Unwanted Home Truths

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home as her parents host their first Hunt Ball since 1914. Lady Sadie has been completely consumed over the last month by the planning and preparation of the occasion, determined that not only will it be the event of the 1922 county season, but also that it will be a successful entrée for her youngest daughter, still single at twenty-one years of age, to meet a number of eligible and marriageable men. Letters and invitations have flown from Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour* to the families of eligible bachelors, some perhaps a little too old to be considered before the war, achieving more than modest success. Whilst Lettice enjoys dancing, parties and balls, she is less enthusiastic about the idea of the ball being used as a marriage market than her parents are.

 

The fancy dress Hunt Ball has now been in full swing for several hours and after the splendid buffet in the Glynes dining room, the guests are starting to thin a little as the older generation and those staying further afield start to depart, whilst some of the younger party-goers cast their eyes about and with heads bowed conspiratorially together discuss fresher pastures to move to before the night is through. Sir John Nettleford-Hughes has departed in a rather disgruntled mood having not had the pleasure of being shown the Glynes portrait of Marie Antoinette by Lettice, leaving in the company of a rather buxom Columbine, noticeably younger than him, anxious to assuage his wounded pride. Nicholas Ayres is noticeably absent, as is Marsden the Chetwynd’s tall and handsome first footman. In spite of the dwindling number of guests, the Georgian style ballroom of Glynes with its golden yellow wallpaper and gilt Louis Quatorze furnishings is still very much alive with colour and movement as couples in slightly deshabille fancy dress dance together. The band hired by the Viscount continues to play foxtrots, and polkas, however the novelty dances of the earlier evening have been replaced with more sedate waltzes. Their sound carries over the general hubbub of voices chattering punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. Around the perimeter of the ballroom’s parquet dance floor, guests sit in chairs and sofas, massaging sore heels and toes, chatting idly over champagne, or admire and remark on the fancy dress attired couples still taking to the floor. Yet one couple who caused quite a stir in the latter part of the evening are not on the floor as Lettice and Selwyn Spencely sit in a quiet alcove of the ballroom drinking champagne, nibbling canapés and laughing over stories of when they played together as children of six, all under the watchful eyes of the great and the good of the county.

 

“Oh they do look sweet together,” Gerald’s mother, Lady Gwyneth, remarks from her seat on a gilt Louis Quatorze sofa, raising a lace handkerchief to her mouth as she lets out another of her wheezing coughs.

 

Rubbing her friend and neighbour comfortingly on the back, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, who sits beside her on the sofa, takes her eagle eyes momentarily from her daughter’s romantic progress to look with concern upon her friend. “I do wish you’d reconsidered coming tonight, my dear.”

 

“And miss this spectacle?” Lady Gwyneth replies in a raspy voice as she catches her breath. “Never!” She takes another few shallow breaths as she presses her chest inside the tightly laced bodice of her Eighteenth Century ballgown. “We haven’t had such an occasion to look forward to since 1914. I wasn’t going to miss this for the world, dear Sadie.”

 

“This cool spring evening air is not good for you, Gwen.”

 

“Oh, pooh the cool evening air!” Lady Gwyneth bats away with her fan. “It’s just the remnants of that chest cold I had in November, Sadie.”

 

“Which was still nagging on New Year’s Eve, Gwen.”

 

“Now, I won’t have you nanny me, however well meaning the thought is,” She pats Lady Sadie’s hand with her own. “Tonight, of all nights.”

 

“Yes, well,” Lady Sadie smiles pleasingly as her gaze goes back across the alcove to her daughter and Selwyn. “Sir John went off in rather a huff. However,” Sighing happily she continues. “It does seem to have worked it’s magic, which makes all the planning well worth it.”

 

“Sir John is no loss my dear,” Lady Gwyneth replies as she takes a sip of her champagne. “It has been whispered that he is known to be a bit of a lecher.”

 

“If the stories about him are true.”

 

“Well I’d say they must be. Did you see that girl he left with this evening?”

 

“No.”

