The man remained calm. “You Americans are all the same. You come here and think you deserve the world because you have money. But we Britons have something better than money. We have tradition.”
“You’re a damn fool.”
Bess stepped in front of Harry. “Excuse me,” she said, assuming as gentle and feminine an air as she could muster, “but I have a proposal for you. What if we promise that this dress will never be worn in Great Britain? We’re only passing through. And this would mean the world to my mother-in-law. This way you can earn money on this dress, and you don’t have to feel you are betraying your queen.”
The shopkeeper’s face softened. “It’s a matter of respect, you see,” he grumbled.
“Of course it is,” Bess said. “I would do the same in your shoes.”
He considered it. “All right,” he agreed. “Provided the dress is never worn here.”
They left the store with the dress packaged in pink tissue and tied inside an enormous white box. Harry was pleased but still fuming.
“You’ll catch more flies with honey,” Bess told him. “You need to work on your temper. You’re going to be a public figure.”
This brightened his mood. “I am, aren’t I?” He smiled. “But that’s what I have you for. To be nice for me.”
When they got back to the boardinghouse she closed her eyes on the bed to rest and, when she woke, realized it was already the middle of the night. Harry was asleep beside her. He looked so vulnerable in his sleep. She got out of bed for a drink of water, and on the table next to the bed she noticed a box sticking out from underneath the clothes Harry had piled on the surface. Inside was a tiny gold ladybug charm, nestled in velvet.
“Harry.” She nudged him awake. “Where did you get this?”
Harry smiled sleepily. “It’s for you,” he said and closed his eyes again. “He said it’s a symbol of love.”
“Who said?”
“The jeweler.”
She examined the charm. It was intricately made. “When did you do this? I’ve been with you all day!”
“After my first performance,” he murmured. “I wanted the first paycheck to go to you.”
Harry wrote to Mrs. Weiss immediately, urging her to meet them in Budapest, where her old home was, and where many of her family members still lived. He had a surprise, he told her, although he would not tell her anything more than that.
Arriving in Budapest was not without its difficulties. As had happened passing through Germany, the police trailed Bess and Harry at all hours of the day and night; they had heard about his feats in Scotland Yard and were convinced he was some kind of undercover agent, spying for Britain. He spent much of the day walking about the cities, thinking about his magic, leaving her to do her stitching, or sketching, or small errands. She knew his work thrived on loneliness. But when he was required to attend any kind of dinner or formal function, he clung to Bess. She pinned up her hair and sat by his side the entire evening, prodding him to speak when she thought he might need to impress someone.
His performance in Hamburg had been a smashing hit, and thirty marks had been charged for admission. This was more than Harry had ever commanded for his act. In America only the poor and the middle class had come to see him perform, but in Hamburg, for the first time, wealthy patrons filled the seats. Men and women wearing furs and polished shoes and carrying crystal spectacles filed into the theater, the room buzzing with anticipation. Martin Beck had been right—the doors were opening for him after all. Bess, concerned that her stage attire was too tawdry for their new audiences, purchased a long dress made of purple taffeta, as they had ceased doing many of the tricks that involved her being bent and locked away, and Harry had taken on the active physical work instead. Her position now was mainly to add an air of femininity to the stage. Harry explained to her that Europeans were much less accepting of women onstage, but Bess understood he was being kind. The audiences responded to him, not to her, and both of them knew it.