Charlie Had His Chance

by Ellis Major

  “I see, not terribly good, now that he’s on his way here.” Charlie agreed. “Willy might not have been wholly truthful...”

  “Yes Charlie,” Geoff told him. “This Trust of his father has a few principal objects: the suppression of alcohol and drugs as well as the eradication of prostitution.”

  It was definitely starting to permeate through to Charlie that this was a big problem. Geoff added another steaming truckload to the pile of woe.

  “Willy sold his dad on the idea of a loan, at this fairly reasonable rate of interest – for a grasping private equity type - so he could set up the Mayfair Academy of Modern Morals for pretty much exactly that purpose plus a bit, viz the rehabilitation of offenders, alcoholics and fallen women.” Geoff explained this with another faint moan. “God knows why, but Willy has been sending such glowing reports that his dad’s decided, on the spur of the moment, to brave the fleshpots of London so he can see the place for himself.”

  Now it was Charlie’s turn to groan. “Why would Willy want to boast to his dad? I thought he was a brainy sort of chap.” He paused. “I tell you what, I’ll just go somewhere quiet and pray.”

  “No time for prayer, Charlie. Hopefully, by now, if Lance has found her Babs is tidying things up a bit. We’ll just have to play it by ear. We’re probably buggered because Willy’s dad will have the law on us as fast as he can for God knows what – he’s a vengeful sod by the sound of it – living off immoral earnings, fraudulent misrepresentation, libel slander, theft, I don’t know.”

  “Never say die Geoff,” Charlie cried. “We’ll just have to use our charm on him and hope for the best,” His words were bright, but his voice lacked confidence.

  It has to be said that Archibald Reeves did not have the look about him of someone who might succumb to the Tiptree charm. He was even thinner than his son, cadaverous almost, with thin lips and a dark, prominent forehead. His face showed every sign of having been moulded in the form of a scowl from birth. Perhaps the midwife had upset him by saying something about wetting the baby’s head.

  “Not exactly your jolly philanthropist,” Charlie murmured to Geoff as they watched Mr Reeves senior dismount from the cab. “Looks like an undertaker who’s mislaid his hearse.”

  “Charlie, none of your cracks, you idiot,” Geoff hissed. “Just keep it serious for once.”

  “At least Lance has got here,” Charlie whispered. “That’s one thing in our favour. He might scare him off.”

  Lance greeted Mr. Reeves and escorted him slowly up the steps of the club. Charlie and Geoff introduced themselves and apologised for Willy’s absence. Charlie even remembered not to use his affectionate soubriquet and not to smile. Saving the poor and needy was obviously a miserable business.

  Mr. Reeves senior glanced in their direction and shook hands but said nothing. He merely sniffed as he pushed open the door, as if they smelled of something unpleasant. The others followed him into the club in a state of nervous terror (Geoff and Charlie anyway). Archibald Reeves stopped immediately and pointed. “What is that?” he demanded in a thin nasal voice.

  “That is a bar, Mr Reeves.” Lance told him.

  Charlie and Geoff suppressed gasps.

  “So I suspected,” Mr. Reeves said. “And why would you have a bar in a charity for recovering alcoholics, pray?”

  “It is the latest thinking, Mr Reeves,” Lance explained. “Aversion therapy. This is the final test after an intensive course. It aims to prepare the unfortunate people for the outside world. The drinks are all non-alcoholic, but temptation is put in their way in order for them to learn to avoid it.”

  Mr. Reeves nodded with seeming approval. He pointed to the restaurant beyond the bar. “And in there?”

  “A canteen for the needy and indigent,” Lance told him. “It’s staffed by former convicts.” At that moment the chef entered the restaurant, summoned to a table to be congratulated. He was a cheerful chap, but of rather thuggish appearance, shaven headed and stocky. “Our head chef,” Lance explained. “I’m delighted to be able to report that all he chops up nowadays is meat and fish. Would you care to sample some of the homely fare with which we sustain the unfortunates?”

  “Perhaps a little later,” Mr. Reeves told him absentmindedly, as he stared into the restaurant. He turned and glared at Lance. “Those waitresses are wearing very short skirts.”

