August 18, 1947
When Mr. Hartnell came through the door of the workroom at precisely nine o’clock that morning, Ann just knew. She, and every other woman in the room, had been waiting for this moment for more than a month.
Everyone stood. A bubble of noise burst over the room: chair legs scraping across the floor, fugitive whispers pitched too loud, a volley of explosive sneezes from Ruthie, who always had the sniffles. And then silence. Even the ordinary sounds of traffic outside seemed to have dimmed.
Mr. Hartnell smiled, his grin stretching quite as wide as a Cheshire cat’s. “I have some splendid news. The queen and Princess Elizabeth have graciously accepted my design for the princess’s wedding gown. I shall also be designing gowns for the queen herself, Queen Mary, Princess Margaret Rose, and the princess’s bridesmaids.”
They applauded politely, mindful they were at work and not the music hall, and then Miss Duley, standing next to Mr. Hartnell on the landing, cleared her throat.
“The formal announcement will be made later today, and I shall speak with all of you in due course. As Mr. Hartnell has said, we will have a hand in the gowns for the entire wedding party. I promise that no one will be left out. In the meantime, however, we have a great deal of work to complete. Back to your places, please, and save your chatter for break.”
Ann returned to the frame she’d been sharing with Miriam since the previous week. They’d been working on the bodice of the wedding gown for some society bride, a familiar mix of Alençon lace, dozens of sequins to catch the light, and just enough crystal beads and seed pearls to provide some texture. It did rather feel like something the bride’s grandmother might have worn at the turn of the century, but it wasn’t Ann’s place to question or critique. When finished, the gown would be very beautiful, the bride’s father would be poorer by several hundred guineas, and everyone who attended the wedding would agree that Mr. Hartnell had triumphed again.
Ann had only just shuffled her chair into the perfect spot when a shadow fell over her. She looked up to discover Mr. Hartnell and Miss Duley standing mere inches away.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, and stood again. Miriam had been fetching some thread, but returned to wait at Ann’s elbow.
“You remember Miss Hughes and Miss Dassin,” Miss Duley said.
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Hartnell answered. “Good morning to you both.”
“Good morning, sir,” Ann said. “Congratulations. It really is splendid news.”
“It is, isn’t it? I’ve come to tell you that Miss Duley has recommended you both for the samples we’ll be sending to Her Majesty and the princess. What say you to that?”
She did her very best to look surprised. “Thank you ever so much. I’m honored, sir. Truly honored.” She looked to Miriam, who seemed more taken aback than anything else, and tilted her head fractionally. Say something, she implored silently.
“Yes, of course. Thank you. I am very grateful to be chosen,” Miriam added promptly.
“Her Majesty has specifically requested duchesse satin from Winterthur in Dunfermline for the gown, as well as a heavier satin for the appliqués from Lullingstone Castle. It will be several weeks before the fabrics are ready, I’m afraid.”
“And the pearls are still in America,” Miss Duley added.
Mr. Hartnell sighed mournfully at this reminder. “Those wretched pearls. I swear they’ll be the death of me.”
“I’ve suggested to Mr. Hartnell that we proceed with materials we have on hand. We’ll do up half a dozen samples in total. Here are his designs for the motifs. Let’s look at them in the light.”
They followed Miss Duley to the windows, where she set out eight sketches on the wide sill, then stood aside so Mr. Hartnell might show them the particulars of his design.
“This is the gown itself, and here is the train. This is a rather impressionistic view, I’m afraid, but I will draw up a full-size pattern of where the various motifs ought to go. I need to see the entire thing in front of me.”
“We can clear the floor in here tonight, sir, and put down some paper,” Miss Duley suggested.
“Excellent suggestion—let’s do just that. In any event,” he went on, turning again to Ann, “this is generally what I have in mind for the train, which will attach to the princess’s shoulders rather than her waist. Her Majesty is agreeable to a length of fifteen feet for the train.”
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.
She came hurrying toward them now, a neat and efficient figure in her white coat and ruthlessly pinned-back hair.
“Good morning, Miss Duley,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Wonderful news, isn’t it?”
