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

by Kal Smagh

  I asked, "Does he know about his wife having an affair now?"

  Mr. Foley leveled his gaze on me, making me feel I was just a daft girl, "Young lady, there’s a lot about politics that makes sense only when you think about it in terms of ambition."

  He sounded like my father beginning a lecture. Only this time I was very interested.

  "Lord Guilford works in the Exchequer. The money people. There is a brand-new Prime Minister, Mr. Home, just a few weeks ago, and there is a lot of dissension that Mr. Home was even chosen."

  He looked for any recognition on my face.

  To his surprise, but not mine, I nodded, yes, I was aware of it all.

  "Mr. Home came out of the same line of work as Lord Guilford, and Lord Guilford feels that his opportunity to be Prime Minister has been passed by."

  "Did he just say admit all of that?"

  "With his actions, yes."

  "Why is his time passed by?"

  "Just as you said. Because what Lord Guilford is seeking is that his wife would be on the playbill. He has known all along that his wife has been having an affair. It’s an open secret in politics."

  "What is an open secret?"

  "Lord Guilford's ambition makes him do strange things. His wife having an affair is an effort to influence her getting on the playbill by manipulating Mr. Andrews. You see?"

  I didn't want to, but I understood.

  "On the playbill she would provide patriotic songs, and he would use that, and the scratching of the Beatles and Marlene Dietrich, as a way to showcase to the nation that he is more patriotic than Mr. Home. You said it yourself. Crystalized it for me."

  But there was more I didn’t understand, "How does that show the nation if he’s not even on the stage?"

  "Because she was an actress, and the press would ask questions about her after the performance for the royal family, and that would shed light on him as a balanced potential Prime Minister."

  I asked, "But she’s having an affair. Wouldn’t that discredit him?"

  He shrugged, "You would think so, however that’s where I talked about it being an 'open secret'. No one will be the person who says this in the press."

  "Why?"

  "Lord Guilford would find out, share his wrath, and then their political career would be in jeopardy. He's very much a tiger."

  My mouth fell open. And Mr. Jenkins was a snake.

  Were they all dirty politicians?

  Mr. Foley continued, "Lord Guilford was just now demanding that his wife be put back on the playbill. I told him it wasn’t my choice, which it is not. But I also told him that blackmail, and his awareness of her affair, are secrets that don't need to be kept any longer if he decides to throw a fit."

  "It looks like he did throw a fit."

  "Bluster. Not public enough to worry about. I’ve seen worse from him for less. I gather the idea for the affair was not his."

  We paused for a moment peering in the distance where Lord Guilford had walked away and out of the Prince of Wales Theatre.

  There were a lot of questions I still had, but I really only had one that needed to be asked now, "Are you going to do anything about exposing Lord Guilford?"

  He didn’t change his gaze from the distance, however he shared, "I will use it as leverage, for some time in the future."

  I felt sick in my stomach, "He should be in jail like Mr. Jenkins."

  "Why? He didn’t actually commit any crime."

  "To me he did."

  "What crime?"

  "He had Mr. Jenkins extort Mr. Andrews and caused all these troubles with the playbill. Mr. Jenkins is the one arrested, but he didn’t start this."

  "Mr. Jenkins decided to blackmail, or at least make it appear that he was blackmailing. But you have to ask yourself why."

  Confused, shaking my head, I asked, "Why would he do it?"

  "Exactly. Why would Jenkins resort to doing a crime he knew had risks?"

  I thought through the situation: Andrews took the Beatles off of the playbill at the threat of being exposed to Lord Guilford. Lady Guilford wanted to be on the playbill, and was put in their place. I checked my thinking, "Is it because Jenkins knew it was a ruse?"

  He nodded once in acknowledgement, "And how would Jenkins benefit?"

  I wrung my hands, then it occurred to me, forming clearly in my mind.

  I let my arms hand loose, the tension leaving my shoulders, "Jenkins wanted your job. Guilford promised to promote him."

  He nodded again one time, "Precisely."

  But it didn’t make sense that this was the end. The perpetrator of the whole thing was walking away untouched.

  Incredulous, I implored, "So Lord Guilford just gets to go free?"

  He crossed his arms, "Until some future date."

  He must have seen the look on my face, because he added, his voice firm, "Leave politics to the adults. Our system of self-policing gets upset if others get involved."

  "I don't want politics to be part of this."

  "Go enjoy your Beatles playing their songs. Enjoy being a teenager. It will change as you get older."

  With that he excused himself and walked away with a confident stride.

  I was angry and I didn’t know why.

  On second thought, yes, I did.

  He was making rules for me. And I have a history of breaking rules. But this was so much bigger than me.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  There was nothing more I could do.

  The Beatles were on the playbill, and tonight they would play for the Royals.

  #

  With my reissued blue credentials I ascended in the elevator to the sixth floor. In the hallway Mal greeted me.

  He beamed, "Good, you’re here. Brian wanted you to come into the room." He knocked twice on the suite door, and then I heard "Come in."

  It wasn't good in there. The boys were very tense.

