“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.