My Feelings are Torn

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 Rippon Court, the ancient sprawling Baronial style* house and family seat of Sir John Nettleword Hughes, buried deep within his vast estate of Rippon in Bedforshire. Old enough to be Lettice’s father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.

 

Lettice, her fiancée, Sir John, and his sister Clemance have motored over from Lettice’s family home of Glynes in Wiltshire to host the Rippon Hunt. Being a keen hunter, His Royal Highness, Prince Edward, the Prince of Wales has sent word to Sir John that he and a party of his equally enthusiastic foxhunting friends wish to participate in the Rippon Hunt, so Sir John has cut short his sojourn to Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, near to his fiancée’s family seat and has reluctantly returned to his sprawling, draughty and slightly tumbledown, dreaded childhood home to host the Prince in a few days’ time. The Prince has also expressed his express wish to reacquaint himself with Lettice, now that she is Sir John’s fiancée, so she is playing hostess to His Royal Highness, and as the future Lady Nettleford Hughes, has been bestowed the honour of handing out the trophies. Clemance is attending as chaperone.

 

Lettice has not found Rippon Court to her liking. At least twice the size of her own childhood Georgian home of Glynes, it is too large to be a cosy family home, and the draughts, along with gloomy Victorian style furniture make the rooms so cold and unwelcoming. Revelations from both Sir John and Clemance about their treatment at the hands of their cruel and indifferent parents add to the taint that spoils the old house for her.

 

Nevertheless, between the sad stories, there have been moments of happiness for Lettice too, including a lovely afternoon spent with her fiancée in the Book Tower, a haven for Sir John and Clemance when they were children, where the pair enjoyed a luncheon of sandwiches and crumpets toasted over the Book Tower’s fire by Sir John himself. Sir John has just finished an amusing story about one of the old famers that had lived as a tenant on one of the Rippon Estate farms when he was a boy, making both Lettice and Clemance chuckle over their glasses of champagne as they sit by the fire, which keeps the general chill of the draughty old house at bay as the winter winds howl around it outside, bringing a fresh dusting of snow to the grounds of Rippon Court.

 

“Well, I’m glad to know that it wasn’t all gloom and misery here at Rippon Court, dear John” Lettice remarks with a sigh of relief as she chuckles. “Good memories are important too.”

 

“Oh, I meant to say,” Clemance says. “Even though it has nothing whatsoever to do with the conversation at hand, Lettice. Mrs. Tabner came to me this afternoon with the menu for His Royal Highness’ visit. I thought that since you are to be the future mistress of the house, it was better that I deferred to you.”

 

“Capital idea Clemmie!” Sir John remarks, sipping his second glass of digestif** port. “As the next lady Nettleford-Hughes, I’d take it as a personal favour if you showed an interest in what Mrs. Tabner has put together, and give her your opinion.”

 

“Well of course I will, John darling, if that’s what you want.” Lettice asserts. “But why is that such a great favour to you?”

 

“Well, it will help endear you to the staff. I don’t intend us spending very much of our married life here, as obviously this old, gloomy pile of bricks and stones brings me no joy, but I am grateful to be able to leave the running and maintenance of the house in the capable hands of staff like Huntley and Mrs. Tabner.” he says, referring to the Rippon Court butler and cook. “So if you can engage with Mrs. Tabner, I’d be most grateful.”

 

“Of course, John.” Lettice assures him.

 

“Jolly good, Lettice my dear. My cook at Fontengil Park isn’t a patch on Mrs. Tabner, but she’s a local woman and she won’t leave Bedfordshire for Wiltshire, even though I’ve tried to entice her to decamp Rippon Court.”

 

Just at that moment, there is a gentle rapping on the old oak door of the drawing room.

 

“Yes?” Sir John calls imperiously. Mr. Huntley’s head appears as he opens the groaning door and steps into the drawing room. “What is it, Huntley?”

 

“Pardon me for interrupting, Milord,” the butler says. “But it’s the telephone.”

 

“I didn’t hear a telephone bell.” Lettice remarks, looking around from the comfort of the Knole sofa*** on which she sits, warming her hoes before the crackling fire.

 

“Well, it’s so far away from here, just inside the vestibule****, in the entrance hall, that I’m not surprises you didn’t hear it, Lettice my dear.” Clemance remarks. “Father and Mother were out on the grounds so often, pursuing their lust for bloodsports***** and other outdoor activities that it seemed the most logical place to put it, right next to the garderobe******.”

