The Silk Weaver

There can be no doubt Providence has willed that man should be the head of the human race, even as woman is its heart; that he should be its strength, as she is its solace; that he should be its wisdom, as she is its grace; that he should be its mind, its impetus, and its courage, as she is its sentiment, its charm, and its consolation.

– The Lady’s Book of Manners

Anna was all for going directly to Miss Charlotte’s shop as soon as the coach set them down outside the Red Lyon.

‘I will not rest easy until I know,’ she chafed, but night had already fallen. The shop would be shut and Joseph and Sarah were expecting them for supper.

‘We’ve had a long journey and we need to eat and rest, my love,’ Theodore said. ‘To prepare ourselves properly.’

Still tucked into her muff, where she had held it like a talisman for much of the journey, was the envelope containing Charlotte’s letter and the newspaper cutting.

She could still picture the moment she’d read those words, when her world turned upside down. Henri, in gaol, possibly sentenced to death? Perhaps already hanged? How could that be possible? He seemed so dutiful, so level-headed. She had known about the journeymen’s riots, of course, but could not imagine him being part of that lawless gang of thugs.

She must have uttered a small yelp, because her father had immediately come to her side. ‘What is it, dearest? Bad news? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’ She’d passed the note to him, wordlessly, barely able to speak for the shock of it. Then she showed him the newspaper report.

‘Is the letter from your seamstress friend? The one you told me about a few days ago?’

‘This Henri she writes of is the weaver boy? And you think that he might already have . . . ?’

He put his arm around her. ‘Take heart, my dearest. If he is the man you have described to me, it seems most unlikely that he would have committed any such crime. I am sure he will not be one of those mentioned in the newspaper. The law does not move that quickly. However, we must go to their aid at once.’

‘Whatever can we do? We have no money to pay for his bail or buy clever lawyers.’ As she said it, the idea came into her head: she did know a lawyer, albeit one not fully qualified.

‘We could visit the young man, at the very least, to cheer his soul,’ her father was saying.

She recalled the cold tone of Henri’s last letter. ‘I am not sure I would be welcome.’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I must go and do what I can, or I will never rest easy.’

‘Then we shall write at once, and make preparations. I shall come with you. Let me get my Sunday duties out of the way, and we shall go on Monday.’

‘I am sure we will not be welcome at Spital Square, with Joseph’s troubles.’

‘Pssht. They’ve still got a house, haven’t they? We are family. And we won’t burden them for long.’

Anna was dreading the inevitable interrogation by her aunt and uncle. Her father was adamantly opposed even to white lies, but during the journey she had managed to persuade him that revealing their true purpose would cause outrage. She could so clearly imagine her aunt spluttering, A French weaver? In prison? Whatever business is it of yours, Theodore?

Neither was she looking forward to returning to the sunless house in Spital Square. When she’d closed the door behind her, a few short weeks ago, she had breathed a sigh of relief, never imagining that she would return so soon. It had been a place of so much loneliness, ignominy and sadness.

As it turned out, Joseph and Sarah appeared delighted to see them and had laid on an impressive spread for supper: hot roast pheasants, cold cuts and an apple turnover for pudding. The fires were burning merrily in every room, and many candles were lit. No sign of belts being pulled in here, Anna thought to herself.

Lizzie flung herself upon her cousin as soon as they entered, and had clung to her side ever since. Even William seemed in an unusually cheerful mood. After several glasses of his best claret – to celebrate the value of family, he’d declared – Joseph began to expand on his plans for turning around their business fortunes.

‘Have you heard? The new king has chosen his queen. She comes to London this spring to prepare for their wedding. It’s the best possible news for the silk trade, mark my words.’

‘A German princess,’ Sarah said. ‘Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Word is she’s no great beauty, so there will be all the more reason to bedeck her in the best silks. They will marry in July and the coronation is planned for a fortnight later.’