 

“She was young enough to be his daughter, and she flaunted herself shamelessly before him! No, if Lettice was going to be paired with anyone this evening, you’d be hard pressed to make a better match than Selwyn Spencely.” Lady Gwyneth smiles munificently at the pair. “He’s handsome and charming.”

 

“Not to mention rather well off, and heir to a duchy.” Lady Sadie breathes, raising her own glass of champagne to her lips.

 

“All you need is one direct hit,” Lady Gwyneth begins when they are suddenly interrupted by Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler.

 

“Er, excuse me My Lady,” he begins.

 

“Yes Bramley?” Lady Sadie glances up at her faithful retainer with inquisitive eyes. “What is it?”

 

“Beg pardon the intrusion, My Lady, but Mr. Spencely is asking for another bottle of champagne for he and Miss Lettice to share.”

 

“Give Mr. Spencely anything he desires, Bramley.” Lady Sadie replies. “Fetch out a decent bottle from the cellars.” Glancing at her friend she quickly adds, “Not that this is poor quality,” She taps her half empty glass with her glove clan finger. “But we don’t want anything to take us off the bullseye. Do we Gwen?” She chuckles as Bramley quietly withdraws.

 

“Indeed not, Sadie.” Lady Gwyneth agrees, a twittering, girlish laugh escaping her own lips as she speaks. “Spoken like a true cupid!”

 

“And what are my two favourite ladies plotting?” a male voice with its round tones slightly slurred by champagne pipes up.

 

“Oh Gerald!” gasps his mother, clasping her chest and wheezing again. “You scared me.”

 

“Sorry Mummy.”

 

“Gerald,” Lady Sadie greets him with a stiff and curt nod.

 

“We were just talking about dear Lettice and that nice gentleman, Selwyn Spencely.” Lady Gwyneth gushes quietly. “They do seem to have,” She pauses as she thinks for the right words. “Hit it off. That is what you Bright Young Things say, isn’t it? To hit it off?”

 

“I think it was used long before we started using it, Mummy.” Gerald replies, smiling at his mother. He turns and gives Lady Sadie a decidedly colder and calculating look, swaying on the spot slightly as he clutches his half empty champagne flute. “Plotting the wedding, are we Lady Sadie?”

 

“Oh Gerald,” his mother scoffs kindly. “We were just saying what a sweet couple they make. Don’t you think so too?”

 

Just at that moment, the two Miss Evanses, the spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village, walk over to say their goodbyes to Lady Sadie, but not before engaging Lady Gwyneth in animated conversation, their twittering voices sounding like the crack of dried autumn leaves underfoot.

 

Gerald glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, one dressed as Little Bo-Peep complete with shepherdess’ crook and the other as Miss Muffet with a hand crocheted spider dangling from her wrist, both looking more like tragic pantomime dames than anything else and makes sure that his mother is fully engaged with them before commenting on Lettice and Selwyn. “Delightful,” Gerald replies to Lady Sadie in a flat voice, not even glancing over to where Lettice and Selwyn sit, instead holding Lady Sadie’s gaze in his own.

 

Not to be intimidated, the Edwardian matron looks back at him hostilely. “I didn’t take you for a bad loser, Gerald.” she says crisply.

 

“A bad loser, Lady Chetwynd?” Gerald sinks down slightly clumsily into the chair next to the sofa upon which the two ladies sit. “Me?”

 

“You, Gerald.” Lady Sadie answers in clearly enunciated syllables, her eyes narrowing and her mouth pursing bitterly as she does.

 

“What have I to be a bad loser about, Lady Chetwynd?”

 

“I should have thought that was obvious. Why, Lettice and Mr. Spencely of course. You always were on the bitter side, even as a child, if Lettice made a new friend who threatened you in her affections.”

 

“Lettice and Selwyn?” he snorts derisively. “I think not.”

 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Gerald. You’ve been vying for my daughter’s attentions for years: monopolising her at functions and spending more time in her flat than your own from what I can gather.”

 

“My, Lady Chetwynd,” Gerald sighs. “What clever little spies have you found to infiltrate our lives in London? You really are barking up the wrong proverbial tree with your ideas about Lettice and I. We are friends only, close friends – best friends perhaps – but friends only.”

