Dancing the Charleston Read online

  Aunty had been talking at top speed, worried he might stop her before she was through. She now delved into the bulging carpet bag and drew out a little frock. She shook it vigorously and then held it up by the tiny shoulders.

  ‘Do you see the fine smocking? The embroidered flower on the white collar, and the two little pockets? Please examine the seams. They are strong enough to stand the most vigorous use, and yet the stitches are scarcely visible.’

  ‘Like the mouse stitches in The Tailor of Gloucester,’ I chimed in, wanting to add my two penn’orth.

  ‘That’s my little goddaughter’s favourite book,’ said Sir Woodman, nodding at me.

  ‘Then I could make her a dress with little mice on the pockets, or dancing round the hem,’ said Aunty. ‘That’s the point of my clothing. Each item can be individually designed to suit a particular child. I know many mothers sew their own children’s clothes from patterns nowadays, and make a fine job of it too – but not with my flair and skill, though I beg pardon if I sound immodest.’

  ‘What about little boys?’ asked Sir Woodman.

  ‘Oh, I have a romper suit here … somewhere.’ She rummaged further into the bag. ‘Yes, here it is – my little check number, blue and white, but with bright red trains embellishing the pockets. And here’s a shirt-and-shorts combination, also in blue, with a yellow bear on the breast pocket. Do you see, I’ve made a tiny toy bear that slips neatly into the pocket and made sure it doesn’t spoil the line of the little trousers.’

  Sir Woodman took hold of the shorts and examined the bear.

  ‘The bear’s jointed so that he can sit up and wave his arms,’ said Aunty, showing him.

  He actually chuckled. ‘You’re a lucky girl to have an aunt who can make you such fine novelty clothing,’ he told me.

  I’d always been embarrassed by Aunty’s fancy little frocks, wishing like anything I could wear plain cotton like Maggie and all the other girls in the village – but now I nodded proudly as I leaned on his desk.

  ‘Stand up properly, Mona, and take off your coat to show your frock off properly,’ Aunty commanded.

  I did as I was told, though I felt foolish. I even did a twirl to show that the daisy chain on my coral bodice went all the way round and tied itself into a mock bow in the middle of my back.

  ‘Goodness,’ said Sir Woodman. ‘My goddaughter would love a pretty party dress like that.’

  Aunty stared at him, holding her breath.

  ‘What is your name, madam?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Florence Watson, sir. And this is my niece, Mona.’

  Sir Woodman wrote our names down on a piece of paper. ‘And your address?’

  ‘We live in Gatekeeper’s Cottage, Somerset Manor, Rook Green, Hailbury,’ said Aunty. ‘I was Lady Somerset’s personal dressmaker, but she’s sadly passed away recently.’

  ‘Hence your trip to Harrods,’ said Sir Woodman. ‘I wonder if you’re aware of my motto for Harrods, Miss Watson?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘It’s Imagination, Enterprise and Courage,’ he said. He looked at me. ‘What did I just say, Miss Mona?’

  ‘Imagination, Enterprise and Courage,’ I parroted.

  ‘Well done! And these are the very qualities your aunt has shown, my dear. So I shall personally order the daisy-chain frock, and the shirt and shorts with the toy bear – four of each, in ages two, four, six and eight. You will make a display card with your details set out clearly, saying you are willing to make a bespoke outfit after a consultation with any Harrods customer,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Sir Woodman! That is too kind!’ Aunty gasped.

  ‘It’s not kindness at all, it’s shrewd business sense. We will see how it goes. If you get any orders, you will have to be available for fittings – once a week, say. Travel to London won’t be a problem, will it?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh no, sir. I pop up to London regularly,’ Aunty lied airily, as if she jumped on trains and ran up and down electric staircases all the time. She paused. ‘I will need to carry the eight outfits suitably protected. Is it possible for you to have a word with your doormen?’

  ‘You may come into the store via the staff entrance at the back,’ he said, writing swiftly on an embossed card. ‘Here, Miss Watson – simply show this and you will be ushered in without any problems.’

  He saw that Aunty was still hesitating and put his head on one side enquiringly.

  ‘When I’ve brought the outfits in, plus the card with all my details, will they actually be displayed in children’s outfitting? I’m not absolutely certain that they’re to the taste of the staff who work there,’ she said, struggling to put it tactfully.

  Sir Woodman Burbidge smiled. ‘I shall give my orders, Miss Watson. I hope I am a fair and benign employer, but I assure you that my staff do exactly as I say.’

  ‘I’m sure they do, Sir Woodman. Well, thank you so very, very much. I shall have everything ready within a fortnight,’ Aunty promised, folding all her clothes back into the carpet bag.

  ‘You will need to consult with Mr Brisby, the buyer for children’s outfitting, about pricing and payment. I am sure you will be able to come to an arrangement that is agreeable to you. We pride ourselves on our fairness at Harrods,’ said Sir Woodman.

  ‘It’s the best store in the whole world,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it is, Miss Mona,’ he said, smiling complacently.

  He shook Aunty’s hand – and then my hand too. The moment we were outside I gave a great whoop of triumph.

  ‘Ssh, Mona, he’ll hear you!’ Aunty hissed – but when we were a little distance away she gave a whoop too. Then we went through the door, back into the bright lights of the store, and walked boldly through all the departments, directly to children’s outfitting.

  ‘Where do you think they’ll display your clothes, Aunty?’ I asked.

  ‘Ideally I’d like them right beside the counter, on little girl and boy mannequins,’ said Aunty. ‘With a rack beside them showing the different sizes. But we shall see.’

  Bootface was glaring over at us.

  ‘Let’s say, Ya, boo, sucks to you,’ I suggested.

  ‘Don’t be vulgar, Mona!’ said Aunty. She smiled pleasantly in Bootface’s direction. ‘Good day,’ she called, and swept past.

  ‘We mustn’t forget to collect the suitcase, Aunty!’ I said as we went down the stairs.

  ‘Quite. But we have one little call to make first,’ she said.

  She took me to the confectionery department and bought us a small box of assorted chocolates: Raspberry Cream, Chocolate Peppermint, Hazelnut Whirl, Orange Royale, Seville Dessert and Mocha Walnut. We ate them on the train home.

  He tossed it in the air and I caught it, quick as a wink.

  9

  Aunty was incredibly busy now. Well, she’d always been busy, but in an exhausted kind of way. Now I heard her humming to herself above the whir of her machine. She sang ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do,’ while she was chain-stitching the daisy chain around each coral bodice.

  Sometimes I stood in the doorway of her workroom watching her. She was so absorbed she didn’t even know I was there. She only stopped sewing on Saturday morning, when a large shiny motorcar came through the gates.

  ‘It’s Mr Benjamin on his way to the manor! Quick, Mona, stop him! We must thank him!’ Aunty called urgently.

  But Mr Benjamin was coming to call on us anyway! His hand – in a pearly grey kid glove – was raised to knock as I opened the door.

  ‘Hello, little Mona! My, you look bonnie this morning. I thought I’d come and see how you and your aunt are getting on,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘We’re getting on simply splendidly!’ I said.

  ‘Ask him in,’ Aunty called from her workroom. I knew that she was struggling out of the old overall she wore over her dress when she was sewing.

  ‘Please come in, Mr Benjamin,’ I said. ‘We’re so pleased to see you.’ I found I was bobbing a wobbly curtsy at him again.