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⋆❆『 B-DEAN 』❆⋆
B-DEAN - Denim Romper
👌💲👌 Available now for 77L$ to Miix Weekend Sale 👌💲👌
Sexy open Romper with optionnal tank top and belt
Available in 11 denim variations & Fatpack
♀️♂️ Unisex
Rigged for :
Legacy M • Legacy A • Jake
Reborn • Reborn Waifu • Reborn V-Tech/Boi • Lara X • Legacy F
Available @ B-DEAN Mainstore :
🚖Taxis : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Dixon%20USA/245/28/983
● MP : marketplace.secondlife.com/en-US/stores/256987
❆ info : www.flickr.com/photos/barbbaradean/
⋆❆『 MINIMAL 』❆⋆
MINIMAL - Tuscan Room Set
Room + 6 living room decor items collection
Available : Room (backdrop/skybox], Bed, ConsoleTable, Plants, SideTable, Rug.
Available separated or as Fatpack
C/M/NT
Available @ collabor88
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/8%208/73/122/1086
Minimal Infos :
🚖Taxis : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/MINIMAL%20Gallery/81/130/28
● MP : marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/156471?id=156471
❆ info : www.flickr.com/photos/orsquan/
⋆❆『 JIAN 』❆⋆
JIAN Wonky Weenies
Funny Disguised Weenie dog (Dachshund) pack
Include 8 varieties (Pajama, angel, demon, hotdog)
Available as companinon & wanderer in 4 fur colors
Available @ Jian pets Mainstore :
🚖Taxi : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Jian/239/237/24
❆ Info : www.flickr.com/photos/kaliafirelyte
◤ Other Items ◢
Chest Tattoo : 🚫💲🚫 Free on Marketplace 🚫💲🚫
!ReXna - [GIFT] Joyful x Chest Tattoo
marketplace.secondlife.com/p/ReXna-GIFT-Joyful-x-Chest-Ta...
Arms Tattoo : 🚫💲🚫 Free on Marketplace 🚫💲🚫
{S.M.H} AAAAH Snakes on your arms! (Omega)
marketplace.secondlife.com/p/SMH-AAAAH-Snakes-on-your-arm...
Outfit : Check sponsors ↑
Backdrop/room : Check sponsors ↑
Bed, Furnitures & plants : Check sponsors ↑
Dogs : Check sponsors ↑
Pose : by me with anypose
Beard : RAKE Facial Hair -Iver- EvoX
🚖Taxis : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Sunborne/121/85/28
Head : LeLutka - Kris head
Head Skin : f u o e y . Oliver Skin Medium / E 🚫💲🚫 GG 🚫💲🚫
Eyes : Basic Letutka Hud eyes
Hairbase : Modulus - Lenny Hair Base Evo X - 🚫💲🚫 Free Gift 🚫💲🚫
Hair : WINGS-HAIR-ES1118 Grays & Browns
Free Face Freckles : C A T S Y - Gift Freckles (LeLutka Evo X) 🚫💲🚫 Dollarbie On marketplace 🚫💲🚫
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Face Moles & additionnal Freckles : (VOLGA) . Freckles and Moles
Body : [LEGACY] Meshbody (m) Special Edition (1.7.1)
Shape : by me
Body Skin : KOKOS-SKIN MARCUS
♥ Sponsors ♥
GOOSE: Ratan Turtle Set
♥ TP To GOOSE: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Oyster%20Pond/128/128/30
Serenity Style: Emily Console Table Set
Serenity Style: Serenity Style- The Art Gallery Artwork 2
♥ TP To Serenity Style: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Kryptos/124/62/22
MINIMAL - Boho Glam Decor Set
Separated in 6 different packs:
Backdrop,Rug,BedPG&ADULT,SideTable,ConsoleTable,Plant
Fatpack option available.
[Rezz Room] Maine Coon Adult Animesh
[Rezz Room] Maine Coon Adult Animesh
- Companion
- Holdable (right and left arms)
- FATPACK
- 3 Fur colors / 3 Eyes colors / 2 Eyes styles
Certainly! Creating a boho bedroom full of tones, textures, and comfort for you and your adorable furry cats can be a wonderful experience. Here are some suggestions for a cozy and happy decor:
Thanks everyone for your support, you are all awesome 💓
Endure – A Testament to Strength and Serenity
Find harmony in resilience with Endure, a meticulously curated set designed to bring balance and sophistication to any space.
1. Console Table: Discover our stunning console table, available in four exquisite wood tones, perfect for any decor. Pair it with a charming bonsai plant to bring a touch of nature indoors. And don’t forget the elegant wall panel that adds a unique flair to your space.
2. Table Bonsai Plant – A symbol of perseverance and grace, this delicate yet enduring greenery adds a touch of tranquility to your decor.
3. Koi Fish Wall Panel – Inspired by the unwavering spirit of koi, this stunning piece represents determination and flow, making a striking statement in any room.
Find us at ACCESS February Round and elevate your home decor today! ✨
Stop by and see us—we can’t wait to help you create a cozy, stylish home! 🏡💚
Access📍: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/ACCESS/65/128/22
Welcome Home,
CHAI.
🍵 Follow our Socials : linktr.ee/chai.sl
Well, it sounds better than glass beads and polymer clay, doesn't it? These things are all VERY tiny. While setting up this little scene I found myself taking a deep breath and counting to 10 many, many times. :)
This is another one of my mini wood turnings. The base is Betel Nut and the black finial is Corian. The whole thing is only ¾" tall. It's sitting next to a Lewisia cotyledon flower from my garden. Hooray for colour. :)
Only a few days left until one of SL's anticipated Event open their doors to public - The Arcade returns with a brand new Edition.
22769 is proud to be a part of The Arcade : June 2017.
For this summerish round we have create the Lake House. These Gacha Set contains 22 items for you to collect. Every pull at the 22769 - The Lake House is 50L$. These are the items:
RARE:
The Lake House - 17,1 x 24,5 x 12,5 meters - LI 75
Commons:
Hanging Bamboo Chair - LI 5 - 12 single sit animations
Hanging Lake House Chair - LI 6 - 7 single sit animations
Lake House Sofa - LI 8 - 10 single- and 6 couple- sit animations
Lake House Pouf - LI 1 - 8 single sit animations
Storm Lamp* - LI 2 - Flame Light/Intensity on touch
Fishermans Lamp Wall Mount* - LI 2 - Light/Intensity on touch
Fishermans Lamp Ceiling Mount* - LI 2 - Light/Intensity on touch
Wood Sign* - LI 1
Lake House Pottery* - LI 2
Tray with Water Bottle* - LI 2
Lake House Drapes* - LI 3
Round Hemp Rug* - LI 2
Rectangle Lake House Hemp Rug* - LI 2
Wall Fishes* - LI 3
Lake House Porch Sunshade* - LI 2
Lake House Gallery* - LI 3
Salling Books* - LI 2
Lake House Console Table* - LI 3
Frosted Glass Couch Table* - LI 4
Lake House Drawer* - LI 2
Boat Shelf* - LI 4
all above listed items have next owner permissions: no-copy, mod, trans - used scripts and animation may have different permission.
items in the list above marked with * are decoration only items.
all items are original creator mesh, original creator texture and materials enabled.
We provide the SLurl to The Arcade : June 2017 below, but pelase keep in mind that the venue will open to public on June 1st, 2017.
SLurl: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/The%20Arcade/138/131/32
Gacha is a Game of Luck, for every pull (50L$) at the 22769 - The Lake House Gacha Machine you get a randomly selected item from the contents in return.
a little model of a palace or temple at the entrance lobby of the InterContinental Danang resort in Vietnam.
Square Mainstore
New Release available at the inworld location!
Presenting IRISH Collection : STONE [PBR]
Sleek, modern and luxury console and seating collection that can be featured in your foyer or in any room in your home or space. Each piece is between 1Li - 14Li
F E A T U R E S :
► ULTRA realistic PBR Textures; also viewable on non PBR
► Texture change options; collection available in Marble, Stone and Plaster
► Bento Physics genital integration
► ITS NOT MINE integration
► Packed with cool props
► Highest Quality Bento animations
► 244 animations singles, activities, cuddle, lap dance, seduce, adult
► Set includes Feature wall, chandelier, floral vase, head sculptures, deco sculpture, side table, armchair and rug.
Uber to the inworld store
DREAMLAND DESIGNS features their New Release "Satin Chesterfield Seat and Luna Antique Console Table" @ DIRTY DISCOUNTS CREATIONS - SALE on October 29th.
Only a few days left until one of SL's anticipated Event open their doors to public - The Arcade returns with a brand new Edition.
22769 is proud to be a part of The Arcade : June 2017.
For this summerish round we have create the Lake House. These Gacha Set contains 22 items for you to collect. Every pull at the 22769 - The Lake House is 50L$. These are the items:
RARE:
The Lake House - 17,1 x 24,5 x 12,5 meters - LI 75
Commons:
Hanging Bamboo Chair - LI 5 - 12 single sit animations
Hanging Lake House Chair - LI 6 - 7 single sit animations
Lake House Sofa - LI 8 - 10 single- and 6 couple- sit animations
Lake House Pouf - LI 1 - 8 single sit animations
Storm Lamp* - LI 2 - Flame Light/Intensity on touch
Fishermans Lamp Wall Mount* - LI 2 - Light/Intensity on touch
Fishermans Lamp Ceiling Mount* - LI 2 - Light/Intensity on touch
Wood Sign* - LI 1
Lake House Pottery* - LI 2
Tray with Water Bottle* - LI 2
Lake House Drapes* - LI 3
Round Hemp Rug* - LI 2
Rectangle Lake House Hemp Rug* - LI 2
Wall Fishes* - LI 3
Lake House Porch Sunshade* - LI 2
Lake House Gallery* - LI 3
Salling Books* - LI 2
Lake House Console Table* - LI 3
Frosted Glass Couch Table* - LI 4
Lake House Drawer* - LI 2
Boat Shelf* - LI 4
all above listed items have next owner permissions: no-copy, mod, trans - used scripts and animation may have different permission.
items in the list above marked with * are decoration only items.
all items are original creator mesh, original creator texture and materials enabled.
We provide the SLurl to The Arcade : June 2017 below, but pelase keep in mind that the venue will open to public on June 1st, 2017.
SLurl: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/The%20Arcade/138/131/32
Gacha is a Game of Luck, for every pull (50L$) at the 22769 - The Lake House Gacha Machine you get a randomly selected item from the contents in return.
TWELVE x VALESK
Allow me to reintroduce this release. The VALESK console set!
This essential collection includes stylish futuristic pieces to elevate your space.
F E A T U R E S :
►PBR and Legacy options
►Texture changer
►4 color options
►Console, mirror, lion statue and box decor clutter piece included
Additional decor pieces and things to note:
►Lion resized to create a custom fireplace feature
► Fancy Decor: Bradley Sconce
►Architect. Bellegarde Pampas Vases #2
►Fancy Decor: Etienne Collection
Uber to Twelve SL:
TWELVE x VALESK
Allow me to reintroduce this release. The VALESK console set!
This essential collection includes stylish futuristic pieces to elevate your space.
F E A T U R E S :
►PBR and Legacy options
►Texture changer
►4 color options
►Console, mirror, lion statue and box decor clutter piece included
Additional decor pieces and things to note:
►Lion resized to create a custom fireplace feature
► Fancy Decor: Bradley Sconce
►Architect. Bellegarde Pampas Vases #2
►Fancy Decor: Etienne Collection
Uber to Twelve SL:
Hello Minimal´s!
This is our new exclusive release coming soon at Collabor88!
MINIMAL - Tuscan Room Set
🔹Items from the set: Bed PG&ADULT, ConsoleTable,Plants,SideTable,Rug,Room
🔹Fatpack available
Hope you all like <333!
Taxi : ↪ collabor88
________________________________________
Inworld Group - Gifts every month! “MINIMALGroup”
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife, Arabella. Lettice has been summoned to her old family home after an abrupt morning telephone call from her father, following the publication of an article in the publication, Country Life* featuring her interior designs for friends Margot and Dickie Channon’s Cornwall Regency country house ‘Chi an Treth’.
As Lettice elegantly alighted from the London train at Glynes village railway station, there on the platform amid the dissipating steam of the departing train and the smattering of visitors or return travellers to the village, stood Harris, the Chetwynd’s family chauffer. Dressed in his smart grey uniform, he took Lettice’s portmanteau, hastily packed in London by Edith her maid, and umbrella and walked out through the station’s small waiting room and booking office, leading Lettice to where the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler awaited her on the village’s main thoroughfare. As they drove through the centre of the village, Harris told Lettice through the glass partition from the front seat, that her article in Country Life* had caused quite a sensation below stairs. Quietly, Lettice smiled proudly to herself as she settled back more comfortably into the car’s maroon upholstery. Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, but she has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it. She only hopes as she nears her family home, that Lady Sadie, who does not particularly approve of her venture into interior design, will be proud of her achievement this time.
As the Daimler purrs up the gravel driveway and stops out the front of Glynes, Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, steps through the front door followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman. Marsden silently opens the door of the Daimler for Lettice and helps her step out before fetching her luggage.
“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile. “What a pleasure it is to see you looking so well.”
“Thank you Bramley,” she replies with a satisfied smile as she looks up at the classical columned portico of her beloved childhood home basking in the spring sunshine. “It’s always good to be home.”
“How was the train journey from London, My Lady?” Bramley asks Lettice as he falls in step a few paces behind her.
“Oh, quite pleasant, thank you Bramley. I have my novel to while away the time.”
“We were all pleased and proud to see your name in print in Her Ladyship’s copy of Country Life.”
“Oh, thank you, Bramley. That’s very kind of you to say. I take it that is why I have been summoned here today.”
The butler clears his throat a little awkwardly and looks seriously at Lettice. “I couldn’t say, My Lady, however they are expecting you, in the drawing room.” The statement is said with the gravitas that befits one of the country house’s finest rooms.
Lettice’s face falls. “Do I have time to refresh myself.” She peels off her gloves as she walks through the marble floored vestibule and into the lofty Adam style hall of Glynes. The familiar scent of old wood, tapestries and carpets welcomes her home.
“I was asked to show you into the drawing room immediately upon your arrival, My Lady,” Bramley says as Marsden closes the front doors and then the vestibule doors behind them. “Her Ladyship insisted, and His Lordship didn’t contradict her.”
“Oh. Do I sense an air of disquiet, Bramley?” Lettice asks, handing the butler her red fox collar and then shrugging off her russet three quarter length coat into his waiting white glove clad hands.
“Well My Lady, may I just say that your article caused somewhat of a stir both above and below stairs.” He accepts Lettice’s elegant picture hat of russet felt ornamented with pheasant feathers.
“Yes, so Harris told me. Good or bad above stairs, Bramley?”
“I think,” the older manservant contemplates. “Mixed, might be the best answer to that, My Lady.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, His Lordship, and Master Leslie were thrilled, as was the young Mrs. Chetwynd. However, as you know, My Lady, Her Ladyship has particular ideas as to your future.” He cocks an eyebrow and gives her a knowing look. “She’s had them planned since the day you were born, and you know she dislikes it when her plans go awry.”
“Oh.” Lettice says with a disappointed lilt in her answer. “Well, thank you Bramley,” she gives him a sad, yet grateful smile. “You are a brick for warning me.” She brushes down the front of her flounced floral sprigged spring frock, sighs and says with a sigh, “Then I best get this over with, hadn’t I?”
“I don’t see an alternative, My Lady.”
“Then don’t worry, I’ll show myself into the drawing room. I should imagine this will only be an overnight stay.”
Without waiting for a reply, Lettice turns on her heel and walks down the corridor, her louis heels clicking along the parquetry flooring, echoing off the walls decorated with gilt framed portraits of the Chetwynd ancestors, their dogs, horses and paintings of views of the estate. She stops before the pair of beautiful walnut double doors that open onto the drawing room, grasps one of the gilded foliate handles, turns it and steps in.
The very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its grand dimensions, high ceiling and gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings has always been one of Lettice’s favourite rooms in the house. It is from here that she developed her love for collecting fine Limoges porcelain to emulate the collection amassed by her great, great paternal grandmother Lady Georgiana Chetwynd. No matter what time of day, the room is always light and airy thanks to its large full-length windows and beautiful golden yellow Georgian wallpaper decorated in a pattern of delicate blossoms and paper lanterns which seems almost to exude warmth and golden illumination. Whilst decorated with many generations of conspicuous consumption, it is not overly cluttered and it does not have the suffocating feel of Lady Sadie’s morning room, which she loathes, and it smells familiarly of a mixture of fresh air, bees wax polish and just a waft of roses. Glancing around, Lettice can see the latter comes from two vases of roses – one white bunch and one golden yellow cluster – both in elegant porcelain vases. The room is silent, save for the quiet ticking of several clocks set about polished surfaces, the hiss of dusty wood as it burns and the muffled twitter of birds in the bushes outside the drawing room windows. And there, by the grand crackling fire, her parents sit in what she hopes to be companionable silence.
Lady Sadie sits in her usual armchair next to the fire, dressed in a grey woollen skirt, a burnt orange silk blouse and a matching cardigan with her everyday double strand pearls about her neck. With her wavy white hair framing her face in an old fashioned style she looks not unlike Queen Mary, as she sips tea from one of the floral tea cups from her favourite Royal Doulton set, lost in her own thoughts as she stares out through the satin brocade curtain framed windows. The Viscount on the other hand is sitting opposite his wife in the high backed gilded salon chair embroidered in petit point tapestry by his mother. Dressed in his usual country tweeds worn when going about the estate, Lettice notices that he is immersed in the very copy of Country Life that her interiors feature. Between them, tea and coffee in silver pots stand on a small black japanned chinoiserie occasional table along with the round silver biscuit sachet that has once been Lady Sadie’s mother’s.
