I’ll be Damned Before I’ll let you get Your Heart’s Deepest Desire

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.

 

For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the unpleasant issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.

 

Lettice is now 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. Then, during the General Strike* that almost brought the nation to a standstill, Selwyn and Lettice were reintroduced, and she found out that Selwyn wasn’t engaged to another woman at all, as she was led to believe by Lady Zinnia, and it had all been a fabrication, leaving her in a quandary over what to do: break her engagement with Sir John and marry the man she truly loves and has never stopped loving, or remain engaged to Sir John, preserving his honour and the good name of her own family.

 

Today we are still in Mayfair, and only a short distance from Cavendish Mews, out the front of an imposing Palladian style mansion on the grand thoroughfare of Park Lane, opposite Hyde Park: the London home of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford, where Lettice was told about Selwyn’s supposed engagement. Selwyn Spencely steps out of his blue London taxi after paying the driver, and with a happy whistle tunefully on his lips, he bounds up the stone steps with light and energetic treads, to the enormous white painted double front doors of the mansion with their black painted knockers. He doesn’t even need to knock as the right of the two doors is opened by a tall and imperious looking bewigged footman** in splendid Eighteenth Century style Walmsford livery.

 

“Welcome home, Your Grace***.” the footman says, bowing his head in deference to Selwyn as he steps aside, ushering him in from the beautiful mid-morning light outside into the cool darkened marble hallway of the house within.

 

“Thank you, Andrews.” Selwyn replies, ceasing his whistling trills as sweeps past the footman and removes his gloves.

 

“I hope you had a pleasant morning, Sir.” the footman goes on, accepting the plum dyed leather gloves from his master and helping him slip out of his creamy summer Burberry macintosh****.

 

“I did, thank you Andrews.” Selwyn replies with a beaming smile.

 

Selwyn has every reason to smile, having just spent the last few hours pleasurably in Lettice’s company at Cavendish Mews, where they enjoyed sharing stories about what has transpired in their lives since Selwyn was sent to Durban, and he particularly enjoyed hearing about how Lady Gladys Caxton had given Lettice’s best and oldest childhood chum the nickname of “Mr. Buttons” in honour of his establishment of his own couture house.

 

“Good morning, Your Grace.” a second, slightly shorter footman says as he slips up quietly next the two men. “Did you have a pleasant visit, this morning?”

 

“Ahh, Poole! I was just telling Andrews here, yes thank you. Now, I should like…” but Selwyn’s voice trails off as he catches a certain glint of distress in the second footman’s eyes. “What is it, Poole? What’s happened?”

 

As if on cue, the sharp and high-pitched rings of a bell sound out twice from one of the rooms upstairs, causing all three men to glance upwards towards the ornate skylights in the dome three storeys above their heads, from which is suspended a grand electrified crystal chandelier hanging from vaulted ceiling.

 

Selwyn glances back at Poole with wild and wide eyes filled with alarm.

 

“Her Grace has returned from Clendon***** unexpectedly, Your Grace.” Poole says with a slightly quavering voice as the unnerved look in his eyes becomes more pronounced. “And she wishes to see you.”

 

“Does she indeed?” Selwyn asks, a shudder running through him as he speaks. “Well, I’ll just freshen…”

 

“Her Grace stated her express wish that she wanted to see you immediately upon your return, Your Grace.” Poole goes on in an apologetic tone.

 

“I see.” Selwyn answers with a deflated sigh. “Very well, Poole. Where is she now?”

 

“Her Grace is in the Chinese Drawing Room, Your Grace.”

 

A few moments later, an older woman dressed in a smart black moiré uniform decorated with elegant black lace panels and faceted jet black buttons, descends the sweeping carpeted spiral staircase with its shining ostentatious silver banisters from the upper floors of the mansion. Her look is serious, made all the more so by her tightly pursed lips and the way her grey waves are severely pinned in place around her head. Her look does not change as she spies Selwyn and she stares at him with a hard look through her dark, beady eyes.

 

“Your Grace.” she says, dropping a low curtsey before Selwyn as she reaches the foot of the stairs. Without waiting for his reply, she continues, “I do hope Andrews and Poole have told you that Her Ladyship is in residence, and that she wishes to see you in the Chinese Drawing Room.” Her piercing stare intensifies. “Immediately!”

 

“Hullo to you too, Mrs. Ketwick.” Selwyn answers the surly housekeeper of the Park Lane property cheerfully, before adding, “Yes, I had a lovely morning out. Thank you for asking.”

 

If his last remark was meant to create a sense of remorse in the old woman, she shows no sign of it, as her tightly pressed lips grow even more so, draining any colour from her phlegmatic face.

 

“Immediately, Your Grace.” is her only reply, as she glances scornfully between Andrews and Poole who flank Selwyn.

 

There is no love lost between Selwyn and his mother’s housekeeper, who is the most hated member of the Duke and Duchess’ retinue of staff by everyone else in the household because of her cold manner, dismissive attitude and cruel treatment of any staff below her in the house’s domestic hierarchy. In fact, the only person who likes Mrs. Ketwick is the Duchess herself, and that is only because she enthusiastically tells Lady Zinnia all the happenings within the household down to the smallest of details, personal private, or otherwise, which means she is not to be trusted.

 

“Yes, Poole just informed me, so please don’t punish him for not coming out onto Park Lane, throwing himself in front of my taxi, and telling me of Her Grace’s wishes even before I had alighted from it, Mrs. Ketwick.”

 

The old woman looks unimpressed.

 

“Poole’s delivery of the message was timely, I can assure you.” Selwyn goes on.

 

Mrs. Ketwick doesn’t reply. Her eyes simply widen slightly as she gives Poole an even harder stare than before, before walking brusquely away down the hall, her heels echoing hard against the polished marble tiles beneath her feet.

