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Chapter 32


Up in her office, Ms Harriett was scouring the filing cabinets for facts. Facts were the key to all things, she said, and guesswork and rumour caused all manner of chaos and mistakes. She would not be at home to those whilst she could breathe and tell a supplier his own business better than he knew himself, which she often did. Mistakes she didn’t make, but she had a horrid feeling that someone had and a very bad one at that.

She wasn’t by nature a messy person, quite the contrary. But if anyone had entered her office at that moment, they would have thought she had lost a one hundred pound note, or her sanity, maybe even both! Files lay everywhere, on every piece of furniture and every available space on the floor. There were files on top of the lamp shades, the mantelpiece, sticking out a large copper tea urn. They were even in the jaws of one of a pair of large porcelain growling panthers that sat either side of the fireplace. She muttered and groaned as, bent double, she lifted an old leather briefcase from the back of a cupboard. It had belonged to Mr Ahbutt Ornott-Grey, the Personnel Manager, who had retired on the death of the Late Mr Herod.

Maybe she had been grasping at straws, but she thought not. But she knew she had seen what she sought somewhere in this room, and now there was nowhere else left to look. She undid the rather rusty clasp and sat back against the padded leather fender around the fireplace. Pulling out two dozen manila files, she spread them out in a row, like a dealer would his cards, and then scanned the labels on each. Pulling out one from the middle, she undid a pink ribbon that held it shut and started to work her way through the single page documents within. None fitted what she was looking for, and in an unusual show of disgust and despair, she cast them to one side. Then, on a whim, she grabbed the case and peered inside. Her eyes lit up like a child’s at Christmas, and dipping her hand in, to the bottom this time, she retrieved a single concertinaed sheet paper. Carefully, and with an expression akin to an explorer uncovering an ancient manuscript, she moved to the desk and sat down. Smoothing the page out, she began to read silently to herself the contents. After a few minutes, and a further reading, she leant back in her chair, a look of grave concern etched on her face, as well as a few extra creases in her brow.

Being a woman of action, she took out a pen and fresh sheet of paper and started to make calculations. Twenty minutes later and satisfied with the accuracy of the results, she picked up the empty manila folder and placed the page and her calculations within. As she left the office in search of Mr Herod, she starred momentarily at the mess she left behind. “You can’t make an omelette without cracking eggs,” she muttered to herself. “But that will be one mess that will be easy to deal with, tomorrow. For now, I just hope I’m in time.” She turned and having locked the door, marched towards the elevator.

The General and Mr Herod were busy discussing the closing speeches when Ms Harriett signalled that she needed to have a word with Mr Herod. He excused himself he went over to her, but before he could speak, she grasped him by the elbow and steered him into a small office used by the floor walkers.

“Ms Harriett, this is all a bit, irregular, I was about to give my closing speech. Could we maybe defer this until tomorrow?”

“This will not wait, Mr Herod. In fact, this needs to be sorted before your guests leave as it could impact gravely on Herod’s reputation. Not to mention destroy any chance of royal patronage and to safeguard the future of the store.”

“But….” began Mr Herod, but he was cut short by a withering look by Ms Harriett that told him to stop talking and shut up. Much akin, in fact, to that Mrs Herod used when he was about to put forward some ill-considered plan.

'There’ll be no buts, please take a seat and listen carefully what I have discovered, and then make a decision. I think you’ll agree, once I am done that we need to act now and there is only one course open to us. Though to be fair that path is only appropriate and will be profitable too."

"Well, if you think it wise, then I shall take your guidance. But please be quick, Ms Harriett, we have little enough time as it is.” He replaced the silver fob watch into his waistcoat pocket and took back out the silk handkerchief and dabbed at the beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“I do, and I shall. But it will take as long as need be to do justice to the matter I have uncovered, a travesty of poor record keeping by Mr Ahbutt Ornott-Grey.

