Flora and Fauna

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.

 

Lettice is far from Cavendish Mews, back in Wiltshire where she is staying at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife. Today, we join Lettice and her sister-in-law, Arabella, as they visit the neighbouring property adjoining the Glynes estate to the south - Garstanton Park, the grand Gothic Victorian home of the Tyrwhitts, and Arabella’s childhood home. Whilst not as old, or as noble a family as the Chetwynds, the Tyrwhitts have been part of the Wiltshire landed gentry for several generations and Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt have been as much a part of county society as the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham. The current generation of the two families have grown up as friends with the Viscount and Countess of Wrexham often visiting Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt and conversely. In fact, the families have become so close that Leslie, the heir to the Wrexham title married Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt’s only daughter, thus guaranteeing a joining of the two great county families. Last year Lord Sherbourne Tyrwhitt died suddenly, thrusting his wife, Lady Isobel into the role of widowed dowager and catapulting his unprepared eldest son, Nigel, into the title of Lord Tyrwhitt, and the position as a lord of the manor, one that Nigel felt quite ready for.

 

After collecting her sister-in-law from the Glynes Dower House, where Arabella and Leslie live since marrying, Lettice and Arabella set off on foot for the Tyrwhitt estate. As they walk up the long, zigzagging driveway of Garstanton Park, Lettice and Arabella gossip about local village and wider county happenings or pass observations on what they see.

 

“Pardon me for saying this, Bella,” Lettice remarks as they walk. “But it seems to me that the hedges are looking a bit overgrown.” She reaches out a hand leisurely and runs them over the sun kissed leaves, enjoying the mild spring day.

 

“Oh you’re quite right in your observations, Tice.” Arabella agrees irritably. “It’s Nigel’s new economies in the household that are to blame.”

 

“Economies?” Lettice queries.

 

As she does, Lettice is thrust back to the day of her honorary uncle’s funeral, when she sat with Nigel, the new Lord Tyrwhitt, and heard his tale of woe. Nigel confided in her that the Garstanton Park estate was haemorrhaging money as his father poured money into the radiology treatment* for Lady Isobel’s cancer, letting the estate business slip through his fingers whilst he was distracted by her health. Upon his father’s death, Nigel made the unpleasant discovery that Mr. Langley, the former Estate Manager was embezzling money from the Garstanton Park estate, charging the estate for fictional works at highly inflated prices, and had failed to collect rents from the tenant farmers he favoured, who often let their farms fall into ruin, whilst he increased the rents on the others to cover the costs, but didn’t tell Nigel’s father. Although Mr. Langley’s misdeeds were discovered, it was too late, for they were only discovered after he fled with the cashbox before the old Lord Tyrwhitt’s death. The new Estate Manager, Mr. Briers, although a competent man, was unable to be the miracle worker old Lord Tyrwhitt hoped him to be. Mr. Briers revealed to Nigel how several years of mismanagement under Mr. Langley had changed the fortunes of the Garstanton Park estate for worse. In addition, Nigel discovered that prior to his death, his father had been selling off some of the more valuable paintings and antiques around the house to plug the financial gaps in his sinking ship. Lettice remembers Nigel remarking on how inciteful his sister is, and how it wouldn’t be long before she picked up that something was wrong, but as she walks alongside Arabella, she wonders how much she knows. Arabella doesn’t seem overly concerned as she walks, more irritated with Nigel’s decisions, strands of her dark hair coming loose from her chignon dancing around her face as she moves forward with a carefree smile on her face.

 

“Yes, Nigel felt that with all the duties he had to pay the government upon Father’s death**, he had to make certain economies.” Arabella replies.

 

“Well,” Lettice says seriously as she ruminates. “He’s probably right. I have heard whispered stories from friends in London about heirs preferring to let country houses fall into ruin and then sell the building materials off for scrap rather than try and find the money to keep them going.”