 

“And it was cheapest for Father to put it there.” Sir John adds. “He and Mother was never ones for the telephone, and called it ‘that bloody contraption’,” He and Clemance chuckle at the quoted term.

 

“I think my maid, Edith, would appreciate your parents’ sentiments for the telephone.” Lettice chuckles with amusement. “She feels exactly the same way about mine, and tells it so too.”

 

“Oh how droll!” Clemance laughs.

 

“Humph!” Sir John starts to move himself out of the Knole armchair that matches the sofa, that he is comfortably ensconced in, mumbling and groaning as he presses on the arms to propel himself into action. “This better not be Charles Ireland******* of Toddington Park********,” he grumbles. “With more trying questions about petty protocols for His Royal Highness’ visit. I didn’t make him Master of the Rippon Hunt********* just for him to then telephone me at all hours, when it suits him, to ask me about the trivialities of noblesse oblige**********. Damnable man should never have tried to play the role of the country squire*********** and stuck with his property deals and town life, if he didn’t know what it entailed.”

 

“Language, Nettie.” Clemance chides her brother gently, sipping her champagne.

 

“Well, I best go, then.” Sir John concludes.

 

“I beg your pardon, Sir,” Mr. Huntly says. “But the telephone call is for Miss Lettice.”

 

“Me, Huntley?” Lettice asks in surprise.

 

“It’s Mr. Bruton, telephoning from London, Miss Chetwynd.” he elucidates in his deep, but soft, Bedfordshire accented voice.

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice exclaims, leaping from her seat lithely. “How delightful!” She glances at her fiancée with eyes a glitter with excitement. “You don’t mind, do you, John darling?”

 

“No,” he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand as he settles back down in the cosy confines of his armchair. “Not at all, Lettice.”

 

“Here,” Clemance says as Lettice passes her. “Take this with you,” She hands over her thick arctic fox fur stole, draped on the arm of her chair, to Lettice. “And your evening gloves. It will be positively glacial out there in the hallway.”

 

Lettice thanks Clemance as she slips out of the drawing room.

 

As the door closes, Sir John remarks to Clemance, “Funny business that, Gerald Bruton telephoning Lettice here.”

 

“Well, they are best chums after all, Nettie darling.” Clemance soothes. “And they haven’t seen each other since before Christmas. It’s probably to chat about her wedding frock.”

 

“I thought Sadie had put her foot down about him designing Lettice’s wedding frock.” Sir John opines. “There was such a hullabaloo about it.”

 

“Well,” Clemance shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think anyone could stop Lettice from getting what she wants in the end, even Lady Sadie. I suspect there are some discussions that she is entirely unaware of happening behind her back, and all will be revealed, exactly to Lettice’s wishes before the big day.” She chuckles good naturedly. “My dear Nettie, if you wanted a meek, mild and acquiescent wife, I’m afraid you have lucked out with dear Lettice.”

 

“I wouldn’t have her any other way, Clemmie darling.” Sir John replies happily.

 

Lettice follows Rippon Court’s butler down the long corridor which is only dimly lit by the occasional oil lamp used in the evenings for illumination rather than the electric lights overhead, carrying her nearly full champagne flute in her right hand as she pads after him. The shapes and shadows dancing and leaping across the walls, brought to life by the flickering night lights remind her of the old faerie tale of The Snow Queen, where Gerda, upon entering the castle of the prince and princess, sees shadows of knights and huntsmen, courting and dancing couples, which her companion the crow assures her are the dreams of the courtiers, and will cause Gerda no harm. She shivers, as much from the recall of this part of the story that always frightened her as a girl when her Nanny read her the tale, as from the cold of the hallway, with its hard wood panelled walls and black and white marble floor. She pulls Clemance’s stole more tightly around her with her evening glove clad hand, smelling the comforting scent of Clemance’s old fashioned perfume which has permeated the fur.

 

“Here we are, Miss Lettice.” Huntley says at length with a sweeping gesture as they reach a polished table, which like so many other surfaces around the house, is littered with relics of Sir Roderick and Lady Agnes Nettleford-Hughes hunting prowess. And there amongst the cold silver trophies sits a gleaming telephone with the receiver resting atop the polished surface of the table. He pulls out a small stool from beneath the table, probably used primarily for removing galoshes************* or outdoor shoes when coming inside. He then retreats down the hallway, his footsteps growing softer and more echoing with every step.

