Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 

Love never ends.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

 

mbili mia na sita ((206))

 

this is from yesterday...I took the pictures yesterday but when I was trying to edit this I got too tired and could barely keep my eyes open. So I didn't even try...

 

Gimp decided to make all of my pictures smaller than they are supposed to be, and I can't figure out why..so that's why this is so little. :/ I guess that's what I get for using free photoshop stuff. Oh well.

My handwriting is messy.

Sure, she's a little older, but she still needs the nicotine which her body has craved since she was a young, hard-bodied, blond who tried smoking to look cool, only to discover that she was hooked, and absolutely could not stop inhaling the smoke from cigarettes on a regular basis unless she wished to endure the withdrawal symptoms of severe agitation, crankiness, and irritability which automatically accompanied any measurable lapse in the supply of nicotine in her bloodstream which began so many years ago. Plus, young sexy smokers end up becomming older, so we'll give her credit for her glory days. And, despite her age, she's still gracefully inhaling smoke from long, all-white cigarettes, and is well appointed with fur, stylish eyewear, and a big old Mercedez Benz. So cheers for her!!

 

When I was a small child I was taught that tears were a sign of "breaking down," an embarrassment at all costs to be avoided. Control of the emotions was considered necessary for your public personality and reputation. Girls were allowed to cry at times but were privately censored for it. Boys were definitely criticized severely for crying and encouraged to build a stronger wall of defense to protect them. First of all, the idea of "breaking down" implies loss of all defenses, making yourself vulnerable and losing control of your public personality. But what is someone "breaking down" to? Could it there are other aspects of the self needing expression?

Freud taught that the unconscious mind is greater than the conscious mind and therefore receives unacknowledged input. The unconscious is in the world of dreams where suppressed emotions and desires are found. In addition, our greater unconscious often picks up on important information our conscious mind is not yet aware of.

Most of us are on a treadmill with our jobs and family responsibilities. We often do not have time to address unconscious emotions and desires. This can lead to a buildup of energy that needs to be released one way or the other. Have you noticed many people are more worried about small things and more irritable? This is just a symptom of what lies beneath. No one wants to witness themselves explode with unrealized unexpressed emotions. Some people project their problems on others; some withdraw and try to find their authentic self.

Tears release endorphins, the same wonderful chemicals that lift our moods after a good workout at the gym. It enables a re-centering and re-structuring of self. All the under surface slights and alienations from others are released. Maybe our ideas of emotional health and well-being should include time to get all our feelings out and refresh ourselves. It is like wiping the slate clean and starting over without all the excess emotional baggage. Tears are a sign we are human and live in a tough world.

Macho men are decreasing as we integrate the feminine more fully into society. Macho men feel tremendous responsibility and an absolute need for control that can cause ulcers, a heightened fight-or-flight response, increased blood pressure and an early demise.

Those that criticize others for crying should realize it’s a royal road to the heart and a more relaxed and balanced way of seeing yourself and the world. If you never let yourself go how you can find yourself? Contact with your real self needs to be part of the cycle of living fully. If we all grieved together over our secret sorrows we would have a healthier, better world.

Although in our culture, like in many other cultures, we have even prescribed rituals at the time of death which encourage, the grief- stricken people to cry. Even in place like Rajasthan people hire professional mourners to encourage family members to cry themselves out .And the best example of this film Rudali. Even it is observed that when person suppress their need to cry or use deviant ways to ventilate their emotions and draw other’s attention. This can result in different types of physical and mental ailments. The person can develop psychosomatic illness like peptic ulcer, High blood pressure, Headache, Joints pain, Asthma etc.

One should remember, that people cry when they are extremely happy too. Best example to understand that after winning the world cup 2011 by Indian team. All players were crying because they all were extremely happy at that moment. So now time has come to change your notion about crying is that is only meant for females. And wrongly believed and also expected that all women are emotionally unstable and they cry for trivial reason.

Therefore crying is good for mental and physical health.

www.yogagurusuneelsingh.com Pic By Rohit Suri

Is your man suffering from irritable male syndrome?

  

It's a theory which could explain a lot of Basil Fawlty's appalling behaviour - if he could calm down long enough to listen to it.

 

Scientists say that men who are prone to bouts of rage and nerves could be suffering from irritable male syndrome.

 

The newly-recognised condition temporarily turns confident men into withdrawn, tetchy grumps.

 

It is said to be triggered by stress which then causes a sudden drop in testosterone levels.

 

The symptoms, according to a report in today's New Scientist magazine, resemble those of the so-called male menopause.

 

Ageing in men leads to a dramatic drop in testosterone, similar to the loss of oestrogen experienced by women during the menopause.

 

But now British scientists say they have uncovered evidence that stress can cause testosterone to plummet temporarily in men of any age.

Candid street shot Teignmouth, Devon, UK.

 

bad-tempered, ill-tempered, short-tempered, crotchety, crabby, crabbed, tetchy, testy, waspish, prickly, peppery, touchy, irritable, irascible, crusty, cantankerous, curmudgeonly, bearish, surly, churlish, ill-natured, ill-humoured, peevish, cross, as cross as two sticks, fractious, disagreeable, pettish; having got out of bed on the wrong side; grouchy, snappy, snappish, chippy, on a short fuse, short-fused; shirty, stroppy, narky, ratty, eggy, like a bear with a sore head; cranky, ornery, soreheaded; snaky; sticks, fractious, disagreeable, pettish

Another in a (short) series. See here for the original photo.

 

I'm not sure how much this really looks like a heart, or even how appropriate this is, as barberries have nasty thorns, although they are small.

 

Here's more about love:

1 Corinthians 13:1 If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And if I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profiteth me nothing. 4 Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 5 doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not its own, is not provoked, taketh not account of evil; 6 rejoiceth not in unrighteousness, but rejoiceth with the truth; 7 beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 8 Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall be done away; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall be done away. 9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part; 10 but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away. 11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know fully even as also I was fully known. 13 But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of these is love. ASV,

  

1 Corinthians 13:1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.

 

4 Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. 7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 

8 Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. 11 When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. 12 For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

 

13 So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. (ESV)

Au Bon Pain cafe. Curious about in camera double exposure, here is a double exposure of the same image. One sharp against the 2nd, slightly out of focus. Edges blend into the soft background with a subtle appearance.

For the past four days, I have had a stalker. Through text messages. I had no idea who it was. But person claimed to know me, even a facebook contact!

And this was true when I changed my profile picture to Kylie on Friday. Person texts me and mentions "I cant seem to get your profile pic out of my head".... :O

 

And the story can go on and on and on. A clue a day was the deal, because person thought it was fun. You know, sharing the same 555-ending mobile number.

 

I cracked the mystery, after 4 whole days of being so annoyed and irritable and depressed about it all. Even searching through church friend's mobile phones to see if the number came up. Making silent withheld phonecalls to person to find out gender or hear accent [they remained silent, the crafty stalker...].

 

And after a whole being really cautious when leaving my house, just-in-case there was a freaky stalker outside, or round the corner ready to lurch at me....

 

I cracked the code and found it to be Ling, a girl I had an online facebook fling with [only it all ended when she proposed, and I got scared and dumped her!] from Glasgow... Silly girl was playing with my mind all this time... Grrr. Only because I mentioned on my facebook status that I was in search of a MUSE....

 

So no stalkers. No admirers. A little glad it was Ling, because in the back of my mind, I feared it was the heavy-breathing guy who used to stalk my bestfriend...!

 

Alas, the coast is clear, nothing to fear, nobody here.... Phew.

Reaching retirement should be a happy time, but for many it is quite the opposite.

 

Depression in men is often associated with feelings of failure in meeting financial or occupational expectations. As more and more people discover their pensions aren’t what they expected.

 

“Other triggers can include loss of a loved one, a traumatic experience or other major life changes.

Men tend to act out or externalize their feelings of depression and may present with irritability, frustration or anger. More so than women, they also may engage in aggressive or risk-taking behaviour, like excessive use of alcohol.

 

Candid street shot, Madonna Di Campiglio, Italy.

A Haiku Note:

=====================

Showing me some love

this is my cousin Janice

showing you some love

=====================

Love is patient, Love is kind, Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way. Love is not irritable or resentful. Love does not rejoice in wrong doing; but rejoices in the truth.

=======================================================

A haiku question

A question that I'm asking

So where is the Love?

 

1,518 Views & 3 Faves on 02/23/2023

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www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpYeekQkAdc

 

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She was pregnant and very irritable. She showed signs of charging us but was pacified when we remained still

well well well ... look who i found roaming the streets of chappaqua! i couldn't believe my eyes. i approached mr. shark and introduced myself, explaining that i know him by reputation (of course). i invited him over for tea and biscuits; he told me he was looking for the clintons, but he was happy to come home with me for the time being. after all, sharks don't do too well in the snow; they become increasingly irritable and desperate.

 

anyhoo, we have a lot of catching up to do. and what timing! i'm leaving for california a week from tomorrow .. driving out, not flying -- oh, the places we'll go!

Image: Self-portrait-

Car: Audi TT 2002 RS

Image Credit: © Mavenimagery- ©Audi.

 

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maven's note:In 2002 Romania and Bulgaria virtually had no International highways. (Freeway, Motorway, Autobahn and whatever you wanto call it) Gravel roads turn into dirt roads; to paths and rocky terrains. In 2003, Bulgaria and Romania were to be members of the EU. If you'd like to inform us of the changes and development, please, feel free to do so.

 

If there is a country that saves money on road, street, residential or any sign for any purpose, is Bulgaria. If you’re in residential area and driving to find your friend Evdokiya or Fidanka, you’ll have to ask direction orally, personally from street walkers who may or not speak any other language but Bulgarian, Russian and even Turkish but not any of Anglo-Saxon languages.

 

I stop and puke not because I saw the sign that says,‘ Sofia 350km’. But, I’d been trying to Google map my destination for almost an hour and found nothing! And I’ll find no sign of sort until the end of the 350km. Godspeed!

 

I buckle up and slam on the accelerator, tires spitting pebbles backwards, disappearing in the twirly dust, and I laugh, “Is this the rough road? Oooh, the gravel road of death! Overlords! You screwballs almost got me. Rough road, eh? Hahah!

 

Roll back to Cyber Internet Zone, Frankfurt

 

Chris throws his fine Italian leather briefcase on one of the empty chairs and heads to toward the bar, I call out to him for a Heineken, not that out of love this brand but I know they don’t have what I want, beer or liquor-wise. This is a Café, but let me make this clear: this is a café in Frankfurt. I’ve been to so many and I’ve learned a lesson at my own expense. Russian Tea Garden. Japanese Tea Garden and the list goes on. You’ll be offered a variety of herbal tea the first five minutes of your arrival and by five-minutes-twenty seconds, a hard body Russian blonde or an Estonian, Romanian Pamela Anderson will materialize on the bar-stool next to you. “Hey, there handsome,” she will say with an almost flawless English. “Wanna buy me a drink?” Dumb and naïve the person that you are, you’ll be knocked off of your feet, and you’ll blurt,” A chamomile tea for Mein Fräulein, bitte,” The Dyke-Face (very seldom a male) bartender will say irritably, “Have to buy her a drink not a tea. OK? Have problem, you talk to him”. She’ll gesture to grotesque looking-grew-up-near-a-nuclear-plant-man so-called “Order and Maintenance”. “Sure. No problem. Not at all. What would you like to drink…Miss?”

“My name is Petra. I’ll have a Krupnik,”

“A Krupnik?” Cool, yet odd name. You’ll think of a Russian Space Shuttle of Sputnik, and this is where’ll you realize your ass is strapped to a Space Shuttle Krupnik and the Launch countdown has begun…

“Yes, dear,” Petra will explain in a sweet tone and accent. The hard-body is trained by a freelance ex-KGB scooter. “It’s a Lithuanian cocktail. Krupnik is a sweet vodka made from 40%-50% alcohol, honey and up to 50 herbs. Krupnik is usually mixed with vodka, champagne or other liquors”.

“Sounds like a killer,” You’ll stammer.

“56.90 Euro, bitte” the dyke-Face will ask up front, and her raw, tobacco and alcohol-ridden hoarse voice will snap you into reality. “Credit card or cash?” As she glare you in the eyes, a shiver runs down your spine.

You freeze, as her beady expressionless and menacing eyes locked with your baby's day-out-innocent-eyes. She’s the beast in the Beauty and The Beast; not necessarily, you’re the ‘beauty’, but, say, a bit more appealing than her even if you have Mick Jagger’s ‘Horse face’. She’s the witch in Cinderella; She’s the Freak creation of Dr. Frankenstein…You? Just another unexposed to reality bites of life who grew up with a nick name ‘Infant terrible’, and not because you were a trouble child done nothing more than terrorizing gutless kids during your childhood then have become a CEO in a fast food chain management, growing a paunch and a double chin. The last time you’ve got laid was five Sabbath or Christmas Eves ago. Now, you’re in ‘Fool’s Paradise”; in the Whore n More Capital of Deuchchland, Frankfurt…where the ‘F’ stands for ‘F***k’.

“You take Amex?”

Amex? Dumb ass! It’s like asking a Wolfe whether he accepts a baby sheep for a dinner.

Now, she, The Hoarse-Voice, is in possession of your credit card…this is where a vague voice in the back of your head will tell you, You’re screwed beyond reparation.

After a few sips (those goddess-looking Vampires are trained to a perfectionist time trackers and you don’t want to waste their time) Petra, her not-fake-tits half-exposed, her blue eyes penetrating, will say, “Let’s go get more private…in the back”. Your ass is at a final countdown …5, 4, 3

 

Will continue...

I am angry, I am ill and I'm as ugly as sin

My irritability keeps me alive and kicking

I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit

I know beauty and I know a good thing when I see it

 

This is a song from under the floorboards

This is a song from where the wall is cracked

My force of habit, I am an insect

I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact

 

I know the highest and the best

I accord them all due respect

But the brightest jewel inside of me

Glows with pleasure at my own stupidity

 

This is a song from under the floorboards

This is a song from where the wall is cracked

My force of habit, I am an insect

I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact

 

Used to make phantoms I could later chase

Images of all that could be desired

Then I got tired of counting all of these blessings

And then I just got tired

 

This is a song from under the floorboards

This is a song from where the wall is cracked

My force of habit, I am an insect

I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact

 

This is a song from under the floorboards

This is a song from where the wall is cracked

My force of habit, I am an insect

I have to confess I'm proud as hell of that fact

  

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.

 

Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Eglantyne contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Gladys’ request that she redecorate her niece and ward, Phoebe’s, small Bloomsbury flat. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in the flat. Lady Gladys felt that it was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lady Gladys arranged for Lettice to inspect the flat, Lettice quickly became aware of Lady Gladys’ ulterior motives as she overrode the rather mousy Pheobe and instructed Lettice to redecorate everything to her own instructions and taste, whist eradicating any traces of Pheobe’s parents. Reluctantly, Lettice commenced on the commission which is nearing its completion. However, when Pheobe came to visit the flat whilst Lettice was there, and with a little coercion, Pheobe shared what she really felt about the redecoration of her parent’s home, things came to a head. Desperately wanting to express herself independently, Pheobe hoped living at the flat she would finally be able to get out from underneath the domineering influence of her aunt. Yet now the flat is simply another extension of Lady Glady’s wishes, and the elements of her parents that Pheobe adored have been appropriated by Lady Gladys. Determined to undo the wrong she has done by Pheobe by agreeing to all of Lady Glady’s wishes, in a moment of energizing anger, Lettice decided to confront Lady Gladys. However unperturbed by Lettice’s appearance, Lady Gladys advised that she was bound by the contract she had signed to complete the work to Gladys’ satisfaction, not Phoebe’s. In desperation, Lettice fled to Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, where she discussed the situation with her father, the Viscount Wrexham. He advised her that due to her not seeking the advice of the family lawyers and leaving the writing up of the contract to Lady Gladys’ lawyers, Lettice is bound to do what Laday Gladys wishes. Flinging his hands in the air, he placed the blame at the feet of Eglantyne, his younger sister, and Lettice’s aunt, telling her that it is up to her to get Lettice out of the bind that he feels she is responsible for.

 

Thus, we find ourselves today a short distance north-east across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Paddington and past Lisson Grove to the comfortably affluent suburb of Little Venice with its cream painted Regency terraces and railing surrounded public parks. Here in Clifton Gardens Lettice’s maiden Aunt Eglantine, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews, lives in a beautiful four storey house that is part of a terrace of twelve. Eglantine Chetwynd as well as being unmarried, is an artist and ceramicist of some acclaim. Originally a member of the Pre-Raphaelites* in England, these days she flits through artistic and bohemian circles and when not at home in her spacious and light filled studio at the rear of her garden, can be found mixing with mostly younger artistic friends in Chelsea. Her unmarried status, outlandish choice of friends and rather reformist and unusual dress sense shocks Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, and attracts her derision. In addition, she draws Sadie’s ire, as Aunt Egg has always received far more affection and preferential treatment from her children. Viscount Wrexham on the other hand adores his artistic little sister, and has always made sure that she can live the lifestyle she chooses and create art.

 

We are in Eglantyne’s wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. It is in this cosy space that Eglantyne has gathered Lettice, Phoebe and a rather surprised Lady Gladys as she makes her own attempt to see if they can work out a way to untangle Lettice from Lady Gladys’ contract, and undo the damage done to Pheobe by way of Lettice’s redecoration of the flat.

 

From her wingback chair by the fire, Eglantyne plays mother** as she picks up the teapot decorated with swirling Art Nouveau designs of vine leaves. When she was young, Eglantyne had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large amber droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the amber necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress*** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in beautiful shades of Firenze Blue****. “Your tea, Gladys my dear.” Eglantyne says with a sweet smile as she hands the delicate china teacup, as fine and brittle as most of the ornaments cluttering the drawing room around her, to Gladys.

 

“Thank you.” Lady Gladys replies stiffly, her face as black as thunder as she settles back into the figured white satin button back***** upholstery of Eglantyne’s elegant sofa.

 

“Phoebe,” Eglantyne calls cheerfully, alerting the fey young woman of the tea she is proffering to her. She smiles a little more brightly at Phoebe, dressed in a most becoming shade of light apple green which compliments her pale skin and halo of wispy blonde curls held back off her face by a matching pale apple green Alice band******, as she hands the cup to her. Eglantyne is rewarded with a small smile of hope on the young girl’s almost translucent lips as she accepts the tea gratefully.

 

“Lettice,” Eglantyne announces as she pours tea into the second to last empty cup on the tray before her, before adding a generous slosh of milk and two lumps of sugar to it. She gives her beloved niece an encouraging smile as she passes the teacup to Lettice.

 

“Why do I feel,” Lady Gladys says peevishly as she stirs her tea a little too forcefully with round clockwise stirs which both Eglantyne and Lettice notice with disapproval, before tapping her teaspoon loudly against the edge of her cup and depositing it noisily into her saucer*******. “That this is an ambush?” She picks up her cup and sips her tea in a disgruntled fashion, her right leg bouncing irritably crossed over her left, making the soft folds of her peach gown dance.

 

“Now why would you think that, Gladys?” Eglantyne says with an enigmatic smile as she pours tea into her own cup, turning her head away from Gladys momentarily to glance at Lettice sitting adjunct to her. “You are starting to sound like one of the protagonists in your novels.” She settles back comfortably into her wingback Chippendale chair and takes a sip of her black tea. “What’s the title of your latest one? Melisande? Melinda?”

 

“Miranda.” Lady Gladys corrects Eglantyne, adding to her irritation.

 

“That’s it! Miranda!” laughs Eglantyne. “Oh course! No, I simply thought it was high time that you and I had a little tête-à-tête, Gladys. I mean, I know we have spoken on the telephone, but I feel like it has been an age since I last saw you. It must have been that artists’ ball in Chelsea last spring.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that an intimate tête-à-tête would include both your niece and my own, Eglantyne.” Lady Gladys glowers.

 

“Oh, I thought it might be nice if we all had a little tête-à-tête together.” Eglantyne replies, slipping her teacup aside onto the galleried silver tray on the table beside her.

 

“Then this is obviously about the flat then.” Lady Gladys thrusts the gilt Art Nouveau teacup and saucer onto Eglantyne’s petit point footstool ungraciously, sloshing tea from her cup into her saucer, narrowly avoiding spilling tea onto the embroidery of yellow and pink roses beneath it. “Which of course I knew it would be as soon as I walked in and saw these two,” She nods her head disapprovingly first at Phoebe and then at Lettice. “Conspiring with you.”

 

Lettice looks into Lady Gladys’ eyes. She can’t recall them ever looking so dark and hostile towards her before. Any bright joviality or spirit is gone, replaced with some deep and angry bejewelled fire. She shudders in her seat as she considers the fact that they almost look murderous as they sink into the pale folds of her jowly flesh.

 

“There you go, sounding like one of your badly done by heroines again, Gladys.” Eglantyne says calmly. “Melodramatics are so unattractive in older women, and suggests an imbalance in character, don’t you think?”

 

“I resent that, Eglantyne.” Lady Gladys spits.

 

“And I resent your insinuation, Gladys. No-one is conspiring in my drawing room.”

 

“Maybe not now, Eglantyne.” Lady Gladys says, wagging one of her skinny bejewelled fingers at Eglantyne, the stones winking gaily. “But we’ve been friends for too many years, and conspired together too much for you to deny that you have not consorted with Pheobe and your niece prior to my arrival.”

 

“Well, I cannot deny that, Gladys.” Eglantyne confesses.

 

“I knew it!” Lady Gladys crows. “You’re just fortunate that we have been friends for as many years as we have, Eglantyne. I’ve had fallings out with other friends for lesser misdemeanours, and cut them dead.”

 

“Oh I know, Gladys.” Eglantyne replies. “The path to your door is strewn with the bodies of your spurned friends.”

 

“Oh ha, ha!” mocks Lady Gladys.

 

“And it is for the very reason that we have been such good friends for so many years that I felt compelled to step into the vexatious situation that the redecoration of your niece’s flat has become to try and straighten things out between yourself, your niece and my niece.”

 

“I don’t find it to be a vexatious situation, Eglantyne my dear.” Lady Gladys replies with a tight smile. “Aside from your niece,” She waves her hand sweepingly in Lettice’s general direction as she speaks. “Trying to undermine my… err… our,” She glances at Phoebe, who looks down into her cup, her face unreadable as she hides behind her cascade of curls. “Wishes. That, I find vexatious.”

 

“I say!” Lettice pipes up, her eyes growing wide in surprise and her voice edged with indignation. “I call that jolly unfair! It’s you who are the cause of vexation. I…”

 

Eglantyne silences Lettice by leaning forward and holding out her hand, her lined palm acting like a divider between Lettice and Lady Gladys, and causing the angry and resentful words from Lettice’s mouth to cease.

 

“These Bright Young Things********,” Eglantyne remarks with an awkward chuckle. “They are so passionate, aren’t they?”

 

“A little too passionate if you ask my opinion.” Lady Gladys mutters.

 

“Yes, quite.” Eglantyne agrees. “Please accept my apologies for my niece’s unconscionable and unladylike outburst, my dear Gladys.” She turns and stares at Lettice, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as she purses her lips as a warning.

 

Lady Gladys grunts her ascent with a curt nod.

 

“Good.” Eglantyne goes on. “I want there to be no bad blood between any of us, as a result of this little gathering, which I have arranged in the spirit of collaboration.”

 

“I don’t see the need for this meeting, arranged in a spirit of collaboration or otherwise.” Lady Gladys grumbles as she settles back against the sofa’s back again and foldes her arms akimbo.

 

“Now there is no need to get defensive, my dear Gladys.”

 

“I fear there is, Eglantyne, when I sense that you are all set on a path with a foregone conclusion, that I, as an interested party, have not been privy to.”

 

“Well,” Eglantyne explains. “There you have it, Gladys. As my dear friend of old, I’m not going to lie to you, and tell you falsehoods to your face. It is true that Lettice, Phoebe and I have been discussing the matter of the redecoration of the Ridgmount Gardens pied-à-terre********* without you, but only because without you, your niece can express her opinions uninterrupted.”

 

“Uninterrupted?” Lady Gladys balks. “I like that! I always allow Phoebe to express her opinion.”

 

“No you don’t.” Lettice interjects. “You just steamro…”

 

“Lettice!” her aunt warns her with a stony face.

 

“You don’t, Auntie Gladys.” Phoebe utters, breaking her silence.

 

“Of course I let you have an opinion, Phoebe! And don’t call me Auntie. You know I don’t like it!” she scolds.

 

“Very well, Gladys, I recant.”

 

“That’s better.” Lady Gladys smiles smugly.

 

“You do allow me to have an opinion, but only when it doesn’t contradict yours, or you wear me down, as you so often do, so that I will simply agree with you, which amounts to much the same thing.”

 

“Phoebe!” Lady Gladys gasps the smile of moments ago quickly falling away. “I’m offended.”

 

“Offended or not, that is the truth, Gladys.” Phoebe says, staring at her aunt, her eyes a little brighter as tears begin to form beneath her lids, threatening to burst forth at any moment.

 

“You can’t fault her truth, Gladys.” Eglantyne opines from her seat. “You know within yourself that you can be very stubborn when you want to be, and you do have a propensity to wear people down when you wish to get your way.”

 

Lady Gladys doesn’t reply, remaining poised and aloof in her seat, staring in a steely fashion at one of the Countess Baronovska’s vases filled with peach coloured roses sitting on Eglantyne’s cluttered mantlepiece.

 

“Your silence speaks volumes as to your own self-awareness, Gladys.” Eglantyne goes on with a tired sigh. “Even if you aren’t ready to voice your agreement with me. Phoebe is correct. You know she is. Now, this state of affairs around the Ridgmount Gardens pied-à-terre only came to my attention in the aftermath of the last conversation you had with my niece: a conversation that I know didn’t end too well.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Eglantyne.” Lady Gladys ventures. “It seemed perfectly fine to me. The crux of the matter is that I simply reminded your niece of her obligations to me. I didn’t have to choose Lettice to redecorate Phoebe’s flat but I wanted to give her, as a young up-and-coming designer nearer to Pheobe’s age than the likes of Syrie Maugham********** the opportunity to increase her profile as a society interior designer. I felt that being of a similar age, the two might get along and come up with a suitable redecoration scheme.”

 

“A redecoration scheme that you yourself, must be completely satisfied with.” Eglantyne interrupts.

 

“Well of course, Eglantyne.” Lady Gladys smiles. “Lettice did sign a contract with me, that as her client, I have the right to have her do everything I ask of her, or she forfeits payment.”

 

“But whose pied-à-terre is Ridgmount Gardens, Gladys?” Eglantyne asks.

 

“What do you mean, Eglantyne?”

 

“Whose pied-à-terre is Ridgmount Gardens? To whom does it belong?”

 

“What a ridiculous question!” Lady Gladys laughs. “Why its Phoebe’s of course! You know that!”

 

“Then, shouldn’t Phoebe be my niece’s client. Gladys? Shouldn’t Lettice be abiding by her wishes?”

 

“Well, technically yes,” Lady Gladys replies, squirming a little in her seat. “But I am the one footing the bills for the redecoration: bills which I might add are a little extravagant.”

 

“But you’ve agreed to their cost, Gladys.”

 

“Well, yes of course I have, Eglantyne. I’m not going to leave Phoebe with a half-decorated flat, am I?”

 

“But even if you are footing the bills as it were, shouldn’t Lettice be following Phoebe’s wishes, Gladys?” Eglantyne takes a sip of her tea. “After all, you aren’t going to be living in Ridgmount Gardens, are you? Phoebe is.”

 

“Well, Phoebe’s wishes and mine are virtually the same, aren’t they Phoebe my dear?” Lady Gladys laughs forcefully, turning her head to her niece.

 

Phoebe doesn’t reply, but drops her head into her lap.

 

“Phoebe?” Lady Gladys queries.

 

“Phoebe dear,” Eglantyne says kindly to the young girl. “Why don’t you tell your aunt what you told my niece when Lettice asked you about the redecoration.”

 

“Do you mean that I never actually requested the redecoration, Miss Chetwynd?” Phoebe asks.

 

“Phoebe!” Lady Gladys chokes. “Of course you did!”

 

“No I didn’t, Gladys.” Suddenly filled with bravado with both Lettice and Eglantyne supporting her against Lady Gladys, and undeterred by her aunt’s withering glance at her, she goes on, “You did!”

 

“No, I didn’t!” Lady Gladys retorts. “You discussed the colour scheme with Lettice when we had dinner at Gossington the first night you met her.”

 

“No, that isn’t true,” Phoebe replies matter-of-factly, her voice gaining a new found strength. “You discussed Lettice redecorating my flat whilst I was out rambling with some of your guests. You then discussed what colour the flat should be with Lettice over the top of me at dinner that night.” She register’s her aunt’s look of shock. “Oh you may not remember it that way, but our memories are seldom objective enough to tell the truth for us, and that is the truth.”

 

“Bravo Phoebe!” Lettice whispers under her breath as she sits in her seat, nursing her cup of tea.

 

“What did you tell Lettice when she asked you about how you would like your pied-à-terre decorated, Phoebe?” Eglantyne encourages the young girl who has suddenly blossomed with energy and purpose before her eyes.

 

“Well, I was actually quite happy with how things were.” Phoebe admits.

 

“Oh Phoebe!” Lady Gladys chides her niece gently. “I told you already, that you can’t live your life in a mausoleum!”

 

“But it wasn’t a mausoleum to me.” Phoebe explains. “It was a connection to my parents.”

 

“But you barely knew your parents, Phoebe!” Lady Gladys retorts, placing her teacup aside, more gently this time. “You were so young.”

 

“All the more reason then, to try and maintain some precious connection to them, Gladys.” Eglantyne remarks gently from her seat.

 

“But John and I have been more mother and father to Phoebe than Reginald and Marjorie.”

 

“No-one is disputing that, Gladys. Phobe is simply expressing her opinion that she wishes to maintain a connection with her parents, and perhaps maintain a modicum of their presence in her life.”

 

“Well,” Lady Gladys huffs, throwing a hand dramatically skywards. “This is all news to me!”

 

“Maybe,” Lettice ventures. “Maybe if you were perhaps a little more open to listening, Gladys, rather than telling Phoebe what you want to hear, you might know her opinion.”

 

“Lettice is right, my dear Gladys.” Eglantyne agrees in a calm voice.

 

“For what it’s worth, Gladys, you were right about the flat needing to be freshened up, and I actually don’t mind the colour you’ve chosen with Lettice to paint the flat, nor the curtains.”

 

Lettice cringes at the mention of the chintz curtains she detests, but remains silent on the matter.

 

“Well, at least I did something right.” Gladys beams.

 

“I want my books and my photographs, and that bookish, scholarly, ramshackle feeling I love.” Phoebe goes on.

 

“Well, I don’t approve of that rather untidy mess you call ‘bookish’ and ‘scholarly’ but as you say, it is your flat, so you may live in it however you like.”

 

“However,” Pheobe quickly interrupts her aunt. “It is also my wish that the memory of my parents live on in my flat, since it is my flat, and my London home. I want that essence of my parents: my mother’s china,” She takes a deep breath as tears well in her eyes. “And my father’s desk.”

 

“Now, Phoebe,” Lady Gladys retorts. “You know I told you that Reginald wanted me to have his writing desk.”

 

“But he didn’t stipulate that in his will, did he, Gladys?” Eglantyne asks.

 

“Well, no.” Gladys agrees begrudgingly. “He just hadn’t gotten around to…”

 

“And I distinctly remember you saying to me after you came back from India with Phoebe, how well organised Reginald had been with his affairs.” Eglantyne interrupts determinedly.

 

“Well I…” Gladys splutters, irritated at being called out on her appropriation of her deceased brother’s writing bureau. “I… I penned my first successful novel on that desk whilst Reginald and Marjorie were out in Bombay! It has sentimental value for me.”

 

“It does for me too.” remarks Phoebe sadly. “They are the only things I really have of them, and they mean more to me than photographs. Photographs are just faces, but the chips in my mother’s plates and teacups and the grooves and ink stains in my father’s bureau resonate so much with me. They tell me so much about who they were. I feel my parents’ presence through those chips, knocks and stains.”

 

“Where is the bureau now, Gladys?” Eglantyne asks matter-of-factly. “Here in London, or up in Scotland?”

 

“Here, at Eaton Square**********, in the Blue Room.” Lady Gladys replies.

 

“So, it isn’t even in your study!” Eglantyne exclaims aghast. “It’s relegated to a room for guests!”

 

“It doesn’t suit my office.” Gladys defends her actions. “It looks best in the Blue Room.”

 

“Give Phoebe the bureau back, Gladys.” Eglantyne states. “You have no right to it. Stop behaving badly. It doesn’t suit you, my dear friend. I know you are far better than this pettiness over an object you don’t even really care about.”

 

Lady Gladys doesn’t reply at first. She sits and fidgets with her bejewelled fingers in her seat, rather like an overgrown child after being reprimanded. “Oh, very well! You can have your father’s desk back Phoebe. I suppose I don’t really need it. And your mother’s china, although goodness knows why you want those old, nasty, cheap things in your nicely newly decorated flat.”

 

“That’s Phoebe’s business, Gladys.” Eglantyne says sagely.

 

Lady Gladys sits up more straightly in her seat and stares at Lettice. “And what would you do, if I were to hold true to my word, and the letter of our contract, and not pay you another penny for the work you’ve done, and leave you with the remainder of the unpaid bills, Lettice?”

 

“I’ve allowed for that, Gladys.” Lettice replies with a sigh. “I can afford to absorb the cost of the unpaid bills.”

 

“That’s no way to run a successful business, Lettice.” Lady Gladys chides her with a shaking head.

 

“Well, it depends on how you play the game of success I suppose, Gladys.” Lettice replies. “Whilst it may be true that I would have to pay for the unpaid bills out of my own purse, and that would mean this redecoration was done at a financial loss to me, which would not be an immediate success. However, Phoebe knows many young ladies of independent means at the Academy of Horticulture. And most of those ladies live in London. They can see Phoebe’s pied-à-terre for themselves and then commission me to redecorate their own flats. That then makes this a successful redecoration in the long run.”

 

Lady Gladys smiles knowingly. “I always thought from the moment I met you, that you would make a smart businesswoman. I can see traits of myself in you, my dear.” She sighs and stands up. As the other three ladies go to rise, she encourages them to remain seated with gesticulating hands. “Please don’t get up. I must take my leave of you. I do have a new novel to promote after all.” She turns to Eglantyne. “You are very fortunate, Eglantyne, that we are such old and good friends. You know I don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”

 

“Or taught a lesson,” Eglantyne adds. “Even when you need it.”

 

“Well, we will agree to disagree there.” Lady Gladys continues, undeterred. “You are fortunate too in the intelligence of your niece.”

 

“She’s a smart young lady.” Eglantyne agrees.

 

“Thank you Gladys.” Lettice says gratefully with a nod towards Lady Gladys before turning to Eglantyne. “Thank you Aunt Egg.”

 

“You can continue to forward the unpaid bills to me.” Lady Gladys goes on. “I will honour them.” She then turns to Phoebe. “However, Phoebe, if you and Lettice think you are better qualified to redecorate it than I am, then I want nothing more to do with Ridgmount Gardens. I shan’t say that I’m not offended by the way you three have conspired against me, because I am, but if this is how you choose to assert your independence, then I must learn to let you make your own mistakes.” She turns back to Eglantyne. “I’ll show myself out.”

 

And without another word, Lady Gladys picks up her handbag from where it has sat on the seat next to her and sweeps out of the room, haughty and aloof, leaving a waft of her signature lily of the valley perfume in her wake.

 

“Well, that was a rum************ apology, if ever I heard one.” Lettice remarks as she releases the pent up breath she didn’t realise she was holding on to.

 

“Well, don’t forget that Gladys is many things, Lettice,” her aunt replies. “Including proud. Let’s allow her to gather the tattered remains of that pride and leave with some dignity.”

 

“Yes Aunt Egg.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Chetwynd, for all your help managing my aunt.” Phoebe says with a beaming smile.

 

“You’re very welcome, my dear.” Eglantyne replies. “Although, I suspect it may be a while before I hear from Gladys again, but I will eventually. I always do. She and I have weathered harsher storms than this over the years.” She sighs. “And now you and Lettice have your wish. You can decorate your pied-à-terre as you see fit!”

 

Lettice, Phoebe and Eglantyne fall into excited chatter about what they might do with the Ridgmount Gardens flat’s redecoration as Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid, Augusta, sweeps into the drawing room with a fresh pot of tea for them.

 

*The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".

 

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

 

*** The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

****Firenze Blue is a rich blue shade that originated in Florence in Italy.

 

*****Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.

 

******The Alice band first started being worn around 1871, after Lewis Carroll's book Through the Looking-Glass was published. The name of the Alice band comes from the main character in the book, Alice. In the drawings John Tenniel made for the book, Alice wears a ribbon that keeps her long hair away from her face.

 

*******Before the Second World War, there were many little nuances which indicated which class you came from: a very important thing to know and exude in class conscious Britian. Sometimes it was something as obvious as how you were dressed, or the quality of your clothes. Other times it was far more subtle, such as the use of a word, like “sofa” to show you were upper class, rather than “settee” which was decidedly aspiring middle-class. It even came down to how you prepared, stirred and drank your tea, which made taking tea – an English tradition – a fraught affair. If you added milk to your cup, before you added your tea, you were aspiring middle-class, versus pouring the tea from the pot into the cup and then adding the milk which was decidedly upper class. Whether done in a clockwise or anti-clockwise fashion, stirring your tea was an aspiring middle-class trait, whilst upper-class people stirred their tea back and forth to “avoid a storm in a teacup”, and an upper class person never touched the sides of their cup with their teaspoon. This is still correct protocol today if you are taking tea with a member of the Royal Family. Tapping the teacup with your teaspoon was also considered aspiring middle-class, whereas an upper class person would remove their teaspoon silently and slip it onto their saucer soundlessly. Holding your pinkie finger aloft was also classified as an affectation and is an aspiring middle-class action.

 

********The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.

 

*********A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

**********Gwendoline Maud Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s who popularised rooms decorated entirely in white. In the 1910s, Maugham began her interior design career as an apprentice under Ernest Thornton-Smith for a London decorating firm, learning there about the intricacies of furniture restoration, trompe-l'œil, curtain design, and the mechanics of traditional upholstery. In 1922, two years before this story is set, at the age of 42, Maugham borrowed £400.00 and opened her own interior decorating business at 85 Baker Street, London. As the shop flourished, Maugham began decorating, taking on projects in Palm Beach and California. By 1930, she had shops in London, Chicago, and New York. Maugham is best-remembered for the all-white music room at her house at 213 King's Road in London. For the grand unveiling of her all-white room, Maugham went to the extreme of dipping her white canvas draperies in cement. The room was filled with massive white floral arrangements and the overall effect was stunning. Maugham charged high prices and could be very dictatorial with her clients and employees. She once told a hesitant client, "If you don't have ten thousand dollars to spend, I don't want to waste my time."

 

***********Eaton Square is a rectangular residential garden square in London's Belgravia district. It is the largest square in London. It is one of the three squares built by the landowning Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the Nineteenth Century that are named after places in Cheshire — in this case Eaton Hall, the Grosvenor country house. It is larger but less grand than the central feature of the district, Belgrave Square, and both larger and grander than Chester Square. The first block was laid out by Thomas Cubitt from 1827. In 2016 it was named as the "Most Expensive Place to Buy Property in Britain", with a full terraced house costing on average seventeen million pounds — many of such town houses have been converted, within the same, protected structures, into upmarket apartments.

 

************The word “rum” can sometimes be used as an alternative to odd or peculiar, such as: “it's a rum business, certainly”.

 

This overstuffed and cluttered late Victorian room might look a bit busy to your modern eye, but in the day, this would have been the height of conspicuous consumption fashion. What may also surprise you is that the entire scene is made up with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Art Nouveau tea set, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton leaves pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The tea set sits on a silver tray which is made of polished metal and was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

  

The two vases standing on the mantle with their blue and gilt banding of roses are “Baroness” pattern, made by Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.

 

The roses in the vases are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The foxgloves in the “Baroness” pattern Reutter Porzellanfabrik vase at the right of the photograph are made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

Also on the mantlepiece stands a gilt carriage clock made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

The fireplace and its ornate overmantle is a “Kensignton” model made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The mirrored china cabinet with its fretwork front was also made by Bespaq, as were Aunt Egg’s white floral figured satin upholstered Chippendale chair and the ornate white upholstered corner chair. The brass fire tools and ornate brass fender come from various online 1:12 miniature suppliers.

 

The footstool on which two teacups set stand is also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.

 

The hand embroidered pedestal fire screen was acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The two whatnots are cluttered with vases from various online dolls’ house miniature suppliers, several miniature Limoges vases and white and lilac petunia pieces which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

The Royal Doulton style figurines in the china cabinet are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s.

 

The 1:12 artisan miniature blue and white jasperware Wedgwood teapot on the round table near the bottom of the photo is actually carved from wood, with a removable lid which has been hand painted. I acquired it from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures. The hand blown blue and clear glass basket next to it comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The paintings around Aunt Egg’s drawing room come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (three Redoute roses) were cut from a magazine.

 

The wallpaper was printed by me, and is an authentic Victorian floral pattern produced by Jeffrey and Company. Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.

 

The Oriental rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

 

Happy New Year Sweet Boy! We are so glad you've stuck around!

 

Julian has a nasty disease for those of you new to Jules. He was finally diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Disease after being ill and suffering through far more than he should have had to endure. We weren't so sure that he would be here with us to greet the new year. Thank dog he is much tougher than the medicine that has failed him.

 

Julian has had a downturn over the weekend. We are hopeful that this will be a short dip in his recuperation.

 

Reef: *face stretches into a massive grin, eyes bright with anticipation* “Awesome!”

 

Chloe (tenderly): “You miss your boy a lot, don’t you?”

 

Reef: “Yeah. But I got you and Suk, so that takes the edge off some. It’ll be bitchin’ to have all of us together again, though, like nothing’s ever changed.”

 

Chloe: “Except he’s getting married…again.”

 

Reef: “Yeah, but we’ll be together when he does, and that’s all that matters.”

 

Chloe: “Damn, you’re sweet. Gimme some sugar.” *tosses her cell on the table, wraps arms around his neck, leans in for a kiss…*

 

Suki: “Yo, Urchin and I are goin’ to head out and get some sushi supplies. Y’all need anything, before we bounce?”

 

Reef (irritably): “As usual, your timing is perfect, Suk. Perfectly annoying.”

 

Chloe: *looks longingly at Reef’s lips, leans back with a sigh* “Uh, I think we’re good on everything, since I just did a store run. If you’d told me you were doing sushi, I’d have gotten the stuff earlier.”

 

Suki: “I didn’t know earlier. Kinda just felt the need for some. *furtive look in Reef’s direction*

 

Reef: “Apology accepted.”

 

Suki: *pleased smile* “Yeah, well, whatever. We’ll be back in a nano, so that should give Reef plenty of time make a play for nookie and fail spectacularly, as usual.”

 

Urchin: *chortles gleefully, as he’s dragged out the door by Suki* “Buuuurn!”

 

Reef: “We need new friends.”

 

Chloe: “We’re alone now. Let’s make the most of it.”

 

Reef: *nods eagerly, holds up his hand* “Please, give me a moment to prepare, m’lady…”

 

Chloe: *lips twitch* “But of course.”

 

Reef: *pulls a Chapstick tube out of his pocket, applies it liberally and smacks his lips loudly* “Okay, let’s get it on, like Donkey Kong.”

 

Chloe: *giggles helplessly, as Reef rolls on top of her, and begins to get it on…like Donkey Kong (whatever that means)*

 

Fashion Credits

**Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes) were done by me unless otherwise stated.**

 

Chloe

Pants: Sukra (etsy.com)

Shirt: Clear lan

Boots: Pudding House (ebay.com)

Mix of Earthly Delights and Flutter Bracelet Sets & Bumblebee OOAK: Knife’s Edge Designs (Me)

Hat: Jessica of Cozy Couture

 

Model is a Costume Drama Giselle transplanted to a Poppy body and re-rooted by the amazing valmaxi!