‘Every mercer in the land is busy buttering up anyone who might be appointed royal costumier,’ William said drily.

‘But even if we don’t supply her trousseau, can you imagine all the dress silks that will be required for their guests?’ Joseph said. ‘It is just a matter of finding the best possible designs to catch the eye of the courtiers and their ladies.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I haven’t been in the business for all these years not to know the next best thing when I see it.’

‘I don’t know just yet, my dearest, but when I do I shall work day and night to make sure we get the commissions,’ he said, draining his glass. ‘Anyone for another?’

‘Have you heard about the troubles?’ William asked. ‘There have been many shenanigans among the weavers since you left. Journeymen rioting and cutting, and getting themselves hanged. It’s a bad business.’

‘We have seen newspaper reports, but they didn’t mention any names,’ Anna said, struggling to keep her voice steady. William left the room and returned shortly with a crumpled newspaper.

She held it up to the candle and tried to keep her hands from trembling as she scanned the page, fearful that she might encounter Henri’s name. Instead, the name which caught her eye was that of Guy Lemaitre. The report was brief and the ending brutal: Hanged at Bethnal Green.

She could barely breathe. If Guy had already been sentenced and hanged, might Henri be next? It was all she could do to hold her body still when what she most wanted was to scream. She took a swig of wine and then another, forcing herself to take breaths slowly, in and out, in and out.

‘Load of violent villains, the lot of them,’ Joseph was saying. ‘They’ve been holding masters to ransom, forcing them to pay according to their illegal Book of Prices. They’ve got no idea of the consequences: the masters will go to the wall, and then where shall we be?’

After a sleepless night, Anna sat impatiently through breakfast listening to her father fielding the family’s inquiries about their plans. He spoke in vague terms of meetings and Church business, intimating that they would not be back till late afternoon.

‘My goodness,’ he said, as they passed the market, swerving to avoid carts, horses, pedlars and beggars thronging the streets. ‘I don’t remember London being quite so chaotic before.’

‘They say this part of the city has doubled in size just in the past few decades,’ she said. ‘Everyone wants to come here for the work.’

‘From all over the world, my ears tell me,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t anyone speak English around here?’

‘Charlotte, tell me at once, I must know,’ Anna cried. ‘I have read dreadful news of Henri’s friend Guy. But is Henri well?’

‘Indeed it is terrible news of Guy. But take heart, Anna. Although Henri is still in gaol, he is not yet come to trial and by all accounts is well.’

‘Thank heavens.’ She clasped the door jamb, giddy with relief, only then sensing her father behind her, still waiting on the step. ‘Oh, do forgive my rudeness. Miss Charlotte, please meet my father, Theodore Butterfield.’

Miss Charlotte dipped her knee. ‘Sir, it is a pleasure. Anna never told me that you were a man of the cloth,’ she said. ‘How should I address you?’

‘Will you take tea?’ Charlotte said. ‘And I can relate to you all that has happened.’

As they were ushered into the rear parlour, Anna recalled that happy afternoon of conversation about William Hogarth and his views on beauty. How long ago that seemed. When they were seated, Charlotte began, ‘It was Mariette, Monsieur Lavalle’s daughter, who first brought me the news. She was so upset, poor little thing. He was arrested the day his friend Guy Lemaitre went to trial – had you met?’

‘Briefly, just once, with Henri,’ Anna said. ‘I cannot believe he has been hanged.’

‘It was a shock for us all.’ Charlotte looked down at her hands. ‘Especially Henri. He went to the trial but after they were sentenced he went crazy and ended up drinking with a group of those Bold Defiance men. He says he was drunk and didn’t know who they were. He’d already left the group by the time the Runners arrived, but they found him nearby and arrested him anyway.’

As the story unfolded Anna could hardly believe what Charlotte was telling her. The devastation of hearing Guy’s sentence must have caused Henri to lose his senses.

