Mayhem for Her Majesty (A Cozy Beatles Mystery Series Book 2)

by Kal Smagh

  I needed a way back over to the Theatre. That’s where I would learn more. But now, without credentials, there was no way I would ever get through the door. I sat down in the lobby and I felt tears well up in my eyes. What could I do?

  The concierge was looking in my direction but I refused to make eye contact with him. He'd only want to push me out and away from here, a failure.

  I wouldn't give him the chance.

  I had one friend I could reach out to who might give me some advice.

  I went to the phone bank and placed a call to the office in Liverpool. It was a longshot, because it was unlikely that Freda would be at work, but I had to try.

  "Hello?"

  I wanted to jump in the air at hearing her voice on the other end, "Freda. I’ve messed things up so bad down here." I choked back tears, my frustration and despair bubbling to the top.

  "Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Have you been robbed?"

  "No. The Beatles have been taken off the playbill. And they’re saying that I am the reason why."

  "Whose saying?"

  "The royal security man. Mr. Jenkins."

  "The same Mr. Jenkins who visited us last month?" I could hear the shock in her voice.

  "Yes. He’s awful."

  I told her what had happened and how Mr. Jenkins had accused me, and that he was against the Beatles being on the playbill. And now they had been replaced by Lady Guilford.

  Freda asked, "The actress? That’s who they replaced the Beatles with?"

  "Yes." Why was I the only one who’d never heard of her?

  "Did they say why?"

  I didn’t want to tell her I’d been blamed. "I need to speak to Mr. Andrews. He’s the manager and the producer for the show."

  "Yes, absolutely." It was assuring that she was agreeing with my thoughts.

  She raised her voice, and I felt her encouragement through the phone, "Now pull yourself together. You need to find a way to get back over there. And you need to do it quickly. Is there anybody you can get to help you there?"

  "I only know one other person who is nice."

  "Then let’s get off the line and you get going."

  #

  He stood in front of me as I turned around.

  "You’ll need to go and pack your belongings, since you no longer have credentials to be in this hotel."

  It was the concierge, who had impatiently waited in the distance while I had finished my tearful phone call with Freda.

  I just looked back at him not saying anything.

  I thought to run down the covered walkway but I expected that would result in my arrest and being put into jail. Instead, I needed to remain calm and think of a plan.

  I was so flustered I’d have agreed to any approach.

  Instead, as directed by the concierge, I went to my room one floor up on the backside of the building. Closing the door behind me I sat on the squeaky bed and thought of crying again.

  I felt suddenly angry.

  Time to stop being a child.

  I stood, pacing to my small window overlooking the ugly ventilation system and the alley below.

  Outside I saw several red uniformed people from Buckingham Palace preparing their logistics from vehicles. They worked quickly, with visible teamwork, handing things off to one another and working expeditiously. It was very clear who was in charge as the supervisor was none other than Archie’s boss.

  I kept looking out on them, a plan hatching in my mind.

  I would get in one of those red uniforms and go over into the Theatre and find my way to Mr. Andrews to get the Beatles put back on the playbill.

  And then I saw the telltale short red hair.

  Archie.

  I had to get his attention, and I knocked hard on the window and then opened it. The ventilation system was loud and the air was blowing up into my face.

  I yelled, "Archie! Archie!"

  Nothing!

  No one’s head turned at my shouts so I began waving my arms.

  It was not enough.

  I went to the bed and took the case off of a pillow and returned to the window shaking it around like a mad woman. I started yelling over and over, "Archie!"

  I was waving the white flag.

  I know a white flag is for surrender. This was for attack, but a girl has to make do with what she has available.

  Among the redcoats one person took notice and tapped another on the shoulder making some kind of joke and pointing, then they both smiled.

  The second one walked down and tapped on another shoulder, and Archie turned and looked. I couldn’t make out the expression on his face as he listened to what the man was saying but I did see him turn toward me and motion to his boss with his hand open displaying five fingers. His boss put his hands on his hips, and Archie stepped away and came to be underneath my window from one floor below.

  "Oh, thank goodness. I am frantic."

  "I saw that," he said with a slightly raised voice over the blowing ventilation. He added, looking over his shoulder, "Several people saw it."

  I felt my face get warm, embarrassed, "I need your help desperately. Can you come up to my room?"

  He raised his eyebrows and looked back over his shoulder at where others were looking on from his work detail. And turning back I saw his face was bright red as well.

  He thought I was propositioning him! Now double embarrassed I said, "I need your uniform."

  He looked back at me, a quizzical expression on his freckled face. Putting his hand to his ear, "I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that."

  I shouted, "I want you to come to my room and take off your uniform."

  His face went from bright red to positively tomato.

  In the distance a few of his work detail whistled. One person said, "Go on Archie," and several chuckled.

  I looked back down and Archie was no longer standing below my window. I looked up and down the alleyway but he was nowhere.

  I heard three sharp knuckle raps on my door.

  #

  I quickly dismissed any misunderstanding we had. Instead, he looked at me somberly.

  "Have you been crying?"

