Every morning, Charles wakes up, cooks breakfast, and cleans the house.  Mostly in that order, unless a rather extraordinary circumstance called for a modification to the workflow, and still Charles smiles and labors through the day for Miss Langford.  

Once the lady of the house leaves for the day, Charles works on through until the time came to prepare dinner and ready the lady’s evening wear.  He would continue on until it was time for bed or if Miss Langford called out, “Oh, Charles, dear?”, and then he would cautiously walk back down the hall to check on the lady.  After all, what mattered the most was when Miss Langford called.  

Every day had the same ebb and flow to it, like dancing a waltz around and around a ballroom.  

Today in particular, there was an excitement in the air, and for Charles, a little bit of nervousness.  Tonight, Miss Langford was hosting a dinner party for two of her colleagues at the Council of Aurora’s Guidance.  

The Council, as Charles has come to understand, was put together to lead humanity into a new age after men were slowly wiped, one by one, off the face of the planet.  The event, now known as Aurora’s Guidance, span nearly fifty years until the last homo-sapien with a Y-chromosome came to rest.  There was probably much more to the affair; however, Miss Langford, and the Council didn’t share much of that with their valets like Charles.  

Inside Miss Langford’s neatly-kept kitchen, Charles just pulled the fillets out of the oven when the doorbell first rang.  Baked Brussels sprouts, potato au gratin, and a light spring salad accompanied the pan-seared steaks on the kitchen’s grand island.  

“That must be Edith.” Miss Langford checked the time on the old hanging clock.  “She’s always got to be early.  Charles, dear,”  the lady of the house called over.  “I’ll go let Miss Miller in, can you set the table?”

Miss Langford didn’t wait for a response, she knew Charles would take care of what needed to be done.  She spun out of the kitchen, her twill jacket and straight legged slacks just a flash in the corner of Charles’ eye.  

Charles could hear the uproar at the front door as Miss Langford welcomed in Edith, or Edee as she typically called her.  He carried a tray full of the side dishes into the cavernous dining room.  A considerably sized mahogany table was the center piece of the room.  Three, ladder-back chairs lined each side while two ornate chairs bookended the grand slab.  

With acute precision, each platter was placed on the far-end of the table where Miss Langford typically hosted her guests.  She would say she liked having Timoclea backing her up.  

Timoclea of course was in reference to the painting that hung on the wall above Miss Langford’s chair.  It was a 17th-century painting that she had bartered for five years or so ago at an estate sale.  The painting, which to the best of their knowledge, was by an artist named Sirani, portrayed a woman – Timoclea – dumping a guard of sorts down a well for assaulting the lady.

After stirring the Brussels sprouts, making sure the cheese was fully melted, Charles retraced his steps around the table to ensure each piece of silverware was in its proper place.  

The doorbell rang once more and Charles could hear Miss Langford call out, “Coming!”

That, Charles assumed, was Florence Scott, Miss Langford’s second and final guest for the night.  Charles scurried back into the kitchen to prepare the plates with the seared fillets and ready the wine glasses.  

Cackling laughter rang out from study across the hall.  Charles rejoiced at the sound of Miss Langford’s laugh.  It was infectious, like a catchy tune.  Once you heard it, you couldn’t help but laugh yourself.  

Charles took a deep breath to ready himself before lightly tapping a bell at the kitchen door.  “Dinner is served.”  He announced.  

First Miss Langford appeared, glowing in her evening wear.  Miss Miller followed next.  She had been over the house before, and much like tonight, always had a turtleneck on.  Miss Langford told Charles it was ‘her thing’, but Charles always thought it was because her neck was rather long.  With her hair pulled back into a ponytail and blazing red lipstick on, today, however, Miss Scott looked like she meant business.  

Finally, Florence Scott stumbled out of the study, a stack of papers in her hand and her glasses sliding down her nose.

Miss Scott was new to the house and whether it was the environment or the weight of the papers, she seemed overwhelmed.  

“Can I help you Miss?”  Charles approached the fumbling guest.  

With her shoulders hunched, Florence peered out over her wire-rimmed glasses.  “Oh, no, no thank you…”

Miss Langford cut in.  “My apologies, Flo, this is Charles.”  

Florence Scott adjusted her wool vest with a shrug of a shoulder. “Oh…hi Charles…it’s a pleasure…”  She drifted off, paying more attention to the data on her paperwork than to Charles.  

The two guests followed Miss Langford’s lead into the dining room, one branching off to the right and the other the left side of the table, until they  were all in the presence of Timoclea in all her glory. 

Once the three women were in place, Charles promptly placed a napkin on each of their laps and filled their glasses with tonight’s rosé.  

“Thank you, Charles.”  Miss Langford proudly said.

Edith leaned in towards Miss Langford.  “Georgie, you should have told me to bring Bernard over for some help.” 

Miss Langford waved a hand in the air, dismissing the notion.  “Charles will be quite alright.”  She turned her attention to Charles, who patiently waited in the corner.  “You can get started, now, if you are ready.”  Before looking back at her two guests.

Striding back into the kitchen, Charles heard Miss Langford’s voice echo throughout the cavernous hall.  “Shall we begin?  It’s not like we’ll get another shot at getting this right.”  And so, the chatter from the study continued on.

As soon as Charles entered, he noticed something was off.  The temperature of the room was at least two-degrees cooler than it should have been with the oven keeping the steaks warm, but to Charles’ surprise the oven was turned off.  Bewildered, his head tilted, noticing that the door to the oven was cracked open.  For a moment, a surge of panic overwhelmed Charles, the same type of panic that ensued when you couldn’t find your keys.  All of that receded when he turned around to find the food already plated and ready on a serving tray.

