The Dressmaker’s Secret

by Charlotte Betts

  I dropped my parcel on the dining-room table. ‘Why not?’ I asked, irritated.

  ‘If you ask me, the Baron runs a pretty rackety household.’

  ‘We need the work.’

  ‘I know but…’ She gnawed at her fingernails.

  ‘Ma, we can’t stay here if we don’t pay the rent next month and we certainly haven’t enough saved for another coach fare. Besides,’ I said, ‘you promised me we’d settle this time.’

  Ma sighed heavily and opened the baker’s wife’s parcel. She examined the chemises and petticoats we were to copy. ‘Go and see the Princess then!’ she said. ‘You can take her measurements and advise her on styles… but for goodness’ sake, make sure she chooses something tasteful or she’ll frighten off any other potential clients. Meanwhile, I’ll make a start on these.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I said. ‘By the way, I invited Signor Fiorelli to share our chicken later on.’

  Ma looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘I hope you aren’t growing too fond of that young man?’

  ‘I hardly know him,’ I said, turning my attention to the baker’s wife’s petticoat.

  The sun shone as I knocked on Villa Vittoria’s front door, sewing bag in my hand. I was hoping to see Signor Fiorelli again. We’d had a very pleasant dinner the previous evening and he’d even managed to make Ma smile with his light-hearted conversation. He’d told us his father was a doctor and that he had an elder sister and seven younger brothers and sisters.

  The maid showed me into the salon, where Countess Oldi sat in her usual place.

  The Princess lay on a day bed with a handkerchief clutched in her hand. She presented a sadly changed appearance from our previous meetings.

  I curtseyed and she sat up, her eyes red and her rouged cheeks smudged with tears.

  ‘My dear, I’m so pleased you’ve come,’ she said. ‘You’re just in time to divert me from sinking into another depression of the spirits.’

  ‘Your Royal Highness, I do hope you are quite well?’ I said.

  ‘We are not at court here in my little cottage in the country. You may call me Ma’am.’ She sighed. ‘My dearest child passed away a little while ago and not a day goes by without my shedding tears of sorrow.’

  I was at a loss to know what to reply to this. I hesitated. ‘Would it help to talk about her?’

  The Princess swung her legs over the side of the day bed. ‘Sit with me.’

  I perched on the seat beside her and couldn’t help noticing that her dress was stained. Ma would have been shocked.

  ‘My Charlotte was the flower and the hope of the nation,’ she said, ‘and the only good thing to come out of the union with that wretched husband of mine.’ She shuddered. ‘If you knew the slights and insults that the Prince of Wales has thrown at both my person and my position, you would never believe it.’

  ‘Although I’m English my knowledge of these matters is negligible,’ I said. ‘I’ve never visited the country.’

  ‘Then you will not have been poisoned against me by wicked lies.’

  ‘Indeed not!’

  ‘Charlotte was only twenty-one when she died.’ The Princess dabbed at her eyes. ‘I waited and waited for news of my first grandchild’s arrival but no letter came. Then a courier from England was passing through on his way to Rome to present a letter to the Pope. No one interesting travels through Pesaro without my being informed and the courier was brought to me in the hope that I might gain some information about my grandchild.’ She twisted her handkerchief in her hands, unable to go on.

  ‘If it’s too painful to speak of…’

  The Princess shook her head. ‘My angel had died in childbirth and my grandson with her. And that venomous brute, the Prince of Wales, didn’t even have the courtesy to write and tell me of our daughter’s passing.’ She bowed her head as a fresh paroxysm of sobs overwhelmed her.

  I was deeply shocked. Almost without thinking, I put my arms about her and she rested her head on my shoulder. Her shoulders shook as I patted her back. What kind of a husband was the Prince to fail in such a duty? Surely the two parties should have been united in grief at the loss of their child, whatever else had happened between them?

  ‘And now,’ sobbed the Princess, ‘not only have I lost my daughter but also any means of regaining my rightful position. Once she’d become Queen, my Charlotte would have welcomed me back to England and I would have taken my proper place at Court. If not for my dearest Baron and his family, I don’t know what I should do now.’

  A rustle of skirts came from the corner of the room. Countess Oldi was watching us intently and I became aware that it was impertinent of me to touch the Princess. Gently, I released her.

  ‘You are a kind girl,’ she said, lifting her sodden handkerchief to her eyes. ‘You must be much the same age as my own sweet child was?’

  I nodded and handed her my clean handkerchief.

  ‘She was pretty, like you, with blue eyes and fair hair. Everybody loved her.’ The Princess sighed heavily and made a visible effort to smile. ‘But you have not come here to see me weep.’

  ‘Would you prefer me to return another day?’

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘I must go on with my life and I still have much to be grateful for.’

  I took my sketchbook from my sewing bag, hoping to distract her from her unhappiness. ‘Shall we talk about your new ballgown?’ I said. ‘I’ve sketched some designs for you to look at.’