 

“Hullo Gerald darling!” Lettice exclaims with excitement as she places the receiver to her ear.

 

The line crackles before a slightly echoing and washed-out version of Gerald’s voice pipes up, “Hullo Lettice darling! How are you?”

 

“I’m well thank you, Gerald darling. Are you well? How are things down in London in my absence?”

 

The line crackles again as Lettice’s voice is carried down to the capital. “Oh everything’s tickety-boo, darling! The other night, Moaning Minnie,” Gerald continues as he mentions Minnie Palmerston, their mutual friend prone to scenes and histrionics, wife of cool and calm banker Charles Palmerston, by her nickname, acquired because of her propensity to moan about things. “Was accosted by an interloper at the Embassy**************, who was jolly handsy**************** with her, the cad!”

 

“Oh my! Did Charles punch him in the nose?”

 

“No fear!” Gerald laugh echoes down the line as he speaks. “She did the job for him, after she slapped his face and threw her glass of champagne in it. It was the highlight of the night, and caused quite a ruckus. The cheeky blighter was eventually dragged out into the street by his collar by two of the Embassy doormen***************** and told not to come back.”

 

“Oh, jolly good show, Minnie!” Lettice enthuses with a laugh as she sips her champagne.

 

“All the same, even with all the distractions, I’m missing you frightfully, Lettice darling!”

 

“Oh, I miss you too, Gerald darling, and the bright lights of London!” Lettice replies, tightening her grip on the receiver just a little more. “You won’t believe this, but,” She glances around her at the contorting shadows as she speaks. “I’m chatting to you by lamplight.”

 

“Lamplight?” comes Gerald’s cracking reply down the line. “Haven’t they heard of electricity in Bedfordshire?”

 

“Rippon Court is powered by a steam-powered generator******************, but it’s rather cumbersome for the servants to operate, so we use lamplight at night, except in the principle rooms we occupy, to conserve energy so the servants don’t have to work it late at night.”

 

“And what is the House of Usher******************* like?”

 

“Oh,” Lettice looks at the trophies glowing cooly around her and the lamplight as it flickers and ghoulishly highlights the hunting pinks******************** of a pack of foxhunters portrayed in oils hanging on the oak panelled wall above the telephone. “Glynes this is not, Gerald darling. I can well see why John and Clemance aren’t fond of it. It’s huge: far too big for my liking, but not impressive. It’s rather inelegant, built in a hotch-potch of styles, having been added to and added to over the centuries by subsequent family members. And it’s a bit tumbledown with it barely ever being occupied,” She shivers and pulls Clemance’s fur a little more tightly around her shoulders. “And it’s freezing.”

 

“Well it is winter, Lettice darling.” Gerald observes. “And you are in an old and ramshackle house in the middle of…”

 

A sudden high pitched squeal, followed by a barrage of male laughter sounds shrilly down the line from London, the noise distorted over the distance, shocking Lettice’s ear as it does.

 

“Are you telephoning me from that theatrical madhouse, Gerald darling?” Lettice asks.

 

“If you mean Hattie’s,” Gerald replies a little peevishly. “The answer is yes. Sorry. Aunt Sally,” he goes on, referring to Shakesperean actor Charles Dunnage using his female nickname*********************. “Wanted us to play Pirandello********************** after supper. It’s been quite a spirited game. My apologies for the noise. I’m in Hattie’s hallway, outside the dining room.”

 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sitting in the glacial entrance hall of Rippon Court, which is the only place this house has a telephone wired.”

 

“Sounds ghastly.” Gerald opines.

 

“Why didn’t you telephone me from Grosvenor Street?” Lettice asks, referring to Gerald’s couture business’ address. It certainly would have been quieter to do so.”

 

“Because it’s late, and I’m not hanging around Grosvenor Street, just for the pleasure of telephoning you. Besides, Grosvenor Street does not offer Hattie’s cooking, nor a warm bed.” Gerald emphasises the last two words meaningfully, implying that he will be staying the night, spending it in the bed of his homosexual lover, West End oboist Cyril, without explicitly stating it***********************. “If you understand me.”