  "Never mind that. I need your help. It’s true the Beatles have been taken off the playbill. I saw and spoke to the security man and he confirmed it. And you were right, Lady Guilford is replacing the Beatles. I want to speak to the manager, Mr. Andrews."

  "How can I help?"

  Hands shaking, I pleaded, "If I can borrow your uniform then I can sneak back into the venue."

  "Why don’t you just walk over there?"

  "I can’t. My credentials have been confiscated. They want me to leave the hotel."

  "Leave?"

  I was unable to think clearly, everything was so jumbled. I started pacing in frustration in my small room, feeling stupid at stomping three steps then turning around for three more stomps closer to Archie, then away again.

  "I can’t let you borrow my uniform. First, it’s against the rules, I would be fired. And second, I am much larger than you." He raised his eyebrows, "You’d look ridiculous."

  "Can’t we at least try?"

  "Not with the uniform. But I have another idea."

  "What is that?"

  Raising an index finger, "Wait here."

  He went back out through my door and ventured down the hall.

  I watched him run, turning at the cross hall, disappearing out of view.

  I closed my door and wrung my hands. What a desperate mess. Within minutes there was the same three knuckle rap on my door. In came Archie with a service cart and white table linens neatly folded on top of a silver steel frame.

  He pushed into the room, one wheel squeaking, "I’ll push you over there."

  "Under the linens? On that?"

  "Exactly."

  It was a brilliant idea, and I couldn’t restrain myself from wrapping my arms around him and giving him a tight hug, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

  His warm hands and muscled arms closed around
my back slowly, cautiously.

  After a moment he said, "It’s getting near time for that meeting, let’s get you over there."

  I climbed into the lower tray of the serving cart. The metal was cold as I curled into the fetal position and put my hand against one of the legs. Measuring my balance, I braced with both feet against the cart's other legs.

  Archie unfurled one of the white linen tablecloths and draped it over the top, tucking it in with thick fingers around my feet, my thighs and my bottom before covering my face.

  From underneath my draping I spoke through the cloth, "You can’t see me?"

  "I can see the blob of you."

  "The blob?"

  "Sorry, not a good description. For good measure I'll drape another one over the top of the whole thing. No one will be able to know you’re in there."

  All I could think of was, let's go!

  Chapter 14: Here Comes the Blob

  Wobble, wobble, SQUEEK....wobble, wobble, SQUEEK...wobble, wobble, SQUEEK...

  I felt like our plan couldn’t be on worse footing, cringing with each bump the cart took along the way.

  Archie wheeled me out the door to the lobby across the covered walkway, the one wheel squeaking like an angry mouse.

  I knew how the cart felt; I was an angry mouse too.

  With his uniform he was able to get into the Theatre, pushing me not so secretly into the lobby.

  He whispered, "His office is on the second floor, and there is no elevator. What should...?"

  I didn’t respond, not knowing who was even out there to overhear. It did feel warm underneath the linen, and it was getting steamy from my breath.

  He asked, whispering louder, "I said, where is the meeting taking place? Do you know?"

  I whispered back, "His business card did not say. Maybe you can look around to see if he’s up in his office."

  "Good idea, I’ll be right back."

  I heard his foot falls on the steps as he went up to the second floor.

  He returned a minute later, "It’s in the back hallway."

  "How did you learn that?"

  "I looked on his desk. He had a note there that said 2 PM: back hallway, Jenkins."

  He began pushing me on the cart again, squeaky wheel and all, and I braced myself, determined to keep quiet. We proceeded through the lobby and around the venue to the back hallway. The rolling wheels and single mournful squeak drowned out any side conversations, and I only caught snippets.

  Archie whispered, "We are at the far end."

  He continued pushing me on the cart down the long expanse and then slowed down as I heard the conversation rise up.

  I recognized the voices of Mr. Andrews and Mr. Jenkins.

  Bullseye!

  As we approached, I heard their voices rise, and Mr. Jenkins’ derisive, "Leave, boy."

  Archie’s baritone resounded with confidence, "I understood there were some dishes to be removed down here?"

  Good boy, Archie. Smart man.

  "Does it look like there’s any dishes down here, boy? Leave us be, go do what you were assigned to do."

  In the far distance there was a shout, "Archie!"

  I heard Archie say to Jenkins and Andrews, "Sorry to bother, gentlemen."

  To my dismay I heard him walk away, his steps disappearing back into the distance. I was alone concealed in the cart, cold metal all around me and treacherous men above.

  Mr. Jenkins said in a lowered voice, "You did good, adding Lady Guilford to the playbill."

  "Wasn’t easy. The backlash is still waiting to occur."

  "What backlash? My boss will take care of it."

  "How?"

  "Don’t worry. We’re connected."

  Andrews said, "Then we are square, yes? I will be crucified. Do you know how many hundreds of Beatles fans are outside already?"

  "Not my problem. The Beatles are not appropriate for the royal family, anyway. If you ask me this whole country is going to pot."

  I felt my fists ball up at the talking down to my entire generation.

  Approaching I heard a rattle of a tea service.

  An elderly woman's voice addressed the two men, "Can I offer your gentleman some afternoon tea?" I heard a clatter of cups held by their handles, as she approached.