 

“Oh I don’t think things are that dire, Tice!” Arabella gasps with incredulity before chuckling light heartedly. “Father was a very competent lord of the manor. I’m sure aside from a few little inconveniences, he left everything in very good order for Nigel before he died. Nigel tells me that Mr. Briers, the new Estate Manager is a very good and capable man: far better than that awful Mr. Langley.” She shudders.

 

“Why the awful, Mr. Langley?” Lettice skilfully fishes to try and ascertain what her sister-in-law knows of the estate troubles.

 

“Surely you felt him undress you with his eyes when we were in his presence, Tice?” Arabella replies. “He had such a horrible leer.” Arabella shudders again. “And then he just up and left in the middle of the night one night, without so much as a by-your-leave! I still don’t know why he did that after so many years of loyal service. It’s not as if Father was a bad employer.”

 

That last statement answered Lettice’s silent question. Arabella knew very little to nothing about the estate’s current dire circumstances.

 

“Anyway, Nigel decided to do away with some of the grounds staff. All the undergardeners are gone now, save for Joe Billings. He and Mr. Rutter do the best they can, but maintenance of these outer parts of the estate come at the cost of keeping Mother’s parterre well planted and free of weeds. Oh, and don’t look too closely at the surfaces around the house when we get there.” Arabella goes on warningly to Lettice as they walk. “Nigel’s economies didn’t stop at the outdoor staff. He kept on cook and Mr. Greaves of course, but he and Mother only have one footman now, and only three housemaids.” Arabella sighs. “He promises to put staff back on once the death duties are paid, but something tells me that he may not re-instate them all. He forgets that as a big house, he is a major employer in the district.”

 

As the grand and expansive ornate Victorian Gothic façade of Garstanton Park comes into view over the top of the rise, Lettice remarks, “That statement about only having three housemaids almost renders me speechless, Bella. How can they manage this,” She waves her hand in the general direction of the house. “With only a cook, butler, footman and three housemaids?”

 

“Well, to try and economise, Nigel has also shut off some of the less used parts of the house, so it’s a bit easier to manage, I suppose. They live in rooms that probably equate roughly in size to only a bit bigger than the Glynes Dower House, and Leslie and I manage quite well with only cook, two maids and Becky the tweeny***.”

 

“Good morning Miss Bella, err, I mean Mrs. Chetwynd.” Mr. Greaves the Tyrwhitt’s butler says with deference and a smile as he answers the front door to Garstanton Park. “And Miss Chetwynd too. How do you do.”

 

“Oh it’s quite alright, Greaves,” Arabella says breezily as she walks past the butler in his starched morning suit. “You don’t have to call me Mrs. Chetwynd when it’s an informal visit like this, without my husband. You don’t mind, do you Tice?” When Lettice shakes her head in agreement, Arabella goes on. “You’ve called me Miss Bella for so long, I can hardly expect you to change all that now. You’ve gone through enough upheaval these past few months.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Miss Bella.” the old butler replies, closing the door behind Lettice as she follows Arabella into the entrance hall which smells comfortingly of a mixture of perfumes from the large arrangement of late spring blooms from the garden in blue and white bulbous vase on the round entranceway table, with a whiff of dust and must from the old tapestries than hang from the panelled walls around them. He takes both ladies’ light spring coats and hats from them.

 

“Are Mummy and my brother here?” Arabella asks as she walks over to the central hall table and picks up a copy of Horse and Hound**** from the table underneath the floral arrangement of pastel blooms.

 

“His Lordship and the Dowager are taking tea in the breakfast room, I believe, Miss Bella.” Greaves replies as he hangs their coats and hats up in a discreetly hidden narrow hall cupboard in the panelling just near the front door.

 

“Excellent. I’ll take this with me for Mummy.” Arabella holds up the periodical. “It will save you the trip, Mr. Greaves.”

