The Gown(86)

“Oh—I ought to have said. He is an aide to Queen Mary. So I suppose that makes him very important.”

“Not necessarily. Young, ex-Guards, tall and good-looking . . . more likely there for decoration. Think of him as a footman with a better line in small talk.” He closed the notebook, capped his pen, and rubbed at his eyes. “That’ll do for now. Let me ask around—discreetly, I promise—and I’ll meet you and Ann later. Shall I come out to your house? Say around ten o’clock? It may take a few hours.”

“I do not wish to inconvenience you,” she protested. “Barking is very far.”

“Nonsense. I’ll try to be with you by ten, but don’t fret if I’m late.”

“Thank you.”

“I should tell you that the editor of The Examiner is an old enemy of mine. I gave Nigel the sack some years ago and he hasn’t forgiven me. It won’t be as simple as my just ringing him up.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Nigel runs that rag on a shoestring. He wouldn’t have been able to offer much by payment for the drawing, and that makes me think your thief likely went elsewhere first. I’ll ring up some friends and find out if he approached any of them.”

“So I should go home and wait?”

“Yes. Tell Miss Hughes not to panic. It may help her to know that Hartnell was already planning to reveal the design to the press on the thirteenth. Ruby received her invitation at the beginning of October. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what prompted the theft of Ann’s drawing. After then, you see, it won’t be worth a penny.”

“Will everyone see the design then?”

“Not everyone. Only a handful of writers from the broadsheets and weekly magazines. And there’ll be an embargo until the wedding day.”

“I do not know this word. Embargo?”

“A restriction. We agree not to describe the dress or print any photographs of the design until November twentieth. In principle, it means we can have our write-ups ready for the day of the wedding.”

“What of those who break this embargo?”

“They never get a return invitation. That’s incentive enough.”

WALTER KNOCKED ON their door at half-past ten that night. It had been raining, and in lieu of a mackintosh or coat he had thought only to wrap a long and moth-eaten scarf around his neck.

“Did you walk all the way from the station?” she asked worriedly, though he didn’t seem especially rain-sodden.

“I borrowed Bennett’s car.”

“Come through to the back with me. Even if you are not wet, you must be cold. I will make you some tea.”

She led him to the kitchen, and he greeted Ann with a gentle handshake and an apology for his lateness. Miriam took his jacket, just so she might hang it on the drying rack before the sitting room fire, and he looked so handsome in his shirtsleeves and ink-stained tweed vest, and his expression was so kind and understanding, that her heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

“I do have some answers for you,” he began. “It’s all pretty much as you suspected. This Thickett-Milne started shopping around your drawing last month. Not under his real name. He rang up a friend of mine around a fortnight ago. Told him he had details of the princess’s wedding gown and insisted they meet at the bar of a hotel up in Bayswater. He appeared to be wearing a false mustache, if you can believe it.”

“Did he have the drawing with him then?” Ann asked.

“Yes. Insisted it was from Hartnell himself. Asked for five thousand pounds.”

“Five thousand pounds?” Miriam echoed. “He must be mad.”

“Not mad,” Ann said flatly. “Desperate.”

“And desperate men do awful things,” Walter agreed. “My friend just laughed in his face. Told Milne he’d have better luck with the Americans. Of course he didn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t have ended up at The Examiner. I’d be surprised if Nigel—he’s the editor there—was able to scrape together even a hundred pounds.”

“Why was no one interested?” Miriam asked. “I thought the entire world was hoping to see the gown before the wedding.”

“The handwriting on the sketch gave it away. Totally different to Hartnell’s. Everyone knew it was a fake. And with the preview of the gown so soon, why take the risk?”

Ann’s eyes were closed, her fists clenched, her face stark with agony. Miriam looked to Walter and, understanding, he nodded.

“I had best head back into London. I’ll leave you with a copy of my card, and of course Miriam knows how to find me. If there is anything else I can do, please let me know.”

Back in the front vestibule, Walter shrugged on his jacket and knotted his scarf around his neck once more. “I meant what I said before. If there is anything I can do to help, call me straightaway. Do you promise?”

“I do.”

“Very well. I’ll say good night.” He bent his head, set a fleeting kiss upon her cheek, and retreated into the night.

Ann had not moved. Her hands were folded on her lap, and she was staring, her expression unfathomable, at the cooling mug of tea that Walter had left untouched.

“I’ll be sacked,” she whispered. “I know it.”

“You do not know any such thing. Monsieur Hartnell is a good man. A fair man. He gave me a position even after I forced myself into his office without permission or an invitation. I am certain that he will understand.”