“I’m going to crouch down,” Ann whispered in Miss Duley’s ear. “It’s that or stand on my chair.”
The last of the choirboys passed by, and behind them another man in clerical robes carrying a golden cross, and outside the cheers were growing louder and louder. To her left, she saw, people’s heads were bobbing up and down, and it made her think of the day of the royal visit to the workroom and the way they’d never quite managed to sort out their curtsies.
A gleam of white—the princess—and when everyone else strained high to see the bride Ann bent her knees a little. She saw the flowers she had embroidered on the lustrous satin of the gown, she saw the hundreds of blossoms she had appliquéd to the train, and she was wonderstruck at the magical way its crystals and pearls glittered and gleamed in the harsh glow of the electric lights. Again came the singing bells far overhead, and meeting them a swell of joyful voices as the princess and her husband emerged from the abbey, and Ann was grateful in that moment, grateful down to her toes. She had seen the princess in her gown, the gown she had helped to make, and her heart was full with the delight of it.
“My heavens,” Miss Duley said. “Wasn’t that splendid? Of course we’ll have to wait for the newsreels to see more.”
They waited and waited, and at last the stream of departing guests began to thin. “Shall we try to make our way out?” she asked, and when Miss Duley and Miss Holliday both nodded she followed them out into the central aisle and then to the door, but first she stopped to turn for one final look. It was something to remember, she told herself. No matter what happened in the years to come, she would never let herself forget this day.
“Well,” she said to the other women. “That was something, wasn’t it? Where are you off to now?”
“I’m going home,” Miss Holliday said. “My sister’s been listening on the wireless, and she’ll be keen as mustard to hear all the details.”
“And I’m going to a party in the parish hall at my church,” Miss Duley said. “At last I can tell everyone what I’ve been up to all these months. My friends all suspected but they knew better than to ask. I’m looking forward to setting a few things straight, I must say. Working us around the clock, my eye! As if Mr. Hartnell would insist on such a thing.”
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” Ann asked. It was only Thursday, after all, and they’d a mountain of orders waiting for them.
“You will, but if you feel like having a lie-in you go right ahead. You’ve worked yourself half to death over these past weeks, and it hasn’t escaped my notice how tired you’ve been. If you want the day off I won’t say a thing, and if anyone takes any notice I’ll go straight to Mr. Hartnell.”
“I’m fine, Miss Duley. Go and enjoy your party, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Miriam
November 20, 1947
Miriam arrived at Bruton Street at precisely nine o’clock, as instructed, and went straight upstairs to Mr. Hartnell’s office. She had with her a small kit of supplies she’d assembled the day before, for there didn’t seem much point in going to the palace without any means of actually effecting repairs. Ann had lent her a lidded wicker sewing basket, a smaller version of the one that sat in the sitting room and held their mending, and it was just big enough to hold everything Miriam might need: curved and straight needles, spools of thread, examples of each kind of pearl, bead, and crystal used on the gown and train, and two pairs of scissors.
Mr. Hartnell was there already, as were Mademoiselle Davide, Miss Yvonne, the princess’s personal vendeuse, and Betty from the sewing workroom; like Miriam, she had been asked to come to the palace in case of a last-minute disaster. Before five minutes had passed they were joined by two additional fitters, and though Miriam recognized the women by sight she couldn’t recollect their names.
“Good morning, ladies. Is everyone ready? In that case we ought to be on our way.” They followed Monsieur Hartnell downstairs and out through the front entrance, where two enormous black cars were waiting. He, Mam’selle, and Miss Yvonne got into the first car, leaving the rest of them to squash into the second, and as soon as the doors were shut they were off. There was no risk of being caught up in traffic, since theirs were practically the only vehicles heading in the direction of the palace, so it took only a few minutes to skirt the edges of Green Park and come around onto Buckingham Palace Road.
Monsieur Hartnell’s car turned into a gateway, pausing as it crossed the pavement, but when the guards peered in and saw its occupants, they waved both cars through onto the raked gravel forecourt. Seconds later they drew to a halt in front of a rather grand entrance.
“This is the servants’ entrance?” Miriam marveled.
One of the fitters shook her head. “Usually we go in through the Privy Purse Door on the north side. This is the Ambassadors Entrance. I guess they thought it would be easier because of all the crowds out front. Makes me feel rather a star, though.”
A man in uniform came forward and shook Mr. Hartnell’s hand. “Good morning, Mr. Hartnell. Ladies.”
“Good morning. Shame about the gloomy weather. Shall we see ourselves in? I’m sure you’re run off your feet.”
Mr. Hartnell led them up a set of low stairs and along an unremarkable corridor to a lift, and though it was rather small they all managed to squeeze inside. It stopped after one floor, at which point the two fitters got out.
“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.
“Where is the gown, my lady?” Betty asked.
“Hmm. I’m not so sure. Perhaps you might ask the girl who brought you over? She seems to be in the know.”
“Yes, my lady,” Betty said, and hurried away.
“So you’re from Hartnell? What do you do there?”
Miriam had fully expected to stand in silence until Betty returned with Lady Mary’s gown, so it took a few moments for her to produce an answer. “I am an embroiderer.”
“You made all those gorgeous flowers and stars and so forth?”
“Some of them. I did not work on your gown, however. Only the bride’s. Although the motifs are similar.”
“They’re jolly lovely. My father has been teasing me that we’ll just hold on to this frock and use it when I get married. ‘No sense in wasting hundreds of guineas on something new if you’ve already got one that’ll do perfectly well,’ he keeps saying. Silly old dear.”
It seemed imprudent to agree, so Miriam smiled and tried to think of a safely anodyne response. Fortunately, Betty chose that moment to return, the gown draped over her outstretched arms like a bejeweled cloud.