 

“I’m much obliged, Miss Bella.” the older man replies. “Although I don’t think Her Ladyship is in the mood for reading Horse and Hound this morning, Miss Bella. You’ll find the breakfast room somewhat at sixes and sevens, I’m afraid.”

 

“Now that does sound intriguing, doesn’t it, Tice?”

 

“Indeed it does, Bella.” Lettice agrees.

 

“Mummy never fails to be in the mood to read Horse and Hound.” Arabella giggles conspiratorially with Lettice. “Come on!”

 

The old butler watches with a crumpled look of concern on his wrinkled face as the two giggling young ladies walk cheerfully down the corridor hand-in-hand towards the breakfast room.

 

“Well, I never much cared for this casket myself,” Lady Isobel remarks to her son as he places a round gilt box with a domed enamelled lid featuring flowers in front of her as she sits at the round breakfast table. “It was your great grandfather’s on your father’s side. I believe it was one of the trinkets he brought back from Italy after his Grand Tour*****.”

 

“Yes, but is it worth anything, Mummy?” Nigel asks in exasperation. “That’s what I need to know.”

 

“Well… I…” Lady Isobel whitters, puffing out her cheeks as she turns the box over in her jewelled hands, a concerned look crumpling her thin features. “I mean, it’s Eighteenth Century, and Venetian. I’m sure it’s worth something, Nigel dear.” She returns it to the surface of the table with an air of distaste and pushes it across to her son, as though the conversation over its value has tainted it somehow, tarnishing its beauty and elegance.

 

Nigel clasps it in both hands and pulls it towards him. He huffs as he looks at the dainty pink and blue flowers on the domed lid of the casket. “Which is worth more do you think, Mummy: this casket or the cameos?”

 

“Nigel dear, I really can’t say that I know.” Lady Isobel replies sulkily. “And I have to say that I don’t appreciate your line of questioning about this object’s value, or that. It’s a most distasteful and disagreeable conversation to be having. Really it is!” she huffs. “It wasn’t as if I went through every cupboard of Garstanton Park, querying the value of their contents, before I married your father.” She gingerly picks up her dainty gilt and white china teacup featuring an Art Nouveau pattern of leaves on it and puts it to her lips, sipping the tea, allowing the comfort of its familiar taste and warmth to sweep momentarily over her as she closes her eyes.

 

“Yes, I know that, Mummy,” Nigel goes on with a sigh, shoving the casket aside a little roughly before sinking deflatedly against the carved back of the Chippendale style chair he is seated on. He picks up his own teacup.

 

“I can’t say I’m altogether enjoying this experience, Nigel dear.” Lady Isobel goes on, giving her son a wounded look across the tabletop littered with tea making paraphernalia and a selection of items taken out of the corner cabinet of the breakfast room behind her. “It rather feels like going through your father’s drawers without his permission.” she adds, disconcertion curdling in her voice.

 

“It isn’t about enjoyment, Mummy.” Nigel says, replacing his teacup into his saucer. “It’s about necessity. And father isn’t here to ask permission of any more.”

 

“You might be a bit kinder, Nigel: you don’t have to remind me.” Lady Isobel spits indignantly before biting the inside of her lower lip. “I do still have some of my faculties left.”

 

Nigel sighs heavily again. He looks at the wooden crate before his mother containing a gilded Italian vase featuring a pastoral scene and several Limoges floral porcelain teacups before gazing up into Lady Isobel’s pale and wan face. “I don’t mean to be short tempered.” He reaches out his left hand and places it over her right one as it lays limply on the surface of the table by the side of her saucer. “Or harsh. I know you have all your faculties, and that this isn’t easy for you, Mummy,” He looks earnestly into her worried pale blue eyes. “But you must try. As I said to you, I’m just having a little bit of difficulty meeting all the bills that need paying at the moment. It’s only temporary I’m sure.”

 

“Your father never concerned me with such matters, Nigel.” Lady Isobel quips. “Perhaps he was better equipped to manage the financial affairs of the estate than you are.”