 

“Ghastly old trout.” Selwyn says in a low voice to Poole as he chuckles, but the footman does not join in his master’s mirth, causing him to add, “Don’t worry, Poole. I’ll ensure there will be no repercussions for you.”

 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Poole answers as both he and Andrews release pent up breaths they have been holding. “That would be much appreciated, Sir.”

 

“Right!” Selwyn says with false bravado. “I best get this audience over with, then.”

 

And so saying he bounds up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

 

The Chinese Drawing Room on the first floor overlooking the rear gardens is one of the more intimate of the lofty reception rooms in the Walmsford mansion, and is far less imposing than the White Drawing Room that Lady Zinnia received Lettice in the day Lettice visited her in answer to her summons. With its interior dating back to when the house was originally built in the Eighteenth Century, the Chinese Drawing Room still has the chinoiserie theme chosen by Henrietta, the first Duchess of Walmsford, with original hand painted wallpaper panels of red camellias on a green background, and a suite of black japanned and gilded Chippendale****** furnishings. Yet even here, Lady Zinnia’s zest for conspicuous consumerism has found a place, with the addition of a pair of black and white antique Italian cameos, two tall silver candlesticks, a couple of Georgian silver tea caddies******* and a Parian ware******** vase to the mantle of the white marble fireplace. When Selwyn enters the room, he sees his mother sitting in a straight backed chinoiserie style Chippendale chair, facing the door, next to an oval tea table set with a dainty floral tea set on a gleaming silver tray.

 

Always in control no matter what her surroundings, Lady Zinnia’s stance is a study of restraint. She looks comfortably seated, but Selwyn knows that everything about her appearance and position is a carefully planned artifice. Arrayed in a hand dyed silk frock running from golden yellow to orange and with fiery red handkerchief points, she oozes wealth, status and most of all, projects power. Lady Zinnia with her unbreakable steely hardness that sends a shiver down her son’s spine as she approaches her, is the one holding court. He knows that she will have questions for him, and that he should be under no illusion that he is in her presence for any other reason than to answer them, although being his son, she will sugar coat it with tea and biscuits and polite chatter before she strikes like a venomous snake, sharply and with precision. Whilst her frock may not soften her look, it does successfully highlight her flawless pale skin. Several strands of perfect creamy white pearls cascade down the front of her outfit, whilst gold, diamond and large pearl droplets hang effortlessly from her lobes. Clusters of diamonds wink amongst her wavy tresses which are all deep blue black, save for the one signature streak of white shooting from her temple and disappearing like a silver trail amongst her darker waves.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my handsome boy.”

 

Selwyn hates how Lady Zinnia always demotes and belittles him by calling him “boy”. Again, it is not a term of endearment from a mother to her son, but more like how Lady Zinnia would command a punkah wallah********* in India, or a waiter at the Savoy**********, and it is intended as a show of her power over him as a subordinate to her.

 

“This is a surprise.” he manages to reply in a strangulated voice.

 

“A pleasant one, I hope, Selwyn dear.” Her well elocuted tones slice the tense atmosphere around her like a knife.

 

“Of course.” he replies with false joviality.

 

His laconic statement is a lie they are both fully aware of, but also inexplicably play along with anyway.

 

Selwyn leans in with his left cheek to Lady Zinnia’s right***********, and kisses the air next to her ear as she carefully makes sure that there is no physical contact between them. Selwyn can almost feel the pale patrician flesh of her cheek retreat with revulsion as his own brushes past it.

 

“Please, do sit down, Selwyn dear.” Lady Zinnia says with a perfect painted smile************ and a sweeping gesture with her left hand as she indicates to the seat drawn up alongside the tea table, positioned opposite to her.

 

She scrutinises him with her cold sapphire chip eyes.

 

“You look pale,” she opines matter-of-factly. “Too many late nights, too much champagne and not enough food, I’ll wager. I’ll speak to Monsieur Devereaux about putting together a proper menu for you, whilst I’m up here. I pay enough for a chef-de-cuisine, the least he can do is feed you properly.”

 

“Actually, I’ve been dining at my club for the most part, or with friends.” Selwyn defends as he takes his seat, the uncomfortable feeling he has in the pit of his stomach growing more pronounced with his close proximity to his mother. “It suits me better as I work at gaining a new architectural commission, now I’m back here in London.”

 

He can smell the familiar scent of the lavender perfume she always wears. It makes him nauseous.

 

“When are you going to give this silly architecture business away, Selwyn?” Lady Zinnia flaps her heavily bejewelled right hand at Selwyn irascibly. “Your father isn’t getting any younger, thank the Lord. You need to at least show at least some passing interest in Clendon estate affairs, now you are home, not running yourself ragged at nightclubs, theatre and dinner engagements up here with all your smart London set.” She slinks back in her chair slightly as she appraises her son once again with her piercing gaze. “One day you will be the next Duke of Walmsford.”

 

“I am perfectly aware of that!” Selwyn quips. “I don’t need you to remind me!”

 

“Don’t be ungrateful, Selwyn!” Lady Zinnia snaps, her eyes flaring with sudden hostility.

 

“I’m not ungrateful.” he defends.

 

“Well,” she goes on more calmly. “As future Lord of the Manor, you owe it to your father, and his tenants to show some interest in estate business, not gallivanting around here drawing pretty houses for the undeserving and ungrateful nouveau riche*************. It’s your duty.”

 

“What brings you up from Clendon?” Selwyn asks in an effort to steer the subject of conversation elsewhere.

