The Gown(22)

“The queen loves him. We’ll end up doing her gown at the very least.”

“Who else can do the wedding gown? All the society brides come to Mr. Hartnell for their wedding. And he did Princess Alice’s. That was the last royal wedding.”

“Yes, but it was more than ten years ago. And Molyneux did make some of their clothes for South Africa.”

“Only because so many were needed. For the important gowns it’s always Mr. Hartnell.”

“What if Princess Elizabeth wants a Dior gown?”

“No. She is an English princess. She will have an English dressmaker for her wedding gown.” This last comment came from Miriam, herself a Frenchwoman. Although Ann had worked with her closely since May, she couldn’t say she knew Miriam very well. But she was right: the queen and Princess Elizabeth would certainly choose an English dressmaker.

“The queen will want Mr. Hartnell. We’ll be hearing the news any day now.”

Ann looked at her watch; it was half-past eight. “Come on, everyone. Miss Duley will have a fit if she finds us gabbing away like this.”

Still chattering gaily, they trooped into the workroom. Miss Duley was already waiting for them.

“Girls, girls. You’re as noisy as a herd of elephants. I know it’s terribly exciting, but there’s been no announcement yet. And you know what they say about counting your chickens.”

“It’s so romantic I could die,” said one of the youngest girls. “Have you seen the photographs of him? He looks like a Greek god!”

“A Greek prince, at any rate,” Miss Duley said dryly. “And if I can trouble you to set your dreams of royal romance aside, you all need to calm down. We’ve no shortage of work to get through.”

Ann went straight to her frame, more than ready to begin her day. She and Miriam had been finishing off some fine beadwork on a gown for an American oil baron’s wife, but today she had the straightforward task of adding sequins and seed pearls to a length of antique French lace; the client had asked Mr. Hartnell to incorporate the precious material into the bodice of a cocktail gown.

She set to work on stretching the lace, which had been given a backing of finely woven silk taffeta, onto her frame, then sorted the pearls and sequins into tiny piles on her bead tray, ready to be scooped up and threaded on her thinnest needle.

Ann worked for an hour or more, her thoughts never straying from the fabric before her and the delicate effect—dewdrops on flower petals, she liked to imagine—that she was creating. Only when her fingers began to cramp and her eyes were sandy and dry did she look up, stretch, and breathe in deeply.

“A good morning so far?” Miss Duley had been keeping an eye on the workroom, the apprentices and assistants in particular, making sure they were focused on their sewing and not the diverting news from Buckingham Palace. Now she came over to stand at Ann’s side.

“Very good. Has he had a call?” In her mind, thinking of Mr. Hartnell, she all but put a capital H on “he.” The man did have that sort of effect on the people who worked for him, as profane as that might seem.

“Not yet. Not as far as I know.” Miss Duley pitched her voice low so as not to be overheard. “But I’m sure he’ll hear from the palace in a day or two. He’s working on some ideas now.”

“Will they even bother to ask anyone else?”

“I’d be surprised if they did. I know for a fact that the queen was very pleased with our work on her gowns for South Africa. Once things are certain, he’ll likely want us to do up some samples. Something to take along to the queen and Princess Elizabeth. Just to ensure they are completely happy with the design as executed. Naturally I’ll want you to make them up.”

Ann smiled and nodded, but otherwise gave no sign that Miss Duley had said anything. Never mind that she felt like jumping to her feet and doing cartwheels across the workroom. She would be given the task of making up the samples. Her work would be set before Princess Elizabeth. It was almost too much to take in.

“I gather you’re pleased?”

“Very,” she admitted. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“Of course you won’t. I also want to ask, while we have a quiet moment . . . what do you think of Miriam? Would you say she’s getting on well?”

“She is. Very well. It’s not often you see someone who can work to such a high standard who wasn’t trained here.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been thinking that if we are awarded the commission, I should like her to continue working as your junior. It may cause some bad feelings. Some of the others may feel jealous. I’ll trust you to keep an eye on things, make sure there aren’t any problems. That sort of thing.”

“Of course.”

“There will be plenty of work to go round. At least that’s my guess. But everyone will be keen to work on the wedding gown itself.”

Ann nodded. Of course they would.

“Does Miriam get on well with the other girls? She seems very quiet,” Miss Duley asked.

“She is, but . . .”

“Is it a case of her not understanding? A problem with her English?”

“No, not at all. She’s shy, I think. Reserved. And rather sad. She hasn’t said anything, but I feel as if she must have had a hard time during the war.”