 

Reef

Shorts: Play Along – Hannah Montana Oliver Doll

Shirt: Justin Bieber Fashion

Flippers: Mattel – Ken Playline Fashion

Necklace: Me

 

Model is an IFDC High Elite Pierre.

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 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 and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home for Christmas and the New Year. She motored down to Wiltshire with her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. The Christmas tree, cut from the grove of trees on the Glynes estate, adorned with its gold tinsel, satin bows and shiny glass baubles still stands amidst all the grand gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings of the drawing room: a remnant of the family Christmas, the gaily decorated presents that sat beneath its boughs are but a joyful memory from Christmas Day now, and the tree will be taken down by Bramley, the Chetwynd’s faithful butler and several of the Glynes’ maids tomorrow for Twelfth Night*. Lettice’s sister, Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), is also staying at Glynes with her own family, but has gone to visit locally living friends with her husband, Charles, and their three children. However, Lettice’s Aunt Eglantyne, the younger artistic spinster sister of the Viscount (known affectionately as Aunt Egg by all her nieces and nephews), remains at Glynes for the day along with Lettice. The Viscount and Lady Sadie, Leslie and Arabella, and Eglantyne are all gathered in the drawing room at the behest of Lettice, who has mysteriously announced that she has some important news to share, but will divulge nothing more.

 

“Where the devil is she then?” asks the Viscount irritably as he sits on an upright gilt salon chair embroidered with fine petit point by his mother, his arms folded akimbo across his chest. “The bloody cheek of her!”

 

“Language, Cosmo.” chides Lady Sadie from her seat across the fire from him, her usual place in the Glynes drawing room, where she quietly sits and embroiders some roses on a piece of linen stretched across her embroidery hoop.

 

“Well!” blusters the Viscount. “I think I have a right to be irked, Sadie. Lettice goes on about wanting to make some important announcement, telling us we all need to be present, being irritably mysterious about it,” He unfolds his arms and gesticulates before him. “And then she doesn’t even have the decency to show up at the time she asks us all to be here. Leslie and I need to be attending to the estate, not pandering to her and playing her silly games!”

 

“Pappa is right. It is rather selfish of Tice, Mamma.” Leslie adds in a slightly kinder, yet serious tone, uncharacteristically critical of his youngest sibling. “The estate doesn’t stop just because it’s New Year, and Pappa and I have business at Willow Wood Farm, and that’s on the far side of the estate.”

 

“If Lettice says it’s important, it’s important, Cosmo dear.” Eglantyne insists coolly from her seat on a sofa, toying distractedly with the long black glass bead sautoir** cascading down the front of her dramatic russet coloured Delphos gown***, her usual choice of frock, as she flips through Lady Sadie’s latest copy of Horse and Hound****. “She isn’t prone to over dramatisation.”

 

“No, but she does enjoy being the centre of attention.” mutters the Viscount.

 

“Wherever might she get that from?” Eglantyne asks rhetorically as she looks up at her brother from over the top of the magazine, watching him redden, bluster and shift uncomfortably in his seat under her astute observations, causing her to smile behind the pages of equestrian events held up in front of her.

 

Lady Sadie glances at the delicate Dresden china clock on the drawing room mantle. “I’m as put out as you Cosmo. Arabella and I have business in the village to attend to, don’t we Arabella dear?” When Arabella nods her ascent with a shallow nod, Lady Sadie goes on. “But it is only just after eleven. Let’s give Lettice a few more minutes.”

 

As the Viscount coughs and grumbles his reluctant agreement, folding his arms akimbo again across his golden yellow shepherd’s check***** vest, a loud rumbling from outside begins to break the tense atmosphere of the drawing room. “What the blazes…” the Viscount falters.

 

Lady Sadie puts aside her embroidery, rises from her seat and walks across the drawing room carpet to the full length windows that afford unobstructed views of the driveway. She discreetly moves the scrim curtain slightly and sighs heavily. “It’s Sir John in that ghastly, vulgar and showy car of his.”

 

“He’s come down in his Torpedo******?” Leslie pipes up, pulling himself out of his languid position by his wife’s side on the sofa, sitting upright in excitement. “I say! How ripping!”

 

“A racing car for a racy lifestyle.” opines the Viscount disparagingly in a quiet voice. “The old letch.”

 

Not hearing her husband’s denigrating comments about Sir John, Lady Sadie replies to her son’s remark. “Irritating is more like it. This really is too tiresome!” She sighs again. “What on earth can he want?”

 

“I thought you liked, Sir John, Sadie.” Arabella remarks, looking up from an old copy of The Tatler******* in her hands.

 

“Oh I don’t mind him, dear,” Lady Sadie responds with a huff, dropping the edge of the lace scrim curtain and turning back to face the room, whilst outside the front door Sir John energetically leaps elegantly from his Bugatti. “It’s just that being our neighbour… mmm… of sorts, and of influence in the district, whatever his business is, it will take precedence over Lettice’s news, however important she may think it, and that means we will be later in visiting the Miss Evanses.”

 

“Heaven forbid we should miss visiting the Miss Evanses.” Arabella remarks sarcastically, glad that she is facing away from her mother-in-law and into the room as she rolls her eyes upwards and smirks cheekily at Leslie, who smirks back as they share their mutual dislike of the two genteel gossipy spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village.

 

“Arabella!” Lady Sadie chides. “You know as well as I do that both the Miss Evanses have been sick with head colds since before Christmas.”

 

“That didn’t stop them trudging up here from the village with their beastly head colds to see the Christmas tree in the hall,” Leslie gripes. “Snuffling and coughing all over the place, and making a general nuisance of themselves with their simpering ‘only if it’s not too much trouble to get us a chair, give us an extra snifter or two of brandy, have Harris take us home’.” He rolls his eyes this time.

 

“Well, whatever they may or may not be, Leslie,” Lady Sadie counters. “The Evanses live in our village, and as lady of the manor, and your wife the future lady, Arabella and I have a duty to pay sick visits to them and see to their wellbeing. It’s just the same for you, as the presumptive heir, have a duty to visit the tenant farmers at Willow Wood Farm with your father.”

 

“I think Lettice should accompany us to the Miss Evanses, since she is putting us out like this.” Arabella says sulkily. “Perhaps three against two will make our sick visit a little more palatable. Even when they are sick, they can still whitter away nineteen to the dozen********. It’s exhausting.”

 

“Arabella!” Lady Sadie scolds. “That is most uncharitable.”

 

“But true.” smirks Leslie.

 

“Nothing will ever kill Geraldine or Henrietta Evans.” mutters the Viscount disgruntledly. “And at this rate, with infernal Sir John here as well, Leslie and I will never get to Willow Wood Farm.”

 

“Now, now!” Ladie Sadie replies as she walks back across the room. “Be polite. Stop slouching,” She flips her bejewelled hand in her husband’s general direction, causing him to sit up straightly in his seat. “And mind your manners, Cosmo.” She lowers herself elegantly into her seat and smooths down the tweed of her skirt over her knees as she prepares to receive Sir John with a painted smile on her face. “It’s not Sir John’s fault that you have better things to do than sit down and chat about county business with him.”

 

At that moment, the door to the Glynes drawing room opens and Bramley walks in.

 

“Err… Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, Milord.” the butler announces stiffly, but with a slight awkwardness as he speaks and steps aside to allow Sir John to enter.

 

Sir John strides in, oozing the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows with every step, wearing it every bit as well as the smart and well-cut Jermyn Street********* tweed suit he is dressed in. As he does so, Lettice follows closely in his wake, smiling a little shyly as she then steps alongside him and slips her left hand into his right. He turns his head ever so slightly to her and squeezes her hand in return in a most intimate fashion as his confident smile strengthens ever so slightly.

 

Arabella gasps as does Leslie, the married couple exchanging surprised glances at what they see. The pages of Horse and Hound in Eglantyne’s hands shiver with astonishment as she stares with her wide green eyes as her niece and Sir John approach them all.

 

“Sir John,” the Viscount says, rising to his feet. “How do you do. To what do I owe the..” The strangled gasp of surprise coming from his wife as she rises from her seat with trembling elegance distracts him momentarily. He turns away from his guest and sees Lady Sadie’s face drain of colour, as her blue eyes like cold aquamarine chips grow wide. He frowns at her, then quickly returns his attention to Sir John and concludes his sentence. “The unexpected pleasure?” It is then that he notices his youngest daughter as she slips alongside Sir John. “Oh good! There you are Lettice.” he says with false bonhomie. “Look who’s here!”

 

“Err.. Cosmo.” Lady Sadie manages to utter in a strangulated way as she steps from her seat to her husband’s side.

 

“How do you do, Lord Chetwynd,” Sir John turns his attention momentarily to the Viscount’s wife. “Lady Sadie.” He nods curtly. “It’s not really so unexpected a visit.” he continues, cutting off anything Lady Sadie might be about to say with his well elocuted syllables, his confident smile broadening a little more.

 

“Cosmo.” Lady Sadie tries to interject again.

 

“You see,” Sir John concludes. “I’ve come here at Lettice’s behest.”

 

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

 

Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice reacquainted herself with Sir John in the last year at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Bond Street, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. As well as lavishing her with his attentions, Sir John made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. However, in an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they have not made their engagement public, allowing the dust about Selwyn’s break of his and Lettice’s engagement to settle, until now.

 

“At… Lettice’s behest?” the Viscount queries, cocking an eyebrow as he looks uncomprehendingly at his daughter. “What’s this about, Lettice? Enough with your silly games of intrigue! Leslie and I don’t have time for this, when we have estate business to attend to.”

 

“Err… Pappa.” Leslie ventures.

 

“Cosmo.” Lady Sadie tries again, reaching out and touching her husband’s arm, and indicating to her youngest daughter’s hand.

 

“You might think otherwise, Lord Chetwynd, when you hear what I’ve come here about.” remarks Sir John matter-of-factly.

 

“We’re engaged, Pappa!” Lettice blurts out, unable to contain herself any longer, her painted lips broadening into a bright smile as she shows her perfect white teeth. “Sir John and I!”

 

Lady Sadie, Leslie, Arabella and Eglantyne all draw their breath as one.

 

“What?” the Viscount’s face falls.

 

“Sir John and I are engaged, Pappa.” Lettice repeats.

 

“You… you and… Sir John?” the Viscount stammers, looking uncomprehendingly between his daughter and the older man.

 

“Lettice and I are announcing our engagement, Lord Chetwynd.” Sir John says, his confident smile strengthening as he tenderly raises Lettice’s left hand in his right one, the intimate movement sending a shock through Lady Sadie. He proudly proffers Lettice’s hand to the Viscount and Lady Sadie, where a beautiful and surprisingly dainty Victorian engagement ring sits on Lettice’s ring finger, a large square cut emerald********** surrounded by smaller diamonds set in platinum sparkling gaily in the light cast by the electrified chandelier above.

 

Leslie and Arabella gasp, rising quickly to their feet and scurrying across the drawing room carpet to inspect the ring. Never one to be rushed, Eglantyne slowly rises with poise and elegance, but says nothing, her lips pursed, and her face twisted into a look of disgusted intrigue, before slowly sauntering the few paces to join her nephew and his wife at Lettice and Sir John’s side.

 

“I wish you every happiness Tice***********!” Arabella cries with enthusiasm, throwing her arms around her sister-in-law, her exuberance breaking the stunned silence of the others.

 

“Yes, every happiness, Tice!” Leslie adds, following his wife’s response and hugging his sister. Yet as the felicitations fall from his lips, his voice betrays the concerns he has. As he holds her at arm’s length, his sparking pale blue eyes and slightly quavering smile are full of unspoken questions. Lettice smiles confidently in return and silently squeezes her eldest brother’s forearms as an indication that everything is alright, even if the news of her engagement is a shock to him. Leslie’s smile strengthens a little, his face taking on a slightly resigned look as he continues with a huff, “Good old Tice! After seeing all the fuss of our wedding, and how beautiful Bella looked, you just couldn’t resist, could you?”

 

Lettice releases the breath she had been holding, laughing anxiously as she does. “No, you’re quite right, Leslie! I had to be the next one in the family to get married! Heaven forbid one of Mamma’s cousins usurped me.”

 

“I say, congratulations old bean!************” Leslie says, turning his attention to Sir John and slapping his right upper arm with his left hand in a kind fashion and shaking his hand enthusiastically. “You’ve picked yourself a beautiful and intelligent bride.”

 

“Thanks ever so, old chap.” Sir John replies with a happy smile of gratitude towards his future brother-in-law.

 

“Yes, congratulations, Sir John.” Arabella says kindly. A little unsure as to whether to kiss him or not, she falters before him. “Tice inherited the looks and the brains in the Chetwynd family,” She turns to Leslie and smiles. “Unlike my husband.”

 

“Cheeky!” Leslie laughs as he looks at his pretty wife.

 

“Thank you, my dear Mrs. Chetwynd.” Sir John replies to Arabella, proffering his right cheek for her to kiss, assisting her in her indecision. “Now, if we are to be family, you really must address me as John.” His right cheek grazes Arabella’s left cheek.

 

“If we are to have you as our brother-in-law, you must call us Leslie and Bella.” Leslie pipes up.

 

“Yes… yes of course, Leslie and Bella.” Sir John chuckles distractedly in reply, accepting another congratulatory handshake from Leslie. Yet his eyes drift from Leslie’s gaze to his fiancée as she stands looking somewhat forlorn before her parents. Although her back is turned to him, Sir John can tell by her stance that Lettice is anxious. Her shoulders are stiffly upright, and her hands are clasped in front of her beseechingly.

 

“I wish you every happiness, Lettice my dear.” Lady Sadie remarks as she places her arms firmly on Lettice’s forearms and proffers her an air kiss of congratulations. “Although this is somewhat of a surprise, I must say.” she adds with an awkward laugh, releasing her daughter and staring across at Sir John.

 

“Engaged?” the Viscount asks in disbelief again.

 

“Please say you aren’t cross with me, Pappa.” Lettice addresses her crestfallen looking father with a mewling pout. “With us. I mean, I know we didn’t actually ask your permission, but we didn’t think you’d mind,” She prattles on. “And I am of age, after all.”

 

“Of course you are, Lettice my dear.” Lady Sadie replies on behalf of her husband, filling in the awkward silence between father and daughter. “I must say, you certainly took your time about it though.” She tuts. “Twenty-four, out in society and still on the shelf.” She smiles, but like Leslie there is concern in her blue eyes, causing her usual hard brilliance to mellow into a softer hue as worry fills them. “Still, you have chosen,’ she gulps. “Chosen well. Sir John is every bit of a catch as you are. It’s… it’s just come as something of a surprise, hasn’t it, Cosmo, my dear?”

 

“Please say you’re happy for me, Pappa!” Lettice implores.

  

“But when?” the Viscount manages to ask his daughter in a voice hoarse with emotion, looking at her with questioning eyes, seeing Lettice as a young woman for the first time, rather than a little girl. “How?”

 

“Oh, in the usual way, Lord Chetwynd.” Sir John says brightly, taking a few steps, leading him out of Leslie and Arabella’s orb of conversation and intruding into Lettice’s one with her parents. “I proposed, and she said yes.”

 

“Well, it kind of snuck up on us and surprised us, didn’t it, John darling.” Lettice says awkwardly, gulping and breathing heavily as she does.

 

“Yes!” Sir John chuckles a little awkwardly, thrusting his left hand deep into his trouser pocket as he rolls up and down slightly upon the balls of his feet. “Yes, I suppose it did.”

 

“So how did it happen,” Eglantyne asks as she steps up to her niece and fiancée, speaking for the first time. “Exactly?” There is an edge of hostility to her voice as she speaks, and as she glides elegantly up alongside her brother, she blows a cloud of acrid smoke from the Black Russian Sobranie************* she has lit and placed in her amber and gold holder, into Sir John’s face as she speaks. “It’s a story I should very much like to hear.”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims, fanning her face with her hand to dissipate the heavy fug of smoke that envelops them.

 

“Really Eglantyne!” Lady Sadie snaps. “Must you smoke in here? You know how much I disapprove of men smoking indoors,” She looks askance at her sister-in-law with her hennaed red hair and bohemian dress drawing upon her cigarette. “Never mind women! It’s undignified!”

 

“Yes, I must, Sadie, even if it sticks in your craw. If my niece is announcing her surprise engagement, I think I must insist on smoking, short of being offered a very stiff drink by you to dull the surprise.” Eglantyne snaps back.

 

Lettice looks at her aunt with hurt eyes. “Aunt Egg!”

 

Ignoring Lettice, Eglantyne folds her arms akimbo and fixes Sir John with her appraising green eyes, smiling as she draws deeply on her cigarette through her holder. “Please, do go on, John. Regale us with the tale of your proposal.”

 

“Well, you were actually there, Eglantyne my dear,” Sir John replies with confidence, giving Lettice’s forearm a gentle comforting and protective squeeze, drawing her closer to him, determined not to be intimidated by Eglantyne, ignoring her evident hostility.

 

“I was?” Eglantyne asks in surprise, sending forth another plume of acrid greyish blue smoke.

 

“You were.” he assures her. “It was the night of the Portland Gallery’s autumn show.”

 

“Lettice?” Eglantyne queries, turning in surprise to Lettice. “Why did I not know about this?” she asks with a mixture of resentment and bitterness in her voice.

 

“Well, Lettice doesn’t have to tell you everything, Eglantyne.,” Sir John retorts. “Even if you are her favourite aunt.

 

“Well it didn’t quite happen that night, Aunt Egg” Lettice tries to explain in an apologetic tone. “It is true that John did propose to me that night, or rather he made me a proposition…” She pauses. “Of sorts.”

 

“A proposition?” Lady Sadie asks in concern, glancing first and Lettice and then more skeptically at Sir John. “What did you mean, child?”

 

“Well, I offered her my hand in marriage that night, should she ever need it.” Sir John replies.

 

“But that was…” Lady Sadie calculates the dates in her head. “But… didn’t you… you and Selwyn… still have an understanding then?” she manages to falter as she blushes, looking questioningly at her daughter.

 

“I did, Mamma.” Lettice replies.

 

“And that, my dear Eglantyne is why you wouldn’t have heard about my proposal that evening.” Sir John says cheerfully. “There was nothing to say on the matter. Lettice was still engaged to young Spencely at the time. I’d only asked Lettice to consider my proposal that evening, not accept it, and then, only in the event should circumstances with young Spencely ever change.”

 

“And how fortuitous for you that her circumstances changed, dear John.” Eglantyne remarks caustically.

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice looks askance at her aunt.

 

“Fortunate for us both, dear Eglantyne.” Sir John replies, pulling Lettice a little closer to him.

 

“I never took you for the marrying kind, John.” Eglantyne opines.

 

“Well,” Sir John bristles. “I didn’t take you as being a woman who put such faith in society gossip, Eglantyne.”

 

“Eglantyne!” Lady Sadie echoes Lettice’s admonishment.

 

“I was merely making an observation.” Eglantyne retorts, raising her bejewelled gnarled hands in defence, sending a trail of curling cigarette smoke into the air as she does. “I meant no offence.”

 

“Well, your opinions on the institution of marriage are well known, Eglantyne.” Lady Sadie quips, shaking her head slightly at her sister-in-law as she eyes her with an inscrutable look with hard eyes. “So let that be an end to it!”

 

“I shall say no more.” Eglantyne replies, withdrawing and standing next to Leslie.

 

“The main thing is, I proposed.” Sir John says defiantly.

 

“And I accepted, willingly.” Lettice says with a sudden steeliness in her voice. “And” She looks earnestly into her father’s face. “I hope you will give us your blessing, Pappa. Will you?”

 

Everyone in the drawing room suddenly looks at the Viscount as he stands in silence before his daughter. His look is indecipherable as he stares at her, his eyes sparkling with the unshed tears he holds back. His hands tremble almost imperceptibly at his side. The silence is palpable, and the longer it goes on, only broken by the gentle ticking on the clock on the mantle, the more awkward everyone becomes.

 

“Cosmo?” Lady Sadie asks uncertainly, gently reaching out and grasping his slumping shoulder.

 

“Pappa?” Lettice asks tentatively, her eyes filling with tears that threaten to spill at any moment.

 

He doesn’t reply at first, seemingly frozen in his stance as he gazes with a questioning look at his daughter. The unanswered question by his daughter finally reaches into the Viscount’s consciousness and breaks his silence. He coughs and stammers. “Well… well, your mother has said it already, but this news..” He pauses. “This welcome news..” he corrects. He lets out a shuddering breath as he speaks the two words. “Has come upon us rather suddenly. But you are of age, Lettice, so you do not need my permission. You may marry whomever you wish.”

 

“Indeed!” pipes up Lady Sadie. “You certainly took your time about it, Lettice. You aren’t getting any younger. You’re twenty-four now.”

 

“But will you give us your blessing, Pappa?” Lettice asks again, wrapping her left hand in Sir John’s right hand and squeezing it. When he squeezes it comfortingly in return Lady Sadie’s eyes to widen slightly and she shudders again at their obvious intimacy, which she is not used to.

 

“Are you happy with your choice, Lettice?” the Viscount asks.

 

Lettice doesn’t answer for a moment. Her mind is awash with a mixture of emotions: anger and resentment for Lady Zinnia, heartbreak and disappointment for Selwyn at his betrayal of her, gratefulness to Sir John for his proposal of marriage and his willingness to be truthful to her. “Of course I am, Pappa!” she finally answers with steeliness in her voice, chuckling as she finishes speaking. “We both are, aren’t we, John darling?” She turns to her fiancée.

 

“Indeed we are, Lettice.” he agrees, nodding his assent.

 

“Then we must open some champagne to celebrate!” the Viscount replies, blinking and smiling brightly at his daughter. “After all it isn’t every day that my youngest daughter announces her engagement, is it?” He opens his arms welcomingly to her.

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice exclaims with relief, releasing the pent-up breath she didn’t even realise that she was holding on to.

 

“Thank you!”

 

As Lettice falls into her father’s arms, burying her head into his shoulder she lets the tears of happiness and relief fall from her eyes as she closes them and inhales the familiar scent of her father, a mixture of musky eau de cologne and the scent of books. What she does not notice is the Viscount’s own tears and the trace of concern in his face and eyes as he pulls her close to him.

 

“Are you really sure, Lettice.” he whispers quietly in her ear.

 

“I am, Pappa.” she answers back in equally hushed tones, tightening her closed lids and smiling.

 

Releasing her from his embrace, the Viscount approaches Sir John. Sniffing he blusters, “Well, what is it they say, Sir John? I’m not losing a daughter, but gaining a son.” He reaches out his big hand and firmly shakes Sir John’s, slapping him firmly on the upper arm in a chummy way. “Isn’t that right?”

 

“Indeed it is, Lord Chetwynd,” Sir John says with a sigh of relief, not quite yet feeling comfortable or familiar enough to release the formality and call him, Cosmo.

 

“Congratulations!” the Viscount says with a half-smile, shaking Sir John’s hand.

 

“Yes, congratulations.” Lady Sadie echoes her husband, smiling politely at Sir John before allowing her gaze to dart back to her youngest child.

 

“Well!” the Viscount booms. “We must celebrate! Sadie! Ring for Bramley!” He claps his hands. “We must have champagne!”

 

A short while later Bramley and Moira the head parlourmaid arrive, as instructed, with two bottles of the finest champagne from the Viscount’s cellars in silver coolers and a tray of champagne flutes on a silver tray. They place them upon the ornate galleried gilded rococo table placed in the centre of the cluster of sofas and chairs.

 

“If I may wish you and Sir John my heartiest congratulations, My Lady.” the old retainer says to Lettice.

 

“Thank you, Bramley.” Lettice replies with a satisfied smile. “If you’d be good enough to share the news with all the staff below stairs, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“Certainly, My Lady.”

 

Amid the hubbub of slightly subdued chatter around the table, the Viscount pops the cork of one of the bottles and fills several of the glasses, draining the bottle before opening the second and filling the remaining flutes and passing the glasses around.

 

“A toast!” the Viscount announces, clearing his throat.

 

“Oh, it’s a shame that Lally and Charles aren’t here for this.” Blurts out Arabella.

 

“Well, we’ll just have to have another round when they get back from their visit to Bowood**************.” Leslie says. “Won’t we?”

 

“A toast!” the Viscount says again, raising his flute of sparking champagne and smiling at Lettice. “To the marriage of my lovely youngest daughter, Lettice and her fiancée, our friend and neighbour, Sir John. Nettleford-Hughes”

 

He, Lady Sadie, Leslie, Arabella and even Eglantyne, albeit a little begrudgingly, toast the newly engaged couple. “To Lettice and Sir John.” As the party sip their congratulatory champagne, Lady Sadie cannot help but shudder again as she watches Lettice’s and Sir John’s lips meet in a chaste kiss.

 

The company then break up into smaller groups and chatter animatedly as they sip their champagne. Sir John talks with Eglantyne on one of the sofas, their faces serious and their conversation animated. The Viscount and Leslie mill next to the drawing room’s impressive chinoiserie screen discussing the fact that it is now unlikely that they will get to Willow Wood Farm today. Lady Sadie wanders around, never quite settling, joining the fray of conversations, but then moving on, going from one armchair or sofa to another until she finishes her glass of champagne and quietly slips out of the drawing room. Arabella and Lettice put their heads together conspiratorially, giggling girlishly.

 

“Oh Tice!” Arabella sighs. “That is such a stunning engagement ring!”

 

“It was John’s mother’s ring.” Lettice answers. “His younger sister, Clemance has been keeping it safely aside for him.”

 

“I didn’t know Sir John had a sister, Tice.” Arabella admits.

 

“John, Bella my dear.” Lettice corrects her sister-in-law.

 

“Yes, of course: John!” Arabella replies, blushing as she does.

 

“John actually has quite a number of siblings, Bella, but I think Clemence is his favourite. She lived with her husband abroad for many years, in Paris mostly, but when he died last year, she returned to England, which is probably why you’ve never heard of her. She lives in London now, so when he announced our engagement, she gave him the ring, saying that she had kept it safely for him until he finally found the right young lady to give it to.”

 

“And that was you, Tice! You!” Arabella laughs.

 

“You are a hopeless romantic, Bella!” Lettice laughs, grateful to have at least one member of her family happy about her engagement. “Quite hopeless!”

 

“You know me, Tice!” Arabella giggles in response. “How delightful Sir… I mean, John’s sister sounds.”

 

“Oh, Clemance is lovely, Arabella. I’m sure you’ll like her when you meet her.”

 

“Just look at the way that emerald sparkles!” Arabella adds, lifting Lettice’s hand, causing the stones to wink and sparkle. “It’s magnificent.” she breathes with excitement. “It speaks of exotic climes and thrilling adventures.”

  

“Do you know, Bella, that emeralds are purported to be the revealer of truths?” Lettice asks her sister-in-law, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear. When Arabella shakes her head, Lettice goes on, “Emeralds reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover's oath. Some believed it could also dampen lust. However, that is contrary to what they thought in ancient Greece and Rome, where emeralds were said to be the gemstone of the goddess Venus, purveyor of love and hope.”

 

“Who told you that, my clever girl?” the Viscount interrupts, drawing up alongside his daughter and daughter-in-law, his half empty glass of champagne in his hand.

 

“The language tutor you engaged to teach me French, Pappa.” Lettice laughs.

 

“What has the meaning of emeralds in ancient times to do with French?” the Viscount retorts in surprise, guffawing as he does.

 

“Nothing, but I did find that Monsieur Bertrand did have a secret passion for allegory as we took our lessons.”

 

“Not so secret, evidently, Tice.” giggles Arabella.

 

“Well, I hope he taught you about allegory in French, my dear.” the Viscount chortles.

 

“Bien sûr, Pappa!” Lettice laughs, the joyous sound making her father smile sadly.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Tice my dear!” Arabella enthuses again. “Sir John really is quite the catch.”

 

Father, daughter and daughter-in-law chuckle for a moment before the Viscount says, “My dear, I’m sorry to intrude on your conversation with Arabella, but I have a word with you?”

 

“Of course, Pappa.”

 

“In private.” he adds.

 

“Of course, Pappa.” Lettice says, nodding as she gives her sister-in-law an apologetic look.

 

“Please excuse us, Arabella my dear.” the Viscount apologises as he leads Lettice away from the cluster of his family gathered in clusters around the gilded galleried table, to a sofa further away where they can have a discussion without the fear of being eavesdropped upon. “Please.” He indicates for her to sit.

 

“This is all rather cloak and dagger, isn’t it Pappa?” Lettice titters as she does as she is bidden, and sinks down upon the soft gold satin upholstery with figured patterns upon it.

 

“This is no laughing matter, Lettice.” the Viscount acknowledges, his crumpled and wrinkled face looking dark. “Now this is serious, my dear. I want to talk to you.”

 

“Pappa!” Lettice’s face clouds as she sips her half empty flute of champagne. “You’re worrying me.”

 

“No need to be worried, my girl.” The Viscount takes a mouthful of champagne before continuing. “However, I do need to ask you something.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice replies, instantly taking a more dour stance. “What is it, Pappa?”

 

“Now, you know that I’m not one who is very good with expressing my emotions,” the Viscount blusters awkwardly. “But I hope that you do know I love you. Don’t you, my girl?”

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice scoffs, waving her hand, the emerald catching the Viscount’s eye as it and the surrounding diamonds winks and sparkle. “Of course I do!”

 

“And that I only want the very best for you.” He wags his index finger at her.

 

“Of course, Pappa.”

 

“Then please understand that what I’m about to ask and say, only comes from my love and concern for you and your happiness?”

 

“Goodness!” Lettice exclaims with a mixture of trepidation and frustration. “What on earth is this about Pappa?”

 

“Well,” the Viscount confesses. “I just want to make sure that you are quite certain.”

 

“Of marrying John?”

 

“Of marrying Sir John.” he agrees.

 

“Oh really Pappa!” Lettice mutters. “You must start calling him John, if we are to be engaged. You can’t very well call my husband Sir John all our married life.”

 

“Yes, quite. Err… John.” he coughs awkwardly. He pauses and takes another mouthful of champagne, swilling the fizzy liquid around in his mouth. Sighing he adds, “This is all very sudden, Lettice.”

 

“I knew you’d say that, Pappa, but it’s been long enough, and I’ve made up my mind,” Lettice replies defiantly. “No matter what you and Aunt Egg may think.”

 

“Now, now. Don’t be too hard on us, my girl. It’s just that this has all come as rather a shock to us. You mustn’t expect hearty congratulations when we had no idea this arrangement between the two of you was even a possibility.”

 

“Why do you call it an arrangement, Pappa?” Lettice asks hotly.

 

The Viscount doesn’t answer straight away. “No reason my girl. A poor choice of words on my part. An understanding then.” he concedes. “Anyway, you can hardly expect your aunt to be pleased no matter who you choose to marry. You know she’s a free spirit and doesn’t conform to society like the rest of us.” He looks across at Eglantyne as she talks with Sir John on the sofa. “I mean, Eglantyne wasn’t exactly thrilled when Leslie announced he was marrying Arabella,” He chuckles. “And we’d been voicing that possibility within her earshot for years before he finally asked her to marry him.”

 

“Well, she seemed a little happier about Leslie’s engagement than mine.” Lettice sulks. “She needn’t have been quite so openly hostile.”

 

“You’re her protégée, my girl, and you are my favourite daughter.” The Viscount chuckles again. “Just don’t tell Lally that by the way.” He wags a finger at Lettice. “We just want to be sure that you are happy, and that this isn’t something you are just rushing into. Give us both time. Eh?”

 

“Alright Pappa.” Lettice acquiesces.

 

“Good girl.” The Viscount smiles at his daughter before going on. “He’s a lot older than you, isn’t he? Sir John, I mean.” the Viscount continues. “He’s closer to my age than he is yours.”

 

“You’re concerned about the age difference between us?” Lettice asks.

 

The Viscount bites the inside of his bottom lip in concern. He’s felt for a long time now that Sir John was quite a lecherous man, paying undue attention to younger women at the social functions he and the Viscount attended in the district at the same time. Then there were the whiffs of scandal, implying that he may have gone off with one or two of them. There was even the rumour that he went home with a much younger partygoer at the 1922 Hunt Ball held at Glynes, purportedly because Lettice had spurned his attentions that evening, preferring those of Selwyn Spencely. All this whilst uncomfortable to think about, was at least at arm’s length when Sir John had his life, and the Viscount and his family had theirs, yet now the two have been catapulted together with the announcement of Lettice’s engagement to Sir John. These circumstances have brought the Viscount’s disparaging thoughts and the rumours about Sir John to the front of his mind. He stares at his daughter: a young lady yes, but still such an innocent as she looks at him with her defiant gaze. Does he share his concerns with her?

 

“Well, I…” he stammers. “Well it’s just that…”

 

“Pappa?”

 

“I just don’t want you feeling that you have to get married. I… I mean… I mean your mother and I want you to marry of course, and marry well.” he huffs. “And I know… John is a most eligible bachelor, but that doesn’t mean I want you to settle for Sir… err John, just because…”

 

“Settle?” Lettice interrupts.

 

“I want to make sure that that there is no undue influence, I mean. You know,” He gesticulates in the space between them. “Upon your decision, I mean, to marry him.”

 

“Undue influence?” Lettice looks at her father in surprise. “What on earth does that mean?”

 

“Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!” The Viscount sighs heavily as he rubs his big hand over his wrinkled and weathered face. “This isn’t coming out quite the way I wanted it, my girl.” He pauses and tries again. “You know words are not my strongest suit. Look, let me speak plainly.”

 

“I wish you would, Pappa.”

 

“I know back in twenty-two, your mother saw Sir John as a good match, and I know that you had your reservations about him being… well, being too old and stuffy. Of course you were attracted to young Spencely with all his charms.”

 

“What on earth has this to do with undue influence, Pappa?” Lettice asks. “This makes no sense.”

 

The Viscount lowers his voice. “I just want to make sure that you haven’t changed your mind about Sir John, because of something,” He turns and glances over his shoulder, unable to see his wife, who still hasn’t returned since he saw her deposit her empty champagne flute on the silver tray before quietly leaving the room with her head bowed in concern. He turns back to Lettice. “Something your mother might have said, or suggested, after young Spencely ended your engagement so suddenly.”

 

“Well, Mamma has hardly hidden her displeasure at my current status of remaining unmarried, Pappa at twenty-four. When I announced the understanding between Selwyn and I, it was obviously a relief to her.”

 

“I know your mother has put a great deal of emphasis on you being out in society for a while now, and anxious about you being stuck on the shelf. But I…”

 

“Pappa, please stop.” Lettice sets her now empty champagne glass aside and holds up her hands. “I can assure you that there was no undue pressure or influence from Mamma, or you in my decision.”

 

“No! No of course not.” he stammers in reply. Sighing he continues, “Well, that’s a relief. And.. and John?”

 

“Well, aside from him making his proposal at the Portland Gallery, which would weigh heavily on any girl’s conscience, there has been no pressure from him to decide.”

 

“It does seem a little bit odd, don’t you think?” the Viscount shakes his head as he screws up his face in distaste.

 

“Odd, Pappa?”

 

“Yes. It seems a rather rum business*************** what with him making the proposition to you as he did at the gallery, and then shortly after, Lady Zinnia announcing that Selwyn is marrying that horrible Antipodean**************** heiress in Durban.”

 

“Kitty Avendale” Lettice sighs heavily.

 

“Is that her name?”

 

“Yes.” Lettice answers laconically, focussing her attention on her toe of her shoe as she uses it to rub the pile of the Oriental carpet beneath it distractedly.

 

“Ghastly name, for a ghastly girl. “Treacherous trollop!”

 

Lettice allows herself a sad chuckle before going on. “Well,” she sighs. “I shan’t disagree with you about her name Pappa, but no, I don’t believe that John and Lady Zinnia are in any way conspiring. When John offered his proposal of sorts, he knew perfectly well that Selwyn and I were planning to get married upon his return from Durban.”

 

“Are you quite sure about that?”

 

“What are you implying, Pappa?”

 

“Nothing, my girl. I just want to make sure that you’re sure, and that… that this isn’t a result of some arrangement between Zinnia and John. She never wanted you to marry young Spencely, and wanted to end your romantic involvement with him, no matter what the cost, and Sir… err John and his proposal seems the perfect solution, if she knew that John was interested in you.”

 

The Viscount’s words hang between father and daughter.

 

“No, Pappa.” Lettice says resolutely. “John is not contriving with Lady Zinnia. He even encouraged me to hold onto hope that Selwyn was coming back to me. He said that I should only consider his offer if circumstances between Selwyn and I changed,” She sighs heavily. “And that is exactly what has happened, Pappa. Circumstances have changed, and none of them have to do with any scheming from John or Lady Zinnia. I’m quite sure of it. John was quite content to remain unmarried.”

 

“That’s what I mean, my dear girl!” His eyes light up. “Pardon me for saying this, but it seems so incredibly at odds with his behaviour to date.”

 

“But why should John wish to enter into a marriage he doesn’t want for Lady Zinnia’s ends, Pappa? It makes no sense that he would do that.”

 

“I concede, I can’t answer that.”

 

“Has it ever occurred to you, Pappa, that I might be the one who stirred his heart?”

 

“Well, of course it has, my dear!” he assures her hurriedly. “I think there are a great many men whose hearts you could stir”

 

“You’re so kind Pappa.” Lettice lowers her gaze. “I promise you that John says that he admires me for far more than my beauty, and her certainly isn’t a fortune hunter.”

 

“I’m quite aware of the latter, my dear. He is richer than Croesus*****************.”

 

“He admires me for my mind, my wit, and my business acumen. As he says, he’s a businessman at heart, so he wants to marry someone with a similar mind. We’ve already discussed the difference in age between us, and what that means for both of us. You also may be surprised, and hopefully pleased, to hear that he has no wish to stop me from continuing my endeavours in my interior design business.”

 

The Viscount’s face shows his pleased amazement. “I must confess that does surprise me.”

 

“That’s what I mean by John being a businessman at heart, Pappa. He has remarked, on a number of occasions, that the last kind of woman he wishes to attach himself to is one who is bord and bone idle.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Or one who becomes jealous if he has to go away on business trips. He admires industry and fruitfulness. His offer is a very generous one. I am able to enjoy being Lady Nettleford-Hughes and all the status and wealth that accompanies the title. I shall be chatelaine of his properties and enjoy them. He will even allow me to hang what he calls my ‘daubs’ on the walls of his houses if it so pleases me.”

 

The Viscount chuckles at Sir John’s adroit term for the style of modern paintings Lettice has a preference for.

 

“And all the while I will still have my own business to run: a business he not only supports, but encourages.” Lettice goes on.

 

“And you’re quite sure that the understanding between you and Selwyn is ended, my girl?” the Viscount asks seriously, lowering his head. “I mean, quite sure?”

 

“I am Pappa.” Lettice replies adamantly. “He’s engaged. That feels like a very definite action in order for him to end things with me. If he’d really wanted to marry me, now the year of separation imposed upon us by Lady Zinnia is at an end, he could have communicated it with me. They do have a telephone exchange in Durban, even if he was delayed in sailing back to me. But I’ve heard nothing from him at all. His silence speaks volumes.”

 

“I see.” the Viscount lowers his eyes momentarily. “No chance then?”

 

“Pappa!” Lettice gasps with exasperation. “How many times must I tell you before you believe me? Yes, I’m quite sure it is done with Selwyn and there is no chance for us. I saw the proof for myself: a whole cache of newspaper articles and clippings showing Selwyn and Miss Avendale smiling together with headlines emblazoned beneath them touting their engagement. What more proof do I need?” She holds up a hand. “And before you say it, Pappa, I will not suffer the indignity of hearing it directly from him. I would die of shame and embarrassment.”

 

“No of course not, Lettice.” He pauses for a moment and then adds. “But these wretched newspaper men often mistake their facts in an effort to get their stories out quickly. And,” he continues. “Such things as newspapers can be forged you know, especially for a woman as wealthy and influential as Zinnia is.”

 

“I know Pappa, and in my heart of hearts, I did consider it.”

 

“And I wouldn’t put anything past that scheming Zinnia. She’s a horrible, ghastly and despicable woman with eyes only for intrigues and forwarding her own interests!”

 

“You are kind to defend me Pappa, and I don’t disagree with your frank observations of her, which I adore. Lady Zinnia is no friend to me. Please forgive me for saying this Pappa, and for being so frank, but,” She smiles sadly. “It does sound rather like you are a drowning man clutching at straws.”

 

The Viscount looks his daughter earnestly in the face. “When did you grow up to be such a wise young lady, Lettice? You know me so well, my dear.” The Viscount chuckles sadly. “It is true that both your mother and I had high hopes for the match with young Spencely. He… well, he seemed like such a good match for you. It seemed perfect. He’s handsome. You are similar in age. He comes from an excellent family, Lady Zinnia and her intrigues notwithstanding. Even the fact that he designed houses made the whole thing seem preordained. He could have designed the houses and you could have decorated them.”

 

“I agree, Pappa.” The pain of Selwyn’s betrayal bursts within her like a blossom blooming, filling her heart with pain, and her eyes well with tears she is determined not to shed. She gulps before continuing. “Selwyn seemed to be the perfect match, but evidently it wasn’t, if he has decided to marry Miss Avendale.”

 

“I didn’t expect of him what has transpired. He seemed like a very decent fellow with a good character.”

 

“I don’t disagree with you, Pappa. As you know, I’m as surprised and upset by it as anyone, as I think as the jilted party, I have the right to be.”

 

“Oh of course you do, my dear! Of course!”

 

“And Gerald, who of course knows him from the club they both share, said the same thing as you. I cannot explain it, other than he fell in love with Miss Avendale.” She lets out a remorseful sigh. “For a little while after I received the news of Selwyn’s engagement from Lady Zinnia, I must confess that I held out a candle for Selwyn. I hoped that he would contact me and tell me that it was all some mistake, or a fabrication of some kind by his mother,” She looks seriously up at her father. ‘But he didn’t, did he?”

 

“Well, then I suppose there is very little left to be said on the matter, is there?” the Viscount says resignedly.

 

“Don’t be so downhearted, Pappa. Be happy for me. Be happy for both of us. John is a good man. Yes, he’s older that Selwyn, and no, he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and most importantly he isn’t lying to me, Pappa.” It is her turn to look her father squarely in the face. “I won’t be dissuaded from this marriage, Pappa. I intend to marry him.”

 

“As long as you are sure, my girl.”

 

“I am.” Lettice replies resolutely. “Quite sure, Pappa.”

 

“And he makes you happy, Lettice? You know that your happiness in paramount to me, whatever your mother may feel about titles and social standing.”

 

“He does Pappa.”

 

“Well then, I guess there is little more to say on that matter, either.”

 

“Where is Mamma, by the way?” Lettice looks over her shoulder where Eglantyne and Sir John are still engaged in their conversation, whilst Leslie and Arabella share a confidence together, standing by the galleried table, heads down and giggling together.

 

“I saw her leave a little while ago.” the Viscount states. “Is she not back?” He looks and still can’t see her. “Perhaps she went to shed her tears of joy at your engagement in private. You know how your mother feels about showing too much emotion…” He pauses and then adds, “In public anyway. I shall go and find her, and then, Lettice my dear, we will open another bottle of champagne. After all, it isn’t every day that my youngest daughter announces her engagement.”

 

“Then you are happy for me, Pappa?” Lettice asks hopefully.

 

“Your happiness is all that matters, my dear. So, if you are happy, I will be happy for you. Although it will take a little while for me to get used to having a son-in-law who is the same age as me, you have my blessing.”

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice leaps out of her seat and embraces her father gratefully. “Thank you!”

 

The Viscount lingers for a while, enjoying the moment of intimacy with his favourite child before he releases her, and holds her at arm’s length, smiling at her. “I’ll be back with your mother shortly.” he says, excusing himself.