 

Nigel sucks in his breath and retracts his hand as if bitten at the acerbic remark from his mother, who is usually so meek and mild. He wonders whether it would be in his better interest to share with her the truth of the burden of all the financial problems of the estate, rather than simply tell her a few little things and cover some of the major problems up with kindness and lies. As he sits opposite the dowager in his chair, he remembers walking the estate with his father when he was six or seven. Fascinated by the stories of Squirrel Nutkin and Timmy Tiptoes by Beatrix Potter read to him by his nanny, Nigel tried to coax some grey squirrels to come and eat out of his hand, and when they wouldn’t he threw stones at them, causing them to race off the grass and scuttle up a nearby oak tree. His father had chuckled good naturedly at him and said that he would attract more bees with honey than vinegar*******, and when Nigel in his way of literal thinking at that age, replied that he wasn’t trying to attract bees, but rather squirrels, his father went on to explain about being kind and gentle rather than aggressive.

 

“Perhaps you are right, Mummy,” Nigel changes tact. “Perhaps with my lack of experience, Father was better at managing things than me, but inexperienced or not, I’m all you have to manage the estate now, oh and Briers of course.”

 

“Humph,” mutters his mother. “Perhaps Briers is the problem. Your father didn’t seem to have these financial problems with Langley at the helm as Estate Manager.”

 

“You know perfectly well that Mr. Langley left quite a while ago, without giving notice, and Father hired Mr. Briers, who is very competent. He was the one who advised me that we are a little cash poor at the moment, whilst he sees to the tenant farmers’ properties, which need quite a bit of work. I don’t want to take money away from Briers for repairs to the roofs of several of our famers’ cottages, when I can simply sell a trinket or two from the house that will never be missed to pay your doctor’s bills, Mummy. Father would agree with me on that, surely?”

 

“Maybe so.” Lady Isobel begrudgingly agrees with downcast eyes. “I’d rather you sell that vase and its pair, which I’ve always found vulgar, and those teacups that were buried away at the back of the cabinet, rather than the cameos.” She reaches out and lovingly runs her fingers along the rippled ebony edge of the one closest to her. “I’m rather fond of them, and besides, Bella will notice them gone if you do.”

 

“Bella doesn’t live here, any more, Mummy.” Nigel sighs with exasperation.

 

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Arabella asks cheerfully as she and Lettice walk through the door of the breakfast room. “I may not reside here any more, now I’m Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, Nigel darling, but I’m still a Tyrwhitt under it all, and I’m still a frequent visitor to my old home.” She holds the copy of Horse and Hound aloft as she does so. “You forgot your Horse and Hound downstairs, Mummy!” she exclaims as she tosses it onto the table near her brother’s elbow.

 

“Bella?” her mother gasps. “And Lettice too!” she adds, clasping her hands as she sees Lettice behind her. “What a lovely surprise!”

 

Arabella walks around the table and kisses her mother tenderly on her lightly powdered cheek and embraces her rather slender and brittle figure gently.

 

“Hullo Aunt Isobel,” Lettice says, awaiting her turn to embrace her honorary aunt. “Bella and I thought we’d pay you and Nigel a visit whilst I was down at Glynes staying for a few days.” She kisses and carefully embraces Lady Isobel as Arabella moves on to Nigel. “I hope you don’t mind us calling on you unannounced.”

 

“As if I would, dear Lettice. You and Bella are always welcome here any time of the day, announced or not. I’ll get Tilly to bring us some fresh tea and two more cups.”

 

“Tilly’s gone.” Nigel pipes up. “Remember, Mummy.”

 

“Oh yes.” She shakes her head and looks to Lettice. “Tilly fell victim to Nigel’s economy drive, dear Lettice and we had to let her go, along with some of the other indoor and outdoor staff.”

 

“Regrettably.” Nigel adds defensively. “I didn’t do it flippantly.”

