Mr. Cookson Investigates

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 engaged to Sir John Nettleford Hughes. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John, according to London society gossip enjoys dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Although she did not become engaged to him then, Lettice did reacquaint herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by mutual friends Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate in 1924. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again later that year at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. 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. When Lettice’s understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, fell apart, Lettice agreed to Sir John’s proposal. Whilst attending the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes* in Paris last year with her now fiancée, Lettice learned from one of Sir John’s lovers, Madeline Flanton, actress from Cinégraphic**, that Selwyn’s dissolution of Lettice’s and his understanding and proposal to Kitty Avendale a diamond mine heiress, brought to Lettice’s attention by Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, may not be entirely true.

 

Today we are following in the footsteps of Lettice and her best old oldest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. Gerald a member of the aristocracy like Lettice, and the two grew up on adjoining estates in Wiltshire. However, although also being a member of the landed gentry Gerald’s fate is very different to Lettice’s. He has been forced to gain some independence from his rather impecunious family in order to make a living. Luckily his artistic abilities have led him to designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is finally beginning to turn a profit. As Lettice’s oldest friend, Gerald is the one she usually turns to in a crisis. And so she did, when she began to question all she had been told about Selwyn and his engagement. Gerald suggested engaging the services of a Pinkerton***. Thus we find ourselves south-east of Cavendish Mews, past the Royal Academy**** in Burlington House, across Piccadilly Circus*****, not far from the National Gallery****** in an alleyway in Piccadilly called George Court, which runs between The Strand and Victoria Embankment. Whilst not far geographically from Cavendish Mews, the tall and narrow, grim red brick buildings, filthy with soot, which block out the spring sky above, and the rather seedy looking mixture of grubby Georgian and Victorian shopfronts is a world away from the cleanliness, light and elegance of Lettice’s Mayfair flat. With Lettice trailing nervously behind, Gerald leads her up a narrow creaking staircase lined with worn and frayed stair carpet, up several flights to the poky and rather dingy office of Mr. Cookson.

 

Lettice paces the small room, whilst she and Gerald await the return of Mr. Cookson to his office after fetching the file he has on his investigations into Selwyn Spencely and Kitty Avendale’s engagement from his adjoining locked storage room. She can feel the tattered qualities of the threadbare carpet beneath her feet as she walks the width of the small room, made more so by the general clutter of the space. Her eyes flit in a desultory fashion about the tiny office, from the rather mean looking old fashioned fireplace with its Art Nouveau detailing on which stands a pipe rack with several pipes in it, to the large map of the world above it peppered with pin holes and drawing pins in different colours. Lettice sniffs the stale air, her nose crumpling with distaste as she inhales a mixture of pipe tobacco, dust and general dampness, the latter of which she assumes is because of their proximity to the Thames. Mr. Cookson’s habit of smoking is evident from the black pipe resting in a brass ashtray full of ashes, and a tin of Ogden’s Juggler tobacco on his cluttered leather topped desk, and the general miasma of pipe smoke that has not dissipated from the airless room, even with its small window, bare of curtains and offering a depressing view of a brick wall opposite, being ajar to allow some cleansing breeze through. “Where have you brought me Gerald? A bordello?” Lettice hisses with concern through her teeth as she eyes the embossed and ornate Victorian flocked wallpaper which must once have been a gaudy gold, but whose colour has been tarnished by years of coal and pipe smoke.

 

“Mr. Cookson happens to come highly recommended.” Gerald quips quietly back from the uncomfortable and old fashioned, high backed Arts and Crafts chair - one of two on their side of the desk which takes up the majority of the room.

 

“Yes, about that,” Lettice whispers back. “I meant to ask you how it was that you settled upon Mr. Cookson’s services.”

 

“He has helped a few of my friends out of some sticky situations involving extortion*******,” Gerald shudders as he utters the last word. “Mr. Cookson has a knack of finding the undetectable.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Skeletons in the cupboards of the blackmailers which they themselves did not wish to have exposed.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice’s eyes fall away from Gerald’s profile in awkward embarrassment.

 

“I warned you that engaging a man like Cookson was going to get grubby, Lettice darling. No-one’s hands remain clean for long. It’s just something you are going to have to get used to.”

 

“I know…. I know.” Lettice raises her powder blue glove clad hands in defence, then quickly puts them down before adding, “No pun intended.”

 

Gerald chuckles, and Lettice smiles, both in a moment of levity.