“Simply wonderful,” Miss Duley agreed. “Mr. Hartnell came by just now to tell the girls in my workroom, and to ask us to get started on some samples for HM and HRH. Of course I’m certain he showed you the designs before anyone else. What do you think?”
“Perfect. Quite, quite perfect. And it will suit the princess to a T.”
“Indeed it will. He’s asked us to do up half a dozen samples of the most important motifs, but I gather the Lullingstone satin isn’t yet ready. Is there any chance we might prevail upon you? But only if you aren’t busy with anything else. I know you’re run off your feet most days.”
“Don’t I know it! But you’ve come at the perfect time. I do have some lovely duchesse satin, heavy but not too unwieldy. I’d say it’s a fair match for the stuff you’ll end up using. What did he say as regards color? Bright white? Or something softer?”
“Softer, I should think, so there’s some contrast with the backing fabric. For that, I was thinking a really fine silk tulle. I thought we’d do up the samples as if they were for the train. It will give a better effect, don’t you agree?”
“I do, indeed I do. How much will you need?”
“Say a yard and a half of the tulle? And a yard of the satin? If that’s not too much to ask.”
“Not at all. Let me just fetch them now.”
When Miss Louie returned with the bolts of fabric, not more than a minute or two later, she first came to the counter so Miss Duley might look them over.
“What do you think? Will these do?” she asked, unrolling the satin and tulle with brisk efficiency.
“They’re exactly what I had in mind. What would we do without you, Miss Louie?”
“I expect you’d all muddle along, but it’s kind of you to say so.”
Back at the table, Miss Louie lined up the satin with the edge of the table, whisked out a pair of gleaming shears from the depths of her coat pocket, and cut the satin, then the tulle, with the precision of a surgeon. After folding the fabric in neat squares, she returned to the counter and handed the bundle to Ann.
After a final round of thanks and well-wishes, Ann and Miss Duley returned to the workroom. Ethel and Ruthie had taken charge of the society bride’s bodice, while Miriam, never one to be idle, had gathered fresh needles, spools of cotton and silk thread, and the stretcher bars and pegged side laths of an empty frame.
“Very good, Miriam,” Miss Duley said approvingly. “If you could stretch the tulle for us—this piece is fifty-four inches wide, so you’ll have room for three samples across, with plenty of room to finish the edges. Then thirty-six inches as far as depth, I think. Ann, if you could start by cutting out the appliqué pieces? Once you’ve arranged them on the backing, let me have a look.”
Ann fetched half a dozen sheets of onionskin from a box on the side table, then went to a window at the far end of the room. Taking up Mr. Hartnell’s sketch of the largest of the York roses, she held it against the window, overlaid it with the onionskin, and carefully traced over the petals.
She repeated the exercise for all the motifs, save the jasmine and ears of wheat, which would be created through beadwork alone. One by one, she cut out the shapes from the onionskin and set the pattern pieces on the sketch. Fearful that a whiff of air might throw them into disarray, she weighted down the wisps of paper with a handful of buttons from the odds-and-sods jar.
Moving to one of the side tables, she dusted it thoroughly and then, when she was certain it was spotless, spread out the satin. Had it been a less delicate or light-colored fabric, she’d have marked the perimeter of the pattern pieces with a prick-and-pounce method: first perforating the pattern’s edges with a needle, then rubbing through a scant amount of powdered charcoal. The satin was so tightly woven, though, that the needle marks alone would be enough to guide her.
Ann set the first pattern piece on the satin, picked up the needle, its blunt end set in a cork to make it easier to hold, and began to mark the edge of the petal shape. She cut out the petal with her very best scissors, just the one piece to begin, and decided to experiment a little before she went any further.
Like most satin, it was the very devil to work with, for it managed to be slippery and quite stiff at the same time. It didn’t take well to finger-pressing, but there was no way to baste under the edges without leaving marks. She would just have to turn under the edges as she went and hope they didn’t fray too badly.
With that settled, she returned to the satin and cut out petals large and small, star flowers and heart-shaped smilax leaves, and as she finished each one she set it on its matching sketch. There were more than two dozen pieces when she’d finished, all needing to be appliquéd with invisible stitches onto the stretched tulle. Only then could the embroidery proper begin.