 

“Must I have an excuse to see my son and heir?” Lady Zinnia asks in faux shock, spreading her arms wide and shrugging in an elegantly languorous way. “You seem incapable of being torn away from the bright lights of London to sleepy Buckinghamshire, not that it’s very far away.” she chides. “So, if the mountain won't come to Muhammad,” She sighs with irritation, adjusting the sleeve of her frock delicately as she does. “Then Muhammad must go to the mountain*************.”

 

Selwyn screws up his face at his mother, dismissing her scold.

 

“The visit also gives me an excuse to visit Redfern************** whilst I’m up in town. I need a new afternoon frock for the Clendon Annual Autumn Fête. I’m hosting the tombola**************.”

 

“And who are you raising money for this year?”

 

“The Clendon Workhouse***************.” she answers with a fatigued voice. “It seems as though we can sprout the elderly, the infirm, grubby orphans, and the pathetically sick, like my parterre****************** sprouts weeds.”

 

“How very tiring for you.” Selwyn remarks.

 

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit*******************, Selwyn dear.” Lady Zinnia remarks peevishly with an almost imperceptible shake of her head which make her pearl droplets tremble. “It doesn’t become you.”

 

“Sorry Mummy.” the rebuked Selwyn replies.

 

“Besides His Majesty is hosting a Royal Levée******************** for the Governor of the Bahamas, so your father will arrive tomorrow.” She pauses for a moment. “And don’t call me that.” She raises an elegantly thin finger adorned in precious stones warningly. “Zinnia, if you please, dear! You aren’t a child anymore. You know that we are far beyond all this silly ‘Mummy’ business. You’re a grown man.”

 

“Sorry Mummy.” Selwyn replies, again using the endearment, emphasising it as he says it.

 

“Oh dear!” Lady Zinnia sighs. “Perhaps I was wrong about you being a grown man, my boy. It seems that I must have done something fearfully wrong for you to persist like a petulant child, if you insist on calling me ‘Mummy’ in this fashion.”

 

“No, you haven’t, Zinnia.” Selwyn reverts to addressing his mother by her first name, as is her preference.

 

“That’s better.” she nods, smiling momentarily in approval.

 

“And I’m not behaving like a child, petulant or otherwise, Zinnia.”

 

“Don’t forget, I’ve known you all your life, Selwyn. Who should know you better than you yourself, than I? After all, I raised you.”

 

“Along with a litany of nursemaids and nannies,” Selwyn adds bitterly. “Until you packed me off to boarding school at the earliest opportunity, that is.”

 

“Tsk! Tsk, Selwyn! .” She tuts. “And, very competent those nannies were too. And it was only right that as the future Duke of Walmsford, you attended the same boarding school as your father. I never heard any complaints from you about how you were raised when you were younger. Now what has brought all this silliness on?”

 

Selwyn looks at his mother as she sits unflappably across from him, perfectly poised and presented, and all he wants to do is reach across and slap the smugness that gently curves up the corners of her thin mouth into an almost smirk, from her face. Can she really believe that he can’t be furious with her over what she has done to try and come between he and Lettice? Can she be so incredibly naïve, and so secure within herself that she feels that he can’t know and never will know to what depths she will sink to ensure that he and Lettice can never be together? In addition to catching up with what has transpired in each other’s lives, Lettice shared with Selwyn the news that she received from the Inquiry Agent*********************, Mr. Cookson, that she and Gerald hired to get to the bottom of how the lies about Selwyn’s supposed engagement came about. Now he is fully abreast of what Mr. Cookson has uncovered in Nairobi thus far. Kitty Avendale, the woman he was incorrectly linked to through fraudulent newspaper articles fed to Lettice by Lady Zinnia, is not only not a diamond mine heiress as she claimed to be when Selwyn was introduced to her at the Durban Club**********************, but that the man who did the introducing was none other than Lettice’s errant brother, Lionel, banished to British East Africa*********************** for conduct unbefitting a gentleman. Sources close to him told Mr. Cookson that when Lionel had imbibed a little too much, he spoke of going into partnership with a great English lady with an eye for good business and a heart of flint. There can be no doubt in his mind that the lady of whom Lionel spoke, is none other than his mother, Lady Zinnia. It is as he ruminates this revelation, he hears Lettice’s voice, soft and lovely, cautioning him not to confront Lady Zinnia until Mr. Cookson has absolute proof of the facts at hand. His fists close tightly and his manicured nails************************ gouge into the soft flesh of his palms as he tries not to strike back at his mother and reveal all that Lettice and Gerald have clandestinely uncovered.

 

“Nothing.” Selwyn apologises sulkily. “I’m just feeling a little out of sorts today, Zinnia.”

 

“Come, come, Selwyn. In spite of whatever you might say to the contrary, I know you better than you know yourself. Now what can it be that has you piqued so?” Lady Zinnia enquires politely, peering at Selwyn with her piercing gaze. “Shall I be mother*************************, since you have crowned me with the title thus, whilst I consider my answer?”

 

“Please.” Selwyn replies laconically.

 

Lady Zinnia picks up the dainty porcelain teapot featuring a delicate floral motif painted on it by its gilded handle and pours tea into two matching teacups. Whilst she does, she remains silent, much to Selwyn’s frustration. He doesn’t like his mother’s manipulative games at the best of times, much less now.

 

“Help yourself to sugar and milk, Selwyn dear.” she says as she replaces the teapot on the tray.

 

She smiles like she does when she has the winning card to annihilate other players in a game of bridge, smug, cruel and calculated, as she glances at her son. She removes the lid off the round silver biscuit barrel sitting on the tray alongside the teapot. “Let me give you some biscuits, Selwyn.” she remarks as she places first a lavish vanilla flavoured macaron and places it onto a gilt-edged plate, followed by a chocolate one.

 

“I’m not particularly hungry, Zinnia.” Selwyn defends.