 

“Yes, I’ve heard about Nigel’s changes to the way that the household is run.” Lettice says, catching Nigel’s gaze and winking conspiratorially. “And I think he’s quite wise, Aunt Isobel. Those taxes won’t pay themselves without some sacrifices.”

 

“Anyway, you don’t need to ring for any of the harried staff who remain,” Arabella adds. “Greaves let us in, and he’ll fetch us some tea.”

 

“Your brother needs to be reminded that as the new Lord Tyrwhitt, he is one of the bigger employers in the country: perhaps not as large as your father is, Lettice, but large nonetheless.”

 

“I’m well aware of my duties as employer to the locals, Mummy. It’s why I don’t want to take money away from the upkeep of the farm buildings on the estate. I want to make sure they have jobs and livelihoods.”

 

“Well,” Lady Isobel begins, pursing her lips and then falling silent.

 

Arabella turns to her brother. “Hullo Lord of the Manor,” she says teasingly to him as he stands up from his seat and embraces his sister.

 

“Hullo Nigel darling,” Lettice waves to him from beside his mother. “How are you?”

 

Before he can answer, Arabella notices the jumble of articles on the round breakfast table’s surface and asks, “What’s this big brother?” she asks with a light laugh. “Are we having a clean out as part of your stewardship as the new Lord Tyrwhitt?” She scoops up one of the Regency ebony and ivory cameos from the table. “You cannot get rid of Flora and Fauna!” She says with mocking alarm as she holds it out to Lettice. “Do you remember, Tice?”

 

“Remember what, Bella?” Lettice asks.

 

“Remember that’s what we christened them as children when we played with them? Flora and Fauna. This is Flora.” Arabella indicates to the one in her hand. “And that’s Fauna.” She points to the one remaining on the surface of the table.

 

“You know, Bella,” Lettice admits. “I’d quite forgotten until you mentioned it then. Why did we call them that?”

 

“I can’t remember why, exactly, but I think it had something to do with you learning about Greek mythology in the schoolroom at Glynes at the time. I know we called this one Flora because we thought she had a prettier face, and we agreed that flowers are prettier than animals.”

 

“Says who?” Nigel laughs.

 

“We were only children, Nigel.” Arabella answers with a smile and roll of her eyes.

 

“Fauna does have a rather sterner look,” Lettice agrees.

 

“See Nigel,” Lady Isobel mutters sagely. “I told you Bella would notice if we tried to sell them.”

 

The atmosphere of the sun filled breakfast room suddenly changes, going from light and happy to oppressive as Arabella almost drops the cameo. She returns it to the surface of the table and spins around to face her brother with a surprised look on her pretty face.

 

“Sell?” she asks with incredulity.

 

“Thank you, Mummy.” Nigel says sarcastically. “Most helpful.”

 

Arabella looks at the surface of the table again, as if seeing the items for what they are for the very first time as she notices the vase, teacups and saucers in a shallow wooden crate lined with paper to protect the delicate white porcelain from the hard edges of the crate. Her eyes grow wide as she slowly turns back to her brother, the look of surprise replaced with one as black as thunder as anger animates her features.

 

“Sell? You’re not selling Flora and Fauna, Nigel!”

 

“We’re just weighing up a few options, Bella.” Nigel defends himself, holding his hands in front of him as if supporting an invisible shield which will protect him from his little sister’s ever darkening hostile stare.

 

“Options? What do you mean, options, Nigel?” Arabella spits. “You can’t be serious about selling these things.” She reaches behind her and picks up the enamelled Italian casket. “These are our things! This is our family history, Nigel, not some old junk.”

 

“They’re just things, Bella.” Nigel begins, but Arabella cuts him short.