 

She walks over to the fireplace in distraction and runs a finger along the mantle next to the pipe stand. “It certainly isn’t very clean in here.” She rubs the dust picked up on her glove between her index finger and thumb. “And look at the state of his desk! I assume there is a desk under there.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald hisses.

 

“Mr. Cookson’s housekeeper’s skills leave something to be desired.” Lettice goes on undeterred.

 

Gerald turns around in his seat and glares at Lettice.

 

‘What?”

 

“You sound just like Sadie sometimes.” he remarks witheringly, referring to Lettice’s judgemental mother, as he gives her a tired look.

 

“No I don’t!” Lettice answers quickly, her eyes widening in surprise at Gerald’s candid observation of her.

 

“And you look like her when you do things like that.” he nods at Lettice’s raised finger and thumb before lifting his own and rubbing them together, mimicking her, causing her to quickly drop her right hand and hide it behind her back. “In my experience,” Gerald goes on. “Private Inquiry Agents******** of any merit do not have tidy offices, because they are too busy working for their clients.”

 

“In your experience?”

 

“With my friends.” Gerald elucidates.

 

“Oh…” Lettice’s mouth forms a perfect oval a mixture of surprise and shock.

 

Lettice begins to pace again, the atmosphere of nervousness in the office seemingly growing more intense, as the sonorous ticking of Mr. Cookson’s wall clock and the distant sound of London traffic from The Strand grows more noticeable in the suffocating, muffled air.

 

“Oh for God’s sake!” Gerald finally bursts. “Do sit down Lettuce Leaf!” He uses Lettice’s most hated pet name from childhood.

 

“Don’t call me that, Gerald!” Lettice answers, stopping her traversing back and forth. “You know I hate it! We aren’t children any more.”

 

“I will when you stop being annoying like a child, and come and sit down.” He pats the worn and cracked tan leather seat of the chair opposite him, causing a cloud of dust motes to arise from it.

 

Lettice emits a cough and sulkily stops her stalking before coming and sitting down in the vacant chair next to her best friend. “Sorry Gerald darling.” she apologises earnestly. “I’m just so nervous about what Mr. Cookson will reveal.” Worry fills her pretty features as she looks Gerald squarely in the face whilst wringing her hands. “What if it’s bad news?”

 

Gerald reaches out his left hand and places it calmingly on Lettice’s right knee. “Whatever he tells us, bad or good, it will be an answer, and that in itself is good.”

 

“Oh, I was sick with worry last night, wondering if John is involved in all this business with Lady Zinnia,” She places her own hand atop Gerald’s and squeezes it. “I barely slept a wink.”

 

“I know.” Gerald opines. “I can see by the dark circles under your eyes.”

 

Lettice gasps and raises her fingers to the flesh beneath her sparkling eyes.

 

“Ahh, here we are.” Mr. Cookson says in a cheerful tone as he bustles back into his office through the open Pyramid Glass********* glassed panelled door leading from his adjoining storage room. “The Spencely file!” He hits the surface of a brown leather journal in his hands, creating a fruity thwack, and like most things in the office when disturbed, a cloud of dust. “You must pardon my rather lax housekeeping, Miss Chetwynd.” he goes on with a chuckle. “But I don’t engage the services of our building’s char********** to clean my office, and I’m very seldom here to clean it myself.”

 

Gerald gives Lettice a knowing look.

 

“Excellent hearing comes with the territory of being a Private Enquiry Agent, Miss Chetwynd.” he adds with a gentle smile.

 

Lettice blushes red with embarrassment at having been overheard by the investigator.

 

“In my profession, you tend to be distrustful of people, especially of those who have the ability to rifle through your drawers when you aren’t around. Whilst I’m sure Magdaléna is a very good char and perfectly trustworthy, my suspicious mind just can’t come at a Silesian*********** cleaning in here, without me being present.” He sits down in the more comfortable looking rounded clerk’s chair on his side of the desk and drops the journal on the only part of the desk before him not cluttered with typewriter or a jumble of correspondence, paperwork and journals. “Now,” he sighs as he takes out his gold pocket watch and places it on the cluttered desktop next to the journal before he picks up his pipe from his ashtray and inserts it into his mouth, strikes a match which he places to the pipe’s bowl and begins to draw on it, creating a few puffs of pungent greyish white smoke. “Shall we begin?”