 

“Nonsense Selwyn. You need perking up.” she persists as she hands the plate over to him. “Besides, you know it is rude to refuse your hostess, especially when your hostess, is me.”

 

Selwyn knows Lady Zinnia is toying with his emotions as he accepts the plate from her. His heartrate, already high with anxiety, quickens, and his breaths become just a little shorter and more laboured. Beyond the thunder of his pulsating heart in his ears, he hears Lettice’s voice again cautioning him to be calm, and not leap at Lady Zinnia’s taunts, however bad. He replays her sage words said but a half hour before in the drawing room of Cavendish Mews, as she compared Lady Zinnia to a kitten with a catnip************************** mouse when it comes to Selwyn’s emotions. He winces.

 

“Hhhhmmm…” Lady Zinnia says, at length. “Could it be that your assignation, albeit unplanned, with Miss Chetwynd at that rather dingy volunteer kitchen*************************** in Leicester Square during the General Strike, that has upset you, Selwyn dear?”

 

She smiles with malice at Selwyn as she plays her trump card.

 

Selwyn laughs bitterly and begins to shake his head. “I should have known.” he remarks. “One of your armies of old harridan dowagers has been spying on me for you, has she?”

 

“Selwyn!” Lady Zinnia gasps as she places two biscuits on her own plate and deposits it on the table next to her chair. “I really don’t think the lady in question would appreciate your description of her as a harridan, dear. She’s far from that, but her pecuniary circumstances do play into my desire for a bit of London tittle-tattle whilst I’m snuggled up and minding my own business in the quiet of Buckinghamshire. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

 

“And she just happened to tell you.”

 

“Well of course she did.” Lady Zinnia feigns innocence. “She’s a very dear friend for mine! I’ve known her for years, and she did only mention it in passing when we were chatting, dear.”

 

“Mmmmm…” Selwyn muses knowingly. “Whilst she just happened to be visiting Clendon.”

 

“You know how much I savour playing hostess, Selwyn dear. Any excuse.”

 

Selwyn shakes his head.

 

Undeterred, Lady Zinnia goes on as she raises her teacup to her lips in a vain effort to hide her widening smile of triumph. “I do hope that Miss Chetwynd appraised you of her engagement to Sir John, herself, so you didn’t just hear it second hand or read about it in The Times. There is really nothing better than getting such important news directly from the horse’s mouth. I’m sure you agree.”

 

Selwyn takes a sharp intake of breath. “She did.”

 

“Good.” Lady Zinnia purrs. “Now,” she cautions, putting her teacup aside. “I hope you aren’t planning anything foolish, Selwyn dear. I don’t want you coming between Miss Chetwynd and Sir John. Best left alone, what.”

 

“Ahh!” Selwyn remarks with bitter satisfaction. “And there it is.”

 

“There what is, dear?”

 

“Your reason for being here today.”

 

“No Selwyn. Contrary to your belief in your own self-importance, the world, and my social life, do not revolve around you. I told you already. The King is hosting a levée at St Jame’s Palace later in the week, and your father and I shall be in attendance.”

 

“The real reason, then.” Selwyn corrects. “You’ve come to warn me off Lettice – to make sure that we don’t rekindle our romance.”

 

“I certainly hope you extinguish any thoughts and hopes of that, dear. It’s a good match between Miss Chetwynd and Sir John.” Lady Zinnia answers back without a moment’s hesitation, completely unphased by her son’s accusation. “She can’t complain about such an advantageous match, and if I know Sadie, her mother, she will be beside herself with glee over it! Don’t go sticking your finger in, where it has no place, Selwyn! I’m warning you.”

 

“But you promised, Zinnia!” Selwyn bursts.

 

“Pshaw!” Lady Zinnia scoffs derisively, waving her hand dismissively.

 

Feeling the rage bubbling up inside him, it takes all Selwyn’s restraint not to snap at his mother as he says in a laboured voice, “You promised that, if I went away for a year, a year during which I agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, that when I came back, if I felt the same way about Lettice, you agreed that you would concede and would allow me to marry her. I…”

 

Lady Zinnia holds up a silencing finger again. “Selwyn. Desist immediately. I haven’t broken that promise.” She smiles. “It is your precious Miss Chetwynd who has broken the pact we made. You cannot marry someone who is engaged to someone else.”

 

“And if she wasn’t?”

 

“It doesn’t signify, Selwyn. She is, and that’s an end to it. The pact is broken by her engagement, so you will now marry someone of my choosing.” She then adds rather cruelly, “Someone far more suitable.”

 

“Why do you dislike Lettice so much, Zinnia?” Selwyn manages to ask. “It can’t stem back to that day when I was a child, and you pulled me out of the hedgerows at Glynes**************************** where I had been playing with Lettice. You always blamed Lettice for that incident. You called her a wild and savage child.”

 

“Good heavens! Did I?” Lady Zinnia gasps before laughing with genuine mirth. “I don’t remember that. Did I really? Do you remember that incident? Good God! I haven’t given it a thought in years: years and years!” She takes up her teacup and sips her tea as she recalls the memory. “That day I went hunting with Viscount Wrexham and the rest of the county’s great and good, and when I came back, I found you playing with Miss Chetwynd, covered in leaves, twigs and mud.” She chuckles. “She was a wild and an unruly child then. A thing of the hedgerows with leaves in her hair and creatures in her pockets. I concede that she has improved with age.” She chuckles again. “What a funny boy you are to be sure, to remember something so ridiculously inconsequential as that! I might have been cross with her for encouraging you to play in the thickets and ditches, but I was probably more cross with you at the time for allowing her to encourage you to participate in such an unsuitable game for a young gentleman. I was ashamed of you. It was up to Cosmo and Sadie to be ashamed of Miss Chetwynd and reprimand her, which, I’m sure they never did. That wild changeling always did have her father wrapped around her little finger.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“Why what, Selwyn dear?” She takes another sip of tea.

