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Summer is just a month away but it's already hot. And muggy. And according to the local weather prognosticators, the first sign of triple-digits will hit tomorrow.
Oh, boy.
Earlier this week I made my way to the cool secret garden up the street. Took the Fujifilm X100V with me and walked around for a little over half an hour. I set the camera to Classic Negative and turned on the extra grain feature. It's not everybody's cup of tea, but I like that look.
I'm glad I went, because it won't be long before a lot of that gorgeous color will be gone until next Spring.
Casual out and about look for March.
Skinny jeans, red top, black leather jacket and shoulder bag with studded open toe ankle boots x x
You may have already suspected that I was desperate for photo opportunities yesterday, 4 October 2019, lol! If so, how right you were. I just couldn't get it out of my head that maybe, just maybe, the snow had melted in a few places enough to let a few fungi grow. Here, in Calgary, a lot of the snow has melted, though I don't know if the local parks and natural areas still have much snow cover. However, as I discovered yesterday, closer to the mountains, there are still a few inches of the white stuff on the ground.
My intention had been to just drive west to the Bragg Creek area, to calm my mind one way or the other. Disappointment came quickly and, on the spur of the moment, I decided to drive west along Elbow Falls Trail in search of a few scenic shots. Though the landscape is always beautiful, there are only two or three places that I usually stop at, until I finally reach Forgetmenot Pond. The highway was beautifully clear of snow, but for walking, there were a few inches of snow and ice to slip and slide through. Once at the Pond, I only trudged as far as the main path that overlooks the water. At other times of the year, I walk around the pond, but not yesterday. I do not like winter walking!
Forgetmenot Pond is actually a man-made pond, left over from the excavation of a gravel pit. The water is crystal clear. It's just a short walk around the pond, but enjoyable to do. The main road this far into Kananaskis only opens in June each year, as a winter gate at Elbow Falls closes in December for the winter months, to protect the wildlife in the area.
I found the following 4-minute video on YouTube, taken by Kenneth Lori using a DJI Phantom 3 Professional quadcopter and taken on 16 June 2016. It travels over Forgetmenot Pond and the surrounding river and mountains.
The eight photos I posted this morning are the only ones to post from yesterday's quick trip. It was getting on for 3:00 pm when I left home to drive westwards and, anyway, I didn't find much to shoot.
I know that I've already posted my New Year photo, but I can't resist adding this iphone pano that I just took.
I drove to the park and waded through the snow and along the ski trails to get near the river. The Mississippi is about as frozen as one will ever see it with just a centre channel open. It is totally frozen at the left toward the lake but will be totally unfrozen to the right where the water runs very fast through the centre of town although there may be a bit a freezing near the banks. I will have to check that out sometime soon, but I really got chilled today.
© AnvilcloudPhotography
We’d already been tipped off in the pre Photo 24 facebook chat that a group called the London Fire Spinners would be performing on the beach next to the Oxo Tower. This turned out to be a nice sandy beach located on the South Bank of the Thames. It’s only visible at low tide.
There must have been well over 100 people practicing in the hot afternoon sun with spinning sticks, balls on chains, jugglers’ batons and various paraphernalia. As twilight approached they’d lit their props and the beach was alive with fire.
I was busy taking this long exposure thames panorama when one of the spinners walked into the frame with a lit pair of orbs. Sometimes the luck is with you.
Single shot jpeg, tripod mounted. Post processing in acr, photoshop Fuji X-T2 with 14mm f2.8 , f9, ISO 200, exposure 30 sec’s
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.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat. Instead, we have followed Lettice south-west, through the neighbouring borough of Belgravia to the smart London suburb of Pimlico and its rows of cream and white painted Regency terraces. There, in a smart red brick Edwardian set of three storey flats on Rochester Row, is the residence of Lettice’s latest client, recently arrived American film actress Wanetta Ward. It is here that Lettice adds the remaining finishing touches to her redecoration of what was once a tired and dated interior.
Knocking loudly on the front door of the flat, Gerald turns the knob and finds the door opens, just as Lettice said it would. “Lettice?” he calls.
“Gerald, is that you?” comes Lettice’s voice from somewhere deep within the flat.
Gerald gasps as he steps across the threshold into the central hallway of the Pimlico flat. He looks about in delight at the beautiful gilded Japanese inspired wallpaper, stylish oriental furniture and sparking chandeliers, all of which are reflected in several long, bevelled mirrors which trick the eye into thinking the vestibule is more spacious than it actually is. “I say, Lettuce Leaf,” he utters in a rapturous voice. “This is divine!”
A soft thump against his thigh breaks his reverie. Looking down he finds the culprit: a long round white embossed satin bolster lies at his feet on the carpet. He stoops to pick it up.
“Stop calling me that, Gerald!” Lettice stands in the doorway to his right, her arms stretched across the frame, arrayed in a smart pale yellow day dress with a lowered waist and handkerchief point hem of his own making. “You know I don’t like it.”
“I know, but I just can’t help it darling! You always rise to the bait.”
“You’re just lucky I only hit you with a bolster, Gerald!” She wags her lightly bejewelled finger at him in a mock warning as she smiles at her old childhood friend.
“And you’re just lucky I didn’t drop the parcel you asked me to pick up from your flat.” He holds up a parcel wrapped up in brown paper, tied with string. “By the way, you look as divine as your interiors, darling.”
“In your design, of course, Gerald.”
“Of course! That’s why you look so divine, Lettice darling!”
“Of course!” She saunters over, her louis heels sinking into the luxurious oriental rug that covers most of the vestibule floor. “May I have my parcel, please Gerald?” She holds out her hands towards the package.
With a sigh of mock frustration, he hands it to her. “Anything else, milady?” He makes an exaggerated bow before her, like a toadying courtier or servant.
“Yes, you can make yourself useful by picking up that errant bolster and follow me.”
“You deserve this and a good deal more for bossing me about!” Gerald playfully picks up the bolster and thwacks it through the air before it lightly connects with Lettice’s lower back, making her squeal. “I come to your aid yet again, as you forget a vital finishing touch for your interior designs.”
Lettice giggles as she turns back to her friend and kittenishly tugs on the bolster, which he tussles back. “I know Gerald! I can’t believe how scatterbrained I was to leave this,” She holds the parcel aloft, hanging from her elegant fingers by the bow of string on the top. “Behind at Cavendish Mews! There has just been so much to organise with this interior design. I’m so pleased that there was a telephone booth I could use on the corner. The telephone has arrived here but hasn’t been collected to the exchange yet.”
“And isn’t it lucky that my fortunes seem to be changing with the orders from Mrs. Middle-of-the-Road-Middle-Class Hatchett and her friends paying for the installation of a telephone, finally, in my frock shop.”
“All the more reason not to deride Mrs. Hatchett, or her friends.”
“And,” Gerald speaks over his friend, determined not to be scolded again about his names for Mrs. Hatchett by her. “Wasn’t it lucky that I was in Grosvenor Street to take your urgent call.”
“It was!” she enthuses in a joking way.
“And the fact that I just happen to have the Morris*…”
She cuts his sentence off by saying with a broad smile, “Is the icing on the cake, Gerald darling! You are such a brick! Now, be honest, you’ve been longing to see this interior. You’ve been dropping hints like briquettes for the last week!”
Gerald ignores her good-natured dig at his nosiness. “Of course! I’m always interested in what my dearest friend is doing to build up her business.” Looking around again, a feeling of concern clouds his face. “I just hope this one pays, unlike some duchesses I could mention. This looks rather luxurious and therefore, costly I suspect.”
“Don’t worry Gerald, this nouveau riche parvenu is far more forthcoming with regular cheques to cover the costs, and never a quibble over price.”
“That’s a mercy! I suppose there is that reliability about the middle-classes. Mr. Hatchett always settles my account without complaint, or procrastination. Indeed, all her friends’ husbands do.” He looks again at the brown paper parcel in Lettice’s hand. “I see that comes from Ada May Wong. What’s inside.”
“Come with me, darling Gerald, on the beginning of your tour of Miss Ward’s flat,” she beckons to her friend with a seductive, curling finger and a smile. “And all will be revealed.”
Gerald follows Lettice through a boudoir, which true to her designs was a fantasy of oriental brocade and gilded black japanned furniture, and into a smaller anti-room off it.
“Miss Wanetta Ward’s dressing room.” Lettice announces, depositing the box on a small rosewood side table and spreading her arms expansively.
“Oh darling!” Gerald enthuses breathlessly as she looks about the small room.
Beautiful gold wallpaper embossed with large flowers and leaves entwining cover the walls, whilst a thick Chinese rug covers the parquetry floor. Around the room are furnishings of different eras and cultures, which in the wrong arrangement might jar, but under Lettice’s deft hand fit elegantly together. Chinese Screens and oriental furniture sit alongside select black japanned French chinoiserie pieces from the Eighteenth Century. White French brocade that matches the bolster Gerald holds are draped across a Japanese chaise lounge. Satsuma and cloisonné vases stand atop early Nineteenth Century papier-mâché tables and stands.
“So, you like it then?” Lettice asks her friend.
“It’s like being in some sort of divine genie’s bottle!” Gerald exclaims as he places the bolster on the daybed where it obviously belongs and clasps his hands in ecstasies, his eyes illuminated by exhilaration at the sight. “This is wonderful!”
“And not too gauche or showy?”
Gerald walks up to the chinoiserie dressing table and runs his hands along its slightly raised pie crust edge, admiring the fine painting of oriental scenes beneath the crystal perfume bottles and the gold dressing table set. “You know, when you suggested using gold wallpaper, I must confess I did cringe a little inside. It sounds rather gauche, but I also thought that might suit an up-and-coming film actress.”
“I remember you telling me so.” Lettice acknowledges.
“However, I must now admit that this is not at all what I was expecting. It’s decadent yes, but not showy. It’s elegant and ever so luxurious.” He traces a pattern of a large daisy’s petal in the raised embossing of the wallpaper. “This must have cost a fortune, Lettice!”
“There is a reason why this is the only room decorated with this paper, Gerald.”
“So, what’s in the box that is the finishing touch for in here?” Gerald asks, looking around. “As far as I can tell, there isn’t anything lacking.” He looks at the silvered statue of a Chinese woman holding a child on the right-hand back corner of the dressing table, her face and the child’s head nuzzled into his mother’s neck reflected in the black and gilt looking glass. “It seems you’re even providing Miss Ward with dressing table accessories.”
“Ah, yes,” Lettice remarks as she takes a pair of scissors and cuts the string on the parcel. “Well, that was Miss Ward’s request, not mine. She wanted a dressing table set to match the dressing room. She says that she will keep her existing set in her dressing room at Islington Studios**. The bottles of perfume she had sent over the other day. Which brings me to what’s in the parcel!”
Lettice removed the brown paper wrapping, the paper tearing noisily. Opening the box inside, she rummages through layers of soft whispering tissue paper and withdraws a large, lidded bowl with an exotic bird on the lid and a pattern of flowers around the bowl.
“It’s Cantonese Famille Rose,” she explains to her friend. “And it will serve as Miss Ward’s new container for her trademark bead and pearl necklaces.”
She walks across the small space to the dressing table and places it on the back left-hand corner. Standing back, she sighs with satisfaction, pleased with her placement of it.
“Now, let me give you a tour of the rest of the flat, Gerald.” Lettice says happily.
“Oh!” her companion remarks suddenly, a hand rising to his mouth anxiously. “I almost forgot!”
“Forgot what, Gerald?”
“This.” Gerald reaches into the pocket of his black coat and withdraws a small buff coloured envelope which he hands over to Lettice. “Edith gave it to me to give to you since I was coming over here. She thought it might be important.”
Lettice looks quizzically at the envelope. “A telegram?”
“Apparently, it arrived a quarter of an hour after you left this morning.”
Lettice uses the sharp blade of the scissors to slice the thin paper of the envelope. Her face changes first to concentration as she reads the message inside, and then a look of concern clouds her pretty features as she digests what it says.
“Not bad news, I trust.”
“It’s from the Pater.” Lettice replies simply as she holds it out for Gerald to read.
“Lettice,” Gerald reads. “Come to Glynes*** without delay. Prepare to stay overnight. Do not procrastinate. Father…”
“I wonder what he wants?” Lettice ponders, gnawing on her painted thumbnail as she accepts the telegram back with her free hand.
“Only your father would use a word like procrastinate in a telegram. It must be important if he wants you to go down without delay.” Gerald ruminates.
“And we were going to the Café Royal**** for dinner tonight!” Lettice whines.
“I’m the one who should be complaining, darling. After all you are my meal ticket there! Don’t worry, the Café Royal will still be here when you get back from Wiltshire, whatever happens down there. I’ll be waiting here too. I’d offer to drive you down tomorrow, but I have several dress fittings booked for tomorrow, including one for Margot’s wedding dress.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Lettice flaps Gerald’s offer away with her hand. “I’ll take the train and have Harris pick me up from the railway station in the village.” She folds the telegram back up again and slips it back into the envelope before depositing it into one of the discreet pockets Gerald had designed on the front of her dress. “Come, let’s not let this spoil the occasion.” She smiles bravely at her friend, although he can still see the concern clouding her eyes. “Let me give you a guided tour of the rest of the flat.”
“Lead the way!” Gerald replies, adding extra joviality to his statement, even though he knows that it sounds false.
The pair leave Miss Ward’s dressing room as Lettice begins to show Gerald around the other rooms.
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.
***Glynes is 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.
****The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
Luxurious it may be, but this upper-class interior is not all that it seems, for it is made up entirely of items from my 1:12 miniatures collection. Some of the pieces I have had since I was a child, whilst others I have acquired in the subsequent years from specialist doll house stockists and online artisans and retailers.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The beautiful black japanned and gilded chinoiserie dressing table which is hand decorated with on its surface with an oriental scene, was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
On the dressing table’s surface there is a gilt pewter dressing table set consisting of comb, hairbrushes and hand mirror, the latter featuring a real piece of mirror set into it. This set was given to me as a gift one Christmas when I was around seven years old. These small pieces have survived the tests of time and survived without being lost, even though they are tiny.
There is a selection of sparkling perfume bottles on Wanetta’s dressing table too, which are handmade by an English artisan for the Little Green Workshop. Made of cut coloured crystals set in a gilt metal frames or using vintage cut glass beads they look so elegant and terribly luxurious.
The Cantonese Famille Rose export ware lidded jar I have had since I was a teenager. I bought it from a high street dolls house specialty shop. It has been hand painted and decorated, although I am not sure as to whom the artist is that created it. Famille rose, (French: “rose family”) group of Chinese porcelain wares characterized by decoration painted in opaque overglaze rose colours, chiefly shades of pink and carmine. These colours were known to the Chinese as yangcai (“foreign colours”) because they were first introduced from Europe (about 1685).
The stylised silvered statue of a Chinese woman carrying her child is an unusual 1:12 artisan figurine, which I acquired along with a range of other metal statues from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The looking glass hanging on the wall, whilst appearing to be joined to the Bespaq chinoiserie table, is another piece from my childhood. It 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. I think it matches the table very nicely, as I’m sure Lettice would have thought too!
The blue and gold vase featuring lilac coloured wisteria on the far left of the photo is really a small Satsuma export ware vase from the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century. It is four centimetres in height and was the first piece of Satsuma ware I ever owned. I have had it since I was eight. Satsuma ware (薩摩焼, Satsuma-yaki) is a type of Japanese pottery originally from Satsuma Province, southern Kyūshū. Today, it can be divided into two distinct categories: the original plain dark clay early Satsuma (古薩摩, Ko-Satsuma) made in Satsuma from around 1600, and the elaborately decorated export Satsuma (京薩摩, Kyō-Satsuma) ivory-bodied pieces which began to be produced in the nineteenth century in various Japanese cities. By adapting their gilded polychromatic enamel overglaze designs to appeal to the tastes of western consumers, manufacturers of the latter made Satsuma ware one of the most recognized and profitable export products of the Meiji period.
The oxblood cloisonné vase with floral panels to the left of the dressing table I bought, along with its pair, from the Camberwell Market in Melbourne many years ago. The elderly woman who sold them to me said that her father had bought them in Peking before he left there in the 1920s. She believed they were containers for opium. The stoppers with tiny, long spoons which she said she remembered as a child had long since gone missing. Cloisonné is an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects. In recent centuries, vitreous enamel has been used, and inlays of cut gemstones, glass and other materials were also used during older periods. The resulting objects can also be called cloisonné. The decoration is formed by first adding compartments (cloisons in French) to the metal object by soldering or affixing silver or gold wires or thin strips placed on their edges. These remain visible in the finished piece, separating the different compartments of the enamel or inlays, which are often of several colours. Cloisonné enamel objects are worked on with enamel powder made into a paste, which then needs to be fired in a kiln. The Japanese produced large quantities from the mid Nineteenth Century, of very high technical quality cloisonné. In Japan cloisonné enamels are known as shippō-yaki (七宝焼). Early centres of cloisonné were Nagoya during the Owari Domain. Companies of renown were the Ando Cloisonné Company. Later centres of renown were Edo and Kyoto. In Kyoto Namikawa became one of the leading companies of Japanese cloisonné.
The Chinese folding screen to the left of the photo I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was. Reflected in the mirror is a matching screen with different patterns on it, in this case vases of stylised Japanese flowers, which I recently acquired through a seller on E-Bay.
Also reflected in the mirror is a wooden Chinese dragon chair. It is one of a pair, which together with their matching low table I found in a little shop in Singapore whilst I was holiday there. They are beautifully carved from cherrywood.
The gold embossed wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend who encouraged me to use it as wallpaper for my 1:12 miniature tableaux.
Kaiser loves nothing better than lying in the sun catching the rays. Unfortunately after a sunny weekend we are now back to rain. This one is for you Agnes to show that a cat can be happy even if a big, ginger cat takes over the household.
Another reason for posting is that there is a programme on TV tonight all about cats. Horizon is a British scientific and philosophy documentary programme. They have featured animal programmes before but tonight they are investigating domestic cats. They have fitted 50 cats in a village in Surrey with GPS collars and 'cat cams' I can't wait to see the results. For those who have access it is on BBC2 tonight at 9.00pm.
Goodness me, is it that time already? How time flies when you are sat at your computer on a Sunday morning... I was beavering away on Flickr when I heard a kerfuffle in the garden. When I looked out of the window, I saw the usual gang of garden birds scatter in all directions. Among them was this young male Sparrowhawk which had selected a Collared Dove for its lunch. The Sparrowhawk carried its prey up and over the pond and sat on the lawn plucking away. I grabbed my camera, changed lens, ran downstairs, quietly unlocked the back door and crept stealthily around the pond vegetation. Fortunately, the Sparrowhawk was more interested in his meal than in me and I managed to take a few hand-held shots! Gretton, Gloucestershire
Foce del fiume Marecchia
Il Fiume Marecchia nasce da Monte Zucca (m 1003) - rilievo che fa parte della catena Alpe della Luna - e confluisce, dopo un percorso di circa 90 Km, in Adriatico, in due rami di cui uno è il porto-canale di Rimini.