 

*Dating back to the fourth century, many Christians have observed the Twelfth Night — the evening before the Epiphany — as the ideal time to take down the Christmas tree and festive decorations. Traditionally, the Twelfth Night marks the end of the Christmas season, but there's reportedly some debate among Christian groups about which date is correct. By custom, the Twelfth Night falls on either January 5 or January 6, depending on whether you count Christmas Day as the first day. The Epiphany, also known as Three Kings' Day, commemorates the visit of the three wise men to baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

 

**A sautoir is a French term for a long necklace that suspends a tassel or other ornament.

 

***The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

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

 

*****Shepherd’s check is a popular pattern for a rather sturdy tweed, commonly worn in the country. Coming in various colours and pattern styles, the small check version in black and white is commonly known as Pepita check in Germanic countries.

 

******Introduced in 1922, the Type 30 was the first production Bugatti to feature an Inline-8. Nicknamed the “Torpedo” because of its similar look to the wartime munition, at the time Bugatti opted to move to a small two-litre engine to make the car more saleable, lighter and cheap. The engine capacity also made the Type 30 eligible for Grand Prix racing, which was a new direction for the marque. Despite the modest engine capacity, the power output was still remarkable thanks to the triple-valve arrangement. Also benefiting the Type 30 was good road handling, braking and steering which was common throughout the marque. The Type 30 was also the first Bugatti to have front brakes.

 

*******Tatler was introduced on the 3rd of July 1901, by Clement Shorter, publisher of The Sphere. It was named after the original literary and society journal founded by Richard Steele in 1709. Originally sold occasionally as The Tatler and for some time a weekly publication, it had a subtitle varying on "an illustrated journal of society and the drama". It contained news and pictures of high society balls, charity events, race meetings, shooting parties, fashion and gossip, with cartoons by "The Tout" and H. M. Bateman.

 

********We are all familiar with the phrase “ten to the dozen’” which means someone who talks fast. However, the original expression is actually “nineteen to the dozen”. Why nineteen, you ask? Many sources say we simply don’t know, but there are other sources that claim it goes back to the Cornish tin and copper mines, which regularly flooded. With advancements in steam technology, the hand pumps they used to pump out this water were replaced by beam engines that could pump 19,000 gallons of water out for every twelve bushels of coal burned (much more efficient than the hand pumps!)

 

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

 

**********The first diamond engagement ring can be traced back to 1477 when Archduke Maximillian of Austria proposed to Mary Burgundy. This exchange began a tradition that caught on in elite societies. However, engagement rings didn’t become popular among the masses until the mid-1900s. In 1947, British-owned diamond company, De Beers, premiered a new advertising campaign. This campaign featured the slogan, “A diamond is forever,” and helped diamond engagement rings to soar in popularity. Within three years of the launch of this campaign, diamond engagement ring sales increased by fifty percent and the numbers continued to skyrocket. In fact, in 1939, only about ten percent of engagement rings included diamonds. Thus, Lettice’s Victorian engagement ring, taken from Sir John’s mother’s collection of jewellery featuring an emerald as the predominant stone, would not have been unusual.

 

**********In more socially conscious times it was traditional to wish the bride-to-be happiness, rather than saying congratulations as we do today. Saying congratulations to a bride in past times would have implied that she had won something – her groom. The groom on the other hand was to be congratulated for getting the lady to accept his marriage proposal.

 

************Gaining popularity by the younger upper-class set between the wars, “old bean” was a phrase used as a friendly reference to a man. It arose in the trenches of the Great War, used by the Tommies, but was always tinged with upper-class stuffiness, which is possibly why it caught on more with the upper-classes of society.

 

*************The Balkan Sobranie tobacco business was established in London in 1879 by Albert Weinberg (born in Romania in 1849), whose naturalisation papers dated 1886 confirm his nationality and show that he had emigrated to England in the 1870s at a time when hand-made cigarettes in the eastern European and Russian tradition were becoming fashionable in Europe. Sobranie is one of the oldest cigarette brands in the world. Throughout its existence, Sobranie was marketed as the definition of luxury in the tobacco industry, being adopted as the official provider of many European royal houses and elites around the world including the Imperial Court of Russia and the royal courts of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Spain, Romania, and Greece. Premium brands include the multi-coloured Sobranie Cocktail and the black and gold Sobranie Black Russian.

 

**************Bowood is a Grade I listed Georgian country house in Wiltshire, that has been owned for more than two hundred and fifty years by the Fitzmaurice family. The house, with interiors by Robert Adam, stands on extensive grounds which include a garden designed by Lancelot "Capability" Brown. It is adjacent to the village of Derry Hill, halfway between Calne and Chippenham. The greater part of the house was demolished in 1956.

 

***************Rum is a British slang word that means odd (in a negative way) or disreputable.

 

**************** Antipodean is a term relating to Australia or New Zealand (used by inhabitants of the northern hemisphere).

 

*****************The idiom “richer than Croesus” means very wealthy. This term alludes to Croesus, the legendary King of Lydia and supposedly the richest man on earth. The simile was first recorded in English in 1577.

 

This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items I have collected as an adult, as well as one that was especially made for me.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Louis Quatorze chairs and sofa, the gilded Rococo chinoiserie central table and the gilt swan round tables and matching pedestal are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The gilt high backed salon chair in the foreground to the left is also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects. She also made the footstool you see in the right foreground. In addition, she also painted the Bespaq chest of drawers you can see in the background to the far right of the photo. She has painted an idyllic English school Eighteenth Century picnicking scene on its front, making it a very special one of a kind.

 

The beautiful gold and bronze decorated black chinoiserie screen in the background is a very special 1:12 miniature screen created especially for me, and there is no other like it anywhere else in the world. It was handmade and decorated over a twelve month period for me as a Christmas gift two years ago by miniature artisan Tim Sidford as a thanks for the handmade Christmas baubles I make him every year. Tim’s miniature works are truly amazing! You can see some of his handmade decorated interiors using upcycled Playmobil, found objects and 1:12 miniatures here: www.flickr.com/photos/timsidford/albums/72157624010136051/

 

The elegant ornaments that decorate the surfaces of the Chetwynd’s palatial drawing room very much reflect the Eighteenth Century spirit of the room.

 

On the pedestal to the left of the screen stands a blue and white hand painted vase which I acquired from Kathleen Knights Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. Standing on the hand painted set of drawers to the right of the photo stand are two miniature diecast lead Meissen figurines: the Lady with the Canary and the Gentleman with the Butterfly, made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces, The pair have been hand painted and gilded by me. Also on the chest of drawers stand two large lidded urns and a pedestal bowl. These three pieces were made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. All the pieces in the cabinet in the background are also made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik.

 

The silver champagne bucket, wine cooler and tray on the central chinoiserie tea table, have been made with great attenti

Remember ....

 

LOVE is patient and kind.

LOVE is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.

LOVE does not demand its own way.

LOVE is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged.

It is never glad about injustice,

but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.

LOVE never gives up,

never loses faith, is always hopeful,

and endures through every circumstances.

LOVE will last forever.

 

1. Corinthians 13

* The Holy Bible *

  

安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 台南運河舊港口 - 高樓藍天映水影

The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / The Transport river old harbor of the Tainan City - The tall buildings with blue sky reflects shadow in the water

La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / El puerto viejo del río del transporte de la ciudad de Tainan - los edificios altos con el cielo azul reflejan la sombra en el agua

安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 台南運河の古い港 - 高楼の青空の映水の影

Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / Der alte Hafen des Transportflusses der Tainan-Stadt - die hohen Gebäude mit blauem Himmel reflektiert Schatten im Wasser

 

Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平

 

原圖JPG直出無後製

Original picture JPG is straight has no children the system

El JPG original del cuadro es recto no tiene ninguÌn niño el sistema

原図JPGはずっと跡継ぎがいなくてつくることを出します

Ursprünglicher Abbildung JPG ist hat keine Kinder das System gerade

 

本圖無合成無折射

This chart does not have the refraction without the synthesis

Esta carta no tiene la refracción sin la síntesis

当合成がないことを求めて屈折がありません

Dieses Diagramm hat die Brechung nicht ohne die Synthese

 

可用放大鏡開1:1原圖

The available magnifying glass opens 1:1 original picture

La lupa disponible abre el cuadro de la original del 1:1

利用できる拡大鏡は1:1の原物映像を開ける

Die vorhandene Lupe öffnet 1:1vorlagenabbildung

'love you' On Black

 

There was a stiff, cold wind raking the reservoir. There were up to 9 swans interacting, irritably. I prayed for one of them to rear up and flap his wings threateningly. I was well positioned for the light, and several times it looked likely. Meanwhile some pairs of swans often took a "heart" pattern. I like this one for the back lit translucent feathers.

 

The wind was blowing from right to left, and the right swan's feathers were being blown upwards by the wind. The left swan, like others, puffed up her feathers facing the wind, and it seemed to help them in some way. Any ideas?

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.

 

It's a quarter past eight and Lettice is still happily asleep in her bed, buried beneath a thick and soft counterpane of embroidered oriental satin brocade, whilst the rest of Mayfair is slowly awakening in the houses and flats around her. Her peaceful slumbers are rudely interrupted by a peremptory knock on her boudoir door.

 

“Morning Miss.” Edith, Lettice’s maid, says brightly as she pops her head around the white painted panelled door as she opens it.

 

Lettice groans – a most unladylike reaction – as she starts to wake up, disorientated, wondering for just a moment where she is before realising that she is in her own bed in Cavendish Mews. Raising her head she groans and winces as Edith draws the curtains back along their railing, flooding the room with a light, which whilst anaemic, is still painful to her eyes as the adjust.

 

“It’s looking a little overcast this morning, Miss.” the maid says brightly. “But this is England, the home of changeable weather,” She walks back across her mistress’ boudoir, lifts the upholstered lid on a wicker laundry basket just inside the bathroom door and deposits Lettice’s lacy undergarments and stockings, swept expertly by her from the floor, into it. “So, who knows what today’s mixed bag may hold.” She emerges and goes to one of Lettice’s polished wardrobes where she withdraws a pale pink bed jacket trimmed in marabou feathers from its wooden hanger.

 

Lettice groans again as she stretches and leans forward, whilst Edith hangs the bed jacket over her shoulders and fluffs up Lettice’s pillows. “How can you be so cheerful at this ungodly time of the morning, Edith?”

 

“Practice.” Edith replies matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes to the white plaster ceiling above. “Up you come, Miss.” she says encouragingly. “That’s it.”

 

As Lettice arranges herself in a sitting position, leaning against the pillows, Edith goes back to the open bedroom door and disappears momentarily into the hallway before returning with Lettice’s breakfast tray.

 

Prodding and plucking her pillows behind her to her satisfaction, Lettice nestles into her nest as she sits up properly in bed and allows her maid to place the tray across her lap. She looks down approvingly at the slice of golden toast in the middle of the pretty floral plate, the egg in the matching egg cup and the pot of tea with steam rising from the spout. She goes to lift the lid of the silver preserve pot.

 

“Damson preserve from Glynes, Miss.” Edith elucidates.

 

“Jolly good, Edith.” Lettice takes up a spoon and begins to dollop the rich gelatinous dark damson preserve onto her slice of toast. “I’m glad I pinched a few jars from Mater and Pater last time I went back to Wiltshire in spite of Mrs. Casterton’s protestations. I’m still His Lordship’s daughter, even if I don’t live at Glynes any more.”

 

“I imagine you upset her housekeeping records with your pinching, Miss.”

 

“Oh fie Mrs. Casterton’s records!” Lettice admonishes her parent’s long time housekeeper. She takes the knife and spreads the thick layer across the toast before cutting the slice in half with crunching strokes. Picking up a slice, she takes a dainty mouthful, closing her eyes in delight as she allows the rich fruity flavour of the damsons to reach her tastebuds. “Oh! Sheer bliss!” Depositing the bitten slice black on her plate, she rubs her index and middle fingers against her thumb to get rid of any cloying crumbs. “Any post yet, Edith?”

 

“Well, there is something which came via a delivery boy from Southwark Street* this morning, which I think might take your interest, Miss.”

 

“Southwark Street?” Lettice ponders as Edith walks the length of her mistress’ bedroom back to the open door. “I know that name. Why? Southwark Street… Southwark Street…” And then she realises why.

 

Lettice looks down the length of the room with suddenly wide and alert eyes, expectantly, to where Edith holds up a copy of Country Life** in the doorway. She gasps. “Oh hoorah! Bring it here this instant, Edith!” She holds out her arms, twiddling her fingers anxiously.

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith bobs a curtsey and brings the crisp magazine to her mistress’ bedside.

 

“Have you read it yet, Edith?”

 

“Miss!” Edith gasps, colour filling her cheeks at Lettice’s suggestion. “As if I would.”

 

Lettice gives her a doubtful stare making her maid blush even more. “So, you did then.” She shakes out the magazine which elicits the crisp crumple of fresh paper.

 

“Page eighteen, Miss.” Edith confirms with a smirk.

 

“Well, this changes my plans for the day then, Edith.” Lettice opines brightly as she takes up her bitten triangle of toast.

 

“Miss?” Edith queries.

 

“I was going to stay at home today, but I’ll have to pay a call on Gerald, and darling Margot en route back from Grosvenor Square.” She opens up the copy of Country life and hurriedly flips to page eighteen. “Can you pick me out something seasonably suitable.”

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith says, dropping a quick bob curtsey and walking into Lettice’s adjoining dressing room.

 

“What’s the weather like out there today?” Lettice asks before taking a bite of toast with a sigh and settling back into her fluffed pillow, preparing to read.

 

“As I said before, cloudy, I’m afraid, Miss. The forecast in the papers*** this morning say that it might rain this afternoon.”

 

“Typical,” Lettice sighs as she looks at the photos of the newly decorated Pagoda Room at Arkwright Bury captured in the Country Life photographer’s lens. “The day I have to go out, it decides to rain.

 

“Your Burberry****, then Miss?” Edith asks, popping her head around the door.

 

“Hhhmmm” Lettice purrs approvingly. “Very wise, Perhaps something neutral, say eau-de-nil, to go underneath, to suit it then.”

 

“Yes Miss!” Edith disappears into the dressing room again.

 

“Now, let’s see what my dear Mr. Tipping***** has to say about me this time.”

 

As Lettice glances towards the columns of elegant typeface her mind is carried back to the day she was let into Arkwright Bury by Mr. and Mrs. Gifford’s housekeeper, Mrs. Beaven to await the return of the owners of the Wiltshire house after their seaside holiday to Bournemouth.

 

Mr. Gifford’s uncle, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes was the one who set the wheels in motion for Lettice to visit Arkwright Bury and his nephew, Mr. Alisdair Gifford. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a time when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Luckily Selwyn Spencely, the handsome eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. As she was leaving to return to London on the Monday, Sir John approached her and asked if she might meet with his nephew, Mr. Gifford, as he wished to have a room in his Wiltshire house, Arkwright Bury, redecorated as a surprise for his Australian wife Adelina, who collects blue and white porcelain but as of that time had no place identified to display it at Arkwright Bury. Lettice arranged a discreet meeting with Mr. Gifford at Cavendish Mews to discuss matters with him, and was then invited to luncheon with the Giffords at Arkwright Bury under the ruse that she, as an acquaintance of the Giffords with her interest in interior design, had come for a tour of the partially redecorated house. She agreed to take on the job of redecorating the room using a facsimile print of the original papers hanging in what was then called the ‘Pagoda Room’ before an 1870s fire, reproduced by Jeffrey and Company******. In spite of her concerns that Mrs. Gifford might not appreciate Lettice decorating a room in the home she herself was decorating, Mr. Gifford persuaded her to take the commission with the sweetener that his godfather, the Architectural Editor of Country Life, Henry Tipping, would write a favourable review of her interior decoration, thus promoting her work and capabilities as a society interior designer.

 

Lettice took advantage of a window of opportunity provided with the Giffords taking a short seaside holiday in Bournemouth, arranging for her professional paper hangers from London to visit Arkwright Bury and hang the small quantity of wallpaper produced from a sketch done by Lettice. She then hired several of her father’s agricultural labourers from the Glynes estate for the day, to carefully move furniture intended for use in the room into place and unpack the many boxes of Mrs. Gifford’s collection, carefully laying the pieces out so that Lettice could then arrange them all in what she hoped would be a pleasing manner to Mrs. Gifford’s own aesthetic eye.

 

Lettice remembers sitting in the light filled drawing room of Arkwright Bury, decorated in traditional country house style with lots of chintz coverings, much to Lettice’s displeasure with her preference for more modern patterns. Sitting in a pool of light cast through the large bay window of the drawing room she heard the clunk and splutter of the Giffords’ motor long before she saw it perambulate up the gravel driveway, and her heart began race. She worried that Mrs. Gifford, with her own very definite taste in interior design, would dislike what she had been commissioned to do, and her heartrate increased as the car pulled up before the front doors, and beat still faster as the pair walked through the drawing room door.

 

“Why Miss Chetwynd!” Mrs. Gifford exclaimed awkwardly. “We weren’t expecting you.”

 

As she flew into a fluster, half apologising for missing an engagement she forgot that she even had with Lettice, and half making sure that Mrs. Beavan had taken care of her in she and her husband’s absence, Mr. Gifford tried to calm her.

 

“There, there, Adelina.” he soothed. “You weren’t expecting Miss Chetwynd. However, I was.”

 

“Oh Alisdair!” she chided him. “That’s just as bad!” She turned to Lettice, standing uncomfortably in front of one of Mrs. Gifford’s pink chintz sofas, trying not to watch the drama unfolding before her. “Miss Chetwynd, I must apologise for my husband’s forgetfulness. If he’s told me, I would have made sure we left Bournemouth earlier than we did.” She turned back to her husband. “And you were the one who told me that I had plenty of time to shop in Burton’s***** in The Square******, when all this time you knew Miss Chetwynd would be here, awaiting us, Alisdair! Really! You must really think me an uncouth little colonial, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Gifford.” Lettice assured her with an anxious chuckle, putting out her arms, clad in the mulberry knit of her cardigan, to calm the excitable antipodean.

 

“Calm yourself Adelina.” her husband purred. “Miss Chetwynd is here on my bidding, my dear. She is part of your surprise that I told you about on the motor home from Dorset.”

 

“What?” Mrs. Gifford asked, her anxious gesticulating suddenly ceasing.

 

“I asked Miss Chetwynd here today because she has helped create the wonderful surprise for you.” Mr. Gifford explained. “It’s capital to have you here, Miss Chetwynd. Capital!”

 

“Mr. Gifford.” Lettice acknowledged the young man with a curt nod.

 

“I think, since it was your doing, you should lead the way.” Mr. Gifford went on.

 

“Miss Chetwynd’s work?” Mrs. Gifford asked anxiously, her eyes suddenly growing dark as she eyed Lettice. “What has she done, Alisdair?”

 

“Your husband commissioned me to do some work for you, Mrs. Gifford.” Lettice explained hurriedly, her stomach already starting to curdle, as she tried to shift any potential blame from herself and onto Mr. Gifford.

 

“Alisdair?” Mrs. Gifford snapped, thrusting her husband’s cloying hands away irritably as she turned her steely gaze to him. “Is this true? What have you commissioned Miss Chetwynd to do?”

 

“Just a little something for you as a treat, my dear.” he assured her with his usual, genial smile. “A way of saying thank you for all the hard work you’ve put into redecorating our new home since we inherited it.”

 

“Work that obviously is not up to standard, if you felt it necessary to go and engage the services of Miss Chetwynd, Alisdair!” Mrs. Gifford snapped.

 

“Nonsense, Adelina!” Mr. Gifford assured her.

 

“I did express my concerns about taking on this commission, Mrs. Gifford,” Lettice defended. “I was worried that you wouldn’t appreciate me interloping into your interior designs. But your husband was quite insistent.”

 

“Oh yes,” she replied, her mouth a narrow and bloodless line across her face. “Alisdair always wears people down when he wants his way, Miss Chetwynd. It’s quite alright. I shall lay the blame for whatever has transpired directly at your feet, Alisdair.”

 

“If you dislike it, my dear.” Mr. Gifford countered, a gentle and patient smile on his face, as he accepted any bitterness directed to him by his wife, as though a seasoned expert in how to manage her tirades. “You don’t even know what Miss Chetwynd has done yet.”

 

“Well,” she replied begrudgingly. “Perhaps you’d better show me.”

 

“Yes, do lead the way, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Gifford said blithely, waving his hand in a flourishing way toward the door leading out of the Arkwright Bury drawing room and into the hallway.

 

With her anxiety growing, souring her stomach, Lettice did as she was bid, and led the disgruntled Mrs. Gifford, face black as thunder, up the main central staircase of the house, with Mr. Gifford dancing with excitement and delight around the pair of them, like a little boy on Christmas Day about to open his presents, stating over and over “Capital, Miss Chetwynd! Capital!”, until finally they arrived before the door of what had been the sad and neglected study of Mr. Gifford’s deceased older brother, Cuthbert.

 

Reluctantly Lettice stopped before the door of the study and took a deep breath before opening it and ushering Mr. and Mrs. Gifford in with a sweeping gesture. She held her breath and closed her eyes tightly, awaiting Mrs. Gifford’s angry or acerbic remarks about the room she had so lovingly designed and pieced together with all good intentions behind her back. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and followed the Giffords into the newly created and reimagined Pagoda Room.

 

Lettice glanced lovingly around the small room, which was now completely transformed from what had been Cuthbert’s neglected former study. With the old, heavy curtains removed from the large sash windows and replaced with lighter and less obtrusive ones, the room was flooded with sunshine. The light bounced off the stylised Eighteenth Century orientally inspired wallpaper designs she had so lovingly recreated in green and blue, the antique Wiltshire made ladderback chairs Lettice selected from those stored in one of Arkwright Bury’s outbuildings, Mrs. Gifford’s beautiful marquetry loo table in the centre of the room, and of course, her wonderful collection of blue and white china.

 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Gifford,” Lettice began as the woman gasped, but she was silenced by Mrs. Gifford who held up her hand to stop Lettice’s protestations.

 

“Miss Chetwynd! What you have created,” Mrs. Gifford began “It’s… it’s wonderful!” she enthused. “It’s far more than I had ever envisaged for this room. I… I was going to put up a few shelves because I simply no longer had the energy, or the vision for this room after redecorating the house.”

 

“See,” Mr. Gifford said tenderly. “I told you that you deserved a gift of thanks after all that you have done here, Adelina.”

 

“Well, I can’t thank you enough, both of you.” Mrs. Gifford replied. “Now I see what a poor home for my collection a few shelves would have been. Miss Chetwynd, you have turned this neglected and forgotten room into a showcase for my collection. How can I ever thank you?”

 

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry too much about that, Adelina my dear!” Mr. Gifford piped up with a smile. “Miss Chetwynd’s reward will be a favourable review written by my godfather in Country Life.”

 

Sitting in her bed, Lettice now skims the article, delighted by Henry Tipping’s enthusiastic review of The Pagoda Room, calling it a ‘tasteful and sympathetic remodelling and reimagination of what might have been’ and ‘an elegant restoration of a forgotten corner of Arkwright Bury, transforming it into a stylish showpiece of interior design’. She sighs as she glances at the photographs filling the page, highlighting the paper hangings and the pieces Lettice carefully arranges about the room.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot, Miss.” Edith interrupts Lettice’s silent reveries abruptly.

 

“Forgot what, Edith?” Lettice queries.

 

“This, Miss.” Edith withdraws an envelope of creamy white with Lettice’s name and Cavendish Mews address written on the front in elegant copperplate.

 

Lettice accepts the correspondence from her apologetic maid. She turns the envelope over in her hands with interest, admiring the thickness and quality.

 

“It looks rather posh********, Miss.” Edith remarks. “Perhaps it’s from the palace: an Invitation from The King.”

 

Lettice laughs lightly. “Oh Edith! If an invitation came from the palace, it would have been hand delivered. No.” She puzzles over the envelope. “There is no return address. I wonder what it could be.” She holds it up to the morning light futilely, since the envelope is too think to give away an secrets inside.

 

“Best you open it then, Miss.” Edith suggests hopefully.

 

“You’re quite right, Edith.” Lettice laughs.

 

Lettice slips a finger beneath the lip of the envelope which has only been sealed at its apex, so the glue affixing it gives way easily. Lifting the flap of the envelope, she withdraws a gilt edged card, and suddenly all the happiness and joy she had felt a moment before dissipated, just as the colour drained from her face. Her smile fades from her lips as she reads.

 

“Bad news, Miss?” Edith asks, noticing how sad Lettice suddenly is. “Is it a funeral?”

 

“No – worse. It’s an invitation to afternoon tea.” Lettice replies glumly, her dainty fingers squeezing the edges of the card.

 

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, Miss. An invitation to tea is lovely!”

 

“You don’t know who it’s from.” Lettice remarks as she hands the card to her maid.

 

Edith looks down upon the card which has an address in Park Lane********* and reads aloud what is written in the same elegant copperplate as appears on the front of the envelope, “Dear Miss Chetwynd, I request your attendance for afternoon tea at four o’clock next Thursday at the above address, when I shall be at home.” Her voice trails off as she sees the signatory. She looks up at her mistress, who now has tears in her eyes and is as white as the pillows at her back. “Lady Zinnia!”

 

*Southwark Street is a major street in Bankside in the London Borough of Southwark, in London, just south of the River Thames. It runs between Blackfriars Road to the west and Borough High Street to the east. It also connects the access routes for London Bridge, Southwark Bridge and Blackfriars Bridge. At the eastern end to the north is Borough Market. The magazine Country Life was based at 110 Southwark Street from its inception in 1897 until March 2016, when moved to Farnborough, Hampshire, before returning to Paddington in 2022.

 

**Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

***Vice-Admiral Robert Fitzroy, founder of the UK Met Office, started collating measurements on pressure, temperature, and rainfall from across Great Britain, Ireland, and Europe in 1860. These observations were sent by telegraph cable to London every day where they were used to make a ‘weather forecast’ – a term invented by Fitzroy for this endeavour. After the Royal Charter ship sank in a violent storm in 1859, Fitzroy resolved to collect real-time weather measurements from stations across Britain's telegraph network to make storm warnings. Starting in 1860, observers telegraphed readings to Fitzroy in London who handwrote them onto Daily Weather Report sheets, enabling the first-ever public weather forecasts starting on 1st August 1861 and published daily in The Times newspaper. Fitzroy died by suicide in 1865 shortly after founding the UK Met Office, leaving his life's work trapped undiscovered in archives.

 

***The quintessential British coat, and now a global fashion icon, the Burberry trench coat was created during the Great War. Burberry trench coats were designed with durability in mind. Post-war, the Burberry became a trench coat that was worn by men and women. It became fashionable in the 1920s when the Burberry check became a registered trademark and was introduced as a lining to all rainwear.

 

****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

*****Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.

 

******Burton is a British online clothing retailer, former high street retailer and clothing manufacturer, specialising in men's clothing and footwear. The company was founded by Sir Montague Maurice Burton in Chesterfield in 1903 under the name of The Cross-Tailoring Company. It was first listed on the London Stock Exchange in 1929 by which time it had 400 stores, factories and mills.

 

*******The Square is where seven roads leading to and from all parts of the borough converge. Although not geographically at the centre of town it is at the heart of what is known as the Town Centre. The seven roads are.....Old Christchurch Rd ,Gervis Place, Exeter Rd, Commercial Rd, Avenue Rd, Bourne Ave and Richmond Hill.

 

********Over time the slang term posh morphed to mean someone with a lot of money or something that cost a lot of money. Adapted by the British, it came from the Romany language used by the gypsies in which “posh-houri” meant “half-pence.” It became used to denote either a dandy or a coin of small value. There is no evidence to support the folk etymology that posh is formed from the initials of port out starboard home (referring to the more comfortable accommodation, out of the heat of the sun, on ships between England and India).

 

*********Park Lane is a dual carriageway road in the City of Westminster in Central London. It is part of the London Inner Ring Road and runs from Hyde Park Corner in the south to Marble Arch in the north. It separates Hyde Park to the west from Mayfair to the east. The road was originally a simple country lane on the boundary of Hyde Park, separated by a brick wall. Aristocratic properties appeared during the late 18th century, including Breadalbane House, Somerset House, and Londonderry House. The road grew in popularity during the 19th century after improvements to Hyde Park Corner and more affordable views of the park, which attracted the nouveau riche to the street and led to it becoming one of the most fashionable roads to live on in London. Notable residents included the 1st Duke of Westminster's residence at Grosvenor House, the Dukes of Somerset at Somerset House, and the British prime minister Benjamin Disraeli at No. 93. Other historic properties include Dorchester House, Brook House and Dudley House. In the 20th century, Park Lane became well known for its luxury hotels, particularly The Dorchester, completed in 1931, which became closely associated with eminent writers and international film stars. Flats and shops began appearing on the road, including penthouse flats. Several buildings suffered damage during World War II, yet the road still attracted significant development, including the Park Lane Hotel and the London Hilton on Park Lane, and several sports car garages. A number of properties on the road today are owned by some of the wealthiest businessmen from the Middle East and Asia.

 

This beautifully decorated room may not be quite what you think it is. Whilst I know you feel sure you could pick up a teapot or plate, you may need to consider using tweezers, for this whole scene is made up entirely of 1:12 miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The blue and white china you see throughout the room, sitting on shelves and tables, are sourced from a number of miniature stockists through E-Bay, but mostly from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The gild edged Willow Pattern teapot is a hand painted example of miniature artisan, Rachel Munday’s work. Her pieces are highly valued by miniature collectors for their fine details.

 

The round loo table, which can be tilted like a real loo table, is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, and also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. So too did the Georgian corner cabinet with its delicate fretwork and glass shelves.

 

The ladderback chair on the left of the photo is a 1:12 miniature piece I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the right came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney.

 

The wallpaper is an Eighteenth Century chinoiserie design of pagodas and would have been hand painted in its original form.

After stirring the pot yesterday with my opinionated photo rant, today lets get back down to something everyone can agree on: Pregnancy is a wonderful thing. Just wish it didn’t take 9 months to produce a baby. My wife is currently 31w pregnant and would be happy to poop-out an egg and just sit on it for 8 months instead of not being able to sleep, being irritable, having randomly changing diets, morning sickness and a bunch of other issues I dare not talk about in public.

 

They say a pregnant woman “glows”, but we’re finding out that is probably from not being able to shower for a few days in a row. Luckily all the hard work will pay off soon for us, as well as Haley here who I photographed yesterday on the beach with her fiancé.

 

On the eve of the “critical” days, most of us feel worse. Surviving this difficult with the least losses will help you a special power supply system, it fits all: housewives, student, business-woman, and many other women.Fatigue, irritability, tension headaches and frightening...

#DietDuringMenstruation

ustype.com/diet-during-menstruation/

Amethyst is a powerful and protective stone. It guards against psychic attack, transmuting the energy into love and protecting the wearer from all types of harm, including geopathic or electromagnetic stress and ill wishes from others. Amethyst is a natural tranquiliser, it relieves stress and strain, soothes irritability, balances mood swings, dispels anger, rage, fear and anxiety. Alleviates sadness and grief, and dissolves negativity. Amethyst activates spiritual awareness, opens intuition and enhances psychic abilities. It has strong healing and cleansing powers. Amethyst encourages sobriety, having a sobering effect on overindulgence of alcohol, drugs or other addictions. It calms and stimulates the mind, helping you become more focused, enhancing memory and improving motivation. Amethyst assists in remembering and understanding dreams. It relieves insomnia. Encourages selflessness and spiritual wisdom.

 

Amethyst boosts hormone production, tunes the endocrine system and metabolism. It strengthens the immune system, reduces pain and strengthens the body to fight against cancer. It destroys malignant tumours and aids in tissue regeneration. Cleanses the blood. Relieves physical, emotional and psychological pain or stress. Amethyst eases headaches and releases tension. It reduces bruising, swellings, injuries, and treats hearing disorders. Amethyst heals diseases of the lungs and respiratory tract, skin conditions, cellular disorders and diseases of the digestive tract.

 

It's the birthstone for those born in February. Although I am a Pisces March gal I always have loved the amethyst stone so I picked this one up eons ago just because it made me smile. The added "powers" it is said to have ... well those are just a bonus in my mind :)

Dr. Virginia Apgar (1909 – 1974) was an American physician and medical researcher. She is best known as the inventor of the Apgar score, a way to quickly assess the health of a newborn child immediately after birth to combat infant mortality.

 

Here’s a 4-minute biographical video:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=umJcqEpN1K8

 

This collage is a composite of two photos; both obtained from the National Library of Medicine.

 

Photo #1:

rmp.nlm.nih.gov/spotlight/cp/catalog/nlm:nlmuid-101584647...

 

Title: Virginia Apgar demonstrating Apgar score

Creator: The National Foundation-March of Dimes

Date: [1959]

Description:

Apgar holds a newborn baby upside-down to test its reflexes, as part of an Apgar evaluation, at Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center. Reflex irritability--in response to tickling the nostrils or gently slapping the feet--is one of the five Apgar score criteria.

Original Repository:

Mount Holyoke College. Archives and Special Collections. L. Stanley James Papers [MS 0782]

Rights:

Reproduced with permission of the March of Dimes.

Legacy Source Citation:

Original Repository. Mount Holyoke College. Archives and Special Collections. L. Stanley James Papers [MS 0782]. 12231. Free Text. Box 3, Folder 3: Of Apgar ca. 1920-1974

NLM ID:

101584647X51

Shareable Link:

profiles.nlm.nih.gov/101584647X51

Story Section:

Obstetric Anesthesia and a Scorecard for Newborns, 1949-1958

  

Photo#2:

rmp.nlm.nih.gov/spotlight/cp/catalog/nlm:nlmuid-101584647...

 

Title: Apgar scoring form and clipboard

Date: [ca. October 1970]

Description:

During the 1960s, Resuscitation Laboratories manufactured standard scoring forms for recording Apgar scores, and clipboards with built-in timers, for hospital use.

Original Repository:

Mount Holyoke College. Archives and Special Collections. Virginia Apgar Papers [MS 0504]

Rights:

Courtesy of Mount Holyoke College.

Legacy Source Citation:

Original Repository. Mount Holyoke College. Archives and Special Collections. Virginia Apgar Papers [MS 0504]. 12223

NLM ID:

101584647X42

Shareable Link:

profiles.nlm.nih.gov/101584647X42

Story Section:

Second Career: The National Foundation-March of Dimes, 1959-1974

ROMA ARCHEOLOGIA E RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA. Italy, looking to lift lockdown starting May 4, considers advice from scientists, economists and psychiatrists. THE WASHINGTON POST (23/04/2020). Foto: Children play football on the streets of Rome. Italy (04/2020).

 

ROME - Italy in the coming days is expected to map out the specifics of how it might emerge from the West's longest lockdown, and it is considering measures that would fundamentally alter how people commute, work, vacation and think about their privacy.

 

Though many countries across Europe are trying to gradually reopen for business, the path in Italy is particularly perilous. There is uncertainty, even now, about how widely the novel coronavirus has spread among the population. And while some nations averted the worst-case scenario, in Italy the virus arrived with the force of a historic crisis, leaving the country to contend not just with economic pain but also with a sharp sense of loss, mourning and fear.

 

Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte said Italy’s emergence from lockdown — what he has called Phase II — is likely to begin May 4. Conte wrote in a Facebook post that although he wished he could just reopen “everything,” doing so would be irresponsible.

 

He called for a “serious, scientific program.”

 

The myriad task forces advising the government on Phase II include not just epidemiologists and health policy experts but also economists and psychiatrists.

 

“It’s not by chance that you use the same word, ‘depression,’ both economically and existentially,” said Fabrizio Starace, a psychiatrist on one task force. “We can expect an increase of conditions like anxiety, irritability, insomnia, relational problems. The fantasy everyone is entertaining is that of a return to normalcy. Clearly our gradual recovery won’t match normalcy.”

 

Experts advising the government, in interviews this week, described a society that will bear little resemblance to the one that existed before the outbreak, at least until there is a vaccine or reliable medical treatment.

 

“We need to rethink development, production, the speed of our lives, our lifestyles,” said Filomena Maggino, an adviser to Conte and a member of a Phase II task force.

 

Whereas Denmark, France and others in Europe are moving to reopen their schools first, advisers in Italy have recommended starting with businesses — only the ones least at risk. It remains unclear when schools or restaurants might reopen, or businesses that bring people close together, such as hairdressers and gyms.

 

Even a limited and tentative reopening of society will require dramatic changes, the advisers say. Mask-wearing will be encouraged until there is a vaccine or medical treatment. Once ordinary aspects of daily life, such as rush hour, must be reconsidered, they say, to reduce crowding on metros and buses.

 

“Companies may decide that shifts should be on a 12-hour basis. Or they start seven-day production time,” said Ranieri Guerra, a World Health Organization assistant director-general who is advising the Italian Health Ministry. “Public transport is obviously a potential source of infection.”

 

Though many of the details are still up for consideration, Italy’s workplace safety agency outlined its conditions for businesses to reopen and said companies would need to redraw factory floors to keep employees apart and ban face-to-face meetings. The document, published by the Corriere della Sera, also said companies should check the body temperature of anybody who enters.

 

Paolo Vineis, a Turin-based epidemiologist who is advising the government, said he was less worried about industries, which are “pretty well organized,” than he was about the general public.

 

For instance, he said, parents compelled to return to work may have limited options for child care while schools remain closed. Children may be left in the care of their grandparents — an especially vulnerable population — with parents risking infecting everyone when they return in the evenings.

 

In recent days, Italian media have carried stories theorizing how the months ahead could unfold. They’ve floated the idea of tighter restrictions on movement for the elderly and suggested ways in which Italians could carry on with summer beach vacations: with umbrellas spaced out and reservations required in advance. Newspapers have even run celebratory headlines mentioning the simple fact that, come May 4, outdoor walks will be allowed.

 

There will also be tighter surveillance, in the form of a contact-tracing app that uses Bluetooth technology. If people go to a museum, for instance, and come in contact with a person soon found to have the virus, they will receive a phone notification informing them that they might have been exposed.

 

Some Italians have voiced concern about privacy and security issues. Conte has emphasized the app is voluntary. But experts say 60 percent of people need to be using it for it to have much utility. A similar app in Austria has seen relatively limited uptake.

 

Even if the app is widely used in Italy, controlling future outbreaks will require an army of on-the-ground contact tracers to identify, test and isolate people who might have been exposed.

 

Pier Luigi Lopalco, an epidemiologist at the University of Pisa, said that in some regions, Italy doesn’t yet have the manpower.

 

“The app is not functioning alone,” Lopalco said. “You still need people to identify the case, make the control, to go to the home and do the testing.”

 

The greatest concern is that, as restrictions are eased, the virus could come roaring back — or that it could spread undetected if parts of the population aren’t being rigorously tested. That is what has happened in Singapore, where the cases spiked as the virus spread among migrant workers.

 

Experts said they could imagine a scenario in which future lockdowns in Italy are limited to one region or another, with thresholds set based on the risk to local hospitals. That would leave the poorer south with less leeway. On a per capita basis, some northern regions have four times the number of intensive care beds that Sicily does.

 

Italy ordered its nationwide lockdown six weeks ago, and the measures — which include closures and limits on people leaving their municipality — have succeeded in slowing the spread of the virus. This week, for the first time during the outbreak, Italy reported that the number of ongoing coronavirus cases was declining. Still, more than 25,000 people have died of the virus, the highest toll in Europe.

 

The virus has also taken a serious economic toll. Italy is likely to see its steepest recession since World War II.

 

For some, the thirst to return to normal is intense. This week, textile companies in Tuscany threatened to defy the government and reopen before the lockdown was lifted.

 

Roberto Rosati, 61, who owns one of those textile companies, said businesses were losing out on seasonal orders. His company was already stocked with face masks, gloves and scanners to measure employees’ temperatures, he said. Workers would be stationed at “astronomical” distances from one another. And yet, he said, bureaucratic hurdles were preventing the reopening — and threatening the future of his business.

 

“This will kill us,” he said of the stoppage. “We aren’t asking for money. We’ve been screaming since March to let us work.”

 

Fonte / source:

---THE WASHINGTON POST (23/04/2020).

www.washingtonpost.com/world/europe/italy-coronavirus-pha...

 

Foto / fonte / source:

--- ROMA ARCHEOLOGIA e RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: #NataleDiRoma #21Aprile Buon compleanno Roma! Oggi celebriamo i 2771 anni della fondazione della Città Eterna. Colombaie | FLICKR & VIRGINIA RAGGI | TWITTER (21-23/04/2018).

rometheimperialfora19952010.wordpress.com/2018/04/27/roma...

Character Publication History

 

Quicksilver (Pietro Maximoff) is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics. The character first appeared in the comic book The Uncanny X-Men #4 (March 1964) and was created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. The character has since starred in two self-titled limited series and has historically been depicted as a regular team member in the superhero title The Avengers.

 

Quicksilver has the superhuman ability to move at great speeds. In most depictions, he is a mutant, a human born with innate superhuman powers. In comic book stories beginning in 2015, he is the product of genetic experimentation by the High Evolutionary.

 

Quicksilver most commonly appears in fiction associated with the X-Men, having been introduced as an adversary for the superhero team. In later stories, he became a superhero himself. He is the twin brother of the Scarlet Witch and, in most depictions, the son of Magneto and a Sinti woman Magda, and the older half-brother of Polaris.

 

Debuting in the Silver Age of comic books, Quicksilver has featured in several decades of Marvel continuity, starring in the self-titled series Quicksilver and as a regular team member in superhero title the Avengers.

 

The character has also appeared in a range of movie, television, and video game adaptations. Two separate live-action versions of Quicksilver have been adapted by two different film studios: Aaron Taylor-Johnson portrayed the character in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) franchise, appearing in Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) as a cameo and Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) while Evan Peters portrayed him in the 20th Century Fox films X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014), X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) and Dark Phoenix (2019), as well as a cameo in Deadpool 2 (2018). Peters later appeared as an imposter Pietro in the MCU television series WandaVision (2021), as a nod to his past role.

 

Publication history

 

Quicksilver first appears in X-Men #4 (March 1964) and was created by writer Stan Lee and artist/co-writer Jack Kirby. The character initially appears as an antagonist to the X-Men, although before long he becomes a member of the Avengers and appears as a regular character in that title beginning with The Avengers #16 in May 1965.

 

He has made numerous other appearances in that title, and other related titles, sometimes as a member of the team, sometimes as an ally, and sometimes as an antagonist.

 

From 1991 to 1993 Quicksilver was a regular character in the first volume of X-Factor. The series emphasized the character's irritability and arrogance, which writer Peter David felt were a natural consequence of his powers, explaining:

 

Have you ever stood in the post office behind a woman with 20 packages who wants to know every single way she can send them to Africa? It drives you nuts! You think to yourself, "Why do I have to put up with this? These people are so slow, they're costing me time, and it's so irritating. I wish I didn't have to put up with this."

 

Now—imagine that the entire world was like that... except for you. ... to Quicksilver, as he said in an issue of Amazing Spider-Man many, many moons ago, the rest of the world is moving in slow motion. That must really, really get on your nerves.

 

Quicksilver lives in a world filled with people who don't know how to use cash machines, and want to know all the ways to send packages to Africa, and can never get your order right in a Burger King unless you repeat it several times. That would tend to make you feel very superior to everyone and very impatient with everyone.

 

Quicksilver also starred in Quicksilver, a regular ongoing eponymous series that began in November 1997 and ran for 13 issues.

 

The character also played a pivotal role in the House of M and Avengers: The Children's Crusade.

 

Quicksilver appeared as a supporting character in Avengers Academy from issue #1 (August 2010) through its final issue #39 (January 2013).

 

He appears as one of the members of All-New X-Factor, which was launched in 2014 as part of the second Marvel NOW! wave. Writer Peter David's handling of the character in that book earned the character a 2014 @ssie award from Ain't It Cool News. AICN's Matt Adler commented that David writes the character best and that the "arrogant, impatient speedster" made the title worth following.