  Charlie had a brainwave. Lance had shown a whole new side. It was the military training, thinking on his feet and reacting fast - but he needed support, reinforcements in fact. “We have some more appropriate uniforms on order, Mr. Reeves, but those were a gift from a minor benefactor and we’ve been doing our best to use them. They were all in rather small sizes, though. Rest assured that we’ll have no sex offenders on the premises until the new uniforms arrive.” Charlie was pleased with his effort.

  Mr Reeves’ scowl showed no signs of lifting. “These premises do appear rather opulent. What need do they have for curtains and carpets? Vinyl floors would be more than adequate and why have curtains at all? Blinds would suffice.”

  Lance shook his head sadly. “Our thoughts exactly, but we were entirely unable to convince the planning authorities. Mr. Tiptree here spent two whole days arguing our case to no avail.”

  “Absolutely,” Charlie agreed warmly. “These people are petty bureaucrats. I did my best to explain to them how much hearty gruel we could provide with the money they were forcing us to waste on such fripperies, but they simply would not listen. They have no hearts these people, no hearts at all and do nothing but wave wads of regulations at you.”

  Mr Reeves frowned. “I prefer that you do not use the term ‘gruel’, Mr Tiptree. It has unpleasant Victorian connotations and therefore no part in a modern charitable organisation.”

  “Sorry,” Charlie told him quickly. “I’m still new to this altruism business.”

  Mr Reeves nodded brusquely. “Very well. Now show me upstairs.”

  The solemn party ascended to the first floor and, just as they reached the landing, a nubile young girl ran across the corridor from one room to another on tiptoe. This would not necessarily have been a cause for concern, but for the fact she was clad only in stockings, suspenders, bra and panties - and was giggling with unquestionable glee.

  “What the devil?” began Mr Reeves. “What is that girl doing? She was wearing next to nothing. It’s a disgrace!”

  Charlie and Geoff started to sweat but Lance rose to the occasion.

  “Unfortunately, for obvious reasons, one of which you have just seen, access to the first floor is rather restricted tonight,” Lance explained. “The Holloway prisoners’ sewing circle has been busily plying their needles for the past few weeks. Tonight is their first show – lady buyers only, Mr Reeves. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  “Harrumph,” Mr. Reeves grunted. “Not sure I approve of them sewing lingerie.”

  “The costs for material are lower,” Lance pointed out. “We must be prudent with our benefactors’ funds until we have a market established. I’m sure you’d agree.”

  Mr Reeves merely grunted again. It was unclear, given his unchanging expression, whether this sound indicated agreement or disagreement.

  The group then made its way to the second floor where Archibald Reeves first chose to enter, without knocking they noticed, the room of Millicent Minx. Millicent was sitting innocently on a sofa in her late Victorian bedroom, doing her embroidery.

  “Hello,” she murmured, making the mistake of standing up, as well brought up girls do. She was a most becoming sight in her long, dark, green silk gown, her luxuriant red hair falling onto her shoulders. Mr. Reeves’ eyes narrowed, however, when he caught sight of the front of her dress, cut as it was to the waist. It was somewhat less decent than a late Victorian lady would normally wear – pre-Raphaelite or not.

  “And who are you?” he asked her.

  “Millicent, just a poor street girl wot these nice gennelmen ‘ave taken pity on,” she told him.

  “
A recent acquisition,” Charlie whispered.

  Mr Reeves began to question Millicent. “I trust you’ve seen the error of your ways?” he began.

  “Yes, sir, fornication for dosh is wrong.” She told him. “I came from a broken home, sir where my mother wot died of syphilis, rest ‘er soul, was a drunken fallen woman, sir. I ‘ad no proper example ter foller. I ‘ad no education to speak of, sir an’ no affection so I found the only love I could in the arms of strange men, sir. Now I am in this kind Academy, sir, I ‘ope to mend me ways with the love of these good people. Sir.”

  Charlie thought she might be overdoing the accent and the ‘sirs’ a bit but Mr. Reeves seemed unmoved one way or the other. He waved a bony finger at the ample and attractive amount of Millicent’s upper body that was visible. “Your chest girl,” he said.

