I was a house guest—one of many—of the Duke and Duchess of Fiddlefife on their goodwill tour of the United States, starting in New York. They had requested a liaison, someone familiar with both the streets of Manhattan and the needs of a royal, and being a transplant from Fiddlefife to Brooklyn, with a background in glad-handing and discreetness, I was deemed as suitable for the position.
It was on the eve of their appearance at the United Nations that I was in my corner of their royal penthouse suite, getting ready to retire. While attempting to brush my teeth, I discovered that there was no running water to the bathroom sink. The telephone to call the front desk was in the bedroom, so I headed straight for it to report the problem.
As I did, I happened to glance out the large bedroom window. The venerable hotel where we were staying had more or less a horseshoe shape to it, or a very elongated "C" if you prefer that. The Penthouse Suite was several stories up, but only forty feet separated the two ends. It was fairly easy to see what might be happening through the windows on the other side.
What caught my attention was the argument taking place through the window straight across. The royal penthouse suite wrapped around the entire upper floor. So, it was the Duke and Duchess I saw, in their own bedroom, the latter holding a knife, the former standing so that only the front of him could be seen as the back half was hidden by a red curtain of royal hue.
At first, I wasn't at all sure what I was seeing, but then the Duchess threw the knife at the Duke. He moved to get out of the way and disappeared completely behind the red curtain. The hands of the Duchess flew to her face as shock and horror took over, and she too rushed out of frame.
I did not wait to see what might happen next. Instead, heart pounding, I ran to the phone and dialed the head of the royal couple's security detail. Several rings later, he finally answered and very calmly assured me that all was well, that it was some kind of bad prank gone wrong, that the Duke had received a cut on his right shoulder where the blade had grazed him, and that both he and the Duchess were consoling one another as sedatives were administered.
With a sigh, I remembered my first intent to call down to the front desk and did so. About ten minutes later the hotel handyman showed up to check the sink. Apparently, the valve for the water had been shut, so it was a quick fix. A few minutes and a couple of thank yous later, I was again left to myself.
It took a while, as you might imagine, for me to fall asleep.
When I did, I had the strangest dream.
I was outside the manor of the Duke and Duchess of Fiddlefife. In front of me, the Duke was munching on, of all things, some Kale, calling it a "super food". Even though there were more than a dozen gardeners on the grounds to do the task, the Duke was raking leaves.
"It's good for the heart and the soul," the Duke said, when I inquired as to why he was working in the front yard. "There are a few things that all men should do for a healthy length of time in their lives, and one is menial labor. It gives him strength, a skill to fall back on should he ever need it, and insight to the plight and standing of a peer who must bend back and knee to make ends meet."
I was about to ask him if he had dabbled in landscaping as a youth, when I was brought out of my slumber by brusque knocking. Gathering a robe around me, I went to the door to find the head of security. Whatever calmness he had exhibited by phone the previous night was gone. His coloring was nearing the same red of the curtain across the way.
"Have you seen either the Duke or the Duchess?" he asked in a tone that sounded like accusation.
"What? Why? Are they gone?" His demeanor had me flustered, along with being sound asleep just moments prior.
"I asked you a question," he said. He pushed himself past me and began eyeing the room and the ones beyond as if primed for a thorough search.
"No, of course not," I answered. "You just woke me up. What time is it?" The last question was more for myself. I looked at the hotel's alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 11:40 pm. I'd only been asleep for about an hour and a half!
"I know you saw their play acting earlier this evening." He turned back to me, "What else did you see?"
"Nothing. The maintenance man came to fix the sink, and then I turned up the blinds and went to bed." I was starting to feel a little resentment at this point. After all, he was the one who had told me everything was fine. I decided to remind him of that. "Didn't you say they were given a sedative?"
"They were sound asleep after that," he said, "There's no way they could have come out of it so quickly. I believe they were kidnapped."
"How is that even possible? Where was their security detail? Where were you?"
"That's why I believe it was an inside job. Someone with special access to them. Someone like you."
It was in that moment, his finger wagging at me, that the thought first crossed my mind.
I must still be dreaming.
The next thing I knew, I was waking to the soft beeping of the hotel's alarm clock. It was now 5:15 AM. In less than four hours, the Duke and Duchess were scheduled at the UN. I was to provide history and context on the drive over from the hotel.
Hesitantly, I peered through the blinds. The red curtain was fully drawn. With a sigh of relief, I went to get ready.
Nothing was said about the incident I had witnessed the night before. It was at once relieving and surreal. I wondered if I dreamt it all. If it hadn't been for the maintenance man asking about the sink as we passed in the lobby on the way to the royal limousine, I might have believed I'd made it all up.
In the end, I just had to shrug it off and shake my head.
Royals.
Image source—Pixabay
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