 

“Why do you take so against Lettice, Zinnia? Are you being obtuse on purpose, just to irk me?”

 

“I don’t think the girl is entirely unsuitable,” Lady Zinnia concedes, eyeing her son with a fresh look of consideration. “Not that you should take that as an invitation to somehow dissolve the engagement between Miss Chetwynd and Sir John. I would much prefer you to be matched to a more suitable debutante from more notable and aristocratic linage.”

 

“The Chetwynds lineage can be traced back to Tudor times. I remember her father, the Viscount, showed me their family tree, and a viscount is quite a noble title.”

 

“But not as noble as the daughter of a duchess.” Lady Zinnia counters. “And my family can be traced back to the time of the Norman Conquest, and your father’s just after.”

 

“If you disapprove of Lettice and her lineage, as you so obviously do, why did you put me in her way deliberately at her mother’s Hunt Ball back in 22?”

 

“Oh Selwyn, I didn’t do it deliberately! You have the most peculiar ideas. I merely sent you as my emissary, my ambassador. Sadie’s invitation came as something of a surprise to me, after so many years of water beneath both our bridges. I didn’t wish to hurt her feelings by not attending myself, so I sent you as my representative in the hope that that would satisfy her.”

 

“But you must have known that it was a ball held for Lettice to find a suitable match.”

 

“And I thought you would have had more sense of your future position in society, and respect for your Uncle Betrand’s and my well-laid plans to match you with Pamela, than to let an isolated flirtation at a country ball with a flibbertigibbet in a pretty frock turn your head like it did.” Lady Zinnia spits back caustically. “The great romance!” she scoffs. “You are such a tiresome generation, all talking about romance, and marrying for love. Your father and I weren’t in love.”

 

“Yes, and look at how happy your marriage is as a result of that.”

 

“We do the dutiful thing. It works.” she replies matter-of-factly without emotion. “Anyway, it’s not so much a case of disliking the girl, my boy. I actually find her pluck quite endearing, but you have to admit, Selwyn dear, that she isn’t really a suitable match for a future Duke of Walmsford. Still, I suppose a Tudor viscount is better than nothing.”

 

“Then what?” Selwyn asks, exasperated.

 

“Well, as I said, I only sent you as my emissary to support Sadie. I must confess that I never really had a lot of time for the Viscountess. I’d hardly call her my friend: more of a polite, passing acquaintance, like someone you pass by at church every so often. She prattled and gossiped like so many other women of my generation do, about pointless, meaningless things which I find fearfully tiresome.” She sighs heavily. “Ahhh… but I did have time for the Viscount.” she goes on wistfully. “Cosmo was lovely! He was so handsome when he was young. Positively dashing!” Her eyes suddenly sparkle brilliantly with something Selwyn has never seen in them before. “I imagine he still is, in a more mature sort of fashion. He was so very witty, and like me, he believed in the emancipation of women, a cause we both had in common. He wasted his intelligence on someone as blinkered, old fashioned and regressive as Sadie Lansdowne,” She sighs again, this time resignedly. “However, that was the decision he made.”

 

It takes a few moments for Lady Zinnia’s words to sink into his consciousness, a few more to make sense of them and piece the puzzle together, and then a few moments longer still for Selwyn to formulate a response to them.

 

“So, if I understand you correctly, you are refusing to accept Lettice as a suitable bride for me…” he says in an almost breathless and hoarse whisper. “Because Viscount Wrexham refused to marry you, once?”

 

His eyes grow wide even as he utters the words, making them a reality in his consciousness.

 

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Selwyn!” Lady Zinnia scoffs dismissively with a snort. “It wasn’t a marriage proposal. I was married to your father, unhappily, by the time I met Cosmo! No, I merely wanted to have a liaison with him. I fancied him. I was infatuated by him. He was the embodiment of everything your father wasn’t, which made him very desirable. It would have been fun!” Her eyes grow hard and cold like dark sapphire chips again. “But he refused me. He had the audacity to tell me point blank, that afternoon all those years ago when I pulled you out of the thicket, that he was married to Sadie, and he would never be unfaithful to her, not even for me. His refusal of me was what I was really angry about that afternoon, not yours or Miss Chetwynd’s silly childhood antics – although that did not help my grim mood at the time, I’m sure. I felt like the proverbial beautiful and priceless pearl, cast before an ungrateful swine. I was so much more beautiful, vivacious and intelligent than that mindless dowd, Sadie that he’d shackled himself to.”

 

“You are refusing my… my happiness, for the… the sake of your own…” Selwyn manages to splutter. “Your own wounded vanity from… from how many years ago?”

 

“It was my pride that was hurt, not my vanity!” Lady Zinnia snaps. “Do you blame me, after Cosmo refused me when I was at the very pinnacle of my beauty and power?” she defends. “I could have had any man that I chose, through the length and breadth of the kingdom, except the one that I wanted. Because I couldn’t have my heart’s deepest desire then, I’ll be damned before I let you get yours, now.”

 

“Zinnia,” Selwyn says, rising to his feet. “You are perverse.”

 

“There is always pleasure in perversion, Selwyn dear.” Lady Sadie replies, looking up at her son from her seat as she takes her cup to her lips again and drains it of her remaining tea.

 

Selwyn pushes the air around him in disbelief and frustration before raising them to his temples as he starts to cry. In doing so, he knocks the small galleried octagonal table to his left on which his now cooling cup of tea and untouched biscuits sit, sending it toppling over. As it falls, the air thick with emotion around he and his mother is filled by the loud smash of shattering crockery as his cup, saucer and plate hit the parquetry and splinter into thousands of tiny white, painted and gilded shards, scattering amongst the splattering gush of spilled tea and broken macaron pieces that litter the floor.