She looked at the clock; it was almost half twelve. She must have worked through morning break.
Miss Duley, noticing that Ann had paused in her work, came over to the table. “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t notice you and Miriam hadn’t gone down with the others until they were on their way back. You may have an extra quarter hour now to make up for it.”
“That’s all right. If I’d been desperate for a cuppa I’m sure I’d have noticed.” Ann gestured to the array of satin shapes. “What do you think? I took account of the grain as I was cutting them out.”
“Well done. Once you’ve attached them to the backing, we’ll go over the placement of the beadwork. Miriam—I was just saying to Ann that you may make up your missed break with extra time at dinner.”
“I do not mind. I was happy at my work.”
“Then off to your dinners you go, and don’t rush back,” Miss Duley commanded smilingly.
Seated at her usual table in the canteen, with her usual fare of a cheese and salad sandwich failing to tempt her, Ann let the others talk over and around her. It was important to eat and drink and keep up her strength, but all she wanted at that moment was to return to her frame and begin to attach the appliqués.
“Ooh,” Ruthie said as they were finishing, “you never did say how it went. Yes, Ann, I’m talking to you.”
“How what went?”
“Your date with that dishy captain. Was he nice?”
“Oh, that. I didn’t go.”
A chorus of disappointed groans swept around the table.
“Why ever not?”
“And you never said a thing?”
“But you said you’d ring him up. I heard you tell him.”
She had wanted to go, very much, but when she’d rung up the number on his card a sleepy voice had answered. A woman’s voice.
“May I speak with Captain Thickett-Milne?” she’d asked once the worst of her surprise had worn off.
“Wrong number.”
“I beg your pardon,” she had said, but the woman had already hung up.
Ann had looked at the card, memorized the number, and dialed again with painstaking care.
“Hello? May I speak with—”
The same peevish voice had replied. “Oh, bugger off. I told you already—you’ve the wrong number.”
She’d been too cowed to try again.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” she now fibbed.
“Well, now that you’re feeling better you should call him back,” Ruthie advised. “Otherwise someone else will snap him right up.”
Ruthie was a sweet girl, but Ann couldn’t bear to think about it anymore. He was probably married, or involved with someone, and that was the woman who had answered the phone. It had been stupid of her even to try.
“I’m off back to work,” she told the table. “Are you ready?” she asked Miriam, and they were sitting at their frame before anyone else had returned from dinner. “So much for our extra quarter hour. But since we’re here—which one would you like to do?”
“The fleurs d’étoile? The star flowers? But only if you—”
“No, that’s fine. I think I’ll start on the larger of the roses. But first let’s move the frame into the corner. The light is much better there.”
Miriam had set basting stitches in blue to divide the backing into six equal squares, and once Ann had washed her hands at the sink in the corner, set up her little side table with her things, and adjusted her chair just so, she cast an eagle eye over the tulle. Its grain was perfectly straight, without the slightest ripple or bump, and the fabric was as tight as a new drum.
“You’ve done a beautiful job on the stretching,” she told her friend.
“Thank you. At Maison Rébé we were permitted no more than thirty minutes to set up our frames, but I allowed myself rather more time today. I did not wish the tulle to warp when I laced up the short sides of the frame.”
With Mr. Hartnell’s sketch for reference, Ann set the first of the petals on the tulle. She took a curved needle from her pincushion, the same as a surgeon might use, ran it through a scrap of chamois cloth a few times to remove any trace of tarnish, and threaded it with a double strand of silk floss so fine it was almost transparent.
Ann turned under the edge of the satin by the tiniest amount, held it in place with the index finger of her left hand, and then, bringing the needle from beneath the tulle, she caught the fabric just below the edge of the petal and pulled the thread taut.
One stitch completed.
She worked slowly, methodically, taking a half hour or more to affix each petal to the tulle. Inches away, Miriam was doing the same with the first of her star-flower shapes, and while they often liked to talk as they worked, today they were silent.
They continued on in this fashion all afternoon, and when they set down their needles at five o’clock they had attached all but a few of the appliqué pieces. Miss Duley had come by every hour or so, invariably pronouncing herself pleased with their work, and near the end of the afternoon had reminded them, more than once, to cover their work with a clean length of cambric before they left.
