cabinets—this one, containing the early letters that began to be delivered here when Dorset House was first built, and also the smaller one over there in the back corner.”
Reggie went back to take a look.
“The label says: ‘Pre–Dorset House,’” said Reggie.
“Exactly,” said Rafferty. “The letters began in the 1890s, long before this block of Baker Street even existed. Scotland Yard received most of them back then. But when Baker Street was extended and Dorset House was built, that created an actual 221B. All the letters started coming here, and Scotland Yard sent over everything it had accumulated years earlier. They needed the space, I guess. In any case, I’m sure the hotel people will find the letters historically very quaint—and it won’t cause us a bit of trouble.”
“So you say,” said Reggie. He positioned himself behind the farthest cabinet, and got ready to maneuver it out of the narrow space.
“Careful, Heath, mind the floor,” said Rafferty. “That’s what the dolly is for.”
“It’s what a moving crew is for,” said Reggie. “And yet, here I am doing it.”
7
More than an hour later, Reggie’s Jaguar and Rafferty’s hatchback both pulled up in front of the hotel. Reggie and Laura got out and helped Rafferty unload a cabinet and boxes, and then Reggie wheeled the dolly toward the lobby entrance.
The elderly bellman prepared to open the door for him, but a thirtyish-looking supervisor intervened.
“Deliveries around the back, please,” he said.
“We tried that,” said Reggie. “But it’s blocked. There are two cargo vans there already.”
“Well, yes, I know there’s a bit of a queue,” said the supervisor, with a sort of shrug.
Reggie checked his watch. The task was already taking longer than advertised.
“We are delivering these materials at the request of the hotel,” said Rafferty, sounding offended on behalf of the letters themselves.
“Yes,” said the supervisor, “but isn’t it possible for you to wait your turn?”
“Another possibility,” said Reggie, “is that you will continue to block our path and accidentally end up wearing one of these boxes as a hat.”
“Boys, play nice,” said Laura.
Reggie gave that approach some thought, but before he could try it out a more authoritative figure came out from the supervisor’s office.
She was tall, in her mid-fifties, and as carefully tailored and impeccably maintained as the hotel lobby itself. She took a moment to size up the situation, and then focused on Laura.
“Laura Rankin! Is that you?”
“So pleased to meet you,” said Laura, extending her hand. “Unless we have already, in which case I hope you’re doing well.”
“No, we haven’t, but of course I recognize you. My name is Helene, and I’m the manager here.” She turned to the doorman supervisor. “Charles, help them with those boxes, will you?”
“No thank you,” said Rafferty quickly. “Heath and I can handle them without problem.”
“As you wish,” said Helene.
Reggie and Rafferty began to wheel the boxes in, and the hotel manager walked alongside Laura.
“I wish someone had told me you were coming,” she said. “I would have—” And then she stopped. “Oh! I just realized. This is the week of your trip to the castle, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” said Laura.
“I read about it in The Daily Sun . Oh my, are you staying here tonight?” Her eyes lit up, the color flecks in her pupils flashing like paparazzi cameras and pounds sterling. “I didn’t realize. Someone really should have told me. I didn’t see our hotel listed on your itinerary.”
“No, we’re not staying; we—do you mean The Daily Sun actually published my entire travel itinerary?”
“Yes,” said the hotel manager. “Didn’t you know?”
“No,” said Laura. “I suppose I’d better have a chat with someone there.”
“Yes, there must be boundaries, mustn’t there?”
“There soon will be,” said Laura.
Reggie went back to take a look.
“The label says: ‘Pre–Dorset House,’” said Reggie.
“Exactly,” said Rafferty. “The letters began in the 1890s, long before this block of Baker Street even existed. Scotland Yard received most of them back then. But when Baker Street was extended and Dorset House was built, that created an actual 221B. All the letters started coming here, and Scotland Yard sent over everything it had accumulated years earlier. They needed the space, I guess. In any case, I’m sure the hotel people will find the letters historically very quaint—and it won’t cause us a bit of trouble.”
“So you say,” said Reggie. He positioned himself behind the farthest cabinet, and got ready to maneuver it out of the narrow space.
“Careful, Heath, mind the floor,” said Rafferty. “That’s what the dolly is for.”
“It’s what a moving crew is for,” said Reggie. “And yet, here I am doing it.”
7
More than an hour later, Reggie’s Jaguar and Rafferty’s hatchback both pulled up in front of the hotel. Reggie and Laura got out and helped Rafferty unload a cabinet and boxes, and then Reggie wheeled the dolly toward the lobby entrance.
The elderly bellman prepared to open the door for him, but a thirtyish-looking supervisor intervened.
“Deliveries around the back, please,” he said.
“We tried that,” said Reggie. “But it’s blocked. There are two cargo vans there already.”
“Well, yes, I know there’s a bit of a queue,” said the supervisor, with a sort of shrug.
Reggie checked his watch. The task was already taking longer than advertised.
“We are delivering these materials at the request of the hotel,” said Rafferty, sounding offended on behalf of the letters themselves.
“Yes,” said the supervisor, “but isn’t it possible for you to wait your turn?”
“Another possibility,” said Reggie, “is that you will continue to block our path and accidentally end up wearing one of these boxes as a hat.”
“Boys, play nice,” said Laura.
Reggie gave that approach some thought, but before he could try it out a more authoritative figure came out from the supervisor’s office.
She was tall, in her mid-fifties, and as carefully tailored and impeccably maintained as the hotel lobby itself. She took a moment to size up the situation, and then focused on Laura.
“Laura Rankin! Is that you?”
“So pleased to meet you,” said Laura, extending her hand. “Unless we have already, in which case I hope you’re doing well.”
“No, we haven’t, but of course I recognize you. My name is Helene, and I’m the manager here.” She turned to the doorman supervisor. “Charles, help them with those boxes, will you?”
“No thank you,” said Rafferty quickly. “Heath and I can handle them without problem.”
“As you wish,” said Helene.
Reggie and Rafferty began to wheel the boxes in, and the hotel manager walked alongside Laura.
“I wish someone had told me you were coming,” she said. “I would have—” And then she stopped. “Oh! I just realized. This is the week of your trip to the castle, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” said Laura.
“I read about it in The Daily Sun . Oh my, are you staying here tonight?” Her eyes lit up, the color flecks in her pupils flashing like paparazzi cameras and pounds sterling. “I didn’t realize. Someone really should have told me. I didn’t see our hotel listed on your itinerary.”
“No, we’re not staying; we—do you mean The Daily Sun actually published my entire travel itinerary?”
“Yes,” said the hotel manager. “Didn’t you know?”
“No,” said Laura. “I suppose I’d better have a chat with someone there.”
“Yes, there must be boundaries, mustn’t there?”
“There soon will be,” said Laura.
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