‘Mariette said the people at the French church are doing all they can to get him released,’ Charlotte went on. ‘I really have no idea what to do for the best. Which is why I got in touch with you. In case you might know someone . . .’ She tailed off.

Theodore’s face darkened. ‘This is why we have hastened here, dear Miss Charlotte,’ he said. ‘I suppose Henri has already been asked whether he knows of anyone who might testify to his innocence?’

She nodded. ‘I believe Monsieur Lavalle has pressed him on this point, but he says he was so befuddled by the ale that his memory is poor.’

‘I am told that Newgate is a terrible place – a very hell on earth, someone described it. Monsieur Lavalle would not allow Mariette to go because it would be too upsetting. If you decide to visit, you will have to be strong.’

‘I know how much you mean to Henri,’ Charlotte said, a wan smile warming her cheek. ‘He will be very happy to see you. Promise you will return to let me know how he is?’

The gatekeeper, an overweight, unshaven man with grease stains down his jerkin, grabbed her father’s proffered sixpence with a burly hand and then, painfully slowly, scanned a long, well-thumbed list.

Panic filled her heart and she clung to her father’s hand as they walked the dank, gloomy passageways. It truly is a very hell on earth, she thought to herself. The howls and curses, the clanging of doors, the foul stench and the surly, aggressive guards made her wonder how anyone could survive the place.

It reminded her of the time when, as a small child, she had been locked into a pigsty by some older boys. The terror of being unable to escape the foetid gloom, the air so vile that you could barely breathe, and the ear-splitting squealing of the terrified pigs had caused her nightmares for weeks afterwards.

She almost wept with relief when the gaoler at the condemned cells claimed no knowledge of a M. Vendôme, and redirected them back to the main block.

When they eventually found the right cell, and persuaded another gaoler – with more pennies – to unlock the door, she could barely believe that the pathetic human form gazing vacantly at them without recognition, his clothes filthy, his skin scabbed and cheeks hollow, was Henri. Under the layer of grime his face was deathly pale.

‘It’s me, Anna,’ she said tentatively, holding out the small parcel of bread and cheese they had brought at Charlotte’s suggestion. As she took a step towards him he cowered as if fearing a blow and then, to her horror, fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands. ‘Non, non, non,’ he said, through muffled sobs. ‘Je ne supporte pas que vous me voyiez dans cet état.’ I cannot bear for you to see me like this.

She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Miss Charlotte wrote to me. I had to come.’

Slowly, he turned his face and pulled himself to his feet, stiff as an old man, shaking his head. ‘Je ne crois pas. I have dreamed of you so much. And now you are here,’ he whispered.

Henri gathered himself, and made a small bow. ‘Reverend, sir, I thank you. I do not deserve this kindness.’

‘It appears, from what we have heard, that you do not deserve to be here at all. My daughter holds you in high regard and we have come to ask if there is anything we can do to ease your situation or to get you released.’

Theodore’s little speech seemed to strike Henri dumb. He stared at him, mouth agape, for several seconds, until Anna said, ‘Henri, what is it? He’s my father. He will not hurt you.’

Henri sat down heavily on the bench, shaking his head and rubbing his ears with his hands. ‘Forgive me, sir. Your voice . . . I recognise it. Have we met?’

‘No, it is impossible,’ Henri said, shaking his head again, as if to clear the confusion. ‘That man was younger.’

‘Please excuse me, sir, it is the way you say some words.’ Henri seemed to mutter to himself, and she could hear that he was repeating ‘deserve’ and ‘released’, imitating her father’s slight fudging of the sibilant consonants.

‘He was with me when the Runners arrived,’ Henri said. ‘But he disappeared and I do not know who he is.’

As he spoke, Anna had a flash of intuition. The slight lisp ran in their family. Being more like her mother, she had not inherited it. But Theodore’s sister Aunt Sarah had it, and Lizzie and William also spoke that way. Surely it could not have been him, in the street that night?