 

“Oh of course!” Lettice says, blushing red in the oil lamp’s illumination as she speaks. “Sorry Gerald darling. I understand.” She falls silent for a moment before adding, “I hope you are going to recompense Miss Milford for the use of her apparatus, Gerald darling. Her bill would be high enough the way that thing gets used in her household by her theatrical lodgers, and this will be costing her a fortune.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that Hattie is recompensed properly, Lettice darling.”

 

“Very good.”

 

“So what’s the plumbing like?” Gerald goes on.

 

“Rudimentary.” Lettice answers matter-of-factly as she runs her glove clad fingers over a horse trophy at her right. “There are a couple of plumbed lavatories************************, but for a bath, two of the housemaids have to bring a portable tub to my dressing room, which like everywhere else in this house is draughty and cold, and they then have to then carry hot water up goodness knows how many flights of backstairs from the kitchens, so it’s not particularly hot by the time I receive it.”

 

“And the Prince is staying?” Gerald asks in incredulity. “Surely not!”

 

“No, he’s only participating in the Rippon Hunt and stopping for luncheon, thank goodness!” Lettice sighs. “I’m sure with his preferences for American convenience and luxury, the Dickensian************************* arrangements we are forced to put up with here would not be suitable for His Royal Highness.”

 

“And the food?” Gerald queries.

 

“Mrs. Tabner and her kitchen maid do an admirable job. The food has been plentiful, delicious, and perhaps surprisingly considering the temperatures of Rippon Court, remarkably hot.”

 

“Well, that’s something, at least.” Gerald opines. “And what of the other situation.”

 

“Your telegram, which arrived the evening we arrived, said that there was nothing to report from the Pinkerton agency, so I didn’t reply.”

 

“No,” Gerald hisses down the telephone, his voice cracking as he speaks. “I didn’t mean that. And no, nothing new from the Pinkertons, so nothing needs addressing via this telephone call. Your situation with Sir John, is what I was referring to!”

 

“Oh that!” Lettice picks up her champagne flute, takes a larger than ladylike gulp and sighs. “It’s hard, Gerald darling.”

 

“Why hard?” Gerald asks in concern.

 

“I feel so torn.” Lettice gulps, swallowing back as of yet unshed tears. “I’ve learned so much about John in the last few days since we’ve been here. He and Clemance were punished for the very smallest of infractions by their parents.”

 

“Well, weren’t we all?”

 

“Not the way John and Clemance were. I don’t wish to divulge the specifics over the telephone, but they were badly treated, and were subjected to beatings. They were ignored by their parents, or tolerated, I suppose is probably the word for it.” Lettice looks around to make sure that Sir John or Clemance are not hiding in the shadows, having come to fetch her back to the drawing room, fearing she is lost. However, she is quite alone where she sits. “I’m starting to understand why John is the way he is: distant and business like. He’s being protective of his own heart.”

 

“Lettice.” Gerald says warningly down the crackling telephone line from London.

 

“I have pity for him.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald growls again.

 

“And there have been times when he has actually been quite sweet to me, whilst we’ve been here. Just yesterday, we had a lovely and romantic luncheon in one of the towers here, where he and Clemance used to hide. They call it the Book Tower.” Lettice babbles on, not wanting Gerald to interrupt her. “He even toasted me crumpets with his toasting fork and served them to me, Gerald darling. I’m starting to think that underneath all that bravado and businesslike shell, he actually does care for me.” She snakes her head. “Maybe even more deeply than he cares to admit.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald snaps again.

 

“And I think I could be happy with him, you know, Gerald darling, especially now I understand why he is so remote and aloof.”

 

“Oh don’t say it, Lettice darling, please!” Gerald implores. “You… you haven’t agreed to a date yet have you?”

 

“Well, no, not yet, but…”

 

“Good!” Gerald cuts Lettice off. “Then don’t.”

 

“He’s wearing me down, Gerald. I really do think I could be happy with him.”

 

“Well,” Gerald sighs down the line from London. “Be that as it may, I need you to stick to the plan we agreed to in London, stay strong and stall. Don’t give him a date yet, no matter how much he, or Mrs. Pontefract try and wear you down. Please Lettice!”

 

“But I thought you didn’t dislike John, Gerald darling.” Lettice mewls.

 

“I don’t.” Gerald replies. “But, I also don’t think settling for this marriage, at least not yet, will do you any good until we know more about what happened with Selwyn and that Kitty Avendale woman. You think you might be happy to settle for a marriage of convenience, and believe me that is what this is, Lettuce Leaf.”