 

“You will not win!” Selwyn huffs as his face grows red and tears spill down his cheeks. “You will not win! I’ll marry Lettice!” He looks down at her with eyes dark with fury. “Even if I have to wait until you are dead and buried beneath the hard earth.”

 

“That’s a long time coming, dear.” Lady Zinnia purrs, unperturbed. “I’ll make sure of that. And neither your father, nor I, will let you remain unmarried and heirless. You’ll marry who I tell you to, when I tell you to. And that, is an end to it, my boy!”

 

“Never Mummy! I’ll not do it!” Selwyn manages to say.

 

“You’ll never marry her, Selwyn.” His mother begins to laugh, low and slowly at first, before rising in pitch and volume, growing to a maniacal crescendo. “Never!”

 

With all the strength he has left, Selwyn stumbles from the room blindly, and walks directly into Poole as he hurries into the room to see what all the commotion is. Selwyn thrusts him aside roughly and runs away, leaving the household’s second footman startled and dishevelled with his white powdered wig awry and his lace jabot hanging off one of his gilded frock coat buttons.

 

“Ahh, Poole.” Lady Zinna says calmly, as she settles back into her seat with comfort. She sneers at the pieces littering the floor. “Clean up this mess immediately.”

 

“Yes, Your Grace!” Poole replies in a startled fashion as he tries to understand what has just taken place, and quickly turns to go and fetch a dustpan and broom.

 

Just as he turns, Lady Zinnia calls out sweetly, “Oh, and Poole,”

 

He stops in his tracks and turns back. “Yes, Your Grace?”

 

“Tidy yourself up before you dare to show yourself in here again!” she seethes with sudden fury. “I don’t pay you an excellent wage to look slovenly!”

 

“Oh… no… Your Grace.” he manages to stutter back, as self-consciously he reaches up to straighten his wig.

 

“Get out of my sight this instant, you imbecile,” she hisses, before following up with a much louder, “Now!”

 

“Yes, Your Grace!” he gasps, physically jumping in fright. “Err… no, Your Grace.”

 

“Immediately!” Lady Zinnia barks.

 

Without a further moment’s hesitation, the harried footman dashes from the room.

 

Lady Zinnia sighs heavily. “What a waste.” she remarks absent mindedly as she stands and looks down at the broken pieces on the parquet floor again. “A perfectly good tea set ruined.”

 

She then lifts her arms holding her teacup and saucer aloft before throwing them violently to the floor where they shatter just like the other pieces, shards and fragments of porcelain bouncing off the hard surface as it hits it with such force. Taking a step forward, noisily crushing the remnant of the gilded handle of her cup beneath the toe of her shoe, she proceeds to topple the tea table as well. The discordant sound of the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl colliding with the grey slate hearthstone echoes through the air, followed in quick succession by the dull metallic thud of the ornate silver tray and the silver biscuit barrel hitting the floor.

 

She sighs with satisfaction as she surveys the ruination of the tea set, and smiles at the parquet floor and Persian rug covered in broken china, spilled tea, tealeaves and broken and sopping biscuit pieces.

 

“Be damned if I’ll have Mrs. Ketwick or anyone else below stairs drinking, or profiting from, the family china.”

 

And with elegant poise, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, she walks from the room with the gait of an aristocrat going about her business as usual, in an unhurried fashion.

 

*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.

 

**In the Victorian and Edwardian eras, domestic servants were a visible sign of financial success. Employing several tall footmen (who often cost more to hire – especially in the inter-war years of the “servant problem” when even short footmen were a rare commodity) showed visitors that the household was prosperous enough to afford luxuries beyond basic necessities. Wealthy and aristocratic employers took pride in having footmen who matched in height and appearance. This ensured the staff blended into a uniform, making them more visually pleasing as a background for the family, functioning more as elegant decoration than just functional help. In previous centuries, footmen had to run alongside coaches to clear obstacles and protect aristocrats from highwaymen, requiring them to be strong and tall. Though this duty became obsolete as roads and transportation improved, the preference for strong, statuesque men remained. When hosting, the first impression a house made was at the front door. A highly presentable, tall footman welcoming guests immediately conveyed a sense of the family's power and grandeur.

 

***As a son of a Duke, and heir to the title, Selwyn would have been addressed by the courtesy title of “Your Grace” as his father would have been addressed. These sorts of courtesy titles are purely honorary and do not confer legal peerage.

 

****Thomas Burberry established Burberry in Basingstoke in 1856 at just twenty-one years old, founded on the principle that clothing should be designed to protect people from the British weather. A few years later in 1879 he invented gaberdine, a breathable wearable and hardwearing fabric that revolutionised rainwear. The Burberry trench coat was invented during the First World War with epaulettes used to suspend military equipment, but in the inter-war years, with the Burberry check registered as a trademark and introduced as lining to their rainwear, it became a luxury brand for the wealthy.

 

*****Clendon is the vast family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford in Buckinghamshire.

 

******Starting out as a cabinet maker in Yorkshire, Thomas Chippendale went on to become one of the Eighteenth Century’s most fashionable furniture designers. Nearly two hundred and fifty years after his death, the Chippendale name remains a byword for quality, with the brand’s superbly made pieces continuing to grace luxury homes around the world. Thomas Chippendale was born in 1718 in the Yorkshire village of Otley. His family were carpenters and joiners, and so Chippendale may have received an apprenticeship from a family member, but it's possible that he was also apprenticed to a furniture-maker in York. Chippendale eventually went to London, working as both a furniture-maker and designer. By 1754, the self-proclaimed “cabinet- maker and upholsterer” had set up business at 59 to 61 St Martin’s Lane, in the heart of London’s furniture-making district. The premises contained not only Chippendale’s workshops but also a home for his growing family. Employing around 50 craftsmen, Chippendale offered a range of services to his elite clientele, from creating single bespoke items of furniture to designing and installing complete interiors. Around this time, he also published a book of his furniture designs entitled The Gentleman and Cabinet-Maker’s Director. Not only was the book one of the earliest works of its kind in Britain, but it also became highly influential in Europe and America, encouraging a variety of interpretations of the ‘Chippendale’ style and, occasionally, dubious attributions.

