The Elf Service, Episode 22

In which Maddie Sharp hatches a fiendish plan

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.

Maddie Sharp had a plan, and her plan seemed to be to make everyone else unhappy.

She started with the Newsies, forcing them to sit in silence in her apartment while she hammered at her typewriter like she was trying to beat it to death, only breaking off occasionally to stare out of the window muttering to herself and swearing at anyone who offered to help.

Finally she ripped the paper from the roller and handed it to Wilson.

“Get this to the Argus and on Walter Burns’ desk,” she said, “Don’t let anyone stop you.”

He didn’t, which made the commissionaire, the news editor and Walter Burns’ secretary unhappy. And then it made Walter Burns himself unhappy, because he had a grimy, monosyllabic Newsie in his office trying to foist on him late copy from Madeleine Sharp. But that was alright, because Walter Burns was always unhappy, it was just a matter of giving him new things to be unhappy about.

Then, however, Burns read the copy.

“Sharp!” If Wilson was impressed with Burns’ shouting, he did not deign to show it, “What is this? Charity reform? Rethinking goodwill? This close to Christmas?”

“Controversy,” said Wilson, pronouncing the word carefully, as Maddie had coached him, “Sells.”

“I know that!” said Burns, “You think just because you sell newspapers on the street you know more about them than me, the editor? Wait. You think this will sell?”

“Controversy,” said Wilson, doggedly, “Sells.”

“No need to repeat yourself!” Burns rattled Sharps’ article at him, “You know what this will do? This will sell newspapers and make my wife unhappy. And if she’s unhappy, she will make me unhappy and…”

But Wilson had gone, so Burns stormed into the newsroom to take it out on whoever he could find there. They were used to it, though, and just ignored him.

Meanwhile, Maddie had work for the rest of them: find the Anti-Christmas League. The previous offices in the Old Town had been abandoned, no doubt following Maddie’s last visit, but she was sure Krimble would be keeping it going, so they had to be somewhere.

They were, in an anonymous office in an anonymous building in the new business district down by the docks. The secretary was still putting up pictures when Maddie barged in and started making him unhappy.

“Merry Christmas,” said Maddie, “No, what am I thinking, I’m so sorry. Ordinary winter season to you.”

“How did you find me?” said the secretary.

“Unfriendly,” said Maddie, “I opened the door and there you were. You do realise that as a charity your office address is a matter of public record, don’t you? Although, also, I have an army of ragged children that dogs your every step.”

The secretary stepped back and rushed to the window. Tin Lizzie was standing on the pavement outside and waved up at him, cheerily. He yelped a little and recoiled.

“Don’t worry,” said Maddie, “They’re staying down there, but there is someone I’ve brought up for you to meet. This is Dr Hiram Jericho.”

Dr Jericho was a tall, skinny man with a large hat and an aggressively topiaried beard. If the secretary thought he was at all reminiscent of the founder of the Anti-Christmas League, the Reverend Iverson Jonke, he did not say anything.

“Delighted to meet you, sir,” said the Doctor, thrusting out a hand that the secretary regarded with suspicion, “Particularly delighted to find such a wise and discerning countenance on such a young and vigorous frame, sir. It bodes well for the future of our city that it has such sensible young men in it.”

The secretary finally took the hand, and shook it gingerly, as if it might come off in his.

“You are very kind, Doctor,” said the secretary, and then a suspicious look crossed his face, “Why?”

“Perspicacious,” said the Doctor, “I was right. Because I wish to ingratiate myself with you, sir, of course, but my ulterior motive has an interior one, I assure you, in my, please excuse the term, soul. I agree with you, sir, I admire you, you and this institution of yours, and I wish to help you.”

“Help me?” said the secretary, “Do what?”

“The Doctor,” said Maddie, “Got in touch with the paper when he read of your charity. He wishes to help you organise a fund-raising event.”

“An event?” said secretary, startled, “In public?”

“In public, sir, for the public, sir,” said the Doctor, who still had hold of the secretary’s hand, “I have been involved in many such endeavours before, and I would dearly like to help you too in so noble a cause.”

“Well the public,” said the secretary, trying to extricate his hand in order to gesture at a pile of letters on his desk, “Do not always think us noble. Hostile, some of them.” He gave his hand a panicked yank, but the Doctor would not let go.

“I’m so glad you raised the subject, sir, as I have some thoughts,” said the Doctor, “Much as I admire your honesty, indeed, such transparency is what we all strive for, the public is apt to be regrettably sentimental in their sentiments. I think perhaps we might speak of nomenclature. Not of the league itself, of course, but perhaps we might form a special committee?”

“A committee?” said the secretary, “To do what?”

“Holiday… Renewal?” said the Doctor, trying it out, “What do we think? The Committee for Holiday Renewal? 

“Renewal?” said the secretary, perplexed.

“Excellent choice,” said Maddie, “A fundraising event for the Committee for Holiday Renewal.”

“What it really needs,” said the Doctor, “Is someone to talk at it, don’t you think? Someone important, with social standing and political trust. Someone like Councillor Krimble.”

“Well,” said Maddie, “He’s a trustee of this charity, isn’t he?”

“Is he?” said the Doctor, “Then I’m sure he’ll do it. You’ll write to him, invite him to speak, it’ll be a grand success.”