Mr Herod merely nodded, and fell silent, looking into his lap like a schoolboy being lectured on some indiscretion. “To cut to the chase, as the Americans say, it seems like Mr Ornott-Grey hired a certain young lady some years ago to make some sample gowns for the store. If the gowns were approved, they would be sold exclusively by the store, with the designer's own label. There was to be a trial period of course, and subject to results an agreement drawn up to finalise matters such as pay, and staff. I have no doubt, given the results I see here today, that a contracted would have been awarded.

“Results, Ms Harriett? What do you mean? How do you know what the lady does now, and for that matter who is she? I don’t recall seeing a seamstress on the staff list? Mr Herod was most confused, and it looked like his blood pressure was starting to rise, as he dabbed the handkerchief repeatedly at his head and neck.

“Mr Herod, I have to look no further now than the guests outside to see her creations. Two in particular in fact, one of whom is also that very same seamstress, Miss Darcy. I thought I recognised her face, and it wasn’t until now that it came to mind. I have seen her, and her charming cat leaving here very late most nights. Though she didn’t look as she does now, and was huddled in an old coat and hat. At the time, I had checked on the staff list and confirmed who she was and her position as a temporary seamstress. But as security had not raised an issue, nor Mr Ornott-Grey as she was after all his responsibility, I thought no more of it. However, I now guess he, having set the wheels in motion, forgot and let the matter of her employment proper, slide. The death of your uncle compounded the error, and here we are now. The poor thing has been slaving away for a pittance for the last few years, without thanks, staff or proper facilities. No wonder she looked so dishevelled and upset. I bet she hasn’t eaten properly for years.

Mr Herod was about to speak but was cut off by a wave of her hand. “If you would like proof, I have the original contract here.” She thrust the crinkled paper at him, which he took with a slight hesitation, and perused. “I have also calculated that Miss Darcy is owed quite a considerable sum in pay.  As well as any compensation, she may wish to levy on us should she care to take the matter to court. After all her career has been stifled by this store, and you are now responsible for the store."

"The store," Ms Harriett continued, "has also been selling the gowns she made, ostensibly as samples, and continues to make to this day, all for a profit.” She thrust the other piece of paper at him, which he took with a worried look on his face, his eyes flitting from one to the other.

“AND, if you need any additional evidence, you only have to look at the gown the Queen is wearing today, and compare it to that on Miss Darcy. I believe, without an inch of doubt, that they are the same, and the gowns she made for your uncle and thus the store…… and you.”

“Oh, my, this is terrible, horrible in fact. What have I done? The store could be ruined. What can I do?” Mr Herod’s face had gone whiter than a lime-washed wall. As his mind grappled with the problem, his eyes and head roamed the room, looking as though the answer was to be found nailed to the wall. Oh, if only my dear wife were here, he thought, she would know what to do.

“You are not to bear the blame,” soothed Ms Harriett, seeing the confusion she had unleashed. “I let this slip by without questioning it. I am as much to blame for not doing anything to retrieve the situation as anyone, and as Ornott-Grey was for not doing it correctly in the first place. We must all do now what is right, and honourable, and something that should have been done a long time ago.” The tone in Ms Harriett’s voice mellowed slightly, and she bent down and reached over and touched Mr Herod’s arm to provide comfort to him. “If putting this right were to break the store, then at least you can hold your head up high. But this has the power to make the store great again. I think you know what is right, and that you can do it, after all, YOU are a man of your word, and as great in your own way as your Uncle, better so if I may say so.” She stood up and straightened her skirts, and then went and stood beside the door, hand outstretched on the handle.

With some colour returning to his face, Mr Herod got up and looked at the door, then Ms Harriett. She nodded, and then opened the door and let Mr Herod through to his destiny and that of the store.


To be continued............


I hope that you all enjoyed this weeks chapter. Now the truth is discovered, what will Mr Herod do?
Will he man up and put things right, or will he bury it all under the highly priced Persian rugs they sell? Join me next week for more from the floor of King Herods department store, and a royal visit that isn't going quite as planned!