  George was practicing on his guitar without the amplifier plugged in. Running his fingers over the fretboard, up and down the neck practicing the same solo over and over.

  Ringo stared out the window at the throngs of fans packed and frenzied on the streets.

  John broke the tension, saying to Paul, speaking loud enough for the entire room to hear, "I think I’m going to say something regretful up on the stage."

  Brian looked up from where he was studying a paper.

  Then, louder, knowing Brian was within hearing range, “On purpose.”

  Paul had a smile a mile wide. “Oh, really?”

  I suppressed a laugh at Brian’s exasperated expression, his mouth hanging open. Setting down his paper he pleaded earnestly, "You can’t do that."

  "Ooh, can’t I?"

  "No, you cannot. It would be a national embarrassment."

  "Who can stop me? I’ll have the microphone; I can say whatever I want up there."

  Ringo said, "And it’ll be on television." He set down an empty white coffee cup on a wooden end table, finished. “I personally would love it.”

  "I know!" John raised the suspense, "I might take a banana peel up on the stage and fling it up at Her Majesty, what do you think of that?"

  "You won’t do it. Besides it’s the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret."

  Knowing full well who would be in the audience, John persisted, aiming to exasperate Brian further, just for fun, "Where is Elizabeth? It would help her to get out of the house for a change."

  At that they all guffawed.

  Brian said, "She’s pregnant, and resting."

  Paul asked, "How many is that now?"

  I said, "Fourth. Due in March. She’ll be thirty seven."

  They each turned to look at me like I was a mysterious fount of knowledge.

  John narrowed his eyes at me, “How do you know so fast, Melon?”

  “I just know.”

  And because it had been drilled into me for nearly two decades.

  Ringo directed a new question to me, "I didn’t see Marlene Dietrich at practice tod
ay. Do you know where she was?"

  "She came in after you all had left. She’s much further down on the playbill."

  "I’ve got to get a photo with her." He looked at his hands, "I’ve got to do anything with her."

  Brian turned to me, "Would you please go and get a replenishment of toiletry supplies for the boys. Toothpaste toothbrushes, shaving cream, razors."

  I answered, "Of course. Any special requests?"

  "Wilkinson."

  Three gave a thumbs up, except George who nodded his head in my direction while he continued practicing his solo.

  George added as I opened the door to depart, "At least you smell like flowers now. Thanks for showering."

  I smiled at him and his cheeky comment. I did smell like flowers.

  #

  I descended on the elevator and went out onto Coventry Street and there who did I see?

  Archie.

  My friend.

  He had his job back it seemed.

  He was busy working and he nodded his head toward me and smiled. I could not get involved with that poor man again. I’d treated him like a wet mop, and he’d come through so well.

  I entered a drugstore and found all of the supplies and made my way back, reveling in my credentials and the access is granted me to come and go as I please.

  To all of these loud fans, fully assembled in such large numbers, I was a simple commoner. It was true, I was.

  But I was also running errands for the Beatles. And the buzz for the Beatles was palpable.

  Despite the nervousness, despite the way practice went unbeknownst to these crazed Beatle people, everyone was incredibly excited for the show that was ahead tonight.

  Like they were every show, only this was more.

  There was much more at stake. A screw up would tarnish their halo, as it were.

  As long as things were better than practice had been, they may never get a bigger audience than what they would have tonight, with the Queen Mother, and being on national television.

  Chapter 25: A Royal Command Performance

  My seat was the very last one at the far top and back corner of the entire Prince of Wales Theatre.

  Take that, Marlene Dietrich people!

  I was wearing my black dress and my mother’s pearls.

  I was also, unfortunately, still wearing my clunky black shoes because I had run out of time to go shopping again and it was all too expensive anyway.

  It was easy to hide my hideous shoes way up here.

  But I was excited and there was too much to see away from my seat, so what if my shoes looked awkward? No one knew me here...except for those who wanted to arrest me, or have me thrown out, or have me run errands.

  With my credentials I went and walked the lobby and saw the glitz and glamour that accompany the royal family, and how it brings out the smart set of London.

  I did not venture backstage, none of the audience was allowed back there, yet I kicked myself at how lucky I was to actually be in the same theatre as the Queen Mother.

  My seat in the very far corner had an obstructed view behind a television camera station.

  From up high and looking down on the stage I had to lean to see past the dark shoulder of the cameraman, and the enormous machine he put his face up to.

  As the show began to take shape the electricity in the room began to grow. The Beatles were playing number seven in the order and it couldn’t come fast enough.

  Like everyone else there, my attention went between the royal box and the stage and back to the royal box again, checking to see if the approval of the Queen Mother was attained.

  Princess Margaret was a lot more "with it" and seemed more comfortable in the room, however this was definitely a highly traditional set of audience members.

  The Royals as they arrived and were seated were outshining all others in beautiful evening gowns that made everyone envious.

  It certainly did to me.

  The lights were adjusted, and the show began.

  Frankly, I was thinking the show was more for Mother and Father than me.

