The Gown(43)
The silhouette of the gown was familiar enough, and largely indistinguishable from several other gowns that Ann had embroidered over the past year or so. A sweetheart neckline, long fitted sleeves, full skirt. What set this gown apart, she saw instantly, was the embroidery.
The skirt was adorned with garlands of flowers and greenery, tier upon tier of them, and the same motifs appeared on the bodice and the entire length of the train. The design was perfectly symmetrical, yet there was nothing stiff or mannered about the embroidered decorations and their placement.
“It’s lovely, sir,” Ann said quietly.
“Thank you, Miss Hughes. I will say that it’s quite my favorite of the sketches I submitted to Her Majesty and Princess Elizabeth. My initial inspiration was Botticelli and his figure of Primavera—perhaps you’ve seen it?”
It wasn’t the time or place for Ann to admit to the deficiencies of her education, so she simply nodded.
“At any rate,” he went on, “here are the most significant of the motifs. York roses in several sizes, star flowers, ears of wheat, jasmine blossoms, and smilax leaves. I think one sample with a large rose, a second with a cluster of the smaller roses, and then one each of the remaining motifs should be sufficient for our purposes. These are only the motifs that appear on the train, but I don’t think we need to worry about the additional motifs from the gown itself. Not yet, at least.”
“What do you think?” Miss Duley asked. “Will two or three days give you enough time?”
“I should think so,” Ann said. “What were you thinking in terms of the embellishments, Mr. Hartnell? You mentioned pearls before.”
“Yes. Lovely little round seed pearls at the edges of most of the appliqués, larger ones at the centers of some of the motifs, and a variety of crystals, beads, and the like.”
“I’ll go over everything with Miss Hughes and Miss Dassin,” Miss Duley promised. “First I propose we go to the stockroom and see what Miss Louie has on hand for the backing.”
Mr. Hartnell nodded. “Yes, of course. Ask for a good stiff duchesse satin for the appliqués, not too white, and a silk tulle for the backing. Failing that a silk gazar will do. But nothing too opaque.”
“Yes, sir,” Miss Duley said. Then she turned to Ann and Miriam, her expression uncharacteristically severe. “I’m sure you are aware of the heightened level of interest in this commission. Princess Elizabeth is very keen that no details of her gown appear in the press, and I know Mr. Hartnell would consider it a great disappointment were anyone here to betray her trust.”
Ann glanced at Mr. Hartnell, whose delight had faded with the introduction of what had to be a dispiriting topic. “The news of the commission will be in the papers this evening, and you may well have friends and family asking about my designs. It feels rather ridiculous to even mention such a thing, really, since I know you’ve worked on important commissions before. I do hope . . .”
He looked so uncomfortable, his happiness at the great news all but extinguished, that Ann’s heart went out to him. He really was such a kind man. “I do understand, and I don’t mind your asking at all,” she reassured him. “I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. I promise I won’t.”
“As do I,” Miriam added.
“Thank you. Well, I suppose I ought to leave you ladies to your work. Do you need anything else from me, Miss Duley?”
“Not for the moment, sir. I’ll let you know if we have any questions.”
Miss Duley walked him out of the workroom, and then, after pausing to speak with Ethel and Ruthie, returned with them in her wake. “Ann and Miriam are helping me with something for the next few days, so I need you to take over work on this bodice. I know you were working on some pieces for that American department store, but they can wait. Miriam will show you what to do.”
They murmured their agreement, and though they looked inquisitive they said nothing more. Nor would she, in their stead. It was clear enough that she and Miriam had been chosen to do up the samples. Mr. Hartnell always had samples made for his really important commissions, after all, and this surely ranked as the most significant work they’d done in years.
“Ann, if you’ll come with me?”
The stockroom was the domain of Miss Louie, who had been with Mr. Hartnell since his earliest days as a designer, and who knew, down to the last quarter yard of Honiton lace, the entire contents of their on-hand stock. She was respected and not a little feared among the younger staff, not least because she guarded the stockroom with the single-minded intensity of a lioness.
“I hope Miss Louie’s in a good mood today,” Ann said as they hurried along. “Remember last week? When Ethel came back empty-handed?”
“That was Ethel’s own fault. There’s an art to managing our Miss L, as I’ve told you girls more than once. You need to ask, not demand. Take a moment to inquire how she is. Thank her for her time. No doubt Ethel came rushing up and didn’t even bother to say good morning. Silly girl. Miss Louie has been here longer than anyone excepting Mr. H himself. She’s entitled to run that stockroom as she likes, and if that means taking a few minutes to butter her up, so be it.”
A wide wooden counter was set across the entrance to the stockroom, beyond which Ann could just glimpse the rows of shelving, laden with hundreds and hundreds of bolts of fabric, that lined the perimeter of the space. An enormous table stood in its center, yardsticks affixed to its edges, though Ann would wager good money that Miss Louie hadn’t spared them a glance in years.