“Well, here I am.” Lettice announces with false joviality, alerting both her parents to her presence as she closes the door behind her.
“Lettice!” the Viscount exclaims, jumping up from his seat, slightly crumpling the pages of the Country Life between his right fingers as he lets his hands fall to his side. “My dear girl!” He beams at her proudly. Thrusting out the magazine in front of him as if trying to prove a point, he continues. “What a surprise, eh?” He indicates to the article about ‘Chai an Treth’, which he was reading, as Lettice suspected.
“Pappa!”
Lettice hurries into the room, steps between the gilt upholstered chairs that are part of the Louis Quartzose salon suite that had been included in her mother’s dowery when she married her father and falls happily into the loving arms of the Viscount who smells comfortingly of fresh air and grass as he envelopes her.
“Don’t gush, Cosmo!” Lady Sadie chides, giving her husband a withering look of distain as she sips her tea with a crispness, passing judgement like usual over her husband and youngest daughter’s emotional relationship, which she unable to fathom.
“Hullo Mamma.” Lettice reluctantly removes herself from her father’s welcoming embrace and walks over to her mother, who places her teacup aside and tilts her head so that Lettice can give her an air kiss on both cheeks, their skin barely touching in the transaction.
“Help yourself to tea and biscuits.” Lady Sadie pronounces, indicating with a sharp nod to the low tea table upon which sits a third, unused, teacup and saucer nestled amongst the other tea things. “Mrs. Casterton has made her custard creams this week.”
“Thank you, Mamma.” Lettice sees a selection of vanilla and chocolate cream biscuits on a plate already as she helps herself to tea from the small round sterling silver pot, polished to a gleaming sheen by Bramley or the head parlour maid. She takes up one each of the two varieties of custard creams, ignoring the look of criticism from her mother by doing so, depositing them onto her saucer. She then settles down on the settee, closest to her father and puts her cup on the table next to her.
“My dear girl! My dear girl!” the Viscount repeats in a delighted voice as he tosses the copy of Country Life with the crumpling sound of paper onto the top of a pile of newspapers and periodicals atop a petite point footstool. “Exemplifying a comfortable mixture of old and new to create a welcoming and contemporary room, sympathetic to the original features.” he paraphrases one of Lettice’s favourite lines in Henry Tipping’s** article, giving away that this was hardly the first time he has read the article since the magazine arrived at Glynes. “What wonderful praise from Mr. Tipping.”
“Oh, do stop, Cosmo!” pleads Lady Sadie from her seat on the other side of the fireplace, toying with the pearls at her throat. “Gushing is so unbecoming,” She glares critically at her husband. “Especially from a man of your age. It’s emasculating.”
Lettice gives her mother a wounded glance before quickly looking at her father, however he bares a steeliness in his jaw.
“Why shouldn’t I gush, Sadie?” he replies in defence of himself and his daughter, looking over his shoulder at Lady Sadie, determination giving his voice strength. “This is our child we are talking about,” He turns back and smiles with unbridled delight at Lettice, his eyes glittering with pride. “And I’m damn proud that Lettice has her name in print in a periodical such as Country Life, even if you are less so.”
“I don’t know whether I am pleased at all, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie eyes her daughter. “I’d rather see your name printed in the society pages next to a certain eligible duke’s son’s name, Lettice.” she adds dryly as she picks up a custard cream and gingerly nibbles at it as though it might contain rat bait. “Then, I’d gush.”
“Mamma!” Lettice manages to utter in a strangulated fashion as disappointment at her mother’s reaction to the article grips her like a cold pair of hands around her throat.
“It’s your duty to marry, Lettice, and marry well. You know this.” Lady Sadie lectures in reply haughtily. “We’ve had this conversation time and time again. You don’t want to be a burden on poor Leslie when your father dies, do you?” She nibbles some more at the biscuit clutched between her fingers.
“Oh Sadie!” the Viscount gasps. “Don’t be crabby. You must concede that you are proud that one of the leading authorities on architecture and interior design in Britain has spoken so highly of our daughter’s work.”
The older woman pulls a face, cleaning mushy biscuit remains from her gums, but doesn’t dignify the statement with an answer.
“Can’t you be just a little happy for me, Mamma?” Lettice pleads as she reaches out and grasps her father’s bigger hand for comfort and support. “Just this once?”
“I’ll be happy when I see you married off.” She picks up her cup and saucer and takes a sip of tea. “Is it not bad enough that I have one wayward child? Perhaps I had better pack you off to British East Africa too.”
“Tipping said Lettice is a very capable interior designer.” the Viscount defends his favourite child. “And the photos prove that.”
“Capable!” Lady Sadie scoffs with a nod of disgusted acknowledgement of the magazine lying beyond the tea table. “The room looks barren – positively starved of furnishings and character. How can that be capable interior design? There is practically nothing in it, to design!”
“But paired back is the new style now, Mamma. People don’t want…”
“What?” Lady Sadie snaps, the fine bone china cup clattering in its saucer.
“Well they don’t necessarily want all this.” Lettice gesticulates around her, almost apologetically, to the furnishings around them. “People want cleaner lines these days, to better reflect their more modern lives.”
“So your father and I are old hat?” Lady Sadie quips. “Is that what you’re saying, Lettice?”
“No, of course not Mamma. I love you and Pappa, and Glynes is classically beautiful. You do a wonderful job at maintaining the elegance of the house. I did retain some of the original décor of Margot and Dickie’s house as part of my refurbishment, even though Margot told me to fling it all out. Mr. Tipping calls it ‘Modern Classical Revival Style’. You and Pappa taught me to always respect a house’s history, and that is what I did, whilst giving Margot the more modern look she wants.”
“Pshaw! That girl hasn’t an ounce of taste. Her family have always been new money.” remarks Lady Sadie dismissively. “You can always tell the difference between the old and the new. True breeding will always win out.”
“Margot is my friend Mamma! Please don’t say such hurtful things.”
“Well, whatever you may think of Lettice’s choice in friends, Sadie, you cannot deny the credit she has brought to the family name by being associated with the Marquis of Taunton.” retorts the Viscount.
“Only by association with this interior design folly nonsense of hers, Cosmo.” She flaps her bejewelled hand at her daughter, the lace trimmed handkerchief partially stuffed up the left sleeve of her knitted silk cardigan dancing about wildly with every movement. “At least you were good enough to have your name and business published in a respectable periodical, Lettice.” she concedes begrudgingly.
“Well, I’m proud of you, Lettice my girl, and there’s a fact.” He turns again and stares with a hard look at his wife before pronouncing, “And so too is your brother and Arabella, and the Tyrwhitts. Your mother is just bitter because she wasn’t the one who was able to announce the news to the whole village.”
“You had no right not to tell me about this article, Lettice!” Lady Sadie grumbles as she cradles her cup and saucer in her lap in a wounded fashion, whilst foisting angry and resentful looks at her daughter. “None at all! I hadn’t even had an opportunity to open the magazine and peruse it before I had the Miss Evanses up here, unannounced, crowing about your name in print in Country Life and how proud I must feel.”
Lettice cannot help but smile at the thought of her mother being assailed by the two twittering spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village. The pair are known for their love of gossip, and even more for their voracity at spreading it, as they attempt to fill their lives which they obviously feel are lacking in drama and excitement. The chagrin Lady Sadie must have felt would have been palpable.
“Don’t you dare smile at my humiliation, you wicked girl! I had to pretend, Lettice! Pretend to those two awful old women, fawning and toadying the way they do, that I had read the article, and there it sat, unopened on my bonheur de jour***, completely untouched.”
“I only wanted it to be a surprise, Mamma.”
“Well, it certainly was that.” The woman’s eyes flame with anger. “I had feign that I was only being a tease when I showed such surprise to the Miss Evanses about your name in that article. Luckily the two were more interested in their own delight at their association to you than my genuine surprise that they believed me.” She turns her head away from her husband and daughter and adds uncharitably, “Stupid creatures.”
“Now don’t be bitter, Sadie.” the Viscount chides his wife. “Bitterness doesn’t become a lady of any age.”
“I’m not bitter!” spits Lady Sadie hotly with a harsh laugh of disbelief.
“Yes, you are.” her husband retorts with a gentle laugh of his own. “The more you defend yourself, the more evident it is, Sadie. You are just upset that the Miss Evanses had done a successful job of spreading the news through the village before you had the chance to do so yourself. They took the wind out of your sails. Lettice meant it to be a delightful surprise, and it was, my dear girl.”
“She didn’t consider the consequences.”
“The petty rivalry between her somewhat misguided mother, who should know better, and two old village crones, should hardly be a concern of one of London’s newest and brightest interior designers, Sadie.”
“Well, shouldn’t I have the opportunity to boast about my own daughter, Cosmo?”
“Aha! There!” the Viscount crows triumphantly. “So, you are proud of Lettice then.”
Lady Sadie thrusts her cup noisily onto the side table and stands up, brushing biscuit crumbs from her lap with angry sweeps onto the Chinese silk carpet at her feet. “You do talk a lot of nonsense, Cosmo.” She mutters brittlely. “I need to go and attend to something. So, if you will please excuse me.” She prepares to leave, but then adds as an afterthought, “But when I come back, I hope you two will have finished your character assassination of me.”
Lettice and her father watch Lady Sadie stalk towards the door with her nose in the air.
“I just hope that the Duchess doesn’t read that article, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says with a meanness in her angry voice. “I very much doubt she would like a daughter in trade. I hope you realise that this little stunt of yours could have ruined the best match you’ll ever get.”
The older woman opens the door and walks out into the corridor.
“Just ignore your mother.” the Viscount waves his hand before his wife as if erasing her presence as the door slams behind her, making both he and his youngest daughter wince. “She really is just jealous of those two silly old spinsters because they were gossiping about you in the village before she was able to do so.”
“I just wanted it to be a lovely surprise for you and her, Pappa.” Lettice pleads with wide and concerned eyes welling with tears.
“I know, my girl. I know.” He takes his handkerchief from his inside pocket and passes it to Lettice, who dabs at her eyes.
“I even organised with Mr. Tipping for Mamma to get her edition early,” Lettice sniffs. “But I suppose the mail delivery let me down.”
“Well,” her father shrugs. “Any general worth his wait in salt**** will tell you that the very best laid plans can go awry.” He smiles at her consolingly. “Your mother is contrary at the best of times. She’ll never admit that she is happy with any success that isn’t of her own making. Why on earth you seek her approval, I don’t know.” he adds in exasperation. “Do you deliberately wish to punish yourself, dear girl?”
Lettice sighs and sniffs. “I just hope that one day she will be proud of me. I feel like I’ve always disappointed her.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three, Pappa.”
“Then you are old enough to know that no matter how hard you try, your mother will never admit to you that she is proud of you. If you do end up marring young Spencely, I doubt even then that she will willingly admit to being proud of you.”
“You’re right, Pappa. I should know better. You know that Lally told me the Christmas before last that Mamma lords the perfection of her married life over me, whilst lording the glamour of my life over her.”
“Quite so.” the Viscount admits. “I always told your mother that playing that game would do her no god in the end.” He laughs sadly. “But you know your mother. She won’t be told anything. I’m glad that your sister told you what’s what. Sadie hasn’t that power over you any more, now that you know the truth, Lettice.”
“But why does she do it?”
“Like I said, your mother is sadly misguided. Whether you believe me or not, it isn’t done out of spite.”
“Then what?”
“She does it to try and get you to both emulate the good things in the other. She wants Lally to be ambitious like you. The truth is I don’t think she ever really approved of the match between Lally and Lanchenbury.”
“But Lally and Charles are very happy together.”
“I know, Lettice. I know.” He pats her hands. “I think she considers him to be a little below the expectations she had for her eldest daughter, coming from a good and wealthy, but relatively socially insignificant family. That’s why she aspires for you through the marriage bed, dear girl.”
“But marriage isn’t all I aspire to, Pappa.”
“I know that too, and both your mother and I know how decimated the options are for young ladies in the wake of the war, your mother probably far better than I. But you must forgive us for wanting you to fill the role we expect you to fill, and for us hoping that it is a financial and socially ambitious match you make.” He sighs wearily. “Although with the way the world is changing, that seems to be becoming a less likely thing. I’m only grateful your brother made me modernise the estate. Goodness knows if we would have survived this post-war world of ours, and even now, I wonder whether we actually will.”
“Don’t say that Pappa.”
“Whatever happens, don’t let your mother upset you, and don’t let her spoil your triumph. I repeat, your brother, Arabella, the whole district is so proud of you, and I’m sure that all your friends, and young Spencely are equally proud to know you.”
“Alright Pappa,” Lettice sighs as her father places a consoling hand on her shoulder and rubs it lovingly. “I won’t.”
“That’s my girl. Now, I’m sure your mother has gone to arrange luncheon for Lady Edgar, the vicar and any number of other members of the great and good of the county, all of whom she will be singing your praises to – not that she will tell you that.” The Viscount winks conspiratorially at Lettice. “So, what’s say you and I go and have luncheon at the Dower House with Leslie and Arabella? I know they would love to see you and congratulate you.”
“Thank you Pappa!”
Lettice and her father embrace, and the pair remain in position for a few minutes, enjoying the intimacy without the criticism of Lady Sadie.
*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.
**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.
***A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
****Although these days we commonly say that someone is worth their weight in gold, to say that someone is “worth one’s salt,” is the more traditional saying. Its meaning is the same. It’s a statement that acknowledges that they are competent, deserving, and – to put it simply – worthwhile. The phrase itself is thought to be rooted in Ancient Rome where soldiers were sometimes paid with salt or given an allowance to purchase salt. Similarly, if a person uses the phrase “worth its weight in salt,” to describe an object, they are expressing that they think the item is worth the price they paid or that it otherwise holds immense value to them.
This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The gilt Louis Quatorze chair and sofa, the black japanned chinoiserie tea table and the gilt swan round tables table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The gilt high backed salon chair 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 Palladian console tables at the back to either side of the fireplace, 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 the Chetwynd’s palatial drawing room very much reflect the Eighteenth 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. 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!
Two more larger example of Ann Dalton’s petunia posies stand on the Peter Cluff Palladian console tables. The one on the left is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain. The right table features examples of pieces from a 1950s Limoges miniature tea set which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. The vase containing the yellow roses is also a Limoges miniature from the 1950s.
The silver tea and coffee set and silver biscuit sachet on the central chinoiserie tea table, have been made with great attention to detail, and come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The gilt edged floral teacups and plate on the table come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The blue and white vase the white roses stand in comes from Melody Jane’s Dolls House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.
The white and yellow roses are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The copy of Country Life sitting on the footstool which is a lynchpin of this chapter was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1923 edition of Country Life. The 1:12 miniature copy of ‘The Mirror’ beneath it is made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
The hand embroidered pedestal fire screen may be adjusted up or down and was acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.
All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.
The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home after receiving an invitation to motor down to Wiltshire from 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. His family, the Brutons, are neighbours to the Cheywynds with their properties sharing boundaries. That is how Gerald and Lettice came to be such good friends. However, whilst both families are landed gentry with lineage going back centuries, unlike Lettice’s family, Gerald’s live in a much smaller baronial manor house and are in much more straitened circumstances. Whilst he visits his mother, who has caught a chill in the cold winter weather, Lettice is playing the part of a dutiful daughter and visiting her parents too, even though both are in excellent health. This is her last visit to Glynes before coming down to stay over the Christmas and New Year period.
We find ourselves in the very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings where the family Christmas tree is being decorated by Lettice and her elder sister Lally’s two children. Alerted to her younger sister’s visit, Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), who is heavily pregnant and due to give birth in a few months, has come down to stay with her parents and eldest brother Leslie to coincide with Lettice’s visit. Although they have never been particularly close, with six years difference between them, Lally is filled with the Christmas spirit this year and has arrived with a conciliatory approach as she tries to build more of a relationship with Lettice now that she is older.
Lally finds it too difficult at this advanced stage in her pregnancy to join her children and Lettice decorating the tall fir tree cut from the Chetwynd estate, so she reclines on the Louis settee, toying with a fold-out family photograph album draped across her pregnant belly and watches the others as they unpack beautiful glass baubles, satin bows, garlands and glittering tinsel from old boxes.
“You always were the artistic one Lettice,” Lally remarks as her sister hangs a golden glass bauble on an upper bough of the tree where the children can’t reach with the aid of Viscount Wrexham’s library steps. “You have the knack for decorating the tree and making it look so beautiful.”
“That’s very kind of you to say so, Lally.” Lettice smiles thinly. “Oh no Harrold, not that bauble,” she directs her seven year old nephew as he tries to hand her a shiny red glass ball. “Grandmamma always likes the tree in here to be decorated with gold to match the furniture.”
“She only insists on that because she is so proud of the furnishings in here.” Lally pipes up from the settee. “Having been given as part of her marriage settlement by Grandfather Piers.”
“I didn’t know that, Lally!” Lettice gasps.
“Oh yes. She told me that when she and I sat in here the day that Pappa settled my dowery with Lord Lanchenbury in the library.”
“No wonder she was always scolding us if it even looked like a stray shoe was going to work its way onto the upholstery.”
“Yes,” Lally chuckles looking down over the photo album and her protuberant belly wrapped tightly in russet georgette with Art Nouveau embroidery, to her silk lisle clad feet resting on the settee’s cushioned seat. “At least I’ve taken my wretched shoes off.” She wriggles her toes as she glances down at her louis heeled deep red slippers standing on the carpet. “Not that I may be able to get them back on again. Pregnancy always makes my feet swell.”