 

“Don’t call me by my dreaded childhood nickname, Gerald Bruiton!” Lettice spots hotly. “You know I don’t like it!” She pouts churlishly.

 

“I’ll call you what I like, Lettuce Leaf, if you continue to act foolishly, such as you are now. Open your eyes and see that this marriage for what it is: an arrangement between two lonely people. I do not doubt that Sir John is fond of you, as you yourself have confided in me, but it is not a love match.”

 

“That time has passed.” Lettice says bitterly, taking another gulp of champagne.

 

“Not necessarily.” Gerad counters. The line falls silent for a few moments, with nothing but the sound of crackling between the two best friends. “Marriages of convenience are all well and good.” Gerald continues at length. “I know of several, and the couples are very happy in their arrangements,” He sighs heavily. “However, a marriage of convenience, even one based on mutual admiration and a certain fondness, is a poor cousin to a love match.”

 

Lettice begins to sob down the telephone.

 

“It would be a tragedy to go into this marriage without first establishing whether Lady Zinnia had her hand in splitting you and Selwyn apart and orchestrating her own marriage of convenience for her son.”

 

“You think John was involved, don’t you?” Lettice asks in an accusing tone, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You think he had something to do with all this.”

 

Gerald doesn’t answer at first, but when he does, his answer surprises Lettice. “Actually, I’m in agreement with you, Lettice darling. I don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

 

“You don’t?” Lettice manages to ask in amazement.

 

“Things just happen by coincidence sometimes, and that’s what I think has happened here. I don’t think Sir John had any inkling as to whatever it is that Lady Zinnia has planned. Lady Zinnia is far too calculating to share her ideas with anyone outside her most trusted circle of companions. I feel that Sir John made you a proposal without knowing, or perhaps even thinking, that you would accept, just to put his hat in the ring. I know he admires you, Lettice. Forwarding your career and giving you comfort and stability might be his way of showing his admiration for you.” He sighs heavily again. “I just wat us to get to the bottom of who is behind all this, and why, and to find out the truth.”

 

“But what…” Lettice snivels, as she dabs her eyes with a dainty lace trimmed handkerchief . “What if we find that Selwyn really is happily married to this Kitty Avendale?” Lettice gulps. “What if the Pinkerton agency tell us the worst possible news? What then?”

 

“Then at least you can go into your marriage with Sir John, knowing that you are fully appraised of all the facts.”

 

Lettice can suddenly hear Cyril’s voice clearly in the background, calling for Gerald to join him, Harriet and the others in the dining room.

 

“Look, I have to go.” Gerald says. “And as you’ve intimated, this telephone call has cost Harriet… me… a fortune. Please, just do as I said in my telegram. Stay strong, and don’t give in until we know more. Please Lettice darling!”

 

Lettice sniffs and smiles a teary smile, even though she knows that her best and oldest childhood chum can’t see her. “I’ll try.”

 

“No,” Gerald replies warningly. “You must do more than try. You must hold firmly on this. Now, when does the Prince arrive?”

 

“In a few days.”

 

“Then throw yourself into all that surrounds the visit and let it distract you. Now, I must go. Goodbye Lettice darling! I love you.”

 

“Love you too.” Lettice murmurs down the receiver before the line suddenly goes dead.

 

Lettice replaces the mouthpiece back atop the sparkling metal cradle, where it releases a single echoing ting that seems more forlorn by the darkness and emptiness of her surroundings. Lettice sits on the stool for a while longer, sobbing, dabbing her eyes and trying to regulate her shuddering breaths before returning to her companions in the Rippon Court drawing room. She doesn’t know quite how long she has been there for when a familiar voice penetrates the shadows and her consciousness.

 

“Lettice?” Sir John calls with concern. “Lettice are you quite alright? Clemmie and I have been worried. You’ve been gone so long.”

 

His tall and noble form suddenly appears out of the shadows, stepping into the light, highlighting the smart cut of his Jermyn Street************************** tailored set of tails. His face, cast half in shadow, looks so much older than it does during the day, with every wrinkle on his brow, down around his mouth and under his eyes standing out dramatically. Then again, Lettice considers, perhaps it is the look of concern etched on his face that makes him look every minute of his age.

 

“Lettice, you’ve been crying.”