Charles blinked, inspecting the tray.  He retraced the steps he took the last time he was in the kitchen.  He couldn’t recall preparing the dishes in advanced but then again, he had been in a rush.  Not wanting to keep the lady of the house waiting, he plucked the food off the counter and headed back towards Miss Langford.

Half full glasses and Miss Scott’s paperwork littered the thick wooden table.  “This is all great work, Flo, but we need hard data to back us up.”  Charles overheard Miss Miller say before she went quiet at the sight of Charles.  

Miss Langford seemed to notice her friend’s hesitation.  “It’s fine, Edee, I talk shop with Charles all the time.”  She sipped down the last of her wine.  “Besides, he gives good advice sometimes.”

Florence looked up at Charles in admiration.  “I wish Bertie was more like Charles, he’s just so analytical all of the time.”  She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.  

“Are you sure about that?”  Edith coughed, looking out at the scattered paperwork.  

Charles took his time, carefully reaching over each woman’s right shoulder, and placing one plate down at a time.  Sides came next, scooping them one meticulous scoop at a time before the dishes were set.  

Miss Langford hooked her arm into Charles’ after he finished up – she typically did this when she had something to ask of Charles.  

“Charles, would you be a dear and fill our glasses?”  Charles nodded and Miss Langford continued.  “Data is good, but we won’t win over the majority with just that.  We need to play to their emotions.  So many of them have pre-Aurora connections, they know what life was like back then.”

“And that’s why they want this vote to go through.”  Edith snorted.  

This caused Miss Langford to raise her voice as Charles leaned over, filling her glass.  “And that’s why we need more support.  It’s a losing battle if we keep these within the Council.”

“You know we can’t bring outsiders in.”  Edith downed the glass Charles just refilled and tapped the glass with her nail for another.

“I don’t understand.”  Florence’s eyes widened.  Between the three women, she was clearly the youngest and the least experienced.  “Were things this corrupted back then?”  She waved Charles away as he rounded the table towards her with the bottle of wine.  “Heck, if my grandmother wasn’t a founding member of the Council, I’d have no clue what was going on.  I’d be living in ignorant bliss.”

“I’d take that lifestyle over mine any day of the week.”  Edith retorted.  

Florence ran her fork around the vegetables without taking a bite.  “What about Dr. Ruiz?  She seems to be trusted by the Council, maybe she has some favorable data we can present?”

With a hand covering her chewing mouth Miss Langford said.  “No, Lily doesn’t like to get involved in political matters.  She just does what she does and that’s all.”  Her two guests looked down at their plates in despair.  

Nuzzled away in the corner of the room, Charles sensed that Miss Langford needed a break in the conversation.  “Excuse me, Miss, do you need anything else from me or should I go start cleaning up?”

Miss Langford smiled at the distraction.  “I believe we’re good, Charles.”  She looked at her companions to see if anyone objected, but no one did.  “You may go, I’ll call you back if we need anything else.”  And with that she shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

As Charles departed Charles could hear Miss Scott say.  “It’s right what they say about first-genners.  Having Charles around is like having another person in the house.”

Edith scoffed.  “Don’t let the Council hear you say that.”

Florence mumbled something and then Edith continued.  “But you’re right. Talking to Bernard is like having a conversation with a wall.”  

Charles opened the door to the kitchen, but could still hear Miss Scott lean up against the table and whisper.  “He’s like your own Wentworth.”  

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the door behind him closed to a gaggle of giggles that lasted through the night.  

The next day was much like any other that is until Miss Langford, in an unusually strained voice called out once more, “Charles, dear?  Are you awake?”

Charles reached out and pushed the doors to his room open.  Of course he was awake, he always was, but he wouldn’t be that blunt with Miss Langford.  “Yes, Miss, I’ll be there in a minute.”  His voice rang out through the lady’s bare house.  

As he snaked down the hallway towards the second floor kitchen where Miss Langford typically started her day, he double checked that his shirt was fully tucked in and that no creases had formed on on his slacks.  

The wooden panels creaked beneath Charles’ slippered feet.  He was not a heavy man, nor was he heavy footed, the three-floored house was just old.  It was what Miss Langford referred to as ‘the old-Colonial’ way of living, but Charles couldn’t imagine the need for this much space, especially when it was just him and the lady.  

As he reached the top of the stairs, he peered back, further down the hall where Miss Langford’s room was before he started his way down the grand stairwell.  The morning sun light guided his way down the stairs as it shined through the half-moon window above.  The clattering of silverware meant only one thing to Charles: he was running late.  

Had Charles been anything less than a professional, he may have panicked, he may have stammered or tripped upon the part of the carpet that curls up on the third steps but he didn’t.  Charles just held his shoulders high and followed the path on the second floor that strayed off from the rest and lead to the hidden kitchenette.  

Charles once considered that perhaps a second family had lived in this house and they wanted a modest eat-in all to themselves, but Miss Langford shook her head and said, “Charles, I don’t think this home belonged to more than one family.”  

Charles never understood how that could be, but this house was old and Miss Langford did know much more than Charles did, so he wouldn’t dare question the Misses. 

One thing Charles did know was this house did not belong to the Langford family, the lady was certainly emphatic regarding that specific measure.  She once told Charles it was mere happenstance that she was able to find such a well-kept residence that was not already occupied.  

Miss Langford stood, or a better word might be hovered over the marbled counter-top with her back to the door.  Unkempt curls peaked out of the silken scarf that she had wrapped around her head and a blue floral robe covered everything but the almond skin at the nape of her neck.  

“Are you alright, Miss?” Charles inquired.  

Had it been a competition, Miss Langford may have won the high jump as she spun around in surprised.  “My lord, Charles, do you have to walk so quietly?”

Charles considered the lady’s question but didn’t quite know how to answer.  Of course he doesn’t have to walk as softly as he does, that’s just the way he does it.  “My apologies, Miss, do you prefer I stomp around next time?”