Harrold looks thoughtfully at the red bauble in his hand and then glances with excitement at its matching decorations still in the dusty and battered old boxes. “Does that mean there is going to be a second Christmas tree this year, Auntie Tice?”
Lettice chuckles and leans down, tousling Harrold’s blonde hair. “No darling, but we used to have two trees decorated every year before the war. One in here like this, and a much bigger one in the entrance hall. That’s why there are so many decorations in these boxes.” She looks thoughtfully at the boxes and their contents strewn about on the carpet. “Poor Bramley. I should really have told him only to unpack the gold decorations. He has so much to do as it is these days.”
“Yes, poor Bramley. It’s not easy managing a house like this on reduced staff numbers. Mind you, it looks like the decorations are all jumbled together anyway.” Lally muses, looking at the photograph album resting on her stomach as her mind drifts away to the past. “Do you remember those wonderful pre-war Christmases we used to have, Lettice?”
“Oh yes, when we had more servants to help decorate both trees.”
“And all of us too. You were always the one who knew best when it came to decorating, but Leslie, Lionel and I tried to do our bit.”
“However did you cope before I was born?” Lettice asks cheekily.
Lally looks at the photos of past Chetwynds, gazing out from prettily decorated round and square holes with sepia eyes. “I wonder,” she asks as she looks. “Who this one will look like when they are born.” She glances up at her son, sifting through a Gossages Dry Soap crate looking for a correctly coloured Christmas ball to give to his aunt. “Harrold looks so much like Pappa.”
“Well,” Lettice says thoughtfully, tugging at a recalcitrant piece of tinsel. “He or she may look more like his or her father than a Chetwynd.”
“Like Charles!” Lally scoffs. “Oh, I don’t think so, Lettice. I’m convinced that the Lanchenbury genes are recessive.”
“Who do I look like Auntie Tice?” Annabelle, Lettice’s five year old niece, asks from her place decorating the boughs around the foot of the Christmas tree.
“You look like a beautiful princess, darling,” Lettice confirms bountifully, giving her an earnest look.
“Oh!” the little girl exclaims and smiles proudly. “Did you hear that, Harrold? You look like old Grandpappa, and I look like a pretty princess!” She pirouettes prettily about on the spot, her fuchsia coloured skirts billowing around her.
“I don’t look like an old man!” Harrold counters angrily as he reaches up to his aunt clutching two gold baubles.
“No Harrold, you don’t,” Lally placates from the settee. “But you look like Grandpappa did when he was young, and he was very handsome when he was young.”
Harrold smiles, pleased that he doesn’t look like an old white haired man with a beard, and he turns his back on his teasing sister, who is still spinning about gleefully as she imagines herself to be a fine lady.
“Remember when the villagers used to come up to the front door singing carols on Christmas Eve,” Lally continues on her nostalgic journey of pre-war Christmases. “Mamma and Pappa would invite them in to warm themselves by the fire in the entrance hall and enjoy the big Christmas tree all covered in tinsel, baubles and lighted candles.”
“Pappa still gets Bramley to bring out snifters of brandy for them whilst they warm themselves by the fire,” Lettice accepts an appropriately gold bauble from her nephew. “But you’re right, some of magic has gone out of that now that there is no longer a Christmas tree in the hall.”
“Do you think we could ask Grandpappa to get us one this year, Auntie Tice?” Harrold asks, looking up at Lettice hopefully.
“Oh I think it’s a bit late now, darling.” Lettice explains kindly. “There is a heavy snow outside and ground his hard. We don’t want the gardeners all catching colds for Christmas, now do we?” Harrold shakes his head solemnly and Lettice tousles his hair again good naturedly before suggesting, “Maybe next year. We’ll ask Grandpappa later. Alright?”
“Alright Auntie.” he replies.
“Good boy.” Lettice whispers with a gentle smile, accepting the second bauble from her nephew.
“Remember the fun we always had as children getting dressed up for Mamma and Pappa’s fancy dress Hunt Ball?” Lally asks her sister. “Mamma was always the queen of the ball. And you used to like being a faerie with a tinsel crown and a silver wand.”
“I’m going as a faerie this year,” pipes up Annabelle proudly.
“Is that so, darling?” Lettice asks her with a munificent smile.
She nods emphatically. “Nanny is making my dress.”
“Yes,” Lettice chuckles wistfully. “Nanny Webb must have spent hours making our outfits, sewing stars onto my dress and making me gossamer wings. You liked to go as Columbine*, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but my outfit was bought from Clarkson’s** London. So was Lionel’s Pierrot*** costume.”
“What did Leslie go as? For the moment I don’t remember.”
“Leslie is just like Pappa. He hated fancy dress. Being older than us, he told me that fancy dress was for children, and he used to go in his hunting pinks****, just like Pappa.”
“Oh yes. Now I remember. I still love fancy dress parties.” Lettice responds. “I’m coming as Cinderella to the Hunt Ball this year, which is most apt considering that Mamma wants to marry me off.”
“Who’s on the offing?”
“Jonty Hastings,”
“Not Howling Hastings?”
Lettice nods. “The very one!” She and her sister both giggle childishly.
“Who else?” Lally asks with bated breath.
“Tarquin Howard, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes,”
“He’s an old man!” Lally laughs.
“Nicholas Ayers.” Lettice continues to list.
“He’s an invert*****!” Lally scoffs, then quickly raises her hand to her mouth as she glances with alarm at the children. She heaves a sigh of relief as they seem too involved in decorating the lower branches of the tree to pay attention to her and ask her what an invert is. “Mamma may as well marry you to Gerald Bruton then.”
“Ah, but Gerald is the spare you see, not that Mamma knows what we do about him, and anyway, the Brutons don’t have the money that the Ayres do.”
“True.” Lally hurries on. “Who else, Lettice?”
“Selwyn Spencely, Edward Lambley, Septimius Faversham and Oliver Edgars. I know there are others, but I can’t for the life of me think whom.”
“Goodness! Mamma really is pulling out all the stops this year to make the ball a grand occasion. I don’t think we’ve had that many eligible men in attendance since 1912!”
Lettice gives her elder sister a withering look.
“Will one of those men be your prince, Auntie Tice?” asks Annabelle seriously, gazing up at her aunt. “You are coming as Cinderella to the ball after all, and Cinderella met her prince there.”
“Only if I lose a slipper at the ball, darling.”
“Oh,” Lally huffs as she glances at the baby Jesus statue in the manger from the nativity scene to stand beneath the tree with all the Christmas gifts. “I think I shall be glad to be in confinement for this year’s ball. I could only come dressed as a whale thanks to this one.” She lays a hand caringly upon her swollen stomach.
“A whale!” giggles Annabelle.
“Now that would be funny, Mummy.” chuckles Harrold as he walks over to his mother and places his hand on top of hers. “I should like to see you dance with Daddy dressed as a whale.”
“You must suggest it to him when we go home at the end of the week, darling. Shall I wear a grey satin tea gown then?” Lally smiles as Harrold nods enthusiastically. Looking back to Lettice as she affixes a shimmering bow to the tree she says to her, “I don’t know how you do it, Lettice. After children, and the war, I just don’t have the energy for fancy dress any more.”
“Oh, don’t you start lording your happy marriage to Charles and your children over me, Lally!” Lettice’s footsteps clatter angrily as she descends the library steps and stalks forcefully across the carpet to look for a particular decoration in one of the boxes. Thrusting her hands violently through the contents of one particular box she continues, “I won’t have it! Mamma has been insufferable since I got here, reminding me at every opportunity that I’m not getting any younger, and that you were married by the time you were my age. And then there is all her scheming, inviting every eligible gentleman of good breeding and money to the Hunt Ball for me to be paraded before!”
Sensing the change in mood in the room, Annabelle scuttles away from Lettice and the Christmas tree and cowers by her mother’s side, whilst Harrold places both hands on top of this mother’s instinctively protecting her and the baby from his aunt’s sudden displeasure.
“Please don’t be angry, Aunty Tice,” Annabelle says, her voice cracking as tears well in her eyes. “I don’t like it when you’re angry with Mummy.”
“And it is Christmas,” Harrold adds, looking in concern at Lettice on her knees, scattering colourful glass balls across the drawing room carpet angrily. “No-one should be cross or upset at Christmas, Auntie Tice.”
“Oh!” Lettice looks up from where she is with sad tears, that moments ago had been angry ones, brimming in her eyes. “Oh how clumsy of me. Auntie Tice is sorry my darlings. You’re quite right Harrold. No-one should be cross at Christmas.” She holds out her arms to them and pouts. “Forgive me? Please?”
Harrold walks cautiously over and falls into her arms, which wrap around him tightly as she closes her eyes and puts her head on his shoulders.
“See,” Lally whispers to Annabelle standing at her shoulder. “Auntie Tice isn’t cross anymore. Don’t you think you might go and give her a cuddle?” She looks back to her sister and son embracing and adds more loudly, even though she knows and intends that Lettice should hear every word. “I’m sure that would make her feel even better.”
Tentatively, and with a gentle push from her mother, Anabelle totters forward to where Lettice embraces her too.
“I know, Lettice,” Lally remarks softly. “That when you were a teenager, we really didn’t get along very well.” Lettice looks up defensively, but Lally raises a finger to her lips to silence her sister’s protests so she can continue. “And we have probably never really been that close because of the difference in years between us. However, contrary to what your opinion of me may be, I’m not your enemy, you know?”
“I know,” Lettice murmurs. “It’s just Mamma and her attitudes towards the decisions I’ve made. They make me so cross, Lally.”
“Well, you might not know this,” Lally continues. “In fact, in view of your sudden outburst, I’m quite certain you don’t.”
“Know what, Lally?”
“Mamma always lords your glamorous life in London over me whenever she can, telling me who of this country’s great and good you’ve been socialising with or decorating for, and showing me photos of you in the Tattler, not that I haven’t already seen them for myself.”
“She doesn’t!” Lettice bursts in shock.
“She does,” Lally concurs with a nod. “And she does it because both of us are closer to Pappa than to her.”
“No!”
“Of course that’s the reason. Mamma has always had a jealous streak in her.”
“Well, I never.” Lettice gasps.
“Now you know that her criticism goes both ways. She thinks her secret is safe because she enjoys playing us off against one another, and what’s worse is, I think she actually enjoys creating a divide between us.”
“Lally!”
“It’s true, Lettice. I think in her own perverse way, she hopes that one of us will turn to her one day, rather than Pappa.” She lowers her lids and shakes her head in resigned disbelief. “I don’t quite know why.”
“Oh I’m sorry, Lally.”
“I’m sorry too Lettice.” Lally acknowledges warmly. “So, what say you and I, with this knowledge, ignore Mamma’s criticisms this Christmas, and maybe get to be better friends as adults than we perhaps were as children.”
“Just to spite Mamma?”
“Well, no,” Lally explains. “To help us better understand and support one another. Of course, if it happens to irritate Mamma, then all the better. Truth be told, I’m actually quite proud to have such a successful and glamourous sister.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Lettice says humbly as she blushes with embarrassment and pride.
“A thank you is usual when one is paid a compliment.” Lally adds helpfully with a smile.
“Thank you, Lally.” Lettice says.
“You’re welcome, my glamorous little sister.” Lally answers.
*Columbine is a theatrical character that originated about 1530 in Italian commedia dell'arte as a saucy and adroit servant girl; her Italian name means “Little Dove.”
**Clarkson’s Theatrical Costumier and Wig Maker was located at 41 to 43 Wardour Street in Leicester Square. As theatrical costumier to the Royal Family, Willy Clarkson was born in 1861. He took over his father’s business in 1878 and became highly successful. He provided costumes and wigs for famous actors and actresses of the Victorian and Edwardian era, including Sir Henry Irving, Lillie Langtry and Sarah Bernhardt and for productions by Queen Victoria's family. It was claimed that Will Clarkson created a disguise for the murderer Doctor Crippen. Rumoured to be homosexual, a public lavatory in Soho was known as 'Clarkson's Cottage'.
***Pierrot is a character from the Italian commedia dell'arte. A simpleminded and honest servant, he is usually a young and personable valet. One of the comic servants, or zanni, Pierrot functioned in the commedia as an unsuccessful lover of Columbine and a victim of the pranks of his fellow comedians.
****Hunting pinks is the name given to the traditional scarlet jacket and related attire worn by fox-hunters.
*****An invert is a term coined and popularly used in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries to describe a homosexual.
This year the Flickr Friends Melbourne Group have decided to have a monthly challenge which is submitted on the 5th of every month. This month’s theme is “Christmas”, which was chosen by Beverley. Both Beverley and I share a common love of Christmas, which is a magical time that brings us both great joy, so this scene, using a selection of my large miniatures collection including some very special pieces was a delight for me to spend a few hours creating and photographing.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Chetwynd Christmas tree, beautifully decorated by Lettice, Harold and Annabelle with garlands, tinsel, bows golden baubles and topped by a sparking gold star is a 1:12 artisan piece. It was hand made by husband and wife artististic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio.
The gold Christmas garland that graces the fireplace to the right of the photo is a hand made artisan miniature also, and was supplied by the Doll House Shoppe in Tinley Park, Illinois.
The red and green boxes containing hand painted Christmas ornaments were hand made and decorated by artists of Crooked Mile Cottage in America. The silver, red and gold tinsel garlands, and the painted red, yellow, green, gold and silver single baubles that litter the floor, tumble from the boxes and the single one left on the library steps come from various online miniature stockists in Australia and England through E-Bay. The miniature nativity pieces of Jesus in the manger, Mary, Joseph and the Christmas star standing on the carpet in front of the Gossages Dry Soap crate come from an E-Bay stockist of miniatures in Sydney.
The pair of louis heel red slippers comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. They are made of metal.
The fold out concertina Edwardian photo album draped across the gilt Louis settee, the brown photo album with gilt lettering on the end table to the left of the settee and the pile of photos stacked on top of the red photo album are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside a photo album that he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into the album, it has a front and back cover and a concertina of ten coloured pages, and it measure twenty millimetres in height and ten millimetres in width and is only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books and photo albums 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. 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 one of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
The red and the blue photo albums also open and contain black pages suitable to stick miniature photographs to. They are fastened closed with a ribbon. They came from Shepherd’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Palladian console table behind the library steps, with its two golden caryatids and marble top, is one of a pair that were 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 gilt footstool upon which the red photo album and pile of photographs sit is 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 also 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.
To the left of the photo stands an artisan bonheur de jour (French lady's writing desk). A gift from my Mother when I was in my twenties, she had obtained this beautiful piece from an antique auction. Made in the 1950s of brass it is very heavy. It is set with hand-painted enamel panels featuring Rococo images. Originally part of a larger set featuring a table and chairs, or maybe a settee as well, individual pieces from these hand-painted sets are highly collectable and much sought after. I never knew this until the advent of E-Bay!
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 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. To the left of the clock is a porcelain pot of yellow and blue petunias which has been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. To the left of the vase of petunias is a Staffordshire sheep – one of a pair – 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 has a smile on its face!
Another, larger example of Ann Dalton’s petunia posies stands on the Peter Cluff Palladian console table and is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain.
On the bombe chest behind the Louis settee stand a selection of 1950s Limoges miniature tea set pieces which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. Also on the bombe chest sit two Georgian tea caddies which come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. In the centre of these pieces stands a sterling silver three prong candelabra made by an unknown artisan. They have actually fashioned a putti (cherub) holding the stem of the candelabra. The candles that came with it are also 1:12 artisan pieces and are actually made of wax.
The three piece Louis XV suite of settee and two armchairs was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM.
The library steps are made by an unknown artisan, but have been hand made and was supplied by Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The Hepplewhite chair with the lemon satin upholstery you can just see behind the Christmas tree was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.
The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Me, I guess. I'm going through one of those phases of not liking any of the images I create, so this is one from a few weeks ago that I didn't get around to posting at the time. Hoping to find some inspiration soon. Does anyone know where it's hidden?
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 in Lettice’s chic, dining room, which stands adjunct to her equally stylish drawing room. She has decorated it in a restrained Art Deco style with a smattering of antique pieces. It is also a place where she has showcased some prized pieces from the Portman Gallery in Soho including paintings, her silver drinks set and her beloved statue of the ‘Modern Woman’ who presides over the proceedings from the sideboard.
Lettice is hosting a luncheon for her future sister-in-law Arabella Tyrwhitt who will soon marry her eldest brother Leslie. As Arabella has no sisters, and her mother is too unwell at present to travel up to London from Wiltshire, Lettice has taken it upon herself to help Arabella shop and select a suitable trousseau. So, she has brought her to London to stay in Cavendish Mews, rather than opening up the Tyrwhitt’s Georgian townhouse in Curzon Street for a week, so from there she can take Arabella shopping in all the best shops in the West End, and take her to her old childhood chum and best friend Gerald Bruton’s couturier in Grosvenor Street for her wedding dress. Lettice has invited a few of her friends from her Embassy Club coterie whom Arabella met there the other night. Lettice has asked her best girlfriend, the recently married Margot Channon and one of her other dear friends Minnie Palmerston. As both ladies are married, Lettice is hoping they may be able to shed some light on what life is like as a married woman with Arabella whilst also sharing in an afternoon of delicious food and delightful gossip.
“Oh Gerald will make you the most wonderful wedding dress, Bella,” Margot enthuses to Arabella. “Believe me! He made me the most stylish gown for my wedding last year. You’ll be the talk of the Wiltshire downs.”