Durante il suo corso attraversa tre provincie, nella parte più alta la provincia di Arezzo, nella parte media la provincia di Pesaro-Urbino e nella parte bassa la provincia di Rimini.
Il suo corso è accompagnato dalla strada di fondovalle SS 258 Marecchiese
Scendendo la vallata bagna i territori di questi Comuni:
Badia Tedalda
Casteldelci (sull'affluente di sinistra Senatello)
Sant'Agata Feltria
Pennabilli
Maiolo
Novafeltria
Talamello
San Leo
Verucchio
Torriana
Ingrandiamola un attimo !!
Rimini 8 . 7 . 2009
Even if you've already bought your Valentine a bunch of roses, why not give another gift of love that will not only last a whole year, but will help safeguard the future of Brownsea Island's Red Squirrels too?
The adoption pack includes a certificate, red squirrel photograph, pin badge, facts sheet, an update from a Brownsea Warden and a red squirrel soft toy!
Already with my little job as a model I feel beautiful and fulfilled, but since I'm on Flickr with all the nice comments I receive every day, I am comforted in my life as a woman that I started a few years ago... It's not easy every day but I've never regretted my choice. I finally live life in pink...😇👌❤
I've already done line-ups of my blue-haired and pink-haired girls; today it's the green-haired girls' time to shine! Again, I've put each doll's abbreviation at the bottom of the picture, using the abbreviations from the "My Doll Collection for Blythe" app. Here are their full stock names, from left to right:
Prima Dolly Melon
Simply Peppermint
Miss Sally Rice (twice!)
Enchanted Petal
Prima Dolly Amaryllis
While dressing them and brushing their hair, I came to the realization that my least-favorite hairstyle is short hair that has a center part (sorry, Hope!) The center-part hair always has to be held back with a clip or two to keep it out of the doll's face, and that's harder to do--in a way that looks cute--with short hair.
Already another Cavalier Expression! I almost thought it was the same one i spotted a few months back but no, great to see another one show up. Its standard and original, its a shame to see the rust around the arches because its got a good MOT history and just 52k miles.
Recent ownership change, and i'm sure the previous owner was a longterm, judging by it doing just around 1k each year.
Acolyte
The Prologue:
Julie had come alone. Having missed her ride with a friend to deal with some pressing servant related issues, she had taken her father’s roadster out and had driven the curving, often bumpy road into the city by herself. Parking it, she had made her way to where the festivities were already in full swing.
She now stood at upstairs entrance, allowing herself a minute to unwind from her driving to breathlessly take it all in. As she stood to one side, allowing the swarming mass of guests to pass uninhibited by her as they headed downstairs to the party chambers below, her eyes grew wide with the splendor below.
Julie still possessed some of the awkwardness of youth, and it showed by the way she carried herself. From her constantly gawking eyes, to her nervously moving hands, down to the high heels on her feet that occasionally still tripped her up as she walked. But despite all that, she still managed to present a total picture of elegance and grace, the result of years of etiquette being forced down her pretty throat.
Now, anyone down below who happened looked up at the entrance, would have given Julie a second look, and they did.
With that second look the following would have been taken in; long brown hair hung down in silken masses past her shoulders. The hair framed an oval face, with large, innocently wide, eyes, heavy with the mascara that always gave her face a perpetually surprised look. Resplendent in a long soft gown that seemed to pour down forever over her quite perky youthful figure, a purple satin sheet of flowing liquid, broken only by the black bolero jacket with its shimmering ornament. The hem of her gown almost covered the pointed toes of her coal black high heeled shoes.
A diamond necklace blazed in rippling fire hung from Julie’s throat, its brilliance matched by the long diamond earrings that peeked in and out as they swayed vibrantly, like a twin beacons. A sparkling diamond brooch with swinging sapphire’s that matched the colour of Julies eyes , had been placed high on one side of her black satin bolero styled jacket. She wore no gloves, and her bare fingers were home to a rather lively assortment of gem encrusted rings.
Soon two ladies also broke away from the crowd and joined Julie in her observation, as they commented to one another about the scene below. They then asking Julie if she agreed, as if the strangers and she were old acquaintances, Julie gave them both the once over as she reluctantly agreed with them.
Both Ladies were red heads, although the younger one, with pretty hazel eyes, was more of a ginger ( like Julies maid), Julie finished giving both a swift appraisal before turning her attention back to the crowd, looking for an opening to make her escape. The ginger, a young miss stunning in a gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, apologized for the intrusion, then let out a small squeal, commenting on how adorable Julie’s jacket was, as she lifted it up, of Jules of Paris( Pariee is how she pronounced it), and your gown, it’s of the house of Yevonne, is it not, the young lady asked? No Julie said, starting to shake her head, which made her earrings sparkle even more erratically, as the other lady continued admiring Julie’s satin jacket, momentarily covering the bright brooch from view. At the same time the other lady, a bit older ,becomingly clad in a fine gown of red wine colured Taffeta, placed a hand on Julies other shoulder, asking the now disconcerted girl if she knew how late the orchestra was playing, Julie continued shaking her head, as she looked into the older lady’s deep green eyes, mesmerized as they just oozed kindness , No, sorry ma’am she answered obediently . The younger one finished her admiration of Julie’s s attire by patted Julie’s shoulder, well nice meeting you, and with a cheerful tootles, both women left, melting ahead into the crowd.
Julie watched them for a few seconds as the pair swished downstairs, straightening her jacket as she did. Suddenly all thoughts of the two ladies were pulled from her mind as she realized something was amiss. It took her but a second to realize the brooch her maid had pinned onto her jacket was now absent. Bother she said under her breath as she looked around her on the empty floor, it must have fallen off in the roadster! Under her breath she chastised both the roadster, and the road, remembering the way the vehicle had lurched to and fro on the bumpy roadway in her haste to reach the city. She must have words with that maid of hers for not fastening it properly, that brooch was simply too valuable for her to be so careless... Julie then puts the brooch out of her mind; she decides she will have the maid search the roadster for it in the morning.
And she makes her way out into the stream of guests and begins her descent, carefully as her high heeled feet negotiate the stairs…..
***
The Tale
Dazzling!
This was the word that best described the vision enclosed within the massive chamber that evening. Filled wall to wall with a seemingly endless swarm of guests, presenting an endless sea of colourfully be gowned, be gloved, and bejeweled ladies, escorted by a small army of tuxedoed and top hatted male chaperones. The crème del a crème of the huge cities finest citizens were there, displaying a good portion of what their all the hard cold pounds and guineas could buy.
The guests had entered via a large double stair case that led down into the sub street level chamber. On the east end was a mammoth stage, which stood about 4 feet above the dance floor, easily holding the 30 piece orchestra with room to spare. The music that was played was as diverse as the guests in attendance, appealing to every age group present.
Couples and singles milled about talking merrily, just a low murmur heard just below the music. A jazz number was being played and a number of the “young bright ones” were on the floor dancing earnestly with various random moves.
A stream of fresh guests had entered, making their way downstairs, gaining the attention of a few of those already in attendance. Jewels sparkled radiantly as many a satin gloved hand was raised in greeting, many a female head was turned to point out someone they could spread gossip about, and in the process exposing a multitude of jeweles in various sparkling colours.
One of those newcomers, a raven haired, black eyed woman with a dark features, possessing an almost feline like beauty, came onto the upstairs landing. She was probably aged in her mid-twenties, surprisingly alone and unescorted. She was waved to by no one, pointed out to by many. Looking around she suddenly spied something down below that made her smile, a wide Cheshire cat like grin that quickly spread across her wickedly pretty face. She scurried down the stairs, pushing, not gently, a young miss in in a purple satin gown and black jacket, who had been moving slowly ahead of her, wobbling in her high heels, the poor girl fell against the wall, clutching it for support with well ringed fingers.
The raven haired beauty parted several more pairs of guests as she made her way down, moving too slow for her, without a word of apology. At the middle landing, she shoved her way past a pair of ladies, moving slowly as they regarded the pretty scene being played out below in the well lite chamber. One was red head wearing a tailored wine coloured taffeta gown that made a swishing noise as the lady passed, and her companion, about the same age as the intruder, (a kid sister, or cousin of taffeta gown?) was dressed in gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, her long hair done up in a high bun, held by dangling rows of rhinestone ropes. She looked at the lady who was unexpectedly cutting between them, but said nothing; as the lady paid neither one no never mind. The raven haired lady continues down, and still never uttering a word or wearing even the slightest look of apology, trips up yet another lady, clad in a long pure white satin gown, with emerald bracelets dangling from her white gloved wrists, who actually had started to fall, and would have if the pair of red headed ladies in wine and emerald gowns had not caught and steadied her, and in the process an emerald bracelet is lost to sight.
The raven haired, dark beauty finally landed onto the chamber floor and began snaking through the crowd, licking her vibrant red lips as her eyes darted about searching for any distractions to avoid keeping her from her selected designation, (and prey)! Her long thin figure was sleekly covered by a lengthy body-hugging black satin sheath, her heavy mascara, and long flowing hair matching the dress. She wore opera length satin gloves, red as her lips. Her jewels were all white diamonds, earrings, necklaces bracelets, and a large brooch hanging from the low cut of her gowns neckline. She wore a number of fancy rings, one of which was a large diamond cocktail ring on her left hand, while her right, gripping a red satin clutch purse, was home to 3 smaller versions of the same ring. She slowed down suddenly, and opening the purse pulled out a long telescoping holder, and opening a gold (14k) case extracted a long white cigarette and inserted it.
She than bee lined and circled around, flanking a young miss wearing(limply) a long pretty satin dress of pink coral, white pearls hanging expensively down from her ears and neckline. She wore white wrist length satin gloves, with a diamond merrily glittering from a long slender finger on her left hand. She was talking to a rather handsome youth her own age, dapper in his tails and top hat, a precision trimmed Saxon style beard, and a face with solid Welsh features, and hazel coloured twinkling eyes. A long gold chain and fob held a solid gold engraved pocket watch to his chest (all 14 k) and he wore a ruby pin in his black ascot.
As she stole behind the back of the poor princess in coral, she gave her a venomous gaze, which quickly changed as she touched the young man on the shoulder, as he turned to her, the raven haired beauty, whose name was Lilith, eyes were now brimming with contrived admiration.
Hello darlings Lilith said, in a syrupy low voice, addressing them both, although she did not even glance at the girl. Both hoarsely said hello back, and the boy took the offered hand and kissed it, her large ring shinning, blindingly in his eyes. Would you be a dear then? She asked, waving the cigarette holder in front of his face. He obligingly lit it, and she let out a puff of smoke, aimed directly in the girls face, who started coughing Lilith smirked, panting her on the back, sorry dearie, mind if I borrow him for a bit, and she led the young gentleman away, before the pretty girl in coral and pearls could regain whatever composure she had left. Charles! Be a dear and buy me a drink please Lilith asked him, and he (with proper breeding of the titled) led her off without question, abandoning the young miss who watched them trot off with tears brimming in her blue eyes.
The drinks came, and Lilith sat her cigarette holder down next to them, dance with me Charles, and she took his arm and led him off to the dance floor, just as his fiancé in the coral gown and borrowed pearls had managed to catch up.
Charles held Lilith in his arms, as one might hold a cold blooded serpent. She moved close, appropriately hissing in his ear. Why are you wasting time with that silly Ginny creature, don’t you know her parents are about to lose all their money, and that Ginny’s only interest was in his title, and his parents fortune, silly bean. Charles looked warily at Lilith, than over at the forlorn Ginny, just standing there. He genuinely liked , maybe even loved, Ginny, even had given her a friendship ring, signifying his desire to become closer , But there were the rumors of her father being swindled of his fortune, and if his parents ever found out!. He looked back into his dance partners beady black eyes, they held a seductive fire which played immensely to his vanity. She was smiling winningly at him, she had made her selection, and although it would never show in her eyes, in the back of her devious mind, she was starting to think how the letter would go that his parents would anonymously be soon receiving concerning Ginny, the little pipsqueak, Lilith called her silently in her mind.
***
Meanwhile the pair of red haired ladies who had had the cheekiness to stop on the middle landing of the grand staircase, impeding Lilith’s progress, were now walking the perimeter of the mammoth chamber, meandering, taking in all of the sparkling and shininess of the surroundings, their eyes missing very little as they talked. The young, ginger haired one, pretty in her gown of deep green brocaded satin with silken emerald frills, seemed a little peeved about something, and her companion noticed that her grey eyes had turned a certain shade of green, always a sign of something amiss. She stopped her and asked her to please spill it out.
Oooh how I despise that witch, a seething Lydia said to her companion in the wine coloured taffeta gown, spitting out each word like a hissing cat, even Lydia’s back was arched a little like a feline. Her friend, whose longish flaming red hair was lying over her left shoulder, hanging down in a picturesque manner over her full bosom, was surprised at Lydia’s reaction. Who dear? Asked her friend, Angie. The lady in white satin Angie asked? No, spit out the usually collected Lydia, not her, she was really fuming. Angie continued, I was going to say, if it was, than taking her emerald bracelet should have been revenge enough, Angie stated, then continued. So just who are we talking about Lydia?
That one!, Lydia snarled, nodding her head, the witch in black who rushed through us on the stairs and went that way! Angie stopped, looking off in the direction Lydia had nodded. Oh her, she said, the one in black satin. Lydia just glared, and Angie knew she had gotten it right. She asked Lydia, does this witch have a name? Lilith! Lydia spat it out like a swear word, followed by a gushing tirade. She is a backstabbing creature who can charm any man into submission while making a girl cringe and wince with the merest of glances. She is a gold digger extraordinaire with two ex-grooms who couldn’t see her for her true colours until they had been gutted by her gilded claws!!
Really exclaimed Angie, her green eyes becoming brighter! Two of them? Yes, Lydia went on, both wealthy, both became available when their parents received anonymous poison letters about their then betrothed.
I’d give anything to knock her down a few pegs, Lydia continued through clenched teeth.
Angie mulled it over; realizing anything more she said would just add fuel to Lydia’s fire. She decided to let her simmer down on her own, and then perhaps they could get on to their business. She suggested a drink, and they moved off, passing a forlorn young lady in a limp coral coloured gown, wearing a nice display of pearls, who seemed to be staring off in the distance at something with tear filled eyes.
Skirting the dance floor, they soon attained the lounge and settled in……..
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It had now been four years since Angie had taken the charmingly talented young Lydia under her wing.
She had encouraged her blossoming skills, abilities that Lydia herself had self-taught by playing games with her siblings, until she encountered a professional she could learn from. That professional had been Angie. Lydia now possessed the little dog eared ancient pamphlet that had been the secret to Angie’s success as a light fingered lady pickpocket, focusing mainly on the fine jewels worn out and about by rich girls and women in society.
(Please visit our albums section and peruse the various Angie Albums for more background stories on Angie and her “light fingers” the Eds.)
It had cost Angie a necklace to acquire the pamphlet, and it had been worth it. It had cost the younger, ginger haired Lydia her brooch and ring for a chance to do the same. Lydia caught on quickly, mastering certain moves in half the time it had taken Angie, and for which Angie gave her high praise.
But sadly it was now less frequently that they worked as a team, each after a time branching off on their own paths.
Lydia was a different creature than Angie in the respect that coming from a wealthy family she was supported, even though most of the family lands, money and titles would go to the heir, Lydia’s twin brother. For her lifting items from her wealthy friends and relations had started out as an edgy game. Now it had evolved into a challenging pastime, a trophy hunt of sorts where she collected jewels like her father collected animal relics. Some of her lesser trophies were passed onto Angie, who had the connections to dispose of them, turning them into ready pound notes.
Whereas Angie had been born to impoverished English parents who had immigrated to Canada. They made her, their only child, an orphan at age 6 upon their untimely deaths in an epidemic. At the crowded orphanage the nuns taught her a little about manners, how to act properly for a lady, and the rest she had learned on her own, what she needed to say to please them and avoid the “floggings” that they administered to those who refused to “fit” in. She fled the orphanage when she was 14 and forged her own, often lonely path in the years that followed. For her lifting a ladies valuables was a means of lively hood as much as it brought her thrills. And she had accomplished it all without Lydia’s advantages, which had been a pair of a willing accomplices, AKA a sister and brother, to practice on!
But the pair remained in constant touch and it had been at Lydia’s beckoning that Angie had met her in London a few days prior. From London they had travelled by rail to attend this once a year function, and to attend the various balls and other affairs that were the natural outgrowths of the Gala.
It had been an eventful journey, the train ride had proven to be even more profitable than usual for the two light fingered ladies.
Lydia had written Angie a letter (to Angie’s solicitor who she saw at least one a month) telling her about the upcoming gala, and how would she would like Angie to join her in for the hunt. Their plans were to attend the gala and its outgrowths, then spend a few months of the upcoming party season continuing Lydia’s education. They had met at the London station, and after checking their bags found themselves with a little time to kill before boarding. Now outside the station there was a sprawling green where several vendors had set up their wares, a haven for those possess a light fingered touch. The two ladies meandered, catching up on what had been happening in their lives since they last time they had been together.
Now as they walked the green, they also kept their eyes open, and it was the second time they had passed a group of small benches, across a path from where an organ grinder was performing with a pet monkey, which they stopped, giving some serious attention to something they had both glanced at the first time in passing.
There was a trio of young ladies by one of the benches. Later they learned the trio were three sisters awaiting for the arrival of their parents and older brother. All three wore eye catching outfits, the younger 2 siblings in silk dresses of canary yellow and butterscotch, the elder sister was in a long flowing black skirt with a glistening silver coloured ruffled satin blouse. The jewels the three were innocently wearing in public were also worth a second look. The youngest (12) wore a pretty selection of silver, the middle (14) wore gleaming pearls, their older sister and chaperone (19) was wearing gold bracelets, a fine collection of rings and (probably unwisely) an expensive sapphire brooch at her throat.
Now the first time they had passed the oldest was seated at a bench reading a magazine, while her siblings played on the lawn. They had stopped to watch the sisters, under the pretense of watching the crowd around the organ grinder and his monkey. They watched both groups with some interest, but were distracted when Lydia pointed out a pickpocket working the crowd across the way. Angie spotted him immediately, he was chatting to a pair of ladies wearing fashionable day gowns of shiny damask. It looked to be a wealthy mother and her younger sister. As the grey top hated gentleman thief engaged the mother in conversation, he was reaching around and gingerly lifting the silver watch of the younger sister, her attention being paid out to her two young nephews. They watched until he had pocketed the watch, his skill level about average for the type, before Lydia and Angie headed off for the far side of the green.