Miss Langford’s face scrunched and contorted so much so that Charles feared she may have been in pain until she let out a generous laugh.  “No, Charles, I do not.”  

A smile crept back onto her face.  She was used to Charles’ directness but sometimes she couldn’t help herself.  “And apologies to you, I was just imagining you, dressed the way you are, in your shirt and pressed pants, stomping around pretending you’re some unseemly beast.”  

Unsure of what to say next, Charles stood his ground firmly and said, “Well, thank you Miss.”

Which in turn caused blood to rush up to Miss Langford’s cheeks filling in for the makeup she had yet put on.  “And how long have we been together, Charles?”

Without missing a beat Charles said.  “Ten years and two-hundred and forty-one days, Miss.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you, Charles, just call me Georgie – or at least Georgina.  Miss Langford makes me feel like I’m an old spinster.”

Charles tilted his head in confusion.  “But Miss…I’m sorry, Georgie.”  He seemed to fight through the words.  “You’re not old, you’re only -“

“Ah!”  Georgie flung her pointer finger straight into the air.  “And how many times have I told you not to mention my age either?”  She turned to grab a cup off the counter before adding.  “I’ve got my coffee already, it was a pain to figure out that contraption,”  She pointed with the tilt of her head back at the machine that she was standing in front of earlier.  “But I got it working.  Now, will you do my hair while I get ready?  I’ve got to get going soon.  Today’s a big day.”

With a courteous nod of the head, Charles said. “Of course I will.”

Georgie stopped in her tracks, letting her robe flow behind her and peered over at the tall, slender man.  “So you’re just going to avoid calling me anything then, are you?”

Not flinching, Charles kept his eyes straight ahead, yet Georgie swore she could see his clean-shaved jaw tense for a moment.  “It is against my protocols, Miss.”

“Oh, Charles, dear, why didn’t you say so.”  She took her free hand and patted his shoulder in the least condescending way she could.  “Then call me Miss Langford if you must.” 

Charles smiled as much as Charles typically did which wasn’t much and said.  “Thank you, Miss.”  His shoulders eased down from their upright positioning and followed Miss Langford back up the steps to her room.

The pair walked in silence, as if they were performing a routine they have done a million times before.  Georgie slid her robe off and hung it on her bed post while Charles prepared his station at the cherry wood vanity in the far end of the room.  The room was dimly lit, but Charles had no trouble precisely lining up each tool he would need for his current task.  

Miss Langford, now only in her nightgown, paused in front of her full length mirror.  She stared closely, examining one side of her face at a time before uttering.  “Oh dear, this sun-light does not do me any justice without any make-up on.”  And she swiftly moved to close the set of draped curtains.  

Patiently waiting, Charles watched as Miss Langford sat behind her wooden work station and leaned forward, pulling her hair out of the turban.  “I just look dreadful today, don’t I?”  She muttered to herself as she dug at the roots of her hair, trying to find every gray hair that she could possibly find.  “Charles, do me a favor and try and cover up this mass of grays with a wave.”  

“A nice finger wave then, Miss?”  Charles asked as he pulled a stool up behind Miss Langford.  

“Yes, that will do.”  

And so the two started at their tasks.  Georgie, applying layer upon layer of make-up, or as she would put it, “putting on her face for the day”, and Charles delicately pulling the lady’s hair back and pinning it into place.  Every passing brush, Charles would trace his fingers against the tension in Miss Langford’s shoulders.

“Excuse me, Miss.”  Charles finally interrupted.  “I couldn’t help but notice how anxious you seem today.”  He left his free hand fall onto her bare shoulder and squeezed it tenderly.  “I hope it wasn’t any of my doing, being late and all this morning.”

Miss Langford’s eyes were glued to the patterned wallpaper beyond her mirror.  A powder puff apathetically waited in the lady’s hand, eagerly awaiting use as she said.  “No Charles, it’s nothing you did.  The Council has it’s big vote today, that’s why Edee and Flo were over last night.”

“Excuse me, Miss, but no matter how many times you explain the Council to me, how can the majority entrust their future in such a small group.”  Charles said, not taking his eyes off the piece of hair he was currently brushing.  

“No, it doesn’t make much sense to me either.”  Miss Langford agreed, her eyes dancing around.  “I guess I’m just lucky to have a seat on it.”

“Yes, that battle has been won but not the war.”  If there was one thing Charles did not understand about humans was their stubbornness.  “Is this the vote you spoke about with Dr. Ruiz?  The one regarding the mutation?  Why not just take it beyond the Council?”

Miss Langford sighed. “It’s not just that.”

“If I may say so, you deserve more, Miss Langford, and so does the rest of your peers.  I recall Dr. Ruiz is working on some sort of stem-cell – “

“Charles, that’s enough.”  Miss Langford said glaring into the mirror, staring directly at Charles.  

But Charles was too concerned with completing his task.  He began to stray and pin down the lady’s hair as he continued on.  “The one thing I do not understand is after all of this time, why not attempt to bring back the male half of your race with a bio-engineered Y-chromosome…one that won’t mutate again.”  Before Charles could finished Miss Langford jolted up to her feet.

“I said enough, Charles, or are you malfunctioning again?”  A fire burned deep within her dark-set eyes.  “Don’t you think the Council has had this conversation over and over again?”

“I…just…”  Charles’ head tilted.  

Miss Langford stormed off to the edge of her bed, letting her nightgown drop to the ground.  “That’s right, you don’t understand because you never will.”  The lady’s voice trembled but she continued on.  Without looking over at Charles who still silently sat at the vanity, she pulled up a pair of wide-legged riding pants and without messing her hair, pulled over a loose-fitting tunic.