 

Mr. Cookson, in Lettice’s mind is a rather forgettable, portly looking middle-aged man, which she then considers is probably to his advantage in his line of work. He has phlegmatic skin that suggests he spends more time in the corners of darkened rooms and hidden in the shadows of alleyways than in sundrenched parks or the open countryside. His strawberry blonde hair atop his head is sparse and fine, leaving a balding pate, whilst his thick handlebar moustache************ with its expertly waxed ends which curve upwards dominates his jowly and wizened face. Tobacco stains along the upper bristles over his mouth attest to how much he smokes his pipe. He wears gold rimmed glasses which enlargen his alert blue eyes, which sparkle like bright aquamarine chips from amidst the crinkled flesh around them. His suit is black and is as nondescript as Mr. Cookson himself is, and could belong any one of the numerous clerks, civil servants and office workers of London’s business district. Lettice imagines he wears a bowler hat as a topper to his three piece suit and tie ensemble, and walks with a black brolly, just like hundreds of other men in the city. His worn hands are pudgy, with sausage like fingers which are surprisingly dexterous as he flips through the journal and withdraws a sheath of papers and notes with ease from amidst the pages.

 

“Please, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald replies.

 

Mr. Cookson draws on his pipe pleasurably again, before releasing another puff of acrid smoke. “Well, firstly. When you came to see me Mr. Bruton, one of the things you raised was establishing whether there was any defining link between the Duchess of Walmsford and Sir Nettleford-Hughes.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice blurts out. “That was at my insistence, Mr. Cookson. Since Sir John is my fiancée, and this matter refers to the gentleman with whom I had a romantic arrangement prior to him, so I need to know whether my fiancée and Lady Zinnia are connected in any way. Did he stand to gain from his engagement to me?”

 

“Well,” Mr. Cookson chortles, sending more puffs of smoke into the air like a steam shovel*************. “You’ll pardon me for being so forward, Miss Chetwynd, but I think Sir Nettleford-Hughes has a great deal to gain from having a wife as witty, adroit and charming as you.” He chuckles again, withdrawing his smoking pipe and smiling indulgently at Lettice. “However, I know that is not what you are referring to in the way of gain.” He pauses momentarily. “Miss Chetwynd, through my thorough investigations, I have not found any links between your fiancée and the Duchess. They may have passed each other at social functions, but my sources confirm that Sir John has not been present at any of the Walmsford properties since 1910, and even prior to that, it was only occasionally, and from what I can glean, because he was accompanying a guest who had been invited by the Duchess.”

 

“No invitations directly to Sir John from either Lady Zinnia or the Duke?” Gerald clarifies.

 

“None, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson confirms. “Nor any telephone connections between households.”

 

Lettice heaves a sigh of relief as she releases the pent-up breath she did not realise she had been holding on to, since Mr. Cookson began to speak about the results of his investigations. She falls back against the hard, high back of the chair and physically settles within her powder blue coat with the arctic fox collar. “Oh, that is a relief, Mr. Cookson.” she breathes. “Such a relief!”

 

“I’m quite sure it is, Miss Chetwynd.” The older man nods at Lettice. “Furthermore, to acquit your fiancée from any involvement in the matter which I am investigating, I have established that it is well known within his social circles that there is no love lost between he and the Duchess. He is quite happy to share his dislike of her with the fellow members of his club.”

 

“Thank goodness it is a different one to the Duke’s club then.” Gerald interjects, his own voice and eyes filled with relief as he glances across at his best friend and reaches out, grasping her hand. “I doubt the Duke would appreciate his wife being spoken of with distain.”

 

“Perhaps not, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson concedes. “So, Miss Chetwynd, it seems that your suspicions as a result of the timing between Sir Nettleford-Hughes’ first proposal to you, and the revelations of your own understanding with Mr. Spencely being broken by an unexpected engagement by the Duchess, are unfounded. Rather the timing between the two was simply an unfortunate coincidence, rather than contrived happenstance.”

 

The solace at Mr. Cookson’s pronouncement bubbles up inside Lettice, and she laughs with nervous relief as tears well in her blue eyes, making them shimmer. “Thank goodness.”

 

“That’s splendid news. Mr. Cookson.” Gerald enthuses, squeezing Lettice’s hand comfortingly again.

 

Mr. Cookson smiles as he puffs again on his pipe, allowing Lettice to bask in the momentary happiness of her ease before continuing, “Now, as to the engagement between Mr. Spencely and Miss Avendale, well that is a very fine and different kettle of fish**************.”

