And with a kiss on her cheek, he left.
The queen stood in thought for a moment as she watched the spacewhere he had been, until the dresser led her into the main room for the fitting.
As Miranda headed back to the wardrobe, her mind whirred with possible newspaper stories: ‘The Queen Is a Puppet’, ‘Philip Faces a Barrage of Nos’, ‘Elizabeth’s Uncle Calls Her Shirley Temple’.
In her excitement, she turned a little too hastily, the door jerking and letting out an ominous creak.
Holding her breath, she plunged into the depths of the dresses, pushing herself amid the long, soft gowns.
‘Who’s in here?’ A sharp voice came from the door.
The tone was unmistakable: Miss Driscoll.
That was all she needed. The busybody was legendary for using misdemeanours to get ahead.
Then came the sound of garments and coat hangers being shoved aside, and Miranda felt the rustle of material around her.
It was only a matter of moments before Driscoll would find her.
What would she say?
Without the job, she’d have no articles.
And without the articles, she’d have no future career.
How could she have been so negligent? Why, oh why did she always make mistakes! O’Hara wasn’t wrong when he’d said that she was always failing to make deadlines, rubbing people the wrong way. She had to do better.
Driscoll’s hands were moving quickly down the long row of garments, the movement of gowns closer and closer.
Miranda pressed herself to the back of the wardrobe, praying against all odds.
But then Miss Driscoll seemed to stop the search.
‘What are you doing here, Miss Driscoll?’ came a familiar voice.
It was Caroline.
Miss Driscoll paused, stewing this over. ‘I thought I saw someone in here.’
But Caroline began showing her out. ‘There’s a lot of security surrounding the coronation gown, and we need to make sure we follow the rules. You don’t want anyone suspecting anything, do you?’
Evidently this was a veiled threat, as Miss Driscoll left, muttering, ‘I’ll speak to the minister about this,’ and slammed the door closed behind her.
Miranda felt herself slump in relief. ‘Thank goodness she’s gone.’ She made her way through the dresses. ‘And now I’m even more in your debt, Caroline, saving me from Miss Driscoll.’
But Caroline’s face had gone pale. ‘I shouldn’t have let you in. My heart stopped when I saw Miss Driscoll in here. I could have lost my job.’
To Miranda’s astonishment, Caroline crumpled into tears, her hands covering her eyes.
‘Surely it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? I’d be booted back to America for sure, but they wouldn’t get rid of you, too, would they?’
‘You don’t understand. Without this job, I’d have nothing.’ This brought on a new wave of tears. ‘It was such a stupid risk. You must promise not to tell a soul.’ She reached her hand out to Miranda, beseeching her.
Miranda found herself promising, watching the relief on Caroline’s face as she led her to a side door, Miranda slipping back into the corridor and hurrying through the passageways.
And it was there, in the guest room corridor, that she spotted someone else who was in a place she shouldn’t be. At one of the doorways, Lucy was leaning inside to kiss someone goodbye.
She’d heard the girl talking about a man she’d met, someone who could help get her onto the stage, but something felt off about it. Lucy seemed lonely and desperate, an easy victim. No wonder Betty was intent on keeping an eye on her.