 

Fictional Character Biography and Major Story Arcs

 

Origin

 

Pietro and his twin sister Wanda (Scarlet Witch)* always assumed that they were the children of the gypsy couple that raised them, Django and Marya Maximoff. They did not know that they had been adopted. In fact, they were born on Wundagore Mountain to a woman only known as Magda, a woman on the run from her husband who had "become a monster".

 

She appeared at the house of Bova, the midwife to the High Evolutionary, heavily pregnant and stayed for a few weeks until she gave birth. She then immediately fled into a raging blizzard and was never seen or heard from again. Given her weakened state following delivery, it is assumed that she perished. Whilst at Wundagore Mountain, they were also offered for adoption to the Whizzer when his wife died. He did not accept them, but thought that they were his children.

 

Poor but loved, the twins enjoyed a relatively happy childhood until their family was killed by local villagers angered at Django for stealing food. Using his new found powers, Pietro was able to rescue Wanda. Orphaned, the twins wandered Eastern Europe, constantly on the move as Wanda’s uncontrollable hex powers would draw suspicion from the people around them. One day Wanda accidentally set a house on fire, spurring the locals to attack the twins. Despite his best efforts, Wanda and Pietro were trapped until rescued by Magneto.

 

Feeling that they owed him a debt, they reluctantly joined the Brotherhood Of Evil Mutants. Magneto played on their fear of outsiders and Wanda’s gratitude, but neither twin was comfortable as a terrorist. Pietro always made his disapproval known and repeatedly stated that he stayed only for his sister’s sake. Wanda was more compliant, feeling indebted to Magneto, but was deeply unhappy and often shocked by Magneto’s callous behavior.

 

Whilst in the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, both Toad and Mastermind would often play for Scarlet Witch's feelings, and so Quicksilver would stand between her and them. Unconsciously however, both twins absorbed Magneto’s attitude of mutant superiority, which would occasionally surface form time to time in their lives. When Magneto was taken from Earth by the Stranger, Pietro and Wanda ended their association with the Brotherhood and returned to Europe.

 

New Beginnings

 

When they heard that the Avengers were accepting applicants, they rushed to join, wanting to atone for their past crimes. Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch served honorably with the Avengers for years, though Pietro’s arrogant and distrusting demeanor often made him an outsider in the group, and he would often clash with Hawkeye over which one of them should replace Captain America as a leader.

 

Return to Wundagore Mountain

 

Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch had to leave the Avengers when they lost their powers for a short while, and return to their birthplace. Whilst at Wundagore Mountain, they were telepathically asked by Professor X to join the X-Men so that they could help fight against Factor Three, but the two mutants declared that should they return to America, it would be as Avengers. Upon their return, Quicksilver's powers had somehow increased, as he could now fly for short distances by vibrating his feet at high speeds.

 

Shortly after their return, Quicksilver willingly joined the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants after Scarlet Witch was hit by a bullet, shot by a "mere human". Unknown to Pietro and Wanda, the bullet was being controlled by Magneto. Eventually he calmed down and left the Brotherhood, but instead of rejoining the Avengers he, Wanda and Toad became traveling companions for a while.

 

Since the bullet had erased Wanda's power somehow, the three companions went to Europe, and found a book of spells which they believed could restore Wanda's powers. Instead, the spell summoned Arkon, who wished for Wanda to be his bride. With the help of the Avengers, Wanda was saved, and as her powers had been restored by the dimensional jump between Earth and Arkon's planet, the twins rejoined the Avengers. During this stint with the Avengers, Pietro played a role in the Kree/ Skrull War, and help against Ares. When Wanda fell in love with the android Vision, Pietro protested loudly, refusing to attend their wedding.

 

In the interim, Pietro persued a romantic relationship of his own. After battling Sentinels, Quicksilver was gravely wounded. He was nursed back to health by Crystal, one of the Inhumans. He fell deeply in love with her and the two were married.

 

Korvac Saga

 

During the Korvac saga, Pietro still protested against Wanda's marriage until Moondragon telepathically erased Pietro's prejudice against the android that he accepted the relationship. In an encounter with Django Maximoff, he revealed that Pietro and Wanda were adopted. They traveled to Wundagore Mountain to search for their roots. To their surprise they found Bova, who told them about their birth mother. Their father’s identity, however, remained a mystery, for though Magda was obviously terrified of him, she had never spoken his name.

 

Pietro left the Avengers to live with his wife’s family on the moon in the Inhuman city of Attilan. He served as an officer in their militia. Crystal and Pietro soon had a daughter, Luna, who turned out to be a normal human child. While the Scarlet Witch and the Vision were visiting the happy family on Attilan shortly after Luna’s birth, Magneto arrived.

 

Turned from his path of terrorism, he too had been on a quest to his past trying to retrace the last steps of his missing wife. Thinking him nothing more than an innocent traveler, Bova had also told Magneto Magda’s story and unwittingly informed him that he was the father of the very youths he had manipulated and browbeaten in the Brotherhood. He had immediately rushed to Attilan to inform the twins who were shocked. While Wanda was confused and unsure, Pietro was appalled. He rejected Magneto outright. While Magneto was in his reform period, he earned Pietro’s tentative respect, but not his acceptance. When Magneto returned to terrorism, Pietro hated him all the more.

 

The First Fall

 

Naturally arrogant, impatient, and of a jealous temperament, Pietro left Attilan when he discovered that Crystal had had an affair. He soon began behaving very irrationally, going insane to the point he tried to frame the Avengers for treason and proclaimed himself King of all the Mutants. When X-Factor finally captured him and returned him to Attilan, it was discovered that Pietro’s insanity had been caused by the Inhuman Maximus The Mad.

 

When Magneto attempted to manipulate the Scarlet Witch in her grief over the loss of her husband, Pietro was able to use this period of insanity as a cover to stay close by his sister’s side. After helping to rescue her from both Magneto and Immortus, Pietro remained on earth.

 

Hero Once Again and X-Factor

 

Quicksilver would spend time working with the government sponsored mutant group X-Factor. Luna was kidnapped by Fabian Cortez, who wanted to use Luna as a symbol of Magneto’s sovereignty and as a human shield. Rushing to her rescue, Pietro encountered Crystal and the Avengers. They were successful in rescuing their daughter, though Pietro almost sacrificed his life in a fight with Exodus in the process.

 

Pietro left X-Factor and remained in close contact with the Avengers, though he refused to officially join until his romantic rival for Crystal’s affection, The Black Knight, left. Pietro strove to reconcile with Crystal and the two were beginning to create a family again when Crystal was lost with many other heroes in a pocket universe in the events of Onslaught. Pietro remained in loose association with the X-Men for a time, his main concern to care for his daughter.

 

Upon hearing that Exodus and the Acolytes were planning an assault on the High Evolutionary’s citadel, Pietro joined the Knights of Wundagore and he and Luna lived there for a time. While he was there, Pietro was exposed to Isotope E, a material with enhanced his powers of speed to a great degree.

 

Genosha

 

Sending Luna to Crystal, Pietro joined Magneto’s cabinet when the U.N. granted him rule over Genosha following the events of the Magneto War. Pietro still resented and distrusted Magneto a great deal, but felt he had to stay in order to ensure Magneto’s policies did not become too tyrannical. Eventually, he rebelled and Magneto threw him out of the country. He snuck back in with Polaris to help the human underground, but was eventually caught and deported again.

 

House of M

 

Pietro was vacationing, “reading a book”, when the Scarlet Witch went insane and attacked the Avengers, killing three of them including her husband. While the Avengers and X-Men met with Professor X and Doctor Strange to discuss Wanda’s fate. Pietro became convinced that the assembled group was going to kill her and rushed to Genosha and begged for Magneto’s aid. Defeated and out of options, Magneto could not think of what to do.

 

Pietro then convinced the Scarlet Witch to remake the world into the House of M reality in which everyone had their fondest wishes granted. Most importantly their father, who received the global power he had long desired over a world in which the mutant population was the ascending majority. Pietro served his father as a loyal prince. When the deception was revealed, Magneto went into a terrible rage, beating Pietro to death. Wanda restored her brother to life, but then took his power away with 99% of the mutant population when she uttered the fatal phrase “No more mutants.”

 

Son of M and X-Factor

 

Depowered and suicidal, Crystal brought Pietro to Attilan to recover. After he did, Pietro snuck into the Terrigen Mists chamber to regain his powers. Instead, he received the ability to travel in time. He stole pieces of the Terrigen crystals and he exposed Luna to them repeatedly, granting her empathic abilities. He then proclaimed himself a “Savior” of mutant kind, setting up shop in Mutant Town and promising to restore the powers of the mutants who had lost theirs on M-Day.

 

What he did not inform his clients however, was that the crystals did not restore mutant powers safely and many people died as a result of Pietro’s “treatments”. The Inhumans visited Quicksilver in order to reclaim the crystals, but Pietro revealed that he had worked with the crystals so much, they became embedded in his skin.

 

At that time, Crystal told Quicksilver that their marriage was annulled. After several deaths, Rictor used his temporarily restored powers to eject the crystals from Pietro body, depowering him once again. Pietro later saved Layla Miller from drowning, because he planned on killing her himself, for being the cause of the their downfall in the House of M. Layla later escaped when Pietro became hesitant about killing her.

 

After his fight with Layla Miller, Pietro was found unconscious in Central Park. Not knowing who he was, the police threw Pietro in general lock up where he experienced a series of hallucinations: His sister, his father, his wife and child, and Layla Miller who explained that Pietro had hit rock bottom and hinted that he was still a mutant.

 

From the windows of the prison Pietro observed a woman in the process of being pushed off a roof by her boyfriend. Using his super speed, broke out of prison and saved her, coming to terms with the his past villainous acts and looking forward to a better future.

 

The Rise of Chthon

 

After being taken prisoner by Modred the Mystic, Quicksilver's body was offered up as a vessel to the demonic Elder God Chthon and was completely overtaken by him. Thanks to the Scarlet Witch who was really Loki in disguise, and Hank Pym's Mighty Avengers, Chthon was exorcised from Quicksilver's body.

 

Once An Avenger

 

After aiding Hank Pym's Avengers in taking down Chthon, he helped them with a number of threats including Swarm and Titan. Pietro proceeded to write off all his recent crimes as having been committed by a Skrull impostor and officially join the team, with the ulterior motive of reuniting with his sister.

 

After helping Pym with his personal war against Reed Richards, the Mighty Avengers came into conflict with the ancient Inhuman emperor, The Unspoken. With the aid of all active avengers, they managed to put an end to the fallen king's mad scheme. Pietro used this as an opportunity to reunite with his ex-wife Crystal and his daughter, Luna, and the Inhumans officially pardon him of any crimes against their race. Unfortunately, Luna is aware that he was not, in fact replaced by a Skrull. She promises, out of love for her father, not to tell anyone, but lets him know that she can never respect him again.

 

Avengers Academy

 

After Norman Osborn’s “Dark Reign” was ended, Hank Pym founded the Avengers Academy to continue training young superhumans that Osborn had recruited under false pretenses. Quicksilver was hired as one of the mentors, since Magneto tried to mold him the same way Osborn tried to mold the Academy’s cadets. In addition to empathizing with their story, Pietro would be passing off the training he got from Captain America. Unfortunately, one of the cadets, Finesse, was able to determine that Pietro was lying about his Skrull double. She used that information to blackmail him into teaching her Magento’s training in addition to Captain America’s.

 

Children’s Crusade

 

After seeing Wiccan make a public spectacle of himself while fighting the Sons of the Serpent, Quicksilver believed Magneto would seek out the Young Avengers to aid him in locating Wanda. He fled to Transia, believing that to be their first step, and he was right. When Pietro attempted to fight his father and rescue the young heroes, they uncovered a Doombot made in Wanda’s likeness and assumed she was a prisoner of Doctor. Doom.

 

Pietro would reluctantly fall in with their plan to sneak into Latveria on a rescue mission, in part, to protect the kids from his father. However, when the Avengers tracked them down, Pietro immediately switched teams. Pietro and the Avengers were unable to stop the Young Avengers from teleporting away with the amnesiac Wanda and helping her get her memories and powers back. Happy to have his sister back, Pietro started to defend her against M-Day allegations after Doom admitted to manipulating her.

 

Serval Industries

 

After his half sister, Polaris, started acting out, Pietro kept a close eye on her. When she got a job with Serval Industries running the new X-Factor, Pietro volunteered to join the team, pretending to have a falling out with the Avengers. He was secretly keeping a close eye on her under orders from Havok, Polaris’ ex-boyfriend, who was currently leading the Avengers Unity Squad.

 

Their first mission was to save Fatale, Abyss, and Reaper from a scientist experimenting on them. They had previously been poisoned with terrigen mists by Quicksilver trying to reactivate their mutant abilities. They were not happy to see him, and Fatale later confronted him during a press conference. This inspired Pietro to admit that he lied about being impersonated by a Skrull and took responsibility for his previous actions. His daughter, Luna, was proud of him and began to rebuild their relationship.

 

Pietro’s reports back to the Avengers satisfied Havok. Believing Polaris was finally in a good head space, he invited Pietro back to the Avengers, but Pietro had found the team for him. He wanted to be there for Lorna in a way he failed for Wanda. Unfortunately, Polaris eventually found out that Pietro was originally spying on her. Their relationship never found solid ground after that and Pietro eventually left for the good of the team.

 

True Parentage

 

After a moral compass inversion spell was attempted on the Red Skull, it backfired and affected a number of Avengers, including Scarlet Witch. With Wanda acting out, Pietro reluctantly worked with Magneto to protect her until they could free her from this possession. This required them to enter Latveria where she sought vengeance on Dr. Doom.

 

Seeing her own family protect Doom, Wanda lashes out, casting a spell that targets members of her bloodline. Pietro is nearly killed, but Magneto is unscatched, proving that he had no blood relation to the Maximoff twins. His parentage was a lie, one even Magneto fell for. Soon after, the ghost of Daniel Drumm possessed Wanda to reverse the inversion spell, changing almost everyone back to normal.

 

Together, the twins visited Wundagore Mountain in search of the truth of their parentage. They used a portal to Counter-Earth, where they fell in with The Low Evolutionary, the leader of a rebellion against the High Evolutionary. While fighting alongside him, the twins were eventually brought in front of the High Evolutionary. He explained they were the true offspring of Django and Marya Maximoff, but they were not mutants. They were experimented on by The High Evolutionary, granting them their abilities.

 

They were eventually joined an Avengers Unity Squad that was sent to rescue them.

 

Avengers Unity Squad

 

In the wake of Black Bolt’s terrigen bomb, causing people worldwide with the inhuman gene to suddenly develop superpowers, Captain America rebranded the Avengers Unity Squad to be an Avenger, X-Men, and Inhuman cooperative. Quicksilver stuck with the team after returning from Counter-Earth. He aided them in fights against The Shredded Man, a Hand brainwashed Hulk, and Hank Pym, who was now bonded to Ultron.

 

Their main goal was still to hunt down Red Skull and stop him from using the telepathic abilities he stole from Pr. X's corpse. Unbeknownst to Pietro, he had a run in with Red Skull while responding to an alarm at the old Avengers Mansion. Using his telepathy, Red Skull clouded Pietro's mind from remembering him and left a mental trigger in Pietro's psyche.

 

Using that trigger, he forced Pietro to kidnap his teammates and bring them to him, so Skull could mentally control all of them. Skull forced the Squad to attack New York City. Fortunately, Pietro's teammate, Deadpool, was generally immune to telepathy. After shaking Skull's influence, he stole one of Magneto's psychic blocking helmets and put it on Rogue so that she was freed to fight Skull, saving Pietro and the rest of the Squad.

 

No Surrender

 

When Earth is stolen to be used as a game board by The Challenger and The Grandmaster, the most prominent Avengers are frozen in stasis so as not to interfere. All available Avengers are activated, including Pietro. While Wanda and Doctor Voodoo experimented with magic to release the other heroes from stasis, the release of one caused the stasis to switch to Pietro, thus keeping the same amount of heroes frozen at all times. In this new vulnerable position, Pietro was injured and forced to recover at an auxiliary Avengers HQ.

 

While recovering, Pietro noticed a small ball of light moving so fast that it was imperceptible to anyone without super-speed. Pietro attempted to catch one but failed. He convinced Wanda and Synapse to combine their powers to increase his speed. This finally allowed him to capture the ball of light which freed some of the frozen heroes when Pietro destroyed it. Unfortunately, Pietro was stuck at his advanced speed.

 

Pietro was now isolated in a gray area where time had seemingly stopped. He starts to encounter strange electrical creatures that take on his appearance and start targeting his allies. He defends his friends from these beings but comes to the realization that they were feeding off his running wild emotions. He starts to calm himself, causing most of the double to disappear. However, a final more intelligent double starts to argue and confront Pietro, but Pietro was able to defeat simply by consoling him. This also allowed him to slow down enough to reunite with the Avengers.

 

Empyre

 

When the Cotati, the plant people living on the Moon, decided to target both the Earth and the newly united Kree/Skrull Alliance, Skrull separatists decided to take out the Cotati by blowing up the Earth’s sun and destroying the entire solar system. They would do so using the Pyre, a bomb traditionally used to test the mettle of a new king, which the Kree/Skrull Alliance had in Hulkling. While the Avengers and Fantastic Four did their best to fight the various alien threats, reservists, like Pietro, were called in to deal with incidents on Earth.

 

Pietro was sent to Mexico with Wonder Man and Mockingbird where a platoon of Skrulls and Kree were fighting Cotati soldiers. They attempted to convince them all to put down their weapons and stop fighting in general. When their words didn't work, they forcibly disarmed them and destroyed their weapons.

 

Fall of X

 

Although Krakoa was no home to Pietro following the revelation that he wasn't actually a mutant nor the son of Magneto, he still came to their defense when Captain America reassembled the Avengers Unity Squad. Working out of the old Morlock Tunnels, the team would try defending the world from false flag attacks that Orchis was using to turn opinion against mutantkind, especially a new Mutant Liberation Front, being led by a mysterious villain posing as Captain Krakoa.

 

This new MLF had stolen nuclear weapons, putting the whole world on edge. After tracking the MLF to Camp Lehigh, Cap guessed that the new Captain Krakoa was his Hydra-raised clone, who was now answering to Grant. In addition to the nuke, the clone was gunning for Ben Urich who had witness testimony against Orchis from a non-mutant, Kingpin.

 

Pietro stayed with Rogue looking for the nuclear warhead at Empire State University, while Cap and the others went to protect Urich from Grant. Cap and the others bested Grant and took him into custody, but the warhead was activated. Cap ordered Rogue to get rid of it in orbit, but the ISS was due to pass by New York. Instead, she flew it out to Area 51 to blow it up in the desert, while Quicksilver ran Deadpool to her as fast as he could so she could absorb his healing factor and survive.

 

Blood Hunt

 

When the vampire cult, The Structure, cast a spell that fills the sky with darkforce energy, Pietro is recruited to a backup Avengers squad under Captain America. While the active Avengers deal with the vampire supersoliders, the Bloodcoven, Pietro and the others help on the ground against multiple vampire attacks. There, his new team are abducted by Baron Blood and his vampire Nazis.

 

On Blood's helicarrier base, Cap takes on Baron Blood one on one luring him deeper into the helicarrier while he secretly makes his way to the control room. While he does this, he orders his new Avengers to get any prisoners to the escape pods. Unfortunately, there are more prisoners than escape pods, so these Avengers were forced to continue fighting the vampires. Luckily, Cap made it to the control room and raised the helicarrier above the darkforce and into the sunlight, killing Baron's troops. With the Avengers regrouped by Cap's side, Baron jumps from the ship.

 

The Lesser Twin

 

Wanda and Pietro's relationship is tested when Wanda withholds a final message from Magneto and The Wizard starts manipulating them with the help of his magically enhanced army of drones, the Frightful Four Hundred. The Wizard was sent by The Griever at the End of All Things, which has taken special interest in Wanda. She wanted to separate Wanda from her "lesser twin" who grants her strength.

 

After Wanda's seeming demise, Darcy Lewis, Wanda's friend, walks through The Last Door, a magic portal of Wanda's that brings lost people in need of help. It teleports Darcy to Pietro, so that she can ask his help protecting their local community from The Griever. With some help from his "sister," Polaris, and current girlfriend, M, Pietro fights The Griever to avenge Wanda.

 

Powers and Abilities

 

Quicksilver was at first able to reach the speed of sound, which is about 770 mph, but exposure to the High Evolutionary's Isotope E made it possible for him to run at supersonic speeds of up to Mach 5, about 3805 mph,he once traveled 347 miles in 3.7 seconds (which is MACH 438).

 

Using his super speed, Pietro was able to achieve various effects such as "out running gravity" for short periods, such as running across water or up walls. By running in circles, he could creates whirlwind vortexes of great intensity. He could vibrate his muscles extremely fast, creating destructive effects on anything he touched.

 

⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽

_____________________________

 

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

 

Secret Identity: Pietro Django Maximoff

 

Publisher: Marvel

 

First Appearance: The X-Men #4 (March 1964)

 

Created by: Stan Lee (writer)

Jack Kirby (artist)

 

* Scarlet Witch profiled in BP 2024 Day 348!

www.flickr.com/photos/paprihaven/54202875589/

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 we are still in Mayfair, and only a short distance from Cavendish Mews, out the front of an imposing Palladian style mansion on the grand thoroughfare of Park Lane, opposite Hyde Park. Lettice gulps as she looks up at the cascading layer cake of columns, balustrades, balconies and rows of windows, most shaded from the afternoon sun by striped awnings. At one window not covered by an awning, a maid in her afternoon uniform of black moiré with a lace cap, cuffs and apron gazes out over the street below. Lettice catches her eye and smiles meekly at her, but the maid does not return it, looking both quizzically and critically at her standing on the steps leading up to the front door of the palatial residence, before retreating into the shadows within. Lettice’s heart begins to flutter. For nearly a year Lettice has been patiently awaiting the return of her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wants to end so that she can marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Now Lettice has been invited to tea by Lady Zinnia, and it is the Park Lane mansion belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford that Lettice now stands before. Gulping again, she depresses the button next to the enormous white painted double front doors with black painted knockers. Deep within she can hear a bell ring, announcing her arrival. A tall and imperious looking bewigged footman in splendid Eighteenth Century style livery answers the door.

 

“The Honourable Lettice Chetwynd to see Her Grace.” Lettice says firmly, determined not to betray her nerves at being here.

 

“Is Her Grace expecting you, Miss Chetwynd?” and the footman asks, and when she affirms that she is, he steps aside, ushering her from the golden late afternoon light outside into the cool darkened marble hallway within.

 

Lettice feels that even the sound of her shallow breaths echo noisily off the marble of the lofty entrance hall as she enters it. The grand space is illuminated from skylights in a dome three storeys above, by a grand electrified crystal chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings and by sconces in the ornately carved columns about her. The footman politely asks her to wait whilst he strides silently up the sweeping carpeted spiral staircase with shining ostentatious silver banisters to the upper floors of the mansion. Lettice takes a seat in an elegant, gilded chair. The wine coloured velvet upholstery looks soft and comfortable, but Lettice quickly discovers that it is anything but that, feeling the hard horsehair beneath her as it forces her to sit up more straightly in her seat. “How very Lady Zinnia.” Lettice remarks bitterly as she waits. Somewhere, deep within the bowels of the house, behind one or more sets of tightly closed doors, the muffled sound of a clock chiming four o’clock makes its presence known. Lettice shivers, sighs and hopes that Lady Zinnia will not keep her waiting too long as part of a cruel joke of her own making. A short while later, the footman returns.

 

“Her Grace will see you now, Miss Chetwynd. Please follow me to the Cream Drawing Room.”

 

He leads her up the grand staircase to the second floor and then takes her through a suite of rooms with lofty, vaunted ceilings, polished parquet floors and walls lined with gilded columns. Each room is filled with gilt chairs and sofas upholstered in sumptuous satins and rich velvets, no doubt all as uncomfortable as the salon chair she has recently vacated. The walls of the chambers are hung with paintings of past generations of the Dukes of Walmsford and their families, all of them peering at Lettice with imperious gazes, silently judging her as an outsider by their dark, glazed and cold stares.

 

After what feels like an age to Lettice, they finally they stop before two rich mahogany doors inset with brightly polished brass. The footman knocks loudly upon the door three times.

 

“Miss Chetwynd, Your Grace.” the liveried footman announces as he turns the door handles, opens the doors and steps into the grand Cream Drawing Room with Lettice in his wake.

 

Lettice is awe struck for a moment by the room, which is even grander and more luxuriously appointed than those state rooms and apartments she has walked through thus far. Whether named for the furnishings, or whether the salon was decorated after being given its name, the White Drawing Room is decorated with white wallpaper featuring a very fine white Regency stripe, and the lofty space is full of sofas, chaises and chairs all upholstered in white or cram fabrics. Lettice suspects the pared back wallpaper design has been chosen deliberately, so as not to distract from the many gilt framed paintings hanging on them, not to draw attention away from any of the other fine pieces about the apartment. The furnishings are mostly Regency and show off the wealth of the former Dukes of Walmsford with their ornate gilding on chair arms and backs and table legs. Palladian console tables with marble surfaces featuring caryatids* covered in gold jostle for space with ornate ormolu** decorated Empire display cabinets and pedestals held aloft by swans with long necks. Across every surface and on each shelf in the cabinets stand pieces of porcelain from the Eighteenth Century, reflecting the current Duchess of Walmsford’s taste for mostly French ornaments. Vases, bowls, urns, ginger jars and figurines made by Veuve Perrin***, Limoges**** and Chelsea***** grace French polished mahogany and polished grey marble, each item carefully placed to show it off to its very best, whilst the cabinets burst with full dinner services of Sèrves***** covered in floral designs. The salon is flooded with light from the full length windows that overlook Park Lane, the ample sunlight, even on an autumnal London day creating additional brilliance, and the space is filled with the cloying scent of hothouse roses with cascade in ornate arrangements from some of the Duchess’ more impressive vases. The whole arrangement is designed to impress and intimidate visitors, and it achieves this with Lettice as she enters the room, mustering as much courage as she can to walk like the daughter of a viscount, yet feeling a sham amongst such excessive splendour, which even the King and Queen might well be jealous of.

 

And there, perching daintily on a gold and cream Regency stripe sofa adorned with glittering ormolu next to the crackling fire, sits the current Duchess of Walmsford herself, Lady Zinnia. Arrayed in a rose pink satin frock decorated with ornamental silk flowers, which like everything else around her oozes taste, wealth and status, Lady Zinnia still has the unbreakable steely hardness that sends a shiver down Lettice’s spine as she approaches her. Whilst the pale shade of her frock may not soften her look, it does successfully highlight her flawless pale skin. Several strands of perfect creamy white pearls cascade down the front of her outfit, whilst gold and large pearl droplets hang effortlessly from her lobes. Clusters of diamonds wink amongst her wavy tresses which are all deep blue black, save for the one signature streak of white shooting from her temple and disappearing like a silver trail amongst her darker waves.

 

“Your Grace.” Lettice utters, dropping an elegant and low curtsey before the Duchess.

 

Lady Zinnia’s pale white face with her high cheekbones and joyless calculating dark eyes appraise Lettice coldly as Lettice rises from the polished marquetry floor littered with expensive silk Chinese rugs. She purses her thin lips.

 

“Miss Chetwynd. Right on time.” Lady Zinna remarks as she glances away from Lettice dismissively to the ornate French Rococo clock adorned with porcelain roses sitting in the centre of the mantle. Her eyes dart back to Lettice who now stands before her hostess. “Please, do take a seat.” She indicates with a sweeping movement of her hand which artfully shows off a pearl and winking diamond bracelet at her wrist, to a chair matching the sofa on which she perches which is also drawn up to the fire opposite her.

 

Lettice does as she is bid, and lowers herself gingerly onto the edge of the walnut chair, feeling the smooth, cool metallic surface of the ormolu on the arms beneath her hands as she does. Glancing down she notices that the arms of both her chair and Lady Zinnia’s sofa are supported by gilded sphinxes. Lettice remembers the tutor who was hired at great expense by her father when she was a child to teach her the classics and smiles bitterly as she recalls him teaching her that the sphinx, with its head of a woman, haunches of a lion and wings of a bird is a treacherous and merciless being.

 

“Is something amusing, Miss Chetwynd?” Lady Zinnia asks, her clipped voice slicing the perfumed air between them.

 

“No, Your Grace.” Lettice replies. “I was just thinking, as I look around, how you have set this room in such a way that noting is left to chance. Everything is planned and placed with purpose.”

 

“How very adroit of you, Miss Chetwynd.” the Duchess replies. “But of course, as an interior designer of some moderate success, I should expect nothing less. You have a keen eye.”

 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lettice replies stiffly, allowing the slight cast by the titled woman to go unremarked upon. However as Lettice sits there, she now knows that this is to be tone of their meeting, and she silently seethes that even in defeat, Lady Zinnia will not be gracious.

 

“Now, knowing that in spite of the fact that you come from obscure and unremarkable aristocratic lineage,” Lady Zinnia remarks, eliciting a gasp of outrage from Lettice, much to her delight. “That your parents would have taught you the importance of timeliness,”

 

“Which they have.” Lettuce defends hotly.

 

“Admirably so, Miss Chetwynd. So, I have already ordered tea, coffee and cake for us.” Lady Zinnia indicates to the galleried gold rectangular Rococo tea table which stands between them, like a fortress, upon which sits a silver tea service and a cake plate on which stands a splendid looking Victoria sponge cake dusted with sugar and oozing jam and cream.

 

The Duchess takes up a small silver bell from the side table to her right and gives it two definite rings. The tinkle of the bell, high pitched and remarkably loud for such a dainty bell, pierces the charged, rose scented air between them. Immediately two more footmen in the Duke of Walmsford’s livery, different to the one who showed her upstairs, sweep through the White Drawing Room’s doors and stride across the room. They bow respectfully to Lady Zinnia and then turn in unison and nod their heads in acknowledgement of Lettice, before stopping between the two women, standing side by side in front of the tea table: hands behind their backs and heads lifted slightly, starting straight ahead impassively in complete silence and unmoving, as if they were mechanical and their mechanisms had wound down.

 

“Tea or coffee, Miss Chetwynd?” lady Zinnia asks.

 

“Tea, I think, Your Grace.” she replies.

 

One footman immediately springs to life, as if wound up again, and picks up the stylish silver teapot from the table with his white glove clad hand and pours tea into a dainty floral and gilt edged French porcelain teacup. The other footman takes up the cup and makes the few steps between his position and Lettice, and places the cup and saucer on the low occasional table to the right of her chair. Meanwhile the other footman has poured tea for the Duchess, which is then delivered to her in the same fashion as the tea was delivered to Lettice by the same footman.

 

“That’s a beautiful teapot, if I may say so, Your Grace.” Lettice admits begrudgingly.

 

“You may, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia replies politely. “The set is Georg Jensen********. I bought it just before the war.”

 

The footman who had poured the tea starts slicing the Victoria sponge with a silver knife, whilst the other footman removes the teapot and coffee pot from the small silver tray on which they stand. He then picks up the tray which still holds a dainty milk jug and a sugar basket containing sugar lumps and a pair of silver sugar nips*********.

 

“You’ll forgive me, but I’ve forgotten how you took your tea when we had dinner at the Savoy*********, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

The footman walks over to Lettice, bows slight with a stiff back and holds out the tray to Lettice, in his glove clad hands, allowing her to add her own milk and sugar to suit her own tastes to her beverage.

 

Lettice shudders as she remembers the dinner at the Savoy that Selwyn had organised with her. He had intended it to be a romantic evening for he and Lettice in honour of his birthday. However, when Lettice arrived in the main dining room, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of Lady Zinnia. It was there that Lettice learned about the pact Lady Zinnia had made with her son before packing him off to Durban for a year.

 

“That’s because I didn’t have tea with you that evening, Your Grace.” Lettice replies awkwardly as he drops first one and then a second lump of sugar in her tea, stirring the contents of her cup to dissolve the sugar before adding a small amount of milk.

 

“That’s right! You left directly after the caviar, didn’t you, Miss Chetwynd?” Lady Zinnia smiles cruelly. “You really did miss a fine repast that evening.”

 

“I’ll have to take your word for it, Your Grace.”

 

The footman who cut the cake places a generous slice each onto two dainty floral plates that match the teacups. As the other footman allows Lady Zinnia to help herself to sugar and milk for her tea, he takes up a plate and places it on the table next to Lettice’s teacup and saucer.

 

“I’m not all that hungry, Your Grace.”

 

Lady Zinnia looks up with her hard gaze from her teacup, still holding the now empty sugar nips aloft, seemingly unconcerned that the bowing footman at her side cannot straighten up again until she has replaced them in the bowl. “I seem to remember you saying that at the Savoy too, Miss Chetwynd. I must say, I find a woman who has little appetite rather tiresome, however pretty and charming she may be.” She continues to hold the sugar nips in her hand, suddenly taking great interest in the elegant repousse work*********** on the curved handle as she continues. “You Bright Young Things************ are so tiresome, worrying about being rake thin.”

 

The tray in the bent footman’s hands begins to quiver a little, causing the sugar basket and milk jug to rattle ever so slightly as he strains to maintain his stiff back and bent stance. Lady Zinnia’s eyes flick to him angrily, causing him to make a frightened intake of breath as he tries not to move.

 

“In my day.” Lady Zinnia goes on. “We ate as much as we could muster, and then simply tightened our stays a little more.” She sighs with irritation, and still holding the sugar tongs, pointing them accusingly at Lettice as she adds. “But of course you young flappers have all eschewed your corsets in favour of all those filly undergarments from Paris that have become so much in vogue, haven’t you.”

 

The tray in the footman’s hands tremble again. With a slow, and purposefully languid movement, Lady Zinnia replaces the tongs in the sugar basket and picks up the milk jug, pouring a decent amount into her cup, turning her brackish looking tea an insipid pale brown.

 

Replacing the jug to the tray she turns her attention to the young footman. “Get out!” she hisses through barred white teeth, her breath so forceful in its vehemence that Lettice can see it blows the young man’s fringe out of place.

 

The young footman starts in fright, making the silverware in his hands rattle all the more.

 

“Poole!” Lady Zinnia addresses the other footman.

 

“Yes, Your Grace?” he asks, standing stiffly to attention, his hands quickly placed behind hi back again as he stares ahead of him, rather than at Lady Zinnia.

 

“Poole, see to it that this pathetic excuse for a third footman doesn’t come back until he can serve me in the correct way a Duchess of the Realm should be served, or I’ll have you both reprimanded.” She looks Poole up and down appraisingly, seemingly pleased by his unflappability. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, Your Grace!” Poole replies.

 

“Good!” She returns her attentions to the other footman. “And you! Just be grateful that you are only going to receive a reprimand and dock in your wages, and aren’t thrown out on your ear with no reference.” She pauses as she replaces her cup and saucer on the side table and picks up her cake plate and fork. “I shan’t be so lenient a second time.”

 

“Yes… yes Your Grace.” the footman replies quickly before depositing the silver tray back onto the tea table and joining his companion as the pair make a hasty retreat, far less composed and sleek as their arrival.

 

As the doors are closed behind them, lady Zinnia returns her attentions to Lettice. “Pardon that little…” She pauses and toys with her fork, sticking it into the tip of her sponge cake as she considers her words. “Unpleasantness, Miss Chetwynd. It’s so hard to find decent footmen with proper backbone amongst the pool of domestics available since the end of the war. Standards amongst servants are slipping. I’m sure your parents would agree with me.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, instead taking up her cup and saucer and sipping her tea.

 

Picking up where she had left off before berating her servants, Lady Zinnia continues, “And of course you left your birthday present for Selwyn behind at the Savoy as well. But don’t worry, I made sure to have it put aside for when he returns.”

 

Once again, Lettice does not rise to the Duchess’ bait and bites her tongue rather than replying.

 

Lady Zinnia slices her fork delicately through the light and fluffy Victoria sponge on her plate.

 

“You must despise me, Miss Chetwynd.” she says before slipping a small mouthful between her red painted lips.

 

“No, not at all, your Grace.”

 

“What?” Lady Zinnia replies, her eyes widening in surprise. “Not even a little, Miss Chetwynd? Are you a saint walking upon the earth?”

 

“No, Your Grace.” Lettice replies. “The truth is that I don’t hate you, because I don’t think of you.” she lies, lifting her cup to her lips partly to hide any sign of emotion that might suggest otherwise, and partly to prevent her from saying what she would really like to, to the Duchess.

 

An almost imperceptible ripple runs through Lady Zinnia’s composure and the woman’s thin lips move slightly as she chews, revealing themselves like a bright blood red gash across her perfect, white face. Lettice smiles behind the lip of her cup, knowing that her remark has hit its mark perfectly and irritated her titled hostess.

 

“Oh, I find that hard to believe, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia answers after a momentary pause. “Everyone who meets me, thinks about me. It’s only natural that they should.”

 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but as we don’t move in the same circles, me being so much younger than you,” Lettice replies, determined to show Lady Zinnia up for her almost unbelievable conceitedness. “I must confess I haven’t.”

 

“Oh come now, Miss Chetwynd,” Lady Zinnia scoffs. “Are you telling me that even though it was I, who has separated you and my son and prevented you from seeing him for a year, that you didn’t think of me?”

 

Determined not to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much Lettice has thought of her, she continues her plucky lie to Lady Zinnia. “Indeed no. I have felt Selwyn’s absence over the last year, very keenly. However, it is him I have been thinking of, Your Grace.” She gives Lady Zinnia a dismissive look and crumples her nose up in distaste. “Not you. However, I’ve been busy distracting myself by attending balls and functions to make Selwyn’s absence less obvious.”

 

“Yes, I’ve seen you in the society pages, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“And I’m sure your spies have kept you well informed too, Your Grace.”

 

“My spies!” laughs Lady Zinnia. “My, how you young people develop such fanciful ideas!”

 

Ignoring her remark, Lettice goes on, Tthen of course I have had my work to keep me occupied as well.”

 

“Ah yes!” Lady Zinnia acknowledges. “You’ve done some work for Gladys Caxton, I believe. Her ward’s flat here in London if I’m not mistaken.”

 

“Indeed, Your Grace. And I’ve designed a room for the wife of the godson of Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, at Arkwright Bury in Wiltshire.”

 

“Oh yes, Miss Chetwynd. My sources,” she emphasises the last word to draw Lettice’s attention to her choice of words. “Tell me that I am to expect a most favourable article about it by Henry Tipping****** in Country Life******* this month.”

 

“As I said, Your Grace,” Lettice replies. “Your spies keep you well informed as to the comings and goings in my life.”

 

The two women fall into an awkward silence again.,,,,,,,

 

“Anyway, the year of separation you have enforced upon Selwyn and I is almost at an end, without incident,” Lettice dares to say as her boldness grows. “And I am very much looking forward to seeing your son returned from Durban, and arranging for the formal announcement of our engagement.”

 

The Duchess doesn’t say anything.

 

“I imagine that is why you have summoned me here today. To concede defeat?” Lettice allows herself a triumphant smile. “After a year of enforced separation, one during which both of us have held to your wish that we not correspond with one another, Selwyn is returning to me and we will pick up just as we left off.” A thought comes into her head. “You might even consider giving me back the book I left at the Savoy. After all, it is my gift to give Selwyn, not yours, Your Grace.”

 

The stony silence and scrutinising stare Lettice receives in return unnerves her. She wonders what on earth is going on inside the mind behind those cold and dark eyes. However, she doesn’t have long to wait as the Duchess picks up her silver bell again, this time giving it three definite rings: two short ones and one long one, rather like a signal. She deposits the bell back on the table and takes another mouthful of cake. Her tongue darts out of her bitter mewl of a mouth and snatches up a crumb of cake that has lodged itself on her bottom lip.

 

The door to the White Drawing Room is suddenly opened again, by Poole the footman, and in bustles a woman in a smart printed cotton frock of sprigged flowers with a pale pink silk cardigan worn over the top of the bodice. Glass beads jangle about her throat, glinting in the light as she moves towards the two seated ladies. As Lettice expects, as the woman draws closer, she can see that she is quite plain looking. Lettice considers that it is likely that all the females on the Duchess’ household staff will be quite plain, to avoid any light being drawn away from the titled woman herself. The woman appears middle aged and has her straight, mousey brown hair tied in a neat chignon at the back of her neck. She approaches the Duchess and drops her a deep, respectful curtsey before rising, never releasing a buff coloured card folder that she hugs over her chest.

 

“Your Grace, you rang?” she asks in a soft, pleasant and well educated voice, which reminds Lettice a little of one of her less favourite nannies when growing up.

 

“Miss Chetwynd, may I present Miss Carroway, my Secretary.” Lady Zinnia announces.

 

“Carroway, Miss Chetwynd.” She sweeps her well manicured hand out in the direction of where Lettice sits.

 

Miss Carroway turns her head and looks towards Lettice with soft brown and kind eyes. “How do you do, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“How do you do, Miss Carroway.” Lettice replies, a little perplexed as to why Lady Zinnia has summoned her secretary.

 

“Do you have it, Carroway?” Lady Zinnia asks.

 

“Right here, Your Grace.” She releases her arms from around her and relinquishes the thin buff folder to her employer.

 

Lady Zinnia puts aside her slice of cake, accepts the proffered folder, opens it and looks at the contents inside. Her hands skim over whatever is inside, whilst her eyes flit over it quickly.

 

“I think you’ll find everything is in order, Your Grace.”

 

“Yes,” Lady Zinnia remarks rather distractedly as she continues to inspect the contents.

 

“Will that be all, Your Grace?” Miss Carroway asks.

 

“Yes, thank you, Carroway.” Lady Zinnia replies with a dismissive shallow wave, as though shaking something irritable from her left hand.

 

Miss Carroway retreats quickly and as she approaches the doors, Poole opens them again for her from outside and closes them behind her after she has scuttled out.

 

“What’s this then?” Lettice asks once the doors as closed again.

 

“This, my dear Miss Chetwynd, is what I summoned you here today to speak of.” Lady Zinnia replies in a very businesslike fashion.

 

“I thought I had come here so that we could discuss Selwyn’s imminent return to England.” Lettice retorts.

 

“And so we will, Miss Chetwynd, but perhaps the conversation may not be quite what you imagined or planned it to be.” she replies enigmatically.

 

“What do you mean, Lady Zinnia?” Lettice asks, the assured smile curling the Duchess’ lips upwards curdling her stomach. “What is in that folder, and how does it concern Selwyn?”

 

“What is in this folder pertains to you both, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia replies, the smile, cold and unfriendly, broadening on her face. “You see, as you have noted, my sources,” Once again she emphasises her choice of words. “Are spread far and wide, and one of my contacts in Durban was approached independently by a very reliable source who had access to and presented him with these.” Lady Zinnia withdraws a dozen pages from the folder and leans forward with them.

 

Lettice leans forward herself and grasps the papers over the tea table before settling back in her seat. Looking at them she sees that they are photos, cut from articles in newspapers, magazines or journals. She cannot help but emit a gasp as she sees Selwyn’s handsome, smiling face peering out from them. It is one of the few times in the last twelve months since she has seen a new photograph of him, with news from Durban society generally not worthy enough to be printed in London newspapers, and the Durban papers impossible to obtain in London. It is then as she spreads them out across her lap, that she notices that aside from Selwyn’s appearance, they all have something else in common.

 

“You see, Miss Chetwynd, what this source provided is photographic proof that when Selwyn comes home, he won’t be returning alone.”

 

Lettice’s head spins as she looks down at the smiling face of a young girl, laughing and cheerful, on Selwyn’s arm in each and every photograph. She looks to be about Lettice’s age, with light coloured hair coiffured into styles using large exotic flowers, dressed in fashionable looking gowns. There are photographs of her standing beside Selwyn, dancing with him, taking with him, and there is even one of the two of them riding horses together, whilst another shows the pair of them in fancy dress costumes: he as Sinbad the Sailor and she as Columbine according to the typed caption printed below.