Beneath the filth, Henri’s face seemed to colour. ‘C’est embarrassant.’

With a prostitute? Little about William would surprise her any more. Her mind raced as she realised that, much as she would dearly wish to offer Henri some crumb of hope in this desperate situation, for the moment she must keep her suspicion to herself. If she was to have any chance of eliciting the truth from William, she would have to do it discreetly.

They stayed a few moments more, talking about M. Lavalle’s efforts to get the charges lifted. ‘Do you have a lawyer?’ Theodore asked.

‘A legal clerk from the French church,’ Henri said. ‘But he does not succeed yet.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I am still here.’

It was the smile that brought Anna to the brink of tears. In it she saw something of the real Henri, the one with whom she had fallen in love. Watching him converse with her father, man to man, she realised that although complete strangers from utterly different worlds, the two were really quite alike: the modest demeanour, the self-deprecating humour, the sharpness of mind concealed within a thoughtful manner, the economical mode of expression in which a few words could convey layers of meaning. And how, when talking with you, their eyes would meet yours, clear and uncomplicated, without demur. Nothing was hidden. You could trust them entirely.

As they took their leave, Theodore asked whether Henri would mind if he blessed him.

Her father placed his hands gently on Henri’s bowed head, whispering a short prayer, and Anna found herself sending up her own, heartfelt plea: I don’t care if he is never mine but please, God, release him to live his life to the full. He is too good to die in this terrible place.

Theodore led her in the direction of St Paul’s Cathedral. ‘Come, my darling, we need some peace. We shall pray for him.’

Anna was too overawed by the splendour of the interior to pray with any devotion, but the stillness was comforting. After a few minutes, her father rose from his knees and they sat in silence for a while.

‘You are right. He is a good man, Anna,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘We must do our best for him. I’d like to meet this legal fellow, to see what he has managed to discover, if anything.’

They knocked at the door of 37 Wood Street for as long as they could without seeming impolite but, despite the clack and thud of looms working overhead, no one answered. Anna was reminded of the time she and Miss Charlotte saw Henri clinging to the gantry, nearly falling from the loft window. But today, as a bitter cold wind funnelled showers of sleety rain between the tall buildings, the windows remained firmly closed.

They returned briefly to Miss Charlotte’s shop, where they offered her reassurance as to Henri’s wellbeing, and then made their way home to Spital Square, exhausted.

That evening, after supper, Anna managed to corner William. ‘I must speak to you privately,’ she whispered. ‘Later tonight. It is urgent.’

‘Remember our pact?’ she said, placing a firm hand on his arm. ‘It still holds, William.’

He scowled. ‘Very well. I will return by half past ten o’clock. Shall we meet in the office? We are less likely to be disturbed there.’

‘That is less than two hours,’ she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel. ‘Mind you are back in time, William.’

He was late, of course, and she waited with increasing impatience as the candle burned lower and lower. She lit another and took out some of the pattern books to pass the time, turning the pages in a desultory fashion, but found it impossible to concentrate. So much rested on this meeting.

‘So what’s all this secrecy about, then?’ It was clear he’d been drinking but this might even work to her advantage.

As she explained her suspicion that he had been in the area of The Dolphin the night of Guy’s trial, he began to shake his head.

‘Bethnal Green? Never go there,’ he said. ‘Not a place for a man of my standing.’

‘You were with a woman, William. Don’t deny it, or I might find myself having to tell someone that you consort with whores.’

The smug grin fell from his face. ‘So?’ he snapped. ‘Every man does it, Anna, you poor little innocent. And anyway, you’ll never prove it.’

‘As I said, someone recognised you. They know your voice, and your face, too.’

‘A silk weaver who was wrongly arrested that night, and who desperately needs your testimony to prove his innocence.’

‘A frog, I’ll warrant. Send the lot of them home, I say. We’d be better off without them.’