  Finally, as the number six act concluded and the stage curtains closed, I silently prayed that Paul wouldn’t get his guitar stuck in the curtain again.

  And then over the public address system the announcer said, with a dignified air fitting the royal variety show and the Prince of Wales Theatre, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Beatles."

  From my distance I could not hear Paul count in the band, however I could almost feel it, a pang of excitement pulsing in my chest.

  And before the curtains even opened, they began singing From Me To You.

  Their execution was immediately crisp, and they started smartly. Paul was all smiles at his microphone, and John’s wide stance at the other of the two microphones created their balance on the stage.

  Moreso, their sound was impeccable.

  But would the audience of staid and dyed-in-the-wool establishment people accept them?

  A warm reception and pleasant applause immediately followed the song and Paul addressed the audience as he and John moved their microphone stands closer to the edge of the stage.

  It felt as if they were standing right in front of you. Such mastery of the area, such confidence in their actions.

  Paul engaged onlookers saying, "Good evening."

  He seemed nervous, who wouldn’t be?

  Then he counted in and the Beatles cut loose with their current hit She Loves You.

  It struck the room like a lightning bolt, energy pulsating in everyone's heart.

  The crowd was shaking with excitement, especially with George joining at the microphone for the yeah, yeah, yeah chorus.

  So much energy covering the room with their electric guitars.

  Paul made a joke about the next number being slower, by an American band that was really a single person.

  The crowd chuckled, and almost beheld the Beatles with admiration, and glee.

  I watched the reaction in the room, still breathless from She Loves You.

  George opened the next song, his fingers magic on the fretboard.

  Paul began singing, "There were bells…"

  The boys seemed to transcend to a more mature posture.

  What was I seeing? They were playing a ballad to ballad people after ripping through She Loves You.

  When it came time for the solo George was flawless.

  Moving up and down the neck of the guitar it appeared he had played the piece thousands of times. Perhaps he had.

  Then as they completed the song it felt there was a different appreciation for them permeating the room.

  One more to go. Then this incredible night would be through for them.

  Finally, John spoke addressing the audience as they were going to introduce Twist And Shout.

  Somewhere in the Prince of Wales Theatre Brian was on pins and needles, his blood pressure piqued, his eyes bloodshot, and a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

  I suppressed a laugh at the thought as John Lennon unleashed on a royal audience with an open microphone and television across the nation...as Brian stood soaked in his own sweat, seeing his future on the line, hanging on every word.

  John innocently asked, "For our last number I need your help. For those of you in the cheaper seats please clap your hands. And the rest of you can rattle your jewelry."

  I didn’t catch it all from my seat because an enormous laugh gripped the room.

  John Lennon had them right where he wanted, the cheeky lads from Liverpool. So lovable, and definitely cheeky.

  Somewhere Brian was breathing a sigh of relief.

  They began playing Twist and Shout, and the pot boiled over, the atmosphere changing into a club where the party was just getting started.

  I felt so happy, and so proud at the same time.

  John’s sandy voice, singing "Shake it up baby, now!" Paul and George shaking their moppy heads in a high pitched "Wooo!", Ringo’s pounding drums...in perfect synchronicity... they had the
Prince of Wales Theatre rocking.

  The audience, enthralled at the energy, the confidence and the projection into their evening, exploding into thunderous applause at the ending.

  It was a perfect set.

  Theme music carried over the public address system.

  As they concluded Ringo hopped down from his drum stand and came forward.

  They bowed to the audience and then they bowed to the Queen’s box and one more bow to the audience, filing away off the stage.

  I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

  Afterward Dickie Henderson, funny man, came out exclaiming, "So young, so accomplished...frightening," which got a big laugh.

  Or he said something like that, I wasn’t sure.

  It felt like the blood was rushing in my ears, a tightness at the top of my chest, and elation that it had all gone well. After everything, the chases and consternation and garbage smells, it had been accomplished.

  Several more acts followed and toward the end Marlene Dietrich, gorgeous in a shimmering dress, captivated the room with her songs.

  It would’ve been a travesty to have her scratched from the playbill. As much as I didn’t like her staffers, she was what my father would describe as "a treat".

  Afterwards and many of the other acts having gone and completed, I contemplated the idea of going backstage, or to where the reception would be with the Queen Mother.

  But as audience members I was prevented from getting any closer.

  And really, who was I?

  When they came out for the final group performer bow, the applause was thunderous and again I felt tightness in the top of my chest.

  They had done it.

  This would be big afterward.

  Time for Freda to kick it into high gear with the papers. The Beatles of course would get to meet the Queen Mother and I was hoping that Ringo would get to say hello to Marlene Dietrich.

  I decided to go back to the Mapleton and wait in the bar. It smelled of whiskey, ale and hot hors d'oeuvres. Having just turned eighteen the past September I was old enough to be inside and join the Boys. I hoped they would show up.

  I fended off the looks of a few older gentlemen who thought I may have been here for providing them company.

  Eventually, hours later, the Boys waltzed in, on top of the world, to cap off the evening with a drink.