The second time around they saw that the oldest had fallen asleep, sitting on the bench and the younger two were sitting on the grass, watching the monkey from across the way. The grey top hated man who had relieved the lady of her watch, was now lurking on the scene, eyeing the two sisters sitting on the grass, their dresses splayed out, making the small glistening pools that had probably been what first caught his attention, before noticing their jewels, which were ripe for the picking now that their chaperone eyes were closed.
Lydia and Angie, without a word between them, moved in for the kill. Lydia went straight to the younger sisters, while Angie made a wide circle, cutting in front of the top hatted gentleman, who nodded to the pretty, clever faced, red head. Angie than seated herself on the far end of the bench, primarily to keep the grey top hated man and any other opportunist who may also have designs on the sound asleep older sister’s jewelry, at bay.
Lydia meanwhile had come up behind the younger pair of sisters, laying a hand on the older ones shoulder as she chirped a happy hello to them. Asking them if they would give some coins to the monkey for her, they got up and allowed Lydia to lead them across the path.
The girls called to the little monkey and handed him their coins, while they all laughed at the tricks he performed for them. The younger one was looking up at Lydia who handed her another coin; she scrunched down, and gave it to him, as they waited for him to perform again. Lydia placed her hand on thy older sister’s silken covered shoulder, than her fingers quickly slid up to the necklace of pearl, and with two fingers, flicked open the hook and eye clasp, and pulled away the pearls in one motion. She then moved back, leaving the younger siblings to play with the monkey and melted back into the crowd,
Watching all this, Angie made a noise after Lydia had vanished from sight, waking the sleeping lass, who immediately looked around for her wayward sisters. Spying the pretty red head sitting at the end of the bench, she smiled (girls always felt more at ease around other women), Angie smiled back, and looked towards the monkey, and the sister also looks, and spies her siblings. She calls out to them, and as they come back Angie sees with satisfaction that Lydia had been busy. The sister also notices something amiss; the middle one is missing her pearls.
They begin to look, with the concerned red head kindly offering her” a hand” in their search. After a fruitless 15 minutes spent searching through the crowd of huddled people watching the organ grinder and his monkey, the nice red headed lady gave her apologies’, saying she must leave to make her train. The pretty lady takes her leave, holding the girls hand as she earnestly expresses her hopes that the pearls are found. She holds out her arms, and is given a hug for helping by the grateful older sister. Angie places a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes, as her other hand reaches up and unhooks the sapphire brooch from the sisters satin blouse, palming it effortlessly.
As Angie disappears in the crowd the search goes on in earnest, It is not much after the red headed lady had swished her way through her crowd towards the train, that the older sister discovers she is wearing on less ring! As she in bewilderment places a hand to her silk covered chest, her fingers feel nothing, and start to feel around fruitlessly for her brooch, her sapphire brooch, its gone, not even so much as a tear on her satin blouse where it had been pinned by her maid that morning. The older sister feels a hand placed on her shoulder, she looks up into the smiling eyes of a dapper gentleman in a grey top hat, I something wrong my dear? He asks her, showing genuine concern in his smiling eyes.
As the gentleman in the grey top hat was giving his upmost attention to the young lady Angie had been “helping”, Angie entered the train, and walking to the end of the last passenger car, settled into the seat next to Lydia.
Lydia Turned towards Angie, and speaking in French, Commented:
La levée de suite les bijoux d'une jeune femme est comme une plume prise !
Dear, Angie said in an almost motherly tone of voice, I really wish you would not go about quoting that Arsène Lupin wretch, as a pickpocket the man is a butcher.
Angelica, Lydia teasingly chided, you say that about all men with light fingers, like our gray hatted friend back there.
Honey, Angie smiled, most men like that are serpents, and Lupin is still a butcher.
Lydia watched Angie settle back in her seat with a secret smile. She did not know too much about Angie’s past, but there was something there about Monsieur Lupin, (whose exploits had been made into print, tickling her young girls fancy, as she poured over them), that seemed to get at Angie’s goat. A lot about Angie’s past life was a secret to Lydia, but she knew well enough when to let sleeping dogs lie..
Lydia than settled in as the train lurched forward, taking them safely away from the London park, along with the sister’s “trinkets “the pair had obtained.
A little later, it became Lydia’s turn to show her mettle.
An hour after leaving London Station, the train stopped at a fashionable suburb. Lydia watched with half opened eyes, the disembarking passengers, and the new arrivals now walking to and fro along the wooden platform. Suddenly her eyes opened wide, and she made a small noise. Angie looked up from her book with interest, immediately spotting it too.
A young couple was walking past their window. He was wearing a 3 piece suit, walking stick, a silver timepiece, and a small brown derby. It was his wife, though, upon which the ladies interest lay. She was sporting a slinking satin frock, pretty in itself as it lay along her voluptuous figure, but it was her necklace that stole the show, and as she walked it was noticed by more than a few of the people she passed. It was a buoyantly bright gold drop necklace that encircled her neck, with a large stone ruby in the center of the drop that lay along her bare throat. The necklace really vexed Lydia’s interest and she watched it, and the lady who wore it for as long as she could before finally losing sight and settling back in the seat with a long sigh.
Only a few short minutes later she her heart leapt in her throat. The couple had entered their car, probably heading for one of the private cars at the end of the train she reasoned, as her eyes took in every detail. But no, the couple stopped at the empty seat just before the one Angie and Fiona occupied.
Now Lydia and Angie had the end seats in the car, their back was to the cars wall, and directly across from them was a small storage room, , so the seating across the aisle started up about three rows, which meant that basically no one could see them unless they were walking past. Lydia continues to watch with interest as the couple settled in, the wife taking the window seat, in front of Lydia a. Angie just kept her nose buried in the book she was holding; this was all Lydia’s show. Lydia watched the lady as she sat back, her and her necklace reflected in the windows, The ladies shoulders were just above the seat, and after she had settled in, she made a show of doing up her long hair in a bun, giving Lydia ample time to study the valuable necklaces gold box clasp, and plan her way to it.
After listening to the few sharp words the lady gave her husband, Lydia decides this elegantly coiffured lady was somewhat a prima donna. Her husband tries to place his arm around her, but is chased off. They both finally fall off to sleep, and as the twilight outside takes over, Lydia sees her chance and seizes it. Lydia reaches over, and after licking her fingers, plays with the man’s ears. He groggily wakens, still aroused now that he thinks his wife is also now amorous, he reaches over and pets her affectionately. She wakens, angry and pushes the husband away. But Lydia is prepared, as the wife leans towards her husband, and away from the window, Lydia’s fingers have already flicked open the box clasp and whisked of the gold necklace from the opposite direction, towards the window, where she catches its reflection as slips over the back of the ladies seat and curls up in Lydia’s open palm.
Lydia and Angie now had private, “front” row seats for when the wife’s loss was discovered. It was always a performance that Angie never tired of watching when she could chance it. And Lydia? Sticking around and watching her victim’s reaction at being pickpocketed was one of the reasons she started lifting jewelry in the first place. Neither of them was disappointed on this occasion.
Now wide awake, the wife settled back down to read her book, playing with a strand of her hair that had fallen while she was chastising her husband. As she did her fingers brushed her neck, she stopped reading, and carefully felt around her throat, before letting out a yelp that woke her husband, and several of the other passengers ahead of her. She cried out (in a heavy Italian accent) my jewels, La mia collana , è svanito, it is gone? In panic she rose and started to look around, her hand to her throat, giving everyone watching a nice display of her pretty figure in its shiny dress and of her remaining jewelry. Angie, Lydia, a Stewart and the couple two seats ahead got up and helped in the fruitless search. Her necklace had somehow mysteriously vanished.
After things finally settled down Angie and Lydia made friends with the husband, but his wife remained angry and distant….
The rest of the trip had been uneventful, mainly because Angie and Lydia had had their fill of their appealingly pretty little games for the time being.
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Angie suddenly perked up, letting go of her thoughts. She looked over at Lydia who was nursing her drink, her eyes looking a little less peeved. Did you see her, she asked? Who? Answered Lydia, Lilith? No answered Angie patiently. Not the Girl in the coral gown and pretty pearls, that one looked miserable enough without our help, stated Lydia? No, not her, but Angie reflected, Her pearls were nice, I almost suggested a go at them, but glad we didn’t, your right she did seem sad enough as it is. No, I mean that one over there, and she threw her eyes over to the entrance of the lounge.
Oh, Lydia exclaimed, I see what you mean. In the corner just outside the enclosed lounge area stood a lady in teal velvet, carrying a purse, her silver satin gloved wrist and fingers, home to a rather nice set of blazing emeralds and diamonds, matching those around her throat and hanging from her ears. Lydia looked over the situation.
The new mark wearing the teal velvet, was idling looking around, obviously trying to spot someone. Lydia looked at Angie, her Hazel eyes turning green with anticipation. Who gets her, she asked sweetly. Angie nodded,( wanting something to take Lydia mind off …..) she is all yours princess ( a nickname that Angie sometimes used on Lydia, and about the only person in the world Lydia could tolerate calling her that).
And watch her movements, added Angie in an instructing tone, See how she jumps up to peer over the crowd? Try and use it to your advantage. Lydia smiled and watched, licking her lips in anticipation.
Now Lydia’s forte was lifting necklaces, so that whenever it was Angie’s turn to be the spotter, she would always be on the lookout for Ladies wearing necklaces that would be within easy reach of Lydia’s talented fingers. Likewise Lydia, when spotting for Angie, kept an eye out for brooches. So, when Angie told Lydia the mark was hers, it was her emerald necklace that received close study first.
Lydia waited until the lady had her back to them, and she rose and carefully threaded herself through the maze of tables to the entrance of the lounge, her gown rustling against any object it touched. She came up on the lady in teal. Violet she cried out, as she raised one arm, wrapping around it around the girl’s back, while the other gripped the girl’s arm as Lydia drew the lady up against her figure in an embrace..
The girl tried to turn, squirming in Lydia s clasp, and as she did so, Lydia’s hand had already snaked up to the studied necklaces clasp, popping it open. I’m not Vio…. the startled girl tried to say, but as she turned around, Lydia exclaimed, you’re not Violet, oh I ‘m so sorry she said, asking for forgiveness sweetly,( undoing the clasp of the necklace and lifting up one end) I thought you were my cousin violet, Lydia apologized profusely, while her one hand squeezed the girls arm, finger bails digging in, as the other one holding the end of the necklace on her shoulder, moved down behind teal velvets back, slipping away the fiery necklace with it.. As Lydia balled up the necklace in her hand, she begged her leave, expressing regrets that she did not have time to chat with her new friend, have to find where Violet wandered off to she explained, squeezing the girl’s arm.
The mark was only too glad to accept the pretty stranger’s apology at not being able to stay and chat. The lady watched Lydia swish off into the swarming crowds. Her eyes slightly puzzled, before she remembered that she was also looking for someone, and went off, soon forgetting the entire incident ( and later, when the loss of her necklace was discovered, her brief encounter with Violet’s confused cousin was not even thought of)!
As Lydia sauntered off she stowed away the emerald necklace, and then meandered about the chamber, taking her turn to spot fresh victims, whose jewels were doomed to disappear under Angie’s talented fingers.
Meanwhile across the Ballroom another scene was being played out…..
********
Lilith was now holding court at the edge of the dance floor; her second straight dance had ended with the young gentleman she was leading to believe fascinated her. She was busy continuing chatting him up, expressing her utter delight at the wonderful dancer he was, when Ginny timidly approached. She drew near her erstwhile boyfriend, asking him for their dance, as she desperately tried to keep her lips from trembling. Lilith’s eyes lit up in false apology (Ginny could see that all too well), darling! Lilith exclaimed, could I borrow your young man for a bit more, he promised me a drink. She placed her arm around him, isn’t that right darling? The overly polite boy, choked up a bit, unsure of what to do, his breeding not letting him wanting to hurt either Ginny, or Lilith, despite what his true desires actually were, and that was to be alone with Ginny! Although the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind by Lilith were beginning to take root and he was starting to have worries about what if future with Ginny would become an actuality.
Ginny, Charles started, faltered, than tried again, Ginny, the band is going to play The Charleston, you know how you like to dance to it, why don’t you go and I’ll catch up with you soon, promise. Yes darling, Lilith chirped maternally at poor Ginny, It will be just a quick one darling, and taking Charles by the arm, led him off, leaving Ginny standing there, wilting away as the Lilith’s words and actions burned through to her very soul. The music stared, and she reluctantly, if not a little obediently, did as Charles wished. Three dances later, he still had not shown up as promised, and Ginny danced on, a burning hole opening ever wider in her heart.
**********
Meanwhile, as poor Ginny started dancing to her second of three solo dances, we visit another end of the chamber, where Lydia is found talking merrily with three girls around her own age that she had collected around her. She had lured them into her web by engaging the considerable charm, elegance and sophistication that had been bred into her by her parents pretty much since birth.
Three pretty maids all in a row, overloaded with a multitude of dripping jewels, and Lydia was waiting for Angie to make an appearance and lighten their load! A blond haired lady in shiny red satin, a brown haired maiden in bright blue, and a tow headed damsel in silky gold. As Lydia was chatting up the three girls, her eyes, discreetly and unobtrusively, take an account of their jewels, their placement and their value.
Amongst the jewels the lady in red is wearing the most valuable is a necklace of small diamonds and a ring around her right hand’s pinky that is a large diamond cluster that shimmers spectacularly as she plays with a locket of her lion’s mane like blond hair.
The pretty maiden in blue was displaying a nice collection of gold jewelry, braided chains with small flecks of silver woven in. But above her left breast, was her only jeweled piece, pinned with a simple c-clasp, a gold brooch with a center stone of blue topaz surrounded by dazzling ½ caret diamonds.
Then there was the damsel in the pretty gold coloured gown, woven of some type of exotic, overly expensive, material that just shimmered in the massive chandelier’s light. She was also wearing opera length gold satin gloves, from which were dangling a pair impressive jeweled bracelets, their stones a multitude of rainbow coloured gems. She also wore a long pair of dangling diamond earrings, held loosely by rather ancient hinge clasps. Although her many other jeweled pieces were pretty valuable, these two twin sets were by far the most valuable pieces that anyone in the group was wearing.
Lydia feasted on the show her three marks jewels were displaying as she won them all over, soon bringing them into fits of giggling and laughter as they started to talk about the things most groups of women by themselves talk about, men! Out of the corner of her eye Lydia spied Angie coming up and around to see what’s up. She circled past each of the girls, slowly, nonchalantly, attracting no notice from the others in Lydia’s little group.
As Angie passed behind the blond in red satin, Lydia adjusted one of her rings, like it was bothering her, the motion caught Angie’s eye. Then Angie passed behind the gold gowned miss, and her eyes darted to Lydia, who lifted up her hair, exposing her ears, than absentmindedly started playing with a bracelet. Then Angie went behind the little blue gowned miss, and saw Lydia suppressing a cough, patting her chest to stifle it, her fingers splayed just above her left breast. Nodding, as much to herself as Lydia, Angie melted back into the crowd, and made a wide circle before approaching Lydia’s side.
Angie touched Lydia on her shoulder and she swirled, delighted that her “new friend” had shown up. (for whatever the reason, it always makes the mark(s) more comfortable when a pair of newcomers are related or are friends, Gaston Monescu, page 15 paragraph 2), Lydia excitedly introduced Angie to her three new chums, explaining to them how Angie and her had met on the train and had bonded, and how nice Angie was, and how very interesting a life she had led, along with other bits of flummery.
Angie’s first formal introduction was to red satin, Jessica. Whom Angie took by the hand, then reached around and hugged her, receiving a warm embrace in return. After the embrace, Angie clasped Jessica’s right hand in both of hers, praising Jessica on her pretty gown. As Jessica looked down, lifting a portion of the gown’s skirt with her left hand to show it off better, all eyes looked down. As everyone’s attention was diverted for that fraction of a second, Angie released Jessica’s right hand, slipping off from Jessica’s satin clad pinky, the large diamond clustered ring. Angie discreetly passed off the ring to Lydia, who was standing close to one side.
Then Lydia introduced Angie to the elegantly gold gowned young lady, Abby. Angie raised one arm, wrapping it around Abby’s back, while the other gripped her wrist, flicking open the jeweled bracelet‘s safety chain, as she drew the gold gown wearing Abbey up against her figure. The girl tried to turn, squirming in Angie’s embraces. Angie’s hand patted the girl on the back as the girl halfheartedly did the same, feeling Angie’s face bury itself in her shoulder. Effectively blocking from view the hand the held her wrist, which was picking open the bracelets clasp. Angie pulled away, looking the young miss in the eyes, everyone else eyes were also on Angie, which is what she was aiming for. And as she told the sweet young thing that it was her pleasure, she patted the ladies wrist, squeezing open the bracelet, slipping it off and into the slightly open purse at her side. As she does, her other hand goes up to the lady in gold’s dangling earring,( all eyes follow this movement) admiring the earring openly, taking its clasp into consideration for possibly an attempt later if they meet somewhere outside after hours. One never knows.
The last one to be introduced was the pretty Miss wearing the blue gown, Meria. Lydia, laughingly teasing her about being last, led her by the elbow and pulled the Meria towards Angie, and while she was turning, Angie took a small step forward and made sure her left side would bump against her. As Angie drew her in for an embrace, her right hand right hand was on the brooch while Angie’s left was grasping Meria’s left shoulder. Performing a move so familiar and well-practiced it was almost second nature, her middle finger pushed the c clasp out of its hook releasing the brooch into Angie’s palm. Pulling her hand down, she deposited the brooch into her purse, as she enveloped the girl in a hug. Then she stepped back, and began chatting with all three, soon winning them over like Lydia had done, keeping them distracted from themselves and their missing fine trinkets. Angie told them a quick, funny story about a man she had met on the train recently, which soon had them all giggling.
Angie took her leave after about 5 minutes, making an excuse that she needed to freshen up, she again took each ladies hand in goodbye, including Lydia’s, whom Angie slipped off a ring from her finger, so if things got sticky, she would be one of the victims also.
Lydia stayed behind to keep the three darling ladies occupied. She noticed one by one the missing jewels of each girl. The three shimmering silken lambs had been most professionally sheared, the most expensive of their jewels disappearing in such a manner that requires a ladies touch, no mere male, not even the talented Arsène Lupin, could have done better in the same scenario. As she looked them over, Lydia mused that with the mass quantities of jewelry each of the three were wearing, it would be some time before any of them realized some were missing.
********
Meanwhile across the ballroom, as Angie had been introduced to her last of the three ladies and their jewels that Lydia had lined up; another scene had started being played out…..
Lilith had just finished her second drink with Charles, while the third song of a five song set had just started, fast and one meant for singles (favored mainly by the ladies, one of who was the wretched Ginny). Lilith looked at Charles, and suggested he should join the gentlemen up in the smoke room (she had seen him watching them mass exodus of gentlemen heading that way when the current set of songs had started). Charles hesitated, I should really see about Ginny, he cautiously stated, not sure of Lilith’s reaction. Lilith smiled, licking her re lips, don’t you worry yourself over the poor dear, I will go and keep her company until you return, she promised happily.