  Jenkins shot back, "What is it with people coming up when we’re having a private conversation? Leave, woman."

  I heard Mr. Andrews say politely, "No thank you, Mrs. Juby. I appreciate the offer."

  She seemed to like his kindness, she purred, "I’ll just leave it here if you change your mind."

  I heard her place the teapot on the cart above me and then stacking one cup and then another cup on top of it. They rattled just a bit. I heard her walk away and when she must have been out of earshot, I heard Andrews say, an edginess to his voice, "I won’t have you speaking to my staff that way."

  "I’ll speak to anyone anyway I choose. I represent the royal family."

  "Well, you don’t have to be so bloody awful."

  "You’re one to be lecturing me. You’re the one who’s having the affair with Lady Guilford. You do know how terrible it would be to have that affair exposed? Right?"

  "You’ve told me a hundred times. It’s not a problem that she’s in love with me and not her husband."

  Oh no, I felt a wave of panic come over me. This was because I felt a sneeze coming on from being underneath the linen, somehow the humidity of my own breath was affecting me.

  "And then there would be a scandal. Believe me a scandal is not what you want to be tied up in. It would be the end of your career. Lord Guilford is a barracuda."

  Jenkins came over to the table and I felt him grasp the cart’s handles, shaking me in his grip. He put one foot up on the lower tier and it kicked into my shoulder.

  Ouch!

  Jenkins spat, "Scandal, especially one with a politician as prominent as Guilford, is a headache on the consciousness of the entire nation. If you are the cause of it, you will find that everyone will hate you. And your life will be ruined. You won’t work in this place. You won’t work anywhere."

  I silently put my fingers into my nostrils trying to stifle the sneeze. Then I felt an awful tickle in the back of my throat.

  Andrews, defeated, murmured, "What difference does it make how my life is ruined? If I have the Beatles on the playbill, you’ll ruin my life for having a wrongful act for the royal family. If I don’t put Marjorie on the playbill, you’ll make good on your blackmail and tell her husband. And then he will have me fired. If I say to the authorities that I’m being blackmailed, you’ll have me arrested for some other reason and thrown into jail."

  "A dark and cold jail."

  God, my nose tickled. Hold it in, Helen!

  Jenkins said, "One more item before we’re done here."

  "Oh? Don’t add on."

  "You can expect to have Marlene Dietrich scratched too."

  Andrews gasped. "No."

  "Yes."

  "Whatever for?"

  "Her German roots."

  "She’s an American actress."

  "With German roots. Need I remind you of the Duke of Windsor and the Germans? He didn't do the royals, or us, any bloody favors."

  "She had nothing to do with that. She entertained troops for god sakes."

  Was it better? I think my nose was turning the corner. Less tickles now. I took a short breath. Yes, definitely better.

  Andrews lamented, "Her people will be livid."

  "And if we let it happen the royal family will be smeared."

  The nose tickles made a rapid re-attack on my whole head. Finally, I could hold it no longer, letting forth with a monumental Achoo!

  I felt Jenkins jerk on the cart’s handle and the cups clattered.

  Venomously he shouted, "What's this? Who’s there?"

  He pulled back the top linen with a hard yank causing the tea pot to topple over soaking what remained of the cloth and dripping down on top of me, the wet Blob.

  I was
still covered where Archie had tucked in around me. I held my breath.

  Was I safe? I held still, like a fawn in the woods.

  Maybe he would think it came from elsewhere.

  No such luck.

  I felt an iron fisted grab of the linen at my shoulder. Jenkins ripped it away, exposing me in my gray skirt and tea stained blouse. I was face to face, looking up at them.

  I sneezed again, harder, ACHOO!

  The look of shock and revulsion on Mr. Jenkins’ face scared me.

  "Girl! You, again?"

  Stomach churning, I rolled off of the cart.

  I stumbled away, just getting to my feet.

  In a full sprint, I fled.

  Red coated Buckingham Palace staff stood in the distance.

  Mr. Jenkins followed, shouting, "Stop that girl! Stop her!"

  I could hear his breath, and his shouts.

  Chapter 15: Seeing London By Day

  I ran like a bat out of hell.

  Jenkins was on my heels, chasing.

  Bursting through the side door I veered off of the covered path and found my way to Coventry Street.

  At the corner I turned right and went onto Whitcomb.

  Jenkins was close behind, shouting.

  "Stop her!"

  Running through traffic I narrowly missing being sandwiched between a lorry and a screeching red bus.

  Go to the National Gallery?

  Nope. Security there.

  Who to trust?

  Reaching Pall Mall and Trafalgar Square, I was cleaving a trail of pigeons bursting to the sky.

  He'd be able to track me by these birds.

  But I could track him, too.

  I passed the fountains, Nelson's Column looming large.

  There, breathing heavy, gasping for air, I stopped, hidden, and tried to gather my wits. There was constant movement as parents milled around with their children on the November Sunday.

  My lungs burned.

  I leaned forward from around the column, coughing, peering around the Square.

  He was out there. Somewhere.

  How should I best make my exit?

  "There! Stop that girl!"