 

“The young lady in these photos is Kitty Avendale,” Lady Zinnia goes on. “She’s the daughter of an Australian adventurer and thrill seeker turned Kenyan diamond mine owner. The jewels you see her wearing all come from his, by all accounts, very generous diamond mine.” She takes a sip of her tea.

 

Lettice’s mouth suddenly feels very dry.

 

“The output from his mines put the fortunes of the Duke of Walmsford in the shadows.” Lady Zinnia continues. “Mr. Richard Avendale may indeed be richer than the King himself. Of course it’s a bit hard to tell exactly quite how wealthy he is, even with access to some of his business ledgers. He’s a very discreet man: most admirable in an Australian, I must say. Kitty is twenty-three, which I think is also, your age, Miss Chetwynd. She’s Mr. Avendale’s only daughter - indeed his only surviving child - which makes her an heiress of some interest to many young men, but she seems to have tipped her hat towards Selwyn.”

 

Lettice looks at the smiling faces of Selwyn and Kitty in the photos in disbelief.

 

“The… the fact… the fact that they have been photographed together is no proof that Selwyn and Kitty are involved romantically.” Lettice manages to say, albeit without the conviction she hoped for. “If that were the case, I’d be engaged to half the eligible bachelors in London, and a few married men too.”

 

“That’s true,” Lady Zinnia agrees. “But you’ll find that if you feel behind a couple of those photos, the proof of the seriousness of their relationship.”

 

Lettice looks up uncomprehendingly at the Duchess. The older woman indicates with a bejewelled hand for Lettice to feel behind the back of the photographs. As she does, Lettice feels a few have a thin margin of paper folded up behind the bottom of some of them. She picks up one of Selwyn and Kitty posed together holding champagne glasses aloft and folds down the paper.

 

“Mr. Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, and Miss Kitty Avendale, only daughter of diamond mine millionaire Richard Avendale, engaged.” she reads. She lets the paper slip from her fingers into her lap, and blindly scrambles for another one. This one shows Selwyn standing behind a seated Kitty. “Mr. Selwyn Spencely and Miss Kitty Avendale, engaged.” She grasps another, showing Selwyn and Kitty dancing together. “The happy couple.” she reads. She drops it in her lap, unable to read any more as the tears mist her vision as they flood her eyes.

 

“So, there you have it, Miss Chetwynd.” Lady Zinnia says in triumph. “Incontrovertible proof. Selwyn has forsaken you, and forgotten your, foolish dalliance,” She smiles cruelly. “And he’s proposed to a peerless match greater than even I had hoped for.”

 

“No. No, he… No. No.” Lettice begins.

 

“Of course, Bertrand doesn’t mind, now that Pamela has gone against both his and my original plans and gotten herself engaged to that banker’s son, Jonty Knollys.” She sighs. “He may not have a title, or pedigree that Selwyn presented, but he is certainly from a wealthy family, so she could have done worse for herself.”

 

“No. No! No!” Lettice stammers in disbelief as the tears fall from her eyes, creating wet splotches on the newspaper clippings.

 

“And you, my dear Miss Chetwynd,” Lady Zinna rises from her seat elegantly. “You can still make a suitable match: one with a man more befitting your station, such as a viscount, or earl’s son, and all this nonsense you’d planned with Selwyn will all be swept under the carpet and quickly forgotten about.” She smiles piteously at the crumpled form of Lettice collapsed and tearful on the chair before her. “You’re young and pretty, and have a good enough lineage that will have country squires lining up to accept your hand. Give up this London life and move to the country near your parent’s estate, and you’ll soon forget Selwyn.”

 

Just at that moment, the clock on the mantle chimes the three quarter hour prettily.

 

“Goodness!” Lady Zinnia exclaims. “Is that the time? I’m so sorry, but this rather difficult conversation took a little longer than I imaged that it would, Miss Chetwynd. I’m afraid I really must go and get dressed. It’s awfully tiresome, but I’m having luncheon with the Queen today, and well, you can’t refuse a royal invitation can you? Would you excuse me?”

 

Without waiting for a response, the Duchess turns on her heels and walks towards the doors of the White Drawing Room, her heels sinking into the luxurious silk carpet.

 

As she starts to walk on the bare parquet floor, her Louis heels announcing to the footman outside of her approach, she pauses and turns back. “You may stay here as long as you need to, Miss Chetwynd, and when you feel composed enough to leave, then Poole will show you out. Have some more tea. There’s plenty left in the pot. I find tea in a crisis always helps.”

 

As Lettice cries piteously, her sobs echoing around the well-appointed White Drawing Room, Lady Zinnia quietly instructs her footman before slipping away. The doors close behind her, and Lettice is left alone to weep and wail and process this seismic shift in everything she has been planning for, for the last year.

 

*A caryatid is a sculpted female figure serving as an architectural support taking the place of a column or a pillar supporting an entablature on her head. The Greek term karyatides literally means "maidens of Karyai", an ancient town on the Peloponnese. Caryatids are sometimes called korai (“maidens”). Similar figures, bearing baskets on their heads, are called canephores (from kanēphoroi, “basket carriers”); they represent the maidens who carried sacred objects used at feasts of the gods. The male counterparts of caryatids are referred to as atlantes.

 

**Ormolu is the gilding technique of applying finely ground, high-carat gold–mercury amalgam to an object of bronze, and objects finished in this way. The mercury is driven off in a kiln, leaving behind a gold coating. The French refer to this technique as "bronze doré"; in English, it is known as "gilt bronze". The technique was banned in the Nineteenth Century on account of its toxicity.

 

***Veuve Perrin was a factory in Marseille, France, that manufactured Faïence wares between 1748 and 1803.

 

****Limoges porcelain is hard-paste porcelain produced by factories in and around the city of Limoges, France. Beginning in the late Eighteenth Century, Limoges was produced but the name Limoges does not refer to a particular manufacturer. By about 1830 Limoges, which was close to the areas where suitable clay was found, had replaced Paris as the main centre for private porcelain factories, although the state-owned Sèvres porcelain near Paris remained dominant at the very top of the market. Limoges has maintained this position to the present day.

 

****Chelsea porcelain is the porcelain made by the Chelsea porcelain manufactory, the first important porcelain manufactory in England, established around 1743–45, and operating independently until 1770, when it was merged with Derby porcelain. It made soft-paste porcelain throughout its history, though there were several changes in the "body" material and glaze used. Its wares were aimed at a luxury market, and its site in Chelsea, London, was close to the fashionable Ranelagh Gardens pleasure ground, opened in 1742.

 

*****The Manufacture nationale de Sèvres is one of the principal European porcelain factories. It is located in Sèvres, Hauts-de-Seine, France. It is the continuation of Vincennes porcelain, founded in 1740, which moved to Sèvres in 1756. It has been owned by the French crown or government since 1759. Its production is still largely based on the creation of contemporary objects today. It became part of the Cité de la céramique in 2010 with the Musée national de céramique, and since 2012 with the Musée national Adrien Dubouché in Limoges.

  

******Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

*******Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

********Georg Arthur Jensen was a Danish silversmith and founder of Georg Jensen A/S (also known as Georg Jensen Sølvsmedie). Jensen made his first piece of jewelry in 1899, a silver and silver and gilt "Adam and Eve" belt buckle. In 1901, Jensen abandoned ceramics and began again as a silversmith and designer with the master, Mogens Ballin. This led Jensen to make a landmark decision, when in 1904, he risked what small capital he had and opened his own little silversmithy at 36 Bredgade in Copenhagen. Jensen's training in metalsmithing along with his education in the fine arts allowed him to combine the two disciplines and revive the tradition of the artist craftsman. Soon, the beauty and quality of his Art Nouveau creations caught the eye of the public and his success was assured. The Copenhagen quarters were greatly expanded and before the end of the 1920s, Jensen had opened retail in Berlin (1909), London (1921), and New York City (1924). The New York retail store, Georg Jensen Inc. (New York, NY), was founded and operated independently as a family business by Frederik Lunning, a successful salesman of Georg Jensen products first in Odense, then in Copenhagen. The first store, 1924-1935, was incorporated as Georg Jensen Handmade Silver, followed in 1935-1978 by the large Fifth Avenue department store selling many goods aside from Jensen silver, incorporated as Georg Jensen Inc

 

*********Sugar tongs, also known as sugar nips, are small serving utensils used at the table to transfer sugar pieces from a sugar bowl to a teacup. The tongs appeared at the end of the Seventeenth Century, and were very popular by 1800, with half of the British households owning them.

 

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

 

***********Repoussé from the French, meaning “pushed back,” refers to any type of ornamentation in which the design is raised in relief on the reverse or interior side of the metal material at hand.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The Victoria sponge (named after Queen Victoria) on the pedestal cake plate and its slices on the plates are made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America. The silver tea service on its galleried tray are made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

The gilt Empire suite with its crem and gold striped upholstery, the gilt galleried central tea table, the Regency corner cabinet, the Regency gilt swan round side tables and matching swan pedestals are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The Palladian console tables at the back to the left and right of the photograph, with their golden caryatids and marble was commissioned by me from American miniature artisan Peter Cluff. Peter specialises in making authentic and very realistic high quality 1:12 miniatures that reflect his interest in Georgian interior design. His work is highly sought after by miniature collectors worldwide. This pair of tables are one-of-a-kind and very special to me.

 

The elegant ornaments that decorate the surfaces of Lady Zinnia’s palatial Cream Drawing Room very much reflect the Eighteenth Century and early Nineteenth Century spirit of the room.

 

On the centre of the mantlepiece stands a Rococo carriage clock that has been hand painted and gilded with incredible attention to detail by British 1:12 miniature artisan, Victoria Fasken. The clock is flanked by a porcelain pots of yellow, white and blue petunias which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

Next to them stand two porcelain vases of pink and white asters which have been made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. All the pieces in the corner cabinet in the background are also made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik. The pieces comprise two different 1:12 miniature dinner and tea sets. The vase containing the pink roses on the console table to the right of the photo is also a M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik piece, as is the vase closest to us on the round side table to the left of the photo, the two large lidded urns on the swan pedestals, the pedestal cake plate on which the Victoria sponge stands, and Lettice’s and the Duchess’ cups and plates.

 

Also standing on the mantlepiece are two miniature diecast lead Meissen figurines: the Lady with the Canary and the Gentleman with the Butterfly, hand painted and gilded by me.

 

The painted fruit bowl on the right-hand console table has been painted by miniature artisan Rachel Munday. Her pieces are highly valued by miniature collectors for their fine details.

 

The remaining vases you see around the room are all miniature Limoges vases from the 1950s and 1960s. They all feature small green Limoges marks to their bottoms.

 

The Regency style fireplace , the black painted hearth and fire surround I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The pink and yellow roses were made by hand by the team at Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

All the paintings around Lady Zinnia’s Cream Drawing Room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The striped wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

 

The Georgian style rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

Are you guys tired of Indy images yet? I have a few more I'd like to show you. This is one of them.

 

To be completely truthful: I couldn't care less about car racing. During the race, I was sitting in the stands feeling my butt go numb, watching cars go round and round. It was slightly more interesting than a trip to Wal-Mart (I have this notion that your IQ drops six points each time you go into that store...but that's another story) but a LOT louder.

 

The actual race which was ninety plus fricking laps around the track. I watched for as long as I could...about twenty minutes. The guy who started in first, finished in first. I tried to tell myself I could get excited about this.

 

Taking pictures from the stands sucks. There is always someone with a large hat in the way...or someone sauntering directly into your frame. So, I took my camera and went onto the grounds.

 

But I have been to the Indy every year for the last four years. Why?

 

THE PEOPLE are SO DARN INTERESTING!

 

There are pictures everywhere...interesting people doing interesting things. There's speed and beautiful girls and beer. There's noise and smoke (from the cars) and sun.

 

Take this driver, for example.

 

He's seconds away from getting into his car.

 

There was a second -- just a second of complete intensity when he was putting his helmet on. He stood like this for about the same amount of time it takes me to draw a breath...and a few seconds later he was in his car, tearing out of the pits like a guy with irritable bowel syndrome six miles away from the nearest bathroom.

 

See why I love the Indy?

The family went to Newport Aquarium yesterday for Abigail's birthday. It was packed with people, I felt like screaming (large, confined crowds make me anxious and irritable -- to the point of wanting to punch small rodents in the face). Elliott felt somewhat like me; but he had a few moments of solace.

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 we are a short distance from Cavendish Mews, in the nearby upper-class suburb of Belgravia where Lettice is paying an unexpected call on Lady Gladys Caxton at her Regency terrace in Eaton Square*. Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate Phoebe’s small Bloomsbury pied-à-terre** in Ridgmount Gardens. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in Ridgmount Gardens. Lady Gladys felt that the pied-à-terre was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lady Gladys arranged for Lettice to inspect the flat, Lettice quickly became aware of Lady Gladys’ ulterior motives as she overrode the rather mousy Pheobe and instructed Lettice to redecorate everything to her own instructions and taste, whist eradicating any traces of Pheobe’s parents. Reluctantly, Lettice commenced on the commission which is nearing its completion. However earlier today Pheobe came to visit the flat whilst Lettice was there, and with a little coercion, Pheobe shared what she really felt about the redecoration of her parent’s pied-à-terre. Desperately wanting to express herself independently, Pheobe hoped living at the flat she would finally be able to get out from underneath the domineering influence of her aunt. Yet now the flat is simply another extension of Lady Glady’s wishes, and the elements of her parents that Pheobe adored have been appropriated by Lady Gladys. Determined to undo the wrong she has done by Pheobe by agreeing to all of Lady Glady’s wishes, in a moment of energizing anger, Lettice has decided to confront Lady Gladys, so now she is at Eaton Square.

 

“I’m sorry Miss Chetwynd, but if you haven’t made an appointment, I’m afraid that Lady Gladys cannot see you.” explains Miss Goodwin, Lady Gladys’ rather harried personal secretary, as she rustles papers, rearranging them distractedly into different piles on her small desk as she speaks. “She is simply too busy!”

 

“But Miss Goodwin…” Lettice begins.

 

“No, Miss Chetwynd!” the secretary replies more firmly. “Lady Gladys had a book reading in Charing Cross at two, and then there are the details of her American book tour to iron out.”

 

“You must be able to fit me in, Miss Goodwyn!” Lettice implores desperately. “I simply must see her about Phoebe’s pied-à-terre.”

 

“Is there something wrong with Miss Chambers’ pied-à-terre, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“No… well, yes… well… it’s nearly ready, but it’s all wrong.” Lettice replies, flustered as she falls under the sharp, owl-like gaze of the middle-aged spinster secretary, made all the more prominent by her gold rimmed pince-nez****. “It’s difficult to explain.” she finally concludes in a rather deflated fashion.

 

Miss Goodwin arches her expertly plucked and shaped eyebrows over her eyes sceptically. “Evidently.” she remarks in a dismissive fashion. Reluctantly picking up her appointment book for Lady Gladys, she flips through the lined pages filled with her neatly written copperplate. “Let’s see.” she mutters, exhaling through her nostrils in frustration as she does. “I can fit you in next Tuesday at three o’clock if you like.” She picks up her fountain pen in readiness to record Lettice’s name.

 

“Next Tuesday?” Lettice retorts in horror. “But I can’t wait until next Tuesday, Miss Goodwin.”

 

“Oh?” Miss Goodwin queries. “But I thought you said the flat redecoration was nearly complete, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Well it is, Miss Goodwin.”

 

“Then, I’m sure this small matter,” the secretary emphasises the last two words as she speaks. “Can wait until then.”

 

Lettice gulps for air in an exasperated fashion. “But… I…”

 

“No, Miss Chetwynd!” Miss Goodwin says again, firmly pressing the palms of both her hands into the piles of paper before her defiantly.

 

“What’s all this sound of discourse then?” comes a male voice, booming through the charged air of Miss Goodwin’s small office on the ground floor of the Eaton Square terrace.

 

“Oh! Sir John!” the secretary exclaims, as Lady Glady’s husband, a tall and white haired gentleman in a smart morning suit pops his head around the door, his gentle face moulded into a look of concern. “Please forgive us. I was just explaining to Miss Chetwynd, that Lady Gladys cannot possibly see her now.”

 

“Oh enough of the ‘sir’ and ‘lady’, Goody,” Sir John says with a smile as he sees Lettice standing in front of the secretary’s desk, addressing Lady Glady’s secretary by the pet name given her by Sir John and Lady Gladys. “Lettice knows us intimately enough to know we don’t go by the titles bestowed upon us.” His smile broadens. “Lettice, what an unexpected pleasure.” He steps into the room and places his large hands firmly upon her shoulders. “I was just on my way out to Whites***** when I heard the commotion. Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

 

“Si… John,” Lettice begins, her eyes looking imploringly at Sir John as he towers over her. “It’s imperative I see Gladys right away. It’s about Pheobe and the flat.”

 

“That does sound serious.” he remarks, his face clouding over.

 

“Oh it is, and that’s why I must see Gladys now.” She turns her head slightly and glares at Miss Goodwin, whose own face is sternly defiant in her reluctance to admit Lettice.

 

“Well,” Sir John says with a chuckle. “I’ve quite literally just left her in her upstairs study, autographing some of her novels. She isn’t due at Foyles****** until two o’clock, is she, Goody?” Sir John doesn’t wait for her reply as he sweeps an arm around Lettice’s shoulder comfortingly and guides her away from the secretary and towards the door. “So come along.”

 

Leaving the affronted Miss Goodwin behind, Sir John leads Lettice up the grand main staircase of the terrace, with its thick stair carpet affixed with brass stair rods******* and stylish gilt detailed black metal balustrade.

 

“Are these all Caxtons?” Lettice asks as she gazes up the generous Regency proportioned stairwell at the portraits in oils hanging in gilded frames along the walls.

 

“Hhhmm… a few.” Sir John mutters. “Like him.” He points to a rather serious looking gentleman in middle-class mid Victorian sombre black. “But most of them I bought when I bought the house. It seemed a shame for them to be parted, especially as their former bankrupted owner had no use for them any more. He needed the money, and I… well…” He chuckles a little awkwardly.

 

“You needed the lineage.” Lettice completes his sentence.

 

“How perceptive you are, Lettice.” Sir John says without missing a beat as they walk. “It’s what comes with the pretentions of a social climbing first wife, and my acquired title*******. I’m not as fortunate as you to have such a distinguished lineage, having been born into a wool merchant family in Hallifax.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, and merely smiles and nods her acknowledgement.

 

“Now, what’s all this about Pheobe’s flat then, Lettice? I hope you aren’t having any problems with the wages for the tradesmen traipsing in and out of Ridgmount Gardens. I’ve been writing so many cheques for them lately that I can barely keep up.”

 

“Oh, it has nothing to do with their wages, John.”

 

“Then what? You sounded most insistent back there with Miss Goodwin, and whilst I don’t claim to know you well, you don’t strike me as a girl who gives in to having histrionic fits.”

 

Lettice smiles and chuckles softly as Sir John’s remark reminds her of her friend, ‘Moaning’ Minnie Palmerston, wife of a London banker, who is known for her histrionics.

 

The pair reach the landing between the ground and first floor, where a large marble bust of a gentleman in a periwig******** stares out with blind eyes and a frozen, magnanimous smile at the treetops of the garden square outside through a large twelve pane sash window. Lettice stops, causing Sir John to do the same.

 

“May I be frank, Si… err, John?” Lettice asks, gazing up at the man’s wrinkled face.

 

“Please, Lettice.” he agrees.

 

“Well, I’ve had concerns about this commission, ever since I first visited Ridgmount Gardens.”

 

“Concerns?” Sir John’s face crumples. “What concerns, Lettice?”

 

“When Gladys took me there, well no, even before that, I’ve been worried about Glady’s motivations for wanting the flat decorated.”

 

“What motivations?”

 

“It struck me, John, as she discussed the redecoration for the flat with me, that it is more to Gladys’ taste than Pheobe’s.”

 

“Is that all?” Sir John chuckles and sighs with relief. “You’ve met Pheobe. She’s a sweet child, and I love her as one of my own, but she isn’t overly forthcoming, is she?”

 

“But it’s more than that. I’ve observed that whenever Pheobe expresses an opinion that contradicts Gladys, that Gladys wears her down to her down, and brings her around to her own way of thinking.”

 

“Ahh..” Sir John says a little awkwardly. “Well, you may lay the blame for that solely at my feet, dear Lettice. I’m afraid that when I met Gladys, I was so taken by her pluck and spirit that I indulged her. I saw so much potential in her: potential that was stymied due to her lack of wealth. We’ve been married for a good many years now, and I’m afraid that she is rather used to getting her own way.”

 

“Well, I can work with that, John. Gladys isn’t without panache and certainly has a sense of style.”

 

“Then I don’t see the problem, my dear.” He looks quizzically at her. “You said you wanted to be frank. Speak plainly.”

 

Lettice sighs and her shoulders slump. “You’ll think it preposterous, and I am sorry to say this, but I think that Gladys is eradicating the memory of Pheobe’s parents.”

 

Sir John laughs. “You’re right, I do find that idea preposterous, my dear, but only because Pheobe has very little memories of her parents there to erase. She only ever lived the first year of her life in Ridgmount Gardens before Reginald took her and Marjorie back to India, and when he and Marjorie died out there, Pheobe was only five, and Gladys and I were married by that time, so we took Pheobe back to Gossington and she grew up there. She has no associations with Ridgmount Gardens, other than she has always known that her father bequeathed it to her and that she would take possession of it when she came of age.”

 

“John, Pheobe came to the flat today to fetch some of the books she needed that had been packed up when she decamped Ridgmount Gardens so the redecoration could commence, and she expressed the opinion which she also did with Gladys that she wanted to keep her father’s writing desk and her mother’s crockery. Pheobe says that she feels the essence of her parents in those pieces more than in the photographs she has of them.”

 

Sir John smiles indulgently. “That sounds like Pheobe. She’s always been fey and other world like, imagining that she can see inside people to their inner essence, ever since she was that forlorn child we brought back from Bombay.” He shakes his head dismissively.

 

“Yet Gladys has taken the bureau in spite of Phoebe’s wishes, claiming that her brother intended for her to have it, and she gave me the china to dispose of. Pheobe also told me that Gladys has said in front of her that her brother should never have married Phoebe’s mother. It seems to me that she is intentionally trying to remove any reminders of her brother and his wife.”

 

“It is true that there was never any love lost between Gladys and her sister-in-law. I’m not quite sure why, other that the fact she claimed that Marjorie stymied Reginald’s career in some way. I couldn’t see that myself. He was on his way to being a magistrate from what I could see. She was always evasive, never wanting to rake over the coals. I only ever met Reginald and Marjorie a few times around Gladys’ and my wedding day, and even then, it was only a fleeting visit, so I cannot say that I was critical of their marriage the way Gladys was. I did chide Gladys for speaking out of turn about Marjorie in front of Pheobe, but,” He looks guiltily at Lettice. “You know what Gladys is like. She’s always spoken her mind, and for all the fault in her that it may be, it is one of the reasons I love her.”

 

“But to intentionally remove any reminders of Mr. and Mrs. Chambers, John?”

 

“Oh I’m sure it isn’t intentional, Lettice.” Sir John assures her. “It’s good you’ve come when you have. You can speak to Gladys about this misunderstanding.”

 

“Misunderstanding?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all that it is. Whatever my wife may or may not be, she has tried all her life to do the best my Pheobe, and I’m sure that if Phoebe is as impassioned as you say she is about her father’s desk and her mother’s china, she probably just needs someone else to speak for her about it to Gladys.” He wraps his arm around Lettice assuring and gives her forearm a hearty rub. “And you’ll be capital about that. Now, come along.”

 

The pair take the final flight of stairs to the first floor in thoughtful silence. Sir John leads Lettice up to a doorway, knocks and opens it, walking in without waiting for a reply. “Look who I found downstairs, having the fiercest argument with your goodly protectress, Gladys.”

 

Lettice follows Sir John into a beautiful high ceilinged first-floor room flooded with light from two large and tall Regency windows. Like Gossington, the Scottish Baronial style English Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland belonging to Sir John and Lady Gladys, the walls are decorated with William Morris********* patterned wallpaper, and the room is furnished with Edwardian and Art Nouveau furnishings. However, unlike Gossington’s public rooms, which are crammed full of Edwardian clutter, the scheme in this room is far lighter, with the delicate and softer ‘Willow Bough’ pattern in the paper, and rather than being upholstered in Morris pattern as well, the sofas and chairs situated about the room are covered in a stripped back creamy Regency stripe, perhaps in deference to the terrace’s origins. Even the clutter here is less, with fewer vases and trinkets covering the surfaces of tables. In fact, the mantle is the most cluttered, and even then it is mostly with invitations and correspondence addressed to Lady Gladys’ non de plume of Madeline St John. And there, at a small black japanned regency desk sits Lady Gladys in her favoured pastel shades and pearls.

 

“Lettice!” she gasps, looking up from signing a copy of her latest Madeline St John romance novel, ‘Miranda’. “What an unexpected pleasure.” She picks herself up out of her high backed black japanned and gilt French Second Empire chair and opens her arms to Lettice, exposing the pretty knitted patterns woven through her light, pale pink cardigan that she has chosen to wear over a pink floral print cotton frock. As Lettice crosses the room, gracefully moving through the obstacle course of low occasional tables and comfortable salon and armchairs, Lady Gladys’ face clouds. “Or is it? Did… did we have an appointment today, my dear?”

 

“No, no, Gladys.” Lettice assures her as she reaches Lady Gladys and allows herself to enveloped in her lavender scented embrace. “It’s an unannounced visit.”

 

“Well then, I do hope that Goody wasn’t too cantankerous with you. I adore her, and she’s an excellent and superbly organised secretary, but Goody doesn’t particularly like surprise visits and will do almost anything to stick rigidly to her arrangement of my schedules.”

 

“I caught Goody in full flight, and rescued poor Lettice from her recalcitrant clutches.” Sir John remarks.

 

“Always the knight in shining armour, John. Bravo!” Lady Gladys applauds her husband.

 

“Well, I’m off then.” Sir John says.

 

“Oh, won’t you stay, John?” Lettice says, her voice cracking. She had been hoping he might stick to form as her rescuer and stay to help influence her pleas with Lady Gladys favourably.

 

“Oh no, Lettice my dear!” He starts to back away towards the door. “Whites waits for no man, and nor does my contract bridge partner. I’ve tarried long enough. Besides,” he adds. “This is between you two ladies.” And with that, he turns on his heel and retreats out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

 

“Say hullo to Fillmore for me, and give him my love, John.” Gladys calls after his retreating footsteps.

 

The room falls into a soft silence broken only by the twitter of birds in the trees outside, the purring of a passing motorcar on the road and the gentle tick of a gilt clock on a bombe chest between the two windows.

 

“Well, I have a little bit of time before I must away to Foyles.” Lady Gladys says, pulling back the sleeve of her cardigan and glancing at her delicate gold and diamond studded wristwatch. “Oh! Which reminds me, I must, must, must, sign copies of a couple of my novels for your maid. Edith, isn’t it?”

 

“Quite so, Gladys.”

 

“Good! You can take her a copy of ‘Miranda’ today.” Lady Gladys takes a seat again as she takes up a copy of the book and inscribes it with a flourish of her pen. “To Edith, with my best wishes, Madeline St John.” she utters as she writes. Finishing the inscription, she closes the cover of the book with a thwack. “I almost need a forger on my retinue of office staff to sign all the requested copies of my books.” She hands the book to Lettice. “Please, sit.” She indicates to a tall wingback armchair by the fireplace with an open gesture. As Lettice sits, she spins in her own seat, leaning heavily against the chair’s left ornately spindled arm. “Now, what can I do for you, Lettice?”

 

Lettice takes a deep breath. “Well, Gladys, I wanted to talk to you about the flat.”

 

“Oh yes!” Gladys crows, clapping her hands, the diamonds and other precious stones of her rings winking in the light. “My spies tell me that it has been quite the hive of activity at Ridgmount Gardens!”

 

“Your spies?”

 

“Oh, don’t look so shocked, Lettice.” Lady Gladys laughs. “Bloomsbury is such an artistic area, full of writers, many of whom I know.” She smiles slyly. “Writers are notorious for being observant of their surroundings. It doesn’t take long for the jungle drums to start beating, my dear.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice remarks.

 

“Now, what is it about the flat you want to talk about?” Yet even as she asks, she then adds, “Oh, the chintz curtains I wanted did arrive, didn’t they, Lettice?”

 

Lettice shudders at the thought of them. “Yes, Gladys, and they are hanging in the drawing room, just as you’d requested.”

 

“Excellent!”

 

“But it’s your requests,” Lettice gulps awkwardly. “Or rather… your demands… that I’ve come to speak to you about.”

 

“Demands?” A defensive edge makes its way into her well enunciated words as Lady Gladys queries Lettice’s remark.

 

“Commands.” Lettice blunders.

 

“Commands!” Lady Glady’s eyes flicker slightly.

 

“There’s a problem with your requests, Gladys.” Lettice tries to venture, her voice faltering and sounding weak as the words catch in her throat.

 

“A problem with my requests, Lettice?” Lady Gladys lowers her left arm so it dangles down by her side, whilst raising her right to her chin in a ponderous pose as she considers her visitor, perching on the edge of her seat awkwardly, as if seeing her for the first time. “What could possibly be wrong with any of the requests I have made? Have I made demands that are unreasonable? Is there something wrong with the shade of green of the walls, the choice of soft furnishings,” She pauses. “The chintz curtains?”

 

“Well,” Lettice tries to momentarily make light of the moment. “Chintz isn’t something I’d choose for myself, Gladys.”

 

“I chose those for Phoebe specifically,” Lady Gladys says sharply, the volume of her voice rising slightly as she does.. “Because I thought she might appreciate the connection between the nature she so loves and her living space.”

 

“And she does, Gladys.” Lettice defends. “She even remarked on them when she was at Ridgmount Gardens today.”

 

“Oh, so that’s where she went.”

 

“She came to fetch some books she left behind at the flat that she needs for her studies.”

 

“Or so Pheobe claims.” Lady Gladys retorts.

 

“And whilst we were there, we had a conversation,” Lettice tries to steal her voice as she adds, “An honest conversation.”

 

Lady Gladys does not reply immediately, but considers Lettice’s statement before asking, “And what was it in that honest conversation that now has you at my door, Lettice?”

 

Lettice notices, as she feels sure she is meant to, that the endearments of ‘my dear’, usually attached to her name, have suddenly vanished.

 

Well, you’ll forgive me, Gladys, but when Pheobe and I were speaking, she shared with me her concerns that the flat is perhaps not being redecorated,” Lettice quickly, yet carefully considers each word as she speaks it, conscious of the precarious situation she finds herself in. She doesn’t want to invoke Lady Gladys’ ire against phoebe, nor against herself. “In the… the style which she would prefer.”

 

“The style she would prefer?” Gladys suddenly leans back in her seat and starts laughing, but the laugh is devoid of joy. “Lettice, Pheobe has no opinion when it comes to style, the little mouse.” She stares out of the window into the sunshine bathing the trees of the gated garden square across the road. “Actually, she has very little opinion about anything, quite frankly.”

 

“Well, there I would beg to disagree with you, Gladys.” Lettice retorts, suddenly filled with a necessity to defend Phoebe.

 

“Do you indeed?”

 

“I do.” Lettice affirms, her voice growing stronger. “You see, you have a very… a very strong personality.”

 

“Forthright is what John would call my personality.”

 

“Strong, forthright: either description amounts to much the same. I’ve observed that on the rare occasions Phoebe disagrees with your opinion, you quickly snuff out any objection.”

 

“Such as?” Lady Gladys asks warily.

 

“Such as when I first visited Ridgmount Gardens with you, after we had been to your book launch at Selfridges, when Phoebe protested that she wanted to keep her father’s bureau desk, you wouldn’t let her.”

 

“Lettice,” Lady Gladys sighs heavily. “As I mentioned to you both then, and have repeated several times when the subject of my brother’s desk has been raised by Phoebe subsequently with me, Reginald wanted me to have it. He simply died before he had a chance to put his affairs in order.”

 

“And her mother’s china?”

 

“Good god, Lettice!” Lady Gladys exclaims. “Why on earth should Phoebe want those old hat Style Liberty********** cups, saucers and plates, when she can have something of far superior quality and are more up-to-date in style.”

 

“You seem to be a proponent of Style Liberty, Gladys.” Lettice indicates with waving gestures about the room.

 

“And as I said to you at Gossington, the style may have been fashionable when I was younger, but it died when all our young men did, during the war. It’s past: dead! Anyway,” she sulks. “They are cheap, nasty pieces of pottery, and many of them are chipped, even if Marjorie kept them for best. She never did have good taste.”

 

“Whether they are cheap or chipped, Gladys, Phoebe feels that her flat is missing her parent’s essence.” When Lady Gladys scoffs scornfully, Lettice continues, “She specifically mentioned the chips in her mother’s plates and teacups and the grooves and ink stains in her father’s bureau.”

 

“Phoebe always was an odd child,” Lady Gladys ruminates. “Going on about the essence of a person. She has photos to look at if she wants to get an essence of her long dead parents. Lettice, John and I have been far more of parents to her than Reginald and Marjorie.”

 

“I’m not disputing that, Gladys. All I am stating is what Phoebe told me. You have your own desk,” Lettice points to the delicate desk before which Lady Gladys sits. “Why not give Phoebe what she wants? Is it so hard?”

 

“I’ve been giving that child all that she needs and wants for years: ever since I brought her back from India as a five year old. I’ve given her everything a real mother would.”

 

“Then why not give her the bureau. Please, Gladys.”

 

“I repeat!” Lady Gladys snaps. “Reginald wanted me to have his bureau! It’s mine!”

 

Lady Gladys suddenly sits upright in her seat and slams her palms into its arm rests, huffing heavily with frustration. “Well Lettice, I have enjoyed our impromptu little tête-à-tête, but I’m afraid I really must go. I don’t wish to keep the Messrs Foyle waiting. They have been very good to me, arranging this reading at their bookshop.”

 

“But…” Lettice begins.

 

Lady Gladys picks up a silver bell from the surface of her desk and rings it, the metal bell emitting a high pitched ring. “Whom, may I ask is paying the bills for all the tradespeople you have engaged on your little project of redecorating Ridgmount Gardens?”

 

“Sir John.”

 

“Then let me remind you that Sir John is acting on my behalf, paying those bills. When you agreed to accept my commission, we entered into a contract: a contract that you and I both signed before our lawyers.”

 

“Yes, at your insistence.”

 

“Exactly, because I suspected a situation somewhat sticky like this might arise. I didn’t have to choose you to redecorate Phoebe’s flat. I could have chosen any number of my friends who dabble in interior design. Indeed Syrie Maugham*********** felt quite slighted that I chose you over her, with all her successes. I wanted to give you the opportunity to increase your profile as a society interior designer , because my word goes a long way.” “Lettice, I might be many things, but I’m not a woman without tact, but as our time today is up, you must force me to be blunt.” She begins to shuffle the remaining copies of her novels on her desk irritably. “You agree that you signed a contract with me, so as your client I request… no I demand,” She uses Lettice’s choice of words back at her. “That you do everything I want: everything, down to the last little detail, or I shall consider the contract null and void, and therefore I shall be under no obligation to arrange for John to pay any outstanding bills, and further to that, if you do anything forcing me to terminate our contract, I shall make sure that every drawing room is talking about your untrustworthiness, Lettice. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Just at that moment, Miss Goodwin bustles into the room. “You rang, Gladys?”

 

“Yes Goody.” Gladys says with a painted smile. “My delightful impromptu meeting with Miss Chetwynd is over. Would you kindly show her out. I must get ready for my reading at Foyles.”

 

“Yes Gladys.” She smiles at Lettice. “Right this way, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

As Miss Goodwin ushers Lettice towards the door, Gladys adds from her seat at her desk, “Thank you so much for visiting me today, my dear Lettice. I think it has helped us both better understand our positions. I’m sure you agree.”

 

“This way, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Goodwin says again as she guides the shocked and silent Lettice out of the door, closing it quietly behind her.

 

*Eaton Square is a rectangular residential garden square in London's Belgravia district. It is the largest square in London. It is one of the three squares built by the landowning Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the Nineteenth Century that are named after places in Cheshire — in this case Eaton Hall, the Grosvenor country house. It is larger but less grand than the central feature of the district, Belgrave Square, and both larger and grander than Chester Square. The first block was laid out by Thomas Cubitt from 1827. In 2016 it was named as the "Most Expensive Place to Buy Property in Britain", with a full terraced house costing on average seventeen million pounds — many of such town houses have been converted, within the same, protected structures, into upmarket apartments.

 

**A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

***Charing Cross is a junction in Westminster, London, England, where six routes meet. Since the early 19th century, Charing Cross has been the notional "centre of London" and became the point from which distances from London are measured. It was also famous in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries as being the centre for bookselling in London.

 

****Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

*****White's is a gentlemen's club in St James's, London. Founded in 1693 as a hot chocolate shop in Mayfair, it is the oldest gentleman's club in London. Notable current members include Charles III and the Prince of Wales and former British prime minister David Cameron, whose father Ian Cameron was the club's chairman, was a member for fifteen years but resigned in 2008, over the club's declining to admit women. The club continues to maintain its tradition as a club for gentlemen only, although one of its best known chefs from the early 1900s was Rosa Lewis, a model for the central character in the BBC television series “The Duchess of Duke Street”.

 

******W & G Foyle Ltd. (usually called simply Foyles) is a bookseller with a chain of seven stores in England. It is best known for its flagship store in Charing Cross Road, London. Foyles was once listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's largest bookshop in terms of shelf length, at 30 miles (48 km), and of number of titles on display. Brothers William and Gilbert Foyle founded the business in 1903. After failing entrance exams for the civil service, the brothers offered their redundant textbooks for sale and were inundated by offers. This inspired them to launch a second-hand book business from home. Flushed with success, they opened a small shop on Station Parade in Queen's Road, Peckham, where they painted "With all Faith" in gilt letters above the door. The brothers opened their first West End shop in 1904, at 16 Cecil Court. A year later they hired their first member of staff, who promptly disappeared with the weekly takings. By 1906, their shop was at 135 Charing Cross Road and they were described as London's largest educational booksellers. By 1910, Foyles had added four suburban branches: at Harringay, Shepherd's Bush, Kilburn and Brixton. Not long afterwards, the brothers moved their central London store to 119 Charing Cross Road, the Foyles Building, where it remained until 2014. Foyles was famed in the past for its anachronistic, eccentric and sometimes infuriating business practices (ones I have been personally involved in), so much so that it became a tourist attraction. It has since modernised, and has opened several branches and an online store.

 

*******A stair rod, also commonly referred to as a carpet rod, is an ornamental decorative hardware item used to hold carpeting in place on steps.

 

********Titles into the British Peerage weren't for sale as such, but a social climbing gentleman could certainly buy his way into the nobility if he were wealthy and well connected enough, and used the social and political power of wealth wisely. In the pre-war (Great War) years, when money went a great deal further than it did before the introduction of heavy income taxes and death duties, if you had money, it was not hugely difficult to effectively buy yourself a seat in parliament or a commission in the military (both of which were functionally up for sale), which could often result in a peerage being granted if you stayed around long enough in the right circles, or were favoured by the right people. The Tories of the late Eighteenth Century were infamous for packing the House of Lords with supporters in order to retain a majority (most aristocratic families had favoured the Whigs earlier in the Georgian era). If a man were shrewd enough to curry favour with a Tory like Lord North or Pitt the Younger, then he could probably get a title quite easily, since the Tory base of support was within the untitled gentry, and they needed to maintain control of the Lords. Currying favour with the monarch worked equally well, and King Edward VII was famous for minting fresh peers regularly, filling his levees with wealthy industrialists, manufacturers and men of business whom he found more engaging than the idle peers of long standing aristocratic titles.

 

********A periwig a highly styled wig worn formerly as a fashionable headdress by both women and men in the Eighteenth Century and retained by judges and barristers as part of their professional dress to this day.

 

*********William Morris (24th of March 1834 – 3rd of October 1896) was a British textile designer, poet, artist, writer, and socialist activist associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement. He was a major contributor to the revival of traditional British textile arts and methods of production. His literary contributions helped to establish the modern fantasy genre, while he helped win acceptance of socialism in fin de siècle Great Britain. In 1861, Morris founded the Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. decorative arts firm with Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Webb, and others, which became highly fashionable and much in demand. The firm profoundly influenced interior decoration throughout the Victorian period, with Morris designing tapestries, wallpaper, fabrics, furniture, and stained glass windows. In 1875, he assumed total control of the company, which was renamed Morris & Co.

 

**********The artistic movement we know of today internationally as Art Nouveau, was more commonly known as the “Arts and Crafts Movement” or “Style Liberty” in the United Kingdom during the years before and after the Great War, driven by the Glasgow School of Arts, where a great many proponents of the style came from, and by the luxury London shop Liberty on Regent Street which sold a great deal of William Morris’ designs to the general public.

 

***********Gwendoline Maud Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s who popularised rooms decorated entirely in white. In the 1910s, Maugham began her interior design career as an apprentice under Ernest Thornton-Smith for a London decorating firm, learning there about the intricacies of furniture restoration, trompe-l'œil, curtain design, and the mechanics of traditional upholstery. In 1922, two years before this story is set, at the age of 42, Maugham borrowed £400.00 and opened her own interior decorating business at 85 Baker Street, London. As the shop flourished, Maugham began decorating, taking on projects in Palm Beach and California. By 1930, she had shops in London, Chicago, and New York. Maugham is best-remembered for the all-white music room at her house at 213 King's Road in London. For the grand unveiling of her all-white room, Maugham went to the extreme of dipping her white canvas draperies in cement. The room was filled with massive white floral arrangements and the overall effect was stunning. Maugham charged high prices and could be very dictatorial with her clients and employees. She once told a hesitant client, "If you don't have ten thousand dollars to spend, I don't want to waste my time."

 

This English Arts and Crafts upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lady Glady’s pretty black japanned desk has been made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturer Bespaq, and it has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs. Her Louis XIV white Regency stripe upholstered chair and its pair which can just be seen behind the desk to the left of the fireplace have been made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturer, J.B.M. They too have been hand painted and decorated, even along the tops of the arms. On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, a silver pen and a blotter all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The pen is a twist of silver with a tiny seed pearl inserted into the end of it The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The silver double frame on the top of the desk comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables. The silver tray holding letters on the top left of the desk is sterling silver as well and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Also on the desk are some copies of Lady Gladys’ books. They are all examples of 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. In this case, this selection of romance novels are not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this fact 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 them all miniature artisan pieces. The books in the Art Nouveau fretwork cabinet in the background are all made by Ken Blythe as well. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The correspondence on the fireplace mantle and on the silver tray on Lady Gladys’ desk were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. They are 1:12 miniature versions of real documents.

 

At either end of mantle stand a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces!

 

The two Art Nouveau style vases at either end of the mantlepiece and the squat one in the middle half hidden by correspondence came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The irises in the vase on the left-hand side of the mantle are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

The two gilt edged paintings hanging to either side of the fireplace were made by Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The painting in the white painted wooden frame hanging above the mantlepiece comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop as does the finely moulded plaster fireplace itself and its metal grate.

 

The enclosed bookcase full of Ken Blythe’s miniature books in the background to the left of the photo with its glass doors and Art Nouveau fretwork was made by Bespaq Miniatures, as were the white Regency stripe upholstered wingback armchair in front of the fireplace and sofa just visible to the left of the photograph. The hand embroidered footstool in front of the armchair comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The wallpaper used to decorate Lady Gladys’ walls is William Morris’ ‘Willow Bough’ pattern.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

for lovers everywhere (for us all)

 

love is patient and kind

love does not envy or boast

it is not arrogant or rude

it does not insist on its own way

it is not irritable or resentful

it does not rejoice at wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth

love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things

love never ends

 

Corinthians 13:4-8

[Neil Young - Are You Passionate?]