 

“You’ve been a bad influence on her,” Lady Sadie continues, lowering her voice so that her friend beside her won’t accidentally hear her insulting words directed towards her son whilst she chats with the Miss Evanses. “I even had to warn her away from you for this evening, so that more eligible young men might stand a better chance of turning her head with you out of the way.”

 

“Ahh, but I did take her away from Howl… err… Jonty Hastings. I had to save her from his unwanted attentions.”

 

“Well, be that as it may, Jonty Hastings is no loss. His expectations are nothing in comparison to Mr. Spencely’s.” She waves her glove clad hand in the pair’s general direction. “My daughter could be a future duchess with all going well.”

 

Gerald leans against the armrest of his chair and starts sniggering as he continues to look incredulously at Lady Sadie.

 

“What are you laughing at, Gerald?” Lady Sadie snaps.

 

“You, Lady Chetwynd,” Gerald smiles, snorting as he smothers his chortling less than successfully. “You and your ridiculous schemes.”

 

“Me… my…” Lady Sadie splutters.

 

“Oh it’s not that I don’t think that Selwyn and Lettice don’t make a nice couple. They do. But I’d advise you not to matchmake them.” He wags his finger admonishingly at Lady Sadie before continuing rather mysteriously “Don’t forget, I know Selwyn and his family far better than you do, Lady Chetwynd.”

 

“How dare you!” the old matron hisses, her face draining of colour so that her pallor is as white as her costume. “The impudence!”

 

“Sorry Lady Chetwynd, but it’s true. The duchess has plans that don’t include Lettice.”

 

“The duchess?”

 

“Lady Zinnia: Selwyn’s mother.”

 

“Lady Zinnia?”

 

“Yes, I should have thought her distain of you was evident from her obvious snub of you.”

 

“Gerald, how much of my husband’s champagne have you drunk?” She scowls at him.

 

“Not enough yet, and certainly not enough to fail noticing Lady Zinnia’s absence from your ball.”

 

“She’s unwell. A chest cold.” Lady Sadie defends. When Gerald simply nods, cocking a knowing eyebrow as he does, she continues. “Mr. Spencely told me himself. He’s come from her bedside.”

 

“That must have been a very quick onset of her chest cold, since she was at the theatre with Selwyn on Thursday night.”

 

“One has heard of such occurrences, Gerald.”

 

“She must be losing her touch if she couldn’t keep him at home this evening.” When Gerald sees the lack of understanding in Lady Sadie’s flint hard eyes as they bore into him with undisguised hostility, he adds. “You see, when she accepts invitations out of politeness, Lady Zinnia always makes her excuses.” He smiles in a slightly lopsided way. “And when it is an invitation extended to her son for a potentially undesirous match between him and a less than suitable girl, she usually manages to distract him with a made up malady to keep him at home.”

 

“Gerald, how dare you say such things!” Lady Sadie’s face goes from porcelain white to flushed red as rage surges within her. “You claim you are Lettice’s friend, yet this is how you speak of her? I pity her if you are any gauge of her friends.”

 

“On the contrary, I’m paying Lettice a compliment, for if Selwyn managed to get here in spite of his mother’s protestations, he must really have wanted to meet her again after all these years.”

 

“Do you know what I think, Gerald?” Lady Sadie places her glass on the table before her.

 

“I suspect that you are going to share your insights with me, even if I don’t wish to hear them, Lady Chetwynd.”

 

She turns fully towards him, leaning heavily upon her own arm rest as she squares her shoulders. “I think you are just a nasty, bitter man, Gerald Bruton. You are angry with the world because of the cards you have been dealt in life. You’re the second son of a family in dire financial circumstances, so your chances of making an advantageous match are nigh on impossible.”