Defeated, Charles wearily accepts her suggestion, and Lilith watches him depart, then smugly looks in the direction of the dance floor, and exultantly plucking the fag from the gold holder, squashes it down quite hard in an ash container. She snaps closed the telescoping holder, and with a positively wicked grin, leaves her seat with a pounce and heads onto the dance floor, her hips swinging her black satin gown with a fluid motion, not unlike like a black cat making a move against a frightened mouse, or perhaps a snake slithering towards its victim.
It is a known fact that in the wild herding animals will avoid any member who is ill or dying. This may explain that, with Ginny’s 3rd dance of the 5 song set, she was still alone. It was like her wretchedness was felt by others and so kept their distance, leaving poor Ginny alone in her own empty circle, dancing at a far end of the chamber. This is also why she was not hard to spot by one who was now specifically seeking her out.
Ginny jumped as a hand grasped, not softly, her shoulder, and a voice said her name, with an evil hiss into her ear…
Ginny turned to face Lilith, whose look of utter hatred made that she gave the poor girl, made Ginny cringe as she backed away, dancing was now the last thing on the poor girls mind.
Darling, Lilith said spitting out the word as she looked around to make sure no one else was listening in, I have some very bad news….
Lilith launched into a tirade filled litany of reasons of why “Her” dear Charles would simply never be able to have anything more to do with her. Starting with her jewelry( really dear, you had to borrow them?) jumping to her moneyless parents( penniless in-laws, really darling it just isn’t done ), her now lowered position in society, (not to worry though , after she(Lilith) and Charles were marred she would find Ginny a maids position somewhere). And finally, that Charles was leaving because he was angry with the jealous way the sniveling Ginny had been acting.
With each sentence that was thrown in poor Ginny’s face she stepped back, the hateful words (some of which she knew had truth in them) slicing like a knife into the already tormented girls soul.
Finally she could take it no longer, and openly weeping she turned and tried to flee, looking fruitlessly around for Charles, but Lilith was quick, and grasped the poor girl before she could make good her escape..
Oh, you poor darling, I haven’t hurt your feelings have I spat Lilith in mocking tones, her , and she drew Ginny to her in a tight embrace, feeling the girl squirming in her arms, much like a mouse would squirm under a cat’s clawed paw, or perhaps wrapped in a serpents coils( both scenarios fit Lilith). Lilith finally released the poor thing, who fled recklessly away.
Lilith stayed and watched Ginny bolt, an indulgent smile creeping upon her face. She started to move in rhythm with the music, extremely pleased with herself, her sleek, slinky black gown and gloves flowing down along her devastatingly pretty figure making her appear like some slithering serpent rising up from the bowels of some glittering hell….
It was no more than 2 minutes later that a hand was placed from behind on Lilith’s shoulder.
********
As Charles headed off to relish his cigar, and Lilith headed off to relish tormenting Ginny; Lydia was continuing to entertain the three young ladies, while biding her time until the next conquest of the evening.
Suddenly Angie appeared from the crowd, again behind the three unsuspecting girls still under Lydia’s spell. Angie gave her a subtle signal, indicating that she has spotted fresh prey in dire need of being shed of her jewels, and needed Lydia’s help with the shearing. Lydia encourages the three ladies to meet her a little later, she sees a gentlemen (winking) whom she had promised a dance. They let their friend go, thinking she should wait for a slow dance, the music being played now was no way to dance close and personal, but they unknowingly were quite wrong.
After leaving the 3 young ladies, Lydia soon reached Angie’s side by the edge of the dance floor. Angie turned and nodded her head indicated one side of the floor, is that Lilith? She asked Lydia’s eyes followed Angie’s nod, soon eyeing the solitary lady in black standing at one end talking with the girl in coral and pearls.
Yes it is she answered, why? Attend, said Angie, and Lydia listened as Angie laid out her plans before her, as Lydia watched her witch, and the diamonds she wore that flickered around her black encased figure like so many evil tongued serpents. Suddenly she saw the girl in coral whose pearls the ladies had admired earlier, suddenly turn and flee, crying. Still up to your dirty tricks, are you Lilith!, Lydia thought spitefully.
Ready, the pair of scheming red heads than made their move.
*********
Lilith turned to see whose hand it was, half expecting to see Ginny, she checked herself quite nicely when turning, when she saw Lydia’s beaming face.
The two ladies dance in step for a few seconds, than Lilith gushes, why Lydia dearest, I hadn’t noticed you were here. Perfectly lovely darling, then Lilith added, but who brought you this evening? She asked, appearing very casual.
Lydia stayed silent on the subject; she wouldn’t give Lilith the satisfaction of knowing that she had not found anyone since Lilith had stolen Lord St. Claire, her longtime Beau, from under her nose.
Instead, Lydia praised Lilith, her lovely figure and gown, false praise, and Lilith knew it. They both continue dancing, almost sparing like a pair of fencers, with sharp eyes, and tongues rather the swords.
***********
Having been pre-warned by Lydia that the situation would become volatile very fast, Angie had come up behind Lilith very quickly, and started to dance behind her, coming ever closer, unnoticed by Lilith whose guard was totally centered on Lydia.
Angie saw her chance and tripped on Lilith’s Gown, sending her into Lydia’s waiting arms. Angie’s hands at the same moment had flew up to clasp of Lilith’s diamond necklace, unsnapping it, and sending the necklace falling into Lydia’s hands as she pushed away Lilith, who was in the process of turning and rounding on the person who dared ruin her expensive gown. As she spat at Angie, reprimanding her for her careless ness, Lydia moved in between, flicking the clasp of Lilith’s diamond broach in the process. Pushing the pair apart, Lydia apologies, as her right hand neatly slipped of the opened broach from Lilith’s satin gown, saying it was her fault for dancing so close to Lilith that she had backed poor Lilith into the lady.
Lydia took Angie’s hand, apologizing, slipping her the necklace and broach into Angie’s half open purse in the process. And with that, Angie turned and went on her way, never looking back, Hearing Lilith saying something to Lydia about the clumsy bitch, as she left.
************
Later that evening found Angie walking through the lounge of an upscale hotel, having joined in with the spillover from the fancy dress ball that had gathered there. She had stashed in her hotel room the shimmering collection of purloined jewels that Lydia and her had lifted while attending the Ball proper.
For the past half an hour she had been having an enjoyable conversation with the sparkling (both in personality, and attire) tow headed lady in silky gold that Lydia had introduced her to at the ball, and who still had not noticed she was shorn of a one of her bracelets from her gloved wrist,. Angie had come across the damsel sitting alone by the bar, her friend (The pretty maiden in blue who had been displaying the nice collection of gold jewelry- less one brooch) had left her to party on with a male friend of hers.
Angie had just left the pretty ladies side, also leaving her without the bother of placing her earrings and one of her twin bracelet in the hotel safe that evening. She as of yet failed noticed that now her dangling diamond earrings that had been loosely held by their ancient old fashioned clasps, had gone the same route as her Bracelet. Angie had slipped off the earrings while giving her a generous hug of greeting after watching and waiting for her to be alone.
*******************************
Lighting a cigarette Angie left through the lobby and headed into a late night pub. As she nursed her first scotch, neat over ice, a familiar figure approached and slid onto the empty stool next to her. Thought I’d find you here, chirped a much happier Lydia. Just wanted to pop to give you an update, She waited and made small talk until after the bartender had taken and served her drink (a whiskey Soda) then began to fill in Angie.
So what was her reaction when you pointed out her jewels were missing, Angie asked Lydia with great expectations of what had happened? Well when I pointed them out, instead of thinking you (Angie) had been the culprit, Lilith assumed they had been taken by” Ginny” (the sad one wearing the coral gown and pearls) when Lilith had been hugging her. That little toad, Lilith had spat out to Lydia, and turned to hunt Ginny down.
Poor dear, said Angie, felling a small pang of sorrow for the little Ginny creature. No, answered Lydia, not really, and she continued…
Lydia had followed, realizing that Lilith was out of control, worried that someone innocent may be hurt.
And she was correct, because Lilith approached Ginny and lit into her something fearsome.
Lilith literally grabbed Ginny and started shaking her, demanding that she give them back. The girl was petrified, and Lilith started calling her some pretty nasty names.
A crowd started gathering.
Then all of a sudden this bloke wearing a gold pocket watch, cuts through the crowd and rescues the poor girl from Lilith’s clutches. Like a white knight Angie commented. Well he was in black tails, and boy was he angry with Lilith, he held the girl in coral tight as he looked at Lilith lividly, his face the reddest I have ever seen on an angry young man.
Lilith finally, collected herself, and I saw all fire drain from her face, and she turned around and stormed out of the chamber. I don’ know, nor care what became of her, stated Lydia.
Feel better now, princess? Angie asked Lydia.
Lydia smiled perking up, actually for the small bit of solace it may have been worth, it had made her feel better now that she had thought about it.
She smiled at Angie, producing a necklace of pearls, it seemed easier to do when she was so happy, Lydia confessed. So you do feel better Princess, Angie stated happily.
Lydia smiled, and the pair finished their drinks in thoughtful silence.
Lydia was the first to leave, smiling she bade Angie a good night, and began walking away.
Lydia had only gone a few feet, when she turned, and looked at Angie who had been watching her.
Lydia, a sly smile brightening her face and eyes, happily quoted “Assistez à un oeil de demoiselles dans vos s , chatouiller les dames de fantaisie avec une main”
Angie finished Lupin’s quote quote with a faraway look in her eyes
“tout en soulevant ses bijoux avec l'autre”
Till the morrow, Princess, Angie said in parting.
Till Tomorrow answers Lydia, turning with a skip, her gown flowing out behind her as she, now in very good humor, leaves into the smoke swirled darkness of the city to walk the few blocks to her hotel.
*****
The Epilogue:
Late afternoon of the next day, after attending an early afternoon Garden Soiree, Lydia and Angie are strolling through a park, both still dressed in their party dresses, both still wearing their fancy day jewels, (worn so they would fit in with the well to do female attendees), and both with secret pockets holding jewels lifted from some of said female attendees.
Lydia looks back at Angie, Lifting that silver dragon brooch with the ruby eyes and diamond scales was a nice move on your part Angie, she praises.
It was a lot easier with your help Lydia, Angie responded.
Lydia turned her head back onto the path, her pony tail whipping around, the pearls she had woven into it shining a bright white.
Angie said to Lydia’s back, that girl in the crème satin dress, you know I was going to go for her gold braided necklace, then you came out of nowhere and beat me to it.
Lydia just smiled satisfied to herself, I know she responded,, I wanted it to be my coup, she did not turn back to look at Angie’s reaction., but continued.. you laid down the gauntlet ,(or in this case satin glove) Angie when, as you commented on how pretty the necklace looked as it slithered along the front of her crème satin dress, you said it would take extremely deft fingers to slip it off her throat. Although I though her sisters pearls were a better score.
Angie, still walking behind her now had a secret smile on her face, and her eyes had glazed over as if her mind was drifting a million miles away from that quite park in the English countryside where the pair were now walking.
The two pretty red heads continue to walk on a bit, both in the silence of their thoughts.
Angie, Lydia asks, plopping down on a bench.
Yes dear, Angie says, her train of thought broken.
Lydia pulled out a long her gold braided necklace and was admiring it. The lady in the Crème satin dress who wore this lovely thing,; her sister, the one wearing the emerald silk gown and the pearls I fancied, you said she reminded you of a story you promised would tell me sometime? Could you tell me it now?
Angie smiled, Princess, you certainly are an inquisitive one! Let me think a minute…
Angie settled down next to her, and after mulling it over a bit, finally began…
It was during my first time in Monte Carlo, I had left the states soon after I had scored a major haul, and decided to ply my trade in new waters. It was during the fall of…
Lydia interjected, It was because of your haul at that politicians daughter’s wedding, (see album Angie being receptive)
Yes princess, that and a few other functions helped fund that trip. Angie confirmed, then went on…
I had met this pretty young like in an emerald silk gown, positively dripping in gold jewellery with rubies and emeralds…
Lydia cut in again, please start at the beginning; we have the rest of the day all to ourselves.
Angie smile, very well, I will start at the beginning: …….
( We will post in the album’ Angie “holidays” in Monte Carlo’ the rest of the tale stated in the epilogue. Once the story we recently unearthed in previously unknown chronicles of Angie’s life have been modified …The eds)
The lifting away a young lady’s jewelry is as a feather taken
La levée de suite les bijoux d'une jeune femme est comme une plume prise
Editor’s Notes:
Our Thanks to Mr. J. Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide
If you enjoyed our little story, please like and leave a comment.
And if you wish, describe what intrigued you the most about it…
Thank You
And last, but not least,
Kudos to the Light Fingered Lady who planted the seed of the flower that became Lydia
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Free people of the free world!
Ukrainians and citizens of all countries who value freedom!
Friends!
On March 24 it will be the month of our resistance. Heroic resistance of the Ukrainian state, the Ukrainian people to the ruthless invasion of Russia. It's already a month of our defense against the attempt to destroy us. Wipe off the face of the earth.
The original plan of the Russian troops failed already in the first days of the invasion. They thought Ukrainians would be frightened. They thought Ukrainians would not fight. They were wrong.
They know nothing about us, about Ukrainians. They know nothing at all about freedom. About how valuable it is. They do not know how freedom enriches life. Gives meaning to life.
But there are many of them! There are still many invaders. Russia is getting manpower from everywhere. Equipment. Air bombs, missiles. Looking for mercenaries around the world. Any scum capable of shooting at civilians.
Russian troops destroy our cities. Kill civilians indiscriminately. Rape women. Abduct children. Shoot at refugees. Capture humanitarian convoys. They are engaged in looting.
They burn museums, blow up schools and hospitals. The target for them is universities, residential neighborhoods... Anything! Russian troops do not know the limits of evil.
But...
The war of Russia is not only the war against Ukraine. Its meaning is much wider.
Russia started the war against freedom as it is.
This is only the beginning for Russia on the Ukrainian land. Russia is trying to defeat the freedom of all people in Europe. Of all the people in the world. It tries to show that only crude and cruel force matters.
It tries to show that people do not matter, as well as everything else that makes us people.
That’s the reason we all must stop Russia. The world must stop the war.
I thank everyone who acts in support of Ukraine. In support of freedom. But the war continues. The acts of terror against peaceful people go on. One month already! That long! It breaks my heart, hearts of all Ukrainians and every free person on the planet.
That’s why I ask you to stand against the war! Starting from March 24 – exactly one month after the Russian invasion… From this day and after then.
Show your standing! Come from your offices, your homes, your schools and universities. Come in the name of peace. Come with Ukrainian symbols to support Ukraine, to support freedom, to support life.
Come to your squares, your streets. Make yourselves visible and heard. Say that people matter. Freedom matters. Peace matters. Ukraine matters.
From March 24.
In downtowns of your cities.
All as one together who want to stop the war.
I want to address the citizens of Russia separately.
I am sure that there are many of you who are disgusted by the policy of your state. Who are already just sick of what you see on TV. Of the lies of your propagandists on the Internet. Propagandists who are paid by your taxes. And they lie about the war, which is paid for by your taxes. And which makes all the citizens of Russia poorer. Poorer every day.
Isn't that stupid? Your state collects taxes from you to make you poorer. To isolate you from the world. To make it easier for them to control you. And easier to send you to the war to die.
Ukraine has never threatened the security of Russia.
Even now, we are doing everything just to bring peace back to our land. Not to yours - to our land. To our people.
We are doing everything to end this war. And when we succeed - it will certainly happen - you will be sure of at least one thing: your children will no longer be sent to die on our land, on our territory.
Therefore, you, the citizens of Russia, are also interested in peace. Save your sons from the war. Tell the truth about the war. And if you can leave Russia so as not to give your taxes to the war, do it.
All polls show that the people of Europe and America support us.
I am grateful to all of you for that. Grateful on behalf of Ukraine. To everyone in the European Union, the United States, Canada, Britain and other countries for supporting us. For supporting freedom. For supporting Ukraine.
On March 24, three important summits will take place in Brussels, Europe. Important for the security of each of us. NATO Summit. EU Summit. G7 Summit.
I'm sure people will show how they support us. But politicians must also support freedom. All of them. They must support the struggle for life.
We are waiting for meaningful steps. From NATO, the EU and the G7.
We know that the Russians have already begun to lobby their interests. These are the interests of war. We know that they are working with some partners. We know that they want to put this issue out. The struggle against war. But this is the war that needs to be put out.
Our firm position will be represented at these three summits. At these three summits we will see: Who is a friend, who is a partner, and who betrayed us for money.
Life can be defended only when united. Freedom must be armed.
Ukrainian sky has not been made safe from Russian missiles and bombs. We have not received aircraft and modern anti-missile weapons. We have not received tanks, anti-ship equipment. Russian forces can keep killing thousands of our citizens, destroying our cities. Just because there are too many invaders. Just because Russia has been preparing for such a war for decades.
We asked to close our sky. And we asked for assistance from NATO to be effective and without limits. Any support in weapons that we need. We asked the Alliance to say it will fully help Ukraine win this war, clear our territories of the invaders and restore peace in Ukraine.
Free people of the free world!
Together we must prevent Russia from breaking someone in NATO, EU or G7. From breaking and taking it to the war side. We will see on March 24.
Ukrainians! All our heroes!
A month has passed. We withstood six times longer than the enemy had planned, than the Russian command had reported to the Russian president.
They were convinced that Ukraine is not a state. They were convinced that Ukrainians are not a nation. They deceived themselves. But we don't care about them. This is their state suicide. And we are just protecting our lives. Our freedom. Our own state. Our children. Hence, our future.
This is a war for independence. And we must win.
We will rebuild every city that heroically resists. We will bring the invaders to justice for every crime. Zhytomyr and Sumy, Kyiv and Chernihiv, Kharkiv and Mariupol, Volnovakha and Mykolaiv, Okhtyrka and Hostomel, Kherson and Odesa, Izyum and Donetsk, Luhansk and Chornobaivka... All our people will live! In a free Ukraine. After our victory. Which will come sooner, the more we will all be united.
We are all Ukrainians. We are all Europeans. We are all free people of the free world.
In unity! On the battlefield and in political positions, at rallies and summits, at work and in communication with people. By all our actions, we must force Russia to seek peace. By all our actions, we must bring the victory of freedom closer.
May the memory of all who died for Ukraine live forever!
Eternal glory to all our heroes!
Glory to Ukraine!
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.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home after receiving a strongly worded instruction from her father by letter to visit without delay or procrastination. Over luncheon, Lettice was berated by her parents for her recent decision to decorate the home of the upcoming film actress, Wanetta Ward. Lettice has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it, and whilst receiving complaints about her choice of clients, Lettice was also scolded by mother for making herself unsuitable for any young man who might present as an eligible prospect. Although Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, even he has been less than receptive to her recent choices of clients, which has put her a little out of favour with him. After Lady Sadie stormed out of the dining room over one of Lettice’s remarks, Viscount Wrexham implored his headstrong youngest daughter to try and make an effort with her mother, which is something she has been mulling over during her overnight stay.