Anna rose from the chair and began to pace, trying to control her fury. ‘Yes, a Frenchman. A man who I know to be honest and respectable. A man who does not dissemble, or cheat, or lie. He is a dear friend, and that is the reason Father and I have returned to the city. A terrible miscarriage of justice has occurred and his friends have asked for our help.’ She stopped and glared at him. ‘If you do not admit to this, I will tell Uncle Joseph about the cash you stole.’

Now William stood too, bearing over her just as he’d done in this very room all those months ago. This time she was not afraid. ‘You little . . .’ he hissed. ‘You expect me to help that filthy cur in the alley who puked all over my boots? I can’t believe it.’

He’s admitted it, she thought to herself, silently enjoying a sweet moment of triumph. There is no way back for him now. ‘I do, William,’ she said calmly. ‘If you testify that you saw him in the alleyway that night when the Guards arrived, there will be no mention of the whore, nor of the stolen cash. You may not even have to appear at the trial.’

‘I will do nothing, you understand, nothing, if there is any chance my name will be splattered all over the newspapers. I will only talk if we can do this discreetly.’

‘If we move quickly, we may be able to get the charges lifted altogether. But at present he only has the support of a legal clerk. We need a proper lawyer, with contacts at the Inns of Court and at the prison.’ She paused for a second, allowing him time to catch up with her thoughts. ‘I think you know who I have in mind.’

He looked blank for a moment and then his eyes widened with incredulity. ‘Charles? Phuh! He threw you over, didn’t he? And he hasn’t spoken to me since Pa’s disgrace.’

After a second of confusion, William burst out laughing. ‘God’s teeth, Anna, you are a little minx. First you blackmail me, then you ask me to blackmail my friend.’ She maintained her severe expression, and his laughter stopped as suddenly as it had started. ‘You’re not serious?’

He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Very well. I will visit him. But only if you come too.’

She let out a slow breath and the tightness in her neck and back began to ease. We’re nearly there, she thought.

William sat down again. ‘So let me get this right. You’ve returned to London to get this cabbage head out of gaol? Just why is he so important to you, Cousin Anna?’

She refused to be drawn. ‘A mutual friend wrote to me, asking for our help.’

‘You have no cause to be rude about the French. They weave fine silk, do they not, and you have made a fair penny from their labours?’ Anna relit her candle from the nearly exhausted stub on the table, ready to take her leave. It was cold in the room, and she was weary from the day’s emotions. ‘Besides which, the mutual friend is Miss Charlotte. She is not French.’

‘Miss Charlotte?’ He paused, his mind seeming to wander elsewhere. ‘Now there’s a thought.’

‘You heard Pa at suppertime last evening, blathering on about how well he knows the market and how only he knows how to find silks that will steal the new queen’s heart?’

‘The truth is he doesn’t have a clue. He’s out of date and all his contacts are too old. They dressed the last queen, decades ago, for heaven’s sake! This one is only eighteen and will want the very latest fashions – or at least that’s what her costumiers will be advising her to want – as will the courtiers and other guests. We need advice from someone who really knows.’

It was Anna’s turn to be incredulous. ‘You want me to ask Miss Charlotte if she will advise you? Have you forgotten how poorly she was treated by your mother and her cronies? They deserted her and took their business elsewhere, if you remember.’

‘Look,’ he said, rising to his feet and lighting his own candle. ‘You have asked me for a favour – two favours. The least you can do in return is ask her for me. We desperately need a couple of good commissions to get us out of debt, Anna. The fine has been deferred for two months but if we don’t pay it we’ll be in the Marshalsea before you can say Mecklenburg-Strelitz.’

She was dreading it: begging a favour from the man who had spurned her, having to endure his pitying looks and patronising tone. But if it achieved a reprieve for Henri, then anything was worthwhile.