 

“Spoken like a true philistine! Shame!” she scoffs bitterly. “I’m surprised at you, Nigel! I thought you appreciated our family history as much as I do – as much as Father did! This belonged to our great grandfather, you know?” She shoves the enamel lidded trinket box towards Nigel, as if its movement with shame him. “He brought it back from Italy in the early Nineteenth Century, Nigel. The same with Flora and Fauna! I can’t believe that you would do this!”

 

“I don’t want to do this, but I have more important things to worry about right now than the provenance, or sentimental value of a few old trinkets, Bella.” Nigel counters, his own voice rising in volume and pitch as anger starts to trickle in as he hotly defends his actions. “I find myself a little cash poor at the moment is all.”

 

“Cash poor?” Arabella gasps in astonishment. “After you have gone on your economy drive, shut up half the house and decimated the staff? How can you be cash poor? I’m sure the house in London is fine with its easy access to the Royal Albert and Wigmore Halls for all your musical indulgences.”

 

“Come, that’s not fair, Bella!”

 

“You never did love the country, or this place, like I do, did you? London was always the true home for your heart!”

 

“It’s alright, Bella.” Lady Isobel says softly, reaching out and grasping her daughter’s wrist as it hangs limply at her side, in an effort to placate her. “Nigel is right. These are just objects. We are all of us, just caretakers of them for a time, and then they go to someone else who will love them.”

 

“No, it’s not Mummy!” Arabella retorts angrily. “It’s not right at all! This is our family history, here on this table, not just some random objects. Nigel should have plenty of money. What will he want to sell next, your pearls, and if so, will you let him?”

 

“If I could just explain, Bella.” Nigel begins.

 

“Explain what? Where and how you’ve spent all this money that your economising has saved you? I don’t think I actually want to know, Nigel!”

 

“Bella I…”

 

“Oh, spare me your platitudes, Nigel!” Arabella holds up her hands to stop him speaking. “I don’t wish to hear them.”

 

Without another word, Arabella turns on her heel and storms from the room as hot and angry tears blur her vision: her mother, Horse and Hound, Lettice and tea all forgotten.

 

“Bella wait!” Nigel calls, pushing his seat aside as he races through the breakfast room door after his sister. “Bella, please let me just explain!”

 

Lettice and Lady Isobel listen to Nigel’s pleas and protestations echo around the house as they drift down the corridor behind Arabella’s retreating footsteps, both growing fainter and fainter. A peace and calm returns to the atmosphere of the room as the cloying silence envelops them both.

 

“We only came to say hullo, and bring you your copy of Horse and Hound, Aunt Isobel.” Lettice says meekly at length, shattering the silence, sliding the now forgotten periodical across the French polished marquetry inlaid surface of the table almost apologetically.

 

“Thank you, Lettice.” Lady Isobel replies, politely accepting it, worrying the edges of the pages with her slender gnarled fingers. “That’s very kind of you dear. If Greaves is bringing tea, I suppose I shan’t bother him about bringing one fewer cup. He has more than enough to worry about these days, trying to run the household on a reduced budget and with reduced staff.”

 

“How much do you know, Aunt Isobel?” Lettice gently asks the older lady as she slips into the vacant seat next to her. She looks at the objects on the table sadly.

 

“Evidently not as much as you, Lettice my dear,” Lady Isobel replies with a wry smile. “You seem less surprised to come across Nigel and I deciding what heirlooms to keep and what to sell than Bella was.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Has Nigel confided in you, Lettice?” Lady Isobel asks gingerly.

 

“Has he confided in you, Aunt Isobel?” Lettice asks more boldly in reply.

 

“No, but I wish someone would.” The older lady picks up her teacup distractedly. “I think I deserve to know what’s going on when my son asks me which item on the table will fetch more money at auction.”

 

“I think Nigel has just been trying to protect you, Aunt Isobel.” Lettice soothes softly.

 

“I’m not a child, Lettice.” Lady Isobel defends herself, a steeliness edging into her indignant voice as she sits a little more proudly in her seat. “I’m a grown woman – and I’ve been on this earth far longer than you or Nigel have been, so please excuse me if I tell you that I think I have the right to know.”