Now Lettice stands in the grand Robert Adam decorated marble and plaster entrance hall of her family home as she prepares to take her leave. Outside on the gravel driveway, Harris the chauffer has the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler ready to drive her to the Glynes village railway station for the one fifteen to London. She has bid farewell to her brother Leslie and her father. Now there is just one final member of the family whom she needs to say goodbye to.
“Thank you Marsden.” Lettice remarks to the liveried first footman as he carries the last of Lettice’s luggage out to the Daimler.
“I hope you have a safe journey back to London, My Lady.” Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler remarks as he walks into the entrance hall to see Lettice off.
“Thank you, Bramley,” Lettice replies. “Oh, I’m glad you are here. Do you know where my Mother might be?”
Considering her question, the old butler looks to the upper levels and ceiling of the hall before replying knowingly. “Well, it is still mid-morning according to Her Ladyship, so I would imagine that she will be in the morning room. Shall I go and see, My Lady?”
“No thank you Bramley. You have more than enough to do I’m sure, managing this old pile of bricks, without doing that for me. I’m perfectly capable of seeking her out for myself.”
Turning on her heel, Lettice walks away from the butler, her louis heels echoing off the marble tiles around the entrance hall in her wake.
“Mamma?” Lettice trills with false cheer as she knocks with dread on the walnut door to the morning room.
When there is no reply to her call, she considers two possibilities: either her mother is still in a funk with her and not speaking to her after the scene in the dining room yesterday, or she isn’t in the morning room at all. Both are as likely as each other. Taking a deep breath, she turns the handle and opens the door, calling her mother again as she does so.
The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother her mother’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent. Lady Sadie is nowhere to be seen but cannot have been gone long judging by her floral wake.
Walking over to the Eighteenth Century bonheur de jour* that stands cosily in a corner of the room, Lettice snorts quietly with derision as she looks at the baby photograph of Leslie, her eldest brother, which stands in pride of place in a big silver frame on the desk’s serpentine top, along with a significantly smaller double frame featuring late Nineteenth Century younger incarnations of her parents. Lettice, her sister Lally and brother Lionel have been relegated to a lesser hanging space on the wall, as befits the children seen as less important by their mother. Everything has always been about Leslie as far as their mother is concerned, and always has been for as long as Lettice can remember.
Lettice runs her fingers idly over several books sitting open on the desk’s writing space. There is a costume catalogue from London and a book on Eighteenth Century hairstyles. “Making plans for the Hunt Ball.” Lettice muses with a smile. It is then that she notices a much thicker book below the costume catalogue which has a familiar looking worn brown leather cover with a gilt tooled inlay. Moving the catalogue Lettice finds a copy of Debrett’s**
“Oh Mamma!” she exhales with disappointment as she shakes her head.
As she picks it up, she dislodges a partially written letter in her mother’s elegant copperplate hand from beneath it. Lettice knows she shouldn’t read it but can’t help herself as she scans the thick white paper embossed with the Wrexham coat of arms. Its contents make her face go from its usual creamy pallor to red with frustration.
“Ahh! Lettice!” Lady Sadie’s crisp intonation slices the silence as she walks into the morning room and discovers her daughter standing over her desk. “Heading back to London, are we?” she continues cheerily as she observes her daughter dressed in her powder blue travelling coat, matching hat and arctic fox fur stole. She smiles as she indicates to the desk’s surface. “I’m making plans for my outfit for the Hunt Ball. I thought I might come as Britannia this year.”
Lettice doesn’t answer her mother immediately as she continues to stare down at the letter next to her mother’s silver pen and bottle of ink. Remembering her father’s request, she draws upon her inner strength to try and remain civil as she finally acknowledges, “How appropriate that you should come as the all-conquering female warrior.”
“Lettice?” Lady Sadie remarks quizzically.
“Perhaps you might like to reconsider your choice of costume and come as my faerie godmother, since I’m coming as Cinderella.”
“Oh, now that’s a splendid idea! Although I don’t…”
“Or better yet, come as cupid instead!” Lettice interrupts her mother hotly, anger seething through her clipped tones as she tries to keep her temper.
“Now you’re just being foolish, Lettice,” Lady Sadie replies as she walks towards her daughter, the cheerful look on her face fading quickly as she notices the uncovered copy of Debrett’s on her desk’s surface.
“Not at all, Mamma! I think it’s most apt considering what you are trying to do.”
“Trying to do? What on earth are you talking about Lettice?” the older woman chuckles awkwardly, her face reddening a little as she reaches her bejewelled right hand up to the elegant strand of collar length pearls at her throat.
Lettice picks up the letter, dangling it like an unspoken accusation between herself and her mother before looking down at it and reading aloud, “My dear Lillie, we haven’t seen you at Glynes for so long. Won’t you, Marmaduke and Jonty consider coming to the Hunt Ball this year? Do you remember how much Jonty and my youngest, Lettice, used to enjoy playing together here as children? I’m sure that now that they are both grown, they should be reacquainted with one another.” She lowers her hand and drops the letter on top of the edition of Debrett’s like a piece of rubbish before looking up at her mother, giving her a cool stare.
“It isn’t ladylike to read other people’s correspondence, Lettice!” Lady Sadie quips as she marches up to her desk and snatches the letter away from Lettice’s reach, lest her daughter should cast it into the fire cracking peaceably in the grate.
“Is it ladylike to arrange the lives of two strangers without discussing it?”
“It has long been the prerogative of mothers to arrange their children’s marriages.” The older woman defends herself. “And you and Jonty Hastings aren’t strangers, Lettice. You and he…”
“Haven’t seen each other since we were about six years old, when we played in the hedgerows together and had tea in the nursery with Nanny Webb after she had washed the mud off us!”
“Well, all the better for the two of you to become reacquainted then, as I’m suggesting to his mother.” She runs her fingers along the edges of the letter in her hands defiantly. “And I am going to send this letter, Lettice,” Her voice gathers a steely tone of determination. “Whether you like it, or lump it.”
“Yes, Pappa told me after you,” she pauses for a moment to consider her words carefully. “Left, us at luncheon yesterday, that you had been making some discreet enquiries about inviting some eligible young bachelors for me to the ball this year.”
“And so I have, Lettice.” Lady Sadie sniffs. “Since you seem incapable of finding yourself a suitable match even after your successful debut London Season, I have taken it upon myself to do some…”
“Matchmaking, Mamma?”
“Arranging, Lettice. Tarquin Howard, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes…”
“Sir John is as old as the hills!” Lettice splutters in disbelief. “You surely can’t imagine I’d consider him a likely prospect!”
“Sir John is an excellent match, Lettice. You can hardly fail to see how advantageous it would be to marry him.”
“Once I look past the twenty five, no more, years age difference. No, better he be chased by some social climbing American woman looking for an entrée into the society pages. Perhaps I should ask Miss Ward to the ball. I’m sure she would love to meet Sir John.”
Lady Sadie’s already pale face drains of any last colour at the thought of an American moving picture star walking into her well planned ball. “Well, if you won’t countenance Sir John, I’ve also invited Edward Lambley and Selwyn Spencely.”
“Selwyn Spencely?” Lettice laughs. “The guest list just gets more and more implausable.”
“What’s so implausible about Selwyn Spencely, Lettice? The Spencelys are a very good family. Selwyn has a generous income which will only increase when he eventually takes his father’s place as the next Viscount Markham. He inherited a house in Belgravia from his grandfather when he came of age, so you two can continue to live in London until you become chatelaine of Markham Park.”
“Can you hear yourself, Mamma?” Lettice cries as she raises her arms in exasperation, any good will she tried to muster for her Mother quickly dissipating. “Do you want to pick what wedding gown I am to wear too?” Lettice laughs again. “Selwyn and I haven’t laid eyes on each other for almost as long as Jonty and I.”
“Well, he’s grown into a very handsome young man, Lettice. I’ve seen his photograph in The Lady.” Her mother bustles across the end of the floral chaise where a pile of well fingered magazines sit. “Look, I can show you.”
“Oh, please don’t Mamma!” Lettice throws her hands up in protest. “Please don’t add insult to injury.”
Lady Sadie turns around, a hurt look on her face. “How can you say that to me, Lettice? I’m only trying to do right by you, by securing a suitable and advantageous marriage for you.”
“But what about love, Mamma?” Lettice sighs. “What if I don’t wish to marry at all? What if I am happy just running my interior design business.”
“Oh what nonsense, Lettice! The younger generation are so tiresome. All this talk of love! I blame those moving pictures your Ward woman stars in that you and your friends all flock to slavishly! Your Father and I had our marriage arranged. We weren’t in love.” She emphasises the last two words with a withering tone. “We’d only even met a handful of times before we were married. Love came naturally in time, and look how happy we are.” She smiles smugly with self satisfaction. “And as for your business, you aren’t Syrie Maugham***, Lettice. You’ve always been told, from an early age, that your duty as a daughter of a member of this great and noble family, even as the youngest daughter, is to marry and marry well.” She sinks onto the chaise. “This foolishness about interior design,” She flaps her glittering fingers distractedly at Lettice. “Will have to end when you get married. Whether it be Jonty, Nicolas or Selwyn, you’ll have to give it up. No respectable man of position and good breeding will have his wife working as a decorator! He’d be ashamed!”
At her mother’s harsh words, Lettice abandons any attempt to try and make an effort with her. She looks up to the ornate white painted plaster ceiling and crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room as she clenches her hands into fists. “Well,” she looks angrily at her mother. “We wouldn’t want my future husband to be ashamed of my success, now would we?”
“What success, Lettice?” her mother scoffs. “You were only able to decorate Gwendolyn’s small drawing room because I asked her to allow you to do it.”
“I’ve plenty of clients now, no thanks to you, Mamma!”
“Dickie and Margot don’t count, dear,” Lady Sadie replies dismissively as she fingers the edges of a copy of the Tattler distractedly. “They are your friends. Of course they were going to ask you to decorate their house.”
Lettice gasps as though her mother just punched all the air out of her chest. She stands, silent for a moment, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger. “You’ve always been so cruel to me Mamma, ever since I was little.”
“And you’ve always been so stubborn and obstinate, ever since you were a child! Goodness knows what I did to deserve a wilful daughter. Lally was so lovely and pliable, and certainly no trouble to marry off.” She folds her hands neatly in her lap over her immaculately pressed tweed skirt and looks up at her daughter. “I don’t mean to be harsh, Lettice, but someone has to make you see sense. Goodness knows your Father can’t, what with him wound around your little finger! You will have to marry eventually, Lettice, and preferably soon. It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s what is expected of you, and as I said yesterday, you aren’t getting any younger, and you certainly don’t want to be left stuck on the shelf. Just think of the shame it would bring you.”
“More think of the shame it would bring you, Mamma.” Lettice spits bitterly. “To have a daughter who is a spinster, an old maid, and in trade to boot!”
“Now there is no need to be overtly nasty, Lettice.” Lady Sadie mutters brittlely. “It’s unbecoming.”
A little gilt clock on an occasional table chimes one o’clock prettily.
“Mamma, however much I would love to sit here and share bitter quips and barbs with you all day over a pot of tea, I really do have to leave!” Lettice says with finality. “I have a train to catch. Gerald and I have a reservation at the Café Royal**** tonight.” She walks over to her mother, bends down and goes to kiss her cheek, but the older woman stiffens as she averts her daughter’s touch. Lettice sighs as she raises herself up again. “I’ll see you in a week for Dickie and Margot’s wedding and then after that for Bonfire Night*****.”
“Hopefully you’ll have come to your senses about marriage and this ridiculous designing business by then.”
Lettice raises her head proudly and takes a deep breath before turning away from her mother and walks with a purposeful stride across the room. “No I won’t, Mamma.” she says defiantly. As she opens the door to leave the morning room, she turns back to the figure of her mother sitting facing away from her towards the fire. “Pappa asked me to make an effort at the Hunt Ball, and I will. I will dance and flirt with whomever you throw in my general direction, be they old, blind or bandy-legged.” She sees her mother’s shoulders stiffen, indicating silently that she is listening, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge that she is. “However, be under no pretence Mamma. I am doing it for him, and not you.”
“Lettice…” Lady Sadie’s voice cracks.
“And,” Lettice cuts her off sharply. “No matter who I dance with, or charm, I will not marry any of them. Goodbye Mamma.”
Lettice closes the door quietly behind her and walks back down the hallway to the entrance hall. She walks through the front doors with her head aloof, and steps into the back of the waiting Daimler. Marsden closes its door and Harris starts the engine. The chauffer can sense the tension seething through his passenger as she huffs and puffs in the spacious rear cabin, dabbing her nose daintily with a lace edged handkerchief, so he remains quiet as he steers the car down the sweeping driveway. As the car pulls away from Glynes basking in the early afternoon autumnal sun, Lettice can almost feel two sets of eyes on her back: one pair from her father looking sadly out from the library and the other her mother’s peering critically from behind the morning room curtains.
*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
**The first edition of Debrett's Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland, containing an Account of all the Peers, 2 vols., was published in May 1802, with plates of arms, a second edition appeared in September 1802, a third in June 1803, a fourth in 1805, a fifth in 1806, a sixth in 1808, a seventh in 1809, an eighth in 1812, a ninth in 1814, a tenth in 1816, an eleventh in 1817, a twelfth in 1819, a thirteenth in 1820, a fourteenth in 1822, a fifteenth in 1823, which was the last edition edited by Debrett, and not published until after his death. The next edition came out in 1825. The first edition of The Baronetage of England, containing their Descent and Present State, by John Debrett, 2 vols., appeared in 1808. Today, Debrett's is a British professional coaching company, publisher and authority on etiquette and behaviour. It was founded in 1769 with the publication of the first edition of The New Peerage. The company takes its name from its founder, John Debrett.
***Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.
****The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
****Guy Fawkes Day, also called Bonfire Night, British observance, celebrated on November the fifth, commemorating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guy Fawkes and his group members acted in protest to the continued persecution of the English Catholics. Today Guy Fawkes Day is celebrated in the United Kingdom, and in a number of countries that were formerly part of the British Empire, with parades, fireworks, bonfires, and food. Straw effigies of Fawkes are tossed on the bonfire, as are—in more recent years in some places—those of contemporary political figures. Traditionally, children carried these effigies, called “Guys,” through the streets in the days leading up to Guy Fawkes Day and asked passersby for “a penny for the guy,” often reciting rhymes associated with the occasion, the best known of which dates from the Eighteenth Century.
Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The books on Lady Sadie’s desks are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside two of the books he has made. One of the books is a French catalogue of fancy dress costumes from the late Nineteenth Century, and the other is a book of Georgian hairstyes. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into these volumes, each book contains twelve double sided pages of illustrations and they measure thirty-three millimetres in height and width and are only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. The 1908 Debrett’s Peerage book is also made by Ken Blythe, but does not open. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk and the stamps you can see next to the ink bottle. The stamps are 2 millimetres by two millimetres each! Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
On the desk is a 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottle and a silver pen, both made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles is made from a tiny faceted crystal bead and has a sterling silver bottom and lid.
The Chetwynd’s family photos seen on the desk and hanging on the walls are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.
The vase of primroses in the middle of the desk is a delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature made and painted by hand by Ann Dalton.
The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design, made by Bespaq. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
The wallpaper is a copy of an Eighteenth Century blossom pattern.
They were one of my 'baking goals'.
So famous, so delicious, so good.
Cinnamon rolls.
by the way there's more in the tags and in the comment :)
Well, the 49ers lost tonight... That frees up Superbowl weekend. It was already going to be a challenge as our family will be celebrating Chinese New Year.
I really liked this shot because you can see Orion's belt over the Bay Bridge. It's too bad that the helicopter flying through didn't make it all the way across. There was definitely a lot of activity in the Bay aside from the full moon.
Churlish Stories for Curious Children
The Remisier Caper
Acte Two
Quickly the two women move from the kitchen and up the back stairs, moving past the locked, still-silent, study, reaching the dimly lit corridor in the wing where the guest bedrooms are located
Lightening flashes outside, adding an ominous feeling to the already electric air.
As the pair stalked down the hall, Emilee instructed her friend as to where Cecelia hides her jewelry case.
Her diamond tiara is locked in the hidden safe inside Sir Reginald’s study.
Much to her dismay, Emilee will not be helping rob this room. Cecelia must not be made aware the French maid has had any part in this.
So Emilee asked a favour.
“In the wardrobe, a long-sleeved white satin blouse with the ruffles. Please Mon Ami?”
The thief had winked, pulling out the torch from her kit.
Reaching the target, the maid stands guard outside in the hallway as the thief carefully opens the door and slips inside.
Inside the room, turning on her torch, the thief sweeps the interior.
Cecelia is fast asleep in her bed, elegant in a long white satin nightgown, as she lays out upon the purple satin sheets.
Her pretty evening gown is over a high-backed velvet-covered chair.
Fire flashed from the diamonds hanging around the sleeping girl's throat. The rest of her diamonds lay in blazing glory, invitingly sprawled out upon the room’s vanity.
The thief approaches the bed, and the wind outside shrieks as a crack of lightning illuminates the room, waking the sleeping girl.
Her eyes sleepily open, then go wide as she sees the masked intruder at her bedside. The thief puts a finger to her lips, and motions the girl to come off the bed.
Cecelia, still not fully awake, limply obeys, and the thief leads her to the chair. There, using one of her victim’s long satin gloves, she is gagged and with a rope, her satin-clad figure is quickly tied up.
As the victim watched, paralyzed with fear, the thief pulls off a satin pillowcase and going to the vanity sweeps off her glittering diamonds down inside it.
Then, as Cecelia whimpered, the masked thief leans down and opens the drawers of her vanity.
Of course, looking back at her captive as she does, not wishing her snooty victim to miss the show.
Reaching the bottom drawer, the thief see’s Cecelia uneasily struggling against her well-tied ropes.
Smiling, the thief quickly pulls out the silky clothes on top. At the bottom lies the prize.
Quickly several velvet-covered cases are extracted and opened with their shimmery contents dumped out inside the pillowcase. Then the cases are carelessly discarded off to the side, adding to the silky underthings already littering the floor.
Hearing the tied-up Celia trying to talk with muffled unclear words, the thief turns and faces the poor girl.
“Don’t worry luv, after I’m done cleaning you out, I’m sure that maid I saw in the dining room will be in to clean it up for you.
Turning back, the thief opens the last, and by far, largest velvet case, a royally dazzling display of large emeralds and diamond set jewellery almost blinds the thief’s eyes.
The case is closed and then added to the loot.
Holding the pillowcase, the masked intruder goes to the wardrobe. Opening it she reached and begins pulling out and checking over the designer dresses and gowns inside. Casually casting them off to the side as she goes do.