 

“And what does that mean, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks warily, her eyes narrowing as the relief she felt dissipates as quickly as it came, and a knot forms in her stomach.

 

“Well,” Mr, Cookson releases another cloud of smoke from his pipe. “I have done a great deal of research from here in London, but I can find no trace of this Miss Kitty Avendale. It’s like she emerged from nowhere like a puff of smoke.”

 

“She came from Australia, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice responds. “Lady Zinnia told me so.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, Miss Chetwynd, but even a girl from as far flung a corner of the British Empire would have left some traces if she is mixing in salubrious social circles.”

 

“That strikes me as an odd business, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald opines.

 

“As it does me, Mr. Bruton, especially if she is a diamond mine heiress.”

 

“If, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks.

 

“Well, I’m no diamond mine owner myself, Miss Chetwynd, nor wealthy as a result of good fortune, but what I do know from my years of experience in this business, and my dealings in high society is, that if she really were a diamond heiress, even one born in Australia, her father would want her presented at court to help ensure a good marriage to someone in the peerage.”

 

“And Lady Zinnia would never allow anyone of an inferior background, who hadn’t been presented at court, marry her son, no matter how rich she was, or stood to become upon her marriage, or her father’s death.” Lettice says.

 

“Exactly, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Cookson purrs.

 

“Lady Zinnia disliked me because she felt my lineage to be inferior to that of the Walmsfords, coming from what she called an undistinguished county family.” The snub still burns Lettice.

 

“Well, there is no mention of a Miss Kitty Avendale in the Court Circular***************, nor in any list of debutantes being presented going back as far as 1900.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure she isn’t that old, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice says, remembering the bright face flushed with youth from the newspaper clippings Lady Zinnia presented her with.

 

“Thoroughness is a trademark of mine, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Cookson counters as he wags a finger warningly at her. “And many a photograph in many a newspaper has been doctored to deceive and falsify a person’s looks or age.”

 

Lettice cannot fault his argument, as several photographic images taken of her mother, Lady Sadie, in recent years have been touched up in to make her appear more youthful and less jowly.

 

“The first entry I can find of Miss Kitty Avendale, daughter of a mine owner, or even a Kitty Avendale of a less salubrious background, is in the East African Standard****************, where she is reported to be staying at the Muthaiga Club***************** in Nairobi.”

 

“Nairobi?” Edith and Gerald both exclaim together as one, casting knowing glances at each other.

 

“Yes. She makes quite a splash****************** apparently, dressed in the latest Parisian fashions, drinking gin like water, and throwing around money like it were breadcrumbs at the bridge and poker tables of the club. From there, it is reported that she journeys on to Durban after a few weeks stay in Nairobi.”

 

“My youngest brother lives north of Nairobi.” Lettice manages to utter, almost choking on the words.

 

“And he’d enjoy nothing more than to create sport at Lettice’s expense.” Gerald adds. “The cad.”

 

“Yes,” Mr. Cookson says calmly, puffing again on his pipe as he refers to his notes. “I am aware of your brother Lionel’s existence, Miss Chetwynd. He was banished to British East Africa******************* by your father, Viscount Wrexham, let me see…” He ponders as he scans his spidery script. “In 1912 after he… ahem…” He clears his throat rather awkwardly.

 

“Please don’t spare my blushes********************, Mr. Cookson, or Gerald’s.” Lettice responds dryly. “You’ve obviously done some thorough research into our family and its black sheep. Gerald and I are both well aware of why my brother was banished to British East Africa. His reputation for getting women into trouble is no doubt as well known there today as it was at home at the time of his banishment.” She sighs heavily. “But a horse stud on the Aberdare Range********************* is more at arm’s length from the Chetwynd family’s good name, and therefore more palatable to my father and aunts.”

 

“Do you think Lionel might be involved in this affair, Mr. Cookson?” Gerald asks anxiously.

 

“I can’t say for certain, because I don’t know, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson folds his arms akimbo and draws on his pipe again, making the tobacco inside crackle as smoke seeps from his mouth, rising in curlicues around his face. “I don’t wish to speculate when I don’t have the facts. You know that I deal in facts, Mr. Bruton.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald demurs.

 

“It seems a little tenuous a connection,” Mr. Cookson says through his yellowing teeth. “But nevertheless, worth an investigation whist I’m out there, based upon what you have just told me about the acrimonious relationship between he and Miss Chetwynd. He makes for a good scapegoat, but I do not wish to be prejudicial towards Mr. Chetwynd.”