  We spent the next hour discussing styles, looking at swatches of silks and samples of trimmings. I used all my skills in diplomacy to guide her away from unsuitably low necklines, transparent fabrics and garish gold braid and fringing, finally fixing on a style in amethyst and mustard silk that was elegant, if a trifle more flamboyant than I would have advised.

  ‘We require an initial payment to cover the cost of materials,’ I said as I took her measurements. ‘Then, this afternoon, I’ll write to our stockists in Florence for the silk and the trimmings. As soon as they arrive I’ll prepare the gown for your first fitting.’

  ‘Very good,’ said the Princess. She turned to Countess Oldi. ‘Angelica dear, will you find the Baron and tell him I need funds for the new gown to give to Signorina Barton?’

  Countess Oldi nodded and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  ‘My wardrobe is in grave disorder,’ said the Princess. ‘I haven’t been in any state of mind to care. I believe I mentioned that I had to dismiss my maid, Louise Demont?’

  ‘You did, Ma’am.’

  ‘Cruelly, it happened at the same time as Charlotte was taken from me and I was brought so low. I thought Louise, so elegant and respectful, was my friend. I haven’t been able to bear the thought of taking on another maid since.’ Tears glittered in her eyes again. ‘I trusted her and she betrayed me.’

  ‘How very dreadful that must have been for you.’

  ‘One of my couriers, Giuseppe Sacchini, stole gold Napoleons from my box. I dismissed him, of course, but discovered that Louise was his lover and accomplice, so she had to go too. She retaliated by spreading untruths about me and Sacchini. I’ve never been so taken in by anybody.’ The Princess shook her head dolefully.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Louise wrote all my letters since I have such a poor hand. Now the Baron looks after my financial affairs and no one will cheat me again.’ Her face brightened. ‘He is a splendid figure of a man, isn’t he? So tall and handsome!’

  ‘Why, yes,’ I said, hardly knowing how to answer such a question. This was one part of our discussion I decided not to relay to Ma.

  High-pitched laughter came from the hall. The door was thrown back and Victorine came skipping in, her black curls flying. ‘Mamma, Mamma!’ she called. ‘Look what I have made for you!’ She climbed onto the Princess’s knee and thrust a sheet of paper at her.

  ‘Well, what a very fine dog you have drawn,’ said the Princess.

  ‘Silly Mamma! It’s a cat, can’t you see?’

>   I was studying the way the Princess’s eyes had lit up and how tenderly she kissed the little girl’s cheek so that I didn’t notice, at first, Signor Fiorelli standing in the doorway.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I hope my charge does not disturb you, Ma’am?’

  ‘How could she, the little darling?’ The Princess smothered Victorine in noisy kisses until she was helpless with giggles.

  ‘I am going to take her on her daily walk,’ said Signor Fiorelli. ‘Perhaps we may escort Signorina Barton back to the town when you have finished your consultation?’

  ‘By all means,’ said the Princess. ‘We are waiting for the Baron first. Will you see what keeps him? Victorine may remain with me.’

  Signor Fiorelli gave a small bow and returned to the hall.

  ‘Such a charming young man, don’t you think, Signorina Barton? If only I were ten years younger…’ The Princess sighed and gave me a sly glance.

  Covered in confusion, I picked up the child’s drawing from where it had fallen to the floor. ‘Does your cat have a name, Victorine?’ I asked.

  ‘Beppo,’ she said, twisting one of her curls around her finger. ‘He lives in the kitchen because Mamma doesn’t like cats.’

  We chatted about her drawing for a while and it was easy to see why the Princess loved this little girl with her sparkling eyes and happy nature.

  Signor Fiorelli returned with the Baron, who handed me a purse full of coins before I took my leave.

  I curtseyed to the Princess. ‘I’ll send a note as soon as your ballgown is ready for its first fitting,’ I promised.

  ‘Come and see me before then,’ she said. ‘We’ll take a drive into the countryside or make toast by the fire.’ She gave me a wavering smile.

  As I walked out of Villa Vittoria I reflected that the life of a princess was not always an enviable one.

  Chapter 4

  Two weeks later Ma had gone to the market and I was alone in the cottage. I sat on a rocking chair, sewing by the light of the parlour window and looking out for her while I listened to the keening cry of the seagulls.

  Since we’d finished the chemises and petticoats for the baker’s wife we’d received two more commissions. I had cut a pattern ready for the Princess’s ballgown and was in daily expectation of receiving the silk from Florence. We were earning enough money for the occasional sweet confection from the pasticceria or some sausage for our dinner. Ma seemed less anxious than usual and I was happier than I’d been for weeks.

  Signor Fiorelli regularly called on us. Frequently he brought Victorine with him and we’d walk along the beach searching for shells. I’d grown fond of the child and sometimes I let her play with Peggy. She laughed at the rag doll’s carroty plaits and chattered to her, just as I had once upon a time.