 

*******A tea caddy is a dedicated container used to store tea leaves. Designed to protect tea from light, moisture, and air, these receptacles range from modern, airtight tins to the lockable, ornate antique boxes that were highly prized in Europe during the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. The word "caddy" derives from catty (or kati), a Malay-Chinese unit of weight roughly equivalent to six hundred grams (1.3 lbs), which was the standard measurement used to trade and sell tea. When tea was first introduced to Europe, it was an incredibly expensive, highly sought-after commodity. Because of its steep price, leaves were kept under lock and key by the mistress of the house to prevent theft by household servants. During the Georgian and Victorian eras, tea caddies were status symbols. Master craftsmen designed elegant and elaborate lockable boxes made from luxury materials like mahogany, rosewood, and satinwood, silver, pewter, tortoiseshell, and hand-painted porcelain. Many antique boxes contained multiple lidded compartments (to separate black and green tea) and sometimes a central glass bowl used to blend teas or mix in sugar.

 

********Parian ware is a type of unglazed, matte porcelain developed in the 1840s to imitate carved marble. It was introduced by the English pottery firm Copeland and Garrett, who marketed it as "Statuary Porcelain". Named after the famous white marble from the Greek island of Paros, it allowed Victorian manufacturers to mass-produce affordable, highly detailed sculptures and busts for middle-class homes. It is composed primarily of feldspar and China clay. The high feldspar content makes it melt slightly during firing, giving the finished piece a smooth, self-glazing, satin-like surface. It is generally ivory-white or slightly off-white, closely resembling the texture and opacity of fine-grained marble. It was widely used for small busts of historical figures, mythological figures, pastoral scenes, and decorative vases.

 

*********A punkah wallah was a manual fan operator in the Indian subcontinent, primarily during the colonial era. They were hired to continuously pull a rope attached to a punkah—a large, suspended frame covered in fabric or rattan—to circulate air and provide relief from the brutal summer heat. Operating the fans was demanding labour that relied heavily on India’s pre-existing caste system. Many punkah wallahs belonged to lower castes and were subjected to intense exploitation, earning minimal wages for a long and arduous job lasting long hours. In some elite British households and government offices, employers specifically hired individuals who were deaf to prevent them from overhearing confidential conversations.

 

**********The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

***********In England, the standard social greeting is a single "air kiss" on the right cheek. However, depending on the formality of the situation, the relationship, and who is greeting whom, some people may follow through with a kiss on both cheeks (starting right, then left). In 1920s Britain, cheek kissing was not universally practiced by all Britons or in every setting. It was most common amongst close friends, family, and in some middle or upper-middle-class social circles.

 

************A "painted smile" refers to a facial expression that is fake, forced, or drawn on to hide genuine feelings of sadness, distress, or malice. It symbolises emotional concealment, often masking heartbreak or deceit beneath a cheerful exterior.

 

*************Nouveau riche (French for "new rich") describes individuals who have recently acquired wealth within their own lifetime, rather than through familial inheritance. The term is often used disapprovingly to describe those who display their newfound wealth through flashy, ostentatious spending and lack traditional upper-class etiquette

 

**************The famous proverb: "If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain." means that if a stubborn situation or person refuses to bend to your wishes, you must adapt and take the initiative to solve the problem yourself. This idiom actually didn't come from the Quran or traditional Islamic teachings. It originated as an apocryphal tale popularized in English by philosopher Francis Bacon in his 1625 collection of Essays. According to Bacon's story, the Prophet Muhammad tried to prove his teachings by ordering a nearby hill to come to him. When the hill stayed put, Muhammad didn't get embarrassed; he simply shrugged and said, "If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill."

 

***************Redfern was a renowned fashion house that operated in both London and Paris during the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Founded in 1855 on the Isle of Wight by John Redfern, the Redfern company began as a tailor specializing in women’s clothing, particularly yachting attire for upper-class women. It gained prominence for its sporty, elegant tailoring, especially during the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Redfern opened branches in London on Bond Street, in Paris, and New York, becoming one of the earliest international haute couture houses. By the 1880s, Redfern was officially designated as Court Dressmaker to Queen Victoria and later to Queen Alexandra and Queen Mary. The brand's prominence faded by the 1930s. While the Paris house closed around 1932, the legacy of Redfern's contributions to modern women's fashion endured in tailoring traditions.

 

****************A tombola is a game of chance or a type of raffle, commonly found at fairs, markets, or charity events. Participants buy tickets and draw them instantly from a spinning drum or container to see if they have won a specific, pre-assigned prize.

 

***************Workhouses still existed in the 1920s, primarily in Britain and Ireland, though their function had changed drastically from earlier Victorian times, which is usually what we think of when we conjure up images of a workhouse. By the 1920s, the traditional workhouse system was in its final stages. Instead of housing able-bodied poor people sent there to work, these institutions mostly accommodated the elderly, infirm, orphans, and the sick. The harsh Victorian-era stigma remained, but the buildings were often rebranded as "Public Assistance Institutions" meant to provide basic shelter for the homeless or destitute. In 1929, the British government passed legislation to officially take the workhouse system out of the hands of the Poor Law guardians. Many of the old workhouse infirmaries and buildings were repurposed and transitioned into municipal hospitals, which would later be absorbed into the UK’s National Health Service (NHS) in 1948.