Coming to the white ruffled satin blouse she sees there is a black onyx pin holding the high-necked satin bow in place. Perfect.
She takes it to a full-length mirror and holds the blouse up, seeing Cecilia’s wretchedness reflected behind her in the mirror.
She doesn’t feel sorry for the bound and gagged lass.
The thief, in planning this little caper, had learned about the spoiled Cecilia’s tyrannical attitude towards, well, everyone and everything. Her personal servants, as well as her horse, and the family pets, have the scars, both real and emotional, to prove it.
Stuffing the blouse inside the pillow case the thief moves over to the tied-up girl and lifts the diamonds hanging down around her throat. The thief sees the pricy gems sparkling in Cecelia’s wide-open eyes.
The thief then reached back with her free hand and undid the clasp. Saying to her squirming victim as she pulls off the necklace.
“Very nice my haughty lady. I doubt any of the other guest rooms will have anything this nice. Hopefully, I’m wrong.”
She tweaks the poor girl's cheek, then pats thoroughly down her satin-clad, totally compliant figure, deliberately feeling along every bump and bulge for any more of the young lady’s valuables. Nothing is found, but the thief is by no means disappointed.
The thief cuts off the torch’s beam. Pulling off the satin pillowcase from a second pillow, the thief leaves the room as another flash of lightning ominously lights up the bedroom.
Giving poor Cecelia a backside view of the departing thief carrying away the pillowcase full of her heirloom quality jewellry.
The weak-minded girl finally passes out cold from all the anxiety.
The masked thief heads out the door into the hallway where Emilee keeps watch, standing along the wall beside the door.
The thief nods as Emily licks her lips looking at the small bulge at the bottom of the satin pillowcase.
The thief opens it up, and Emilee gives a squeal seeing the blouse she had so coveted while seeing Cecilia wearing it the day before, as well as the bewitching jewelry piled inside the pillowcase.
The thief gently chided her partner in crime, saying as she jovially rubs her shoulder.
“Quit your droolin lass, plenty of work ahead of us this evening.
Lightening again flashes as they begin to scurry down the hallway.
Quickly the pair then enters each of the occupied guest rooms located down the hallway. With a methodical determination, each room is picked clean of any jewels, money, and small valuable items.
It is quick work, with the upstairs maid Emilee pointing out where the lady guest’s better jewels are kept, they both make a fast, quite accurate, job of it.
Like Cecelia, Rose Buxton had her valuable jewels hidden away at the bottom of a vanity drawer full of lingerie.
Lady Susan Macready had her better baubles in a soft-sided jewelry case under her bed’s Pillow.
Diane, Spencer’s fiancé, had a private room, and her good jewelry was in a case conveniently left open on her vanity.
Mrs. Marlene Cabot—Hinny’s overly expensive ‘borrowed’ diamonds from the jewelry shoppe, were found tucked inside a suitcase hidden under the bed.
Emilee grins as the jewels are located and added to the growing loot being added to the satin pillowcase she is holding, her mind going to the ladies in the Parlour downstairs, totally oblivious as to the robbing of their valuables that is occurring above their high held heads.
Cases of sparking jewels are located and dumped into the satin pillowcase. Purses are riffled, bedside drawers checked, and looted of valuables.
Each room entered is left picked clean with expert prowess.
Finishing plundering the last guest room, the pair slink past the study, to the master bedroom next door.
Both enter the stately outfitted room.
Standing as the thief sweeps her torches’ beam. All the light touches conveyed a sense of glamour and very upper-class level wealth.
As with the guest rooms, the pilfering is methodically fast and easy with the Maid’s help.
Quickly the thief is shown the large jewelry amour, and it is opened, showing off a massive collection of jewelry in all styles, and shapes, made with pricey metals and some set with mesmerizing gems. No costume jewelry here. Two pairs of hands begin pulling off from hooks and emptying small drawers, brim full of expensive baubles.
Madeline’s good jewels are kept in the study safe. Next on the list.
The vanity is also ransacked.
A gold mirror, brush and several silver compacts are taken. Several wallets are found, then quickly emptied of cash.
Everything is placed in the same pillowcase.
Last is lord Reginald’s nightstand. Cases of watches, rings, and cuff links are found and emptied. A gold clip with folded notes is found, as well as four billfolds containing notes. All added to the growing pile of loot.
The thief looks around, itching to be done here and tackle the study.
The lightning flashes outside, coming a little more frequently, are adding a feeling of impending foreboding to the thief’s intoxicating “cat burglar’s dance” this evening.
“Anything else? what about the closets, worth it in this room?”
“Oh yes, I Bet there are Lovely things in there that were not in the others… Here
Let me show you”
Emilee opens a double door exposing gowns dresses and other fine designer apparel of all makes and material
Emilee starts on one end, her partner on yet other. Feeling for any broaches or pins. They are treated for their efforts by finding a solid gold broach set with dripping pearls and a pair of diamond clips from a very pretty satin evening gown.
“That’s it then?”
Emilee nods her head yes.
“The rest is in the study safe, mon ami”
Her partner grins…
“Not safe for long then…”
They leave and head to the study next door.
Emilee unlocks the study door, opening it. The pair blink in the brightness of the room as they survey the scene displayed in front of them.
The thief smiled, picturing Emilee and herself as a pair of vultures, eagerly waiting to pick through the carcasses that were the bodies of the sleeping rich men strewn about the room.
Emilee showed her partner where the safe was.
It was actually a small vault, a full meter tall and half that wide, hidden in the wall behind a sliding bookcase.
Crouching down, the thief began the task of opening it.
Emilee took the now weighty satin pillowcase and went to each of the passed-out cold gentlemen in turn.
She skillfully began searching their figures. Almost like using a practice dummy, slipping her hands inside theri breast pockets, extracting handsome leather billfolds.
So it was a rather enjoyable, as well as profitable, undertaking going through pockets and searching in their clothes. Taking anything else of value, along with wallets… watches, rings, precious metal cigar /cigarette cases, tie pins , and cuff links were also nicked from the knockout-drugged male victims.
Emilee quickly located with methodical precision all of the unconscious males valuables, reliving the items from their persons, and plopping them inside the pillowcase.
To the man who had ordered “tea”, Emilee went to last, taking extra time over.
She slid him from the chair he was on and dragged him over to the open part of the bookcase. She place one hand on the lever that opened the bookcase to access the safe. Then she unzipped his trousers and stuck his other hand (after removing a gold signet ring) deep down inside his boxers. He did not stir during the entire ordeal.
None of them did, the knock-out drops that had been added to the gift bottle of brandy would keep them all out for hours.
The thief in the meantime had opened the safe and was stacking the contents on the floor beside her. Piles of banded notes, bonds, and 2 score of jewellery cases. Including 3 that held gem-encrusted tiaras, had all been found inside.
Emilee came to her partner's side and began opening the cases and spilling the contents inside the pillowcase. The notes, bonds. And a few other selected items were added on top.
As she was working on this, the thief moved off Lord Reginald’s desk and pilfered the drawers.
From behind her Emilee instructed.
“Bottom drawer, right. “
That drawer was opened, exposing a black military pistol.
The thief unloaded the cartridges, keeping one loaded in the chambre. She then stuck it in her belt.
The thief looked at Emilee...
“Done?”
She nodded
“Done, for the now we have coup de grâce… we go downstairs to the kitchen, then to the parlour…”
The thief nodded.
Emilee licks her lips. Tossing the masters keys to her partner
Catching them, the thief turns out the lights and locks the study door behind them as they leave
They head to the servants' stairs. As the pair reached them, Emilee puts a hand on her partner's shoulders.
“Juste une seconde..”
Emilee scurried done the corridore. Reaching Cecelia’s room she gives a polite knock.
“Maid, Mademoiselle Ceceylia?, ne vouliez-vous pas plus de sherri ?… more sherri Mademoiselle?”
Emilee turns to face her partner waiting patiently by the stairs. With a smirk, she shrugs her shoulders and scurries back. Passed the thief with a grin, then headed downstairs.
Grinning also, she follows Emilee down the back stairs to the kitchen.
Emilee takes the empty cart and heads down the hallway to the parlour
The thief lays the full pillowcase by the pantry door. With the other, still empty pillowcase, hanging on her arm, she leaves the kitchen and, from a distance, follows the maid down the hall.
The thief waits out in the corridor.
^^^^^^^^^^^
Back in calm maid mode, Emilee wheels in the cart and starts to collect dishes
Lady Madeline is talking about how hard it’s been this weekend being down to just a cook and their worthless slag of a maid, due to the bloody holidays. The fact that Emilee was trained to be an upstairs maid and not a sever is completely not a considerate issue here.
The hostess looks up at Emilee, knowing full well the maid heard every word. She gives her maid a lecture before issuing a command:
“Emilee, I’ve rung you 3 times now. Clear the glasses Then tell the men we would like them to join us at the conservatory .”
“Yes Mum, and Sorry, I was checking on jeune femme Cecelia upstairs. ”
Lady Madeline is clearly still not happy…
“No matter. I think you should pack your things tonight. I probably will want you out of here in the morning. “
Emilee nods dejectedly, then begins collecting the empty wine bottles and glasses.
Lady Madeline’s mother Marlene then arose and says she needs to go to her room and get her wrap since she finds the conservatory chilly.
Marlene adds, looking at Emilee, as she walks out the door
“Your maid shouldn’t be bothering Miss Cecelia, I will check on her myself.”
Marlene no sooner walked out, than she came back in.
Walking backward, hands raised as the thief had the gun trained on the broach hanging from her shiny gown’s midriff.
Over Marlene’s head, The thief snarled a command to the rest of the occupants in the room.
“All right ladies, all of you line up against that wall…NOW!”
The startled ladies obey, their long gowns fluttering along their figures as they miserably line up along the far wall by the windows.
Here now, I’ll have that. Using her free hand the thief unfastened the heavy diamond broach wedged between Marlene’s bulging breasts.
She tried to protest, but in shock, words failed her, and she only managed a high-pitched squeaking noise.
Marlene is then boldly told to turn around.
Given no choice, with the pistol now poking her in the back, Marlene is pushed to go to the end of the line.
Outside lightning cracked, illuminated the gardens outside, casting an eerie light inside the Parlour.
The thief takes a step back into the center of the room, facing the elegantly dressed ladies wearing valuably shimmering jewels, lined up against the wall, all with their gloved hands stretched up.
“Now listen to me you miserable lot. I don’t want you on my tail as soon as I leave. So let’s begin by having all of you strip off those lovely frocks and only your frocks. You too maid, lose that pretty outfit.”
As a group, the ladies begin protesting, including Emilee. The thief points the pistol at the mirror over Marlene’s head and fires the pistol
The loud report, and cracking glass, made everyone jump.
“That was not a request, Strip out of the bloody things …now.”
Then, as if on a movie director’s cue, another bolt of lightning streaks outside, followed by a flash and loud retort, literally making every one of the victims jump again.
The ladies, getting the ugly message, begin undoing their luxurious gowns, letting them drop to their feet.
Emilee has to help a few of them unzip and undress.
Soon their elegant silk nickers, other rich shiny undergarments, as well as a bit of naked flesh, are all exposed.
The thief motions the pistol at the gawking maid stripped down to her bra and nickers.
“You, collect those gowns and pile them underneath the window. Move it.”
Emilee quickly moved to the beginning of the line, and reaching down begins to pick up the discarded finery. Taking the pile to the end of the room, she threw them all down on the floor in front of the window in a slickly shiny heap.
Emilee, then turned around to face the room.
Seeing the thief motioning to her with a finger, she hesitantly approached.
The thief tossed the empty satin pillowcase to Emilee, pointing her pistol at Susan, only wearing a two-piece thin blue see-through slip and top, and is first in line.
“Here maid, take this, stand in front of the bluebird.”
Emilee catches the case and goes to Lady Susan Macready, holding open the pillowcase.
The thief addressed all of her richly jewelled-up victims. Pointing the pistol with menacing intent at each of the semi-naked, satin glove-wearing ladies lined up against the wall in turn.
“ In case it has not seeped in, this, ladies is a robbery. I’ll be having your jewels handed over. This will be over quickly as long as you lot don’t quibble. Your maid is holding the bag in front of you, I want you each to remove all, and I mean all, of your valuables. I’ve been watching from outside. So I know what jewels each of you fine ladies is wearing. Keep your hands up where I can see them until the maid reaches you.”
The thief waves the pistol along the line of desolate, rich ladies, ending up back Susan.
“Go one bluebird, time to pluck off those glittery feathers. Stop that whining. Let’s get going!”
Hands shaking, Lady Susan Macready begins removing her splendidly shimmering sapphire and diamond set jewels. Ears, throat, and wrists are all soon bare. As her last of four rings are pulled off, she steps back as the thief looks her dead in the eyes, the ugly black pistol pointed at her.
The thief speaks, looking at Susan
“Nicely done lady, now get those hands back up.”
Next in line is ravishing red-haired, impossibly large, emerald green-eyed, Diane, who is now only elegantly clad in an ankle-length crimson red half slip…and nothing above!
Standing there, half-naked, she sighs deeply, her face crestfallen.
The thief looks at her as if just noticing her condition of being half-dressed for the first time…
“You now, my perky red-breasted chick, I’ll be having those pearls.”
Diane lowered her hands and began slipping off her ropes of pearls and sadly dropping them inside the pillowcase.
As she was removing her necklace and working off her long earrings, then bending down to let them plop inside the open satin pillowcase, her naked breasts put on a show worthy of any French burlesque tease.
“And what is it about real pearls against naked skin that makes them look so sensuous ?”
Undoing her pricey bracelet last, she miserably watched it disappear inside.”
The thief calls out, startling everyone.
“I thought I said everything. The ring hunny bunny, now.”
Sadly Diane struggled, then finally managed to pull free her vulgarly large diamond ring, letting it drop inside the bag.
Emilee managed not to let her glee show, keeping her mouth tight, her eyes emotionally empty.
As Diane reassumed her position, raising her hands back up, points high and perked. The thief then turned the pistol to Lady Madeline.
Madeleine, wearing a full mint green taffeta slip, started to protest but was abruptly cut off by the thief.
“Zip it, don’t start lady, or I’ll remove those delicious emeralds your so richly wearing me self…”
lady Madeleine, use to being the one giving orders, not being ordered about, feels insulted.
Thinking any minute the men should be coming to their rescue. She says with a snarly voice only the very rich seem to be able to pull off
“My husband will be down any minute, let’s see how Insouciant you will be then…”
Annoyingly, the thief does not answer, only gives her a haughty look, and motions to the hanging satin pillowcase her maid is holding.
So with a sigh, she drops her hands, then begins to unhappily remove her emerald bracelet and rings from her green satin opera-length gloves, huffily tossing them into the pillowcase Emilee is holding.
She then pulls out her earrings, and finally, reaching up behind her neck, unfastened her long dripping-down necklace, plopping them all inside the makeshift bag in turn.
The thief points the pistol at her head.
“The diamond hairpiece, please. “
lady Madeleine tried to reason
“But it’s not real, surely you can see that..”
“Then I’ll take a chance on being a fool by taking it. Be a good rich girl and it over…”
Reluctantly the expensively flashy real diamond hairpiece is pulled out and added to the unseen collection inside the pillowcase.
Lady Madeline pulls her fallen hair back with an evil glare.
Rose is next to last in line.
Her petite necklace of diamonds flashes with a beckoning brilliance as her figure is tightly outlined by her stylish blue thin silk lingerie, her thinly covered breasts heaved up and down with the anguish she is feeling.
Emilee moved in from of her, and the thief also moved in behind, keeping the pistol trained on Lady Madeline.
The thief then moved the pistol to point at Rose. She begins addressing Rose, though her eyes never leave the stern-faced Madeline’s eyes. Much like a teacher keeps an eye on an insolent child as she resumes her lecture after being rudely interrupted.
“Okay my lady, remove those delicious diamonds and make it quick now.
Rose lowers her hands and begins working off all her lovely precious jewels. Plopping them piece by glittering pieces into the open pillowcase.
As she does, The thief spied Lady Madeline taking a glance towards the door.
The thief points her pistol toward her.
“Lady, I told you, helps not coming.”
Then points the pistol back at Rose
“Let’s hurry off with those rings, trust me, you don’t want me helping you!”
With a sigh, Rose pulled off the last ring from her sleek blue satin dinner gloves, then steps back and puts her hands up.
The thief, with unabashed attention, looks over Rose, her figure perked, points nicely outlined by thin blue silk.
“Thanks, lady, it looks to me like you are feeling a bit chilled. No worries, it’s almost over.
The thief then finally points the pistol at Marlene, clad in a stretched-out purple bra and knee-length half slip.
“Now as for you my plump purple bird, ripe for the plucking, so let’s prune off some of your shiny trimmings shall we…”
Marlene desperately pleads.
“The other’s jewels are real, mine are not. You already have my broach, The rest is worthless. Can’t you see? Don’t you have enough already? You’ll let me keep them then?”
The thief grins:
“Like I told the green bird, I’ll be the fool then, now be a luv and remove them.”
Marlene snaps;
“You’ll never get away with this.”
The thief walks up to her, leaning over Emilee’s shoulder she picked up Marlene’s long shimmery necklace.
The yanks it off her throat, dropping it In the pillowcase as the thief hisses with a snarky tone of voice:
“I do believe mum, I already am….”
Whimpering, Marlene stands stone-still. Shocked to the core
The thief snaps out an order.
“You, Maid, help the lady off with the rest. That’s the girl…”
Then, struggling not to show her glee over doing this, Emilee reached up with one hand and pulled free each of Marlene’s diamond earrings, plopping them one by one inside the pillowcase. She then went for Marlene’s glittering bracelet, slipped it off, and dropped it into the pillowcase. Then taking Marlene’s white satin gloves hands, works off the lady’s rings. Some of which were actually her own, and not “borrowed”.
Emilee looks back to the thief as she finishes. Thinking to herself how she would have loved to have done a bit of poking and prodding along priggish Marlene’s figure while removing her jewellery.
The masked thief, still training the pistol on the whining Marlene, beckons to Emilee with a free hand
“Good girl, now Maid, hand over the bag.”
Emilee did a neat little act of not wanting to give it to the thief. She looks at Lady Madeline as if for instructions.
The thief clicks her tongue.
“Don’t worry about your mistress, Let’s be a good girl now, hand it to me.”
Emilee hands it over, her back is to the ladies, and she winks as she does.
The thief keeps a stone face. Grabbing the dangling bag, she looks over the maid's head.
“Ok, Maid. Open that window.”
The thief, looking back down, spots the thin gold chain and cross the maid was wearing under her frock.
Come, come, now Maid…No holding out. I’ll have that gold crucifix of yours.
Unhappily Emilee removed it and reverently hands it over. The thief placed it on top of the loot inside the satin pillowcase.