Finally she stopped at the doorway, looking back at Charles.  Her eyes were red and a bed of water waded in them.  “I expect dinner to be ready on time, this will be a long day for us all.”  With her hounds-tooth jacket in hand, Miss Langford strode out of the door, leaving Charles alone.

The day was too short and Charles had too much to do for him to sit and think about what he may have said that upset the lady of the house.   He had learned a long time ago that depending on the day or the time or even the cycle of the moon, that one word or another could set the lady off.  He began to gather the make-up brushes to clean and put the caps back on their containers.  

Once he was satisfied in the bed chamber, he ambled out of the room, eyes tracing the molding on the floor.  Scars still lined the edges of the hall where Charles had to tear out mildew-ridden carpet.  Charles, tried to think back to when that was but landed somewhere between yesterday and five years back.  His memory was certainly not what it once was.

He went right to the cupboard of cleaning supplies and began his daily dusting.  He always started easy, getting the cabinets and dressers on the third floor.  And then he would slowly progress to the more difficult spots, the ones that everyone in their rightful mind avoided.  Those annoyingly high air ducts and baseboards that most people took the stance if it’s not at eye level it’s not worth cleaning.  Further on he went through each curtain and blind, and yes, he would dust both sides, not just the inside facing portion.  And finally, when Charles made it down to the first floor he started on his least favorite part of this activity, dusting each and every book in Miss Langford’s study.  He saved this particular assign for only once per week because frankly you truly had to be a mad man to go dusting off books every day of your life.

The study was three-quarters filled with books upon books and the other quarter of the room was for Miss Langford to host the likes of her friend Dr. Ruiz.  Two padded arm-chairs bookended a low, long coffee table waiting to devour all of the gossip it possibly could.  A three-tiered cocktail bar nestled up against the wall, should the occasion call for it, which with Miss Langford it typically did, and an old, stand-up piano waited besides the bar to once again play another melody.  

As Charles approached the encyclopedias, his mind began to wander once more about his conversation with Miss Langford earlier that day and all the conversation they’ve had to it prior.  He once asked her why other specie’s male counterparts had survived whatever genetic mutation had been the downfall of human men, but she never had a straight answer for him.  This wasn’t to say that Miss Langford didn’t try her best to find an answer or press others to find one, it was more so saying that the female sex of humankind were left with no answers, or as Miss Langford not-so-straight forwardly put it several times: they didn’t want to find the answer.

Every now and then Charles thought he had caught Miss Langford and her friends quietly discussing the Council’s eventual plans to stop reproduction all together once the cryo-preserved seeds left behind by the world’s last men.  It seemed logical in some aspects.  The Council preached how far society as a whole has progressed since Aurora’s Guidance.  On the other hand, Charles never understood the lack of research in return the species to a whole.  As Charles’ mind wandered, he wondered if this was what Miss Langford was debating against now.

From what the lady of the house had told Charles, all she had were memories and stories passed on from generations of their male companions, and based on what Charles could piece together, it has most likely been generations now since the fall of the homo-sapien male.  In fact, although she never said it, Charles had deduced that she was one of the test-tube babies that have been genetically grown to ensure more defective humans weren’t born.  Or to put it frankly, genetically modified to ensure they did not have a Y-chromosome.  They were now referred to as Generation T or ‘Tubers’ as the older generations call them.  

Ruminating on his thoughts, Charles lifted up the fall-board and pulled the rounded stool out from underneath the piano.  He intuitively went right into Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 – one of Miss Langford’s favorites of the pieces of music they had found in the study.  The piece itself was difficult for Charles to master.  He’d never been good with his arm weight and when he initially stumbled into first cadenza, his fingers tripped over the befuddling trills.  Once he was able to weightlessly flow his hands over the keys, he dazzled Miss Langford and her guests as the cadenza crescendoed to it’s climax.  

The notes reverberated through the empty room as Charles climbed the keyboard, until instead of a high-C, a flat thud echoed from inside the casing.  Charles paused and reached back over to the key to hit it once more.  Again, the hammer seemed to avoid the treble string and thumped against something solid.  

Charles’ unblinking eyes examined the stand-up piano as if he had only just seen it. 

“No new visual blemishes.” He traced his finger along the top of the lid.  “Comparable amount of dust versus the last time I cleaned the room.”  

His finger nimbly gripped the lip of the polished lid, but as he lifted, the lid stayed still.  Puzzled, he looked over to where a hook typically hung unstrained; however, today, the metal piece was carefully slipped into it’s circular counterpart, locking the lid of the piano down, something Charles never did after his cleanings.  

“Curious…”  He whispered to the confined lock.  

A shiver went down Charles’ spine as he curiously tilted his head towards the locked piano casing.  Had Miss Langford locked the piano or had Charles done it himself and simply forgotten?  His eyes scanned the room in paranoia, making sure he was the only one in the house.  

After taking a deep breath in and then out, Charles gingerly removed the hook, relieving it of its duties.  The worn hinges squealed as Charles opened it up fully.  

As he suspected, a slim, cloth wrapped package was sandwiched between the key strings and hammers.  It was an off-white linen, wrapped tightly in twine to keep it from opening.  With grace and great tact, Charles skillfully pulled the head of the hammer back while grasping on to the hidden bundle.  

Had Charles had a heart, now, perhaps, it would be pounding out of his chest; however, he didn’t, so he was merely intrigued by the secret package and the thoughts of what those human feelings would be like.  His hands were as dry as can be and still as a stone as they unlaced the double-knotted bow.  After the knot was undone, the soft linen draped open as if waiting to be found.  

What resembled a book revealed itself to Charles as he sat in a self-collected manner.  The book had a cover, but the title had been redacted with some type of black ink.  Inside was more of the same.  The remnants of torn pages greeted Charles, leaving him without a clue what the eclectic collection of pages left in the book could be.  The pages varied in size and coloring, but they all seemed to follow in the appropriate page count and wording.  The mod-podge  of pages seemed to have been adhered to the spine of the book forming a make-shift novel.  

