The Gown(96)
“Go straight along to Her Majesty’s apartments,” Mr. Hartnell told them, “and please let her know I shall be along once I’m certain all is well with the bride.”
The lift doors shut and they went up another floor. This time everyone got out, and Mr. Hartnell led them along another corridor, this one red-carpeted and high-ceilinged and decorated with gilt-framed mirrors and oil paintings and glass-fronted cabinets filled with mysterious treasures.
A door near the end opened as they approached, and a plainly dressed woman in her early forties came out to greet them.
“Miss MacDonald,” Monsieur Hartnell said, shaking her hand. “How are you today?”
“Very well,” she said, smiling brightly. “Good morning to all of you, and do come in.”
Miriam was at the very tail end of their little procession, and it was only chance that had her glancing at the door as they passed through. HRH The Princess Elizabeth was engraved on a shining brass plaque. So these were the princess’s private rooms—that would be something to tell Ann about later.
They now stood in a sitting room, and something about it reminded her of the house in Edenbridge where Bennett and Ruby lived. Not the room itself, for it was enormous and rather cold, but rather its furnishings, which were comfortable and homey and not especially grand. A small wicker dog basket, rather battered and worn, sat next to the sofa, but fortunately its occupant was elsewhere. It wouldn’t do for her to shrink back in fear from the princess’s own dog.
“How is Her Royal Highness this morning?” Monsieur Hartnell asked.
“She is very well, thank you, and ready to get dressed. If Mam’selle and Miss Yvonne could come with me we’ll get started.”
“Of course, Miss MacDonald, of course. I’ll remain here until I’m needed.” And then, as if only just remembering, “I’ve brought Miss Dassin and Miss Pearce from my embroidery and sewing workrooms. In case any emergency repairs are required. Would you like them to remain here, or might they be of help elsewhere?”
“Perhaps they could help with the bridesmaids?” Miss MacDonald suggested. “There’s only the six of them, as Princess Margaret and Princess Alexandra have their own dressers.” She turned to face Miriam and Betty. “Will you be all right finding your way? It isn’t far—back to the lift and down one floor, then turn left and go around the corner to the first of the guest suites. They’re bound to be making a fair amount of noise.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Betty said, nodding.
“Go straight on in and ask for Flora. If you run into the king or queen along the way, don’t panic. Simply move to the side of the corridor and let them pass. Don’t say anything, but it’s fine to smile. Especially today.”
“Go on,” Monsieur Hartnell added, “and I’ll come by once the ladies have finished dressing.”
It was a bit disappointing not to see the princess at close quarters, and especially not to see her in the wedding gown itself, but Miriam could hardly blame her for preferring to have people she knew well in attendance on her wedding day. And it did mean that she would get to see a little more of this English palace that so few English people ever had the chance to visit.
As soon as she and Betty stepped out of the lift they knew exactly where they were meant to go, for the sounds of happy conversation and laughter were impossible to miss. They knocked at the door and went in, and it was a relief to find the room beyond was filled with young women and not King George in his shirtsleeves.
“Hello there,” Betty said. “We’re with Mr. Hartnell. Miss MacDonald asked us to come along and see if we might help. She said to ask for Flora.”
A young woman came bustling forward and shook their hands. “I’m Flora. The hairdresser just finished and we’re more or less ready to get the ladies into their gowns. Have you any experience as dressers?”
They both shook their heads. “I am an embroiderer,” Miriam explained, “and Betty is a seamstress. We are here in case any repairs need to be made to the gowns.”
“Oh, right. Well, Lady Mary Cambridge does need some help with her gown. Make sure it goes over her head, since she might catch a foot or tear it if she tries to step into it. Make sure that everything needing doing up is done up, and whatever you do, don’t force anything. I think she may have on some makeup, so have a care for that. If you get stuck, give me a shout. I’ll be roaming about.”
As she spoke she led them across the room, bypassing several of the bridesmaids and their dressers, until they were standing in front of a tall, dark-haired, and very pretty young woman who seemed, at least to Miriam’s eyes, a little unsure of herself. Perhaps she was nervous about the day ahead.
“Lady Mary, I have some girls from Hartnell to help you dress,” Flora said before hastening away.
“How lovely,” Lady Mary said, her expression brightening. “There wasn’t room in the car for my girl and”—here she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“I was going to be stuck with Pamela’s girl. The poor thing is all thumbs. The maid, I mean, not Pamela. And this isn’t the sort of frock one puts on by oneself, is it?”
“No, Lady Mary,” Miriam said, which seemed an awkward way to address the woman. Was she supposed to call her Miss? Ma’am? Madam? It was all so confusing.