“I think your mother is a wonderful sport letting Lettice help you pick your wedding gown, Bella.” exclaims Minnie. “My mother wouldn’t let me choose so much as a button without her say so, and my wedding dress wasn’t anywhere near as modern and fashionable as I would have liked. It wasn’t even made by the couturier I wanted! I had to settle for old fashioned Lucille*.”
“Well,” Arabella says a little awkwardly. “My mother, err, she isn’t all that well at present, you see.”
“So,” Lettice quickly pitches in to avoid Arabella any awkward explanations. “I’m doing Lady Tyrwhitt the biggest favour whilst she is indisposed, by hosting Bella here in my flat and taking her shopping.” Arabella smiles in relief at her future sister-in-law who sits to her right at the head of the table. “I mean, what’s the point in opening up their London townhouse for just a few days when Bella is welcome here at any time?”
“And where everything is so lovely and welcoming.” Arabella says gratefully.
“Hhmm… that’s most sensible, Lettice.” Minnie says.
“And this way, I can take Bella to places like the Embassy Club whilst she’s up here, as well as take her frock shopping.” Lettice giggles with a wink at Bella. “I can show here what she’s missing being stuck in dull old Wiltshire.”
“Oh, it’s not as dull as all that, Tice,” Arabella remarks, her face flushing with mild embarrassment as she feels so unworldly in comparison to Lettice and her smart London friends. “After all, we have cattle shows, garden parties and…”
“Cattle shows!” baulks Margot, her left hand pressing over her mouth in horror, her diamond engagement ring glinting under the light of the dining room. “How beastly! I do hope that there aren’t any cattle shows I have to go on Cornwall! I should dislike that intensely.”
“I agree!” nods Minnie, her green glass chandelier earrings bobbing about as they dangle from her lobes.
“You both grew up in London, so of course a cattle show is beastly to you two,” Lettice replies. “But Bella and I both grew up in the country, so we are used to life there. Cattle shows are part of county social life.”
“If I had to go and look at beastly… well beasts, in order to meet eligible men,” Minnie says with an air of distaste as she wrinkles her nose. “I think I’d rather stay single.”
“Good job the closest thing you’ve come to the countryside is Hyde Park on a summer’s day then isn’t it, Minnie?” retorts Lettice with a playful smile.
“I quite enjoy the county social round,” Arabella admits with a shy smile. “And whilst I’m so grateful for you taking me to nightspots around London, Tice, I don’t think I’ll ever be a nightclub kind of girl.”
“Poor darling,” Lettice teases her good naturedly as she speaks out to her other friends at the table. “She doesn’t know yet how deliciously addictive nightclubs can be.”
“We’ll fix that,” giggles Margot, reaching out a hand across the table, past the central floral arrangement of lightly fragrant white roses in a glass bowl and enveloping Arabella’s smaller hand with her own. “Don’t you worry about that Lettice.”
Picking up her thoughts on life in Wiltshire, Bella adds, “Wiltshire isn’t quite the ends of the earth socially. Don’t forget, we do have balls and parties to go to there, like your mother’s glittering Hunt Ball.”
“Yes,” titters Minnie. “Where Lettice met that dishy Selwyn Spencely!”
Margot joins in with Minnie’s girlish peals.
“Oh do stop you two!” Lettice says with a playful wave of her hand. “I’ve only had to opportunity to have luncheon with him once thus far since the ball.”
“But you are planning to see him again, aren’t you Tice?” asks Arabella.
“Of course she is,” teases Margot with a wag of her bejewelled finger. “You can see it written all over her face!”
“Lettice!” Minnie cries, pointing her her elegant finger at her friend across the table. “You’re holding out on us. You’ve arranged to see him again, haven’t you?”
“Lettice!” gasps Margot. “Not fair! Spill the beans at once!”
“Well,” Lettice admits. “He did ring me this morning.”
“And?” Margot and Minnie ask, their breath baited with excitement.
“And we’ve arranged to have luncheon again after Bella returns home to Wiltshire.”
Margot and Minnie squeal and clap with delight, gushing forth congratulations as though Lettice had just announced her engagement to Selwyn.
“I hope you aren’t putting off seeing him just because I’m here, Tice.” Bella says quietly, a guilty look crossing her pretty face.
“Not at all, Bella!” Lettice reaches over and squeezes Arabella’s hand comfortingly. “He telephoned whilst you were in the bathroom this morning. You are my guest and as such, you have my undivided attention. Mr. Selwyn Spencely can wait a few days.”
“Well, they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” remarks Margot. “It certainly did for Dickie and I.”
“Where are you going, Lettice?” asks Minnie eagerly.
“I’ll tell you where, but not what day.” Lettice agrees. “The last thing I want is for you and Charles to be sitting, goggle eyed at the next table.”
“As if I would!” Minnie gasps, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest.
“As if you wouldn’t, more like!” Lettice retorts.
“Well,” Minnie looks across an Margot guiltily. “Yes, we would.”
The pair giggle conspiratorially.
“So where?” Minnie asks.
“The Café Royal.**”
“Oh how deliciously luxurious, Lettice darling!” Margot enthuses.
“I shall have Charles book us a table there every night for the fortnight after Bella leaves.” giggles Minnie teasingly, but her wink to Lettice assures her that she won’t.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot laughs. “You are awful!”
Just as Margot and Minnie break into more girlish titters, Edith, Lettice’s maid, emerges from the kitchen through the green baize door and walks towards the table with a tray on which she carries four of her home made orange curd tarts.
“Ah! What good timing!” Lettice claps her hands. “Edith, you are a brick! Ladies, dessert!”
Edith bobs a curtsey to her mistress and begins to serve the desserts to her guests first by carefully holding the tray on an angle to Arabella’s left, so she may easily help herself to one without the whole tray tipping forward and the tarts spilling onto the polished parquetry dining room floor.
“Thank you for that roast beef luncheon, Edith,” Arabella remarks as she selects the tart closest to her. “It was quite delicious.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Tyrwhitt.” Edith murmurs in reply, her face flushing with pleasure at the compliment.
Edith moves on and serves Minnie and then Margot, before finally coming back to Lettice who selects the one remaining tart from the tray. Ensuring that everyone has a replenished drink, Edith retreats to the kitchen, allowing the four ladies to carry on their conversation undisturbed by her presence.
“This looks delicious, Lettice darling.” remarks Margot as she looks down at the tart before her, the pastry a pale golden colour, a twist of candied orange and a dollop of whipped cream decorating its top.
“Yes,” concurs Minnie. “You’re so lucky Lettice. I don’t know how you manage to find such good staff in London.”
“I told you, Minnie. Mater gave me the telephone number of an excellent agency. That’s where I got Edith from. I’ll give it to you.”
“Oh,” Minnie sulks. “I think even if I employed the most perfectly qualified maid, I’d do something to muck the whole arrangement up. I usually do.”
“Good heavens, whatever are you talking about, Minnie?” Lettice exclaims.
“She’s only saying that because of her dining room faux pas.” Margot elucidates as she picks up her spoon and fork to commence eating her tart.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks.
Minnie looks around Lettice’s dining room at the restrained black japanned furnishings, white Art Deco wallpaper and elegant decorations. “I should just have done what Margot did and engaged you to decorate it for me.” she remarks as she picks up her own spoon and fork and begins to disseminate her dessert.
“What dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again.
“At least you have taste, Lettice, unlike me.” Minnie continues uninterrupted.
“Nonsense Minnie darling, you have one of the most tasteful and fashionable wardrobes in London!” Margot counters.
“Well, it obviously doesn’t extend to my ability as an interior decorator.” Minnie grumbles back as she stabs her tart with her fork.
“Minnie, what dining room faux pas?” Lettice asks again, the smallest lilt in her raised voice betraying her frustration at being ignored.
“Well, you know how Charles’ grandfather left us the house in St John’s Wood?” Minnie asks.
“Yes,” Lettice says, laying aside her spoon and fork, leaving her trat untasted as she looks intently into the green eyes of her redheaded friend.
“When we moved in, it was full of all of old Lady Arundel’s ghastly furniture. Charles’ grandfather hadn’t done a single thing to update the place, so it was all dusty of festoons and potted palms.”
“So pre-war Edwardian!” adds Margot just before she pops the daintiest piece of tart into her mouth, smiling as she tastes it.
“Charles says to me when I complain about how dark and cluttered it is: ‘Minnie darling, why don’t you redecorate’. So of course I thought to myself that if you could do it so effortlessly, why couldn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say effortlessly, Minnie darling.” Lettice corrects her friend. “Anyway, do go on. I’m all ears.”
“Well, I was delighted! My first real project as a wife, making a comfortable home for my husband. I asked Charles what room I should start with, and he suggested the dining room. After all, bringing potential business partners home to his dead grandmother’s fusty old dining room wouldn’t look very good, would it?”
“Indeed not, Minnie darling.” Lettice agrees, her lids lowering slightly as she concentrates on her friend’s story.
“He said that perhaps rather than throw out Lady Arundel’s dining table, I might start by picking some papers that went well with the dark furniture and red velvet seats, but would match our wonderful modern paintings which we hung in place of the muddy oils that were in there.”
“You could see where the old paintings had been by the non-faded patches of red flocked wallpaper.” Margot titters.
“That sounds ghastly,” Lettice remarks. “How sensible Charles was to suggest the walls first. Then you can decide what your new dining room furnishings will be once you are ready, and there’s no rush to fling out what you have at present.”
“Very well observed, Lettice darling.” Margot agrees.
“So where is the faux pas in that, then?” asks Lettice, looking across the roses of the centrepiece at her two friends in a perplexed fashion.
“The faux pas is what I chose!” pouts Minnie. “I’d started off so well too. I had the old black marble fireplace torn out and replaced with a lovely new surround.”
“Very streamline and modern,” Margot agrees, taking another mouthful of tart.
“Oh yes!” Minnie exclaims. “Quite to die for. Then I went to Jeffrey and Company*** looking for papers. It’s where my mother got our wallpapers for our homes when I was growing up.”
“Mine too.” affirmed Margot.
“And the assistant showed me the most divine poppies pattern on a geometric background. I thought to myself that being red, the poppies were a perfect choice for the walls.”
“It sounds perfect to me, Minnie darling.” Lettice says. “I still don’t see where the faux pas is?”
“You haven’t seen it on the walls.” Margot remarks half under her breath, looking apologetically at Minnie.
“No, it’s true Margot.” Minnie admits defeatedly with a sigh. “It sounds wonderful, but it looks positively awful!”
“Oh I wouldn’t have said that,” Margot counters. “It is rather busy and rather draws attention away from your paintings, but it isn’t awful.”
“Well Charles thinks it is! He says it’s like eating in a Maida Vale**** dining room! He doesn’t even want to eat in there now, and he certainly won’t bring any potential business partners around for dinner. He’s rather take them to his club!” Minnie whines. She drops her cutlery with a clatter onto the black japanned dining room table’s surface and hurriedly snatches her napkin from her lap. Carefully she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
“Oh Minnie!” Margot says, quickly getting up from her seat, dropping her own napkin on the seat of her chair and walking around to her friend where she wraps her arms around her shoulders comfortingly.
“Minnie darling. Please don’t cry.” Lettice gasps, standing up in her seat.
“You have modern wallpaper, but it doesn’t feel like Maida Vale in here.” Minnie says tearfully, thrusting her arms around in wild gesticulations.
Discreetly, Arabella moves Minnie’s half empty champagne flute out of her immediate reach to avoid any adding any drama with the spilling of drinks or shattering of glass to what is already an uncomfortable enough situation with the young woman sobbing in her seat whilst being comforted by her friends. Quietly Arabella wonders if the hot rush of London life with all its drama is all that good for the constitution if people behave this way over luncheon tables in the capital, and she secretly longs to retreat to the safety of her much quieter home of Garstanton Park back in Wiltshire.
“Do you need the smelling salts, Miss?” Edith, who unnoticed with Minnie’s loud crying and moaning, has slipped back into the dining room from the kitchen.
“What?” Lettice turns and registers her maid’s presence. “Ahh, no. No thank you Edith. Mrs. Palmerston is just having another one of her momentary dramas.”
“I am not!” bursts out Minnie, causing her already flushed face to go even redder as another barrage of tears and moaning escapes her shuddering frame.
“Of course you are, Minnie darling.” Lettice counters calmly in a good natured way. Turning back to her anxious maid she adds, “It will be over in a minute. Thank you, Edith.”
“Very good Miss.” Edith replies bewilderingly with raised eyebrows and an almost imperceptible shake of her head as she looks again at Mrs. Palmerston, red faced and weeping in her chair, her bare arms being rubbed by Mrs. Channon who coos and whispers quietly into her ears.
“Minnie has always been highly strung.” Lettice quietly assures Arabella whom she notices is looking particularly uncomfortable in her seat. “It will pass in a moment, and then we’ll get on with luncheon.”
After a few minutes of weeping, Minnie finally calms down, and both Lettice and Margot return to their seats to finish their desserts, all three behaving as if Minnie’s outburst had never occurred, and that such behaviour was not only understandable, but perfectly normal. Arabella, with her head down, eyes focussed squarely upon her half eaten tart says nothing and follows suit. For a few moments, nothing breaks the silence but the sound of cutlery scraping against crockery.
“I know, Minnie darling,” Lettice breaks the embargo on speaking cheerfully. “Why don’t I come and look at your dining room.”
“Oh would you?” exclaims Minnie with a sigh of relief. “Could you? Oh! That would be marvellous! What a brick you are, Lettice.” Then she pauses, her sudden happy energy draining away just as quickly. “But you can’t.” She shakes her head. “You’re redecorating Margot’s.”
Arabella unconsciously holds her breath, waiting for Minnie to start crying again.
“Well, yes I am,” Lettice agrees. “But there’s no reason why I can’t have two clients at once.”
“She’s not actually doing anything at ‘Chi an Treth’ at present,” Margot says, picking up her wine glass and draining it. “Are you Lettice darling?”
“Well I can’t right now, you see Minnie.” Lettice elucidates. “Funnily enough I’m waiting for Margot’s wallpapers to be printed by Jeffrey and Company, but they won’t be ready for a few weeks. So I can come and have a look, maybe make some recommendation for you and Charles to consider. Then if you’re happy, I can commence work after I’ve finished Margot’s.”
“Oh, but what about Bella? You’re helping her shop for her trousseau.” Minnie protests.
“I can assure you, I don’t need any help shopping for clothes.” Arabella says, releasing her pent-up breath. “Tice has pointed me in the direction of Oxford Street, so I can take myself there.”
“As it happens, we’re visiting Gerald on Thursday for Bella’s first consultation for her wedding dress. Why don’t I come on Thursday for luncheon whilst Bella and Gerald consult? She doesn’t need me to help her decide what she wants. She already has a good idea, don’t you Bella?”
Arabella nods emphatically.
“Well Thursday is cook’s afternoon off, but if you think you could cope with some sandwiches.” Minnie says hopefully.
“That’s settled then!” Lettice says with a sigh.
Suddenly the mood in the room lightens and spontaneous conversation begins to bubble about Lettice’s dining table again as Margot and Minnie ask Arabella about her plans for her wedding dress.
*Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members. When hemlines rose after the war, her fortunes reversed as she couldn’t change with the times, always wanting to use too much fabric on gowns that were too long and too fussy and pre-war.
**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.
***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 Cmpany’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.
****Although today quite an affluent suburb of London, in 1922 when this scene is set, Maida Vale was more of an up-and-coming middle-class area owing to its proximity to the more up market St John’s Wood to its west. It has many late Victorian and Edwardian blocks of mansion flats. Charles’ remark that he felt like he was in a Maida Vale dining room was not meant to be taken as a compliment considering they live in St John’s Wood.
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 orange curd tarts with their twist of orange atop each are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. 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 too are made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. 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 set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai, as is the cutlery set. The champagne flutes that are filled with glittering golden yellow champagne were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. 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.
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 have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but are far enough away in her mind that Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. She is sharing the taxi with her friend Minnie Palmerston, a banker’s wife whom she met at the Embassy Club, which is also on Bond Street. Minnie decided to attempt to redecorate her own dining room with disastrous results, so she has enlisted the assistance of Lettice, who has already established a colour palette and has ordered wall hangings and fabric for new dining chairs, to repair the damage she has done. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice and Minnie both peer through the window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and now sports magnificent plate glass windows through which passers by may look at the beautiful objets d’art artfully presented in them. Currently one window is full of brilliantly painted pottery which reminds Lettice of her Aunt Eglantine’s works, whilst the other has a single modernist statue of white marble set up against a rich black velvet curtain, bathed in light from a spotlight, giving it a very dramatic look.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed ladies swathed in fox furs and stylish hats in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare for them both, Minnie encourages Lettice to alight from the taxi first. As they spill from its door, they are both mid laugh over an amusing story about a mutual acquaintance that Minnie shared with Lettice.
Minnie remarks excitedly as the taxi chugs away belching out fumes, “And thinking of gossip, I read in the newspapers that your friend Elizabeth* is going to be the Princess of Wales**.”
“You’re such a gossip, Minnie darling.” Lettice chides her friend mildly as she guides them both across the busy footpath and towards the door. “You’d be the last person I’d share Elizabeth’s confidences with.”
“So she has…”
“If she had shared any with me!” Lettice quickly extinguishes Minnie’s burrowing for gossip with a definite statement in serious and well modulated tones. “As it is, I haven’t seen her since she went to spend Christmas at St Paul’s, Walden Bury. Now come along. We are here to pick objets d’art for your dining room, not prattle about idle gossip.”
“You’re such a spoil sport!” Minnie sulks.
“I’m not when it comes to interior design.” Lettice assures her. “Now let’s find something to go with those wonderful paintings of your husband’s.”
