Chapter 4: 04. Happy, Happy Customers

'Mmm ltnnn.'

I glanced up from the letter I was proofreading. What was that noise? Where had it come from?

'Mmm ltnn!'

I glanced down at the speaking horn. Could it be...

Picking up the thing, I held it to my ear. 'Yes?'

'Ah. Hello, Mr Linton.' The unholy glee in Mr Pearson's voice put me on my guard instantly. 'How nice of you to finally answer.'

'I'm always nice.' Unless people aren't nice to me. 'Are you calling for any particular reason?'

'As a matter of fact, I am. Mr Ambrose wishes to see you immediately.'

'Why didn't he just call me himself?'

'I wouldn't know. Although he did mention something about not coming into your vicinity so as not to be convicted for manslaughter.'

'Oh. He did, did he?'

'Yes. He also mentioned extenuating circumstances.'

'You don't say.'

'Well...I wish you the best of luck.'

'You do?'

'Oh yes. You're going to need it.'

I lowered the horn. Just before I put it down onto its holder, I heard a faint cackle.

Oh dear.

Could it be that my brilliant advertising campaign hadn't gone quite as expected?

Nonsense! I was a strong, confident woman! I had to believe in my work and myself. Stepping forward with determination, I approached Mr Ambrose's office door and raised my hand to knock—then hesitated.

Cautiously, I drew my hand back.

Then moved it forward again.

Then back.

Hm...could you knock at a door without actually touching the wood? Could you be a strong, confident woman while hiding under a desk? Maybe it was time to do an experiment on the subject.

I took a step back.

'Come in, Mr Linton,' came a cool, commanding voice from the other side of the door.

Crap, crap, crap!

Grasping the doorknob and praying it got stuck, I pushed.

The door swung open.

Thanks so much, God!

'Mr Ambrose?' Cautiously, I stuck my head in the door and immediately noticed the freezing temperature. Oh dear. This was not good. 'You, um...wanted to see me, Sir?'

'Indeed. Close the door.'

'Certainly, Sir.'

'After coming inside.'

'Oh.' Damn! 'As you wish, Sir.'

I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a click.

Mr Ambrose was sitting in his desk, his fingers steepled, a newspaper lying in front of him on his desktop. To my surprise, I noticed it was this morning's newspaper—not yesterday's edition retrieved from a public waste paper basket, as usual. However, that small irregularity soon ceased to matter when I noticed how he was looking at me.

Oh dear...

I could feel ice crystals forming on my eyelashes. Not long, and an icicle would start growing on the tip of my nose. I rather liked my nose the way it was. So I squared my shoulders and stepped forward.

'Yes, Sir?'

'Ah. Mr Linton. Thank you so much for gracing me with your presence.'

My oh my. He was being polite. This had to be serious. But for the life of me I couldn't imagine what I could have done wrong.

'It's my pleasure, Sir.'

'It is?' His eyes sparkled icily. 'I thought you were far too busy for the likes of me these days. After all, you're working on your advertising campaign, are you not?'

Ah. That.

All right, maybe my idea had been slightly unconventional...but so what? Nothing ventured, nothing gained!

I gathered all my courage. 'No, Sir. My advertising campaign has already been launched.'

'That,' Mr Ambrose responded, his voice lowering to a dangerous tone, 'is what I deduced when I saw this.' He thumped the paper in front of him. I cranked my neck, but couldn't catch sight of the advertisement printed below his knuckles. 'But then I thought,' he continued in a whisper, 'No! Mr Linton is a moderately competent secretary and marginally sane person. He would not go out and launch a nationwide advertising campaign on a new product without showing me his plans, without even getting the go-ahead!'

Sweat started trickling down my neck. Magicking a charming smile onto my face, I shrugged. 'Oh, you know what you always say. Knowledge is Power is Time is Money. How could I possibly waste your valuable time? I didn't want to disturb you in your important work.'

'How very considerate of you. Do you know what I also often say?'

'N-no?'

'Disastrous advertising campaigns cost money! Incompetent employees get fired!'

Thoughtfully, I scratched my head. 'I'm trying to remember, but right now I can't recall a single instance of you saying that. Are you sure? Because if you had—'

'Silence!'

I closed my mouth.

'Why?' he demanded. 'Why did you not come for my approval?'

I considered for a moment. 'Err...because you might not have given it?'

'That's the whole point of asking for approval, Mr Linton! Denying it is my prerogative as your employer!'

I snapped my fingers. 'I knew there was something I didn't like about this employment thing.'

'You...you...ifrit!'

