Mrs. Houdini(44)

“The buildings are all so much older than in New York,” Bess said. But Harry didn’t answer. He was looking up at them with a furrowed brow, and she knew he was thinking of some kind of new trick. “Harry, no—”

“What about bridge jumping?” he mused. “Do you think I could escape the cuffs underwater?”

Bess looked at him, aghast. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged. “I’ll think it over.”

“Harry, don’t. I’m serious.” She tried to change the subject. “Look at that.” She pointed to a beaded black ball gown with an enormously ballooned bottom, dressing a mannequin in a store window. It was lined with white lace at the cuffs, and exposed the shoulders. “It’s exquisite.”

Harry looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “You should try it on.”

“That’s ridiculous. We can’t afford to buy something like that. It wouldn’t be decent to go in there and pretend we can afford it.”

But Harry was already striding ahead of her, into the shop. “We’re Americans,” he was saying. “I heard there are so many American heiresses here, looking to marry into titles, that everyone assumes all Americans are rich.”

Inside, they learned that the dress was not available for sale. It had been designed for Queen Victoria, the shop owner explained, but her son had recently become ill, and she had cancelled the purchase.

“I’d like to buy it, then,” Harry said.

The shop owner raised his eyebrows. “One does not sell Her Majesty’s relics, sir.”

“How much would it cost if it did not belong to the Queen?”

He thought about it. “Probably fifty pounds. But it’s not for sale.”

Bess pulled Harry aside. “You most certainly cannot buy me that dress,” she whispered. “You’re getting carried away. We’re not royalty, and we don’t have the money.”

Harry pressed his hands into hers. “Bess, look at it. It’s just my mother’s size, don’t you think? I’m going to buy it for her.”

Bess stepped backward. “Oh,” she stammered.

“It’s too large for you,” he said. “You’re such a tiny thing.”

She nodded mutely. Harry pulled away and turned to the shopkeeper.

“I’d like to purchase this for my mother,” he explained. “She grew up very poor, and I’d like her to have a dress made for a queen. I’ll pay you fifty pounds for it.”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “I told you, the dress is not for sale.”

Harry pulled a bill out of his wallet and waved it at the man. “You’re telling me I am standing here as a paying customer and you are refusing to take my money?”

“I am sorry, sir.”

Bess put her hand on Harry’s arm. “Darling—”

Harry began to shout. “Well why the hell did you put it in your window then?”

The man remained calm. “You Americans are all the same. You come here and think you deserve the world because you have money. But we Britons have something better than money. We have tradition.”

“You’re a damn fool.”

Bess stepped in front of Harry. “Excuse me,” she said, assuming as gentle and feminine an air as she could muster, “but I have a proposal for you. What if we promise that this dress will never be worn in Great Britain? We’re only passing through. And this would mean the world to my mother-in-law. This way you can earn money on this dress, and you don’t have to feel you are betraying your queen.”

The shopkeeper’s face softened. “It’s a matter of respect, you see,” he grumbled.

“Of course it is,” Bess said. “I would do the same in your shoes.”

He considered it. “All right,” he agreed. “Provided the dress is never worn here.”

They left the store with the dress packaged in pink tissue and tied inside an enormous white box. Harry was pleased but still fuming.

“You’ll catch more flies with honey,” Bess told him. “You need to work on your temper. You’re going to be a public figure.”

This brightened his mood. “I am, aren’t I?” He smiled. “But that’s what I have you for. To be nice for me.”

When they got back to the boardinghouse she closed her eyes on the bed to rest and, when she woke, realized it was already the middle of the night. Harry was asleep beside her. He looked so vulnerable in his sleep. She got out of bed for a drink of water, and on the table next to the bed she noticed a box sticking out from underneath the clothes Harry had piled on the surface. Inside was a tiny gold ladybug charm, nestled in velvet.

“Harry.” She nudged him awake. “Where did you get this?”

Harry smiled sleepily. “It’s for you,” he said and closed his eyes again. “He said it’s a symbol of love.”

“Who said?”

“The jeweler.”

She examined the charm. It was intricately made. “When did you do this? I’ve been with you all day!”

“After my first performance,” he murmured. “I wanted the first paycheck to go to you.”



Harry wrote to Mrs. Weiss immediately, urging her to meet them in Budapest, where her old home was, and where many of her family members still lived. He had a surprise, he told her, although he would not tell her anything more than that.