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 we are just a short distance from Cavendish Mews, in the artistic and bohemian suburb of Bloomsbury, where Lettice is visiting the pied-à-terre* of Phoebe Chambers, niece and ward of Lady Gladys Caxton. Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate Phoebe’s small London flat. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in Bloomsbury. Lady Gladys feels that the flat is too old fashioned and outdated for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lettice agreed to take on the commission, Lady Gladys said she would arrange a time for Lettice to inspect the flat the next time Lady Gladys was in London. Now the day has arrived.

 

Having heard from Lady Gladys over the course of the weekend party in Gossington that Phoebe’s pied-à-terre had been shut up for years and was in a somewhat neglected state of affairs, she expected it to be not unlike the study she recently saw at Arkwright Bury in Wiltshire, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gifford: a room which she has also agreed to redecorate. However, unlike the musty, dust filled and forgotten study, shut up and stuffed with an odd assortment of bits and pieces and boxes of junk, Lettice is pleasantly surprised to find Pheobe’s flat remarkably cosy. Although too small for her own liking and tastes, Lettice can see how a small flat like this would suit an independent girl like Pheobe. It has one bedroom with an adjoining dressing room, a small kitchenette and a bathroom in addition to the drawing room she stands in now. Traces of the studious and serious Phoebe are everywhere with piles of books stacked on footstools and occasional tables and a cluttered desk buried under books and notes from her studies. The general feel of the flat is comfortable, studious clutter, and whilst Lettice cannot deny that the pre-war furnishings are a little outdated, they seem to be perfectly functional for Pheobe, who appears far more concerned about and focussed upon reading her collection of horticulture books and referring to her notes written in a neat hand, rather than the pattern or design of the sofa or chairs upon which she perches.

 

“So these are your friends from your horticulture course, Pheobe?” Lettice asks as she stands before the small coal fireplace that heats the drawing room and stares at the unframed photographs on its narrow mantle shelf which jostle for space with one another and packets of flower seeds. When Phoebe nods shallowly in a timid manner, Lettice takes a moment to look more closely at them. They are women of around Lettice’s age, all different sizes and shapes as they pose on a pier in an undisclosed seaside town, in front of a formal building which Lettice assumes is likely to be the Royal Horticulture Society and a final one where four girls pose in their bathing costumes at a lido. Phoebe is not amongst their number, Lettice observes. “You aren’t with them, Pheobe?”

 

“I prefer to take photographs.” Pheobe mumbles.

 

“Do you like photography, Pheobe?”

 

Pheobe nods shallowly again, and then mutters, “I prefer plants.”

 

Lettice smiles as she turns back to the photographs and goes on gingerly, so as not to frighten the mousey Pheobe, “Well, all your friends look like quite a jolly crew. Do you get along well with them all?” Phoebe doesn’t reply, but nods quickly again, causing the halo of blonde wispy curls around her face to bounce about and take on a lithe and lively life of their own.

 

“Here we are then!” comes Lady Glady’s booming voice cheerfully as she sails into the cluttered room, a sweep of lavender, lace and winking diamonds and faceted glass beads. “Tea for three.” She deposits a galleried silver tray topped with tea making paraphernalia onto an ornately decorated Edwardian tea table of mahogany standing between two armchairs upholstered in peach floral brocade and an upright backed chair upholstered in cream satin. “I can still find the tea things, even after not having lived here for more than a decade,” She looks pointedly at Pheobe. “Which just confirms my suspicions.”

 

“And what suspicions are those, Lady Gladys?” Lettice asks.

 

“Ah-ah!” the older woman wags her finger admonishing at Lettice. “We may not be at Gossington, my dear, but remember that I am still a Fabian**, and Fabianism is not bound by walls. We are egalitarian, Lettice. We are all on a first name basis.”

 

“Sorry,” Lettice apologises, lowering her head in admonishment. “Old habits die hard, Gladys.”

 

“Never mind, dear.” Lady Gladys reaches out and rubs Lettice’s shoulder comfortingly.

 

“What suspicions were you referring to, Auntie Gladys?” Phoebe asks, uttering the most words Lettice has heard her say since she and Lady Gladys arrived.

 

“The suspicion, Pheobe dear,” The older woman raises one of her diamond ring encrusted hands up to her niece’s face and tugs gently on her chin, teasingly. “And don’t call me Auntie. You know I don’t like it!” she scolds.

 

“No Gladys.” Pheobe replies, lowering her head.

 

“The suspicion is, Pheobe, that this flat is more of a mausoleum to Reginald and Marjorie’s memory, rather than a place for you to live in.”

 

“Where things were left by my parents makes sense to me, Gladys.”

 

“Well, be that as it may,” Lady Gladys says with a serious look clouding her jowly face. “It’s unhealthy to live in the shadows of two people who have been dead for many, many years.”

 

Lettice glances anxiously at Pheobe, who in Lettice’s experience has only shown a demonstrative concern for her parents’ memories beyond her interest in plants. The way her aunt speaks about Pheobe’s parents, she worries the poor, fey girl will start to cry. However, to her surprise, she remains stoic and silent, her gaze falling to the polished floorboards and worn Indian carpet beneath her.

 

Lady Gladys glances up with a critical gaze at the two photographic studio portraits in oval frames hanging to either side of the fireplace. “Don’t you agree, Lettice?”

 

“Me?” Lettice gulps, not wishing to come between the older woman, her niece and the ghosts of both their pasts which are so complexly entwined. “Well I…”

 

However, before Lettice has to try and stumble her way through a stuttered response, Lady Gladys gasps, “The cake! I forgot the cake! It’s still in the kitchenette. We can’t have tea and not have cake, can we?” She asks rhetorically. She quickly sweeps out of the room again with heavy, clumping footsteps.

 

“I only call her Auntie when Gladys is being especially frustrating.” Phoebe whispers, her mouth ends perking up in a tentative smile. “Which is quite often, really.”

 

“Pheobe!” Lettice finds herself surprised that Phoebe can muster that much pluck to rebel against her domineering aunt.

 

“She hates me calling her Auntie because she thinks it ages her, and there are few things Gladys hates more than being reminded that she is old.”

 

“Phoebe!” Lettice gasps again, startled by the girl’s sudden daring streak.

 

“That’s why, aside from Nettie and a very select few others, Gladys won’t entertain anyone her own age. The last thing she wants is to become irrelevant.”

 

“Oh, she isn’t that vain, surely, Pheobe.”

 

Phoebe is about to counter Lettice’s remark when Lady Gladys strides back into the drawing room.

 

“Here we are then, my dears! Since I only pay my London housekeeper to keep house, and Mrs. Brookhurst is very particular about sticking to the assigned specifics designated in her role, Harrod’s finest comes to the rescue!” She places a beautifully light and golden Victoria sponge oozing jam and cream onto the tea table next to the pink Art Nouveau floral teapot.

 

“Not bake it yourself, Gladys?” Phoebe remarks saucily, glancing cheekily at Lettice from below her fluttering blonde lashes.

 

“I may have lived here once, Phoebe, but I wouldn’t remember how to use that old range in there.” Lady Gladys defends. “Besides, you know my opinion on household chores.” She looks at Lettice and goes on with a bright smile. “It is my opinion, which is to the contrary of what is written in story books, that cooking and cleaning are a guaranteed way to quash beauty, charm and wit in women. It’s why you’ll never see any of my heroines scrubbing pots and pans or dusting mantlepieces. I’ve yet to see a maid who, after a few years of service, doesn’t look as drab as an old worn bedsheet washed and put through the mangle one too many times.” She sinks onto an armchair dramatically. “My main readership consists of middle-class housewives and I suspect more than a few domestics. None of them want to read about a girl who skivvies away just like them. They want escape from the dull everyday through glamour, excitement and romance.”

 

“My maid reads your novels, Gladys. She was positively thrilled when she saw your name on the invitation to the weekend we had at Gossington.”

 

“Well, I must sign a spare copy of one of my latest novels for her when the redecoration is done, Lettice. Would she like that?”

 

“Oh I’m sure she’d love that, Gladys. Thank you.” Lettice replies with a smile as she takes a seat in a remarkably comfortable straight backed chair. “Thinking of Edith, she is only a plain cook, so I too, find Harrod’s Food Hall and catering service to be of great service.”

 

Lady Gladys nods in appreciation. “Not poured the tea yet, Pheobe?” she remarks critically as she watches her niece drape herself like a falling leaf into the armchair opposite the tea table and withdraw a black pencil marking the page in a large botanical studies book on roses before lowering her head towards it to read.

 

“You may be adverse to housework, Auntie Gladys, but you’re far better at playing hostess than me.” Phoebe responds with a tired sigh without looking up from the page.

 

“Don’t call me that, Phoebe.” Lady Gladys snaps irritably. “Anyway, you’d be far more adept at hosting, if you’d only try and make an effort to play the host a little, dear.”

 

Phoebe pointedly ignores her aunt’s whining protestations and runs the point of her pencil underneath a sentence in the description of a red dogwood rose, demonstrating how ardent her studies are.

 

“Very well then.” Lady Gladys says with a huff of irritation. “Shall I be mother*** then?”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Gladys takes up a cup and pours in some strong tea before handing the cup to Lettice. She indicates with a sweeping gesture to the milk jug and sugar bowl, implying that Lettice should help herself. After pouring tea for Phoebe and herself, she slices the Victoria sponge, her knife gliding through the layers of soft cake, jam and cream.

 

As Lettice carefully pushes a pile of books so as not to topple them, to clear some space on the table to the left of her elbow to place her plate, Lady Gladys opines, “I do wish you’d made a little room for us, Phoebe dear. All these piles of books are most difficult to navigate. You knew we were coming today.”

 

“In case you don’t remember, Gladys,” Phoebe mutters testily from her book. “There isn’t any more room.”

 

“A lesser person might think you didn’t want us here, dear.” Lady Gladys goes on, a slightly hurt and clearly annoyed tone to her voice as she speaks.

 

Phoebe sighs as she reluctantly withdraws her head from the book she is studying. “As you well know, I’ve been busy attending my garden design classes, and besides, this arrangement suits me very well. Why should I change it?”

 

“Humph!” snorts Lady Gladys, frowning. She turns her attentions away from her niece, who has already returned her nose to her book, and focuses instead on Lettice. “Now, thinking of arrangements: my dear Lettice, what do you think? It’s a rather poky little place, isn’t it, and shabby?” She sighs. “But, it was Reginald and Marjorie’s intention to bequeath it to Phoebe.”

 

“Well,” Lettice begins, feeling rather awkward when being faced with Lady Glady’s overt criticism of the flat that belonged to her brother and sister-in-law. “I think it’s quite compact and charming.”

 

“Compact!” Lady Gladys snorts derisively. “Charming! Come, come, Lettice. There is no need for your diplomacy here, my dear. Let’s be honest: it’s old and shabby, and most things need flinging out into the street, and replacing with something newer, fresher and more stylish.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be that dramatic, Gladys.” Lettice retorts.

 

“Nonsense, Lettice! The dustbin is where most of this old tatt should go. Out with the old, and in with the new. Eh?”

 

“Well, what do you think, Pheobe?”

 

When Pheobe’s head doesn’t rise from her book, and her wispy blonde curls continue to obscure her face, Lady Gladys goes on. “It’s no use trying to engage her my dear Lettice. Goodness knows I’ve tried.” She raises her voice and annunciates each syllable even more clearly than she was already doing with round vowels and clipped tones. “Pheobe could test the patience of a saint! She can hear us perfectly well, but as Phoebe seems to have abrogated her involvement in redecorating the flat, I see that like most things outside her life as a landscape gardener, I shall have to step in and fill her place and make the decisions, like usual.”

 

“I said I was happy with repainting the flat green. Isn’t that enough?” Phoebe grumbles, almost in a resigned whisper. “I’d rather the flat wasn’t disturbed whilst I’m studying for my latest round of horticulture exams.”

 

“Don’t worry, Phoebe dear.” Lady Gladys says with a dismissive wave of her bejewelled fingers. “We’ll organise it all to take place when there is a hiatus in your studies. Now,” She claps her hands and looks about her gleefully, like a small child with a shiny new toy, with sparkling eyes. “I think these can go for a start.” She starts bouncing up and down on her seat, the springs groaning in protest as dust motes emitted from the old armchair tumble and fly through the air around her. “Nasty old Edwardian things. Marjorie chose them of course, even though my dear Reginald wanted something a bit more up-to-date and fashionable. She always was frightfully dull and conservative, my sister-in-law.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they are quite comfortable, Gladys.” Lettice begins. “With a little bit of respringing and some new fab…”

 

Lady Gladys stops Lettice speaking by holding up her hand in protest. “No, no! I won’t hear of these awful things being kept. They represent everything vulgar in Marjorie’s middling middle-class taste. No, fling them out!”

 

Lettice glances at Phoebe again, but the girl makes no move to interject.

 

“Didn’t I read about an eau de nil sofa and chairs in the Country Life article about your redecoration of the Channons house, Lettice?” Lady Gladys goes on unabated.

 

“Err… yes.” Lettice replies warily.

 

“Good. Then we’ll have an eau de nil suite here too. Quite fashionable and up-to-date! Excellent! Excellent!” Gladys toys excitedly with the violet faceted beads draped around her neck and down her front. “Now, of course being the bookish girl that she is, we’ll need something better than this rather haphazard arrangement,” She waves her hands about at the precariously balanced towers of books about the drawing room. “For her library.” She looks around. “There!” She points to a lovely old, stylised Art Nouveau china cabinet full of pretty Edwardian floral porcelain cups and saucers. “We’ll replace that monstrosity of the last decade with a new era bookcase. What do you say, Lettice?”

 

“Well perhaps we should…” Lettice begins as she turns once more to Pheobe’s halo of blonde curls.

 

“Don’t delegate decisions to Pheobe when I’m asking the question, Lettice!” Lady Gladys snaps sharply, causing Lettice to shudder involuntarily at the tone of her quip. “She’s clearly demonstrated that she isn’t interested, so I’m the one making decisions.”

 

“Of course, Gladys.” Lettice answers in quiet deference to the dominating woman. “A more modern bookshelf will be perfect there.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Lady Gladys replies, rubbing her fingers together in glee. “I knew you’d see it my way, my dear. Everyone does,” She pauses. “Eventually.” She picks up her plate and scoops off a slice of cake with her fork and eats it. As Lady Gladys chews, her powdered and rouged cheeks expanding and contracting and her painted lips moving around rhythmically, Lettice can almost see the thoughts in her head as she glances around. Swallowing she eyes the two photographs to either side of the fireplace.

 

Following her gaze, Lettice quick says, “I have a great fondness for family photographs, Gladys. I think we should keep the photos of your brother and sister-in-law where they are in the new scheme. They are, after all,” She looks imploringly at Pheobe’s gently bobbing head, but she does not look up from the printed page. “Phoebe’s parents.”

 

“Yes of course, Lettice. Very good. Then there is that.” She points to the pretty Georgian desk in the corner of the room. “That desk was my brother’s, and is an old family heirloom. I’ll take that.”

 

Pheobe’s head suddenly shoots up from her books. “But that’s mine, Gladys. It was Father’s.”

 

Lady Gladys looks across at her niece with cool eyes. “I know it was dear.” She pauses for a moment and makes a show of sighing heavily for dramatic effect before continuing. “And I didn’t want to tell you this, but he really did want to leave it to me. I’ve just left it here out of ease. I’ll have it moved to the Belgravia when the redecoration starts.”

 

“But I thought you said that Mother and Father left me the flat and all its contents.” Phoebe exclaims, sitting upright in her seat, suddenly very alert and aware of everything going on around her, any appearance of nonchalance gone.

 

“Well, they did, dear.” Lady Gladys replies.

 

“Then it stays here, where it belongs.” Phoebe insists, a sudden anxiousness in her voice as she glances between Lettice and her aunt with startled eyes.

 

“But Reginald really did want me to have it, Phoebe dear.” Lady Gladys insists.

 

“But that’s the most poignant thing I have to remind me of Father.” Phoebe tries to protest.

 

“It was my father’s, and his father’s before him, and his before that, Pheobe. It should come to me, by rights. Don’t be selfish.”

 

“But… but I love it.” Tears begin to fill Pheobe’s pale blue eyes, making them sparkle and glitter. “It was… Father’s.”

 

“I see now, I should have removed it before you became attached to it,” Lady Gladys remarks, settling back comfortably into the armchair she seems so much to dislike and takes another scoop of cake, popping it into her mouth.

 

Lettice sees her moment to interject and pipes up, “I’m sure I could easily accommodate such a pretty and classical piece of furniture into my designs, Gladys. My style is Classical Revivalist, after all.”

 

“The desk is mine!” Lady Gladys commands in a sharp and raised voice that indicates she is not to be crossed on this matter, a few pieces of sponge not yet consumed flying from her mouth and through the air, landing in half chewed wet globs on the carpet. “This is not your concern, Lettice.” She forces a chuckle. “With all due respect of course.” She swivels her head back to her niece. “You heard Lettice. You will have your parents’ portraits retained as part of the redecoration. What could be more poignant than that?”

 

“But I…” Phoebe begins meekly.

 

“Don’t worry, Phoebe dear. Lettice will get you a much nicer, and bigger new desk as part of the design.” She sharply turns her head back to Lettice and eyes her with a hard stare. “Won’t you, Lettice?”

 

Lettice hears the undisguised warning in the older lady’s bristling tone of voice. “Yes, yes of course I will, Pheobe.” She answers brightly with a smile, but failing to obscure her awkwardness and regret as she utters the words which she does not want to air.

 

“That’s settled then.” Lady Gladys says with a smile, confirming the end to that particular part of the conversation about décor. “You’ll soon forget it, Pheobe dear. After all, until you came of age, you didn’t even know any of this existed.” She glances around the small drawing room of the flat. “And anyway, you’ll get it back when I die. Now, about curtains and carpets,” she adds, quickly changing the subject. “I think we’ll have new ones in more contemporary patterns, in shades of green, perhaps with a touch of blue or yellow, Lettice.”

 

“Yes, of course, Gladys.” Lettice answers in a deflated tone.

 

As Lady Gladys continues to talk unabated about her vision for the flat’s redecoration, Lettice listens in silence, occasionally nodding her polite ascent, even though the words just wash around her like the distant drone of London traffic. After meeting Lady Gladys at Gossington, Lettice had her suspicions that she had an underlying ulterior motive to her request for Lettice to redecorate the flat: to eradicate the presence of her deceased brother and sister-in-law from the place, and perhaps make them even more of a distant memory to Phoebe, who has spent more of her life growing up with Lady Gladys and her husband, than her parents. Although she could not pin it specifically to anything she had said or done, Lettice fancied that having raised Phoebe, Lady Gladys sees the memory of her dead brother and his wife as a threatening spectre in Pheobe’s and her own life. Now she knows her suspicions to be well founded, and clearly out in the open as Lady Gladys strips away almost every reminder of her brother and sister-in-law as she shares her wishes about the redecoration of the flat. She feels sick to her stomach as she glances over at Phoebe, who up until now has shown little emotion, as silent tears well in her eyes and spill down her pale cheeks.

 

*A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

**The Fabian Society is a British socialist organisation whose purpose is to advance the principles of social democracy and democratic socialism via gradualist and reformist effort in democracies, rather than by revolutionary overthrow. The Fabian Society was also historically related to radicalism, a left-wing liberal tradition.

 

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

 

This rather ramshackle drawing room of the studious Phoebe Chambers may look real to you, but in fact it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Phoebe’s drawing room has a very studious look thanks to the many 1:12 size miniature books 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 one of the books he has made as it lies open on a footstool in the foreground, the page bookmarked by a pencil. It is a book of botanical prints by the renown botanical illustrator Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759 – 1840). To give you an idea of the work that has gone into his volumes, the book contains fifty double sided pages of illustrations and text. 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. He also made the packets of seeds seen on the mantlepiece and the bureau in the background, which once again are copies of real packets of Webbs seeds. 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!

 

The floral Edwardian style armchairs are made by JaiYi miniatures, who are a high quality miniature furniture manufacturer, whilst the ornate Victorian tea table on which the tea set stands and the Art Nouveau china cabinet in the background were made by Bespaq miniatures, who are another high quality miniature furniture manufacturer. The two highly lacquered occasional tables in the mid and foreground I bought from a high street dolls’ house supplier when I was twelve. The dainty fringed footstool in the foreground with its tiny rose and leaf pattern ribbon trim was hand made and upholstered by a miniatures artisan in England. The armchair in the foreground with its serpentine arms I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The floral tea set on the tea table, I acquired through an online stockist on E-Bay, whilst the silver galleried tray comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The Victoria sponge (named after Queen Victoria) on the tea table and the slices of it on the plates on the occasional tables are made by Polly’s Pantry Miniatures in America.

 

The Georgian revival bureau to the left of the picture comes from Town Hall Miniatures. Made to very high standards, each drawer opens and closes. On the writing surface of the bureau sit miniature ink bottles and a quill pen made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from a tiny faceted crystal beads and feature sterling silver bottoms and lids. The pencils on the bureau, acquired from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers are 1:12 miniature as well, and are only one millimetre wide and two centimetres long. The French dome clock bookended by Ken Blythe volumes on top of the bureau is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Hall’s Miniature Clocks, supplied through Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniatures in England.

 

The wonderful Carlton Ware Rouge Royale jardiniere (featuring real asparagus fern fronds from my own garden) comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

Phoebe’s photos of her student friends on the mantlepiece are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The photos of Phoebe’s parents in the gilded round frames come from Melody Jane’s Doll’s House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. The floral picture in the round frame came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The china tea set in the cabinet in the background I sourced through a miniatures supplier in Australia, whilst the silver pieces came from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland.

 

The oriental rug is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug and has been machine woven.

  

It happens to everyone. You’re getting ready for a big event like a wedding, or a date, or even a birthday party for a friend, and suddenly you realize you’ve got a problem. You need to know how to get rid of acne overnight, and you need to know it now. Fortunately for you, we have the answer to your question. With a few simple, easy tips and tricks, you can have nice, clear, acne free skin in the morning.

 

First you need to wash your face. Don’t use a harsh cleanser that can irritate your skin even further. A simple wash with warm water and a mild soap is all you need to remove dirt and oil from the surface of your skin.

 

When that is done, it’s time to exfoliate. You want to get rid of the layer of dead skin on your face to help make room for new, clean skin, but you don’t want to scour your face red. A mild facial scrub should be enough. You can even make your own by mixing together sugar, toothpaste – not gel – and a bit of water. Mix them together until you have a paste and gently apply the paste to your face. Massage it into your skin, paying special attention to your problem areas, and then rinse it off with warm water.

 

Did you know that toothpaste, as long as it’s not the gel form, can help fight acne? Simply apply a small bit of toothpaste on your problem area and leave it there for 15-20 minutes before washing it off and patting – not rubbing – your face dry.

 

Apply some face packs or masks. You can use mashed oatmeal masks, which are great in absorbing and removing excess oils on the skin. One great homemade mask to use is egg whites. The vitamin A in egg whites brings in skin tightening and exfoliating benefits.

 

Applying alcohol or eye drops to the area can also help. Simply wet a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol or a bottle of eye drops, and dab it over the acne.

 

In addition to alcohol, you may also apply some homemade acne cleansing solutions over the infected area. For instance, you may use a mixture of half teaspoon tomato juice and one teaspoon of honey. This mixture gives you a brilliant cleansing agent that is very effective in curing all kinds of acne. You may also dab apple cider vinegar or hydrogen peroxide over the problem area to help it dry faster.

 

And don’t forget to try natural herbal remedies. Many people needing to know how to get rid of acne overnight find that applying burdock, sarsparilla and yellow dock can help control their acne. Using a mixture of tea tree oil, or a combination of groundnut oil and lime or lemon juice, can often be helpful. Rosewater has also been known to help soothe inflamed, irritable skin. Try one or try them all until you find the one that works for you.

 

Lastly, have a good night’s sleep. Remember not to sleep on your acne’s side.

 

If it happened that the acne is still visible in the morning, try applying an ice pack n the infected area to reduce redness and swelling. Then, a good skin color concealer can do the trick in hiding your acne.

 

You may be familiar with some products that offer overnight relief. However, these suggestions are equally effective and more economical to follow. However, you must be reminded that of the many ways on how to get rid of acne overnight, their severity of your acne condition should determine your recovery speed.

 

Your skin will, in the end, heal in its own time. Every tip and trick here helps to speed up your recovery and reduce signs of swelling and irritation. Rarely will a truly severe outbreak be healed overnight, but with these helpful hints, hopefully that small blemish will be quickly and easily taken care of.cne Overnigh

 

The post How To Get Rid Of Acne Overnight – Some Effective Ways appeared first on Health & Beauty Tips.

 

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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.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Economies?” Lettice queries.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Indeed it does, Bella.” Lettice agrees.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Remember what, Bella?” Lettice asks.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Says who?” Nigel laughs.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sell?” she asks with incredulity.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Come, that’s not fair, Bella!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Bella I…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m not.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Day81 Year3 of Project 365

 

The cigarette is photoshoped in, so please restrain yourselves from health hazard comments. I really hate the heap about smoking. Cigarettes make really nice art prop and that is that. Thank you.

Having refueled at my sister's feeder, this hummer takes off. Their wings beat so fast that even a shutter speed of 1/1500th of a second doesn't freeze the action. I like the sense of motion here that the moving wings provide.

 

I wanted the feeder and the (ten feet away) morning glory flowers and leaves to be in sunlight for this picture so that I could shoot this large heavy lens hand held, and not have to use a tripod. I very much wanted a well lit, out of focus, colorful background for the birds.

 

More hummingbird pictures, if that strikes your fancy, can be seen in my hummingbird set. www.flickr.com/photos/9422878@N08/sets/72157627149575339/...

安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 畫一般倒影河水出海 - 從日本時代1926穿越現代2010

The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / The reflection as a painting river water goes to the sea - From 1926 Japanese times to pass through modern ages 2010

La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / La reflexión como agua de río de la pintura va al mar - A partir de 1926 veces japonesas de pasar con las edades modernas 2010

安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 普通の倒影の河の水をかいて海に出ます - 日本から時代1926は現代の2010を通り抜けます

Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / Die Reflexion als AnstrichFlusswasser geht zum Meer - Von 1926 japanischen Mal, durch Modernen 2010 zu überschreiten

L'après-midi, été, du transport fluvial Anping - Le temps irritable / La réflexion comme une eau de rivière peinture va à la mer - De 1926 fois japonais pour passer à travers les âges modernes 2010

 

Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平

 

天外魔境 作曲:阪本龍一 / Composer: Ryuichi Sakamoto

{天外の魔境/The evil spirits area of the Out of the world}

 

{View large size on black}

 

{大員戀愛物語-安平追想曲2009}

{The Love story of Tayouan - Anping melody of the memorise 2009}

{La historia de amor de Tayouan - Melodía de Anping de la memorización 2009}

{大員の恋愛する物語 -安平は曲の2009を追憶します}

{Die Liebesgeschichte von Tayouan - Anping-Melodie merken 2009}

 

{My Blog / 不斷成長與進步的喜悅-管樂雅集}

{My Blog / The joy of the Grows unceasingly and the progress - Wind instrument music elegant gathering}

{Mi blog / La alegría del crece incesante y el progreso - Reunión elegante de la música del instrumento de viento}

{Mein Blog / Die Freude an wächst fortwährend und der Fortschritt - Elegante Versammlung der Windinstrument-Musik}

 

{My Blog / 一個從未結束的時代-日本時代}

{My Blog / The Never Ending Times - Japanese Times}

{Mi blog / Los tiempos interminables - épocas japonesas}

{Mein Blog / Die immer währenden Zeiten - japanische Zeiten}

 

{My Blog / 2009 Zeelandia city-Anping melody of the sword Lions}

{My Blog / 2009熱蘭遮城-劍獅追想曲}

{Mi ciudad blog / 2009 de Zeelandia - melodía de Anping de los leones de la espada}

{My Blog / 2009熱の蘭遮城-剣の獅子は曲を追憶します}

{Meine Blog / 2009 Zeelandia Stadt - Anping-Melodie der Klinge Löwen}

 

{My Blog / 2009七娘媽生-府城做十六歲}

{My Blog / The Big Dipper empress birth day 2009-The prefectural city makes 16 years old}

{Mi blog / El día 2009 del nacimiento de la emperatriz del cazo grande - La ciudad de la prefectura hace 16 años}

{Mein Blog / Der Wagenkaiseringeburtstag 2009 - Die Präfekturstadt bildet 16 Jahre alt}

 

{My Blog / 臺灣之門鹿耳門-北汕尾風情畫}

{My Blog / The Deer ear door of the Taiwan - The north sandbank character and style picture}

{Mi blog / La puerta del oído de los ciervos del Taiwán - El cuadro del norte del carácter y del estilo del banco de arena}

{Mein Blog / Die Rotwildohrtür des Taiwans - Die Nordsandbankbuchstaben- und -artabbildung}

 

{My Blog/台南府城的日本時代-Swing Girl}

{My Blog/The Japanese times of the Tainan city-Swing Girl}

{Mi blog/los tiempos japoneses de la ciudad de Tainan - haga pivotar a la muchacha}

{Mein Blog/die japanischen Zeiten der Tainan-Stadt - schwingen Sie Mädchen}

  

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Tonight, Lettice is entertaining her old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, in the dining room of her Cavendish Mews flat: a room equally elegantly appointed with striking black japanned Art Deco furnishings intermixed with a select few Eighteenth Century antiques. The room is heady with the thick perfume of roses brought back from Glynes, the Chetwynd’s palatial Georgian family estate in Wiltshire, from where Lettice has recently returned after visiting a neighbour of sorts of her parents, Mr. Alisdair Gifford who wishes Lettice to decorate a room for his Australian wife Adelina, to house her collection of blue and white china. A bowl full of delicate white blooms graces the black japanned dining table as a centrepiece, whilst a smaller vase of red roses sits on the sideboard at the feet of Lettice’s ‘Modern Woman’ statue, acquired from the nearby Portland Gallery in Bond Street. Silver and crystal glassware sparkle in the light cast by both candlelight and electric light. The pair of old friends have just finished a course of Suprême de Volaille Jeanette: a fillet of chicken served with a rich white roux creamy sauce, ordered from Harrod’s Meat and Fish Hall* and warmed up and finished off by Edith, Lettice’s maid, in the Cavendish Mews kitchen. Gerald returns to the table with two small glasses of port after filling them from a bottle of liqueur in Lettice’s cocktail cabinet in the corner of the room just as Edith steps across the threshold of the dining room carrying a silver tray laden with three types of cheese and an assortment of biscuits, wafers and crackers.

 

“About time, Edith.” Lettice mutters irritably as Edith approaches and slides the tray gently onto the dining table. “Careful! Don’t scratch the table’s surface.”

 

“I’m sorry, Miss.” Edith says as she blushes, a lack of understanding filling her face. “I… I didn’t realise I was scratching it.”

 

“Well, you haven’t, Edith,” she snaps back. “But you need to be more careful!”

 

“Yes Miss.” Edith bobs a curtsey, a wounded look on her usually bright face.

 

Glancing between Lettice toying distractedly with the rope of pearls about her neck looking anywhere but at either her maid or himself, and the poor embarrassed domestic, Gerald pipes up, “There’s nothing to apologise for, Edith. There’s no harm done. Miss Chetwynd is just a bit tired and overwrought. Aren’t you Lettice darling?”

 

When Lettice doesn’t answer, whether because she hasn’t heard Gerald as she gets lost in her own thoughts, or because she knows that she is in the wrong, admonishing her maid like that for no reason, Gerald adds, “The Suprême de Volaille Jeanette was delicious. Thank you.” He then gently indicates with a movement of his kind eyes and a swift sweeping gesture of his hand that she should go.

 

“Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Edith replies as she bobs a second curtsey and quickly scuttles back through the green baize door leading from the diming room back into the service area of the flat.

 

“You don’t seem yourself at all, Lettice darling!” Gerald says in concern once he estimates that Edith is out of earshot. “Upbraiding Edith like that, and for no good reason. She didn’t mark the table. You’ve been in a funk ever since you came back from Wiltshire.” He pauses momentarily and reconsiders. “Actually no, you’ve been like this for a little while before that.” He looks at her knowingly. “What’s the matter with you, darling?”

 

“Oh I’m sorry.” Lettice sighs.

 

“It’s not me you should be sorry to.”

 

“I’ll apologise to Edith a little bit later. I’ll let her settle down first.”

 

“Well, I should hope you will.” Gerald takes a sip and cocks his eyebrow over his eye as he stares at Lettice. “Alright, out with it! What’s the matter, then?”

 

“Looking at me the way you are, can’t you guess, Gerald darling?”

 

“It’s that rather awful Fabian** charlatan, Gladys, isn’t it?” Gerald replies. As he does, he shudders as he remembers the awful snub Lady Gladys gave him.

 

Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate the Bloomsbury flat of her ward, Phoebe Chambers. When Lettice agreed to take on the commission, Lady Gladys said she would arrange a time for Lettice to inspect the flat the next time Lady Gladys was in London. The day it happened, Lettice was invited to hear Lady Gladys give a reading from her latest romance novel ‘Miranda’ at its launch in the Selfridge’s book department. Wanting company, and thinking he might enjoy the outing, Lettice invited Gerald to join her. When Lady Gladys met Gerald, she took an instant dislike to him and snubbed him, calling him ‘Mister Buttons’ much to his chagrin.

 

“Well done, Gerald darling.” Lettice replies sulkily, toying idly with her own glass.

 

“So, what’s the trouble with Gladys now?” Gerald asks. “Come on, tell me all the ghastly details.”

 

“What’s the point, Gerald darling? It won’t make one iota of difference.” Her shoulders slump forward as she speaks.

 

“You don’t know that.” Gerald counters. “If nothing else, it will probably make you feel better just talking about it, and hopefully by unblocking the frustrations you so obviously feel, you’ll be a bit kinder to poor Edith.” He gives her a hopefully glance.

 

“I know. Edith didn’t deserve my ire.”

 

“Especially when she didn’t do anything wrong. It would be a shame to lose such a good maid. Good servants like Edith are hard to come by.”

 

“I know, Gerald! I know!”

 

“If I could afford to employ her full time as a seamstress, I would. However I can only afford Molly to do some piecework for me a few days a week at the moment. But once my atelier expands, you’d better watch out. I’ll poach her.”

 

“Edith?”

 

“Yes of course, darling. Who else?”

 

“As a seamstress? Why?”

 

“Good heavens! Haven’t you noticed how smartly turned out she is when she’s not in uniform and is going out?” Gerald asks with incredulity. When Lettice shakes her head coyly he continues, “For a woman who has an eye for detail, you can be very unobservant sometimes. Edith, like most working girls, makes her own clothes, I’d imagine from patterns in one of those cheap women’s magazines directed towards middle-class housewives I see flapping in the breeze at newspaper kiosks. However, unlike a great many of them, she obviously has a natural aptitude for sewing. That’s why I’d take her on as a seamstress.”

 

“I must confess, I’ve never really noticed what Edith wears. She’s just…” Lettice isn’t quite sure how to phrase it. “She’s just there.”

 

“Well, one day she may not be,” Gerald warns before taking another sip of liqueur. “And then you’ll be in trouble trying to find her like as a replacement. Anyway,” he coughs. “I’m not going to pinch her from you just yet. Now, what’s the problem with Gladys?”

 

Lettice lets out a very heavy sigh. “Oh, she’s awful, Gerald darling: positively frightful. She rings me nearly every day, or sometimes several times a day, hounding me! I’m starting to make Edith answer the telephone more often now, because I’m terrified that it will be Gladys.”

 

“Well, we all know how much dear Edith hates the telephone.”

 

“Well, usually that would be true, but she knows that Gladys is Madeline St John, and I’ve told her that Gladys promises to give her a few signed copies of her books one of these days, so she doesn’t seem to mind when it’s her. Gladys seems to have that common touch with her.”

 

“Common is right.” quips Gerald. “Low-class gutter novelist works her way into the upper echelons by way of an advantageous marriage.”

 

“Gerald!” Lettice gasps

 

“It’s true Lettice, and you must know it by now, even if you didn’t know it before.”

 

“Well, whatever she may or may not be, Gerald, I just can’t talk to her directly. I need a moment to gird my loins*** before I take on the unpleasant task of talking to her, or perhaps a more appropriate description would be, being spoken to by her, at considerable length.”

 

“You haven’t corrupted poor Edith and coerced her into telling little white lies for you when Gladys does ring and say that you’re out.”

 

“No!” Lettice gives Gerald a guilty side glance. “Well not yet anyway.” she corrects. “I’ve thought about doing it, and it’s a very tempting idea. However, I know how much Edith already hates answering the telephone, and being such a despicably honest girl, I think asking her to fib for me, especially to her favourite romance writer, might be just a bridge too far for her.”

 

“Damn the goodness of your maid, Lettice darling.” Gerald replies jokingly with a cheeky smile causing his mouth to turn up impishly, as he cuts a slice of cheese and puts it on a water cracker wafer, before lifting it to his lips.

 

“Oh you’re no help!” Lettuce swats at her best friend irritably. “You make me feel guilty for even countenancing such a thought.”

 

“Well, someone has to try and keep you honest in this sinful city, darling.” he jokes again. “Mummy would never forgive me if I didn’t try and keep you as virtuous as possible.”

 

“I’d believe that of Aunt Gwen.” Lettice agrees. “On the other hand, Mater is convinced that you’re the root of the destruction of her precious, obsequious youngest daughter.”

 

“Sadie is wiser and more observant than I’ve ever given her credit for.” Gerald murmurs in surprise. “I should be more charitable to her in future as regards her intellect.”

 

“That I should like to see.” Lettice giggles, a smile breaking across her lips and brightening her face, dispelling some of the gloom.

 

“That you will never see.” Gerald replies firmly. “That’s better. At least I made you laugh.”

 

“You always make me laugh, darling Gerald.” Lettice reaches across the table and grasps his hand lovingly, winding her fingers around his bigger fisted hand. “You are the best and most supportive friend I could ever hope to have.”

 

“Jolly good, my dear. Now, besides telephoning far too often, what else is the trouble with Gladys?” Gerald presses.

 

“Well, she seems to want to be in control of everything in relation to Pheobe’s Bloomsbury pied-à-terre redecoration.”

 

“Isn’t Gladys footing the bill, Lettice darling?”

 

“Well yes, she is.”

 

“Then it seems to me that she has every right to be involved in the decision making that goes on, particularly as you’ve told me that Phoebe shows a lack of interest in the whole project.”

 

“Yes, but what Gladys is doing is taking over. I don’t think she’d even engage my services if I didn’t have the contacts in the painting, papering and furnishing business she needs. I have no chance to exercise any of my own judgement. Anything I do has to be checked by her: the paint tint for the walls, the staining of the floorboards, the fabric for the furnishings. And she has demonstrated that she has no real interest in my ideas.”

 

“Hhhmmm…” Gerald begins, chewing his mouthful of cheese and biscuit thoughtfully before continuing. “That does sound a trifle tiresome.”

 

“A trifle tiresome? Gerald, you always were the master of understatement.”

 

“I see no reason to panic. She is the client exercising her rights. And since she is the one paying for your services, indulge her in her necessity to be consulted on all facets of the redecoration.”

 

“Oh I’m doing that. Against my better judgement, I’m having floral chintz draperies hung in the drawing room and bedroom because that’s what she wants.”

 

“Good heavens!” Gerald exclaims, nearly choking on a fresh mouthful of cheese and wafer biscuit. “You, selecting chintz as part of your décor decisions?”

 

“My point exactly. It isn’t me that’s decided that, it’s Gladys who has. You know how much I loathe chintz at the best of times.” Lettice shudders at the thought. “I tried hinting at some plain green hangings instead as a very nice alternative, but like anything else where I try my best to negotiate for Phoebe, I am barked at and told in no uncertain terms that I will do no such thing.”

 

“Negotiate for Phoebe?”

 

“Yes, now that I’m well and truly wound up in what you rightly called Gladys’ sticky spiderweb, I’m beginning to see things for what they truly are.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“For a start, I don’t think Phoebe is disinterested in the renovations to her pied-à-terre at all. I’ve seen with my own eyes now, how whenever Pheobe expresses an opinion contrary to that of Gladys, Gladys quickly snuffs out any dissention. As far as Gladys is concerned, her choice is not only the best and right choice, but the only choice to make. Pheobe wants to keep some of her parents’ belongings in the flat, but Gladys won’t hear of it! She wants a clean sweep! I suggest a compromise, but Gladys dismisses it. So, the colours to go on the walls, the furnishings, the fabrics, even the hideous chintz curtains have all been decided upon and approved by Gladys, and Phoebe doesn’t even get a chance to express an opinion. Phoebe isn’t disinterested, she’s simply overruled and completely smothered by Gladys’ overbearing nature.”

 

“Delicious.” Gerald murmurs as he leans his elbows on the black japanned surface of the dining table and leans forward conspiratorially.

 

“It’s not delicious at all!” Lettice splutters. “It’s a frightful state of affairs!”

 

“Well, in truth, that really does sound bloody*****, Lettice darling!”

 

“Like I said, it’s a dreadful state of affairs! I feel as if I am betraying not only poor Pheobe, but the memory of her dead parents in favour of a domineering woman whom no-one it seems can stand up to.”

 

“Have you tried her husband, Sir John?”

 

“He kowtows to her wishes as much as anyone else. I now understand why he has such a dogged look upon his face. I thought it was just age.”

 

“When in fact it was just Gladys?”

 

“Indeed! And what’s even worse is that Gladys is wearing me down now too. It’s just easier to agree to everything she says, and not even attempt a compromise in Phoebe’s favour.”

 

“Well, whilst I know you don’t like the situation, from my own personal experience of dealing with difficult clients, I can say that the path of least resistance is sometimes the best. Do you remember that frock I made for Sophie Munro, the American shipping magnate’s daughter?”

 

Lettice considers Gerald’s question for a moment. “Yes, I think I do. Wasn’t it pale pink with blue trimming?”

 

“Indeed it was, Lettice darling: pink linen with blue trim, with a bias cut drape over one sleeve and a flounced skirt. Poor Sophie has an… ahem…” Gerald clears his throat rather awkwardly as he thinks of the correct phrase. “A rather Rubenesque figure, and the flounced skirt was perhaps less flattering than something with long pleats, which was I had suggested to Mrs. Munro.”

 

“But Mrs. Munro was like Gladys?”

 

“She was, darling, and she wouldn’t hear a word of it. A flounced skirt was what Mrs. Munro wanted, and a flounced skirt was what Sophie received, and she flounced her way back to America, where I’m sure her rather voluptuous derrière will be commented upon by every young eligible man on Long Island, for all the wrong reasons. However, I did it, and I cut ties with Mrs. Munro because now that my atelier is finally turning a modest profit, I can. I don’t need recommendations from her, but I do need her to be happy so that she will at least speak favourably of me, rather than say disparaging things. The same goes for you. Do what Gladys wants and then be done with her. Do it as quickly as possible, then the pain will be over, and she will praise you to boot.”

 

“I can’t help but feel badly for Phoebe though, Gerald.”

 

“I know you do, and I feel sorry for poor Sophie Munro being laughed at behind her back by young cads as she tries to be beguiling with a large derrière, but there you have it. You cannot be responsible to solve the relationship between mother and daughter.”

 

“Aunt and ward.” Lettice corrects.

 

“It equates to the same.” Gerald counters. “You are a businesswoman, Lettice, not an agony aunt******.”

 

“Well, you’re a businessman, and you seem to be a good agony aunt to me.”

 

Gerald and Lettice chuckle before Gerald replies, “Indeed I am, but I’m also a friend. You aren’t friends with Pheobe, and even if you were, you still wouldn’t be able to solve Gladys’ overbearing personality. She is who she is, and Pheobe has to learn how to make her way through life with it. Perhaps you will afford her a little freedom from Gladys by redecorating her pied-à-terre, so she can escape from under Glady’s overbearing shadow, even if the redecoration is not quite as Phoebe would have it. Even then, Phoebe will probably add her own personal touches to her new home over time. It’s only natural that she should.”