“I will?” said the secretary.

“So glad we could agree,” said the Doctor, giving the secretary’s hand a final shake and then releasing it.

“Did we?’ said the secretary, but they were gone.

Maddie and Jefferson reached the pavement just as Captain Blood was coming to find them with news of his errand.

“That wasn’t that hard, was it?” said the Captain, “He’s in his hotel, in his office.”

It was hard to tell whether Felix Savoir was unhappy or not. He remained stubbornly unflappable, but he did not seem entirely overjoyed at Maddie Sharp appearing in his office demanding a venue for a charity function.

“Miss Sharp, do you know how many people there are, below us, working right now on the bookings for our function rooms?” he said, “I am the owner of the best hotel in the city, do you think I know such things?”

“Of any other hotel owner in the city I could believe this,” said Maddie, “But the thought that Felix Savoir doesn’t know everything going on under his roof? Ridiculous.”

Savoir gave a little bow, gratified, and said:

“Naturally, I can tell you that all our rooms are booked out for months, and have been for months.”

“Of course they are,” said Maddie, “I expected as much. It is Christmas, after all. But then, it is Christmas, after all, a time of generosity and magnanimity. The Metropolitan has already done so much for the festive spirit in the city, hosting the Elf Service, and so on, it would be a shame to let that spirit flag.”

“And this… holiday renewal of yours, Doctor,” said Savoir, “Would help boost the Christmas spirit?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” muttered Jefferson through his fake beard. He was trying to hide behind Maddie, for fear that Savoir would see through his disguise, but she was a good foot shorter than him and ineffective cover.

“Councillor Krimble is a great supporter,” said Maddie.

“Oh, is he?” said Savoir, not taking his eyes from Jefferson. His mouth wrinkled up a little at the side. Perhaps he wasn’t unhappy at all. “I happen to know that Mrs Burns, the wife of your editor, I believe, Miss Sharp, has the ballroom booked for a masked ball but has not seen quite the ticket sales for which she was hoping. Perhaps you could help her?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could,” said Maddie, “She’ll make Burns go, and that’ll make him angry and I’d do anything to help him be angry.”

“What a model employee you are,” said Savoir.

The lift back down to the foyer was all mirrors and Jefferson took the opportunity to examine his false whiskers.

“I was sure he’d recognise me,” he said, sticking one end of his moustache back down.

“He did, you ninny,” said Maddie, “That’s why he told us about Mrs Burns. He’s a wily old bird. You’ll have to go and sweet talk her by the way.”

“Why do I have to go?”

“Because I’m going to talk to Krimble,” said Maddie, “Unless you’d rather swap.”

“Couldn’t trust myself not to strangle the blighter with this beard,” said Jefferson.

The blighter, as it turned out, was in City Hall, chairing a meeting, just as the Newsies had predicted. Maddie accosted him as he came bobbing out among a swirl of officials all desperately trying to avoid him and not look like they were.

“Councillor, just the man I was looking for,” said Maddie.

“Miss Sharp,” said Krimble, pulling a paper from his pocket, “Always on the spot. Wanted to talk to you. Excellent piece.”

He proffered the newspaper with her story uppermost.

“Thanks,” said Maddie, “I wrote it, I know what it says. More or less.”

“Very insightful,” said Krimble, “About charity. What this city needs is wholesale reform.”

“If there’s one thing my investigations of the Elf Service have taught me,” said Maddie, “Is that what this city needs is someone who is going to take charity seriously. As you do, Councillor.”

“Very kind,” said Krimble, “Very gratifying. Not always popular, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is support, you know,” said Maddie, “Especially after the Elf Service business. People are starting to see the light.”

“Do you think so, Miss Sharp?”

“I do,” said Maddie, pulling out an invite, “Look at this, the Committee for Holiday Renewal, very serious organisation, you know, very keen on rationalising welfare, and they’ve got an event in the Metropolitan ballroom. Couldn’t do that without support, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so, yes,” said Krimble.

“It’s why I came, actually,” said Maddie, “To ask if you were going.”

“Well, they asked me to speak, in fact,” said Krimble, “But I wasn’t sure if it was really appropriate.”

“Oh, but you must,” said Maddie.

“Do you think it wise?” said Krimble.

“Wise?” said Maddie, “Perhaps not. Necessary? Absolutely yes. You said it yourself, Councillor, doing the right thing isn’t always popular, but that doesn’t stop it being the right thing. And I’m not so sure that it isn’t popular either.

“I think there’s a lot of people in this city who have looked at the Elf Service business and have begun to think hard about charity. I think there’s a lot of people who have worked hard for what they have and have begun to wonder why they should be giving it away to people who haven’t. It’s Christmas, say the Irving Jeffersons of this world, but what does that mean? People buying presents they can’t afford for people who don’t want them, indulging in excess and luxury without a thought of the simple joys that the holiday should be about.

“I think all those people are out there, Councillor, the sensible people, the rational people, and I think they’re just waiting for someone to speak up, someone to lead them.”

“Doing the right thing,” said the Councillor, “Isn’t always popular but that doesn’t stop it from being right. You really do have a way with words, Miss Sharp. You really do.”

And he stared down at the front page of the newspaper in his hands, deep in thought.