 

“There is no love lost between me and Lionel, I can assure you, Mr, Cookson.” Lettice says flatly. “My siblings are the same.”

 

“Still, there should be no bias towards your brother, Miss Chetwynd. As I say, he makes a convenient scapegoat, but may not in fact be connected at all. I repeat: I only work in facts.”

 

“Are you going to British East Africa then, Mr. Cookson?” Gerald queries.

 

“I am, Mr. Bruton, and I think, just at the right time too, what with all this talk of revolution and an imminent general strike********************** being bantered about.” He gesticulates in the air with his hands. “I sail for Mombasa via the BISNCo line********************** aboard the SS Madras on Monday, and then travel overland to Nairobi, before I then journey on to Durban to further my investigations once my business is settled in Nairobi.” He sends out another curlicue of pipe smoke from his lips. “Which is why I wanted to see you before I go. I imagine I’ll be gone a few months, but I’ll wire you if anything of vital importance arises.”

 

“I’d appreciate it, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald replies.

 

“What do you think you’ll discover there, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks.

 

“Hopefully,” the older man sighs. “More than I have discovered here. Wealth and privilege has long created deference in this country, and my investigations into the Duchess’ involvement in this matter have fallen on deaf ears, and doors very firmly closed. Kenya and South Africa, however, are wilder frontiers, further afield from Britain’s grasp, where the existing rules of class, privilege and deference do not apply so strictly. Whilst I have established no connection between Sir Nettleford-Hughes and the Duchess, I can’t say I have been as fortunate to be able to connect her with this Miss Avendale who is purportedly engaged to her son.”

 

“Purportedly?” Lettice asks in amazement, scarcely daring to hope.

 

“Now, I don’t wish to raise any false flags for you, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Cookson tempers quickly, raising his hands towards her placatingly. “But I find it equally odd that a family as prominent as the Duke of Walmsford’s would not announce their only son’s engagement, as I did Miss Avendale’s lack of presentation before the engagement.”

 

“Then you think there may be no engagement, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice persists.

 

“I must stress that I do not wish to speculate about what may, or may not, have transpired, Miss Chetwynd. All I am saying is, that I need more definite proof. These clippings,” The investigator foists out several of the newspaper articles Lettice stole from Lady Zinnia’s cache, which she then gave to Gerald when he spoke of engaging the services of a Pinkerton. “Appear to be fishy, just like Miss Avendale’s sudden appearance from nowhere. However, I need access to the newspapers the Duchess has written that they come from. None of these have mastheads on them, only the Duchess’ say so. We have no definitive proof that they haven’t been fabricated by the Duchess for her own deceitful purposes, like Miss Flanton led you to believe when you were in Paris last year.”

 

“So, you think they may be false then?” Gerald asks.

 

“The Duchess has the means at her disposal, and with my investigations into her, purposely blocked, I’m sure she gets whatever she wants, but her reach cannot be omnipotent.”

 

“You’ve never met Lady Zinnia.” Lettice remarks.

 

“No, I’ve never had the pleasure, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Well, I can assure you that there is no pleasure meeting her, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice explains. “Your observation of her is remarkably true-to-life. I only hope that you are right about her limitations.”

 

“I hope so too.” adds Gerald.

 

“Then that makes three of us, Miss Chetwynd, Mr. Bruton.” The investigator sucks on his pipe again, his eyes narrowing as he stares off into the distance. He removes his gold rimmed spectacles and drops them carelessly atop the journal on Selwyn and he massages the bridge of his nose. His jaw squares. “The Duchess may be wilful, but she has yet to meet a man as tenacious as me.”

 

Lettice looks at Gerald and smiles hopefully into his equally optimistic face.

 

*The International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

**Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.

 

***A “Pinkerton” is a private detective, and refers to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, founded by Allan Pinkerton, known for its historical role in labour disputes and spying. For decades after Allan Pinkerton's death, his name became a slang term for any private investigator, regardless of whether they worked for the Pinkerton Agency or not. Today, the agency (now simply called Pinkerton) focuses on risk management, intelligence, and security services.