 

“Oh,” Lettice sighs heavily. “I suppose you’re right, Gerald.”

 

“Of course I’m right, Lettice darling. I’m always right.” he adds jokingly.

 

“Now don’t you start!” Lettice replies wearily before smiling as she recognises Gerald’s remark as a jest, teasing about Lady Gladys’ overbearing personality.

 

“Well, it sounds like you need a bit of cheering up, Lettice darling,” Gerald goes on as he places another slice of cheese on a biscuit.

 

“I could indeed, Gerald darling!”

 

“Well then, if you are a good girl, and apologise to Edith like I told you, like Cinderella you shall go to the ball!”

 

“Oh you do talk in riddles sometimes, Gerald darling! What on earth do you mean?”

 

“My birthday!” Gerald beams. “Come join me at Hattie’s down in Putney for my birthday!”

 

“You’re having your birthday at Hattie’s?” Lettice queries, her voice rising in surprise. “I thought we were going to the Café Royal****** to celebrate: my treat!”

 

“Now, now, be calm, Lettice darling! We are, but Hattie wants to throw a party for me on my birthday at Putney with Cyril, Charlie Dunnage and a few of the other chaps she has living with her in the house, so we’ll do that first, and then go to dinner at the Café Royal: your treat.”

 

“Well…” Lettice says warily. Her stomach flips every time Gerald mentions his lover, Cyril, an oboist who plays at various theatres in the West End and lives in the Putney home of Gerald’s friend Harriet Milford, who has turned her residence into a boarding house for theatrical homosexual men, not because she is in any way jealous of their relationship, but because she knows that Gerald being a homosexual carries great consequences should he be caught in flagrante with Cyril. Homosexuality is illegal******** and carries heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour, not to mention the shame and social ostracization that would follow any untoward revelations. It would mean the end of his fashion house and all his dreams.

 

Gerald misinterprets the look on his best friend’s face as being misgivings about the party. “Oh come on Lettice! Every time I’ve been spending the night with Cyril down in Putney, which has been quite a lot lately,” he confesses with a shy, yet happy smile. “I’ve been sneaking one or two bottles of champagne into his room, which he’s been stashing under the bed, so there will be plenty to drink, and Hattie is making me a birthday cake, so it will be a rather jolly party. You aren’t still imagining Hattie to be a usurper to you in my affections, are you Lettuce Leaf?”

 

“Don’t call me that Gerald! You know how I hate it!” scowls Lettice. “I’ll call you Mr. Buttons!” She threatens.

 

“You can call me what you like, Lettice darling, only please say you’ll come! You’re my best and oldest chum! It would make me so happy!”

 

“Oh very well, Gerald. Of course I’ll come.”

 

“Jolly good show, Lettice darling!” Gerald enthuses. “We’ll have a whizz of a time!”

 

*Harrod’s Meat and Fish Hall (the predecessor to today’s food hall) was opened in 1903. There was nothing like it in London at the time. It’s interior, conceived by Yorkshire Arts and Crafts ceramicist and artist William Neatby, was elaborately decorated from floor to ceiling with beautiful Art Nouveau tiles made by Royal Doulton, and a glass roof that flooded the space with light. Completed in nine weeks it featured ornate frieze tiles displaying pastoral scenes of sheep and fish, as well as colourful glazed tiles. By the 1920s, when this scene is set, the Meat and Fish Hall was at its zenith with so much produce on display and available to wealthy patrons that you could barely see the interior.

 

**The Fabian Society is a British socialist organisation whose purpose is to advance the principles of social democracy and democratic socialism via gradualist and reformist effort in democracies, rather than by revolutionary overthrow. The Fabian Society was also historically related to radicalism, a left-wing liberal tradition.

 

***To gird one’s loins: to prepare oneself to deal with a difficult or stressful situation, is likely a Hebraism, often used in the King James Bible (e.g., 2 Kings 4:29). Literally referred to the need to strap a belt around one's waist, i.e. when getting up, in order to avoid the cloak falling off; or otherwise before battle, to unimpede the legs for running.

 

****A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

*****The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” or “sounding bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

******An agony aunt is a person, usually a woman, who gives advice to people with personal problems, especially in a regular magazine or newspaper article.

 

*******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.

 

********Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.

 

Lettice’s fashionable Mayfair flat dining room is perhaps a little different to what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures I have collected over time.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The silver tray of biscuits have 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. The empty wine glasses and the glass bowl in the centre of the table are also 1:12 artisan miniatures all made of hand spun and blown glass. They are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The vase is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with flower patterns made up of fine threads of glass. The cream roses in the vase were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The Art Deco dinner plates are part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai. The cutlery set came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The candlesticks were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

In the background on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The silver drinks set is made by artisan Clare Bell at the Clare Bell Brass Works in Maine, in the United States. Each goblet is only one centimetre in height and the decanter at the far end is two- and three-quarter centimetres with the stopper inserted. Lettice’s Art Deco ‘Modern Woman’ figure is actually called ‘Christianne’ and was made and hand painted by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland. ‘Christianne’ is based on several Art Deco statues and is typical of bronze and marble statues created at that time for the luxury market in the buoyant 1920s.

 

Lettice’s dining room is furnished with Town Hall Miniatures furniture, which is renown for their quality. The only exceptions to the room is the Chippendale chinoiserie carver chair (the edge of which just visible on the far left-hand side of the photo) which was made by J.B.M. Miniatures.

 

The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The paintings on the walls are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States. 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.

The Irritable Gardener couldn't find her potatoes.

 

We're Here - A Day of Kim

The African buffalo, or Cape buffalo is a large African bovine that, owing to its unpredictable nature is highly dangerous to humans and has never been domesticated. They gore, trample, and kill over 200 people every year.

 

This old bull is highly irritable and shows the scars of past combats. He wanders the savanna alone, an outcast from the herd.

 

Selected from my Africa photo archives.

 

Please checkout my African Safari album - www.flickr.com/photos/beothic/albums/72157625425998420

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 is Tuesday and we are in the kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve, except on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party. That is when Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs. Edith is grateful that unlike her previous positions, she does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties.

 

Lettice is away, staying with her family at Glynes, the Chetwynd’s grand Georgian Wiltshire estate, where she is visiting a neighbour of sorts of her parents, Mr. Alisdair Gifford who wishes Lettice to decorate a room for his Australian wife Adelina, to house her collection of blue and white china. Lettice’s absence allows Edith and Mrs. Boothby to tackle some of the more onerous jobs around Cavendish Mews before Lettice’s return later in the week. Whilst Mrs. Boothby has been giving the bathroom a really good going over with a scourer, Edith has climbed a stepladder, taken down all the crystal lustres of the chandeliers in the drawing room, dining room and hallway, washed them all and returned them to their freshly dusted metal frames. After a very full morning’s work, the two ladies are taking a well-deserved break in the kitchen of Cavendish Mews and sit around the deal kitchen table, enjoying a cup of tea, and the pleasant company of one another.

 

“Thank you for giving the bathroom a really good going over, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith says with a very grateful lilt to her voice as she pours some fresh tea into the old Cockney charwoman’s Delftware teacup. “I do try and keep it tidy, but… well…” Her voice trails off.

 

“Nah, don’t cha give it a second fort, Edith dearie,” Mrs. Boothby replies, blowing forth clouds of acrid pale greyish blue smoke across the tabletop covered with magazines, books and a tin of Huntley and Palmers** Empire Assorted Biscuits. “I know youse does, but what wiv all those lotions ‘n’ potions Miss Lettice uses to titivate ‘erself wiv, well, it just gets plain scummy, don’t it? I mean, what’s the point in all them fancy bottles of pink ‘n’ blue stuff wiv fancy labels if it’s all gonna go dahwn the plug ‘ole in the end, anyway?”

 

Edith smiles at Mrs. Boothby’s direct manner. Even though she has been working at Cavendish Mews, and thus Mrs. Boothby for five years now, there are still things that fly from the old woman’s mouth that surprise her.

 

“I mean all Ken and I use is a good old scrubbin’ wiv some carbolic,” Mrs. Boothby continues. “And look, ain’t I just as lovely as Miss Lettice?” She lifts her chin upwards and stretches out her arms slightly in a mock impersonation of a model. A serenely haughty look fills her heavily wrinkled face for just a moment, before she resumes her normal stance and starts laughing hard, her jolly guffaws punctuated by her fruity smoker roughened coughs.

 

“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith titters. “You are a one!”

 

“’Ere! Don’t laugh, Edith dearie! That could be me on this ‘ere cover!” Mrs. Boothby laughs, carrying on the joke as she snatches up Edith’s latest copy of Home Chat from the tabletop in front of her and holds it up next to her face. “The face what sold a million copies!”

 

“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith manages to splutter between laughs as tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re making my sides hurt.”

 

“Oh well, we can’t ‘ave none of that nah, can we?” the old woman says cheekily, returning the magazine to its place on top of a copy of Everylady’s Journal****. “Too much laughter eh? On ta somfink more serious. You clean all them dainty crystal drops what ‘ang off the lights then, did cha?”

 

“Oh yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith manages to say as she calms down and dabs the corners of her eyes with her dainty lace embroidered handkerchief. “It’s an awful job. I’m just glad Miss Lettice is away, so I can do it.”

 

“I agree. It does make it a bit easier when Miss Lettice ain’t ‘ome. You can leave a job and come back to it, ‘specially if it’s a big job, and not ‘ave to worry ‘bout pickin’ up after yerself in case she comes flouncin’ threw.”

 

“Her absence gives me a chance to think about some new menu options for my repertoire.” Edith adds, patting the covers of two cookbooks sitting just to her right. “I’m a good plain cook, but I’d like to be able to do a few fancier things too.”

 

“Nuffink wrong wiv a bit of plain cookin’, Edith dearie. That’s all I served me Bill when ‘e was alive, and ‘e nevva complained ‘bout anyfink I served ‘im up for tea.”

 

“I know Mrs. Boothby, and some the best recipes I know, I learned from Mum who is also a plain cook, but I’d just like to expand a bit. It would be nice to be able to make something fancier if Miss Lettice asks.”

 

“Well, just be careful, dearie.” The old charwoman picks up her cigarette from the black ashtray and takes a deep drag on it. “You’ll make a rod for your own back if you ain’t careful. Youse knows what them toffs can be like. Just look at poor “Ilda ‘avin’ ta grind coffee bits for Mr. Channon ev’ry mornin’ now, just cos once Mr. Carter the fancy American came visitin’ and made demands for fresh ground coffee, when Camp Coffee***** would ‘ave done just as well.” She blows out another plume of smoke and releases a few fruity phlegm filled coughs as she does. “Nah she’s gotta make it all the time, poor love.” Changing the subject after taking a slurp of her sweet hot tea, she continues, “So youse ready then, for Sunday?”

 

“Oh yes, I am!” Edith enthuses, thinking of the trip that she will be taking to Wembley to see the British Empire Exhibition****** with her beau, shop delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, her parents and brother, Bert, and Frank’s Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish, on Sunday. “I can hardly wait. It all just sounds so amazing! All different pavilions from around the world.”

 

“Frank got your tickets then?”

 

“Well, he actually gave them to me, because he’s concerned that the daughter of Mr. Willison might pinch them, just to be nasty.”

 

“She sounds like a right piece a work, dearie. Best they stay safe wiv you, ‘ere at Cavendish Mews, then.”

 

“Yes, best to be on the safe side, for Henrietta,” Edith shudders as she mentions her name. “Is quite a little madam. Mind you,” She takes up a biscuit from the tin before her and takes a satisfied bite out of it. “I did give her what for that day you and I walked up to Oxford Street together.”

 

“Whatchoo do, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby asks, snatching up a biscuit for herself with her long and bony, careworn fingers of her right hand, whilst holding her smouldering cigarette aloft in her left. She leans forward, excited to catch a little bit of gossip about her younger companion and friend.

 

“Well, after you left Frank and I together…”

 

“Ah yes!” Mrs. Boothby interrupts. “No place for an old woman like me when there’s young love in the air, is there?”

 

“We didn’t exactly shoo you away, Mrs. Boothby, as I recall it.”

 

“Well, be that as it may, go on.” She takes a long drag on her hand rolled cigarette, the paper crackling as the tobacco inside burns.

 

“Well, after you left and Frank and I talked for just a little while, I noticed we were being observed by that nasty little snitch. She accused us of cavorting in the street!”

 

“Did she now, fancy fine little madam?”

 

“As if she even knew what cavorting meant.”

 

“So whatchoo do, then, Edith dearie?”

 

“Well, I told her that we weren’t, and I told her to stop spying on Frank and I, or I’d tell Miss Lettice that I wanted to take our business elsewhere, and that her father would know that she was the cause of it.”

 

The old Cockney woman bursts out laughing and claps her hands in delight, showering flakes of ash and biscuit crumbs over the table before her. “Good for you, Edith dearie! I ain’t nevva fort youse ‘ave the guts to do somefink like that!”

 

“Nor did I, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith answers slightly shakily as she puts her hand to her heaving chest where her heart beats a little faster at the memory of her altercation with Henrietta Willison. “I don’t quite know where it came from, but I did, and I’m not unhappy that I did it.”

 

“Well, I say well done, dearie. That girl sounds like a nasty bit o’ work: spyin’ on people and spoilin’ their fun by threatenin’ ta steal tickets what they done paid for. It ain’t right. Sounds like she got what was commin’ to ‘er, and there’s a fact.”

 

“All the same, I do feel a little guilty about it.”

 

“Why, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby munches contentedly on the remains of her biscuit as she settles back into the rounded back of the Windsor chair she sits in.

 

“Well, part of me thinks that for all her nastiness, it’s not entirely Henrietta’s fault that she is the way that she is.”

 

“’Ow’s that then?”

 

“Well, she’s at that difficult age. I don’t know if I was overly wonderful when I was her age either. Mum always said I was in a funk, which I put down to working for nasty old Widow Hounslow at the time, but looking back, I think I was emotional. My first chap who I was sweet on, the postman, had taken the King’s shilling******* and gone off to Flander’s Fields******* and never came back.”

 

“Bless all of ‘em takers of the King’s shillin’.” Mrs. Boothby interrupts, lowering her eyes as she does so.

 

“So I was a mess of emotions.”

 

“Course you was, dearie. Any girl wiv a sweetheart in the army would ‘ave been the same.”

 

“Maybe, but I think that even if there hadn’t been a war, I’d still have been emotional. You see it wasn’t just the war: everything made me emotional, or sullen.” She stops speaking and takes a gentle sip of her tea. “Do you know what I think, Mrs. Boothby?”

 

“What’s that then, dearie?”

 

“I think Henrietta is sweet on Frank, even though she’s far to young for Frank, and I think she sees me as a threat.”

 

“Nah, nah, my girl!” Mrs. Boothby defends. “Youse ain’t no threat ta nobody!”

 

“You know that, and I know that, but I think in her emotional, difficult stage of life mind, Henrietta thinks that if I went away, Frank might notice her.”

 

“Well, whevva she finks that or not, she’s still got no business stealin’ a body’s tickets what they gone and paid for ‘emselves. She got what she deserved, which I ‘ope is a big fright!” Mrs. Boothby nods seriously as she screws up her face into an even more wrinkled mass of crumpled flesh.

 

“Maybe, Mrs. Boothby.”

 

“Would you go frew wiv it, then: ya threat, I mean?”

 

“Well, I haven’t had to yet, but if she continues to spy on Frank and I, or cause trouble, I will tell Miss Lettice, and I don’t think she’ll take too kindly to me being bothered in my own time by the daughter of our grocers.”

 

“Well, enuf ‘bout ‘er, Edith dearie. Nah you said your dad was lookin’ forward to seein’ the trains at the hexibition.”

 

“That’s right, Mrs. Boothby. The Flying Scotsman********* in the Palace of Engineering.”

 

“Right-o. But whatchoo lookin’ forward to seein’ the most on Sunday, besides Frank’s pretty blue eyes starin’ dahwn inta yer own, eh?”

 

“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith gasps, raising her hands to her cheeks as she feels them flush. As the old Cockney chuckles mischievously from her seat adjunct to Edith, the young girl perseveres as she clears her throat. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the Palace of Engineering too.”

 

“I nevva took you for a train lover, Edith dearie!” Mrs. Boothby says in surprise.

 

“Oh, it isn’t the railway exhibits I’m interested in.” Edith assures her, raising her hands defensively before her and shaking her pretty head. “No. I saw in the newspapers the designer of the Lion of Engineering********** and I read what was going to be included in the pavilion, and there will be examples of new British labour-saving devices, so I’m very keen to see them.”

 

“Is that all?” Mrs. Boothby exclaims aghast. “A whole bunch of new fancy appliances? What about all the fings from ‘round the world? That’s what I’d be interested to see!”

 

“Oh I am. They say that there will be coloured people there from some of the African nations, living right there at the exhibition, giving demonstrations of native crafts and taking part in traditional cultural events.”

 

“Yes, I read that too! Fancy that! I don’t see many coloured people, even dahwn Poplar, where we’s all mixed in togevva, ‘cept maybe a sailor or two nah and then.”

 

“And there will be elephants roaming around too, and goodness knows what else. It’s all going to be amazing, I’m sure.”

 

“Well, I look forward to ‘earing all about it from you, Edith dearie. You’ll probably be the closest I get to seein’ it, meself.”

 

Edith cradles her cup in her hands and looks thoughtfully at the old woman. “Aren’t you going to go too, Mrs. Boothby. Everyone I know is going. Hilda is going, although one of her friends from Mrs. Minkin’s knitting circle asked her before Frank and I did, so she is going with some of them in a few weeks.”

 

“Yes, she told me she was goin’, too, but not wiv you, which is a bit of a shame.”

 

“Oh, I’m just glad that she’s going, and that she has made some new friends.” Edith replies happily. “Hilda, as you know, is quite shy, and she finds it hard to make friends. I don’t think we would have been friends if we hadn’t shared a bedroom at Mrs. Plaistow’s, even if we were both under housemaids and living under the same roof.” She sighs. “Anyway, Hilda and I get to see each other all the time, especially since we live so close by now. As a matter of fact, I’m actually going over to Hill Street tonight, with Miss Lettice’s blessing, to help wait table with Hilda for Mr. and Mrs. Channon. They have some important guests from America coming to dinner this evening, and Hilda can’t manage to serve Lobster à la Newburg*********** by herself. Thus, why I have pulled out my cookbooks. I need to have my head on right if I’m to be head cook for Hilda, who is petrified of spoiling the lobster for Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s guests.”

 

“Well, I ‘ope Mr. and Mrs. Channon is payin’ you, Edith dearie, is all I’ll say. They might be ‘avin’ some fancy toffs over for a lobster tea, probably that American Mr. Carter and ‘is snobby English wife, but they’s can barely scrape by payin’ the ‘ouse’old bills. “Ilda ‘ad the wine merchants boys over at ‘Ill Street last week whilst I was there. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Channon were genuinely out, so ‘Ilda didn’t ‘ave ta lie and say they weren’t ‘ome when they was, but it’s still pretty bad when the bailiff’s knockin’ at the door.”

 

“Yes, I heard about that from Hilda. It’s a sorry state of affairs, and that’s a fact. I don’t think Mr. or Mrs. Channon can balance a budget to save themselves. Luckily, like you and Hilda, tonight’s wages will be paid to be by Mrs. Channon’s father, Mr. de Virre, who will also be in attendance.”

 

“Just as well. ‘E never fails to pay me wages.”

 

“Anyway, you were going to tell me why you and Ken aren’t going to the British Empire Exhibition. I’m sure Ken would enjoy the amusement park. Apparently it’s the biggest in Britain.”

 

“Big ain’t necessarily best.” Mrs. Boothby concludes sagely. “And it certainly ain’t for me Ken. I’m sure you’re right. ‘E’d love the rides and the colour, but they’s too many people there, and Ken gets hoverwhelmed, ‘e does if they’s too many strangers about. Besides,” she adds with a defensive sniff. “I don’t want no-one lookin’ sideways wiv funny glances at me Ken. ‘E’s a good lad, but folks outside ‘a Polar ain’t so kind to lads like ‘im, and I won’t ‘ave no strangers pokin’ fun at ‘im niver!”

 

“Well that’s fair enough, Mrs. Boothby. Shall I buy Ken a nice souvenir from the exhibition, then, since he’s not going to go himself?”

 

“Youse spoils my lad, Edith dearie. Nah, what youse should be doin’ is savin’ your shillin’s and pence for when you set up ‘ouse wiv Frank. Youse far too generous, dearie.”

 

“Nonsense, Mrs. Boothby. I think a treat for someone as sweet as Ken is only deserving.”

 

“Well, if I can’t talk you outta it, make it somethin’ small and cheap, eh?”

 

“Alright Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs good naturedly. “More tea?”

 

“Like I’d evva say no to a nice cup ‘a Rosie-Lee************, dearie!”

 

Just as Edith pours the tea, a jangling ring echoes through the peaceable quiet of the kitchen.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Edith places the knitted coy covered pot back down on the table with an irritable thud and looks aghast through the doors wedged open showing a clear view to Lettice’s dining room. Beyond it in the Cavendish Mews drawing room, the sparkling silver and Bakelite telephone rings.

 

“Oh! That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.

 

BBBBRRRINGGG!

 

“That will be the telephone, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Boothby says with a cheeky smirk as she stubs out her cigarette and reaches for her tobacco and papers so that she can roll herself another one. “Best youse go see ‘oo it is, then.”

 

Edith groans as she picks herself up out of her comfortable Windsor chair and walks towards the scullery connecting the service part of the flat with Lettice’s living quarters. “I should have disconnected it from the wall the instant Miss Lettice left.” she says as she goes. “Then let’s hear it ring.”

 

“Oh! I should like to see Miss Lettice’s face if she came back and saw that!” Mrs. Boothby manages to say between her guffaws and smattering of fruity coughs as Edith disappears.

 

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

 

**Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time, morning and afternoon tea and reading time.

 

***Alfred Harmsworth founded Home Chat to compete with Home Notes. He ran the Amalgamated Press and through them he published the magazine. He founded it in 1895 and the magazine ran until 1959. It was published as a small format magazine which came out weekly. As was usual for such women's weeklies the formulation was to cover society gossip and domestic tips along with short stories, dress patterns, recipes and competitions. One of the editors was Maud Brown. She retired in 1919 and was replaced by her sister Flora. It began with a circulation of 186,000 in 1895 and finished up at 323,600 in 1959. It took a severe hit before the Second World War in circulation but had recovered before it was closed down.

 

****The Everylady’s Journal was published monthly in Australia and shipped internationally from 1911 to 1938, but began life as The New Idea: A Woman’s Journal for Australasia in 1902. The New Idea contained articles on women’s suffrage, alongside discussions about diet, sewing patterns and tips and tricks for the housewife and young lady. From 1911 The New Idea became the Everylady’s Journal. Published by T.S. Fitchett the fashion periodical changed its name to New Idea in 1938, and it is still being published to this day.

 

*****Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.

 

******The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.

 

*******To take the King’s shilling means to enlist in the army. The saying derives from a shilling whose acceptance by a recruit from a recruiting officer constituted until 1879 a binding enlistment in the British army —used when the British monarch is a king.

 

********The term “Flanders Fields”, used after the war to refer to the parts of France where the bloodiest battles of the Great War raged comes from "In Flanders Fields" is a war poem in the form of a rondeau, written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, written in 1915.

 

*********No. 4472 Flying Scotsman is a LNER Class A3 4-6-2 "Pacific" steam locomotive built in 1923 for the London and North Eastern Railway (LNER) at Doncaster Works to a design of Nigel Gresley. It was employed on long-distance express passenger trains on the East Coast Main Line by LNER and its successors, British Railways' Eastern and North Eastern Regions, notably on The Flying Scotsman service between London King's Cross and Edinburgh Waverley after which it was named. Retired from British Railways in 1963 after covering 2.08 million miles, Flying Scotsman has been described as the world's most famous steam locomotive. It had earned considerable fame in preservation under the ownership of, successively, Alan Pegler, William McAlpine, Tony Marchington, and, since 2004, the National Railway Museum. 4472 became a flagship locomotive for the LNER, representing the company twice at the British Empire Exhibition and in 1928, hauled the inaugural non-stop Flying Scotsman service. It set two world records for steam traction, becoming the first locomotive to reach the officially authenticated speed of 100 miles per hour on the 30th of November 1934, and setting the longest non-stop run of a steam locomotive of 422 miles on the 8th of August 1989 whilst on tour in Australia.

 

**********Although largely forgotten today, British artist, sculptor and designer, Percy Metcalf had a great influence on the lives of everyday Britons and millions of people throughout the British Empire. He designed the first coinage of the Irish Free State in 1928. The first Irish coin series consisted of eight coins. The harp was chosen as the obverse. Metcalfe was chosen out of six designers as the winner of the reverse design of the Irish Free State's currency. The horse, salmon, bull, wolf-hound, hare, hen, pig and woodcock were all on different denominations of coinage that was known as the Barnyard Collection. In 1935, it was George V's jubilee, and to celebrate the occasion, a crown piece containing a new design was issued. The reverse side of the coin depicts an image of St George on a horse, rearing over a dragon. Due to its modernistic design by Metcalfe it has earned little credit from collectors. In 1936, Metcalfe designed the obverse crowned effigy of Edward VIII for overseas coinage which was approved by the King, but none was minted for circulation before Edward's abdication that December. Metcalfe was immediately assigned to produce a similar crowned portrait of King George VI for overseas use. This image was also used as part of the George Cross design in 1940. The George Cross is second in the order of wear in the United Kingdom honours system and is the highest gallantry award for civilians, as well as for members of the armed forces in actions for which purely military honours would not normally be granted. It also features on the flag of Malta in recognition of the island's bravery during the Siege of Malta in World War II. Metcalfe also designed the Great Seal of the Realm. He produced designs for coinage of several countries including Ireland and Australia. He created a portrait of King George V which was used as the obverse for coins of Australia, Canada, Fiji, Mauritius, New Zealand and Southern Rhodesia. To commemorate the extraordinary visit that George VI and Queen Elizabeth set out on to North America in 1939, three series of medallions were designed for the Royal Canadian Mint. The reverse side of the coins contained a joint profile of George VI and Queen Elizabeth, which was designed by Metcalfe. This design was also used on the British Coronation Medal of 1937. Metcalfe created a British Jubilee crown piece, which was exhibited in the Leeds College of Art in November 1946. Prior to all his coin designs, Metcalfe had taken up sculpting and designing objects as an art form at the Royal College of Art in London, and he was commissioned to create the great Lions of Industry and Engineering for the British Empire Exhibition in 1924.

 

***********Lobster Newberg (also spelled lobster Newburg or lobster Newburgh) is an American seafood dish made from lobster, butter, cream, cognac, sherry and eggs, with a secret ingredient found to be Cayenne pepper. A modern legend with no primary or early sources states that the dish was invented by Ben Wenberg, a sea captain in the fruit trade. He was said to have demonstrated the dish at Delmonico's Restaurant in New York City to the manager, Charles Delmonico, in 1876. After refinements by the chef, Charles Ranhofer, the creation was added to the restaurant's menu as Lobster à la Wenberg and it soon became very popular. The legend says that an argument between Wenberg and Charles Delmonico caused the dish to be removed from the menu. To satisfy patrons’ continued requests for it, the name was rendered in anagram as Lobster à la Newberg or Lobster Newberg.

 

************Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.

 

This comfortable domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection, some of which come from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:

 

Edith’s deal kitchen table is covered with lots of interesting bits and pieces. The tea cosy, which fits snugly over a white porcelain teapot, has been hand knitted in fine lemon, blue and violet wool. It comes easily off and off and can be as easily put back on as a real tea cosy on a real teapot. It comes from a specialist miniatures stockist in the United Kingdom. The Huntley and Palmer’s Breakfast Biscuit tin containing a replica selection of biscuits is also a 1:12 artisan piece. Made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight, the biscuits are incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The Deftware cups, saucers, sugar bowl and milk jug are part of a 1:12 size miniature porcelain dinner set which sits on the dresser that can be seen just to the right of shot. The vase of flowers are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.

 

Edith’s two cookbooks are made by hand by an unknown American artisan and were acquired from an American miniature collector on E-Bay. The Everywoman Journal magazine from 1924 sitting on the table was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States, whilst the copy of Home Chat is a 1:12 miniature made by artisan Ken Blythe. I have a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my miniatures collection – books mostly. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! Sadly, so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. As well as making books, he also made other small paper based miniatures including magazines like the copy of Home Chat. It is not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this is the fact is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

Also on the table, sit Mrs. Boothby’s Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.

 

Edith’s Windsor chairs are both hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either chair, but they are definitely unmarked artisan pieces.

 

The bright brass pieces hanging on the wall or standing on the stove all come from various stockists, most overseas, but the three frypans I bought from a High Street specialist in dolls and dolls’ house furnishings when I was a teenager. The spice drawers you can just see hanging on the wall to the upper right-hand corner of the photo came from the same shop as the frypans, but were bought about a year before the pans.

 

In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.

 

The tin bucket, mops and brooms in the corner of the kitchen all come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

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 south of the Thames in the middle-class London suburb of Putney in the front room of a red brick Edwardian villa in Hazelwood Road, which belongs to Lettice’s childhood chum Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, and millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*, but her business has taken off substantially thanks to Lettice introducing her to a couple of her friends, who have spread the word about Harriet’s skill. The front parlour of the Putney villa, which doubles as Harriet’s sewing room and show room for her hats, is even more of a jumble than usual, for not only is the room’s middle-class chintzy décor covered with Harriet’s hats and sewing paraphernalia, but today it is festooned with hand made paper chains in bright colours, and a beautifully made fruit cake with an expertly created royal icing surface dotted with cherries sits on a raised cake plate in the middle of the tea table, for today Harriet is hosting a party for Gerald’s birthday.

 

“Happy birthday, Dinah darling!” Cyril, Gerald’s West End oboist lover exclaimed with delight as Harriet walked into the front room carrying the wonderful cake and placed it on what was her deceased father’s tilt top chess table, which now serves as her tea table.

 

The party is small, attended only by those whom Gerald trusts will keep his illegal homosexual relationship** with Cyril a secret, namely Lettice, Harriet and the couple of other homosexual men who board beneath Harriet’s roof: actors Charles Dunnage, Bartholemew Harrison, Leonard Arbuthnot and Arthur Bradley, the latter of whom today is appearing in drag as his alter ego, Beatrice. Upon Gerald and Lettice’s arrival by taxi from across the Thames, Harriet cried that she did not have the champagne requisite to celebrate the occasion, only to be shushed by Gerald and Cyril, who then revealed that they had been stealthily stashing bottles for the party under Cyril’s bed every time Gerald came over to visit and spend the evening. When Harriet decried that she had no champagne flutes, her concerns were hushed again by her theatrical borders who assured her that if all of them were used to drinking wine, brandy, gin and cocktails from her teacups, then they would be equally suitable for champagne. And thus, the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl Harriet had prepared for a more sedate party were set aside, and the champagne poured into the teacups as the party began. Lettice smiled quietly to herself at this rather unorthodox arrangement as she quietly sipped her champagne from a gilt edged Royal Doulton cup, but quietly reminded herself that very little in Harriet’s Putney household was orthodox. Well wishes and gifts were given to Gerald, and the cake cut and served by Harriet before a series of party pieces were performed by the theatrical members of the group, much to the delight of Harriet, Lettice and Gerald. As a Shakespearean actor, Charles performed a monologue from Hamlet, whilst Bartholomew quite literally pulled a bunch of flowers for Gerald out of his top hat as he performed magic tricks. Leonard and Beatrice sang bawdy music hall songs, before Cyril concluded the formal performances by playing a piece of music on his oboe he composed for Gerald, his efforts rewarded with applause from the assembled company, tears from Lettice and Harriet and kisses of love from Gerald. Then Gerald brought down his portable gramophone and selection of records, also kept hidden in Cyril’s bedroom for the party, and everyone took turns dancing across Harriet’s worn old parlour carpet.

 

Now, with the evening creeping in as the sun sets in the west, whilst more than half of the champagne has been drunk and the cake eaten, the festive atmosphere of the occasion is still very much present as the gentlemen of the party continue to choose tunes to dance to between telling funny stories of life in the theatre, before they have to set off for their respective theatres in London’s West End to either act, sing or play music and Lettice and the birthday boy go and have dinner at the Café Royal***: Lettice’s birthday treat for Gerald. Harriet and Lettice sit off to the side on Harriet’s sofa, sipping champagne from their teacups, the pair making rather an odd pair with Lettice dressed in one of Gerald’s beautifully designed evening frocks, whilst Harriet wears a pretty, but far more casual and obviously less expensive day frock.

 

“Why do they do that?” Lettice asks Harriet as Cyril calls out to Gerald, using the name Dinah to address him.

 

“Do what, Miss Chetwynd?” Harriet queries.

 

“Why do they call each other by ladies’ names, instead of calling each other by their proper names? Cyril is Cilla. Gerald is Dinah. I… I don’t understand, Miss Milford.”

 

“Well, Cilla is obviously the female equivalent of Cyril.”

 

“I have a friend whose name really is Cilla.” Lettice answers. “Well, Priscilla actually.” She takes a gentle sip of warming champagne from her teacup.

 

“And I guess, Dinah,” Harriet thinks. “Might be derived from Geraldine. You know, Geraldine, Dina, Dinah.” She shrugs. “I’m only supposing. Perhaps you might ask him.”

 

Lettice’s face crumples with irritation. “But why do they insist on doing that, is what I want to know, Miss Milford.”

 

“You don’t know, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Know what?”

 

“It’s for protection.”

 

“Protection? How does calling one another by female names protect them? It only draws attention to them, if you ask me. It sounds utterly ridiculous!” Lettice scoffs. “Grown men calling each other by ladies’ names! And I get criticized by my parents for some of the turns of phrase I use! Whatever next?”

 

“It may sound like silly, Miss Chetwynd, but it’s actually very smart,” Harriet explains. “And it’s been done by men like Cyril and Gerry for generations. They might call themselves Cilla instead of Cyril, or Dinah rather than Gerry, or even Aunt Sally instead of Charles,” She nods in the direction of Charles Dunnage. “In private, but they don’t do it in public, or rather they do, but surreptitiously.”

 

“I think you’re just making me more confused, Miss Milford.” Lettice laughs, shaking her head. “Then again, it might be the third glass of champagne,” She holds up her half empty teacup. “That stultifies my thinking.”

 

“Then let me explain.” Harriet says kindly.

 

“Please do, Miss Milford.” A peal of squealing laughter and claps of applause from Cyril as he watches Beatrice being dipped in a sweeping tango movement by Leonard momentarily distracts both ladies before Lettice turns back to Harriet. “I’m all ears.”

 

“Well, when you are queer, as my gentlemen lodgers are, you have to be careful what you say and to whom. It may be safe here at Hazelwood Road, but out there,” Harriet waves her hand towards the closed chintz curtains covering the front window sheltering the party guests from prying eyes. “Even a whiff of gossip, can land a man, even a real gentleman like Gerald, on the wrong side of the law.”

 

“Don’t I know it, Miss Milford.” Lettice shudders. “Just the thought of Gerald being dragged up before a magistrate, much less being sent to prison to serve a sentence with hard labour, terrifies me.”

 

“If it assuages your fears at all, it does me too, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet assures her. “And whilst I quite enjoy having the theatrical household I have, and feel perfectly safe amongst my all-male coterie of lodgers, I don’t exactly fly a flag advertising that they are all queer.” She pauses casting Lettice a wary glance. “We all of us have to be discreet, and when I say we, I mean us, and them as well.” She points to Gerald and the other gentlemen milling around her tea table with teacups or silvers of cake in their hands.

 

“You seem very well versed in all of this, Miss Milford.” Lettice observes.

 

“It helps when you have the clientele I do in my boarding house, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says knowingly. “I learned things I never knew, and I discovered that I have the capacity to learn a great deal, very quickly.” She pauses and takes a draught of champagne from her cup. “Something my own father never gave me much credit for.”

 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a father like I have, Miss Milford.” Lettice remarks sadly. “I was very fortunate that Pater, unlike Mater, is not blinkered about the education or place of women in society.”

 

“I am too.” Harriet sighs. “But then again, if I had had a better education, or found myself in different circumstances, I might never have known any of these fine gentlemen.”

 

“Or ladies.” Lettice adds as she watches Arthur as Beatrice spin like a whirling dervish, his spangled frock, a pre-war Edwardian tea dress built more for his bulky size, modified and updated with a shorter hemline, spinning around him in sparkling Napoleon blue. “So, how is using female aliases discreet, Miss Milford?”

 

“It means that when they go out and meet up at pubs, even friendly saloon bars**** in the West End like The Packenham***** that might be a safer haven for queer men, they can still talk more freely about one another and not be implicated.”

 

“Implicated? By whom?”

 

“Themselves,” Harriet sighs. “Each other: whether on purpose or by accident. Pubs are frequented by undercover constabulary ready to arrest a poor man under suspicion of a criminal act: men who will break easily under hard fists being pummelled relentlessly into them in a prison cell at the local police station.”

 

“Surely they wouldn’t implicate one another, Miss Milford.”

 

“Oh, wouldn’t they just, Miss Chetwynd? Queens can be very nasty and catty, especially in the theatrical industry. Some have gone to great lengths to get rid of their competition if they are vying for a role they want.” Harriet sees Lettice’s eyes grow wide as she turns her head slightly to stare at Gerald and his friends. She quickly clarifies, “None of my borders would of course, Miss Chetwnd!”

 

“Of course not, Miss Milford!”

 

“I want a peaceable kingdom. Anyway, if they refer to one another as Cilla or Dinah, Beatrice or Aunt Sally, they can get away with talking freely about one another, and even a sharp eared undercover member of the constabulary cannot pick them up on suspicion of an inverted nature******. So if Gerry were silly enough to say after a few too many pints at The Packenham, that he was coming home to Cilla – not that he would Miss Chetwynd – then no-one could accuse him of sharing a bed with Cyril.”

 

“I should certainly hope that he wouldn’t!” A look of concern crosses Lettice’s face.

 

“No, he wouldn’t.” Harriet sighs and look up at Cyril, who is engaged in a telling a story that has engaged his male companion audience, flapping his arms around in wild gesticulations as he giggles. “But Cyril on the other hand.” She cocks her eyebrow over her right eye.

 

“He isn’t as discreet as Gerald is.” Lettuce finishes Harriet’s unstated thought and then takes a gulp of her champagne, which suddenly tastes bitter and acidic as it tumbles down her throat.

 

“No, he isn’t.” Harriet agrees. “But at least if his lips are slick with drink, and he says that Dinah’s coming over to stay, his friends at the bar with know who he is referring to, but his foes, like the undercover constable, won’t.”

 

Lettice turns in her seat on the overstuffed chintz fabric sofa to face Harriet. “May I be frank, Miss Milford?”

 

“Goodness!” Harriet gasps. “It sounds like we might need a top up to our refreshments.” She opines, glancing at Lettice’s empty cup cradled in her elegantly manicured hand. Harriet looks up. “Charles! Charles!” She calls.

 

The mature actor with white hair and an impressive, expertly waxed handlebar moustache dressed resplendently in full evening attire looks away from Cyril and his story. When Harriet holds her own nearly empty teacup slightly aloft before her, he understands her meaning, nods and snatches up the open bottle of champagne next to Gerald’s partially eaten birthday cake and walks over to Lettice and Harriet with it, his bearing noble and elegant.

 

“And what are you two lovely wallflowers talking about over here in the shadows?” Charles asks as he bends and politely pours champagne into Lettice’s proffered cup. “Something deliciously salacious? Come whisper it into your Aunt Sally’s ear.” He then pours champagne into Harriet’s cup. “I’m sure there is nothing she hasn’t heard yet that would shock her.”

 

“No,” Harriet laughs. “It’s more likely the other way around.”

 

“Never a truer word was spoken, dear Hattie.” Charles finishes pouring and straightens up. “I warned you, Miss Chetwynd, the first time we met. Do you remember?”

 

“I can’t say I do, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice replies. “Remind me. What did you warn me of?”

 

“When I first met you in the hallway of this very house, just out there, I told you to flee, Miss Chetwynd! To flee!” he says in his deep, booming actor’s voice as he sweeps his arms out dramatically, as though shooing Lady Macbeth’s unwanted spirit from the room. “I said for you to flee this den of iniquity and retreat to the salubrious surrounds from whence you came, before you were swept up into the maelstrom of actors that pass through Hattie’s welcoming doors, and whisked into these immoral and improper parties.” He sighs and smiles down at her cheekily. “However, I see that you failed to heed my timely words of warning and now it is too late.” He pauses for affect. “You Miss Chetwynd, my beauteous lady, are doomed to become one of the bohemian oddities of Hazelwood Road, for there is no going back now.”

 

“Perhaps I enjoy being a bohemian oddity, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice answers him.

 

“Then you are welcome, dear lady.” he replies, taking up her hand and kissing it like a queen.

 

“Oh, get away with you, Charles!” Harriet slaps the older gentleman on the forearm playfully. “You’ll drive Miss Chetwynd away with your superlatives and theatricalities! Once an actor, always an actor!”

 

“How many times must I tell you, Hattie?” Charles bemoans irritably, suddenly animating his shoulders, making them rise and fall with every syllable. “I’m a thespian,” He emphasises the word with reverence. “Not an actor! Why must you insult me so, and throw me into the lot with those who are mere actors?” He spits the last two words out like an insult.

 

“But you just said there was a maelstrom of actors who flowed through Miss Milford’s door, Mr. Dunnage.” Lettice opines. “Didn’t you?”

 

Charles’ eyes grow wide and his cheeks puff in and out with surprise at being caught out by his own words. “Well, never mind if I did.” he blusters. “But even if I did, I am right. There are many actors in our little den of iniquity, but there are very few thespians like me.” He draws himself up to his full height and places a hand dramatically against his chest. Cyrill’s pealing laughter bursts forth again commenting with perfect comic timing on Charles’ stance, even though his laughter is really directed at something Gerald has whispered in his ear. “He’s an actor.” Charles points to Cyril. “Melodramatic, and amusing, yes, but never up to the standards of the Old Vic*******. Only true thespians can perform the works of the Great Bard. Anyone can be an actor, and anyone is!” He arches his eyebrows, causing her brow to furrow in folds of pale white flesh.

 

“I can hear you, Aunt Sally!” Cyril calls across the room. “Your booming old thespian voice betrays you, dear heart. Stop discussing me with monstrously jealous green eyes, and come back here this instant!”

 

“Or we’ll christen you an old masher********,” giggles Gerald, his champagne glass half aloft. “And ruin your reputation at The Bunch of Grapes*********.”

 

“Go on, Aunt Sally!” Harriet refers to Charles by his female alias, shooing him with anxious waves of her hand. “You don’t want your reputation as a gentleman’s man ruined. Anyway,” she assures him as his face falls. ‘We’re only discussing women’s business, and nothing of interest to you. Off you trot.”

 

Charles turns dolefully and slips away, back to the circle of men around the tea table covered in tea things.

 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Chetwynd. I ought to have fetched the champagne myself. I should have known we would have been subject to one of Charles’ dramatic conversations. Please forgive me.” She smooths down her skirt across her knee nervously as she returns her attention to Lettice. “Now, you were saying?”

 

“Please, don’t apologise, Miss Milford. In fact, Cyril’s response to Mr. Dunnage’s display of theatricality only cements my concerns.”

 

“Concerns, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“I’ve already spoken to Gerald about this, and not in a nasty way. My dearest wish is for Gerald’s happiness, and I know that Cyril does make him happy: his bouts of melancholy are far less than they were before he met Cyril.”

 

“But?”

 

“Cyril’s lack of discretion scares me, Miss Milford.” Lettice confides. “I’ve made Gerald promise to be discreet and asked him to ensure that Cyril is as discreet as possible about who he is and their relationship.”