Pouting, Emily turns and goes to open the window.
The thief then addresses them all, pointing the(now empty) pistol at the ceiling.
“Now maid, throw them clothes all out the window. And no shenanigans for the rest of you. I may or may not be a good shot. “
They all start to protest, but the thief waved the pistol at them, and they immediately shut up.
The Maid is forced to throw all the gowns and her outfit out the parlour window. The windows of the parlour are higher than the dining room windows, 3 full metres from the ground.
Everyone is watching Emilee. As the last shiny gown is dropped from the window sill, they all turn back to face the thief, only to discover she was already at the door, leaving the room with the pillowcase containing all of their nicked jewellery.
As the silent group watched. The thief turned off the lights, casting the room in darkness as she closed the door.
She then Locked the parlour door, turned, and made her way down the hallway to the kitchen.
In passing, she tossed the pistol and the keys on the cutting tables, then heads into the pantry.
She takes the empty Remisier brandy bottle, and adds it to the pillowcase she is holding.
Then picking up the first satin pillowcase, heavy with the upstairs haul, she heads outside into the yard. With the dark umbrella of rain-swollen clouds threatening overhead.
Outside by the door, the thief retrieved her rucksack.
Stuffing the pair of now full pillows inside she sprints around to the parlour window. Looking up she sees the shadows of her semi-naked victims moving about in the now-lit room above.
The thief quickly packs up the gowns, including the maid's costume, piling them inside her rut sack on top of the satin pillowcases. It fills up nicely.
Keeping an eye on the window as she does, but as earlier, no faces appear.
Flipping the happily full rut sack onto her shoulders she sprints from the shadows of the hedges and races across the yard as a bolt of lightning rips across the black swirling cloud-filled sky.
Rain starts pouring down as she reaches the treeline
The thief keeps a quick pace as she makes her way through the woods along the riding path she now knows by heart, having snuck up it several times over the last few months. Good thing too, since the dark sky and pelting rain are making visibility harder. She dared not lite up her torch. Going with the occasional lightning strikes to lite her way.
She safely made the almost 5-kilometer hike back to her hidden rental car without incident.
The journey of her escape had given the thief plenty of time to mull over the robbery…
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Little chance Emilee would be a suspect, she was a mere maid after all.
The thief thinks over the plan that had been put into motion for this evening, it had gone like clockwork.
She had bought the expensive Remesier brandy through a dealer and poured it into a secure decanter to celebrate with it later, just her and Emilee.
She had drugged a much cheaper high-quality brandy and poured it inside the empty Remesier bottle, resealing it. She wasn't going to waste good brandy on that lot.
Then had packaged it, written the note, and sent it to Sir Reginald.
They had also learned of how the unhappy upstairs maid was being treated by Lady Madeline and had paid her, through an intermediary, to give notice a week before the ball.
Emily applied and was accepted immediately.
She estimated that the entire takings from the robbery would be well over 8 mills.
By the end of the week, she would be out of the country, the mansion haul placed in her Swiss bank safety deposit box. Giving the hot ice time to chill.
As for the gowns, what she and Emilee didn’t want for themselves, would find their way to an OXFAM Shoppe Bin.
She was already planning on picking up a pretty leather skirt for Emilee to go with the lovely white satin blouse, imagining what a sexy outfit it would be as a distraction while on a future pickpocketing spree. That would be a delicious treat to help and watch her at “play” lifting fat wallets from leering males.
After Switzerland, the thief would then continue on vacation in Germany, Italy, and finally, France, where in a fortnight she and Emilee had already planned to meet up.
For it was in France that she had first met Emilee, actually more of an encounter…
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Our Thief, a few years before, had been in France to attend a wedding. The fact that she had not been invited was a trivial matter.
A few days before the weekend wedding, She had been walking down a street located in a busy shopping district. A well-dressed lady came out of a store carrying a large bag in her arm, talking to a female companion. On the wrist of the arm coddling the bag, was a fancy gold bracelet. As the lady’s head was turned to her companion, the thief had “bumped up against the lady, her fingers slipping easily up the long sleeve of her silk blouse, reaching the bracelet, and whisking it off her wrist in the process of apologizing to her in broken French.
As the thief had walked no more than a block away, a young long haired girl in a bohemian-style silk dress bumped into her. Realizing the trademark, the thief felt her pocket and realized the gold bracelet had been lifted. The stalker had been stalked herself.
The young stinker made her living robbing pickpockets.
The thief quickly caught up to the young girl, and keeping in step, began a guarded conversation, dropping enough hints to let this young version of herself know that there was a kindred spirit.
It worked and lunching over déjeuner woyj, wine, and Salade Niçoise, discussed their similarities. At first, the conversation was very guarded between the two, but by the end, it was one that fast friends would have.
Emilee had begun working the streets at a very young age. Using her looks and long fingers she found pickpocketing to be a pleasing and profitable profession to pursue.
Then she took it a level up and began robbing pickpockets of the items they had lifted from unwary victims. She soon was able to pick out the more professional thieves, accurately figuring out that they would be lifting from a richer class of persons.
Then she leaned the skills to be an upstairs maid. Using this to not only make a living but for herself to also level up into a better class of victims to use her nimble fingers on, discreetly of course.
For when a wealthy married male wanted a romp with an attractive, witty servant. Emilee played the seductress perfectly. And after a night satisfying the crétine (Pratt), if his wallet disappears, along with some of his wife’s jewels, well who was going to risk exposure by pointing a finger at her?
So over the course of a few months, as their lier (bond) grew, the thief introduced Emilee into her world of rich society, fancy dances, selections of wealthy victims, lifting of precious jewelry and wallets, as well as collecting information to rob mansions and other fancy dwellings of the ultra-rich.
Soon the pair as a team was doing quite well. Their adventure’s proving quite profitable. Emily only needed to work as a maid when the situation required it. Otherwise, she was the outside watcher for the inside cat burglar thief.
So how had tonight’s manor heist materialized?
^^^^^^^^^^^
While out on her own devices one evening, Emilee had taken a liking to a gold pendant worn by a boorish old lady she had spotted while “working” a reception.
She got close and as she watched the mesmerizing pendant, overheard what the lady was loudly droning on about, not caring who listened in, as long as they were impressed.
It appeared that she was claiming to be closely related to royalty, though her clothes and manner did not entirely back her story up.
But, smelling an opportunity, Emilee rolled the dice, changed tactics, and walking past the lady, easily lifted the wallet from the boorish lady’s designer purse.
She had contacted her cat burglar friend from wales to look into this, to see if this was a lead into something big.
It turned out it was the whole crux that lit the kindling which flamed up into the manor robbery scheme.
The boastingly boorish lady wearing the gold pendant's name?
Marlene Cabot-Hinny
And that would be the rest of the story.
Fini
the heart was already dying... a gorgeous, large, duo-toned bloom of Chrysanthemum.
Tempus fugit is a Latin expression meaning "time flies".
Frequently used as an inscription on clocks to remind us that life passes FAST, tick…tock....
All is fleeting and so ephemeral..
The expression was first used in the verse Georgica written by Roman poet Virgil: 'Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus' which means; "But it flees in the meantime: irretrievable time flees".
The meaning is sometimes used less colloquially as: "Meanwhile, the irreplaceable time escapes", expressing concern that one's limited time is being consumed by something which may have little intrinsic substance or importance at that moment.
The flower still full of beauty to me...
I'm fine, hope you are too, thanx, M, (*_*)
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Turning my back on the SD9 working the south end of Italy Yard for a moment the view to the south of the North Elm Street street crossing here at MP 0.5 on the New England Central Railroad's Swanton Subdivision is interesting in itself. Parked out behind the old Central Vermont roundhouse that still serves as the NECR's shop complex are two units already dead that 1750 will soon join.
Two sad looking GP38s wear the gorgeous Bahama blue and gold colors that ushered in the NECR era in 1995. In the early Railtex holding company era each of their component roads had their own color scheme and logo with an independent and local flair. Alas that era wad fleeting and within a few years Railtex adopted a standard red and gray system wide image supplanted by RailAmerica red, white, and blue and ultimately the Genesee and Wyoming orange and black of today.
I'm not 100% sure but I belive there were 17 unique units that wore these colors some briefly and some for decades. I think (but correct me if I'm wrong) based on my research of online photo databases that there were 15 different GP38s and two GP40s so dressed. Of that total only four remain in service today, NECR 3857 and 3845 on home rails, 3855 on the Connecticut Southern and 4049 down south on the Bay Line.
In the deadline are 3850 and 3851 that were originally numbered 9531 and 9533 when they came to the road at startup in 1995. The pair were both built for the Gulf Mobile and Ohio Railroad as their numbers 712 and 714 in Aug. 1969. Battered 3851 still caries her 'Pride of Palmer' script lettering on her flank and hasn't run in more than a half dozen years. 3850 last ran in September 2021 when it suffered a major electrical and cab fire. To see her in better times only six weeks before her end check out this shot of mine you may have missed: flic.kr/p/2md3hP6
St. Albans, Vermont
Friday January 27, 2023
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.
Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.
That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.
The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.
“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.
“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.
Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.
“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.
“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”
“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.
“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”
“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”
“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”
“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.
“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.
“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.
“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”
Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.
“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.
“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.
“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.
“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.
“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”
“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.
“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”
“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.
All three of them laugh good heartedly.
“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”
“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.
“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”
“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.
“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.
“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.
“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.
“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”
“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.
“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”
“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”
“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”
Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”
“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”
“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”
“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.
The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.
“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.
“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”
“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”
“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.
“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”
“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”
“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”
“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.
“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”
“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.
“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”
“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.
“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.
“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”
“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.
“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”
“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”
“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.
“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.
“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”
The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.
“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”
“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.
“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”
“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”
The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”
“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”
“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.
“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”
“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.
“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.
Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.
“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.
“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”
“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”
Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.
“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.
“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”
“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.
“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”
“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.
“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”
Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.
“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”
“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.
“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”
“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”
Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.
“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”
“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”
“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.
“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”
“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”
“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”
With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.
“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.
“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”
“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.
“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”
“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”
“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.
“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.
“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”
“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.
Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.
Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.
Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.
“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.
“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.
*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.
****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.
*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.
*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.
Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.
The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.
The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.
The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.
Already making this year's round of new seed pods. It's a shame that this tree is such an invasive species, as it is quite lovely, and has beautiful Fall foliage.
If you look closely at stained glass, you can see all sorts of themes: religion, flowers, art, music and even fruit. When considering the theme of fruit, in ecclesiastical stained glass, a bunch of grapes may signify the sacrament of Holy Communion. Grapes and vines can also represent the church itself. Pomegranates have diverse cultural-religious significance, as a symbol of life and fertility owing to their many seeds but also as a symbol of power (imperial orb), blood and death. Pomegranates already symbolised fertility, beauty and eternal life, in Greek and Persian mythology. The apple of course is the forbidden fruit in the Book of Genesis that Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden. With Art Nouveau being the predominant architectural and design influence between 1880 and the start of the Great war in 1914, there was a great interest in portraying both stylised flowers and fruit in stained glass.
This year the FFF+ Group have decided to have a weekly challenge called “Snap Happy”. A different theme chosen by a member of the group each week, and the image is to be posted on the Monday of the week.
This week the theme, “fruit” was chosen by Gary, Gazman_AU.
I thought a collage of some of the examples of fruit themed windows I have photographed in Churches and private houses over the years might be suitable.
Top row far left, second and third from left: Detail of the King David window of St John’s Church of England, Heidelberg, designed and manufactured by William Montgomery.
Top row right: Detail of the Suffer the Little Children window of Holy Trinity Church of England, Balaclava, attributed to I. A. Gibbs and Howard, London.
Middle row left: Detail of a dressing room window of “The Gables”, Malvern, painter and manufacturer unknown.
Middle row second from left: Detail of a shop window, corner Brunswick and Bell Streets, Collingwood, painter and manufacturer unknown.
Middle row third from left: Detail of a window from the former Sassafras Methodist Church, Sassafras, manufactured by Brooks Robinson and Company.
Middle row second from right: Detail of the “Lay of the Last Minstrel” window, “Warwilla” (formerly “Redholme”), St Kilda Road, painted and manufactured by William Montgomery.
Middle row right: Detail of the King David window of St John’s Church of England, Heidelberg, designed and manufactured by William Montgomery.
Bottom row far left: Detail of an entrance hall window of “The Gables”, Malvern, painter and manufacturer unknown.
Bottom row second from left: Detail of the Virgin Mary window of St Ambrose’s Catholic Church, Brunswick, manufactured by Brooks Robinson and Company.
Bottom row third from left: Detail of a dining room window of “The Gables”, Malvern, painter and manufacturer unknown.
Bottom row second from right: Detail of the “Lay of the Last Minstrel” window, “Warwilla” (formerly “Redholme”), St Kilda Road, painted and manufactured by William Montgomery.
Bottom row far left: Detail of an entrance hall window of “The Gables”, Malvern, painter and manufacturer unknown.
Built to the specifications of architect George Reilly Cox, Saint John\'s Church of England in Burgundy Street Heidelberg, is a fine example of simple Early English Gothic architecture. The building was completed by April 1851. Comprising of a gabled nave, without aisles, a narthex below the west tower and a sanctuary and vestry at the east end, Saint John\'s Church of England is simple, unpretentious and elegant in its design. The nave and chancel are constructed of handmade bricks laid on a bluestone rubble plinth. The church features lancet windows in Early English Gothic style. It has a square tower surmounted by four pinnacles and crenulations. The roof is slated and contains small gable vents, and the roof drains to galvanised steel quad section eaves gutters. The gable parapets are fitted with galvanised sheet steel cappings. The formal opening of Saint John\'s Church of England took place on the 26th of October 1861. The church was dedicated by Bishop Perry the first Bishop of Melbourne on the 30th of September 1861 and named the Church of Saint John the Evangelist. The roof was completely replaced around 1856 with slate after the original shingles had deteriorated. The interior was plastered and the exterior brickwork was covered with cement. Another renovation took place in 1965 at the cost of $56,000.00. The vestry, choir room, chapel and new entrance porch were added at the original back of the church. Interestingly, the congregation today no longer use the 1965 entrance and have reverted to the original entrance. The choir room now serves as a Sunday school for the children of the congregation, whilst the newer chapel is not generally used at all.
William Montgomery (1850 - 1927) was an artist who specialised in stained glass painting and design. He was born in England in 1850, and studied at the School of Art in Newcastle-on-Tyne. In his final year William was awarded one of only three National Art Scholarships that year to study at South Kensington School of Art (now the Royal College of Art). He was employed by the leading London stained glass firm, Clayton and Bell, before joining Franz Mayer and Company in Munich, Germany. Over the next seven years he not only designed windows he also trained others in the English style of glass painting. William arrived in Melbourne, Australia, in 1886 during the Boom Period provided by the Gold Rush. Melbourne was at the time one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and was in the throes of a building boom. He quickly set up his studio at 164 Flinders Street in the heart of Melbourne, bringing with him the latest in European style and design and achieving instant success amongst wealthy patrons. He worked equally for Catholic and Protestant denominations, his windows being found in many churches as well as in mansions, houses and other commercial buildings around the city. This extended to the country beyond as his reputation grew. A painter as well as stained glass window designer William was a founding member of the Victorian Art Society in Albert Street, Eastern Hill. William became President of its Council in 1912, a position he held until 1916. He was a trustee of the National Gallery of Victoria. His commissions included; stained glass windows at Christ Church, Hawthorn: St. John\'s, Heidelberg, St. Ignatius\', Richmond: Christ Church, St Kilda: Geelong Grammar School: the Bathurst Cathedral and private houses "Tay Creggan", Hawthorn (now Strathcona Baptist Girls Grammar), and "Earlsbrae Hall", Essendon (now Lowther Hall Anglican Grammar School). The success of William Montgomery made Melbourne the leading centre of stained glass in the Southern Hemisphere. William Montgomery died in 1927.
The first Church of England built on the triangular site in Balaclava bordered by Brighton Road and Dickens Street was opened by Bishop Perry on January 29, 1871. It was a timber building accommodating about three hundred people. It stood where the Parish Hall now stands. Its designer was the architect Francis Maloney White (1819-1888) who lived nearby in William Street. In 1882 the architects Reed and Barnes, soon to become Reed, Henderson and Smart, were commissioned to design a new church. The first service took place on December 6, 1883. Due to the Parish\'s efforts to reduce the large debt that had been incurred in the construction of the church and the vicarage, the building of the spire was delayed. Regrettably this was never to be built. However, it gives Holy Trinity the feeling of an English country parish church.
The firm of I. A. Gibbs and Howard was established in England in the 1870s. Isaac Alexander Gibbs (1849 - 1899) was the youngest son of Isaac Alexander Gibbs (senior) and brother of the stained glass artists Alexander and Charles Alexander Gibbs. His partnership with William Wallace Howard (born 1856) was established before 1879 in London. The firm continued after the death of Gibbs under Howard until about 1915.
Built in 1902 for local property developer Lawrence Alfred Birchnell and his wife Annie, “The Gables” is considered to be one of the most prominent houses in the Gascoigne Estate. The house was designed by Melbourne architect firm Ussher and Kemp in what was the prevailing style of the time, Queen Anne, which is also known as Federation style (named so after Australian Federation in 1901). Ussher and Kemp were renowned for their beautiful and complex Queen Anne houses and they designed at least six other houses in Finch Street alone. “The Gables” remained a private residence for many years. When Lawrence Birchnell sold it, the house was converted into a rooming house. It remained so throughout the tumultuous 1920s until 1930 when it was sold again. The new owners converted “The Gables” into a reception hall for hire for private functions. The first wedding reception was a breakfast held in the formal dining room in 1930, followed by dancing to Melbourne’s first jukebox in the upstairs rooms. Notorious Melbourne gangster Joseph Theodore Leslie “Squizzy” Taylor was reputed to have thrown a twenty-first birthday party for his girlfriend of the day in the main ballroom (what had originally been the house\'s billiards room). “The Gables” became very famous for its grand birthday parties throughout the 1930s and 1940s. With its easy proximity to the Caulfield Race Course, “The Gables” ran an underground speakeasy and gambling room upstairs and sold beer from the back door during Melbourne’s restrictive era of alcohol not sold after six o\'clock at night. Throughout its history, “The Gables” has been a Melbourne icon, celebrating generation after generation of Melbourne’s wedding receptions, parties and balls. Lovingly restored, the atmosphere and charm of “The Gables” have been retained for the future generations.
The former Sassafras Methodist Church, perched on the upper side of the hill, overlooking the Sassafras township had its foundation stone laid on the 18th of October 1902. A plaque records: Sassafra Church - the original of - this block was laid - by - Mrs D Stones - on October 18th 1902 - John Storrie. A Gothic Carpenter church, it is made of wood and is of simple design with simple stained glass windows. The church ceased in the 1970s and was eventually sold. For many years it was “Brother John’s”, a restaurant and wedding venue. Today it is “Dine Divine” a café that specialises in light luncheons and Devonshire cream teas, the latter being quite delicious.