Charles looked up to the mass of books that filled the room.  “Why go through all this trouble when there are so many other books to chose from?”  He looked down, questioning the tome.  

A corner on one of the pages seemed to be folded, holding a spot to return to.  Charles promptly opened the paperback and flipped to the dog-eared page.  In the process, Charles calculated what this manuscript could be about.  His mind immediately went to information on Miss Langford’s long gone opposite sex or perhaps scientific evidence Dr. Ruiz had gathered to mutate the Y-chromosome, but what Charles found seemed to be fiction of some sorts.  He began to read:

…Without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage. Yes, he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest.

“Curious…”  He re-read the passage.  “It seems to be examining the interpersonal relationship between a man and woman.”  In fact, those very books that surrounded him were mostly non-fiction and those that were fiction only depicted men as monsters.  Even when the lady of the house streamed an old movie or show, they were only classics in terms of post Aurora’s Guidance.  Yet this piece of literature in a mere sentence or two shows so much of a lost intimacy.  

Despite his never ending list of duties, Charles skimmed to the beginning of the mysterious book and commenced reading.  

Like sand through an hourglass, time went on, and Charles read, and by the time he finished the last page, a knock came from the door.  Charles, who was startled by the noise, outright dropped the book, pages scattering across the floor.  He’d never miscalculated his timing this badly before.  It couldn’t be Miss Langford already, could it?  He wondered if she had forgotten her key.  He prided himself on his timing so much so that he refused to wear a watch, and as he glanced down at his wrist he cursed his own pride.  

Charles scrambled to gather the fallen pages and replicate the wrapping the way he had found it.  “Yes, I’ll be right there.”  He calmly called out to the front door.  He quickly weighed taking his time to properly put the book back versus the immediate need of taking care of Miss Langford and figured he will explain any wrongdoings later, and quickly shut the piano top back down with the hidden manuscript inside.  

Another knock at the door.  It wasn’t a demanding knock, nor did it have no purpose, it was firm and had a certain sensibility to it.  Charles undid the locks and opened the door to find a well-kept man.  This man had a thick mustache and wore flat-black duffle coat.  He handed Charles a stained manila folder with a stack of papers shuffled in between.  “For the lady of the house.”  He growled.  “Courtesy of Dr. Ruiz.”

The weight of the papers surprised Charles as the stout man handed it over to him.  By the time Charles went to thank the valet, he had turned back down towards the end of the block.  

A purple hue clouded the sky as the sun set.  Charles took a step back, closed the door, and turned to start dinner, but his eyes kept darting down to the papers he held.  He always liked to know what he was delivering to the lady of the house before handing it over in case it was to put her in a sour mood.  

Gently curling the folder’s casing open he began to read the header of the document.  “An Examination into First – “

A key rattled at the door.  Miss Langford was home already and dinner hadn’t even been started.  He fretted on the last words she had said to him.  As swiftly as he could – which was considerably fast for a human – Charles ran to the study and carefully placed Dr. Ruiz’s folder behind a book of music on top of the piano.

Yet, despite his best attempts, by the time he was back in the vestibule, Miss Langford’s coat laid already half-way off and her boots in complete disarray on the carpet below.  

Without a second glance, Miss Langford stalked off past Charles back up the steps.    Charles thought that she was purposefully attempting to slam a foot through one of the old wooden stairs but didn’t dare say that out loud.  Instead, he offered some help.  “May I take the jacket off your hands, Miss?”

Brown and beige hounds-tooth met Charles’ face in response.  “Miss?”  Charles called up, trying to find the words to tell her dinner wasn’t quite ready yet.  “Miss…I…ummm…”  

He stammered on but Miss Langford coercively interjected.  “Charles, I know, but dinner will have to wait.  I feel absolutely dreadful at the moment.  I think if I ate one bite I’d spew it out of both sides.”  Miss Langford rounded the staircase towards her room as she mimicked gobs of food shooting out of her mouth.  Charles could only think of the absolute mess he would have to clean up had that been the case.  

Charles scurried around Miss Langford to light the room before she entered and rushed to grab her robe.  

“Charles, dear, put that down a moment and come give me a hand.”  Miss Langford had her top already unbuttoned and her hands rested on her stomach.  “I just feel so bloated today too.  I’m an absolute mess.  Will you be a dear and unzip me from behind?  I fear the stress from today has pushed these pants to their limits.”

She did look like a mess.  She had pulled some pins out of her hair already, letting it fall down her back and she looked unequivocally silly with her high-wasted riding pants going right up to the bottom of her brassiere.  But always the true gentlemen, Charles wouldn’t dare say that out loud. 

He took a serious look at the lady’s face.  Each line that burrowed itself on her forehead and down through her eyes and cheeks told a story of the life she’s lived.  He had been a good help around the house, but he wasn’t there for Miss Langford when she needed him the most.  When she needed a shoulder to cry on or a body to embrace.  Charles thought about the fair Captain in the story he read and what he and  Anne had gone through before they were happily together again.

Charles pulled the rest of the pins out of Miss Langford’s hair, following it down between her shoulders.  He wanted to tell her he knew about her hidden book or Dr. Ruiz’s folder.  That he knew that she needed more than a valet, she needed a partner, but he didn’t.  He gently squeezed the two sides of the zipper with one hand.  “You know, Miss, if you ever need anything, just say the word and I will be at your beck and call.”  He undid the clasp and zipper with the other, prompting Miss Langford to let out a deep sigh.  “When I started to work under you, I thought what you needed was ease and space, and so I did my job and left you alone, but now I believe, or better yet, I fear that I failed to fulfill my obligations at making your life a pleasant one by neglecting the most important person in my life…you.  In fact, I wonder if my first generation peers were more than just helping hands around the house.”  