 

“You may be right, Lady Chetwynd, which is why I enjoy the largess of others so much,” He holds up his nearly empty champagne flute. “You and your daughter included, thank you. And you may also be right that I am bitter about how my life has turned out thus far. I probably shouldn’t have said to you the things I have, and in hindsight I shall doubtless regret it. However, I’m not saying these things to hurt you Lady Chetwynd. Truly I’m not.” He looks at her as intently as he can manage. “I am saying them as a warning to you, so you can stop this ridiculous match before poor Lettice gets hurt. Selwyn is lovely, and he may fall in love with Lettice and she him, but I hope not, for it is Lady Zinnia who will have the final say as to who Selwyn marries. And Lettice is not in the running, Lady Sadie.” He drains the remnants of his champagne from his glass. “And now, if you will excuse me, gracious hostess, I am going to press upon your generosity yet again and fill my glass with your good champagne.” He tries to stand, but makes a false start, slumping back into his seat.

 

Lady Sadie seizes her chance and turns back to Lady Gwyneth, who is still being held in the court of the Miss Evanses. “Oh Miss Evans, Miss Evans, are you going?” She looks up with an expectant look into their faces. Then, without waiting for a reply, she excuses herself and turns to Lady Gwyneth. “Excuse me my dear,” she hisses quietly. “But I think Gerald has imbibed just a little bit much this evening. I think you and Edmund might take him home.”

 

“Oh no.” Lady Gwyneth looks beyond her friend’s shoulder and sees Gerald stand up and wobble slightly. “Oh, you’re right.” She pats Lady Sadie’s hands. “Thank you my dear for keeping an eye on him, and thank you so much for such a lovely evening.” She elicits another wheezing cough from deep within her rasping chest as she rises to her feet. “I say again, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

 

As Lady Sadie turns her attentions to the Miss Evanses, Lady Gwyneth moves over and carefully wraps her arm through her youngest son’s, securing him firmly in spite of her own fragility. “Come Gerald. I think you’ve had enough. Don’t you agree?” she asks kindly as she looks up to his rather sad face with brilliant eyes made even more brilliant by unshed tears flooding them. “We really should be going. What with your father and your brother making nuisances of themselves around the neighbourhood, the last thing our family name can afford is you making a scene at the event of the county’s social season. Now come along.”

 

“Oh I wasn’t making a scene,” Gerald defends himself, his slurring words giving away his level of inebriation. “I was just telling old Lady Sadie over there some home truths.”

 

“Yes, well,” Lady Gwyneth remarks, patting his hand comfortingly whilst steering her impressionable son away from their hostess and the romantic looking Lettice and Selwyn. “That’s not a good thing either. You know Sadie doesn’t like being told anything she doesn’t want to hear. Now let’s go home, assuming the old pile hasn’t fallen in on itself out of sheer exhaustion in our absence.”

 

The pair slowly walk away, taking deliberate steps around the perimeter of the slowly emptying dance floor, nodding goodnight to acquaintances and friends.

 

*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Louis Quatorze chair and sofa, and the gilt swan pedestals and round table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The savoury petite fours on the gilt white porcelain plate have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, Beluga caviar and salmon and cucumber. The two glasses of sparkling champagne are made of real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The silver champagne bucket is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The floral arrangements in urns on top of the pedestals consist of pink roses, white asters and white Queen Anne’s Lace. Both are unmarked, but were made by an American miniature artisan and their pieces have incredible attention to detail.

 

The Palladian console table (one of a pair) to the right of the photo, with its golden caryatids and marble was commissioned by me from American miniature artisan Peter Cluff. Peter specialises in making authentic and very realistic high quality 1:12 miniatures that reflect his interest in Georgian interior design. His work is highly sought after by miniature collectors worldwide. This pair of tables are one-of-a-kind and very special to me.

 

The gilt blue and white vase on the console table comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. It is filled with a mixture of roses made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. A second vase of roses to match is in the immediate foreground to the left of the photo. The candelabras hanging on the wall also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House.

 

All the paintings around the Glynes ballroom in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and the wallpaper of the ballroom antechamber is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.

 

The marquetry floor of the room is in fact a wooden chessboard. The chessboard was made by my Grandfather, a skilful and creative man in 1952. Two chess sets, a draughts set and three chess boards made by my Grandfather were bequeathed to me as part of his estate when he died a few years ago.

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