 

“Oh no.” Lettice manages to mutter with a blocked nose dulling her usually elegantly elocuted tones. “Just a little, John.”

 

Sir John strides up to his fiancée and stands over her, holding out his hands to her and looking down upon her with genuine concern. “Whatever is the matter? Did Gerald say something to upset you?”

 

“No! No, John!” Lettice assures Sir John. “He didn’t upset me at all.”

 

“Well, something obviously has, Lettice my dear.” he says kindly, his look encouraging her to take his hands, which she finally accepts with a sniff and a deep sigh. “It’s this wedding frock business with your mother, isn’t it?” he asks. “She doesn’t want Gerald Bruton to dress you for the occasion, but you do. Is that it?”

 

Lettice sees his reasoning like a light at the end of a long and dark tunnel, allowing her to escape having to tell Sir John the truth about her reason for being upset. Rather than speaking, she simply nods shallowly.

 

“I keep telling you, Lettice. I’d be just as happy to marry you in a registry office***************************, like everyone did during the war, with you wearing that rather fetching powder blue ensemble of yours with your fox fur stole instead of a bloody white frock that causes you to cry.” He trembles with a mixture of frustration and unhappiness as he shakes his head. His eyes glint darkly in the light of the oil lamps. “We still can you know.”

 

“What?” Lettice snuffles.

 

“Get married at a registry office. We can have Clemmie and Gerald as witnesses if you like, and to hell with the rest of them.”

 

“Oh, John darling! You can’t mean that!” Lettice exclaims.

 

“If a wedding frock is going to cause you this much pain, then yes, I do mean it, Lettice. You could be standing next to me in anything, and I would be perfectly happy. I can’t abide all this fuss your mother is making over wedding plans,” Sir John lets out a heavy sigh before turning and looking down the dark, shadowy hallway over his shoulder before continuing. “And if I’m being truthful, I don’t think Clemmie is much better than Sadie. I know this will only affirm in your eyes that I’m a crochety old man, and a businessman set in my ways at that, but my patience for all this wedding nonsense is wearing thin. Don’t do it for them. Let’s just go.”

 

“But I want to get married properly, John, and that includes in a wedding frock of my choice. You said yourself that I will wear Mater down eventually when it comes to who is designing my frock.” She smiles as a thought suddenly dawns in her mind. “It just might take a little more time than planned, before we set a date.”

 

Sir John sighs with exasperation and throws his hands in the air. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Lettice my dear, but have it your own way.”

 

Lettice dabs her eyes again. “Come on, John. Let’s go back and join Clemance in the drawing room.”

 

Sir John proffers his arm to Lettice, who entwins hers with his as she accepts, and slowly they begin to wend their way down the shadowy corridor.

 

*Baronial style, primarily Scottish Baronial, is a Nineteenth Century Gothic Revival architectural style mimicking medieval Scottish castles, featuring crow-stepped gables, conical towers (tourelles/witches\' hats), battlements, and turrets, creating a romantic, fortified look with asymmetrical plans and heavy stonework, heavily popularized by Sir Walter Scott\'s Abbotsford. It blends Scottish vernacular with French and Gothic elements, evolving from fortified tower houses into grand country homes and public buildings.

 

**Drinks after dinner are most commonly called digestifs, French for "digestive," as they are traditionally believed to aid digestion and conclude a meal, often being stronger spirits like brandy, cognac, or liqueurs, though non-alcoholic coffee also serves this role, sometimes called a pousse-café.

 

***The original Knole Settee (also known as the Knole Sofa) is a couch chair that was made in the 17th century, probably around 1640. It is housed at Knole in Kent, a house owned by the Sackville-West family since 1605 but now in the care of the National Trust. It was originally used not as a comfortable sofa but as a formal throne-like seat on which an aristocrat or monarch would have sat to receive visitors. It was wide enough that a monarch and consort could be seated side by side. As of 2021, it is kept at Knole House in a transparent case.

 

****A vestibule is a small entry hall or waiting area just inside the main door of a building, acting as a transition space from outside to inside, reducing heat loss, and providing room for the divestment and potential storage of outdoor coats and shoes.