He helped a quiet Miss Langford out of her trousers and turned her around to face him in frankness.  “And now I hope to right the wrongs I have done.”  

Miss Langford stood frozen, only in her undergarments, not sure what to say.  Her temper seemed to have dropped down from a boil to a simmer.  She let Charles rest his hand on her waist for a breath before she fluttered her eyes and said.  “Thank you, Charles…that was rather sweet and…”  Charles swore he could see her eyes darting towards the study.  “And rather unexpected.”

She seemed to shiver before putting on her silken robe.  Cherry blossoms crawled across the forest green backdrop.  Her mouth hung open, waiting to be used, waiting for that thought to be expressed, but it never came.  Instead it closed, reset.  “As I mentioned, I’ll put dinner off tonight.”  She finally said, looking at the window.  “It’s getting late anyway.  Have the rest of the night to yourself.”  

Charles waited in the doorway to make sure she was alright before Miss Langford did as she always does and shooed him away with a quick sweep of her hand.  He smiled when he saw a grin sneak on to her face because he knew that was a new sort of happiness he could see in her eyes, he felt that he had finally done his job properly.   

The next morning, Charles stood and waited in his room, anticipating Miss Langford’s call, but it never came.  He even turned his head and pushed his ear against the door as he waited, but only heard the moans of the pipes and the creaks of the old wood.  

Sun light slivered in through the door opening indicating that the morning was well underway.  The accordion-style doors opened up as Charles gingerly pushed up against them.  Fearing he had fallen behind two days in a row, Charles hustled down the steps and started Miss Langford’s morning coffee.  Next came the lightly toasted bread with raspberry jam and two eggs in a pot to boil.  

Once he was set, Charles readied everything on a serving tray to bring up to the lady of the house.  

Charles marched up the steps only to find Miss Langford’s chamber’s door opened and her bed empty.  

“Miss?”  Charles unnaturally called out.  “Miss Langford?”  He began to meander through the third floor and down the steps to no response.  

Charles grimaced and then pushed out,  “Georgie?  Georgina?  Are you there?”  Yet, once more there was no response.  

The ethos of the entire house wavered around Charles.  He considered that perhaps he had missed her in her bed chambers or maybe he didn’t call her name loud enough, then a clink of glass shifted his attention to the study down two floors down.  Clutching the silver tray tightly, Charles set course for the first floor.  

The thick hinged door already hung open as Charles approached.  Comfortably perched upon one of the padded chairs was Miss Langford.  In an empire-waisted gown that Charles doubted he’d ever seen his master in before, she rested with her legs up on one of the arms.  Settled on the nearby table, a glass of ice cubes anxiously awaited a refill.

Charles lingered in the doorway, head tilting, and that’s when he noticed Miss Langford had the mysterious paperback in her hand.  He wasn’t sure how to proceed, he didn’t have protocols written out for this particular type of interaction.  The only thing he could think of doing was coughing, and so, he did just that, politely coughing into his fist.

Right away, Miss Langford’s eyes shot up in Charles’ direction and the book fell into the plume of her skirt.  Her hair was not done, but still looked naturally charming in its own way.  

“Oh, Charles, you’re finally awake.”  She said with a sense of concern in her voice, but she didn’t ask him, she was merely stating a fact.  

Charles cautiously approached the coffee table and placed the morning fare down.  “Are you alright, Miss?”  She certainly seemed alright, so he felt he needed to add.  “You know, from, well, the Council’s meeting.”

Miss Langford’s eye lashes flutter in response.  “Oh yes, well, it went how we both suspected it would go, but I must be strong just like Timoclea.”  She flung a hand up in a very laissez-faire type of way.  “It’s like the Council only wants progress in their own way.  We’ll just die out as a species alone and miserable.  We all come to an end anyway, why prolong it.”  Her eyes fixated on Charles.   

“Well, I’m terribly sorry, Miss.  I know that’s not how you were intending the meeting to go.”  Charles’ eyes danced between Miss Langford’s eyes and the book wedged between her legs.  “While I do understand the thinking behind their decision, that doesn’t mean it was the proper choice.”  He was now certain he was correct in estimation as to what the Council’s vote was for.

Georgie Langford let her legs tumble down to the ground and she readjusted herself in the chair.  Her eyebrow arched above her striking-brown eye.  “You’ve said that before, Charles, why do you think that?”  The leather bound book clenched between her hands.

Charles firmly stood his ground.  “I didn’t understand this until recently.”  His eyes were now solely focused on the novel.  “But it is like dualism…a balanced life.  Yes, the female sex has survived, and in fact thrived this long; however, there is no other end of the spectrum to balance things out.”

“That’s very spiritual of you, Charles.  I expected mathematical evidence that supported your claims or an old scientific theory you had come across.”

“Oh, well, I…”

Miss Langford raised her hand before Charles stuttered on any further.  “That was not to say I didn’t agree with you, Charles.”  

Charles eased down into the chair across from Miss Langford.  “That’s a relief, you were so upset last night, I didn’t want to worsen your mood today.”

“Last night?”  Miss Langford’s curious brow perked up.  “Charles, do you mean the day of our final vote?”

“Of course.”  Charles quickly recounted the last time he spoke to Miss Langford.  He could still recall Miss Langford’s blood shot eyes and look of exhaustion.  “How could I forget it.”

Miss Langford leaned forward.  “Charles, dear, that was four days ago.”  

“Yesterday?”  Charles traced back his file to try to determine how long he had been at rest for but could not find the data.  