Lettice ushers Minnie through the full length plate glass doors on which the Portland Galleries’ name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. As the door closes behind them, shutting out the sound of noisy automobiles and chugging busses and the clatter of footsteps on the pavement and the chatter of shoppers, the air about them changes. In the crisp and cool silence of the gallery the ladies’ heels click across the black and white marble floor.
“Now, I’ve ordered wall hangings from Jeffrey and Company*** to deck out the dining room. It’s metallic and red dioxide in colour,” Lettice enthuses, suddenly aware of how her well modulated tones bounce off the hard surfaces and objects on display in the gallery. “It’s so striking, I know you’re just going to love it.”
“Hhhmmm,” Minnie muses in a non-committal fashion as her eye flits around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces.
“The wallpaper, Minnie,” Lettice sighs in exasperation, misunderstanding Minnie. “I’ve ordered it. Goodness, I do wish you’d concentrate for more than five minutes for a change.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, Lettice darling.”
“About what?”
“About the wall hangings Lettice darling.” Minnie purrs. “I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t reconsider how the dining room is to be furbished.”
“Reconsider, Minnie?” Lettice looks with shocked and wide eyes at her friend. “What on earth do you mean, reconsider?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether it mightn’t be better to have gold wallpaper instead.”
“Gold wallpaper?”
“You know darling, to represent the golden sands of Egypt.” Minnie says with a dramatic air, raising her right hand to her forehead, her eyes drifting upwards in the affected stance of a silent film star. “Everyone I know is going positively wild over anything Egyptian after the discovery of that boy king’s tomb****. Simply mad for it, darling! All of Charles’ frightfully boring banking friends can talk of nothing else, and nor can their wives.” She giggles. “They’ve finally got something interesting to talk about.”
“But we’re here today, Minnie darling, to pick ornaments to decorate the room with. The papers are already ordered at great expense.” Lettice looks with concern at her friend. “You can’t go and change your mind now.”
“Of course I can, Lettice darling!” Minnie scoffs with a wave of her maroon coloured leather glove clad hand. “Charles is footing the bill. He’ll pay for whatever you ask, carte blanche.” She cocks one of her well manicured eyebrows over her glittering eye. “He’s convinced that anything you choose will be a patch on anything I’ve done thus far, which in reality probably isn’t too far from the truth.”
“Exactly!” Lettice retorts. “And I’ve chosen red dioxide as the colour for the dining room, not gold.”
“But gold would be so fashionable, Lettice darling!” Minnie insists. “So now!”
“And it might just as quickly be yesterday, tomorrow.” Lettice retorts, irritated at little by the fickle nature of her friend. “I’m trying to help you come up with a dining room that won’t need redecorating for a while.”
“But I…”
Lettice silences Minnie by holding up her navy glove clad hands in protestation. “I promise that it will be modern and fashionable, and yet timeless too.” She plays her trump card knowingly. “Don’t you trust me, Minnie darling?” She gazes at her friend with dewy eyes. “After all, you did ask me to redecorate the room for you. Don’t you trust my judgement any more?”
“Oh… oh no!” Minnie stutters in reply. “No! Of course I do. Your taste is excellent. Of course, you’re right.”
“Then metallic red dioxide wallpaper it will be.” Lettice says with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I’ll settle for some rather exotic looking Egyptian statues then,” Minnie says. “Like that one you have on your mantle.”
“My ‘Theban Dancer’***** do you mean?”
“Yes, yes! She’s the one!” Minnie enthuses. “Or that daringly modern one you have on your dining room sideboard.”
“Well, they both came from the Portland Gallery, so I’m sure we can find some beautiful examples to suit you here.” Lettice assures her as she entwines her arm with her friend. “Come on, let’s see what there is.”
“Ah! Miss Chetwynd!” a mature frock coated man greets Lettice with a broad smile. Taking her hand, he kisses it affectionately, yet with respect. “How do you do.”
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets the smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
“And to what do we owe this great pleasure of your visit today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Chilvers asks obsequiously, releasing Lettice’s fingers and clasping his hands together in front of him.
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with the beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough****** from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving a in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and enjoy a thriving arts scene. As one of his more high profile customers, Mr. Chilvers happily fawns over Lettice, delighted that she chooses to patronise his very exclusive gallery for pieces to decorate the interiors of her clients’ homes with.
“Mr. Chilvers, this is my friend Minnie Palmerston. I’m redecorating her St John’s Wood dining room. Minnie, this is Mr Chilvers. He owns and runs the Portland Gallery.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Mr. Chilvers raises Minnie’s hand to his lips and kisses it, all the while admiring the beautiful redhead with striking green eyes, swathed in maroon and draped in red fox furs.
“Minnie’s taken rather a shine to my ‘Theban Dancer’ and my ‘Modern Woman’, Mr. Chilvers,” Lettice explains. “Perhaps you can show us something of a similar vein?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd, Miss Palmerston,” Mr. Chilvers croons. “Right this way. I think I might have just the thing.”
“He’s the gallery owner,” Lettice whispers to her friend behind her hand. “He always thinks he has something.” She pauses. “Although to be fair, this is an amazing gallery and he often does.”
Minnie looks at Lettice with a hopeful smile.
Indicating for them to follow him with an open palm gesture, Mr. Chilvers leads the ladies through the gallery.
The rich red walls are hung with all kinds of modern paintings, many not dissimilar to those that grace the walls of Minnie and Charles’ dining room. Lettice’s own drawing room paintings come from the gallery. Dour street scenes and vibrant abstract still lives hang alongside dynamic portraits. Most of the furnishings are black japanned wood and made in a very stark, yet stylish way, so as not to distract from the artworks that sit upon their surfaces. Hand painted pottery in bright colours and ornate spun glass pieces sit upon tables and buffets and inside mirrored cabinets whilst statues stand proudly on pillars and stands. The air is rich with the fragrance of ornate floral arrangements strategically set about the gallery as colourful foils to compliment various artworks. Everywhere there is colour and interest.
“What kind of display are you looking for, ladies?” Mr. Chilvers asks as Lettice and Minnie follow in his sweetly spiced eau de cologne wake.
Minnie looks alarmingly at Lettice, who quickly answers for them both, “I have two rather tall pillars that will stand either side of an existing new tile fireplace. I also have a simple black japanned sideboard.”
“Is there a mantle on the fireplace?” the gallery owner asks as they walk.
“A small central recess only, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice says knowledgably, much to Minnie’s surprise, for even as the owner of the fireplace she has never so much as considered whether it has a mantle or not.
“And the specifics of the room?” Mr. Chilvers asks, running his index finger along the edge of a display table as he does, rubbing his clean thumb and forefinger together and releasing a satisfied sigh as he does.
“It’s my dining room.” Minnie begins. “I tried to do the redecoration myself but…”
Lettice quickly places a forbidding arm across Minnie’s chest, silencing her. Minnie glances at her friend whose eyes widen as she shakes her head to indicate that the gallery owner doesn’t need to know about Minnie’s decorative disasters.
“The room,” Lettice says smoothly over the top of her friend. “Is in an early Victorian townhouse, so it has high ceilings and is tall rather than wide. I have metallic red dioxide papers embossed with leaves and flowers on order from Jeffrey and Company. Mr. and Mrs. Palmerston are devotees of modern art, Mr. Chilvers, so the paper, whilst striking, is really there to support their paintings already chosen for the room.”
“Always the arbiter of smart and select taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers replies with a smile as he glances back at the two ladies and tweaks his moustache. “So, something tall, perhaps, with some gilding?”
“Quite so, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice agrees.
“And nothing too ornate, of course.” he adds.
“Indeed no, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice concurs.
“You are very fortunate in your choice of interior designer, Mrs. Palmerston.” He turns back and keeps walking. “Too many women with too much time on their hands take it upon themselves to redecorate rooms, creating a disastrous and gauche pale imitation of what they have seen elsewhere, which simply doesn’t suit their homes.”
Minnie’s eyes grow wide as she glances at Lettice in alarm. Lettice silently raises he finger to her lips to indicate that she hasn’t said anything about Minnie’s attempt to redecorate her dining room herself, which makes Minnie sigh with relief.
“Rather like creating a Maida Vale dining room in St John’s Wood, would you say, Mr. Chilvers?” Minnie asks a little nervously.
“Quite so, Mrs. Palmerston. Well said.” he agrees as his pace slows. “I do so dislike bored ladies like that. I have no time for artless women who dabble in art, and I won’t have them in my gallery.”
“Oh!” Minnie bluffs with false joviality. “Oh, my husband and I quite agree with you. There is nothing worse than a poorly decorated room, Mr. Chilvers, full of tasteless tatt.” She is so grateful that the imposing gallery owner has his back to her so that he cannot see the colour of her face betraying the truth of Minnie’s experience.
“Indeed, Mrs. Palmerston,” he agrees. “But that is something you won’t have to suffer under the skilled artistic eye and adept hands of Miss Chetwynd. She has found the profession that suits and showcases her skills admirably.”
“Yes,” Minnie says, blushing deeper and smiling coyly. “I’ve seen the work she has done to the home of friends of ours.”
“Ah,” Mr. Chilvers purrs as they reach a corner of the gallery. He stops in front of a beautiful, and unusually, round flame wood cabinet on a large pedestal. “I think, ladies, you might find something to your liking in here.” He opens up the doors and turns to the two ladies. “A selection of modern sculpture and some of my finest Venetian glass*******. There are also some rather fetching sculptures to either side.” he adds with a wave of his elegant hand. “Well, I’ll leave you to discuss your choices with your client, Miss Chetwynd. I do hope, Mrs. Palmerston, that you will find something to please you.”
The two ladies watch him sweep away before turning to the cabinet.
“Thank you for not telling Mr. Chilvers about my… you know.” Minnie starts gesticulating wildly.
“You nearly gave the game up yourself, Minnie.” Lettice chides her friend kindly in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Chilvers is a frightful snob. It’s almost like he comes from the highest echelons of some European aristocracy, and yet even with Leslie’s help I’ve been unable to trace him prior to opening this gallery in 1920. He’s quite the mystery! And,” she adds. “He doesn’t let just anyone shop here, even by appointment.”
“Which would explain why Charles and I have never been here.” Minnie replies.
“Indeed. Well, I think Mr. Chilvers would refuse Charles automatically on face value. Being a banker, I think he would consider him far too gauche and newly minted for his establishment.”
“Oh.” Minnie casts her eyes downwards.
“Don’t do that, Minnie darling!” Lettice puts a comforting arm around her friend. “You are a good person, and so is Charles.” She rubs Minnie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Mr. Chilvers snobbery. I can already tell that he likes you. I knew he would admire you for your striking fiery red tresses and stunning green eyes. He finds you intriguing.”
“He does?”
“Yes. He didn’t even acknowledge poor Margot on the one occasion I brought her here.”
“But she’s richer and better connected than I am.”
“Sshhh!” Lettice shushes her friend with a finger to her lips. “He obviously doesn’t think so.”
“It’s a funny way to run a business, I must say.” Minnie says as she picks up a beautiful glass comport of aqua blue and toys with it in her hands, feeling the cool material between her fingers.
“Mr. Chilvers seems to rise above all that, which is why I think he is from a very aristocratic European family. Italian perhaps?” She picks up a tall Venetian glass vase with amber decoration around its base, holding it up as if it serves as proof as to Mr. Chilver’s lineage.
“With a name like Chilvers, he can hardly be Italian, Lettice darling!” Minnie replaces the comport on the shelf.
“Oh, you can be so dense sometimes, Minnie darling!” Lettice giggles. “You don’t imagine that Chilvers is his real name, do you?”
“Well…” Minnie gulps.
“Of course it’s not! If he’s an Italian prince, or count, he probably has a real family name of Chiavaroli or Chiodini.” Lettice giggles girlishly as the syllables roll around like a foreign language in her mouth. “Anyway, going back to what I was saying before, if through being connected with me, you receive a foray into the joys of exclusive shopping here, I know you will find many a fine piece to ornament your home with. Once Mr. Chilvers knows you have taste.”
“He hasn’t seen the disaster I made of my dining room.” Minnie blurts out, interrupting her friend.
“And he doesn’t have to know about it.” Lettice soothes quietly. “Just keep mum.”
“Yes!” Minnie sighs. “Me and my big mouth. One day you won’t be around, and I’ll get myself into real trouble.”
“Well, luckily I was here, Minnie darling.” Lettice says with a smile. “Anyway, once Mr. Chilvers knows you, he’ll forgive you if you bring Charles: especially if Charles brings an open chequebook.”
“Do you think he might be Russian?” Minnie asks quietly, looking discreetly over her shoulder to Mr. Chilvers as he sits at his black japanned desk in the middle of the gallery, scribbling notes into a ledger.
“Who?” Lettice asks, wide eyed as she removes the copy of the ‘Theban Dancer’ from the middle shelf of the cabinet and considers whether it will fit onto the recess of Minnie’s dining room fireplace.
“Mr. Chilvers, of course, Lettice darling! Now who’s being dense?”
“Good heavens no!” Lettice scoffs. “He’s English is far too good and his manners too impeccable to be a Russian emigree. Have you ever met any? They can be quite horrible and so terribly haughty, even if they are now all as poor as church mice.” She too looks over to Mr. Chilvers, who either doesn’t know he is being scrutinised, or is far too polite to acknowledge it. “No, he’s Italian, I’m sure of it.” She sighs as she admires his dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. “Now, this isn’t helping us pick any pieces for your dining room, Minnie darling. I was thinking that the ‘Theban Dancer’ you like might just fit on the small recess on your fireplace. Do you really like her enough to want her? Is she exotic enough for your current tastes?”
The two women begin to look earnestly at the objects around them to select pieces for Minnie’s dining room, and all the while, Mr. Chilvers writes in his ledger, the nib of his fountain pen scratching across the surface of the page, his ears ever alert to every whisper of conversation in his gallery, but his eyes remaining downcast out of deference for Lettice, one of his favourite customers.
*Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
**In early January 1923 a newspaper ran a gossip item that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon was soon to be engaged to Prince Albert the Duke of York’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales – a story that reportedly annoyed her. Rumour has it that part of Elizabeth’s hesitance to marry Albert was due to her being in love with David – the loftier “catch” – however, these stories are highly unlikely and probably have more to do with trying to explain her later hatred for Wallis Simpson. More likely, she knew that the story meant more pressure for her to make up her mind about Albert and she knew the rumour would wound him
***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.
****On the 4th of November 1922, English archaeologist Howard Carter and his men discovered the entrance to the boy king, Pharaoh Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings, sparking a worldwide interest in all things Egyptian. The craze he started became known as Tutmania, and it inspired everything from the architecture of public building and private houses alike to interior design and fashion. Famously at the time, socialite Dolores Denis Denison applied one of the earliest examples of getting the media of the day to pay attention to her because of her dress by arriving at the prestigious private view of the King Tut Exhibition in London, dressed as an Egyptian mummy complete in a golden sarcophagus and had to be carried inside by her driver and a hired man. Although it started before the discovery of the tomb, the Art Deco movement was greatly influenced by Egyptian style. Many of the iconic decorative symbols we associate with the movement today came about because of Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
*****The exquisite sculpture “Theban Dancer” was cast by the esteemed Belgian-French sculptor Claire Jeanne Roberte Colinet, and is one of the most recognised figures representing the exoticism and frenetic energy and movement of the 1920s. Cast in the 1920s, the “Theban Dancer” is gilt and enamelled bronze, usually sitting upon a marble plinth.
******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some 80 people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage
*******Venetian glass is glassware made in Venice, typically on the island of Murano near the city. Traditionally it is made with a soda–lime "metal" and is typically elaborately decorated, with various "hot" glass-forming techniques, as well as gilding, enamel, or engraving. Production has been concentrated on the Venetian island of Murano since the Thirteenth Century. Today Murano is known for its art glass, but it has a long history of innovations in glassmaking in addition to its artistic fame - and was Europe's major centre for luxury glass from the High Middle Ages to the Italian Renaissance. During the Fifteenth Century, Murano glassmakers created cristallo—which was almost transparent and considered the finest glass in the world. Murano glassmakers also developed a white-coloured glass (milk glass called lattimo) that looked like porcelain. They later became Europe's finest makers of mirrors.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the top shelf of the round Art Deco display cabinet are a selection of 1:12 artisan glass pieces. Each one is made from real blown glass and is decorated with spun glass patterning in a different colour. They all come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
On the middle shelf is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. She is flanked by two hand coloured spun glass comports. These I have had since I was a teenager. I acquired them from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house miniatures.
The New Woman Art Deco statue on the bottom shelf of the cabinet is a hand painted 1:12 artisan pewter miniature also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland. She is named “Christianne”, and she also comes in a more risqué form as a nude.
The very striking round mirror backed mahogany Art Deco cabinet is made by high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. It comes from their Swanson range. The two pedestals either side of it were also made by Bespaq.
The two statues on the pedestals are 1:12 artisan miniatures also from Warwick Miniatures Ireland, however they have been had painted by me.
The black console table and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
The two porcelain vases on the console table have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay. The glass comport is a 1:12 artisan glass piece made from real blown glass and is hand tinted. It comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings on the wall come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The vase of flowers in the foreground is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Clarice Cliff style Art Deco tea set and tray on the table in the foreground have been hand painted and came from an online miniatures specialist on E-Bay.
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 in the vestibule of Lettice’s flat where a stack of luggage has been deposited in readiness for the taxi driver who has just arrived at the front door to carry downstairs.
“Is all this lot to be taken downstairs?” he asks Edith, Lettice’s maid, as she stands as sentry by the open front door that leads out into the entrance hall landing.