 

*****Bloodsports are sports or entertainment involving bloodshed, pain, and suffering, typically between animals or humans, like cockfighting, dog fighting, bullfighting, and often including certain types of hunting (like fox hunting or hare coursing) where killing or severe harm is integral to the "sport". These activities are often illegal and controversial today, focusing on violent combat for gambling or amusement, rather than traditional, regulated field sports like normal hunting or fishing. However, in the Victorian and Edwardian eras, fox hunting, grouse shooting and hare coursing were not only commonplace amongst the aristocracy, but a standard part of the London Season, with wealthy families decamping London and retreating to country estates before Christmas to pursue the hunting season and the county balls that went with them throughout January and February.

 

******A garderobe is an archaic term that was used in medieval times for a room where clothes were stored, and in more modern times referred to a large armoire or wardrobe.

 

 

*******Mr. Charles Ireland was born in the Bedfordshire town of Toddington who had made money through property dealing. He bought Toddington Park (also known as Park House) in 1921 upon the death of its previous owner Colonial Mercer. In 1930 Charles Ireland was made bankrupt as a result of the Great Depression.

 

********Toddington Park (also known as Park House) is an elegant Georgian house that was built in 1824 by the Cooper family as a replacement for the old Manor House. With later Nineteenth Century alterations and additions made, its features include colour-washed stucco, a hipped slate roof with an eaves cornice, a first floor band and two canted bays.

 

*********In the 1920s, a Master of the Hunt was the individual with ultimate authority over the management and conduct of a fox hunting club and its activities. The role involved significant financial and organisational responsibility.

 

**********Noblesse oblige (French for "nobility obliges") is the concept that people of high rank, wealth, or privilege have a moral duty to act honourably, generously, and responsibly towards those with less advantage, using their position to benefit society rather than just themselves. It signifies that privilege entails responsibility, requiring the influential to demonstrate good conduct, protect the vulnerable, and contribute to the common good, often through philanthropy or setting a positive example.

 

***********A country squire is a wealthy landowner in England, influential in local governance and community, often a Justice of the Peace or Lord of the Manor, just below the rank of knight.

 

************Hullabaloo likely comes from an Eighteenth Century rhyming compound, combining the shouting interjection "hallo" (or "hollo") with the Scottish word "baloo," a lullaby sound, creating a nonsensical but descriptive term for a noisy uproar or commotion, first appearing in print around the 1760s. Some theories link it to older folk traditions or even Hindi/Persian roots, but the "hallo plus baloo" origin is the most widely accepted.

 

*************Galoshes are waterproof, rubber overshoes worn over regular shoes to protect them from getting wet, muddy, or snowy, commonly seen in slip-on or buckle-front styles. They\'re a classic form of protective footwear, sometimes called "rubbers," that helps keep shoes and feet dry in inclement weather, though the term is considered somewhat old-fashioned now, often replaced by "rain boots" or "Wellingtons".

 

**************Believed to date from British colonial rule in India, and related to the Hindi expression “tickee babu”, meaning something like “everything\'s alright, sir”, “tickety-boo” means “everything is fine”. It was a common slang phrase that was popular in the 1920s.

 

***************The Embassy Club – fondly referred to by the Prince of Wales as “the Buckingham Palace of nightclubs” – was considered one of the first and best nightclubs in London\'s West End. Located on Old Bond Street, it was the place to be and be seen in, in the 1920s and 1930s: the spot where London\'s Bright Young Things would gather in their finest evening dress and jewels to dance, drink, and overindulge in legal and extralegal activities. With its seven-piece band and cabaret, the Embassy Club was full to capacity nearly every night – and of course, the Prince of Wales’ frequent visits to the club were an additional draw for women who wanted to “dance with a man who’d danced with a girl who’d danced with the Prince of Wales.”⠀

 

****************To be handsy means someone has a tendency to touch people with the hands, especially in an inappropriate or sexual way.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

 

*****************Nightclubs in London during the 1920s had security personnel performing the functions of modern-day bouncers, often referred to as "doormen". Their primary role was to control access, collect entrance fees, and prevent law enforcement from entering the illegal establishments, as much of their activity (particularly the sale of alcohol after ten at night) was illicit.

 

******************While the Victorian era saw pioneering use of private electricity generation in English country mansions (most famously with hydroelectricity at Cragside), it was common for country houses in the 1920s to use steam-powered generators. By the 1920s, private generating plants using steam or water power were a well-established feature in large, remote country estates in England, as the public electricity grid was still in development and often did not reach rural areas until much later.