 

“Of course you do, Aunt Isobel.” Lettice agrees. “Although it’s not really my story to tell, perhaps I can tell you a little of what I know until Nigel returns. Then, perhaps you and Bella should sit down with him and have a frank and honest conversation.”

 

“If honesty has been lacking in our interactions, it certainly hasn’t been on my part, Lettice.”

 

“No-one is suggesting that it is your fault, Aunt Isobel, or anyone’s. It isn’t Nigel’s either. Nigel was just trying to shield you. He did what he thought was best.”

 

“Well perhaps I am the best placed to decide what is best for me, Lettice.” Lady Isobel gives Lettice a look as stern as the tone of her voice.

 

“Yes, I think perhaps you are, Aunt Isobel.” Lettice agrees. Indicating to the cup in her hand, Lettice adds, “You err… may like to have something a little stronger than tea when you have that frank and honest conversation with Nigel.”

 

“Assuming Nigel hasn’t sent the contents of Garstanton Park’s wine cellar off to the wine merchant’s for auctioning off without my knowledge, of course.” Lady Isobel chortles a little uneasily, trying to make light and the best of a bad situation.

 

“Oh I don’t think Greaves would let the contents of the wine cellar go without a rather loud fight, Aunt Isobel.”

 

“I think you are right, Lettice dear.” Lady Isobel’s sad chuckle mixes with that of Lettice.

 

Lady Isobel deposits her cup into her saucer and reaches out both her hands to Lettice, who grasps them in return and squeezes them comfortingly. Lettice can feel the older woman trembling beneath her, and her ashen face and wide pale blue eyes, shadowed with fear, tells her how afraid she is. What worries Lettice is that she may have every reason to be fearful if she and Nigel are going through the cabinets of Garstanton Park, picking out prized family heirlooms to send off to the auction house.

 

*By the 1920s radiotherapy was well developed with the use of X-rays and radium. There was an increasing realisation of the importance of accurately measuring the dose of radiation and this was hampered by the lack of good apparatus. The science of radiobiology was still in its infancy and increasing knowledge of the biology of cancer and the effects of radiation on normal and pathological tissues made an enormous difference to treatment. Treatment planning began in this period with the use of multiple external beams. The X-ray tubes were also developing with replacement of the earlier gas tubes with the modern Coolidge hot-cathode vacuum tubes. The voltage that the tubes operated at also increased and it became possible to practice ‘deep X-ray treatment’ at 250 kV. Sir Stanford Cade published his influential book “Treatment of Cancer by Radium” in 1928 and this was one of the last major books on radiotherapy that was written by a surgeon.

 

**Modern inheritance tax dates back to 1894 when the government introduced estate duty, a tax on the capital value of land, in a bid to raise money to pay off a £4m government deficit. It replaced several different inheritance taxes, including the 1796 tax on estates introduced to help fund the war against Napoleon. The earliest death duty can be traced back to 1694 when probate duty, a tax on personal property in wills proved in court, was brought in. When the tax was first introduced it was intended to affect only the very wealthy, but the rise in the value of homes, particularly in the south-east of England, it began to creep into the realms of the upper middle-classes. From 1896, it was possible to avoid estate duty by handing on gifts during the life of the donor. To counter avoidance through last minute transfers, gifts handed over a limited time before death were still subject to the tax. Initially the period was one year but that rose to seven years over time. Freshly recovering from the Great War, the hefty death taxes imposed on wealthy families such as the Tyrwhitts in the post-war years of the 1920s, combined with increases to income taxes on the wealthy, caused some to start to sell off their country houses and estates, settling in more reduced circumstances (still very luxurious by today’s standards) in their smaller London homes.

 

***A tweeny is a maid who assists both the cook and head housemaid. It is short for between, as she was known as a between maid owing to the fact that she spent time between duties above and below stairs.

