The Gown(42)

What would Nan say if she could talk to her now? What would she expect her to do?

Heather sifted through her memories, trying to conjure up some scrap of remembered wisdom from their shared past. Nothing . . . nothing . . . and then, just as sleep overtook her, the faintest whisper.

She’d been at Nan’s for the day and she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knees. Her grandmother had taken her into the kitchen, dampened a cloth, and wiped away her tears.

“This may smart a bit,” Nan had said, just before she cleaned Heather’s knees and dabbed on some iodine. “But you’re a brave girl, aren’t you? So chin up, and when we’re done we’ll go into the garden and you can pick some flowers and we’ll make a posy for you to take home. How does that sound?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl. Keep your chin up, and you can face anything.”





Chapter Thirteen


Ann


August 18, 1947

When Mr. Hartnell came through the door of the workroom at precisely nine o’clock that morning, Ann just knew. She, and every other woman in the room, had been waiting for this moment for more than a month.

Everyone stood. A bubble of noise burst over the room: chair legs scraping across the floor, fugitive whispers pitched too loud, a volley of explosive sneezes from Ruthie, who always had the sniffles. And then silence. Even the ordinary sounds of traffic outside seemed to have dimmed.

Mr. Hartnell smiled, his grin stretching quite as wide as a Cheshire cat’s. “I have some splendid news. The queen and Princess Elizabeth have graciously accepted my design for the princess’s wedding gown. I shall also be designing gowns for the queen herself, Queen Mary, Princess Margaret Rose, and the princess’s bridesmaids.”

They applauded politely, mindful they were at work and not the music hall, and then Miss Duley, standing next to Mr. Hartnell on the landing, cleared her throat.

“The formal announcement will be made later today, and I shall speak with all of you in due course. As Mr. Hartnell has said, we will have a hand in the gowns for the entire wedding party. I promise that no one will be left out. In the meantime, however, we have a great deal of work to complete. Back to your places, please, and save your chatter for break.”

Ann returned to the frame she’d been sharing with Miriam since the previous week. They’d been working on the bodice of the wedding gown for some society bride, a familiar mix of Alen?on lace, dozens of sequins to catch the light, and just enough crystal beads and seed pearls to provide some texture. It did rather feel like something the bride’s grandmother might have worn at the turn of the century, but it wasn’t Ann’s place to question or critique. When finished, the gown would be very beautiful, the bride’s father would be poorer by several hundred guineas, and everyone who attended the wedding would agree that Mr. Hartnell had triumphed again.

Ann had only just shuffled her chair into the perfect spot when a shadow fell over her. She looked up to discover Mr. Hartnell and Miss Duley standing mere inches away.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, and stood again. Miriam had been fetching some thread, but returned to wait at Ann’s elbow.

“You remember Miss Hughes and Miss Dassin,” Miss Duley said.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Hartnell answered. “Good morning to you both.”

“Good morning, sir,” Ann said. “Congratulations. It really is splendid news.”

“It is, isn’t it? I’ve come to tell you that Miss Duley has recommended you both for the samples we’ll be sending to Her Majesty and the princess. What say you to that?”

She did her very best to look surprised. “Thank you ever so much. I’m honored, sir. Truly honored.” She looked to Miriam, who seemed more taken aback than anything else, and tilted her head fractionally. Say something, she implored silently.

“Yes, of course. Thank you. I am very grateful to be chosen,” Miriam added promptly.

“Her Majesty has specifically requested duchesse satin from Winterthur in Dunfermline for the gown, as well as a heavier satin for the appliqués from Lullingstone Castle. It will be several weeks before the fabrics are ready, I’m afraid.”

“And the pearls are still in America,” Miss Duley added.

Mr. Hartnell sighed mournfully at this reminder. “Those wretched pearls. I swear they’ll be the death of me.”

“I’ve suggested to Mr. Hartnell that we proceed with materials we have on hand. We’ll do up half a dozen samples in total. Here are his designs for the motifs. Let’s look at them in the light.”

They followed Miss Duley to the windows, where she set out eight sketches on the wide sill, then stood aside so Mr. Hartnell might show them the particulars of his design.

“This is the gown itself, and here is the train. This is a rather impressionistic view, I’m afraid, but I will draw up a full-size pattern of where the various motifs ought to go. I need to see the entire thing in front of me.”

“We can clear the floor in here tonight, sir, and put down some paper,” Miss Duley suggested.

“Excellent suggestion—let’s do just that. In any event,” he went on, turning again to Ann, “this is generally what I have in mind for the train, which will attach to the princess’s shoulders rather than her waist. Her Majesty is agreeable to a length of fifteen feet for the train.”