Surrounded by modern office and apartment blocks the grand red brick mansion “Warwillah”, built on the corner of Beatrice Street and St Kilda Road, is one of the few remaining examples of a time Melbourne’s St Kilda Road was still a grand boulevard of elegant residences. In March 1875 the government announced that the land on the western side of St Kilda Road would be alienated from parkland and that the land would be sold for residential purposes. Following the subdivision, a gentleman of means named Rudolph D. Benjamin purchased the land on which he planned to build an elegant residence as befitting his station. Designed by well known Melbourne architect John Beswicke, “Redholme” was a sixteen-roomed brick mansion built on Mr. Benjamin’s block in 1896 by the builder James Downie. Although not in the Benjamin family, “Redholme” survived the death taxes that came after the Great War and the Great Depression of 1929. It was still a privately owned home in its entirety in 1939 when it was owned by Mr. and Mrs. C. J. Reddish. Sadly, after the Second World War, “Redholme” changed ownership, usage and even name. From the early 1950s, the red brick building became the “Warwilla Guest House”. The name “Warwilla” is what the house has been known as ever since. “Warwilla” is an unusual mansion as it is an early example of a transition from Modern Gothic to Queen Anne design. The red brick tuckpointed facade is asymmetrical with picturesque massing, but the larger half-timbered gable and cantilevered banked window on the south side is balanced by the octagonal corner tower and ‘candle snuffer’ roof on the north. The Modern Gothic is suggested by the depressed pointed arches to main openings, and engaged colonettes at the porch entrance, whilst the half-timbered gable, octagonal tower with ‘candle snuffer’ roof and Art Nouveau stained glass windows are very much stylistic elements of Queen Anne architecture. These elements were to remain popular for at least another decade. The tall banded brick chimneys (done in the style of Henry Kemp) dominate the terracotta tile roof, as do the decorative finials which include a dragon.
In 1869 the foundation stone was laid for Saint Ambrose\'s Church at 287 Sydney Road, Brunswick. The land for the church was donated by Mr. Michael Dawson, a resident of the neighbourhood. In 1873 the church was completed at a cost of £6,000.00. Parishioners Sebastian Danielli and his wife Harriet Bagatti, who had arrived in Brunswick in 1859 after being married in Milan the previous year, suggested the name Saint Ambrose\'s as the name for the church because St Ambrose was a much loved bishop in Milan in the 4th Century. All their children were born in Brunswick and baptised at Saint Ambrose’s. In 1888 Brunswick was proclaimed a town and it had a population of 14,792. In 1890, Saint Ambrose\'s became a parish in its own right, being made independent from the Coburg parish. With the need for a larger church, the present church was extended in 1899 when the transepts, with the sanctuary and the two chapels, the porch and the baptistry were added. The memorial stone was laid near the door of the northern transepts on 19 February, 1899. The parish church building is of a late Gothic style and is one of the finer churches of Melbourne, built in bluestone, with a timber supported ceiling, a 19th century organ and high quality stained glass windows.
Brooks, Robinson and Company first opened their doors on Elizabeth Street in Melbourne in 1854 as importers of window and table glass and also specialised in interior decorating supplies. Once established the company moved into glazing and were commonly contracted to do shopfronts around inner Melbourne. In the 1880s they commenced producing stained glass on a small scale. Their first big opportunity occurred in the 1890s when they were engaged to install Melbourne\'s St Paul\'s Cathedral\'s stained-glass windows. Their notoriety grew and as a result their stained glass studio flourished, particularly after the closure of their main competitor, Ferguson and Urie. They dominated the stained glass market in Melbourne in the early 20th Century, and many Australian glass artists of worked in their studio. Their work may be found in the Princess Theatre on Melbourne\'s Spring Street, in St John\'s Church in Toorak, and throughout churches in Melbourne. Brooks, Robinson and Company was taken over by Email Pty Ltd in 1963, and as a result they closed their stained glass studio.
Marina Bay, Singapore
This is a really dated batch of files which was buried deep in my archive. One that I made but did not see the light of the day as I was not ready to take on the complex post processing which entailed the images.
It was only this morning when the mysterious light bulb suddenly lit up in my head so I decided to pull out the raw files and give it another go.
I guess I will re-shoot this scene again as it looks better at night when all the buildings come alive with their bright lights.
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... Christmas eve is already far but i had the idea to realize this scenery with my own original Wall-E...
I rebuilt here one of the most poetic and sweet moment of the movie.....
but.....
WHERE ARE WE GOING?
WHERE OUR PLANET IS GOING?
WHAT OUR FUTURE WILL BE?
WHAT OUR PLANET WILL BE?
PLEASE, MY FRIENDS, WATCH AT THIS POETIC AND CUTE MOVIE AND THINK...
WALL-E (stylized with an interpunct as WALL·E)
is a 2008 American computer-animated science-fiction romance film produced by Pixar Animation Studios and released by Walt Disney Pictures. It was directed and co-written by Andrew Stanton, produced by Jim Morris, and co-written by Jim Reardon. It stars the voices of Ben Burtt, Elissa Knight, Jeff Garlin, John Ratzenberger, Kathy Najimy and Sigourney Weaver, with Fred Willard in the film's (and Pixar's) only prominent live-action role. The overall ninth feature film produced by the company, WALL-E follows a solitary robot on a future, uninhabitable, deserted Earth, left to clean up garbage. However, he is visited by a probe sent by the starship Axiom, a robot called EVE, with whom he falls in love and pursues across the galaxy.
In the 29th century, rampant consumerism and environmental neglect have turned Earth into a garbage-strewn wasteland; humanity is nowhere to be found and has been evacuated by the megacorporation Buy-n-Large (BnL) on giant starliners seven centuries earlier. Of all the Waste Allocation Load-Lifter: Earth-class (WALL-E) robots left by BnL to clean up, only one remains operational. One day, WALL-E's routine of compressing trash and collecting interesting objects is broken by the arrival of an unmanned probe carrying an Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator (EVE) robot, sent to scan the planet for human-sustainable life. WALL-E is smitten by the sleek, otherworldly robot, and the two begin to connect until EVE goes into standby when WALL-E shows her his most recent find: a living seedling. The probe then collects EVE and the plant, and—with WALL-E clinging on—returns to its mothership, the starliner Axiom.
In the centuries since the Axiom left Earth, its passengers have degenerated into helpless corpulence due to laziness and microgravity, their every whim catered to by machinery; even the captain, B. McCrea, is used to sitting back while his robotic steering wheel AUTO flies the ship. McCrea is unprepared to receive the positive probe response, but discovers that placing the plant in the ship's Holo-Detector will trigger a hyperjump back to Earth so humanity can begin recolonization. Upon inspecting EVE's storage compartment, however, the plant is missing, and EVE blames WALL-E for its disappearance.
EVE is deemed faulty and taken to Diagnostics. Mistaking the process for torture, WALL-E intervenes, causing him and EVE to be designated as rogues. Frustrated, EVE tries to send WALL-E home in an escape pod, but they witness AUTO's gopherbot GO-4 stowing the stolen plant in a pod set to self-destruct. WALL-E saves the plant, and he and EVE reconcile and celebrate with a dance in space around the Axiom.
EVE brings the plant back to McCrea, who watches EVE's recordings of Earth and concludes that they have to go back. However, AUTO is revealed to be loyal only to his own secret no-return directive A113—issued after BnL incorrectly concluded centuries ago that the planet could not be saved—even when McCrea countermands it; AUTO mutinies with GO-4 as a result, electrocuting and frying WALL-E's circuit board, putting EVE into standby, throwing them both down the garbage chute, and locking McCrea in his quarters. EVE and WALL-E are nearly ejected into space along with the ship's trash but are saved by a Microbe Obliterator robot named M-O, who has been following WALL-E's dirt trail across the ship. As humans and robots help in securing the plant, McCrea and AUTO fight for control, resulting in WALL-E being crushed in the Holo-Detector when he tries to keep it open; McCrea eventually overpowers and deactivates AUTO, and the plant is inserted into the Holo-Detector, initiating the hyperjump.
Arriving back on Earth, EVE repairs WALL-E but finds that his memory has been reset and his personality is gone. Heartbroken, EVE gives WALL-E a farewell kiss, which sparks his memory and restores his original personality. WALL-E and EVE reunite as the inhabitants of the Axiom take their first steps on Earth. During the credits, humans and robots turn the ravaged planet into a paradise, and the plant is shown to have grown into a mighty tree.
FOR MORE INFORMATIONS
AND
FOR MOVIE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=alIq_wG9FNk
AND MORE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TW1Y4HDBLB4
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"Give every day
the chance to become
the most beutiful day
in your life"
[Mark Twain]
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they are made with the eye, heart and head.”
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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.
Today Lettice is entertaining a potential new client, Miss Wanetta Ward, an American actress come to London, in her Mayfair drawing room. Lettice’s maid, Edith, is starstruck. She coyly glances at her mistress’ guest as she sets out tea and her home made Victoria sponge on the black japanned coffee table between the two comfortable tub chairs the ladies are ensconced in. Miss Ward is tall and statuesque, with striking green eyes and auburn hair fashionably cut and styled in a bob. Dressed in an orchid silk chiffon gown, her lisle clad thighs are clearly visible. Toying with a long string of pearls between her painted fingernails, she is the embodiment of the ‘new woman’: fearless, nonchalant and bold.
“Thank you Edith,” Lettice says with a bemused smile, her long and elegant fingers partially hiding it. “That will be all.”
“Oh,” Edith replies, obviously crestfallen. “Yes Miss.”
Edith retreats, somewhat begrudgingly back through the adjoining dining room and though the green baize door, back into the service area of Lettice’s flat.
“I am sorry, Miss Ward,” Lettice apologises to her guest, draped languidly across the chair opposite her. “I’m afraid my maid might be a little in awe of you.”
“Oh please don’t apologise, darling!” the American replies, her joyous laughter bursting forth. “I’m used to it. Poor little thing. Does she like the flicks*?”
Lettice ponders the answer to her guest’s question for a moment as she pours tea into her cup. “I don’t rightly know, Miss Ward. I don’t know what my maid does on her days off.”
“Well, I must ask her on the way out.” The American replies, adding a generous slosh of milk and two teaspoons of sugar to her tea.
“I do wish you’d let Edith take your hat and cane, Miss Ward.” Lettice adds, picking up her own cup.
“Nonsense, darling! Can’t be without my good luck charm!” She lovingly pats the pink silk flower covered hat sitting on the chinoiserie stool next to her chair, and Lettice cannot help but notice how perfectly her guest’s nail varnish matches her hat and dress.
“Your good luck charm?” Lettice muses. “What on earth do you mean?”
“No doubt you’ll think me odd, most people do when I tell them,” She twists her pearls self consciously around her fingers. “But every time I wear this hat, I always have good luck.”
“I must ask your permission to borrow it then Miss Ward,” Lettice moves her hand to unsuccessfully conceal her amusement. “The next time I go to the Ascot races.”
“See!” the American replies, sinking back in her seat feeling vindicated. “I told you that you’d think me odd!”
“Not at all, Miss Ward.” Lettice soothes her guest. “When you are the daughter of an old and venerable British family like I am, a certain element of hereditary oddity is de rigueur.”
“De rigueur?”
“A must, Miss Ward.”
“Oh, then I shan’t feel so conscious of flaunting my superstition around London.”
“Especially when it is such a pretty accessory too, Miss Ward.”
“Why thank you darling.” She flaps her long and elegant hand, batting away Lettice’s compliment. “You are just the sweetest.”
“Now, I believe you’ve come about redecorating your flat in Pimlico, Miss Ward?”
“That’s right!” She claps her hands in unabashed glee. “Well, it isn’t quite mine yet. I take possession next Thursday. Oh!” She continues, throwing up her right hand dramatically, her wrist coming to rest upon her forehead. “The place looks like a mausoleum at present! All this heavy clutter: thick velvet curtains, occasional tables covered in knick-knacks, stuffed birds beneath glass. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you my dear?” She reaches down and picks up her plate of sponge and takes a slightly larger than polite slice from it with her fork. “I just had to come and see you!”
Lettice smiles with pleasure, taking a sip of tea from her cup before placing it on the telephone table at her left. “So, I’m the first interior designer that you’ve visited here in London, Miss Ward?”
“Well, not exactly. No,” The American sits back in her seat blushing. “I did go and see Syrie Maugham**.”
“Oh.” Lettice frowns, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Oh, but I didn’t like what she suggested, darling!” Miss Ward replies quickly, assuring her host, fearful of having made a social gaffe and jeopardising her chance of having Lettice agree to decorate her flat. “All those ghastly shades of white…” The American suddenly stops mid-sentence, noticing for the first time that Lettice’s walls are papered in white and that she is sitting on a white upholstered chair. “Anyway,” She clears her throat awkwardly and looks sheepishly at Lettice. “I don’t think she approved of me.”
“Whyever not, Miss Ward?” Lettice asks with a tinge of pleasure in her question, feeling suddenly a little less crushed.
“I don’t think she approves actresses, period. She talked about forgoing worldly pleasures and went on about white representing purity.” Miss Ward shivers at the recollection. “Besides,” she continues. “I did hear that you did some redecorating for the Duchess of Whitby.”
“Your contacts are correct,” Lettice replies. Suspecting Miss Ward to be something of a gossip she then continues, brandishing the knowledge Lord de Virre gave her just an hour before, “What they don’t know, and this is strictly between us, you understand Miss Ward,”
“Oh! My lips are sealed, darling.” The American puts her finger to her lips conspiratorially as she leans forward, her excitement at the thought of a secret shared palpable.
“Well, I shall also soon be decorating the principal rooms of the home belonging to the eldest son of the Marquis of Taunton.”
“Really?” Miss Ward enthuses overdramatically. “The Marquis of Taunton! Fancy that!”
Lettice smiles as she picks up her plate and eats a small, ladylike portion of Victoria sponge, satisfied in the knowledge that Miss Ward has no idea who she is talking about, but being a parvenu, will quickly spread the news to those who do.
“Your sources of information are well informed about me, Miss Ward, and yet, I know nothing of you. Please do tell me a little bit about yourself and why it is that you wish for me to be your interior designer.”
“Well, that’s really why I wanted to see you, even before I saw that pious Syrie Maugham. You’re young, and bold, like me!” She looks up and off into the distance, waving her hand dramatically. “A trailblazer! I also heard that you favour oriental elements in your interior designs. I’ve just spent the last six months in the International Settlement in Shanghai you see, and I just love all those oriental designs.”
“Shanghai?”
“Yes. My brother has a club there: the Diamond Lotus Club, and I’ve been headlining there. Shanghai is so much more exciting than dull old Chicago!” she enthuses. “The clothes cost less to have made,” She grasps the hem of her skirt and squeezes the chiffon. “And the far east is so exotic and colourful.”
“Then forgive me for asking, but if you love it so much, why have you come to London?”
“Well, I loved singing in the club, but I really have my heart set on being an actress.” She takes another large mouthful of cake.
“Well, the West End is full of theatres, Miss Ward.”
“Oh, not a stage actress darling!” Miss Ward dabs at the corners of her mouth for crumbs with her beautifully painted fingers. “No, a film actress. I have a screen test at Islington Studios*** on Monday.” She tilts her head and lowers her kohl framed lids in a slightly coquettish way as though already auditioning.
“Well, you certainly have a great presence, Miss Ward.” Lettice says diplomatically. “I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”
“Thank you, darling. I can’t disagree with you. My mother always told me that everyone knew when I entered the room, even when I was a little girl in ringlets.”
“Yes, I’d believe that.” Lettice smiles.
“And what better place for a successful film actress to entertain, than in a beautiful orientally inspired drawing room decorated by you, darling! I want bold and colourful wallpapers and carpets, oriental vases, Chinese screens.” She looks hopefully at Lettice. “So, will you take me on?”
“Take you on, Miss Ward?”
“Yes, take me on, as a client?” Her face falls suddenly, her fork of cake midway between the plate and her mouth. “Oh, please don’t tell me that you don’t approve of actresses either!”
“Oh, I’m not Syrie Maugham, Miss Ward.” Lettice replies, smiling cheekily. “And besides, it will irritate my Mamma no end if I have a film actress as a client.”
“You mean,” she gasps, clasping her hands. “You’ll agree to decorate my new flat?”
“Well, I’ll still need to visit you new home, and we’ll need to discuss matters further.” Lettice elaborates. “However, in principle, yes.”
“Oh darling! I could positively kiss you!” She drops her plate with a loud clatter on the coffee table surface and leaps up from her seat.
“That really won’t be necessary, Miss Ward.” Lettice assures her, raising her hands gently in defence in the face of the American’s statuesque form across the crowded table. “Just make sure that you settle my accounts promptly.”
“American railroad dollars good enough for you?”
“Only if they can be converted into British currency.” Lettice beams. “And, when you are a famous actress, I expect you to tell everyone who designed your interiors.”
“Oh! I’ll tell all my friends to come and see you, you darling girl! You’ll have to beat them away from the door with a hickory stick.”
“Indeed, Miss Ward.” Lettice takes another sip from her teacup.
“See!” Miss Ward replies, taking her seat again and patting the top of her pink hat. “I told you this was my lucky charm! I wore a blue beret to see Syrie Maugham.”
“Then today must be both our lucky days, Miss Ward.”
“Oh no! Enough of this ‘Miss Ward’ business. If you are to design somewhere as intimate as my boudoir, you must call me, Wanetta.”
*”Flicks” is an old fashioned term for a cinema film, named so for the whirring sound of the old projectors and flickering picture cast upon the silver screen.
**Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.
***Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.
This 1920s upper-class domestic scene is different to what you may think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
Lettice’s tea set sitting on the coffee table is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The Victoria sponge (named after Queen Victoria) is made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. The green tinged bowl behind the tea set is made of glass and has been made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
Wanetta’s lucky pink hat covered in silk flowers, which you can see poking out from behind the armchair on the right is made by Miss Amelia’s Miniatures in the Canary Islands. It is an artisan miniature made just like a real hat, right down to a tag in the inside of the crown to show where the back of the hat is! 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. Miss Amelia is an exception to the rule coming from Spain, but like her American counterparts, her millinery creations are superb. Like a real fashion house, all her hats have names. This pink raw silk flower covered hat is called “Lilith”. Wanetta’s walking stick, made of ebonized wood with a real metal knob was made by the Little Green Workshop in England.
The black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. The vase of yellow tiger lilies and daisies on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The vase of roses and lilies in the tall white vase on the table to the right of the photo was also made by hand, by Falcon Miniatures who are renowned for their realistic 1:12 size miniatures.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden chair is a Chippendale design and has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric. The mirror backed back japanned china cabinet is Chippendale too. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child.
To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
The painting in the gilt frame is made by Amber’s Miniatures in America. The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. The geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.