even more cachet when you have important people attached.”

“So you just made up some charities,” said Maddie, “And attached some important names?”

“Oh no, its all proper,” said Jefferson, “I have the paperwork. There are a number of… complicated organisations that… relate the charities to each other so that they may claim, in effect, that a trustee of one is a trustee of them all.”

“So anyone who’s a trustee of the Elf Service?”

“Is a trustee of the Exhausted Horse Hospital.’

“Or The Anti-Christmas League.”

“I thought that was quite fun,” said Jefferson, “I have to admit I just added Krimble to that one as a joke.”

“And all the dressing up?” said Maddie.

“Oh that was just fun, too,” said Jefferson, “I always did have theatrical ambitions.”

“But the weathered seamen and the distressed gentlewomen,” said Maddie, “They didn’t exist. They never saw any money.”

“Well, a retired sailor here or there,” said Jefferson, “Possibly a distressed gentlewoman, I couldn’t say. I have to admit that I haven’t kept very tidy records of the disbursements. The Councillor will be disappointed.”

“You gave it away?”

“Do I look like I’m living in luxury, Miss Sharp?”

“Those are very nice shoes,” said Maddie.

“Well, yes, not all of it, but most of it,” said Jefferson, “Most of it, I gave away.”

“What are you then?” said Maddie, “Some kind of modern Robin Hood?”

“Well, what would you call it?” said Jefferson, “Taking from the rich to give to the poor? Or can we at least say, encouraging them to give. By definition, they were giving to charity. They wanted to give the money away. I just helped them do it.

“You know this town, Miss Sharp, you’ve seen it. You’ve seen the little urchins like Midge down in the gutter. Kids like Tin Lizzie and Captain Blood and Wilson. What future have they got? They work and work and work, all the hours and effort they have, and what do they get? How much work does Miss Saltadora do, god love her? She works her tongue but nothing else. 

“These people haven’t earned this money, they were born with it, but they still want the approbation and applause for giving some of it away. A very little of it. Well, I pride myself of getting every penny out of them.”

“Savoir wasn’t born with it,” said Maddie, “He knows what he’s talking about when he talks about luck.”

“Oh sure, we’ve all read the profiles,” said Jefferson, “But what does he do with that money he’s made now? Does he share it out? No, he hoards it, accumulates it. And who’s doing the earning for him now? Not him. The chambermaids and the boot boys, the chefs and the bottle washers. Look under any self-made man and you’ll find the army of the poor who made him.

“And these are the people who want to know that the poor deserve their charity. I meant what I said about Krimble, that awful, money grubbing man. All these parsimonious, pusillanimous penny-pinchers, who want to weight every soul and measure every heart. Who would deny a present to a little girl because she wouldn’t play with it in the right way, or be properly grateful. Them. That’s who I want to teach a lesson to.”

“I’m afraid they’re not going to learn the lesson you think they are,” said Maddie, “Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve just proved Krimble right. You couldn’t be trusted with the Elf Service. All your charities couldn’t be trusted with the money.”

“It still went to the poor,” said Jefferson.

“But not to the exhausted horses or the truncated soldiers,” said Maddie.

“They didn’t care,” said Jefferson, “Half of them never even knew which charity they were giving to.”

“They’re going to care now,” said Maddie, “Once they know what you’ve done, they’re going to care an awful lot, I’m afraid. And their lawyers are going to care too.”

“Then don’t tell them,” said Jefferson.

“Don’t tell them?” said Maddie, “Don’t tell them that they’ve been defrauded of their money? Don’t tell them that they’ve been cheated of their good will? Don’t tell them that they’ve been lied to, and conned and made to be foolish?”

“How’s it going to help them to know?” said Jefferson, “It won’t make them feel any better. In fact it’ll make them feel a great deal worse. I made them feel better, made them feel like they were doing good, you’ll bring them crashing down from that great height.

“I might also point out that you helped me. You wrote that piece, you made the Elf Service - and me, I admit it - famous. They’ll blame you, too.”

“Like you said,” said Maddie, “I don’t just write to be liked. I do it because I care.”

“Then care,” said Jefferson, “I’ve done more good for this city than the likes of Krimble ever have. I’m helping make a difference, I’m helping make a Christmas. Don’t tell them.”

“I care,” said Maddie, “About what’s just, yes, I care about what’s right. But that means I also care about what’s true. Facts, I’m afraid, are sacred, because without them people can’t know the world they live in, they can’t change what they think is normal, as you put it. I have to tell them what is true, Jefferson, because they deserve it.”

“You’ll ruin the Elf Service,” said Jefferson, “You’ll ruin Christmas.”

“No I won’t,” said Maddie, “Because you’ve already done that yourself.”

“Then publish,” said Jefferson, draining his champagne, “And be damned.”

“Oh, I shall,” said Maddie, “And I will.”

And she climbed the stairs back out of the cellar, up into the night, leaving Irving Jefferson, in his salt and pepper hair, pouring himself one last glass of champagne from a nearly empty bottle.