I grinned. I just couldn't help it.

'Wipe that smirk off your face, Mr Linton! This is serious!'

'Of course, Sir. Right away, Sir.'

'Do you have any idea what damage this hair-brained scheme of yours is going to cause? How much money will be wasted on insane, idiotic advertising?'

'Well, I wouldn't exactly call my idea insane—'

'Indeed?' Eyes sparkling with frost, Mr Ambrose snatched up the paper from the desk and thrust it at me. His finger jabbed at a broad, colourful advertisement on the front page. 'Then what else would you call this?'

My eyes slid to the advertisement. I had to admit, the designer had done a quite admirable job. The picture showed two children, one on the right, lying in bed, the other on the left, happily playing in the garden. In the middle, there was a big, shiny bag and right underneath, in cheery, happy handwriting was displayed the proud message:

COCAINE COUGH DROPS

Instantly Effective! Happy children guaranteed!

Only 1 penny per bag!

I looked up.

'You're right. I should have added a snappy slogan. It's missing something, don't you think?'

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's jaw twitched. 'My dissatisfaction is not aimed at the lack of a slogan.'

'Oh? You like my work, then? Fabulous!' Throwing my arms around him, I hugged him close. 'I'm so glad you approve.'

A growl issued from his throat. Hurriedly, I retreated to a safe distance.

'Cocaine cough drops? Mr Linton, are you quite seriously saying that...that...I mean, sweets for children?'

Still retreating, I shrugged. 'Well...a bad cough stinks. I can remember back when I was young and caught the flu, and had only my aunt to take care of me. I definitely could have used something to sweeten my disposition—or hers, for that matter.' I brightened. 'Hey! That's an idea. We could add a new line of sweets for the mothers, too! I bet that would—'

The expression in Mr Ambrose's eyes made me close my mouth.

'So that's it? You based an entire advertising campaign on personal childhood experience?'

'Err...I gather that isn't how one's supposed to do it?'

'It. Is. Not.'

'Oh.'

'Do you have any idea how much a nationwide campaign costs?'

I did. I knew exactly. After all, I had authorized the thing. But if I mentioned the figure floating around at the back of my mind, that was not likely to improve Mr Ambrose's mood.

'No, Sir.'

'At least a thousand pounds!'

I widened my eyes. 'What? So much?'

Then it probably wouldn't be wise to mention I had spent twice that amount. Maybe hiring those ten balloons as a publicity stunt had been a bit over the top. But what could I say? Kids loved balloons.

'A thousand pounds! A thousand pounds down the sinkhole...I...I could...'

Mr Ambrose broke off and a rough, indistinct noise came from the back of his throat.

'Do you have trouble with your throat, Sir?' I asked solicitously and, reaching into my pocket, withdrew a colourful paper bag. 'Here. I hear these are very effective. I'm sure you'll feel much more relaxed after you've tried—'

'Out! Out, Mr Linton!'

'As you wish, Sir. Right away, Sir.' Giving a hurried bow, I dashed out of the office.

***

When I approached my uncle's house that evening, I could hear the sounds of the fray from quite some distance away.

'White!'

'Red!'

'White!'

'You...insane...! Impossible...!'

'No taste...! None whatever...!'

Somewhere inside the house, a door slammed. Or maybe it was the sound of a club hitting someone's head. You never knew with these friendly pre-wedding discussions.

Cautiously, I opened the front door and glanced from right to left. No one seemed to be around. Soft footsteps came from above, so at least one of my sisters was upstairs. There was also clinking, and a bit of grumbling. Probably Uncle Bufford counting money. Nobody was in the immediate vicinity. It was now or never!

Hurriedly stepping inside, I dashed down the corridor towards the stairs that led up to my room. But I had hardly gone half the way when a door to my left opened and my little sister Ella stalked out.

'Incredible! Can you believe that girl?'

'Err...what?' I enquired, retreating a step, just in case.

'She wants violets in the bouquet. Violets!'

'I see. And that is...?'

'Terrible! Horrific! Atrocious!'

'Definitely!' I nodded. Having previously been in the captivity of murderous maniacs, I knew it was best to agree with them at all times. 'And that is because...?'

'Isn't it obvious?'

'Of course, of course it is! It's because...um...err....'

'Because they clash with your hair, of course!'

'Ah. Of course.'

'I can't fathom for the life of me how anyone can have such poor taste in style as that girl! I can't imagine...I...' Suddenly, her voice died down, and she started to cough. Stepping closer, I thumped her on the back.

