The hens are holding an emergency meeting, a bit like the government COBRA ones, but less snakey.
(N.B For those of you who don’t know – and the Lady Author
counts herself as one of those until fairly recently - COBRA stands for Cabinet
Office Briefing Rooms. I am guessing they added the ‘A’ on the end for some
sort of dramatic effect, to make it sound more cutting edge and important, you
know, like a cobra rearing up its hooded head getting ready to make a
lightning-quick action strike. Fat chance of that happening with our
governments of late.)
‘We should have an acronym for our meetings,’ says Mrs
Slocombe, who does like things to be tidy and organised. ‘How about Palace
Emergency Action?’
‘PEA?’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘And why not?’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘What’s wrong with PEA?’
‘Well, wouldn’t it be fun to say we are going for a PEA?’
says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘Not really,’ says Mrs Slocombe, who can be sensitive about
all things to do with lady plumbing, and also legumes.
‘It’s an interesting thought,’ interrupts Mrs Poo, ‘but we
really need to get on and do something about this kidnapping malarkey. The BBC
will start sniffing around soon, what with the spin of a very dubious nature
given to them by Mrs Miggins.’
‘I thought I was very convincing,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘At
least it has bought us some time.’
‘Regardless,’ says Mrs Poo, ‘we need an official action
plan. I have an idea…’
‘An OAP?’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘Hush,’ says Mrs Poo.
Mrs Miggins releases an involuntary ‘humph’. She is used to
being the action plan hen. But she clamps tight her beak and decides to let it
go and allow Mrs Poo to lead the way.
‘We need to carry on as if nothing untoward has happened,’
says Mrs Poo. ‘And that means continuing to tick off the list King Charles left
us of what needs doing, whilst covertly and at the same time tracking down the
kidnappers, over-powering them and securing the release of Kenneth, AND avoid
leaking anything to the Press.’
‘Easy peasy, then,’ says Mrs Slocombe.
‘We’ve been in worse situations,’ says Mrs Miggins.
‘You see!’ says Mrs Poo, slapping Mrs Miggins on the back.
‘That’s what we need! Confidence and positivity. Now, what’s next on the to do
list?’
Mrs Miggins consults her spreadsheet. ‘Gifts for all the
Palace staff,’ she says. ‘More than eight hundred of them. They all get a
Christmas pudding, too. It’s tradition. We also need to crack on with the Not Forgotten Party arrangements.’
There is a dull thump as Mrs Slocombe falls from her chair
onto the carpet in a dead faint. She recovers quickly though, and emerges from
beneath the table look a tad pale around the wattles.
‘Eight hundred Christmas puddings??’ she says. ‘Are you
INSANE??’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose they are already mixed, steamed and ready
to go, are they?’ she says.
Mrs Miggins consults her list. ‘Apparently not,’ she says.
‘Something about a hold up with the supply of organic raisins.’
‘Organic raisins my fluffy feathered pantaloons,’ snorts Mrs
Slocombe. ‘We’ll use bog-standard ones. Right, I’d better get to the kitchens
and crack on. How much do these puddings need to weigh? A pound? Two pounds?’
‘I think individual ones will suffice,’ says Mrs Miggins.
‘Given our time constraints.’
‘Good idea,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Eight hundred individual
Christmas puddings. Right. I am on it like a car boot…’
‘…bonnet,’ says Mrs Poo.
‘Whatever…’ says Mrs Slocombe, disappearing in a flurry of
culinary importance.
‘What about me?’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘Am I on the criminal
investigation team? I’ve a rather fetching Miss Marple outfit I am keen to
wear.’
Mrs Poo glances at Mrs Miggins, who gives a barely
perceptible shake of her head. Mrs Pumphrey and covert investigations do not
belong in the same sentence.
‘I think,’ says Mrs Poo, ‘that your talents would be better
suited to buying the staff gifts and wrapping them. You have a natural flair
for gifting and wrapping.’
Mrs Pumphrey was preparing to look deflated vis a vis the
non-outing of her Miss Marple outfit but she perks up immediately at the
thought of Christmas shopping and creative gift wrapping. ‘Oooh, yes!’ she
says. ‘I am rather good at choosing the right gifts for people. And I could do
a glitter rainbow unicorn theme for the wrapping paper.’
‘Here’s a list of the staff,’ says Mrs Miggins, handing Mrs
Pumphrey a not insubstantial folder. ‘It contains names, alcohol preferences,
allergies, political persuasions, past criminal offences, educational standard
and favourite colours. Everything you need to make informed choices.’
‘Marvellous!’ says a very happy Mrs Pumphrey. ‘I shall set
myself up in the Gift Organisation Room which I believe is along the corridor,
turn right, turn another immediate right, up the stairs, turn left, along the
corridor, down a mini-staircase and immediately to the right.’
Mrs Miggins and Mrs Poo breath a shared sigh of relief as
Mrs Pumphrey bustles off with her folder.
‘Which leaves us two to find Kenneth, bring the kidnappers
to justice and keep this whole débâcle as hushed up as possible,’ says Mrs Poo.
With quiet confidence, Mrs Miggins nods. ‘We can do this,’
she says.
(N.B Some of you may be wondering how our gallant lady hens
are managing to make a right mangle of the Royal Christmas Arrangements without
raising the suspicions of the Palace staff. Well, the fact is a) the Palace
staff are employed because of their über-discretionary natures. They see and
they hear everything but they speak of nothing.
And b) the Lady Author did consider introducing some new Palace staff
characters to the story mix but decided it would become waaaaaaay too
complicated to keep track of the sub-plots so the dear Reader(s) will have to
be content with the inventions of Anna Kissed, Granarchist and Santanarchist,
and know that the Palace staff are just minding their own bloomin’ businesses
and getting on with their jobs quietly in the background.)
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