‘Show me what you have brought,’ Mrs Freeman said eagerly. ‘I want to be sure you can have the dress ready in time.’

May displayed her purchases and demonstrated how the ribbon could be formed into bows and attached to the skirt. Mrs Freeman clapped her hands.

‘Yes, yes! That is perfect. It will look just like the picture in the magazine. You had better get started at once.’

May hesitated. ‘It’s difficult, ma’am. I can’t take the dress down to the kitchen.’

‘Of course you can’t,’ her mistress snapped. ‘Whatever put that idea into your head? You must do it here.’

May wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. ‘The thing is, ma’am, I’ve my work to do for Mrs Wilkins and I don’t finish till late. By the time I’m done, you will be in bed so I can’t come in then.’

‘Oh, what rubbish!’ Mrs Freeman exclaimed. ‘This is more important than whatever it is you would be doing downstairs. You must tell Mrs Wilkins that I want you up here every afternoon until the dress is ready.’

May imagined the cook’s face when she heard that and felt a small shiver of triumph. She curtsied. ‘Yes, ma’am. If you say so.’

‘I do say so. And you can start now.’

‘Very good, ma’am. I’ll need to fetch my sewing needles.’

‘Yes, yes. Go along, but be quick. I want to see this started.’

Informed of her mistress’s orders, Mrs Wilkins drew a breath so deep that May thought she might explode; but in the end she just said, ‘Very well. If the missus doesn’t care if the house goes to rack and ruin, who am I to argue?’

For the next week May spent every afternoon happily stitching. It gave her pleasure just to handle the rich fabrics and it was an added delight to see her design becoming reality. When the dress was finished, she helped Mrs Freeman to try it on. She stood for some time, looking at herself in the long mirror from every angle, while a triumphant smile spread across her face.

‘It’s perfect! No one at the bazaar will be more à la mode than I shall.’ She glanced round at May. ‘That will be all, thank you. You can go back to your work now.’

May gazed at her and felt tears prick behind her eyelids. No word of praise for her efforts. No real thanks. The smile had not been for her. But then, she was only a servant; servants were not expected to have feelings.