“All of it.” Edith replies firmly with a nod.
“Oh Lawd!” he curses, removing his cap and wiping his brow at the thought of carrying a travel de necessaire, a portmanteau, two hatboxes and several umbrellas downstairs, not to mention some fancily wrapped gift that is sure to be breakable.
“Edith! Oh, Edith have you seen my tickets?” Lettice’s voice rings out from somewhere within the inner sanctum of the flat, the muffled sound of drawers opening and closing and wardrobe doors swinging accompanying it.
“They are right here, Miss.” Edith replies. “You asked me to leave them on top of your travel de necessaire. Miss, the taxi is here.”
“Oh good!” Lettice exclaims as she breezes into the vestibule dressed in a smart white and black outfit that matches the stylish hat sitting atop the pile of luggage. “Now, I need to go to Cricklewood Aerodrome for the midday Handley Page London-to-Paris flight*, my good man.” Turning to her maid she adds, “Edith, I’ll only be gone until Monday. You’ll be alright here by yourself?”
“Oh yes, Miss.” Edith replies with a bemused look.
“Now, I’ve left a parcel on my desk chair and a couple of library books. Would you be a brick Edith and drop the parcel at the post and return my books to Boots?”
“Yes Miss.”
“Take money from the housekeeping for any costs you incur, and I’ll repay you when I get back from Paris.” Gasping, she rushes away again. “Gloves!”
The taxi driver looks at the pile of luggage again. “The Handley Page London-to-Paris flight!” he scoffs rather more loudly than Edith would like to hear.
“That leaves at midday!” Edith adds firmly, defending her mistress from the scorn of the man before her.
“With this lot aboard,” he eyes the maid. “She’ll be lucky if the aeroplane gets orf the ground!”
“Be that as it may, that’s where the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd wishes to be taken, and take her you will!” Edith says, staring steelily back at the taxi driver.
“All right laydee! No need to get snippy.”
“Edith! Edith have you seen the wedding present?” Lettice calls again, accompanied by more sounds of fossicking.
“It’s right here, Miss, where you asked me to put it.” Edith replies.
“I don’t suppose this ‘ere place has a lift, does it?” the taxi driver asks Edith hopefully.
“No it doesn’t,” Edith replies, a smug smile crossing her face as she watches his shoulders sink at her words.
Complete with gloves Lettice returns, picks up her hat and takes up her handbag and tickets. “You are a brick Edith!”
“Enjoy yourself in Paris at the wedding, Miss.” Edith says. “And I want to hear all about it when you come back.”
Hearing a thud as the taxi driver struggles to pick up the travel de necessaire, the two hatboxes and an umbrella, Lettice looks over. “Hurry up then my good man. The Handley Page London-to-Paris flight leaves Cricklewood Aerodrome at midday sharp! We haven’t time for your silly shenanigans.”
“Don’t worry,” Edith whispers to the driver as she holds the front door to the flat open. “She tips very well.”
*A London-to -Paris air service from Cricklewood Aerodrome, Hampstead, was inaugurated by Handley Page Transport in 1920. Fares were £18 18s return: a small fortune at the time. Each passenger was allowed 30 pounds of luggage for free and were charged accordingly for air freight for any amount over that. Cricklewood Aerodrome closed in 1929 due to suburban development and the Golders Green Estate was built on the site. Some of the streets where the aerodrome was bear the names of Handley Page.
The theme for the 10th of October “Smile on Saturday” is leather. The travel de necessaire, portmanteau and two hatboxes on the floor, as well as the Art Deco handbag on the console table are all made of leather, so I think they suit the theme quite nicely. What is little different to what you might think of this scene is that 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:
The blue travel de necessaire and its matching hatbox in the foreground on which the black and white hat and the present is sitting are 1:12 artisan miniatures and made of blue kid leather which is so soft to the touch, and small metal handles, clasps and ornamentation. They have been purposely worn around their edges to give them age. The brown leather hatbox next t them is also a 1:12 artisan miniature and unlike the blue pieces, it is made to open and be fully functional and has a cream satin lining. All three pieces come from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England. The portmanteau behind the blue leather luggage is actually an Edwardian tooled leather brooch box with gilding. The handbag on the console table is also a hand-made artisan piece of soft green leather, made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in England.
The two furled umbrellas with the luggage and those in the umbrella stand in the background are all 1:12 artisan pieces made of silk, satin and lace. Four have metal handles, whilst the green one in the foreground is made from painted wood, and one of the black umbrellas in the stand has a leather handle. All the umbrellas as well as several walking sticks in the stand come from specialist artisan miniature makers in England. The umbrella stand is a wooden Art Deco miniature I was given for Christmas when I was seven.
The romantic black and white 1920s hat trimmed with lace and ribbons is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by Mrs. Denton of Muffin Lodge Miniatures in England. Made just like a real hat, the miniature hats in my collection are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that this hat would sit comfortably on your index finger, yet they could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00 each, they are an extravagance.
The airline tickets sitting on top of the blue travel de necessaire I made myself using a real 1921 Handley Page Travel London-to-Paris ticket which shows the times, prices and locations of flights in both directions.
Lettice’s vestibule is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures and the Art Deco console table is made by The Doll House Emporium. The table in the background to the left of the picture is a Chippendale occasional table. Next to it is a Hepplewhite chair. Both are made of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs. The chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven.
The vases of flowers on the Art Deco console table and the Chippendale occasional table are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. The silver butterfly bowl on the Art Deco console table is an artisan 1:12 size piece made from sterling silver.
The carpet in the foreground is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug made in miniature by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The hall runner in the background is actually an embroidered and tasselled bookmark. 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.
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 have left the hustle and bustle of London, travelling southwest to a stretch of windswept coastline just a short drive the pretty Cornish town of Penzance. Here, friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot, encouraged by her father Lord de Virre who will foot the bill, has commissioned Lettice to redecorate a few of the principal rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’. In the lead up to the wedding, Lord de Virre has spent a great deal of money making the Regency house habitable after many years of sitting empty and bringing it up to the Twentieth Century standards his daughter expects, paying for electrification, replumbing, and a connection to the Penzance telephone exchange. Now, with their honeymoon over, Dickie and Margot have finally taken possession of their country house gift and have invited Lettice to come and spend a Friday to Monday with them so that she might view the rooms Margot wants redecorating for herself and perhaps start formulating some ideas as to how modernise their old fashioned décor. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s 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. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself down from London on Friday and back again on Monday.
As the Morris drove slowly up the rather uneven and potholed driveway running through a wild and unkempt looking park that must once have been a landscaped garden, both Lettice and Gerald were taken aback by the house standing on the crest of an undulating hill overlooking a cove. When described as a Regency “cottage residence”, the pair were expecting a modest single storey house of maybe eight to ten rooms with a thatch roof, not the sprawling double storey residence of white stucco featuring arched French doors and windows with sea views, a wraparound cast iron verandah and high pitched slate tiled roof with at least a dozen chimneys.
Now settled in ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, Lettice looks about her, taking in the stripped back, slightly austere and very formal furnishings.
“I say old bean,” Gerald addresses Dickie from his seat next to Lettice on the rather hard and uncomfortable red velvet settee. “If this is what your father calls a ‘cottage residence’, no wonder you jumped at the chance to take it.”
“Apparently the Prince Regent** coined the term ‘cottage residence’ when he had Royal Lodge built at Windsor,” Dickie explains cheerily from his place standing before the crackling fire, leaning comfortably against the mantle. “And of course my ancestors being the ambitious breed they were, set about building a ‘cottage’ to rival it.”
“Was it built for a previous Marquess of Taunton?” Lettice asks with interest.
“Heavens no, darling!” their host replies, raising his hands animatedly. “It was built back around 1816 for one of the second Marquess’ bastard sons, who served as a ship’s captain and returned from fighting the Frenchies a decorated war hero.” Dickie points to two portraits at the end of the room, either side of a Regency sideboard.
“That would explain the maritime theme running through the art in here.” Lettice points casually to several paintings of ships also hanging about the walls.
“Aren’t they ghastly, Lettice darling?” Margot hisses as she glances around at the oils in their heavy frames. “We need some femininity in this old place, don’t you think?” She giggles rather girlishly as she gives her friend a wink. “Daddy has promised me the pretty Georgian girl in the gold dress that hangs in my bedroom in Hans Crescent. I think it could look lovely in here.”
“If you please, my love!” Dickie chides his new wife sweetly, giving her a knowing look.
“Oh, so sorry my love!” she replies, putting her dainty fingers to her cheeky smile.
“As the Marquess’ prolific illegitimate progeny were well known up and down the coast of Cornwall and beyond,” Dickie continues his potted history of the house. “And what with him being a hero of the Napoleonic wars, his father, my ancestor the second Marquess, thought it best to set him up in a fine house of his own.”
“That was far enough away from the family seat.” Gerald adds.
“That was far enough away from the Marchioness, more like!” Dickie corrects. “Last thing you want to do is rub your good lady wife’s nose into the fruits spawned from the sewing of your wild oats.”
Margot looks across at her husband from her armchair with a look of mock consternation. “I do hope, my sweet, that I’m not to be confronted with any illegitimate offspring when I’m Marchioness of Taunton.”
“Certainly not my love. The Marquess’s wife, Georgette, was fierce by all accounts, but she’d be a pussy cat compared to your fierceness, Margot.”
“I should think so.” Margot smiles with satisfaction.
“Anyway,” Dickie adds with a roguish smile. “I made sure I did away with any illegitimate offspring I had, prior to marrying you.”
The four friends laugh at Dickie’s quick, witty response, just as the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all.
Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, an old woman with a wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a tea tray. Although weighed down heavily with a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, four cups and saucers and a glass plate of biscuits, the rather frail looking old woman seems unbothered by its weight, although her bones crack noisily and disconcertingly as she lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs.
“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.
“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position.
“Yes… Yes, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot replies in an unsure tone, giving Lettice a gentle shrug and a quizzical look which her friend returns. “I’ll pour the tea myself I think.”
“Pur dha****.” she answers rather gruffly before retreating back the way she came with shuffling footsteps.
“What did she say?” Lettice asks Dickie once the door to the drawing room has closed and the old woman’s footfalls drift away, mingling with the distant sound of the ocean outside.
“Why look at me, old girl?” Dickie replies with a sheepish smile and a shrug as big as his wife’s.
“Because your Cornish, Dickie.” Lettice replies.
“Only by birth darling!” he defends with a cocked eyebrow and a mild look of distain.
“But it’s your heritage, Dickie.” counters Lettice disappointedly. “You’re supposed to know these things.”
“You know I went to Eaton, where they beat any hint of Cornish out of me my father and mother hadn’t already chased away prior to me going there.”
“It sounded like swearing to me,” Gerald adds in disgust, screwing up his nose. “Local dialect. So guttural.”
“Like ‘be gone you city folk, back from whence you came’?” Margot giggles.
“And who’d blame her?” Dickie pipes up. “After all, she and Mr. Trevethan have had run of this place ever since the old sea captain died. I mean, this place was supposed to be for Harry…”
“God bless Harry.” Margot, Lettice and Gerald all say in unison with momentarily downcast eyes.
“But of course, he never lived to be married and be given this place as a wedding gift, so Mr. and Mrs. Trevethan have been looking after the place for around four decades I’d reckon, give or take a few years.”
“So, there is a Mr. Trevethan then?” Lettice asks.
“Oh yes,” Dickie elucidates as he moves from the fireplace and takes his seat in the other vacant armchair. “He’s the gardener and odd job man.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the whole house doesn’t fall down around our ears.” Gerald remarks disparagingly. “Getting the Morris safely over those potholes in your driveway was no mean feat, old bean.”
“They’re old, dear chap.” Dickie defends his housekeeper and gardener kindly. “Be fair. They’ve done a pretty good job of caretaking the old place, considering.”
“Poor chap.” mutters Gerald. “Looking at that old harridans’ haggard old face every day.”
“Oh Gerald!” gasps Lettice, leaning over and slapping his wrist playfully. “You are awful sometimes! For all you know, she was the beauty of Penzance when she and Mr. Trevethan were first courting. And,” she adds loftily. “I’ll have you know that I think the Cornish dialect sounds very beautiful,” She takes a dramatic breath as she considers her thoughts. “Rather like an exotic language full of magic.”
“You’ve been reading too much King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.” Gerald cheekily criticises his friend’s reading habits lightly.
“Oh, thinking of which, I have a new novel for you, Lettice darling! It’s called ‘Joanna Godden’***** by Sheila Kaye-Smith. I’ve just finished it.” Margot takes up a volume from the round Regency side table next to her and passes it across to Lettice’s outstretched hands. “It’s a drama set in Kent. I’m sure you’ll like it. Now, shall I be mother?******” she asks, assuming her appropriate role of hostess as she reaches for and sets out the Royal Doulton teacups, a wedding gift from relations, and takes up the silver teapot, also a wedding gift. Expertly she pours the tea and then hands the cups first to her guests and then to her husband before picking up her own.
“I hope that old harridan didn’t spit in the tea.” Gerald looks uneasily at the cup of reddish tea he holds in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice tuts, shaking her head in mock disapproval before chuckling light heartedly. “You do like to dramatise, don’t you?”
“If you announce her intentions like that,” Margot adds. “I’m sure she will, since she has the habit of listening at the keyhole.” She smiles cheekily as she finishes her sentence and settles back in her armchair.
“What?” Gerald splutters, depositing his cup rather clumsily and nosily on the Regency occasional table at his left elbow and looking over his shoulder to the door.
Margot, Dickie and Lettice all burst out laughing.
“Oh Gerald,” Lettice says gaily through her mirthful giggles. “You’re always so easy to bait.”
Gerald looks at his friends, smiling at his distress. “Oh!” He swivels back around again and tries to settle as comfortably as possible into the hard back of the settee. “I see.” He takes up his cup and glowers into it as he stirs it with his teaspoon, his pride evidently wounded at his friends’ friendly joke.
Lettice takes up her own cup of tea, adding sugar and milk to it and stirring, before selecting a small jam fancy from the glass dish of biscuits. Munching the biscuit she gazes about the room again, appraising the mostly Regency era furnishings of good quality with a few examples of lesser well made early Victorian pieces, the maritime oil paintings, the worn and faded Persian carpet across the floor and the vibrantly painted red walls, deciding that as well as formal, the room has a very masculine feel about it. “It’s really quite an elegant room, you know.” she remarks. “It has good bones.”
“Oh don’t look too closely at our less elegant damp patches or cracks to those so-called good bones, darling girl.” Dickie replies.
“Nor the chips to the paintwork and plaster or the marks we can’t quite account for.” Margot adds with a sigh. “I think I’d have been happy for Daddy to commission Edwin Lutyens******* to demolish this pile of mouldering bricks and build us a new country house.”
“Margot! What a beastly thing to say!” Lettice clasps the bugle beads at her throat in shock. “To demolish all this history, only to replace it with a mock version thereof. Why it is sheer sacrilege to even say it!”
“Blame it on my Industrial Revolution new money heritage,” Margot defends her statement. “Unlike you darling, with your ancestry going back hundreds of years and your romance for everything old.”
“I can’t see any damp patches, Dickie, or cracks.” Lettice addresses her male host again.
“That’s because it’s so dark in here,” Margot explains. “Even on an unseasonably sunny day like today, the red walls and the red velvet furnishings camouflage the blemishes.”
“All the more reason not to change the décor then, dear girl.” remarks Gerald as his gingerly sips his tea, still not entirely convinced of Mrs. Trevethan’s actions prior to the tea being deposited on the table.
“No! No, Gerald!” Margot counters. “That’s why I need you Lettice darling, and your vision. I want the place lightened up, smartened up and made more comfortable.”
“Those chairs are rather beautiful,” observes Lettice, indicating to the armchairs in which her host and hostess sit, admiring their ormolu mounted arms, sturdy legs and red velvet cushions.
“These things!” Margot scoffs, looking down at the seat beneath her. “They are so uncomfortable!” She rubs her lower back in an effort to demonstrate how lumpy and hard they are. “I can’t wait to banish them to the hallway. I can’t possibly sit pleasurably in these, or on that,” She indicates to the settee upon which Lettice and Gerald sit. “And read a book. They aren’t designed for comfort. No, what we want, and need is some soft, modern comfort in here to make life here more pleasurable for us and our guests. I want to sit in here and enjoy the afternoon sun streaming through those from the luxury of a new settee, or invite guests to snuggle into plush new armchairs.”
“Margot does have a point, Lettice darling.” Gerald adds, looking mournfully at Lettice as he bounces gingerly on his half of the settee, the flattened velvet seat barely yielding to his moving form.
Lettice looks around again. “There are no portraits of women in here, nor children.”
“That’s because there aren’t any, anywhere in the house.” Margot replies.
“What?” Lettice queries.
“The captain was a confirmed old bachelor all his life.” adds Dickie.
“But he looks quite dashing in his naval uniform,” Lettice observes. “Surely with his successful career, looks and a house like this to boot, he must have had every eligible woman in Cornwall dashing to knock down his door.”
“Even Mrs. Trevethan’s mother, who no doubt was even more beautiful than her daughter at the time the captain was looking for a bride.” Gerald chuckles, his response rewarded with a withering look from Lettice.
“He may well have been a desirous prospect, Lettice darling,” Dickie agrees. “But he remained unmarried all his life, and he lived to a great age.”
“There is a rumour,” adds Margot, leaning forward conspiratorially for dramatic effect. “That there was a sweetheart: a local lady of good breeding and family. However, her father didn’t approve of an illegitimate son-in-law, even if he did have a successful naval career and a grand new residence. We don’t know whether she was coerced, or if she really didn’t love him, but whatever the cause, she refused him. They say that her refusal of his marriage proposal broke his heart, and he swore then and there that he would never marry.”