  A movement outside the window made me put down my needle. Ma was hurtling towards the cottage, her mouth ajar and gasping for air.

  I hurried to open the door for her as she scrabbled at the lock from outside.

  She stumbled into the room, banging the door shut behind her. Her basket was empty.

  ‘Whatever happened?’ I asked. ‘Were you robbed?’

  Supporting herself against the door, she looked up at me with terrified eyes. ‘He was following me!’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I felt as if a lead weight had suddenly settled on my chest. ‘If you didn’t recognise him, then it can’t have been my father.’

  She slammed the shutters over the parlour window and bolted them with trembling fingers. ‘I called in to the grocer’s shop,’ she said, still panting, ‘to see if there had been any interest in our card.’

  ‘And was there?’

  ‘The grocer said a gentleman, a foreigner, had asked about a dress for his wife. His name was John Smith and he was staying at the Albergo Duomo.’

  ‘Did you go to the hotel?’

  She nodded. ‘But there’s no John Smith staying there. And when I left the hotel there was a man watching me from the other side of the street. He was much too tall for an Italian. I set off for the market but then I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to look but there was no one there.’

  ‘I expect he’d turned up a side street.’

  She twisted her hands together. ‘I started to run and I heard him coming after me.’ Her breath caught on a sob. ‘Emilia, I was so frightened.’

  ‘Ma, you must be mistaken.’ I made an effort to curb my impatience. ‘If a man had wanted to catch you, he would have done so.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said, her mouth set in a mulish line. ‘I hid behind a market stall.’

  ‘There was no one following you when you ran down the street just now.’

  ‘I told you, I lost him in the market. But we’re wasting time.’ She ran into the dining room and wrenched open the door to the staircase. ‘We must pack immediately,’ she said.

  ‘No!’ Furious, I caught hold of her shoulders. ‘Ma, you have to stop this! You live in a perpetual state of fear. It’s ruining our lives.’

  ‘But I saw him!’

  ‘You may have seen a man and thought he was following you but it wasn’t my father. Why would anyone else have cause to follow us?’

  ‘Emilia, come upstairs and help me pack.’

  Something inside me turned to iron. ‘I will not,’ I said, my hands balled into fists.

  She looked at me uncertainly, one foot on the stairs. ‘You have to.’

  ‘I’m tired of roaming from place to place because of your strange fancies,’ I said. ‘You go if you want but I’m staying here in Pesaro.’ I watched her begin to tremble and sink down onto the stairs.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘You know I can’t speak Italian properly. I need you.’ Her chin quivered and she began to weep.

  ‘Ma,’ I said, gently this time, ‘you’re perpetually caught up in a web of fear of your own making. Please, help me to understand.’

  She sniffed, staring at her feet. The silence stretched almost to breaking point and then she lifted her tear-stained face. ‘It isn’t only your father who wants to find us.’

  I stared at her.

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘Who else does? Tell me the truth, Ma. I’m not a child any longer.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it is time. God knows, it’s a hard burden to bear on my own.’

  A frisson of excitement mixed with disquiet ran down my spine. I went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Sit down,’ I said. I poured the wine and pushed a glass towards her. ‘Drink that to steady your nerves.’

  She grasped the glass in trembling hands and drank the wine straight down.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said.

  She heaved a deep sigh. ‘You already know I was a lady’s maid to a Lady Langdon in Grosvenor Street in London. One morning her baby son was found dead in his cradle. My mistress was distraught. Sir Frederick seemed to blame his wife for their son’s death and their marriage became very troubled. Sometimes he hit her.’

  I shuddered, remembering my father’s violent nature.

  ‘One day they had a terrible quarrel and Sir Frederick locked my mistress in her bedroom for weeks.’

  ‘How dreadful!’

  Ma nodded. ‘Lady Langdon decided to run away to friends in Paris and asked me to help her escape. She promised me a year’s salary if I’d accompany her and, fool that I was, I agreed. You see, the money meant that your father and I could afford to marry at last.’

  ‘How did you help her to escape?’

  ‘I took her bedroom door key from the cupboard in the kitchen and had a copy made. Sir Frederick was at his club that night. We tip-toed downstairs with our baggage. We were in the hall when we heard Sir Frederick coming up the front steps.’

  ‘He’d returned earlier than expected?’

  Ma shivered at the memory. ‘I knew he’d turn me off without a reference. Lady Langdon told me to take her travelling bags and run out
of the kitchen door while she returned to her room, in case he looked in on her. She said not to wait in case she couldn’t leave until later but to take the coach to Dover. I was to stay at the inn there until she arrived.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘I waited five days,’ said Ma. ‘I was nearly mad with worry. I sent a note to Joe, my intended, asking him to make enquiries.’

  ‘And did he?’ I asked.

  Ma burst into tears again. ‘Sir Frederick had found his wife’s clothes on the riverbank. My mistress drowned herself.’