'Thanks,' she croaked. 'I've been shouting myself hoarse all morning.'

'Oh, you poor dear.' Reaching into my pocket, I held out a colourful paper bag. 'Would you like a bonbon?'

'That's so nice of you, Lill! Thanks!'

'It's the least I can do, considering all the hard work you're doing to make my wedding day the most special day of my life.'

Smiling, Ella slipped the sweet into her mouth. 'Hmm! That's good!'

'You think so?'

'Yes! The taste is slightly unusual, but...good. Very good.'

'Ha! I knew it! Positive customer feedback. Just wait until I tell him!'

'Him? Who?'

'Oh, err...nothing, nothing. So you like them?'

'Definitely. Yes, absolutely! They're so sweet... and they make me feel so...so...' She gave a little giggle. 'I think I'll go back in there and discuss this with Eve again. I'm sure we can come to an amicable solution.'

'Bravo!' I was quite proud of myself. My bonbons definitely seemed to have a sweetening effect.

'And if not,' Ella added with another giggle, 'I can always chuck her out of the window and eat her feet.'

And with that, she whirled around and danced back into the room, singing the national anthem.

I blinked.

Surely, I must have misheard?

Yes. Surely. She was probably just stressed.

A little while later, I was sitting upstairs in my room, reading a book, when Eve popped her head in through the door, her brow furrowed. 'Lilly...what in God's name did you say to Ella?'

I blinked. 'Me? Nothing. Why?'

Looking from left to right, she lowered her voice, as if about to say something horrifically outrageous. 'Because she suddenly agrees with me.'

'Err...and that's a bad thing? I should have thought that after all the arguments the two of you've had, you'd welcome some agreement.'

'Even when I suggested that we do your wedding with a colour scheme of pink, orange and maroon?'

'You what?'

'Or when I said we should have a donkey in a tutu for a best man?'

'Err...I'm not entirely sure my groom would be amenable to that.'

'You goose! I'm not actually going to do it!'

'You aren't?'

'No!'

'Good. I mean, not that I've got anything against donkeys, but there is that old tradition that if the groom stands up the bride, she'll marry the best man, and well...better safe than sorry.'

'I don't want you to marry a donkey! I want to know what's wrong with Ella! What did you say to her?'

I held up both hands. 'Nothing! I swear. I just gave her a sweet for her sore throat, that's all. Here, want one?'

I held out the paper bag, and Eve, sagging against the wall, took one with a grateful expression on her face.

'Thanks! I can really use that. I've been shouting for three hours straight, and—mmm! Not bad. Not bad at all.'

I perked up. 'You think so?'

'Yes! Where did you get these?'

'They've just come out,' I told her eagerly. 'You can get them at every store, and they're very reasonably priced.'

'Really? I must tell Flora and Patsy, and...and...' Eve blinked. A slightly dreamy expression was taking shape on her face. 'W-what was I going to say?'

'You were talking about Ella.'

'Ah, yes! Dear, sweet little Ella! I wonder why the two of us disagreed earlier. Disagreeing is so disegregiously disagreeable. And who knows, maybe pink-orange-maroon isn't such a bad color scheme after all. Has anyone ever tried?'

'Err...probably not.'

Eve hugged me and, with a broad smile on her face, jumped to her feet. 'That's what I thought! Yay! I've got to tell Ella! This is going to be perfect! We'll make your wedding into a day to remember, Lilly! Don't you fear! I'm going to get you the best donkey ever!'

And she dashed out of the room.

I sat there for a few moments, gazing after her.

Well...

At least the candy was tasty, right?

Yes. Maybe a little bit too tasty. Perhaps you should have asked Mr Ambrose what cocaine actually is before selling it in neat, colourful packages for one penny each.

I shook off the thought. No. It couldn't possibly be dangerous. Mr Ambrose would never sell dangerous substances just to make a quick profit, now, would he?

I sat there for a few moments, staring into nothing—then sagged back onto my bed and covered my face with my pillow.

'Oh crap.'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

A little note (and disclaimer!) at this point: please do not try out Lilly's cocain cough drops at home with your children! During the Victorian era, cocaine was indeed used in large doses in all kinds of medicines, as were heroin and opium. The ad Lilly designed is actually based on a historical ad for a toothache tonic for children published in the nineteenth century: However, sometime later a medical genius, whose name I was unable to find, discovered the fact that it was not a good idea to feed cocaine to small children, and the practice was dropped ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

P.S.: In case you want to see the original ad this is based on, just google "10 Cocaine and other Drug Products of the Past" and prepare to be horrified.