 

*****Piccadilly Circus is a famous road junction and public space in London's West End, acting as a major tourist hub known for its large neon advertising screens and the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain (often called the Statue of Eros). Built in 1819 to connect Regent Street with Piccadilly, it is commonly called the "Times Square of London" and is a popular meeting point. Historically, the name derives from a Seventeenth Century frilled collar known as a "piccadil", while "circus" refers to the circular traffic junction.

 

****The Royal Academy of Arts is a prestigious, independent institution in London dedicated to the visual arts, founded in 1768 by forty artists and architects under King George III. It was originally located at Somerset House before moving to Trafalgar Square and finally to its permanent home at Burlington House, Piccadilly, in 1868. It is renowned for hosting the annual Summer Exhibition (a major feature of the London Season) which it has been holding since 1769, promoting art through education, and being run by artists and architects.

 

******The National Gallery, located in Trafalgar Square, is a world-renowned art museum housing a premier collection of over two thousand three hundred Western European paintings dating from the Thirteenth to the early Twentieth Centuries. Founded in 1824 by the British government, Parliament purchased thirty-eight paintings from the estate of merchant John Julius Angerstein, following his death, to establish a national collection, which was later housed in Trafalgar Square. The building was designed by architect William Wilkins and opened1838. It features masterpieces by artists like Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Monet, and Rembrandt, offering free general admission to the public.

 

*******Male homosexual acts were illegal in England during the 1920s, governed by the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, which prohibited all male homosexual activity, even in private. Convictions carried severe penalties, including hard labour. Blackmail was a significant and common danger for homosexual men when this story was set in 1926. Because male homosexual acts were illegal and carried immense social stigma, men were exceptionally vulnerable to extortionists who threatened to expose them to the authorities or the public.

 

********In 1920s England, private investigators were most commonly referred to as Inquiry Agents or Private Inquiry Agents. They were frequently engaged for matters involving surveillance and divorce, with other common terms including private detectives, commercial agents, and private investigators used.

 

*********"Pyramid Series" glass is a type of opaque, textured architectural glass designed with deeply angled surfaces. It was extremely popular in the 1920s and 30s in spaces, such as domestic bathrooms or in commercial offices, where it would allow light in, but block the view through the window, this providing privacy.

 

**********A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.

 

***********Silesia was an independent political entity in existence in the 1920s, but it was heavily restructured following the Great War. After the 1921 plebiscite and three uprisings, the region was split: the Autonomous Silesian Voivodeship (part of Poland since 1922) and the provinces of Upper and Lower Silesia in the Weimar Republic. Silesia still exists today as a distinct historical and geographical region in Central Europe, though it is no longer an independent political entity. Today, the vast majority of Silesia is located in southwestern Poland, with smaller parts in the Czech Republic and Germany. It is characterised by its rich industrial heritage, especially in Upper Silesia.

 

************A handlebar moustache is a distinctive facial hair style featuring a thick moustache with long, upwardly curved or curled ends that resemble the handlebars of a bicycle. It requires substantial length, regular training, and grooming wax to maintain its signature, often stylized, "hooked" shape.

 

*************A steam shovel is a large, steam-powered excavating machine invented by William Otis in 1839, designed to dig and move massive amounts of soil or rock. Popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, these machines used cable-operated buckets and were essential for building railways, canals, and mining, eventually being replaced by diesel shovels in the 1930s.

 

**************"A kettle of fish" (often used as "a pretty/fine kettle of fish") originates from Eighteenth Century Scotland and Northern England to describe a messy or disagreeable situation. It refers literally to a picnic where salmon was boiled in a "kettle" (large vessel), with the "mess" of fish bones symbolizing confusion.

 

***************The Court Circular is the official, daily record of past engagements and official duties carried out by the British Monarch and members of the Royal Family. Issued by St James's Palace, it provides a verified, factual account of royal movements, often published one day in arrears in national newspapers like The Times.

 

****************Founded in 1902 by Alibhai Mulla Jeevanjee as the African Standard in Mombasa, The Standard is Kenya's oldest newspaper. Initially a weekly serving European settlers, it became the East African Standard in 1905, moved to Nairobi in 1910, and rebranded to The Standard in 1977. It now serves as a major Kenyan media outlet.

 

*****************The Muthaiga Club is a club in Nairobi. It is located in the suburb of Muthaiga, about fifteen minutes’ drive from the city centre. The Muthaiga Country Club opened on New Year's Eve in 1913, and became a gathering place for the colonial British settlers in British East Africa, which later became in 1920, the Colony of Kenya.