 

*******************The House of Usher refers to the central setting and family in Edgar Allan Poe\'s classic 1839 Gothic short story, "The Fall of the House of Usher," a tale of madness, decay, and premature burial. Both the house and the family are presented as decaying entities, intertwined with a hereditary curse, culminating in the literal and metaphorical collapse of the structure and the Usher lineage as the house splits in two at the end of the story after its inhabitants, siblings Roderick and Madeline Usher die, unravelling of the Usher family line, which ends with Madeline\'s premature burial and Roderick\'s subsequent demise.

 

********************Bright red coats known as “hunting pinks” were traditionally worn by English gentlemen hunting on horseback. The name implies that they should be pink, but it is alleged the frock coat was named for English tailor Thomas Pinque (Pink).

 

*********************Historically, queer slang emerged as a way for queer people to communicate discreetly, forming a sense of community and shared identity. Using female names or terms could be a way to signal belonging within this coded language. It was also used for protection, allowing homosexual men to talk about one another discreetly in public without the implication of homosexuality and the repercussions that came with it as a criminal act.

 

**********************Charades is a popular party game where players silently act out words or phrases (like movie titles, book titles, or common sayings) using only gestures and body language, while their teammates guess the answer within a time limit, without any speaking allowed. It\'s a game of pantomime and interpretation, relying on established hand signals and creative acting to convey meaning, often involving syllables or parts of the phrase before the whole. A version called Pirandello appeared in the 1920s, where the audience had to guess a personality being acted out rather than a title, was played regularly in sophisticated social groups. Pirandello developed in artistic and literary Chelsea and Bloomsbury.

 

***********************Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. Telephone lines during this era were not secure, and it was well known that telephone exchange operators, particularly country exchange operators where they were often on their own, listened into private conversations, even though it was frowned upon. Gerald’s caution about not stating anything explicit about his homosexuality would have been a practical precaution against gossip and implication that carried penalties. The law against homosexuality was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.

 

************************The term lavatory was a widely used and "upper-class" term for the facility. The terms WC, an abbreviation for "water closet", and "loo", which came into use around this time (the earliest Oxford English Dictionary citation being 1922) were acceptable across different social strata. The term "toilet" itself was often considered "non-U" (not upper-class) and associated with the aspiring middle class during this period. The American term "bathroom" started to emerge in the U.S. in the 1920s but was a source of confusion for British travellers at the time.

 

*************************The word "Dickensian" was first used in print on March the 19th, 1881, in The Athenaeum, a British literary and arts journal. This usage occurred over a decade after the author Charles Dickens\'s death in 1870. The term was coined to describe conditions, characters, or scenes reminiscent of his novels, typically referring to poor social or bleak economic conditions and inequality.

 

**************************Jermyn Street is a one-way street in the St James\'s area of the City of Westminster in London. It is to the south of, parallel, and adjacent to Piccadilly. Jermyn Street is known as a street for high end gentlemen\'s clothing retailers and bespoke tailors in the West End.

 

*************************** Marrying in a registry office in the United Kingdom became an option with the Marriage Act of 1836, which came into effect on June 30, 1837. This act allowed for non-religious civil marriages to be held in register offices, offering an alternative to traditional church weddings, particularly for those who were not members of the Church of England. Prior to this act, marriages in England and Wales were primarily overseen by the Church of England, even for individuals who were not members. The 1836 Act aimed to provide a more inclusive system, recognizing civil marriage as a valid legal contract and allowing for marriages outside of religious institutions. Getting married in a registry office became particularly popular during the Great War (1914 – 1918) when couples short of time, and desperate to take advantage of the moment would eschew the formalities of a traditional wedding ceremony.

 

Beautiful as they may be, this selection of trophies and telephone sitting in the midst of a grand country house may not be all they seem, for they are in fact made up of miniatures from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out.

 

The large and medium sized lidded trophies were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The silver salver beneath the larger of the trophies was also made by Warwick Miniatures. The tiny horse comes from my friend Kim (BKHagar *Kim*) and were sent to me last Christmas as a present.

 

The avant-garde Art Nouveau statue in the form of a woman with foliate decoration is a hand made sterling silver artisan miniature, made by an unknown American artisan.

 

Lettice’s glass of champagne is made of real spun glass and is an artisan miniature made by Karen ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The painting of the hunt in the background in its gilded frame, I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House shop in the United Kingdom.

Done