Tidal Rage

the General Department of the Royal Household.
Automatically Stahmer stood erect, today looking all of his six feet, and adjusted his tie. He suspected this suited man with a military bearing was not a footman or a butler, but he was not going to ask and look like a fool. Stahmer was a man of research; he should have researched palace protocol, such as who would greet him. Stahmer hated not knowing. He was angry with himself, as he should have looked it up.
“Your Majesty, Robert Stahmer, for your 3 pm meeting,” the suit said.
“Ah, Mr Stahmer. I have been so looking forward to meeting you. Please, sit down and please be at ease. One has been briefed, but I want all the bits that I don’t get told,” the Queen opened.
“Ma’am, where should I start?” Stahmer asked, after a slight bow.
“First and foremost, with this pleasant Darjeeling tea,” the Queen added, “and the Devon cream scones.”
“Special Branch has warned me never to mention this, but I gather you are an exception to the rule,” Stahmer said, knowing the answer.
“Well, I’m sure they have told you about the situation. No medals, I am afraid. Nobody wants this to come out; not now, not in a hundred years. We have had one Guy Fawkes, and we don’t want another.”
Robert Stahmer took several minutes and explained his background; that he had worked for the Health and Safety Executive as an accident investigator for the past eight years. The Queen, of course, had been briefed on his background, but she remained impassive and very professional as he described what she already knew.
She moved in her chair a little closer to Robert as he began to get to the exciting parts of his story.
“Ma’am, the member of parliament for Grantham requested that my department send down an investigator to the Houses of Parliament after the Deputy Speaker of the House had contracted Weil’s disease and subsequently died.”
“I know about this disease,” the Queen interjected. “In 1978, the Health Minister at one of my garden parties told me a little tale. It appears that the masses at that time had begun to enjoy drinking Mexican beer out of bottles; not a pastime one would partake in,” she said, amused. “Anyhow, as they began this, let’s say, habit, Weil’s disease began to raise its ugly head again. No longer the odd case of the sewer worker, but twenty or thirty cases a year. Evidently, the female rats in Mexico, on the ships, and in the British ports, had a penchant for relieving themselves against the bottles of beer in the cargo holds. Well, next stop would be the lips of the masses, and for those unfortunate enough to drink from the infected bottles, they got Leptospirosis, commonly known as Weil’s disease.” The Queen paused.
“Yes, Ma’am, but probably what you were not told was how the importers and producers got over the problem,” Stahmer added, “without losing a penny.”
“Pray, do tell,” the Queen replied enthusiastically.
“They advertised the bottles of beer with a segment of lemon or lime, and the actors would rub the lime or lemon around the top of the bottle. Both citrus fruits are a disinfectant, and it killed off the disease. It caught on quickly, and the disease more or less disappeared overnight,” Stahmer replied.
“Fascinating. So, all these up-and-coming city types with a slice of lemon in their bottle of beer think it is stylish when in truth they are masking rat urine. So, how did our illustrious Members of Parliament contract the disease? Most of them are more gin than beer; one would suspect,” the Queen observed.
“On being appointed to undertake the investigation, my thoughts were that the Houses are on the River Thames. Where there is a river, rats will not be far away. However, when I met the pest control unit that is responsible for keeping the Houses pest free, they confirmed they had tests carried out on the rats they had caught over the last several weeks. The outcome of the tests: there were none with Leptospirosis or Weil’s disease.” Stahmer paused and took a sip of his tea before continuing.
“The first morning, I took the investigation to Parliament. I was escorted to the Lords’ Chamber, the Clock Tower, Westminster Hall, the Central Lobby, the House of Commons, and the House of Lords.”
“My, my… You may well have seen more than most of the Royal Household. Did you get to see the magnificent Lords Library?” the Queen inquired.
“No, Ma’am, the Lords Library and basement were out of bounds and roped off, as there was a program of asbestos removal underway. As you are probably aware, the Houses of Parliament had been stuffed to the gunnels with asbestos dating back before the Second World War, and further reinforced with asbestos during the war. Winston Churchill determined that he would not hand Hitler a propaganda coup by showing them on fire.”
“Good old Winston. They filled the palace up with the heinous material as well,” the Queen added, as Stahmer drained his cup.
“During the tour, I had become somewhat concerned about what I observed. I was escorted back to my car to get some bags and equipment. As per standing operating procedure, I put on a white coverall suit and took an FFP3 high-quality dust mask. The maintenance supervisor escorting me declined the use of the PPE; he probably thought I was typical Health and Safety and overreacting. I pulled rank and told him to put them on,” Stahmer explained.
“What was concerning you to go all Health and Safety, Mr Stahmer?” the Queen inquired.
“Dust, Ma’am. On the benches of the House of Commons, I noticed fine fibres. Just a few, but they were there. On asking, I was informed the cleaners had cleaned that morning, so I assumed they had arrived there recently. In the Lords’ there was evidence of wood