Lady Mary shrugged off her dressing gown, beneath which she wore a strapless brassiere and floor-length petticoat, and stood, shivering, as Betty unfastened the back of the gown. Only then did Miriam remember Flora’s warning about makeup. Lady Mary had on some lipstick, and possibly some rouge as well.
“I am sorry, Lady Mary, but I am nervous of marking the gown. Perhaps if we were to place a handkerchief over your face? It will also prevent your coiffure from being disturbed.”
“That is a good idea. Do you have a clean hanky?”
Ann had tucked one into Miriam’s pocket that morning, explaining that weddings made people cry and it would be sensible to have one on hand. She had privately thought there was no chance whatsoever of her crying at the wedding of a complete stranger, but now she was glad of Ann’s sentimental gesture.
“I do, Lady Mary. I promise it is clean. Could I trouble you to hold it in place?”
It made for a rather comic moment, with poor Lady Mary standing half-naked with a handkerchief over her face, and so tall that Miriam and Betty both had to stand on tiptoe to lift the gown over her upstretched arm and head, but they managed to get it more or less where it ought to be without incident.
Miriam whisked away the handkerchief, gently brushing back a few strands of hair that had come forward to tickle at Lady Mary’s face, and then she and Betty began the painstaking work of fastening their charge into her gown. It took many long minutes to do up the endless rows of hooks and eyes, and Miriam had to pause more than once to dry her perspiring fingers.
“Et voilà,” she said when at last they were done, and then she took another minute to fan out the attached tulle stole over Lady Mary’s graceful shoulders.
The hairdresser stopped by to set a silver-colored wreath of artificial orange blossoms and ears of wheat upon Lady Mary’s head, and then they helped her into her shoes, and someone else came by with face powder and lipstick, and then yet another person handed Miriam a pair of long white kid gloves, so thin they weighed almost nothing, and it took several minutes to draw them up Lady Mary’s arms and fasten the tiny pearl buttons at her wrists.
At last they were done. Miriam stepped back, trying and failing to find any fault in the gown or any other aspect of Lady Mary’s ensemble.
“How do I look?”
“You look perfect,” Miriam said honestly. “Ravissante.”
The bouquets had arrived, lush cascades of white orchids, lilies, and other hothouse flowers that had no business being in bloom so late in the year. All about them the other bridesmaids were laughing and twirling around, and one or two were complaining about how scratchy the tulle stoles were against their skin, and Miriam wouldn’t have changed places with any of them for all the money in the world. To willingly expose oneself to the eyes of millions, with all the attendant possibilities for disaster if one were to trip or drop something or faint, and to have every aspect of one’s appearance discussed and dissected by unsympathetic critics, was something she could never imagine facing, let alone enjoying.
There was a knock on the door, and when Flora went to answer it she ushered in Monsieur Hartnell, who went from bridesmaid to bridesmaid, giving each his full attention, and he was so charming and friendly that he had them all laughing gaily by the time he’d completed his inspection.
He came to stand with Miriam and Betty, taking out a handkerchief to dab at his brow, and his smile was tight when they asked him if anything was the matter.
“Not with the gown, no,” he said, “but as the hairdresser was fitting the tiara on the princess the frame snapped in two. They’ve called for the jeweler, and the queen did remind Princess Elizabeth that they can certainly unearth a replacement, but she is set on that particular tiara. So that part of the morning has been rather exciting.”
“My goodness,” Betty said.
“And they’ve just now sent someone over to St. James’s Palace to retrieve the pearls she was planning on wearing. Apparently they’re still on display with the rest of the wedding gifts. God only knows if they’ll appear in time.”
“But the gown—”
“The gown itself is perfection, and the queen is also delighted with her ensembl
e and that of Princess Margaret. Has all gone well here? Any need for repairs?”
“No, sir,” Miriam said. “None at all.”
“Good, good. Well, I’d better go upstairs to say farewell to the princess, and see if those pearls have shown up.”
Mr. Hartnell slipped away, and then Flora was hailing the bridesmaids, for it was a quarter to eleven already. How had an entire hour gone by?
“My ladies, if everyone is ready you do need to be downstairs in the Grand Hall very shortly. Do you have your wraps? Yes? Please follow the footman who is waiting in the corridor.”
Then they were gone, a flock of glittering swans, and when Miriam turned to survey the room she was appalled to see what a shambles it had become. She bent to collect Lady Mary’s dressing gown, but stopped short at Flora’s voice.
“Don’t worry about that. Come along to see the princess before she leaves. We need to hurry, though.”
Flora led them downstairs and along yet another sumptuously gilded corridor, and then they entered the grandest space Miriam had yet seen. “The Marble Hall,” Flora explained as they hastened along. True to its name, the space was lined with shining marble columns and decorated with a museum’s worth of monumental oil paintings and classical sculptures. Servants were lined up on either side, their excited whispers sweeping back and forth, all of them waiting to see the princess in her wedding finery.
“They’ll be coming down the Grand Staircase in a minute,” Flora explained, “and once they go into the Grand Hall we’ll be able to see them through the colonnade. Oh—I think they’ve arrived.”
Miriam hadn’t expected that the princess would look so beautiful, but she did, her smile wide and engaging, her lovely eyes radiant with happiness. The king was holding her arm, and the queen had appeared, and fluttering around them were the bridesmaids, their ranks bolstered by Princess Margaret and a much younger girl who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old. Princess Alexandra, she supposed. There were two little boys in kilts and lace-trimmed shirts, both of them looking as if they were plotting some kind of mischief, and her heart nearly stopped when one of them came very close to stomping on the delicate train.
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