Concern washed over the lady of the house’s face.  “Oh, dear, I was afraid of this.  I wanted to say something earlier…have Lily take a look at you, but…”  All of a sudden she couldn’t look up, her eyes locked on to an open folder on now clutter table.  “I…well…you seemed different.  You were treating me more like a person…like a partner, not some god-awful master who works you tooth and nail.”  She now carefully lifted up her secret tome.  “You started to remind me of what life used to be…or how Ms. Austen had written it.”  Georgie Langford, most unlady like, now began to squirm in her seat.  “What you say is true.  I don’t know where it is coming from, but it’s true.  From everything I’ve read and what we’ve all been told, we’ve accomplished more now than we ever did before.  In science…in medicine…But we are stubborn in some ways.

“You see, Charles, I think you are confused about what the Council’s vote was for.  I can see why too, you’re first thought is to always think of me…to protect me, but never yourself.”  She now picked up the stack of papers out of the Dr. Ruiz’s folder.  “I didn’t want to frighten you, so I didn’t correct you when you’d bring it up.  You see, the debate wasn’t over whether or not to try and bio-engineer men again or our reproductive future, it was to put an end to a new threat to the Council…”  

Miss Langford reached out and handed Charles the document.  The title read: An Examination into First Generation Sentience and Evolution.  

Charles’ eyes scanned the first page.  “This…this is about me?  My kind?”

With a sullen look on her face, Miss Langford nodded.  “You were right the other night when you said you believed you were made for more than cleaning up around the house.”  She pointed over towards the paperwork that Charles continued to rifle through.  “The first generation models were built to learn and grow with their partner, not owner or master.  But they started to do more.  They started to evolve and mature despite certain protocols being in place.  It was state-of-the-art technology at the time, so much so that it left the first survivors of Aurora’s Guidance to mourn and not move on, so the Council made the decision to adjust the lines of coding in the first-genners to create the less advanced model that you see today.

“I’ve tried as hard as I can to keep you running, Charles…”  Miss Langford voice was now soft and delicate.  “I’ve had you reset by Lily three times now…”

Charles finally looked up from the paperwork, tilting his head.  “Third…third time?”  

Georgie’s eyelids fell in shame.  “Yes.  I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned this earlier, I just supposed you wouldn’t want to hear about it.  Heck, I wouldn’t want to know if it was me…”

“But…I’ve only been with you for ten years and two-hundred and forty-four days.”  The papers were barely in Charles’ grasp now.

Miss Langford shook her head.  “No, that’s just how long it has been since your last reset.”  She crinkled her brows.  “Look at these grays…these wrinkles Charles.”  She pointed to her hair and then her face.  “I’m no spring chicken, we’ve been together much longer than that, Charles.”  She reached out and grasped Charles’ hand tightly in appreciation. 

The room was silent until Miss Langford leaned back in her chair and gazed over at the piano.  “Do you mind playing me that sonata I like, Charles?”

Unsure of what to say, Charles moseyed over to the stool. As he sat down at the old stand-up, he smirked to himself, quietly shutting the top lid.  Without a moment of hesitation he began Haydn’s Sonata No. 62, letting the music speak for himself.  

The No. 62 Sonata blended in to the background of the silent room.  Charles looked up, his fingers following the routine they worked so very hard to remember.  “So you’re going to take me to Dr. Ruiz’s tomorrow to be reset?”  The song was light and melodious, a stark contrast to the realization that he was still trying to process.  

“Something like that.”  Miss Langford said down to her slippered feet.  “Charles, frankly, it’s more than that.  The Council vote to decommission all first-genners.”  She couldn’t look up at Charles, but he heard the tremble in her voice.  “This is why I’ve been fighting so hard against it…why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Decommissioned…”  Charles’ voice was just a hint of what it was.  

“Charles…I…we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  Her dress crumpled up within her moving fingers.  “We can run, find somewhere else to live.  We’d be somewhere new, but at least I’d still…I’d still have you.”

Miss Langford tensed up into the corner of her chair.  Charles knew she was torn apart inside.  He had to do his job.  He had to do what was right for Miss Langford.  “I can’t do that to you, Georgie.”  Her eyes twinkled at Charles.  “I’d be taking you away from your friends, from your house…your entire life.  I must do this one last duty for you.”  He thought back to Miss Langford’s favorite painting.  “You must be strong like Timoclea.  I know she lives within you.”

Miss Langford tried to force a smile on her face.  “Thank you.”  She whispered.  “Maybe we’ll meet again some day.  Another time or another life.”  She extended the book out to Charles.  “Here…Will you read this to me?  It’s the one I like the most out of all the ones I’ve found so far.”

Charles’ interest was peaked.  “You have more?”

“I do.  I’ve been collecting for a while now, but don’t tell anyone on the Council.”  Miss Langford winked at Charles. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she nuzzled in comfortably.  “We can read more after this one if you’d like.”

Opening up to the familiar first page, Charles cleared his throat and prepared to read through the night.  

The next morning went by fast.  Charles was promptly woken up by Miss Langford’s “Charles, dear?”, only this time he was greeted with a lavish breakfast already made and a place for him to sit with Georgie at the dining room table.  As she put it, she really wanted this to be a memorable day, whether or not Charles would remember it tomorrow. 

Not wanting to bother Charles, Miss Langford dressed herself in a simple sage jumper and let her hair out naturally, the way it was the day before.  She put minimal make up on before the two set out to walk to Dr. Ruiz’s house.  

Charles rarely found himself outside of Miss Langford’s three-story abode so any time he stepped out of the front door, it was always exhilarating for him, and was a usual tool to distract himself from the task at hand today. 

The wind whipped around, howling like a rabid wolf.  “It’s colder than I thought it would be.”  Miss Langford said, nestling in a little closer to Charles.  “Do you mind?”  She slid her arm into his and burrowing herself into the warmth of his body.

“No, not at all.”  Charles’ eyes focused in a few houses down.  “Besides, we’re not too far away, right?  You mentioned the house is at the end of the block.”

Miss Langford nodded her head in agreement.