 

****Horse and Hound is the oldest equestrian weekly magazine of the United Kingdom. Its first edition was published in 1884. The magazine contains horse industry news, reports from equestrian events, veterinary advice about caring for horses, and horses for sale.

 

*****The Grand Tour was the principally Seventeenth to early Nineteenth Century custom of a traditional trip through Europe, with Italy as a key destination, undertaken by upper-class young European men of sufficient means and rank (typically accompanied by a tutor or family member) when they had come of age (usually about twenty-one years old).

 

*******The saying "you attract more bees with honey than vinegar" is a proverb that means that it is better to be kind and gentle than to be harsh and aggressive. The saying is often used to encourage people to be more positive and less confrontational in their interactions with others.

 

This elegant interior may look real to you, but in truth it is made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, plus two very special family heirlooms just for an extra surprise!

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our story are Flora and Fauna, the two cameos sitting on the table. These are in fact a pair of very old clip on earrings which came into my possession from my maternal Grandmother. They were her mother’s before her, her mother’s before that and her mother’s before her at least. I estimate that these earrings are from around the Regency period between 1811 and 1820. They are carved ivory profiles on an ebony black background. The yellowing of the ivory is a sign of its advanced age, and their finer detail has been worn by many hands touching them over the centuries: not least of all mine. As a child, I used to use them as miniature pictures on the mantles of the fireplaces of my miniature tableaux I used to set up and play with (see I was even doing it then). I named them Flora and Fauna when my Grandmother told me that they were classical profiles of Roman Goddesses. Flora is on the right and is my favourite. Fauna, with a lightly sterner look is on the left.

 

The trinket box you see behind Flora and Fauna is in reality an Eighteenth Century miniature trinket made of gold and enamel. It is so dainty. The lid opens and one could store something incredibly small in it (like a handful of diamond chips), and there is a loop (hidden by Fauna’s scalloped edge) which allows it to be strung upon a chain. I picked this piece up from an antique dealer in London many years ago.

 

The copy of Horse and Hound is a miniature magazine made by British miniature artisan, Ken Blythe. I have a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my miniatures collection – books mostly. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! Sadly, so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. As well as making books, he also made other small paper based miniatures including magazines like the copy of Horse and Hound. It is not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this is the fact is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The gilt Art Nouveau tea set, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton leaves pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The pretty floral rose crockery sitting in the shallow wooden crate to the right of the photograph is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. All the pieces in the cabinet in the background are also made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik. The pieces comprise two different 1:12 miniature dinner and tea sets. The vase containing the roses on the sideboard is also a M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik piece.

 

The vase in the shallow wooden crate and its pair sitting on the sideboard to the left-hand side of the photograph come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom, as does the gilt pink vase on the right of the tall M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik vase of roses.

 

The wooden crate came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, and originally held fish set in ice. The hand made roses also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures.

 

The round table in the centre of the room, which tilts like a real loo table, is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, which came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The Chippendale style chairs surrounding the round breakfast table, and the carver chair in the background, are very special pieces. They came from the Petite Elite Miniature Museum, later rededicated as the Carol and Barry Kaye Museum of Miniatures, which ran between 1992 and 2012 on Los Angeles’ bustling Wiltshire Boulevard. One of the chairs still has a sticker under its cushion identifying which room of which dollhouse it came. The Petite Elite Miniature Museum specialised in exquisite and high end 1:12 miniatures. The furnishings are taken from a real Chippendale design.

 

The sideboard featuring fine marquetry banding and collapsible extensions at either end appears to have been made by the same unknown artisan who made the round table. This piece I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop at the same time as the table. The Georgian corner cabinet with its fretwork and glass door and glass shelves also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The paintings on the wall came as part of a job lot of interesting 1:12 miniature paintings from Kathlen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop, whilst the flocked wallpaper on the walls is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, who inspired me to create the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Done