 

“Oh, Cyril’s only behaving outrageously because he’s here, Miss Chetwynd, and he can be himself. He isn’t anywhere near as flamboyant when he’s out in the world.”

 

“How do you know, Miss Milford? It seems to me that a few glasses, or rather teacups, of champagne loosens his tongue and enhances his…” Lettice pauses as she contemplates the correct word to describe Cyril’s current animated state. “His theatricality, shall we say.”

 

“It’s a shrewd observation, Miss Chetwynd, but I can assure you that I’ve been to a few saloon bars with Cyril and Gerry before, and he’s never done anything frightfully overt to betray himself.”

 

“Then I’m sure that Cyril was on his best behaviour, and even if he weren’t, I know Gerald well enough to know that he would have kept him in line.”

 

“Pardon me for saying this, Miss Chetwynd, and with the greatest of respect, but you weren’t there. You may know Gerry far better than me, being childhood chums and all, but I know Cyril better than you do. He can take care of himself and steer clear of trouble. He grew up in Cambridge. He’d have had to watch is p’s and q’s there.”

 

“Cambridge is hardly a market town, Miss Milford. It’s a university city, and to be fair, I know at least one or two sons of family friends who are members of Gerald and Cyril’s theatrical set who have sailed through the hallowed halls of both Oxford and Cambridge, and I’m not talking about the study halls.” Lettice sighs. “I can’t help but worry. I don’t want anything untoward to happen to Gerald,” She sighs more deeply. “Or Cyril for that matter.”

 

“It’s only natural that you should worry, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet reaches out and places a comforting hand on Lettice’s knee: an overly familiar gesture that makes Lettice – unused to such shows of affection from a person she does not know that well – feel a little awkward. “But no matter what happens, Cyril and Gerry will always have a safe haven here.”

 

Sensing her unease, Harriet withdraws her hand somewhat reluctantly from Lettice’s knees as she finds a common bond between she and Lettice to try and bridge the gap that she so badly wants to cross.

 

The two women fall into a thoughtful silence that is at odds with the bright music from the gramophone and the theatrical noise that bursts like bubbles around them, as momentarily they allow themselves to become lost in their own deeper thoughts and concerns.

 

“But this won’t last forever, Miss Milford,” Lettice says at length, breaking their silence. “Will it?”

 

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Well look,” She waves her hand expansively around Harriet’s untidy front room cum millinery studio. “Dare I say it, but your home is more madcap and untidy than it was when I first met you.”

 

“I have tried to tidy up, Miss Chetwynd, truly I have.” Harriet defends herself, a little hurt that Lettice insists on bringing up the state of general untidiness of her home life yet again.

 

“Oh I don’t mean that, Miss Milford.” Lettice soothes. “I’m not here to tell you whether you should or shouldn’t have an untidy studio. I’ve said my peace. It’s not up to me as to how you choose to live.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“I meant the fact that you can’t keep this up for too much longer. You can’t continue to live here, run your business, and run a boarding house at the same time. I can understand that when your father died suddenly, due to his poor opinion about women’s education and blinkered idea as to your place in the world, he left you with little choice but to turn his home into a boarding house in order to keep the roof over your head. However, now that I’ve given you a helping hand to start off with by introducing you to a few influential new clients, your skills as a highly talented milliner are becoming better known and speak for themselves. That’s only going to increase, just like Gerald’s atelier. Gerald tells me that your orders for hats are rapidly increasing. You can barely keep the two businesses reconciled, can you?”

 

“Well,” Harriet agrees begrudgingly. “I can’t lie. It is getting harder to fit all the cooking, laundering, washing and tidying up around here around my customer appointments and the time I spend making my hats, especially in the lead up to Ascot. I’d love to have a housekeeper again, but I can’t quite afford one, at least not yet, and I don’t want to put up the rents.”

 

“What you really need is a full-time landlady to run the boarding house, but I know, you can’t afford it. I’m not telling you out of spite, but rather as a friendly piece of advice that soon – maybe not tomorrow or the next day – but soon, you’re going to have to decide where your future lies. Is it as a landlady of a theatrical boarding house, or a successful milliner? I know which one I would choose.” Lettice pauses. “However, the path I would choose for you would involve you giving this up and perhaps moving to more appropriate lodgings that don’t involve you being the landlady, but rather the keeper of your own atelier.”

 

“But then what will become of Charles, and Cyril, or Gerald.”

 

“They will have to make their own way in the world, and that is why I worry.” Lettice admits. “Gerald hasn’t enough money yet either, to give he and Cyril a safe home where they can live together, away from prying eyes and the more unkind people of this world. I hope he does one day, and I’m sure he will. However, now he needs to pour any profits he makes back into his Grosvenor Street atelier in order to make it bigger and better. Until he can set up that home, because for all his good intentions an oboist like Cyril will never be able to afford to buy a home, Gerald and he will have to find a safe way through the world.”

 

“I don’t want to think about that, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet says bitterly as she turns away from Lettice, as if trying to shy away from the truth.

 

“I know you don’t, Miss Milford.” Lettice says kindly. She raises he hand to Harriet’s shoulder and then quickly retracts it before she touches it, returning it to nursing her teacup. “But how can you stop a stone from rolling after it gains momentum.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me an introduction to your aunt and her friends.” Harriet mutters.

 

“Nonsense, Miss Milford!” Lettice chides. “Now if I ever meant to cause harm to you, then that is exactly how I would have behaved. I may not have liked you very much when we first met, Miss Milford. You know that I foolishly saw you as a threat to Gerald’s and my friendship, when in fact you were no such thing. However, whilst we will never be bosom friends********, I don’t dislike you so much as to prevent you from developing your potential. You are a talented milliner, Miss Milford, and you know it, and now the world is starting to see what Gerald saw in you when he first met you, and what I have benefited from as a result. You can’t deny that millinery brings you pleasure. Enjoy it and embrace it. However, like anything else that you, or I, enjoy, there are sacrifices that we need to make – as I said before, maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.”

 

“Come on! Come on you two!” Gerald’s gleeful and animated voice interrupts the women’s conversation. “This is meant to be my birthday party!”

 

“And so it is, Gerry.” Harriet says with false joviality.

 

“Then if it is my birthday, I get to decide what we do.” He claps his hands. “You two look far too serious, like a pair of old countesses at a debutante ball, bitter and sad.”

 

“We’re not sad, Gerald!” Lettice balks. “We’re just being introspective.”

 

“Oh pooh introspection Lettuce Lea…”

 

“Ahh.. ahh, Mr. Buttons!” Lettice quickly interrupts Gerald from saying her hated childhood nickname, using the nasty name given him by Lady Gladys Caxton at her book reading at Selfridges, wagging a warning finger at him.

 

As Gerald hears Cyril giggle behind him, he counters, “Oh pooh melodramatic Madeline St John, queen of the mushy romance novella, and pooh you! We’re going to play a game!”

 

“What shall we play then?” Harriet asks as Charles takes away her cup and helps her to her feet, whilst Gerald does the same with Lettice.

 

“We’re going to play Cats and Dogs***********!” he says with delight as he withdraws a deck of cards from his tailcoat breast pocket. “We have enough time for a game before Cilla and Aunt Sally are due at their respective theatres, and Lettice and I dine at the Café Royal.”

 

*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.

 

**Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.

 

***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.

 

*****Some pubs and bars were “friendly” places (as much as a publican and his staff would tolerate in those days) for lesbians, queer men and more sexually bohemian society in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Francis Downes Ommanney was a well known Antarctic explorer who served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War, yet what was less well known about him was that he was a homosexual. In 1966 he published his autobiography ‘The River Bank’ which contains a very interesting account of gay pubs in the 1920s. In it he talks about the social hierarchy of pubs and what happened when class lines were ignored: “There were several bars, a saloon and a public bar as a matter of course, but there might also be others, like the lounge, the private bar and sometimes the ladies’ bar. In the saloon, where I think bitter beer was about 8d. a pint, the surroundings were distinctly more classy than in the public where the same beer was only 4d. or 4d. a pint. There were sofas and tables with ash-trays and there might be a tinny piano, though this was rare in the West End… The public bar often had sawdust on the floor to absorb the beer swills, spittoons and a generally spartan, poverty-stricken air so that the patrons might feels themselves a step or two lower down the ladder than their neighbours in the saloon. I usually patronised the saloon because once or twice in the public bar the proprietor had looked at me in a meaningful manner and said severely, ‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the saloon bar, sir?’ And I had immediately felt guilty as though I were there for a nefarious purpose, as perhaps I was…” He describes one of his more favourite haunts, the Fitzroy Tavern on Charlotte Street: “Perhaps the liveliest of all the bars I frequented was the Fitzroy Tavern in Soho which had an atmosphere as close to that of a Paris boite in its earthy gaiety as it was possible to achieve in London. It was frequented by an extraordinary collection of bohemians, dope addicts (very sinister in those days but nothing, apparently, now), lesbians, queers and oddities of all sorts. It was always full of soldiers and sailors, especially the latter, who always love the free-and-easy, pick-up atmosphere of a joint anywhere in the world.”

 

******Variously called the Pakenham Arms, Pakenham Hotel or Pakenham Tavern, this pub in Knightsbridge, popular with guardsmen from the Household Cavalry was a well-known gay haunt. It stood on the corner of Raphael Street and Knightsbridge Green, and was originally a country house. It was enlarged and converted into a Hotel and Tavern at a cost of over three thousand pounds by the builder Edward Nangle, who became its first licensee in 1847. It was demolished in the 1950s to build Caltex House, but a replacement pub, Tattersall’s, was included in the development.

 

*******An invert is a term coined and popularly used in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries to describe a homosexual. Sexual inversion is a theory of homosexuality popular primarily in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth century. Sexual inversion was believed to be an inborn reversal of gender traits: male inverts were, to a greater or lesser degree, inclined to traditionally female pursuits and dress and vice versa.

 

********The Old Vic theatre in the London borough of Lambeth was formerly the home of a theatre company that became the nucleus of the National Theatre. The company’s theatre building opened in 1818 as the Royal Coburg and produced mostly popular melodramas. In 1833 it was redecorated and renamed the Royal Victoria and became popularly known as the Old Vic. Between 1880 and 1912, under the management of Emma Cons, a social reformer, the Old Vic was transformed into a temperance amusement hall known as the Royal Victoria Hall and Coffee Tavern, where musical concerts and scenes from Shakespeare and opera were performed. Lilian Baylis, Emma Cons’s niece, assumed management of the theatre in 1912 and two years later presented the initial regular Shakespeare season. By 1918 the Old Vic was established as the only permanent Shakespearean theatre in London, and by 1923 all of Shakespeare’s plays had been performed there. The Old Vic grew in stature during the 1920s and ’30s under directors such as Andrew Leigh, Harcourt Williams, and Tyrone Guthrie.

 

*********Derving from American English a masher is a slang term for a man who makes unwanted advances, particularly sexual ones, towards women not acquainted with him, especially in public places.

 

**********Frequented by sailors, and known as a homosexual haunt, the Bunch of Grapes was located at 45 Strand, St Martin in the Fields. Originally called the Craven Coffee House in 1822, this pub was later renamed the Bunch of Grapes and continued to trade until 1928 when it finally closed its doors. It never reopened and was demolished after the Second World War in 1945.

 

***********The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.

 

************In the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, the game “dogs and cats” was in vogue. All that is required is a deck of playing cards and even numbers of guests to make two teams. The host of the party hides the cards around the house. They can be hidden inside of magazines, books, vases, drawers, biscuit barrels- just about anywhere really, but hopefully not in bedrooms or any other private spaces! The party guests have team captains that split off into two teams- the “dogs” and the “cats’. The goal for the dogs is to find all of the black cards, and the cats have to find all of the red ones. It is the team captain’s responsibility to gather all of their team’s cards. If a member of the dog team finds a black card, they have to bark loudly until their captain gets to them, and the cats have to meow. If a guest finds a card of the opposite team, they can quietly put it back, or choose an even more difficult hiding place. The game is over when one of the teams gets their half of the deck completed. One can only imagine that this game fell out of vogue after too many incidents when players tore a house apart looking for cards, or perhaps discovered something that was better left a secret about their host!

 

This rather cluttered and chaotic scene of a drawing room cum workroom decked out for a party, may look real to you, but believe it or not, it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces from my childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Harriet’s beautiful birthday fruitcake the Edwardian tea set and the plate for the biscuits come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The enamel handled knife comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small World in the United Kingdom. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne. It is an artisan miniatures and made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The various biscuits on the plate are all hand made and come from either Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering or were made 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. The wrapped present comes from an online stockist of miniatures on E-Bay.

 

The tilt chess table I bought from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom, whilst the Indian hexagonal table comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

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 natural straw hat with the green ribbon sitting on the arm of the chair was made by an unknown artisan in America.

 

The concertina sewing box on casters which you can see spilling forth its contents in the background is an artisan miniature made by an unknown artist in England. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the in the United Kingdom. All the box’s contents including spools of ribbons, threads scissors and buttons on cards came with the work box. The box can completely expand or contract, just like its life-sized equivalent.

 

The black japanned fire screen in the background, the black metal fire tools and the potted plants and their stands all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop.

 

Harriet’s family photos seen cluttering the mantlepiece in the background 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 porcelain clock on the mantlepiece is made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The pot of yellow and blue petunias and the ornamental swan figurine on the mantlepiece have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.

 

The sewing basket that you can see on the floor just behind the chess table I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It is an artisan miniature and contains pieces of embroidery and embroidery threads.

 

The floral chintz chair is made by J.B.M. miniatures who specialise in well made pieces of miniature furniture made to exacting standards.

 

The paper chains festooning Harriet’s front room I made myself using very thinly cut paper. It was a fiddly job to do, but I think it adds festive cheer and realism to this scene

 

The Chinese carpet beneath the furniture is hand made by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.

 

The Edwardian mantlepiece is made of moulded plaster and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom as were the aspidistra and fern to their side of the fireplace and the stands they are on.

 

The paintings and prints on the walls all come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom.

Ritratto del David di Michelangelo.

La statua più famosa e più importante nella storia dell'arte è il David di Michelangelo. Molte sono le storie riguardo alla sua creazione. Una di esse prevede che il gonfaloniere della repubblica Piero Soderini andò, quasi ad opera ultimata, a controllare come stessero andando i lavori. Si fece sfuggire una critica sul naso trovandolo grosso. Michelangelo, cui carattere era permaloso, giocò la carta dell'astuzia: nel prendere lo scalpello racchiuse nella mano della polvere di marmo che rilasciò ad ogni martellata, facendo cadere Soderini nel tranello di aver ritoccato il naso. Il gonfaloniere allora accettò il nuovo naso, che in realtà era rimasto immutato.

  

Portrait of Michelangelo's David.

The most famous and important statue in the history of art is Michelangelo's David. Many are the stories around its creation. One of them says that a member of the republic of Florence, such Piero Soderini, went to check how the work was going. He made a critic about the nose, finding it too big. Michelangelo, whose personality was quite irritable, chose the diplomatic route: he took the chisel hiding some marble dust in his hand that at each hit released. This deceived Soderini believing that the nose was retouched accepting it, when in reality the nose was never actually touched.

 

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Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

This was taken at my older sisters' house in New Mexico three years ago. My other sister, Cilla took this photo. I was asked to take my Brother inlaw's bike to the backyard because he had an accident at the house a few months before.

 

Ok, let's get started.

 

1. I've been thinking about taking a vacation in Colorado.

 

2. I've kept up with most of family and friends except with the people I went to school with.

 

3. I always tend to over eat on my favorite foods. I need to go on a diet. : )

 

4. Instead of going to the theatre to watch a movie, I buy DVD's now. BORING!! I miss the experience of the Big screen, Big sound and Big Bucket of popcorn. : )

 

5. My mother started buying me Coca Cola bottles for Christmas a few years ago, I accidently dropped and broke the first one she gave me. : (

 

6. I love looking at floral photography.

 

7. I've had addictions, this flickr addiction has been pretty good to me. Other addictions - BAD, flickr addiction - GOOD.

 

8. I'm starring at a bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Apple-Grape, that I've had since New Years Eve.

 

9. I actually am proud to say that I haven't driven my vehicles since I've moved here. I live so close to work, that I either ride my bike or just walk. : )

 

10. I usually buy 16-20 pairs of shoes every year for work.

 

11. I hate my own handwriting. I think it looks like chicken scratch.

 

12. I love to go fishing. The only fish I take home are Trout. All the other fish are usually released back into the water.

 

13. I have been wanting to start a little garden in the backyard but I've not followed through with it.

 

14. I get cranky and irritable if I don't eat during my lunch hour. My co-workers always make sure I get something in tummy. : )

 

15. I am the baby in my immediate family. Hehehe... sure does have its purks at times. : )

 

16. I'm getting MARRIED! LOL!! Just kidding.

 

#16 Hmmm... I love joking around and having fun.

  

Thank you Paula - you can't do that - www.flickr.com/photos/youcantdothat/

Acrilyc on canvas

50-70cm

What are you doing these days? You're home, locked in the house.

Follow the rules, you want to be a model citizen.

Discipline, schedule, cleaning, cooking, playing, movies, sports, online dialogues, books, courses… don't get bored…

Lyyyyyyying !!!

Admit it, your mind is going crazy, now you are laughing, now you are crying, you are counting everything that can be counted, you are hearing what you have not heard before, every movement is a proof of life.

You get paranoid, you become compulsive, irritable. You end up staring out the window for hours. From the window you hurry in front of the door and you don't know if you want to enter or want to leave.

You must come out armored: mask, gloves, bulletin, statement and especially a clear destination.

You look cautiously, overly cautiously, at the keyhole. Suddenly a world opens up to you.

You discover the world on the keyhole as a child in the land of wonders.

Everything looks new, colorful, interesting. The keyhole is much deeper than any movie, it mesmerizes you and for a moment you don't know if it's a dream or a reality. And press the doorknob. You out…

  

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, Lettice is far from Cavendish Mews, back in Wiltshire where she is staying at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife. The current Viscount has summoned his daughter home, along with his bohemian artist younger sister Eglantyne, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews.

 

Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Gladys’ request that she redecorate her niece and ward, Phoebe’s, small Bloomsbury flat. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in the flat. Lady Gladys felt that it was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lady Gladys arranged for Lettice to inspect the flat, Lettice quickly became aware of Lady Gladys’ ulterior motives as she overrode the rather mousy Pheobe and instructed Lettice to redecorate everything to her own instructions and taste, whist eradicating any traces of Pheobe’s parents. Reluctantly, Lettice commenced on the commission which is nearing its completion. However, when Pheobe came to visit the flat whilst Lettice was there, and with a little coercion, Pheobe shared what she really felt about the redecoration of her parent’s home, things came to a head. Desperately wanting to express herself independently, Pheobe hoped living at the flat she would finally be able to get out from underneath the domineering influence of her aunt. Yet now the flat is simply another extension of Lady Glady’s wishes, and the elements of her parents that Pheobe adored have been appropriated by Lady Gladys. Determined to undo the wrong she has done by Pheobe by agreeing to all of Lady Glady’s wishes, in a moment of energizing anger, Lettice decided to confront Lady Gladys. However unperturbed by Lettice’s appearance, Lady Gladys advised that she was bound by the contract she had signed to complete the work to Gladys’ satisfaction, not Phoebe’s.

 

Thus, Viscount Wrexham has contrived a war cabinet meeting in the comfortable surrounds of the Glynes library with Lettice and Eglantyne to see if between them they can work out a way to untangle Lettice from Lady Gladys’ contract, or at least undo the damage done to Pheobe by way of Lettice’s redecoration of the flat.

 

Being early autumn, the library at Glynes is filled with light, yet a fire crackles contentedly in the grate of the great Georgian stone fireplace to keep the cooler temperatures of the season at bay. The space smells comfortingly of old books and woodsmoke. The walls of the long room are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, full thousands of volumes on so many subjects. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows facing out to the front of the house burnishes the polished parquetry floors in a ghostly way. Viscount Wrexham sits at his Chippendale desk, with his daughter sitting opposite him on the other side of it, whilst Eglantyne, a tall, willowy figure and always too restless to sit for too long, stands at her brother’s shoulder as the trio discuss the current state of affairs.

 

“So is what Gladys says, correct, Lettice?” the Viscount bristles from his seat behind his Chippendale desk as he lifts a gilt edged Art Nouveau decorated cup of hot tea to his lips. “Did you sign a contract?”

 

“Well yes of course I did, Pappa!” Lettice defends, cradling her own cup in her hands, admiring the beautifully executed stylised blue Art Nouveau flowers on it. “You told me that there should be a formal contract in place ever since I had that spot of unpleasantness with the Duchess of Whitby when she was reluctant to pay her account in full after I had finished decorating her Fitzrovia first-floor reception room.”

 

“And I take it, our lawyers haven’t perused it?” he asks as he replaces the cup in its saucer on the desk’s surface.

 

“No Pappa.” Lettice replies, fiddling with the hem of her silk cord French blue cardigan. “Should they have?”

 

The Viscount sucks in a deep breath audibly, his heckles arcing up.

 

“Cosmo.” his sister says calmingly, standing at his side, placing one of her heavily bejewelled hands on his shoulder, lightly digging her elegantly long yet gnarled fingers into the fabric of his tweed jacket and pressing hard.

 

The Viscount releases a gasp. He looks down upon the book he had been pleasurably reading before he summoned both his sister and daughter to his domain of the Glynes library, a copy of Padraic Colum’s* ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’** illustrated by Willy Pognay, and focuses on it like an anchor to manage the temper roiling within him. Trying very hard to suppress his frustration and keep it out of his steady modulation, the Viscount replies, “Yes my girl,” He sighs again. “Preferably you should have any contracts drawn up by our lawyers, and then signed by a client: not the other way around. And if it does happen to be the other way around, our lawyers should give it a thorough going over before you sign it.”

 

“But a contract is a contract, Pappa, surely?” Lettice retorts before taking another sip of tea.

 

The Viscount’s breathing grows more laboured as his face grows as red as the cover of ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’ on the tooled leather surface of the desk before him.

 

“Cosmo.” Eglantine says again, before looking up and catching her niece’s eye and tries to warn her of the thunderstorm of frustration and anger that is about to burst from the Viscount by giving her an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

 

The Viscount continues to breathe in a considered and deliberate way as he tries to continue, his deep voice somewhat strangulated by his effort not to slam his fists on the desktop and yell at his daughter. “A contact varies, Lettice. It depends on who has written it as to what clauses are contained inside, such as Gladys’ condition that she is to be completely satisfied with the outcome of the redecoration, or she may forfeit any unpaid tradesmen’s bills, not to mention your own. You should have read it thoroughly before you signed it.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice lowers her head and looks down dolefully into her lap.

 

The Viscount turns sharply in his Chippendale chair, withdrawing his shoulder from beneath his sister’s grounding grasp with an irritable shake and glares at his sister through angry, bloodshot eyes. When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, except when she decides the henna it, and she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck.

 

“I place the blame for this situation solely at your feet, Eglantyne!” the Viscount barks at his sister.

 

“Me!” Eglantyne laughs in incredulity. “Me! Don’t be so preposterous, Cosmo.” She grasps at one of the many strings of highly faceted, winking bugle beads that cascade down the front of her usual choice of frock, a Delphos dress***, this one of silver silk painted with stylised orange poppies on long, flowing green stalks. “I call that most unfair!” she complains. “I’m not responsible for Gladys’ lawyers, or their filthy binding contract.”

 

“No, but you’re responsible for introducing Lettice to that infernal woman!” the Viscount blasts. “Bloody female romance novelist!”

 

“Language!” Eglantyne quips.

 

“Oh, fie my language!” the Viscount retorts angrily. “And fie you, Eglantyne!”

 

Always being her elder brother’s favourite of all his siblings, and therefore usually forgiven of any mistakes and transgressions she has made in the past as a bohemian artist, and very seldom falling into his bad books, Eglantine is struck by the forcefulness of his anger. Even though she is well aware of his bombastic temper, it is easier to deal with when it is directed to someone or something else. This unusual situation with his annoyance being squarely aimed at her leaves her feeling flustered and sick.

 

“Me? I… I didn’t know that… that Gladys was vying to get Lettice… before her so… so.. so she could ask her to redecorate her ward’s flat, Cosmo!” Eglantyne splutters. “How… how could I know?”

 

“Coerced is more like it!” Cosmo snaps in retort. “And you must have had some inkling, surely! You were always good at reading people and situations: far better than I ever was!”

 

“Well, I didn’t, Cosmo!” Eglantine snaps back, determined not to let her brother get the upper hand on her and blame her for something she rightly considers far beyond her control. “I mean, all I was doing was trying my best to get Lettice out of her funk over losing Selwyn.” She turns quickly to Lettice and looks at her with apologetic eyes. “Sorry my dear.” Returning her attention to her brother, she continues, “I didn’t want her wallowing in her own grief, something you were only too happy to indulge her in whilst she was staying here at Glynes with you!” She tuts. “Feeding her butter shortbreads and mollycoddling her. What good was there in doing that?”

 

“She was staying with Lally.” the Viscount mutters through gritted teeth.

 

“Same thing really.” Eglantine says breezily. “Like father like daughter. Lettice needed something to restore her spark, and quiet walks in the Buckinghamshire countryside weren’t going do that. I knew that Gladys enjoyed being surrounded by London’s Bright Young Things****, and she had spoken to me about Lettice’s interior designs.”

 

“Aha!” the Viscount crows. “So, you did know she had designs on Lettice!”

 

“If you’d kindly let me finish, Cosmo.” Eglantyne continues in an indignant tone.

 

The Viscount huffs and lets his shoulders lower a little as he gesticulates with a sweeping gesture across his desk towards his sister for Eglantine to continue.

 

“What I was going to say was that Gladys telephoned me and asked me about Lettice’s interior designs after she read that article by Henry Tipping***** in Country Life******, which you and Sadie, and probably half the country read. How could I know from that innocuous enquiry that Gladys would engage Lettice in this unpleasant commission? She simply telephoned me at just the right time, so I orchestrated with Gladys for Lettice and the Channons to go and stay at Gossington.” She folds her arms akimbo. “Lettice was stagnating, and that is not good for her. As I said before, she needed to have her creativity sparked. I thought it would do Lettice good to be amongst the bright and spirited company of a coterie of young and artistic people, and I wasn’t wrong, was I Lettice?”

 

Startled to suddenly be introduced into the heated conversation between her father and aunt about her, Lettice stammers, “Well… yes. It was a very gay house party, and I did also receive the commission from Sir John Nettleford-Huges for Mr. and Mrs. Gifford at Arkwright Bury, Pappa.”

 

“That old lecher.” the Viscount spits.

 

“Sadie doesn’t think so,” Eglantyne remarks with a superior air, a smug smile curling up the corners of her lips. “She seemed to think he’d be a good match for Lettice two years ago at her ludicrous matchmaking Hunt Ball.”

 

“Now don’t you start on Sadie, Eglantyne.” the Viscount warns with a wagging finger, the ruby in the signet ring on his little finger winking angrily in the light of the library, reflecting its wearer’s fit of pique. “I’m in no mood for your usual acerbic pokes at Sadie.”

 

“Sir John is actually quite nice, Pappa.” Lettice pipes up quickly in an effort to defuse the situation between her father and aunt. “Once you get to know him.” she adds rather lamely when her father glares at her with a look that suggests that she may have lost all her senses. She hurriedly adds, “And that’s gone swimmingly, Pappa, and as a result, Henry Tipping has promised me another feature article on my interior designs there in Country Life.”

 

“There!” Eglantyne says with satisfaction, sweeping her arm out expansively towards her niece, making the mixture of gold, silver, Bakelite******* and bead bracelets and bangles jangle. “See Cosmo, it’s not all bad news. An excellent commission right here in Wiltshire that guarantees positive promotion of Lettice’s interior designs in a prestigious periodical.”

 

“Well, be that as it may,” the Viscount grumbles. “You are still responsible for dismissing Lettice’s justified concerns about Gladys and her rather Machiavellian plans to redecorate her ward’s flat to her own designs and hold Lettice to account for it. You told me that you aired your concerns with your aunt, Lettice. Isn’t that so?”

 

Lettice nods, looking guiltily at her favourite aunt, fearing disappointment in the older woman’s eyes as she does.

 

“Well,” Eglantyne concedes with a sigh. “I cannot deny that Lettice did raise her concerns with me when we had luncheon together, but her concerns did not appear justified at the time.”

 

Ignoring Eglantyne’s last remark, the Viscount continues, addressing his daughter, “And that was before she commenced on this rather fraught commission wasn’t it?”

 

“Well Pappa, as I told you, I had already agreed in principle to accept Gladys’ commission at Gossington. Gladys is a little hard to refuse.”

 

“Bombastic!” the Viscount opines.

 

“Pot: kettle: black.” Eglantyne pipes up, placing her hands on her silk clad hips.

 

“Don’t test my patience any more, Eglantyne!” the Viscount snaps. He returns his attentions to his daughter. “But you hadn’t signed any contracts at that stage, had you, Lettice?”

 

“Well no, Pappa.” Lettice agrees. “But I think that Gladys was having the contracts drawn up by her lawyers at that time.”

 

“Why didn’t you intervene when Lettice spoke to you, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks his sister.

 

“Because I didn’t see any cause for alarm, Cosmo.” she replies in her own defence.

 

“But Lettice told you that Gladys coerced her into agreeing to redecorate the flat, didn’t she?”

 

“Well yes,” Eglantyne agrees. “But as I said to Lettice at the time, Gladys wears most people down to her way of thinking in the end. It is a very brave, or stupid, person who challenges Gladys when she has an idea in her head that she is impassioned about.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t think it was a bad thing necessarily, Cosmo. Not only was it not unusual for Gladys to get her way, but at the time, Lettice needed someone to take the lead. Her own initiative was somewhat lacking after all that business with Zinnia shipping Selwyn off to Durban. So, I wasn’t concerned, and I doubt that you would be concerned about it either, were you in my shoes.”

 

“Well I wasn’t.” he argues. “What about Lettice’s other concerns about taking on the commission?” he softens his voice as he addresses his daughter, “What did you say to your aunt again, my dear?”

 

“I said I was concerned that Gladys had ulterior motives, Pappa.” Lettice replies.

 

“Which she did!” the Viscount agrees. “Go on.”

 

“I illuded to the fact that I thought Gladys saw her dead brother and sister-in-law as some kind of threat to her happy life with Phoebe, and she wanted to whitewash them from Phoebe’s life.”

 

“And I suggested to Lettice that that was a grave allegation to make without proof, Cosmo.” Eglantyne explains. “And all she had to back her allegations up were some anecdotal stories, which count for nothing.”

 

“You accused Lettice of overdramatising.” the Viscount says angrily.

 

“I know I did, Cosmo.” Eglantyne admits. “I did assuage Lettice of the concerns she had that Gladys was going to insist on making changes Phoebe or she didn’t like. I admit, I was wrong about that. I assured Lettice that Gladys adores her niece, and whilst in hindsight I may not now use the word adore, I’m still instant that Gladys only wants what she thinks is best for Phoebe. Phoebe is the daughter Gladys never planned to have, but also the child Gladys didn’t know could bring her so much joy and fulfilment in her life, as a parent. And to be fair, Cosmo, if you’d ever met Phoebe, you’d understand why I said what I did.”

 

“Go on.” the Viscount says, cocking his eyebrow over his right eye.

 

“Well Pheobe is such a timid little mouse of a creature. She seldom expresses an opinion.”

 

“That’s because Gladys has been quashing those opinions, Aunt Egg.” Lettice adds.

 

“Well, we know that now, but from the outside looking in, you wouldn’t know that without the intimate knowledge that you have now received from Phoebe, Lettice.”

 

“So what you’re implying Pappa is, that I have to see through the redecoration to Phoebe’s pied-à-terre******** to Gladys’ specifications, even if Pheobe herself doesn’t like them?”

 

“It does appear that way, my dear.” the Viscount concedes.

 

“Even if it is plain that Gladys is bullying her and taking advantage of the situation for her own means?” Lettice asks hopefully.

 

“It’s a sticky situation, my dear.” the Viscount replies consolingly. “I mean, you don’t actually have to go through with it. It isn’t like you need her money. If she doesn’t pay the tradesmen’s bills you’ll be a little out of pocket, but it won’t bankrupt you.”

 

“But,” Eglantyne says warningly. “You do run the risk of Gladys spreading malicious gossip about your business. Whatever Gladys may or may not be, she’s influential.” She sighs deeply. “It would be such a shame to ruin the career you have spent so long building and making a success.”

 

“And your mother wouldn’t fancy the trouble and scandals this poisonous woman could create, either.” adds the Viscount as an afterthought. “Especially when it comes to your marriageability.”

 

“Are you suggesting that Selwyn isn’t going to come back to me, Pappa?” Lettice asks bitterly, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice as colour fills her face and unshed tears threatening to spill fill her eyes.

 

“No,” the Viscount defends. “You know your happiness and security is of the utmost importance to me, Lettice my dear. No, I’m just being a realist. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Zinnia doesn’t have something nasty up her sleeve to spring upon the pair of you, even when he does come back. If there is even the slightest smear on your character, Lettice, she will use that against you. Zinna hasn’t spoken to you since that night, has she?”

 

“No, thank goodness!” Lettice replies.

 

“Well, that may not be such a good thing.” the Viscount goes on. “Zinnia enjoys playing a long game that can inflict more pain.”

 

“Your father speaks the truth, Lettice, and he is wise to be a pragmatist.” Eglantyne remarks sagely.

 

The older woman reaches into the small silver mesh reticule********* dangling from her left wrist and unfastens it. She withdraws her gold and amber cigarette holder and a small, embossed silver case containing her choice of cigarettes, her favourite black and gold Sobranie********** Black Russians. She depresses the clasp of the case and withdraws one of the long, slender cigarettes and screws it adeptly into her holder. She then withdraws a match holder and goes to strike a match.

 

“Must you, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks. “You know Sadie doesn’t like smoking indoors.”

 

Eglantyne ignores her brother and strikes a match and lights her Sobranie, sucking the end of her cigarette holder, causing the match flame to dance and gutter whilst the paper and tobacco of the cigarette crackles. Whisps of dark grey smoke curl as they escape the corners of her mouth.

 

“I’m in your bad books, Cosmo, so I may as well be in hers too.” she says, sending forth tumbling clouds of acrid smoke. “No-one will deny me my little pleasure in life.” She smiles with gratification as she draws on her holder again. “Not even Sadie. And correction: Sadie only dislikes it when a lady smokes.”

 

“Well, I can’t stop you any more than I seem to be able to stop Gladys from forcing Lettice to decorate this damnable flat the way she wants it, rather than the way Phoebe wants it.” the Viscount replies in a defeated tone.

 

The three fall silent for a short while, with only the heavy ticking of the clock sitting on the library mantle and the crackle of the fire to break the cloying silence.

 

“What about Sir John?” the Viscount suddenly says.

 

“Sir John Nettleford-Hughes?” Eglantyne asks quizzically, blowing forth another cloud of Sobranie smoke.

 

“No, no!” he clarifies with a shake of his head. “Not that Sir John: Sir John Caxton, Gladys’ husband. Surely, we can appeal to him. He wouldn’t want Pheobe to be unhappy.”

 

“He’s completely under Gladys’ thumb***********.” Eglantyne opines.

 

“Aunt Egg is right, Pappa. The day I went to Eaton Square************ to have it out with Gladys, I saw John, and he couldn’t wait to retreat to the safety of his club and leave we two to our own devices. He’s as completely ruled by Gladys as Phoebe is.”

 

“I suppose you could turn this to your advantage and have Phoebe commission you to undo your own redecoration.” the Viscount suggests hopefully.

 

“I don’t think that would work very well, Cosmo.” Eglantyne remarks.

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, I don’t think Gladys would take too kindly to Lettice and Phoebe going behind her back, and we’ve just discussed the difficulties a scorned woman could cause to Lettice’s reputation, both personally and professionally.”

 

“Besides,” Lettice adds. “I don’t think the allowance Phoebe inherits from her father’s estate is terribly large, and I don’t imagine it will be easy as a woman to win any garden design commissions to be able to afford my services.”

 

“There’s Gertude Jekyll*************.” Eglantyne remarks.

 

“Yes, but she has influential connections like Edward Lutyens**************.” Lettice counters. “And as you have noted, Aunt Egg, Phoebe is rather unassuming. She doesn’t know anyone of influence, and wields none of her own. Besides, I’m sure Gladys won’t pay Phoebe to pay me to undo her prescribed redecorations.”

 

“You could always redecorate the pied-à-terre without charge,” the Viscount suggests hopefully.

 

“As recompense for the damage I’ve done redecorating it now, you mean, Pappa?”

 

“In a sense.”

 

“The outcomes would be the same unpleasant ones for Lettice as if Phoebe could afford to commission her to do it, Cosmo.” Eglantyne warns.

 

“Gerald was right.” Lettice mutters.

 

“About what, my dear?” her father asks.

 

“Well, Gerald said that Gladys was very good at weaving sticky spiderwebs, and that I had better watch out that I didn’t become caught in one.” She sighs heavily. “But it appears as if I have become enmeshed in one well and truly.”

 

“Well, however much it displeases me to say this to you Lettice, let this be a lesson to you my girl! In future, make sure that you engage our lawyers to draw up the contracts for you.”

 

“But I didn’t have this contract drawn up, Pappa,” Lettice defends. “Gladys did.”

 

“Well, make sure our lawyers review any contracts created by someone else before you undertake to sign one if future.”

 

Eglantyne stares off into the distance, drawing heavily upon her Sobranie, blowing out plumes of smoke.

 

“So, I’m stuck then.” Lettice says bitterly. “And its my own stupid fault.”

 

Eglantyne’s eyes flit in a desultory fashion about the room, drifting from the many gilt decorated spines on the shelves to the armchairs gathered cosily around the library’s great stone fireplace to the chess table set up to play nearby.

 

“Unless your aunt can come up with something, I’m afraid I don’t see a way out for you, Lettice.” the Viscount says. He then adds kindly, “But I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, my dear. We all have to learn life’s lessons. Sometimes we just learn them in harder ways.”

 

Eglantyne continues to contemplate the situation her niece finds herself in.

 

“Well, I’ve certainly learned my lesson this time, Pappa.”

 

Eglantyne withdraws the nearly spent Sobranie from her lips, scattering ash upon the dull, worth carpet beneath her mule clad feet. “I may have one idea that might work.”

 

“Really Aunt Egg?” Lettice gasps, clasping her hands together as she does.

 

“Perhaps, Lettice my dear.”

 

“What is it, Eglantyne?” the Viscount asks.

 

“I don’t want to say anything, just in case I can’t pull it off.” Eglantyne contemplates for a moment before continuing. “Just leave this with me for a few days.”

 

*Padraic Colum was an Irish poet, novelist, dramatist, biographer, playwright, children's author and collector of folklore. He was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival.

 

**“The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” was a novel written by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Hungarian artist Willy Pognay, published by the Macmillan Company in 1921.

 

***The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

****The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s Londo

 

*****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

******Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

*******Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, teapot handles, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

********A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

*********A reticule is a woman's small handbag, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading. The term “reticule” comes from French and Latin terms meaning “net.” At the time, the word “purse” referred to small leather pouches used for carrying money, whereas these bags were made of net. By the 1920s they were sometimes made of small heavy metal mesh as well as netting or beaded materials.

 

**********The Balkan Sobranie tobacco business was established in London in 1879 by Albert Weinberg (born in Romania in 1849), whose naturalisation papers dated 1886 confirm his nationality and show that he had emigrated to England in the 1870s at a time when hand-made cigarettes in the eastern European and Russian tradition were becoming fashionable in Europe. Sobranie is one of the oldest cigarette brands in the world. Throughout its existence, Sobranie was marketed as the definition of luxury in the tobacco industry, being adopted as the official provider of many European royal houses and elites around the world including the Imperial Court of Russia and the royal courts of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Spain, Romania, and Greece. Premium brands include the multi-coloured Sobranie Cocktail and the black and gold Sobranie Black Russian.

 

***********The idiom “to be under the thumb”, comes from the action of a falconer holding the leash of the hawk under their thumb to maintain a tight control of the bird. Today the term under the thumb is generally used in a derogatory manner to describe a partner's overbearing control over the other partner's actions.

 

************Eaton Square is a rectangular residential garden square in London's Belgravia district. It is the largest square in London. It is one of the three squares built by the landowning Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the Nineteenth Century that are named after places in Cheshire — in this case Eaton Hall, the Grosvenor country house. It is larger but less grand than the central feature of the district, Belgrave Square, and both larger and grander than Chester Square. The first block was laid out by Thomas Cubitt from 1827. In 2016 it was named as the "Most Expensive Place to Buy Property in Britain", with a full terraced house costing on average seventeen million pounds — many of such town houses have been converted, within the same, protected structures, into upmarket apartments.

 

*************Gertrude Jekyll was a British horticulturist, garden designer, craftswoman, photographer, writer and artist. She created over four handred gardens in the United Kingdom, Europe and the United States, and wrote over one thousand articles for magazines such as Country Life and William Robinson's The Garden. Her first commissioned garden was designed in 1881, and she worked very closely wither her long standing friend, architect Sir Edward Lutyens.

 

**************Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens was an English architect known for imaginatively adapting traditional architectural styles to the requirements of his era. He designed many English country houses, war memorials and public buildings in the years before the Second World War. He is probably best known for his creation of the Cenotaph war memorial on Whitehall in London after the Great War. Had he not died of cancer in 1944, he probably would have gone on to design more buildings in the post-war era.

 

Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library 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 majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are the postcards and the box for them on the Viscount’s Chippendale desk. Most of the books I own that Ken 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, as can be seen on The Times Literary Supplement broadsheet on the Viscount’s desk. 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. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. “The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Willy Pognay, sitting on the Viscount’s desk is such an example. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really do make these miniature artisan pieces. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables. The bottle of port and the port glasses I acquired from a miniatures stockist on E-Bay. Each glass, the bottle and its faceted stopper are hand blown using real glass.

 

Also on the desk to the left stands a stuffed white owl on a branch beneath a glass cloche. A vintage miniature piece, the foliage are real dried flowers and grasses, whilst the owl is cut from white soapstone. The base is stained wood and the cloche is real glass. This I acquired along with two others featuring shells (one of which can be seen in the background) from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The teapot and teacups, featuring stylised Art Nouveau patterns were acquired from an online stockist of dolls’ house miniatures in Australia.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The beautiful rotating globe in the background features a British Imperial view of the world, with all of Britain’s colonies in pink (as can be seen from Canada), as it would have been in 1921. The globe sits on metal casters in a mahogany stained frame, and it can be rolled effortlessly. It comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables in Lancashire. The silver double frame on the desk also comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables.

 

In the background you can see the book lined shelves of Viscount Wrexham’s as well as a Victorian painting of cattle in a gold frame from Amber’s Miniatures in America, and a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.

 

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

Bison are large herd animals that defend their young vigorously. American bison can run up to 35 miles per hour and are surprising agile, in addition to their notable strength and irritable temperament. Significant apex predators that are found in Yellowstone National Park including American black bears, Grizzly bears and wolves. Other large mammals found in Yellowstone include elk, moose, coyotes, bobcats, deer, pronghorn, and bighorn sheep. Wolves and bears are clearly successful predators of bison, but bison meat is not a major component of their diet. Competitive pressure from the other large grazing mammals in Yellowstone Park may also help limit the number of bison in the herd, but this is not considered to have had a significant effect on bison numbers. Disease, including various viruses, parasites and brucellosis, have a greater effect on bison population. However, a common cause of death for these bison continues to be hunting by human beings. This occurs when many of the bison leave the park during the winter, heading up into Montana, especially through the Lamar Valley. At such times, the State of Montana has authorized large buffalo hunts to eliminate the animals, because of concerns about spreading brucellosis to local domestic cattle. Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellowstone_Park_bison_herd