It was a crisp sunny day as she and William walked to Gray’s Inn. She had only been here in the dark before – for the ball – and was surprised by the spacious beauty of the place. The chambers buildings, clustered around peaceful courtyards and cloistered walkways, reminded her of the cathedral close at Norwich she had once visited with her father. An air of privilege and learning suffused the green spaces and ancient buildings. It was a far cry from the chaotic, noisy streets of East London just a few miles away.

Charles’s rooms were less impressive: on the third floor, chilly, cramped and sparsely furnished, and clearly shared with several others. Fortunately, they found him alone.

‘Miss Butterfield, William, welcome to my humble lodgings,’ he said, pulling up two rackety chairs. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

She explained the bare bones of the story: that she had a friend who had been wrongly arrested and needed the help of a lawyer to get him out of prison. ‘We have found a witness to attest to his innocence, but the witness cannot risk appearing in public should the case go to court. So we must get the charges dropped, before that eventuality,’ she explained.

Her little speech elicited a surprising response. Instead of the surly reluctance she’d expected, Charles leaned forward and listened attentively. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair and smiled genially.

‘It sounds just up my street, this little case. I’m flattered that you have come to consult me,’ he said. ‘I have been looking forward to my first real commission – so far all I’ve had is the dross the others don’t want to deal with. The experience will be very helpful when I come to apply for acceptance at the bar.’

Anna steeled herself. ‘There is just one small matter, Charles. You know our situation only too well. Neither we nor the defendant have any money to pay you. We are asking you to do this pro bono, that’s the legal phrase, isn’t it?’ Her father had used the words the previous evening, when she’d told him of her plan.

William interrupted. ‘You and I have been good friends, have we not, for many years? And in that time we have both had our ups and downs?’ Charles narrowed his eyes as William went on. ‘It was last year, wasn’t it, that you fell on hard times yourself, my friend? When you were in it up to your neck and you came to me desperate to borrow money? I didn’t have any, of course, but I knew someone who could help you make the debts go away. Or has that slipped your memory?’

‘In my situation, as a pupil,’ he gestured around the scruffy little room, ‘I have to be totally above board, in everything I do. I cannot take on pro bono cases at will, without the say-so of my masters. And they are unlikely to agree, because I have to prove I can earn money for the chambers. Surely you understand my difficulty here?’

‘We understand it only too well,’ William said. ‘And it certainly wouldn’t do for word to get out that you resorted to threatening someone’s life to relieve you of your debt, would it?’

‘But it was you who paid the man who did the threatening,’ William said. ‘And that man will sing, if I ask him.’

Charles stopped pacing, ripped off his wig and threw it across the room. He rubbed his head and sighed loudly.

‘Bloody hell, William. You leave me with little choice. But I will remember this, mark my words.’

‘Just do the business and we’ll be square,’ William said calmly. ‘Now, Anna, would you like to brief our learned friend?’

On the way back from the Inns, William suggested they call in at a coffee house. Anna had never set foot inside one before, and was curious. The place was very warm, with a huge cauldron hung over a roaring fire, and rough wooden benches around tables crowded with groups of men reading newspapers or engaged in intense and sometimes heated discussions.

Their entrance attracted a fair number of stares: the only other woman was behind the serving hatch. ‘I suppose it’s not done for women to frequent these places?’ she said, as they searched for an empty table.

‘Men come here to conduct business mainly. Mother would have a fit if she knew I’d brought you here,’ he said with a grin. ‘But who cares? I thought you might enjoy seeing another side of city life.’

‘I want to keep company with people because I like them, not for how far they can pull me up the social ladder.’ It felt good, admitting this to William. Despite his insufferable prejudices and insalubrious habits, they had one thing in common. He, too, was a bit of a rebel.

The coffee arrived and she took a sip of the dark, bitter liquid, stronger than any she’d ever tasted before. ‘You kept that quiet: Charles threatening someone to get out of paying his debts.’

‘I like to keep my powder dry,’ William said with a smirk. ‘It was satisfying to see the creep squirm.’