“Oh how romantic!” Lettice enthuses.
“There is also talk in the family,” Dickie adds. “That there is a lost portrait of her.”
“A lost portrait?” breathes Lettice excitedly.
“Yes, by Winterhalter******* no less.” Margot explains.
“Oh how thrilling!” Lettice gasps, clutching her beads with exhilaration this time.
“Have you found it yet, old bean?” Gerald asks.
“No! Of course not,” replies Dickie. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a lost portrait, would it? Do try to keep up old chap!”
“Not that I haven’t gone sneaking around the house looking for it atop cupboards and at the back of wardrobes.” Margot adds eagerly.
“That’s undoubtedly because that cussing old harridan Mrs. Trevethan and her husband probably stole it as soon as the captain had taken his last breath,” explains Gerald. “And now it hangs over their drawing room fireplace in the gatekeeper’s lodge.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Gerald!” scoffs Dickie. “The Trevethans are a kindly pair, if perhaps a little rough and eccentric for our tastes. They love this house as much as we…” He glances at his wife before correcting himself. “Well, as much as I, do. No, we just haven’t found it yet. We may never find it because it might have been taken by someone else long ago, destroyed by the old captain himself in a fit of emotional rage…”
“Or,” adds Margot. “It could simply be a Channon family legend.”
“Exactly.” agrees Dickie with a satisfied sigh as he reaches over and takes up a chocolate biscuit, taking a large bite out of it. “It wouldn’t be the first if it is.”
“I know!” Lettice pipes up with a cheeky smile on her face. “Let’s play sardines******** together tonight, and then one of us might stumble across it in the most unlikely of hiding places.”
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**The Prince Regent, later George IV, was king of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and King of Hanover from the death of his father, King George III, on 29 January 1820 until his own death ten years later. He had already been serving as Prince Regent since 5 February 1811, during his father's final mental illness. It is from him that we derive the Regency period in architecture, fashion and design.
***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.
*****“Pur dha” is Cornish for “very good”.
*****‘Joanna Godden’ is a 1921 novel by British writer Sheila Kaye-Smith (1887 – 1956). It is a drama set amongst the sheep farmers of Romney Marsh in Kent.
******The meaning of the very British term “shall I be mother” is “shall I pour the tea?”
*******Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens (1869 – 1944) 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, and was one of the architects of choice for the British upper classes between the two World Wars.
********Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).
********Sardines is an active game that is played like hide and go seek — only in reverse! One person hides, and everyone else searches for the hidden person. Whenever a person finds the hidden person, they quietly join them in their hiding spot. There is no winner of the game. The last person to join the sardines will be the hider in the next round. Sardines was a very popular game in the 1920s and 1930s played by houseguests in rambling old country houses where there were unusual, unknown and creative places to hide.
This beautiful Regency interior with its smart furnishings may not be all that it seems, for it is made up entirely with miniatures from my collection, including a number of pieces that I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The two walnut Regency armchairs with their red velvet seats and ormolu mounts are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. So too are the two round occasional tables that flank the settee and one of the armchairs.
The round walnut coffee table was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Creal miniatures.
The red velvet mahogany settee, the Regency sideboard and the two non matching mahogany and red velvet chairs at the far end of the room I have had since I was around six or seven, having been given them as either birthday or Christmas gifts.
The irises in the vase on the sideboard are very realistic looking. Made of polymer clay they are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. They are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The vase in which it stands is spun of real glass and was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The detail in this Art Deco vase is especially fine. If you look closely, you will see that it is decorated with fine latticework.
Also made of real glass are the decanters of whiskey and port and the cranberry glass soda syphon also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The white roses behind the syphon are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as is the glass plate of biscuits you can see on the coffee table.
The two novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England, whilst the wedding photo in the silver frame is a real photo, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in England.
On the occasional table beside the settee stands a miniature 1950s lidded powder bowl which I have had since I was a teenager. It is stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp indicating the era.
The Royal Doulton style tea set featuring roses on the coffee table came from a miniature dollhouse specialist on E-Bay, whilst the silver teapot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The silver Regency tea caddy (lettice’s wedding gift to Margot and Dickie if you follow the “Life at Cavendish Mews” series), the slender candlestick and the tall two handled vase on the mantle were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The British newspapers that sit in a haphazard stack on the footstool in the foreground of the picture are 1:12 size copies of ‘The Mirror’, the ‘Daily Express’ and ‘The Tattler’ made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. There is also a copy of ‘Country Life’ which was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1921 edition of ‘Country Life’.
The plaster fireplace to the right of the photo comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
All the paintings around the drawing room in their gilded or black frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home for Christmas and has stayed on to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them as well. 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. His family, the Brutons, are neighbours to the Cheywynds with their properties sharing boundaries. That is how Gerald and Lettice came to be such good friends. However, whilst both families are landed gentry with lineage going back centuries, unlike Lettice’s family, Gerald’s live in a much smaller baronial manor house and are in much more straitened circumstances.
Christmas has been and gone, and with it, Lettice’s elder sister Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), her husband Charles and their children and Lettice’s Aunt Eglantine, leaving the house emptier and significantly quieter, especially in the absence of the children. It is New Year’s Eve 1921, and nearly midnight as we find ourselves in the very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings where Lettice has gathered with her father, mother, Leslie, Gerald and his parents Lord and Lady Bruton. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler has just delivered two bottles of champagne from the Glynes’ well stocked cellar which now chill in silver coolers and champagne glasses for everyone on a silver tray.
“Thank you Bramley,” the Viscount acknowledges his faithful retainer. “Will you stay and have a glass of champagne with us?”
“Thank you, My Lord.” he replies. “That’s most generous of you. However, we are having a small celebration of our own below stairs.”
“Well, I hope you’ve chosen a good vintage for everyone to enjoy, Bramley.”
“Very good of you, My Lord. There seemed to be a surplus of Deutz and Geldermann 1902 according to my records.”
“Very good Bramley.” the Viscount beams. “Well, happy New Year to you and all the staff.”
“Thank you My Lord.” replies the butler. Turning to the wider room where Lady Sadie and Lady Gwyneth are settled on the Louis style settee, Lord Bruton on the embroidered salon chair by the fire and Lettice and Gerald standing by the fireplace he announced in his deep burbling voice, “Happy New Year my lords, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Oh, happy new year, Bramley,” Lady Sadie replies, giving him one of her crisp, yet not ungenuine smiles. “Please pass our very best new year wishes to all the staff, won’t you?”
“I will My Lady,” Bramley replies as he retreats through the double doors of the salon, leaving the family and their select few guests to enjoy their celebrations in private.
“Not long to go now, everyone!” Lord Wrexham announces excitedly, spying the face of the Rococo clock on the mantelpiece between Lettice and Gerald’s conspiring figures as they lean against the mantle languidly. “Just another few minutes until it is nineteen twenty-two!”
“Shall we gather then, Chetwynd?” mutters Lord Bruton as he struggles to raise himself from the elegantly petit-point covered gilt salon chair, groaning as his wiry frame returns to an upright position. “Come on old gal!” he calls good naturedly to his wife as he reaches out a hand to help her rise.
“A little less of the old if you don’t mind!” Lady Gwyneth chides her husband, yet with a playful smile, as she takes his hand firmly. She releases a rather wheezing cough as she struggles to get to her feet.
Lettice looks over at her friend’s mother as she wobbles a little as she tries to regain her balance. Lady Gwenyth’s health has been in gradual decline over the last year, but the winter of 1921 in particular has taken the glow from her apple half cheeks, and as she wraps her elegant, if somewhat old fashioned Edwardian beaded evening gown around her, Lettice observes for the first time how much weight she has lost. With a full bosom and curvaceous hips, Lady Gwyneth was the height of femininity before the war, yet now that soft, doughy roundness that Lettice found so comforting as a child when enveloped in one of her all embracing cuddles, has been replaced by a somewhat sharper, more angular figure, that even the flowing lines of a Lucile* gown cannot completely smother in romantic swathes of satin and tulle.
“Are you alright, Lady Gwyneth?” Lettice asks in concern.
“Just the remnants of that chest cold I had last month, my dear. And what is this ‘Lady Gwyneth’ business, Lettice?” the older matron asks, giving Lettice a rather surprised look. “Since when have you become so grown up that I am no longer Aunt Gwen?”
Lettice feels a flush of embarrassment rise up her neck and fill her cheeks as she chuckles awkwardly.
“Mamma,” Leslie reaches down and offers his mother his hand to help her rise from the settee.
“Children are always so anxious to grow up,” Lady Sadie replies and looking over to her daughter and friend’s son. “And make their own decisions.”
“Well, a bit of independence living up in London hasn’t done Gerald any harm.” Lord Bruton blusters, turning and giving his son a slap on the back that makes the slender young man buckle forward and elicit a cough of his own.
“Yes, well,” Lady Sadie replies noncommittally, giving her daughter an appraising stare through narrowed, scrutinising eyes, which suggests that she does not feel the same about Lettice’s own levels of independence. She turns back to her eldest son and pats his hand kindly. “Thank you my dear. You are a good boy.” Then returning her gaze to her daughter, she continues, “The ability to self-govern and make decisions is far more attractive in a gentleman than a lady.” She emphasises the last word, her eyes growing almost imperceptibly wider, before turning to her husband.
“Oh I don’t know, Sadie,” her husband counters. “I rather like a bit of pluck in a girl.” He looks at his youngest daughter and gives her a beatific smile. “Why just look at Eglantine.”
“Yes let’s,” mutters Sadie disapprovingly as she fusses with the long rope of pearls about her neck. “She’s an unmarried artist in her fifties who lives in Maida Vale.”
“Little Venice**, Sadie,” the Viscount protests. He gives his wife a wounded glance. “Be kind.”
“And Aunt Eggy is an exhibited artist.” Leslie adds proudly. “At the Royal Academy*** no less.”
“Yes, well,” mutters Lady Sadie again.
Not wishing to engage in her mother’s conversation, Lettice turns to Gerald purposefully and asks, “So where is Rowland tonight, since he deigned to turn down Pater’s invitation this evening? It must be something special for him not to eat someone else’s good food and drink their quality champagne.”
Gerald glances anxiously across at his parents as they gather with Lettice’s parents and Leslie as they mill around the gilded tea table where the Viscount pops a bottle of champagne to a smattering of laughter and applause. Lowering his voice and sinking it closer to his friend Gerald says, “You have my big brother pegged well, darling. However, it’s not so much something, as someone.”
Lettice’s eyes grow wide. “Who Gerald? I didn’t think he liked any of the Huntington girls.”
“I think you need to lower your expectations, Lettuce Leaf.” Gerald replies.
"Don't call me that Gerald. You know I hate it." She slaps him playfully on the forearm for using her much hated childhood nickname.
"I know darling, but you are so easily baited."
“Whatever do you mean, ‘lower my expectations’, Gerald?”
“Well, let’s just say that he is down at The George tonight.” Gerald elucidates.
“Not Mr. Partridge’s daughter, Becky?” Lettice’s eyes grow round in shock. “But she’s the…”
“The barmaid,” Gerald finishes her sentence for her. “Yes, I know. But Mater and Pater don’t, so please don’t say anything.”
“As if I would, Gerald!” Lettice replies, raising a hand to her throat as she feels the warmth of a fresh flush again. “Mind you, Glynes is only a small village. News is bound to reach your parents if he is being so indiscreet.”
“I know. I know.” Gerald flaps his hands distractedly. “I’ve told him that he’s playing with fire. Mater and Pater think he’s at a New Year’s Eve party at the Fenton’s.”
“Well at least he is smart enough there. The Fentons are far enough away that Aunt Gwen is unlikely to make enquiries. But Becky works in her father’s pub, and The George is the heart of the village, and he’ll be the subject of gossip in no time.”
Gerald raises his hands in defence. “I can’t do any more than I already have. You know how Roland’s head is turned by a pretty face.”
“Yes,” Lettice muses. “Like Lionel. Let’s hope that Rowland doesn’t get Becky in the family way like Lionel did our first parlour maid. I don’t think your parents can afford to pack Rowland off to Kenya, like my parents did Lionel, nor bribe the mother-to-be with hush money.”
“Good heavens no. They can’t afford to patch the roof of Bruton Hall, never mind buy Rowland a farm outside of Nairobi.” Gerald agrees. “Besides, unlike Lionel, Rowland is the heir. What would have your parents done if it had been Leslie?”
Lettice looks over at her eldest brother, who catches her eye with an imploring look as he is accosted by their mother and Lady Gwyneth. “Luckily, we don’t need to find out. Leslie is taking his duties as the heir to Glynes very seriously, and his character is beyond reproach.”
“What are you two whispering about over there?” the Viscount calls over to Gerald and Lettice.
“Plotting the downfall of the establishment, piece by piece,” Leslie suggests playfully, gratefully breaking away from the two matrons to join his father’s conversation.
“We are doing no such thing, Leslie!” Lettice laughs.
“Well, whatever it is, stop being rude and come over here and whisper your intrigues to all of us,” Viscount Wrexham replies. “It’s nearly midnight.”
Lettice and Gerald walk across the old carpet and join the others, accepting a flute of sparking champagne from Viscount Wrexham as they gather about the gilded tea table with the others.
“Now,” Lord Wrexham begins in a commanding tone. “What are your New Year wishes, everyone?” He looks about the faces of the company gathered together. “Bruton? What’s yours?”
Lord Bruton looks up at his neighbour. “Well, it’s frightfully dull and practical, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted the roof of Brunton Hall mended.”
“Capital idea!” the Viscount replies, raising his glass cheerfully. “Nothing wrong with a practical wish. Gwyneth?”
“Oh I think I want what most mothers want for their children, Cosmo,” She looks firstly at Leslie, then Lettice and finally her younger son Gerald with a warm, if slightly tired smile. “Their happiness.”
“Well, I will concur with that,” adds Lady Sadie animatedly. “I wish for a successful Hunt Ball this year.” She glares at Lettice, who quickly disengages from her mother’s gaze and glances at the rich patterning of the carpet.
“Well, we are all looking forward to that Sadie,” Gwyneth enthuses. “It will be the event of the county calendar I’m sure.”
“Leslie?” the Viscount asks.
“A successful cattle sale with record prices, Father.” Leslie replies, raising his own glass.
“Well, I’ll second that, my boy!” Viscount Wrexham replies, raising his glass once again.
“I’m hoping for further success as a result of Margot’s wedding dress,” Gerald pipes up, glancing quickly at his father, who gives him somewhat of a hostile look which causes him to turn promptly to his mother, who smiles proudly at him. “I’ve already got three new clients as a result of the photos in Vogue.”
“See?” Lady Gwyneth says, opening her arms expansively as she looks around at the others. “What did I tell you? Happiness, that’s what we wish for.”
“Happiness and success,” Lettice adds. Looking across at her mother she expands with a steely determination in her voice. “Success in whatever form it comes.”
“Very good, my girl!” the Viscount raises his glass again. “Now, it’s midnight. Raise your glasses!”
The clock on the mantle chimes midnight prettily, in the distance somewhere, a church bell rings out across the quiet night and the muffled sound of cheers drift up from the servant’s quarters.
“Happy New Year!” Viscount Wrexham cheers. “Happy nineteen twenty-two!”
“Happy nineteen twenty-two!” everyone echoes as they raise their glasses and clink them together happily.
*Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members.
**Little Venice is a district in West London, England, around the junction of the Paddington Arm of the Grand Union Canal, the Regent's Canal, and the entrance to Paddington Basin. The junction forms a triangular shape basin. Many of the buildings in the vicinity are Regency white painted stucco terraced town houses and taller blocks (mansions) in the same style.
***The Royal Academy of Arts (RA) is an art institution based in Burlington House on Piccadilly in London. Founded in 1768, it has a unique position as an independent, privately funded institution led by eminent artists and architects. Its purpose is to promote the creation, enjoyment and appreciation of the visual arts through exhibitions, education and debate.
This festive upper-class scene is not all that it may appear to be, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The champagne glasses are 1:12 artisan miniatures. Made of glass, they have been blown individually by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and are so fragile and delicate that even I with my dainty fingers have broken the stem of one. They stand on an ornate Eighteenth Century style silver tray made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The two wine coolers are also made by Warwick Miniatures. The Deutz and Geldermann champagne bottles are also an artisan miniature and made of glass with a miniature copy of a real Deutz and Geldermann label and some real foil wrapped around their necks. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Even the ice blocks in the coolers are made to scale and also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The gilt tea table in the foreground of the photo on which they all stand is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The Chetwynd Christmas tree, beautifully decorated by Lettice, Harold and Arabella with garlands, tinsel, bows golden baubles and topped by a sparking gold star is a 1:12 artisan piece. It was hand made by husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio.
The Palladian console table behind the Christmas tree, with its two golden caryatids and marble top, is one of a pair that were 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 gilt chair to the right of the photo is 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 also 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 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 console table made by Peter Cluff stands a porcelain pot of yellow and lilac petunias which has been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. It is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain.
On the bombe chest behind the Louis settee stand a selection of 1950s Limoges miniature tea set pieces which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. In the centre of these pieces stands a sterling silver three prong candelabra made by an unknown artisan. They have actually fashioned a putti (cherub) holding the stem of the candelabra. The candles that came with it are also 1:12 artisan pieces and are actually made of wax.
The sette, which is part of a three piece Louis XV suite of the settee and two armchairs was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM.