 

******************The origin of the idiom "make a splash", meaning to attract a great deal of attention, is not precisely dated, but it has been in popular use since the early Twentieth Century. Whilst the exact moment of its first use remains unknown, it evolved from earlier metaphorical uses of the word "splash." By the early 1800s, the noun "splash" was already being used to describe a "striking or ostentatious display", which laid the linguistic groundwork for the later, more common idiom describing someone who attracts significant attention.

 

*******************The Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, commonly known as British Kenya or British East Africa, was part of the British Empire in Africa. It was established when the former East Africa Protectorate was transformed into a British Crown colony in 1920. Technically, the "Colony of Kenya" referred to the interior lands, with a ten mile coastal strip, nominally on lease from the Sultan of Zanzibar, was the "Protectorate of Kenya", but the two were controlled as a single administrative unit. The colony came to an end in 1963 when an ethnic Kenyan majority government was elected for the first time and eventually declared independence as the Republic of Kenya.

 

********************The British phrase “to spare someone’s blushes” means to refrain from causing someone embarrassment.

 

*********************The Aberdare Range (formerly the Sattima Range) is a one hundred mile long mountain range of upland, north of Kenya's capital Nairobi with an average elevation of thirteen thousand one hundred and thirty feet. It straddles across the counties of Nyandarua, Nyeri, Muranga, Kiambu and Laikipia.

 

**********************The General Strike in Britain occurred between May the 3rd and May the 12th, 1926. It was a nine-day nationwide stoppage called by the Trades Union Congress (TUC) to support coal miners facing wage reductions and worsening conditions. Roughly one million, seven hundred thousand workers went on strike, primarily in transport and heavy industry.

 

***********************The British India Steam Navigation Company (BISNCo), originally the Calcutta and Burmah Steam Navigation Company was established 1856 in Glasgow. It was a shipping giant founded by Scotsman William Mackinnon to operate mail services between India and Burma. The company grew to operate a massive network of passenger and cargo services across the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf, later joining the P&O group in 1914 before being fully absorbed in 1977. The British India Steam Navigation Company was a major carrier on the African routes in the 1920s, connecting Britain to Kenya, Tanganyika, and India.

 

This cluttered office may look real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including some special pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Mr. Cookson’s pipe, brass ashtray and box of matches on the desk are all artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The correspondence, letters and newspaper are also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures with particular care paid to the authenticity of them.

 

The typewriter is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by the Little Green Workshop in England, who specialise in high-end, handmade miniatures. The details on the typewriter are wonderful. The Little Green Workshop also made the ink blotter, pen and the letter opener on the desk, all of which are made of sterling silver, and the ink blotter even has black felt along its base.

 

The brown leather journals, Mr. Cookson’s gold rimmed spectacles, his pocket watch, the desk calendar and the black lidded red ink bottle all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The pipe rack on the fireplace mantle in the background also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop, as does the British Empire era map hanging above the fireplace.

 

The two chairs may look as though they are made of wood and studded leather, however you may be surprised to learn that they are made entirely of resin. They are part of the "Take a Seat" miniature chair collection, which is a popular series designed by internationally acclaimed miniature artist Raine and produced by Willits Designs. These detailed, collectible miniatures showcase various styles and designs of chairs, and are often sought after by collectors for their intricate craftsmanship, reflecting Raine's reputation for detailed miniature art.

 

The Art Nouveau fireplace surround was made by Taylor & Barrett in England and dates from the late 1920s, and is made from hollow cast lead which has then been hand painted. Founded by Fred Taylor and A.R. Barrett, Taylor & Barrett was a prominent British manufacturer renowned for high-quality, hollow-cast lead miniature toys. They were known for extensive zoo series (animals, keepers), road signs, fire engines, trolleybuses, and detailed dolls' house items like vacuum cleaners and stoves. Before the Second World War production was high, with many items produced between 1920 and 1939. The company halted production during the war before splitting into F.G. Taylor & Sons and Barrett & Sons post-war. Their items are highly sought after by vintage toy collectors today.

 

The red, green, blue and black leather ledgers you see in the background are from my own childhood. They are able to be opened, and as a child, I created my own books by filling the blank pages with illustrations and “text”.

 

The glass fronted bookcase to the left of the photograph is a replica of a bookcase belonging to Abraham Lincoln and is part of the Lincoln Collection, made and distributed in America. The walnut shelving unit on the right-hand side of the fireplace is made by Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.

 

The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Done