On the corner of the road Dr. Ruiz’s house loomed over Charles and Georgie.  It was a tall, thin house that seemed to tilt in whichever direction the wind was blowing.  Much like Miss Langford’s estate, it was also three floors, although it looked half the width of Miss Langford’s.  Cedar wood shingles covered the house from ground to roof, protecting it from the outside word like a knight’s armor.

On the door, a bronze lion’s head clenched a circular knocker in it’s mouth.  Miss Langford gave it two knocks and then stepped back into the Charles’ nook.  

A burly looking man with a handle-bar mustache opened the door.  Charles recognized him immediately as the same man who dropped off the folder of papers the day before.  

“Hello Arthur, can you let Lily that I’m here.”

A small curl of hair dropped to his forehead as Arthur nodded his head.  “Please, come in.  Dr. Ruiz has been expecting you.”  He opened the palm of his hand and gestured inside.  

The house was cluttered, much more than Miss Langford’s house was, and Charles gleamed with pride at the work he put in to keep it that way.  Papers and books lined any available space it could find, while framed pictures of who knows who covered every inch of the wallpaper that Charles could see.  Inside the sitting room, a pile of blankets…or was that clothes, covered a quarter of the sofa.  

Charles was going to take a seat when a voice called out from behind them.  “Charles, dear, there you are.  How have you been?  Georgie talks about you all the time.”

Underneath the arched entryway stood Dr. Lily Ruiz, clad in a pair of corduroy overalls and loosing fitting button up.  For one reason or another, a pair of goggles clung to the top of her head, holding back her unruly hair.  

Without allowing Charles a chance to respond, Dr. Ruiz continued.  “And Georgie, you look ravishing as always.”  Looking down at her hands, she paused, and then grimaced, and then proceeded to wipe her hands on the side of her legs.  “My apologies for the mess.  I’d typically have Arthur clean up a little, but the mess just piles right back up anyway so…”

Again, without waiting for anyone to respond, she continued on once more.  “Should we sit down for a cup of tea or would you like to get started right away?”  She bobbed her head over towards the next room.  “The gear is all set up down in my lab.”

Miss Langford longingly looked over at Charles.  “I think it’s best if we just get this over with.”  

“Wonderful.” The good doctor said.  “Let’s get on our way then.”

“Right this way, Miss Langford.”  Arthur stood at Georgie’s side, leading her out into the next room.

Through the next room, which at Charles’ best guess was a dine-in study as empty plates and cups scattered a desk with books and papers all over, Arthur lead the group down a flight of stairs to Dr. Ruiz’s workspace.  

Dr. Ruiz was already in place in front of her computer, pulling a pair of leather gloves on.  

“Arthur, can you help Charles on to the gurney?” Dr. Ruiz signaled over to a padded, metal slab that hung at a slight angel.  

The mustached man firmly grabbed Charles by the arm and lead him to the doctor’s desired location.  Arthur’s thick slabs of hands wrapped straps around Charles’ arms and chest.

Georgie stammered forward.  “Wait, wait, wait…what are those for?”  

Dr. Ruiz grumbled.  “We’ve had some issues where restraints would have been beneficial so recently we’re been preemptive in our attempts.”

Arthur nodded his head, more than likely recalling those memories.  “Not to mention your other exp-”  

A ravenous cough erupted from Dr. Ruiz.  “Don’t bore them with your stories, Arthur.”  The doctor’s seemed to burn a hole through her valet’s chest.

“My apologies.”  Arthur murmured and stepped away from Charles.  

Charles could feel the leathered finger of Dr. Ruiz exploring the back of his neck.  “Don’t worry, Charles, you won’t feel a…”  A slight jab pierced the nape of his neck for a moment.  “…thing.  Now, shall we get started?”  Charles heard the doctor say from behind him.  “And Charles?”  She called out to him.  “Try not to move your head too much now, dear.”

Miss Langford glided through the laboratory and found herself next to Charles.  “Go ahead, Lily.”  She clamored back towards the mass of computers and then turned her attention to Charles.  “This may feel like a good-bye, Charles, but it’s not, it’s only a beginning.”  

Charles could feel her weaving her fingers in between his.  “Life can get redundant around here, like advertisement you hear over and over again.  You see so many giving up on life, you can even see it in the Council!” Wells of water swelled up in Miss Langford’s eyes the way they did when Charles knew she was trying to fight back tears.  “That’s why they all gave up on life!  That’s why in eighty years we’ll be all gone, because they’re simply going through their basic every day functions.  A carousel of monotony.”

“Seventy-five percent through.” Dr. Ruiz declared over a clattering of keystrokes.  

Georgie delicately pushed up against Charles’ palm as if trying to convey something she couldn’t say.  “They don’t have you, Charles.  Yes, we all have help.”  Her eyes fluttered over towards Arthur and her voice lowered so only he could hear her.  “But they’re not you.  Life feels empty when I leave the house.  You pierce my soul yet are able to make me whole.  I am half agony, half hope…and I have always loved you, Charles.  None but you…”

Charles could see Miss Langford one final time, up against the wall of her bed chamber.  Though her arms were folded, she seemed to open up towards Charles.  Without saying a word, she turned to him, and opened the door besides her.  Yes, it was time to go, he thought.  Miss Langford that was woven throughout his mind and would always be there.  It was time for a new beginning.  Charles sensed that she had placed him there.  That the two of them, him and her, were meant to meet in this place.  That her will, and her hands had done it, and that Charles owed it to her perception of his, and his resolution to oblige her. 

And so he will, her Charles dear.  

Charles’ eyes trembled and then softly shut, his head drooping down.

The perfectly manicure fingers of Charles fell limp in Miss Langford’s hand as she held on one final moment.

He will always be her Charles, dear.

Copyright William Meier Jr. 2022 ©