‘I’m certain of it. The alternative would be unthinkable, in his position. You’ve had me over a barrel with this business, Anna, but in a strange kind of way I’m enjoying it. Of course I consort with prostitutes, what man doesn’t? I’m no saint. I drink a pint or two, and sometimes associate with some pretty unsavoury characters. But if I can get an innocent man freed without having my name all over the newspapers, it will be worth it.’

‘We hate the French because we’ve been at war with them for years, and because there are just too many flooding into our city and taking our jobs. But I’ve nothing against individuals; I have to admit they are bloody good weavers and designers. And talking of designers, it’s time for you to deliver your part of the bargain. Drink up. We’re going to call in on Miss Charlotte on our way home.’

The seamstress was busy with a customer, so they were offered seats in the back room and waited quietly, listening through the open door as Miss Charlotte pulled out bolts of fabric for the lady to consider.

‘It’s called the new naturalism,’ they heard her explain. ‘Delicate colours, fine design and, above all, natural forms. Nothing too large or overly obvious, of course. And see the curved lines, just like in nature. Straight lines and geometric designs are too severe for a beautiful young woman like you.’

‘Of course you could always consider calico,’ Miss Charlotte said. ‘On cotton, the designs can be printed. It’s very à la mode.’

‘Oh no, it has to be silk. Mama would not have me seen in cotton, not for formal, anyway.’

‘But will you-know-who and her friends want to have just what everyone else wants?’ Anna whispered back. ‘Or will they be after something different, to be distinctive?’

‘That’s the thing about fashion,’ Anna said. ‘Everyone has to guess what the next big thing is likely to be, before it has arrived.’

‘Nothing, as yet,’ Anna said. ‘But things are looking hopeful. Charlotte, meet my cousin William, silk mercer, of Sadler and Son.’ He bowed, she curtseyed. ‘We have been to see a friend of William’s who is a lawyer at the Inns. And we believe we have found a witness who will testify that although Henri was in the area of The Dolphin, he was not with the Bold Defiance men.’

‘A witness! Oh, I can hardly believe it.’ Charlotte flushed with pleasure, fanning her face with her hand. ‘How wonderful. You must tell me as soon as you have news.’

‘I promise,’ Anna said. ‘But I have brought William here on another matter.’

As William explained about the search for the perfect samples of fabric to tempt a princess, the smile on Miss Charlotte’s face grew wider.

‘Every mercer in the land is on the same quest,’ she said. ‘But you are the first to consult me. I am most flattered, sir.’

‘I can tell you what the ladies like to wear today and could have a stab at predicting what they will want to wear tomorrow. But the princess is German and will have her own ideas; who knows what she may fancy? Fashion is always a gamble and you need a little touch of magic to stay ahead. But one thing is certain: whatever she chooses will instantly become the very latest thing among society ladies. Everyone will seek to copy, but whoever gets it right in the first place will make their fortune while the others are trying to catch up.’

‘We’ll just take a little bag of that magic dust, please,’ he said. ‘I am sure you have some tucked away in your storeroom, do you not?’

Charlotte grinned. ‘Indeed, I wish I had. But what I do have is up here.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘Give me some time to think on it.’

As they rose to leave, her eyes suddenly widened. She clasped Anna’s arm. ‘I’ve had an idea: did Henri finish weaving your design, do you know?’

‘He wrote that he was starting, but . . .’ Anna shook her head. ‘Surely, you are not thinking . . . ?’

‘It’s perfect. Modern, very naturalistic and a little quirky. The line of beauty, remember? Those subtle points rentrées? It just might catch the eye, among all those other submissions.’

Anna ignored him, too astonished to explain. ‘Charlotte, are you seriously suggesting that my design might be suitable to be considered for the royal trousseau?’

Charlotte nodded. ‘If he has woven it well, and since it was for his master piece I feel sure that he will have done, what is there to lose?’

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