  “It’s so ‘ot, sir and I ‘ave broad shoulders, sir an’ all. This luvvly dress was a gift, sir from the charity so I don’t wish to complain, sir, although it woz a bit tight so I ‘ad ter slit it dahn the frunt like. I do ‘ope to get a scarf to conceal my modesty by winter time, sir, to keep from getting the cold on me chest an’ all.”

  “Hmm,” was all the response she received, whereon Mr Reeves turned and left the room.

  “Thank you, sir, pleasure to meet you, sir,” she called after him, sweetly.

  Outside the door, Mr. Reeves rounded on the three Academicians. “I suspect you people are rogues, especially you!”

  He poked Lance in the chest. Lance frowned.

  “Look,” Charlie protested.

  “I can assure you…” Lance began.

  “Now you listen to me,” Mr. Reeves sneered at him. “You may have taken advantage of William’s kind heart but you don’t fool me! I had my suspicions immediately. Aversion therapy indeed! Non-alcoholic drinks, my foot! Waitresses in skirts so short they might as well not be wearing anything! Half naked girls prancing around in plain view of anyone who happens to be passing! A woman in there dressed up so half her, her, breasts,” he spat the word out. “Are on display. This is a den of depravity. It’s a nest of sin of the worst kind!”

  “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Lance began. “You’ve chosen to misinterpret what you have seen. A series of...”

  Mr. Reeves waved his hand dismissively and pointed to another door that Lance appeared to be partially blocking. Lance seemed momentarily nervous, something Mr Reeves noticed immediately. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m certain that if I open that door I’ll find another wicked whore simpering behind it.”

  “Of course, those are the people we’re here to help.” Lance’s tone was entirely reasonable and this seemed to suddenly enrage Mr Reeves.

  “You are pimps and ponces,” he snarled in Lance’s face. He reached for the door handle. “I will have this place raided and closed down. I will sue every single one of you and hound you through the Courts and the Press until you wish you’d never been born. You are evil, evil men. You are corrupt. I will shine the cleansing light of righteousness into your murky little world and save these poor girls whom you’ve no doubt dragged here and imprisoned against their will. I will make you suffer as they have suffered. I will do my best to destroy you.”

  “Well,” said Charlie. “You are a bit peeved, aren’t you?”

  “Peeved, you halfwit,” Mr Reeves ranted whilst Charlie flinched from the stray spittle that assaulted his face. “I am filled with rage. I am going to bring all your disgusting schemes crashing down about your dirty, sleazy ears.”

  At that moment the Duke of Kirkness ascended the stairs with Cora on his arm.

  Mr Reeves was puce. “Look,” he shrieked. “The brazen harlot is bringing her client off the street right in front of my nose. It’s disgusting!”

  An aristocrat with some hundreds, if not thousands, of years of breeding behind him, will know how to express utter contempt with the merest movement of their nose. Both the Duke and Duchess had this knack.

  “How dare you,” yelled Mr Reeves, shocked to the core by this display of effrontery.

  “How dare you,” responded the Duke icily. “You have referred to the Duchess of Kirkness as a brazen harlot.” There was something in the Duke’s tone that gave Mr Reeves pause. This gave Cora her opportunity. She could be a regal Duchess when she chose and she chose to be one at that moment. “I trust this man is not a member.” She might have been referring to a bed bug, and a weedy specimen at that. “He’s behaving as if he were Groucho Marks proving his unsuitability - without the redeeming quality of a cigar, a large nose and an amusing moustache.”

  “I do apologise Your Grace,” Lance responded. “Mr Reeves senior has misunderstood our situation.”

  After his initial shock, Mr Reeves was now starting to build up a further head of steam.

  “Dukes, Duchesses. Do you take me for a complete idiot!” he cried.

  “Oh dear,” said Charlie. “Mr Reeves, he really is a Duke.”

  “And one of our patrons,” Lance added.

  “A very worthy enterprise,” Cora was saying. “I’ve been most impressed.”

  “If you are who you say you are then these scoundrels have taken you in as well.” Mr Reeves clearly thought he might need to hedge his bets.

  Charlie caught Cora’s eye and saw that she was struggling not to laugh.

  “Not at all,” she said.