Supper that night had been the simplest thing Ann could devise: sardines on toast, which Miriam ate with gusto, and some tiny greengage plums that Mr. Booth had brought by. The weather was still warm and fair at eight o’clock, and the sunset promised to be a pretty one, so she and Miriam carried the kitchen chairs into the back and drank their tea and listened to the agreeable noises of children playing in the half-wild lane that ran along the end of the gardens.
“I do wonder how we’ll get it all done on time,” she said after a while. “The wedding is on November twentieth, but the fabric won’t be ready for another week at least, if not longer. That leaves only six weeks, but really it’s more like four. We can’t expect the girls in the sewing room to make up the gown overnight. And did you see how many flowers are on the gown and train? Hundreds and hundreds. It took us the entire day just to make a start on a handful of them.”
“Yes, but we are only two. There are twenty-four of us in the workroom. Also, you know, the work will go faster once we have done it a time or two. With each flower we will learn.”
“I suppose you’re right. I wanted to ask . . .”
“Yes?” Miriam asked.
“It’s just that you didn’t seem terribly excited. When Mr. Hartnell asked us to do up the samples. I’m not saying that to be critical. Only that I was a bit surprised.”
“I know. I am sorry. I was not certain how to act. In France we have no king, and I know very little of this princess and her family. Have you ever met her?”
“Me? No. I mean, I’ve seen her several times, and I’ve curtsied as she’s walked by, but I’ve never been introduced to her. Usually they—I mean the queen and princesses—don’t come to us. Mr. Hartnell goes to them when they need something, to Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle or wherever the king and queen are living.”
“What do you think of them?” Miriam asked, and Ann was a little taken aback by her expression of disdain. “These people who live in their palaces and eat off gold plates while the rest of you queue up for your rations?”
“They’re not like that. Honestly, they’re not. The king and queen have ration books like the rest of us. And they might eat off gold plates, but they have to make do with the same food as everyone else.”
Miriam frowned at this, still skeptical. “What of the rations for their clothing? If all is to be truly fair, as you say, then the princess will need coupons for her wedding gown, will she not?”
“I suppose she will,” Ann admitted. “I wonder how they’ll manage it.”
“No doubt something will be done. No one will be brave enough to say no to the king.”
“But they aren’t like that at all. The king and queen could have left England during the war, or they could have sent the princesses to Canada, but they all stayed here. And Buckingham Palace was bombed, and the king’s brother was killed. And the queen is ever so nice.
“There was one time, before the war, when she invited all the girls who’d worked on one of her gowns to come and see her in it. So we walked over to Buckingham Palace, and they let us in through a special door at the side, and we waited in this very grand hallway with paintings hung all the way to the ceiling. I remember we were so nervous we barely even breathed. And then the queen herself appeared in the gown we’d made for her, with a beautiful fur over her shoulders, and a tiara that was nothing but diamonds, hundreds of them, and besides that a necklace and bracelets and the most enormous earrings. One by one she said hello to all of us, and asked our names, and thanked us for our hard work. No one else has ever done that, in all the time I’ve been at Hartnell. Not a note, or a word of thanks, or anything. And she sends gifts, too—the white heather, just at the front of the border there, came from her. Balmoral heather, and it’s in my garden now.”
She had to stop and take a breath, and it was a bit embarrassing to realize how red-faced and strident she’d become. Miriam would think she’d lost her mind. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m that fond of the queen. Most people are. I think that’s why everyone is so excited about the wedding.”
“Then I will be fond of her, too. And you are right. It is a great honor to work on the princess’s gown.”
“It makes me nervous just to think about it. What if it shows in my work? What if my hands get shaky, or—”
“Then do not be nervous,” Miriam said.
“The whole world will be watching. How can I not?”
“The world will watch the wedding itself, yes, but not our workroom. And you must ask yourself: Is any of this beyond your capabilities? No. You are a fine embroiderer, the equal of any of my peers at Maison Rébé. You can do this. Of course you can.”
It was a rare compliment from Miriam, and all the more precious as a result. “Thank you. I’m glad we’re in this together.”
“So am I, my friend. So am I.”