The Gown(88)

“But the queen . . . Princess Elizabeth . . .” Ann faltered. “Won’t they be upset? What if they think someone here went to the press?”

“I doubt either of them even noticed. Even if they did, they’re used to people printing lies about them. I suppose it goes along with the job.” He paused to light a cigarette and then, his nerves suitably soothed, he directed his attention at Ann once again. “You didn’t say how the drawing was stolen. It wasn’t someone from here, was it?”

“No, sir,” said Miss Duley, her face reddening in indignation. “Certainly not.”

“It was a man I was seeing,” Ann explained. “I met him just before you were awarded the commission for the gown. He thought he could get me to tell him something about the design, but I knew not to say anything, not even to admit I worked here. And then, about a month ago, he took me out and . . .”

“That is when he took the drawing,” Miriam intervened, for the last of Ann’s composure was melting away. “That is when he stole it from her.”

“My goodness. What a dreadful experience for you. I had no idea a journalist would stoop to such villainous behavior,” Monsieur Hartnell said, his brow creased in a sympathetic frown.

“No, sir,” Miriam said. “He was not a journalist. Only a man with debts to pay.”

“I see. In any event, I can assure you that it did us no harm. No one from the palace has breathed a word to me on the matter, and if ever they do I can quite confidently swear that the scoundrel responsible has nothing to do with us.”

“You see?” Miss Duley said, and reached over to hug Ann’s hunched shoulders. “She was that worried, sir. Was all but certain you’d give her the sack.”

“For that? Heavens, no. Miss Hughes, you are one of my best embroiderers. I’d be a fool to let you go.”

Miriam smiled at his compliment for her friend, and resolved to remind Ann of it later. No doubt she would need to be reassured often in the coming days.

“If that’s all, sir?” Miss Duley asked.

“Not quite. There was a small notation on the printed version of your drawing, Miss Hughes, which mentioned a ‘good-luck’ motif. In the article they speculated it was a four-leafed clover. Is that the case?”

“No, sir. It was a sprig of white heather. Just like the pots of heather the queen brought us all from Balmoral. I read somewhere that it brings good luck, so I added it to Doris’s dress.”

“Hmm. I’m trying to picture it, but all I can see are tiny white flowers. Like a spikier version of lily of the valley. Not a very charming sort of blossom.”

“It can look that way, but the trick is in making the flowers tiny enough, and arranging them just so on the stems.”

“I like it. Yes, I do. A secret motif on the gown, something that no one apart from the four of us, and the princess, will know about. Would you make me up a sample? Nothing too large—say two inches square at the most? If you can make it look like an actual sprig of white heather, we’ll find a place for it on the train. What do you think, Miss Duley?”

“I think it’s a splendid idea. How long do you think it will take to do up a sample, Ann?”

“An hour or two? Maybe a bit more? I’m thinking of seed pearls for the blossoms and rocaille beads for the stems.”

“Perfect. See, Miss Hughes? There’s a silver lining to every cloud, and you’ve found one for us with your splendid idea. Now go work your magic on that sample.”

The three of them thanked him, and Miss Duley and Ann took their leave, but Miriam turned back at the door. It was the work of a moment to provide Monsieur Hartnell with one last detail regarding the theft of her friend’s drawing.

“His name is Jeremy Thickett-Milne. That is the swine who betrayed my friend.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


Heather


September 2, 2016

Heather would never forget her afternoon at Buckingham Palace with Miriam and Daniel. They passed through something like twenty state rooms on their tour, each one bigger and richer and grander than the last. They took their time because Miriam, though steady on her feet, didn’t walk very fast. She was also full of interesting anecdotes about the times she and Walter had been invited to dinners there, and of course the occasion twenty-five years earlier when she had been made a dame.

“Do you remember what the queen said to you?” Heather asked excitedly.

“Would you believe I do not? I was terribly nervous, so it all went by in a blur. I do remember how very blue her eyes were, and also how very enormous the diamonds were in her brooch. One of them was as big as an egg yolk.”

They were in the White Drawing Room when Miriam turned to her with a mischievous smile.

“So? What do you think?”

“Is it wrong to think it’s a bit much? I mean, everything is really beautiful, but it’s all so overwhelming.”

“I do not disagree. But this is not meant to be a home. At least, not this part of the palace. This is the queen’s place of business, I suppose you could say. I imagine their private homes—Balmoral, for instance—are much less formal.”

“The sort of places where a corgi wouldn’t get in trouble for jumping on the furniture?”

“Precisely.”