 

******************A parterre (French for "on the ground") is a formal, level garden characterised by symmetrical, geometric patterns defined by low, clipped evergreen hedges (like boxwood, yew, or privet) and filled with colourful flowers, gravel, or turf. They are traditionally designed to be viewed from an elevated vantage point, such as a terrace or a second-story window.

 

*******************Whilst frequently attributed to Oscar Wilde, the full and often-omitted quote is actually: "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence". This duality reflects the debate surrounding sarcasm. Arguments against it highlight that sarcasm is often mean-spirited, relies on contempt, and demands very little genuine cleverness to deploy. Ultimately, like any conversational tool, its value depends on the execution and the audience.

 

 

********************A "Royal Levée" refers to a formal reception or gathering, often held by a sovereign or their representative, where they receive dignitaries, officials, and other important guests. It is a tradition with roots in ancient practices of rulers displaying their power and accessibility.

 

*********************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.

 

**********************The Durban Club was founded in 1854, and is one of South Africa's oldest private members' clubs, located in a stately building on Durban’s Victoria Embankment. The gentlemen of the Quoits Club formally established the Durban Club in 1854. The current building, the third club house in the club’s history, was built in Edwardian Baroque Revival style and is a famous landmark structure, in the city. The building was started in 1900 and completed in 1904. Having passed through the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, the First (1889) and Second (1899-1902) Anglo-Boer Wars, the Zulu Rebellion (1906), the Great War of 1914-1918 and the Second World War (1939-1945) the Club has hosted more than its fair share of famous people, including George Cato, Prince Louis Napoleon, Thomas Baines, Cathcart Methven, Lord Chelmsford, Sir Garnet Wolseley, General Sir Henry Evelyn Wood V.C., General Sir Redvers Buller V.C., General Lord Roberts V.C, General Sir Robert Baden Powell and Sir Winston Churchill. Prior to 1904, ladies were only permitted in the Club on what were known as “Special Occasions”. By the 1920s it was the most luxurious and exclusive place for colonial society to meet at in Durban.

 

***********************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.

 

************************In 1920s England, manicures were highly popular among affluent and upper-class men. Rather than wearing polish, men received hygienic nail treatments focused on filing, removing cuticles, and buffing nails to a high shine using powders and creams. Upscale gentlemen’s clubs in London and high-end barbershops frequently offered manicure services to their upper-class patrons. Polishes were mostly reserved for women, while the male standard was clean, trimmed, and naturally buffed nails. It was considered a mark of a "gentleman of leisure." Wealthy men also utilised personal, ornate manicure kits (often made with ivory, silver, or mother-of-pearl) or bought branded treatments like the Supreme Nail Polish by Max Factor, which used tinted powder to create a sleek sheen.

 

*************************The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”

 

**************************Catnip (Nepeta cataria) is a perennial herb belonging to the mint family. It grows wild, native to Europe and Asia. The herb contains a volatile oil called nepetalactone in its stems and leaves. When cats smell it, the compound binds to olfactory receptors, triggering a euphoric state that causes them to roll around, purr, rub against the plant, and sometimes become hyperactive.

 

***************************During the 1926 General Strike, the volunteer canteens — often staffed by "titled ladies" to feed volunteers maintaining essential services — were largely organized and supported by the upper classes, society women, and the government\'s emergency volunteer network. Women from high society and the aristocracy, including Lady Louis Mountbatten, Lady Quilter, Lady Mary Ashley Cooper, and Lady Carmichael-Anstruther, participated in and helped manage these canteens. Canteens, such as those overseen by a "Mrs. Loeffler" at Scotland House and similar efforts in Hyde Park, provided food and refreshments to the thousands of middle-class volunteers, such as special constables, who broke the strike. These canteens were part of a coordinated effort by the Conservative government to maintain essential services and counter the strike\'s effectiveness. The focus of these efforts was to support the volunteer workforce—such as the "special constables"—to keep services running, as opposed to the soup kitchens operated in mining communities by workers\' wives to support the miners.

 

****************************Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Glynes is where Lettice grew up.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the central chinoiserie tea table, the delicate tea set with its floral sprigged pattern and gilded handles and lips come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The round biscuit barrel, has been made with great attention to its detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The ornate oval silver tea tray I have had since I was about seven. It was given to me as a birthday present. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The vase of red and yellow roses in the foreground and the apricot roses in front of the oriental screen are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The pink roses in the mantlepiece come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The two cameos sitting on the fireplace mantle 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 vase containing the pink roses I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings when I was a teenager. It is hand painted.

 

The tea caddy in between Flora and Fauna and the two candlesticks on the right of the mantle come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland.

 

The little white vase on the mantle is mid Victorian and would once have been part of a doll’s tea service. It is Parian Ware. Parian Ware is a type of biscuit porcelain imitating marble. It was developed around 1845 by the Staffordshire pottery manufacturer Mintons, and named after Paros, the Greek island renowned for its fine-textured, white Parian marble, used since antiquity for sculpture.

 

The mantle mirror is actually a small pink plastic framed looking glass. The handle broke off long ago, and I painted in black and gilded it to give it a Regency look, proving that I do not let anything go to waste if I can avoid it!

 

The two large blue and white urns flanking the fireplace are Eighteenth Century Chinese jars that I bought as part of a large job lot of small oriental pieces of porcelain, pottery and glass from an auction house many years ago.

 

The black japanned Chippendale chinoiserie style chairs, green fabric covered stools and chinoiserie cupboard, the chinoiserie oval tea table and the galleried side table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The oriental screen in the background is made of black japanned wood with inserts of soapstone. It came from Kathleen Knight's Doll's House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.

 

The wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.

Done