  Charlie made another effort with Mr Reeves. “Look,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

  “Scared now, aren’t you, if these truly are patrons.” There was a sense of triumph about Mr Reeves now. “You’re being unmasked in front of them.” He moved towards the door.

  “I really wouldn’t, Mr Reeves!” Charlie and Geoff winced. Lance’s voice had an edge to it they’d never heard before, even when talking about drug dealers.

  “Ha, threats now! You expect to scare me with threats, you wall-eyed animal. I am well known. See, Your Grace, what you are dealing with!” Mr. Reeves flung open the door and came to an abrupt halt. Behind him, Charlie and Geoff goggled. Eve stood there (it could only be Eve), clad in her mask. In thigh high leather boots with six inch stiletto heels she towered over them, her ample curves straining at the leather corset she was wearing. Long leather gloves covered her powerful arms and her hair fell onto her shoulders exaggerating her size and presence. A whip dangled from Evie’s hand. She took a couple of paces over towards Mr. Reeves, wobbling in all the right places. “Well,” she growled, deep, low and thrilling. “Who’s been a naughty boy then? Is it you?” Mr. Reeves was like a rabbit, caught by the swaying dance of a snake. There was a tic in his cheek. They could see him fighting something deep within himself, desperately struggling against an overwhelming, irresistible urge. Evie flexed one of her arms and the whip moved slightly. “Bad, bad boy aren’t you,” she growled. “Bad, bad boy!”

  Mr Reeves’ struggle only lasted a few seconds before his face contorted and then became strangely calm. “Yes,” he gasped.

  Eve grabbed him, by the lapels, dragged him into the room and kicked the door closed.

  Charlie and Geoff turned to Lance who smiled almost gently. “Babs has done some research,” he murmured.

  Cora was giggling and even the Duke was smiling.

  “I do love a hypocrite,” Cora told everyone.

  At that moment, Barbara came bouncing up the stairs. “Cum on yer buggers. You got ter watch this in the office!”

  She caught Lance’s questioning glance. “Doncher worry Lance, it’s all recordin’.”

  Lance laughed. “I don’t think you’ll need it – I think Archibald Reeves has finally surrendered to his deepest desires. I’d guess his wildest fantasy is being realised as we speak.”

  “Nice spiel you two,” Geoff told them as he mopped his face.

  “At least Lance knew where we needed to end up,” muttered Charlie weakly. “I was playing it for laughs.”

  “Your face, Charlie,” Cora told him. “You nearly had me going
there. I could have laughed and ruined everything.”

  Fate, of course, for all his chainsaw, protective goggles tunic and trousers, hadn’t bargained for Lance, Charlie, or the Nobility.

  Chapter 10 – What about Charlie (Year 1 – September)

  The Duke and Duchess were something of a bonus in the thwarting of Mr Reeves senior.

  Lance had mentioned in his periodic e-mail correspondence how Roddy’s dealing was being substituted, for the benefit of others as much as for him, and the Duke and Duchess had arranged a visit, together with two selected participants in one of their hunting parties – stags were the target on this occasion rather than humans.

  They were wondering whether a two-centre package might be arranged to mutual benefit. Whilst many Americans were delighted to visit Scotland, London tended also to be a magnet. The Duke could see that to have an extremely high class brothel available for visitors intent on going on to London would so much easier than their having to call an Escort Agency and not be quite sure whether there might be an awkward misunderstanding when it came to the crunch – so much better to know that one was getting what one thought one was paying for so to speak.

  As the Duke and Duchess had declared to Mr Reeves, they found the whole set up at the Academy extremely impressive, and nothing more so than Babs. For all their aristocratic lineage, the Duke and Duchess knew a sharp businesswoman when they saw one, and Babs had slept with enough peers of the realm not to be remotely overawed by them – the Duke was not amongst her past trysts, of course, or he would have avoided touring the Academy with Cora on his arm.

  Following Mr Reeves’ entrapment and the small celebration that followed (one in which he might even have been invited to participate given the evident pleasure that his punishment at Evie’s hands, and whip, afforded him) Babs had wondered, very softly, to Cora as the Duke and Duchess were leaving for their hotel, whether they could spare a few minutes the next morning before heading off for the airport. She wanted to discuss Charlie.