The Hepplewhite chair with the lemon satin upholstery you can just see behind the Christmas tree was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however, we have headed north-west from Cavendish Mews, across Marylebone, past Regent’s Park, the London Zoo and Lords Cricket Ground to the affluent and leafy residential streets of nearby St. John’s Wood. It is here that Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie friends Minnie Palmerston and her husband Charles reside in a neatly painted two storey early Victorian townhouse on Acacia Road that formerly belonged to Charles Palmerston’s maternal grandparents, Lord and Lady Arundel. Lettice was commissioned to redecorate their dining room, after Minnie decided to have a go at it herself with disastrous results. Now with the room freshly painted and papered, and the furniture expertly curated and arranged by Lettice, all of Minnie’s dining room faux pas is forgotten, and the Palmerstons are hosting a dinner for Lettice as a thank you. They have also invited another of their Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s 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, to even up the numbers.
As Siobhan, the Palmerston’s Irish maid, serves roast beef with vegetables to the quartet, Lettice regales her friends with the story of her recent visit to Glynes, her family home in Wiltshire.
“And what was the reception like?” Minnie asks as she picks up her glass of wine.
“Well,” Lettice explains. “Pater was absolutely delighted with Henry Tipping’s* editorial about my redecoration of Dickie and Margot’s in Country Life**. When I arrived, he was sitting in the drawing room reading it, would you believe?”
“Oh, he wasn’t, was he Lettice darling?” Minnie laughs, making her diamond chandelier earrings jostle and sparkle in the light of the candelabra in the middle of the dining table.
“How perfectly droll!” Charles remarks from his seat beside his wife, accepting the gravy boat proffered to him by Lettice who is sitting opposite him.
“He told me how he couldn’t be prouder of me.” Lettice goes on.
“Well, that’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it!” Minnie exclaims, clapping her white evening glove clad hands.
“Oh, I think Pater has always believed in my abilities, deep down inside.”
“Well he’s always been supportive of your aunt’s artistic pursuits,” Gerald adds as he slices the pieces of beef on his plate. “Hasn’t he Lettice?”
“He has, Gerald. And besides, I am his favourite.”
“Even if you do say so yourself,” Gerald chortles before popping a morsel of meat into his mouth and sighing with delight.
“Will that be all, Madam?” Sobhan asks her mistress politely as there is a break in the conversation.
Minnie looks across the black japanned surface of her dining table at her white gilt dinner plates stacked with steaming slices of beef, chunks of golden potato and pumpkin, steamed cauliflower and shiny green peas. “I think so Siobhan. Thank you. We’ll ring if we need anything further.”
“Very good, Madam.” The maid retreats through the door to the left of the fireplace.
“Well, I must say that Minnie and I are as pleased as punch to have a room decorated by a woman written up in Country Life.” Charles says proudly.
“Do you really like it, Charles?” Lettice asks with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Oh yes I do. It’s smashing! Really it is. You’ve dragged it from the Nineteenth Century into now in a very striking, elegant and fashionable way.”
“What a lovely compliment, Charles.” Lettice says, blushing.
“Unlike your wife’s valiant attempts.” Minnie grumbles, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Which only made this room appear like a Maida Vale***** dining room.”
“I’ll never live that slur down, will I my poppet, even if it is true?”
“Never my love.” Minnie smiles back. “However, I have to agree with you. You had the vision Lettice. I could never have done this, and you prevented me from changing or swaying your vision, and I’m so very glad that you did.”
“Yes, at least my paintings don’t get lost against the papering on the walls,” remarks Charles. “And the whole scheme makes the room look bigger, less cluttered and more classical.”
“You’re a wonder, Lettice darling!” Minnie enthuses. “No question!”
“The fact that our dining room has been redecorated by one of the most fashionable society interior designers will certainly give us something interesting to talk about whenever we throw a dinner party.” Charles continues, addressing Lettice.
“And it will finally give me a topic to brighten the dinner table with,” Minnie adds brightly. “At least for a while. Which is so much more palatable than all that dull talk of your boring bankers and their equally tedious wives.”
“Those boring bankers, as you call them,” Charles addresses his wife. “Are my work colleagues and friends, my poppet.”
“Well I can’t help it if you have simply the most boring and tiresome friends in the whole of London,” Minnie replies with a pretty shrug of her shoulders. “Now can I, Charles darling?” She turns to Lettice. “Boring banking, stocks and shares.”
“That boring banking I do, and those stocks and shares help pay for all this, Minnie.” Charles counters, waving his knife around the newly appointed room. “And keeps you comfortably in stockings and fans.”
“He has a point, Minnie darling.” Lettice concedes.
“Well, at least they get used for something useful and interesting.” Minnie then faces ahead of her to Gerald. “It is simply too dreary for words.”
“Oh Minnie!” Gerald laughs. “You really are quite something. I’m amazed she can keep a civil tongue in her head when she is surrounded by your friends, Charles.”
“I have to threaten her with divorce.” Charles jokes as he takes a piece of roast potato and pops it in his mouth, smiling cheekily at his wife as he chews.
“Oh Charles!” Minnie gasps. “You are simply too beastly for words. Anyway, enough about your boring friends! No one wants to hear about them! What about your mother, Lettice? Was she as thrilled as your father was about the Country Life editorial?”
“You’ve never met Sadie before.” remarks Gerald sagely as he rolls his eyes. “She is seldom thrilled by anything.”
“Oh surely not, Gerald darling! She would have to be pleased that her youngest daughter is being haled a success.” Minnie retorts.
“Your idea of success and Sadie’s are quite different, Minnie darling.” Gerald replies.
Minnie turns to her friend with questioning eyes shimmering with concern, her lower lip hanging open slightly in anticipation as she waits for her to speak.
“Well, she conceded that if I must be written about, at least it was in a periodical that is respectable.” Lettice explains a little deflatedly.
“No!” Minnie gasps.
“I’m quite sure Sadie will be entertaining all the great and good of the county, lording the story over each and every one of them.” Gerald adds.
“Not that she will tell me.”
“Perhaps not.” Gerald counters. “But I’m sure Bella or Leslie will.”
“That’s terrible!” Minnie exclaims. “How can your own mother not be proud of you, Lettice darling?”
“Oh, dare say in her heart of hearts she may be a little pleased.”
“But she’ll never admit it.” adds Gerald.
“Especially to me.”
“And the Viscount is far too loyal to his wife to give the game away.”
“So what did she say, besides that she was satisfied that at least you’d been written about in an appropriate periodical?” Charles asks.
“Not much else,” Lettice answers. “Other than to remind me that whilst this little foray into interior design may have reaped me a small snippet of momentary notoriety, I should not forget my true duty to my family and society.”
“And what’s that then?” Minnie asks.
“To get married of course.” Gerald elucidates for his friend. “Sadie doesn’t think anything should come between Lettice and a good marriage prospect.”
“I was hoping that with Elizabeth*** marrying the Duke of York that it might deflect Mater from her determination to advance my marriage prospects, but it seems to have done quite the opposite, and all she wanted to do when I was down in Wiltshire visiting them, was to discuss my budding relationship with Selwyn.”
“And how is the budding relationship with the future Duke of Walmsford?” Minnie asks, her green eyes widening at even the smallest amount of gossip.
“You are incorrigible, Minnie!” Lettice exclaims. “You’d be the last person I’d confide in about the state of my love life.”
“Oh don’t be such a spoil sport!” Minnie bounces up and down in her high backed red and gold Art Deco black japanned dining chair. “I’m sure you held out on me about Elizabeth marrying the Duke of York when I asked you whether she was going to marry the Prince of Wales.”
Lettice does not reply, instead concentrating on cutting a slice of beef on her plate.
“Maybe she did, my poppet,” Charles remarks. “Because what Lettice says is true. I love you dearly, but there is no denying you are a frightful gossip.”
“Charles!” Minnie looks wounded, but then gives the game away as she smiles guilty at her husband. “You are a beast, Charles Palmerston! Goodness knows why I married you?”
“It obviously wasn’t for all my boring and tedious friends,” Charles chortled good-naturedly. “So it must be for my good looks and charming manners.” He takes her right hand in his left one and raises it to his lips and kisses it tenderly.
“Oh you!” Minnie blusters, flushing pink at his gesture before flapping at him with her napkin. Turning back to Lettice she says, “You can’t hold out on me about your relationship with Selwyn, Lettice darling! Not with me, one of your dearest friends!” She presses her elegantly manicured fingers to her chest over her heart overdramatically. “Tell me something: any little titbit to make me happy!” She pouts. “Please!”
“You know she’ll wear you down if you don’t, Lettice darling.” Charles sighs. “She’ll be at you all night, like a kitten with a catnip mouse.”
“Oh very well, Minnie.” Lettice acquiesces. “Although I must confess there isn’t much to tell.”
“Do I sense a dwindling in the ardour you have for Selwyn?” Minnie asks, genuinely concerned for her friend, but equally driven by the intrigue of gossip about her.
“Not exactly.” Lettice says a little awkwardly. “I had dinner with Selwyn at Simpson’s**** the other week.” She pauses, unsure what to disclose or even how to say it. “And we had…”
“An argument?” Minnie prompts.
“Not an argument exactly. More of a disagreement.”
“Over what, Lettice darling?”
“Over his mother.”
Sitting next to her, Gerald remains silent and focuses on cutting a potato into quarters.
“His mother?” Minnie queries. “The Duchess of Walmsford doesn’t approve of you, Lettice darling?”
“She can hardly disapprove of me if she hasn’t even met me yet. That’s what we had our disagreement over.”
Gerald continues to focus on cutting up the food on his plate.
“I want to meet her. I think I should meet her, now that Selwyn and I are more serious about pursuing our relationship. Yet he seems to show a strange reluctance to introducing the two of us, and it’s gnawing at me.”
“You’ve only really known one another for a short while, Lettice darling.” Charles reflects.
“You sound just like him, Charles. We’ve known each other over a year now.”
“But how often have you seen one another over that time, between his busy schedule and yours? Maybe a dozen times or so.” When Lettice nods, Charles continues. “Well then, it’s still early days yet. Why roil the calm waters of your budding relationship with the irritation of relations?”
“That was his argument, Charles.”
“Well, it seems perfectly reasonable to me.” Charles concludes. “Don’t you think so, Gerald?”
“Me?” Gerald asks, raising his head from his plate.
“Don’t you agree, Gerald?” Charles asks again.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.” he lies. “What am I agreeing to, Charles?”
“Oh it doesn’t matter, old bean.” Charles answers dismissively.
“Are you alright, Gerald?” Minnie asks from opposite him. “You’ve gone pale all of a sudden. Don’t tell me you don’t like the roast beef?”
“What?” Gerald looks down into his plate again. “Oh no, no, Minnie. The meal is delicious. Positively scrumptious.” he assures her. He is relieved when he sees the defensive look in Minnie’s green eyes dissipate. He continues, “No, I’m just a bit preoccupied with orders for frocks for the Royal Wedding. Lettice’s isn’t the only outfit I am making for the occasion.”
“So business is looking up for you too, old bean?” Charles pipes up. “Jolly good!”
Gerald sighs with relief as his ploy to steer the conversation away from Lettice’s and Selwyn’s relationship succeeds. Yet as he talks animatedly about the frocks he is making for other society ladies attending the royal wedding, his eyes and this thoughts drift to his best friend.
Although she is smiling and as animated as he is on the outside, Gerald worries that behind the gaiety of her recent success, Lettice is worried about her relationship with Selwyn. Gerald has tried in an oblique way to warn Lettice not to look solely to Selwyn for romance, so as not to be accused of interfering in her private affairs. Even as her best friend, Gerald knows there are only so many lines that he can cross before he is deemed as meddling where he shouldn’t and risks his friendship with her. Hearing Lettice talk about Selwyn’s mother, he worries that the reason Selwyn is reluctant to introduce her to his mother, the Duchess, is because she has plans for her son’s marriage that don’t include Lettice. Whilst he predicted this, and even voiced his opinion to Lettice’s mother, it was ill received by her. Gerald knows it will be even less warmly welcomed by Lettice if it comes from him, when in fact it should come from Selwyn. Yet he worries whether he is doing the right thing or not by not saying anything. He doesn’t want to lose the close relationship wit his best friend, yet at the same time he wonders whether it would be better to risk it to save her heart. Would she forgive him in the long run and come to understand that any pain he inflicted was offset by the pain she was spared had she not known Gerald’s feelings.
*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.
***Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
*****After a modest start in 1828 as a smoking room and soon afterwards as a coffee house, Simpson's-in-the-Strand achieved a dual fame, around 1850, for its traditional English food, particularly roast meats, and also as the most important venue in Britain for chess in the Nineteenth Century. Chess ceased to be a feature after Simpson's was bought by the Savoy Hotel group of companies at the end of the Nineteenth Century, but as a purveyor of traditional English food, Simpson's has remained a celebrated dining venue throughout the Twentieth Century and into the Twenty-First Century. P.G. Wodehouse called it "a restful temple of food"
This 1920s Art Deco dining room with its table set for fur may look real to you, but it is in fact made up of 1:12 miniatures from my own miniatures collection, including some pieces from my childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The dining table is correctly set for a four course Edwardian dinner partially ended, with the first course already concluded using cutlery, from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The delicious looking roast dinner on the dinner plates and on the console in the background 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. All the wine and water glasses I have had since I was a teenager. I bought them from a high street stockist that specialised in dolls’ houses and doll house miniatures. Each glass is hand blown using real glass. The water carafe and the wine carafe on the console in the background were bought at the same time. The white porcelain salt and pepper shakers have been gilded by hand and also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in the United Kingdom. The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the console is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist.
The black japanned high backed chairs with their stylised Art Deco fabric upholstery came from a seller on E-Bay. The black japanned dining table and console in the background were made by Town Hall Miniatures. The tall stands that flank the fireplace were made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The vases of flowers on the stands are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium.
The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround and the Art Deco green electric fireplace I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom. On the mantle of the fireplace stands a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. The tall statues standing at either end of the console table are also made by Warwick Miniatures and were hand painted by me.
The paintings around the room are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The stylised metallic red dioxide floral wallpaper was paper given to me by a friend who encouraged me to use it in my miniature tableaux.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home as her parents host their first Hunt Ball since 1914. Lady Sadie has been completely consumed over the last month by the planning and preparation of the occasion, determined that not only will it be the event of the 1922 county season, but also that it will be a successful entrée for her youngest daughter, still single at twenty-one years of age, to meet a number of eligible and marriageable men. Letters and invitations have flown from Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour* to the families of eligible bachelors, some perhaps a little too old to be considered before the war, achieving more than modest success. Whilst Lettice enjoys dancing, parties and balls, she is less enthusiastic about the idea of the ball being used as a marriage market than her parents are.
We find ourselves in the lofty Adam design hall of Glynes with its parquetry floors and ornate plasterwork, outside the entrance to the ballroom antechamber, through which guests must pass to enter the grand ballroom where tonight’s Hunt Ball is being held. From the ballroom, the sound of the band hired for the evening to play can be heard above the hubbub of happy voices as like an exclusive club, aristocracy and local county guests intermingle. At the entrance to the ballroom antechamber stand the Viscount and Countess Wrexham, Leslie and Lettice, all forming a reception line where they have been standing for the last half hour, since the clocks around them struck eight and the first guests began to arrive. Now a steady stream of partygoers appear across the threshold of the house, through the door held open by Mardsen, the Chetwynd’s tall first footman. He acknowledges each person with a bow from the neck which is seldom acknowledged in return as ladies and gentlemen in thick fur coats and travel capes, fur tippets and top hats alight from the motorcars and in a few cases, horse drawn carriages that pull up to the front door. Bustling with idle chatter they each sweep through the door with a comfortable sense of privilege and self assurance, gasping with pleasure as they feel the heat of the blazing fire in the hearth of the foyer: a delightful change to the chill of the evening air their journeys were taken in. Bramley, the Chetwtynd’s butler takes the gentleman’s topcoats, capes, hats, gloves and canes, whilst Mrs. Renfrew, the Chetwynd’s housekeeper, helps the ladies divest themselves of their capes, furs and muffs, the pair revealing spectacular fancy dress costumes of oriental brocade, pale silks and satins, colourfully striped cottons and hand printed muslins.
Standing next to her mother who is dressed as Britannia, Lettice, costumed as Cinderella in an Eighteenth century style wig and gown, smiles politely, yet vacantly, as she greets guest after guest, watching the passing parade of Pierrots, and Columbines, Sinbads and faeries, princesses and Maharajas, pirates and mandarins.
“Oh good evening Miss Evans, and Miss Evans,” Lady Sadie exclaims, placing her glove clad fingers onto the forearms of the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village. “How delightful to see you both. Do come in out of the cold and make yourselves comfortable. It was good of you to come up from the village for tonight’s festivities when I know you were both poorly before Christmas.” She smiles benignly as they twitter answers back at her in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot. “You remember my youngest daughter, Lettice don’t you ladies?”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice replies with a nod, accepting the two ladies from her mother like a parcel on a conveyor belt, smiling the same polite painted smile she, her parents and brother have been wearing since the first guest arrived. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, one dressed as Little Bo-Peep complete with shepherdess’ crook and the other as Miss Muffet with a hand crocheted spider dangling from her wrist, both looking more like tragic pantomime dames than anything else. Both women have worn the same costumes to every Hunt Ball Lettice can remember, and she is surer now that they are at close quarters, that the costumes are made from genuine Eighteenth Century relics from their ancestors. “What delightful costumes. Miss Bo-Peep I believe?”
“Indeed, Miss Chetwynd!” Giggles the elder of the Miss Evanses. “My how you’ve grown into a smart young woman since the last Hunt Ball your parents threw before the war.”
“We read about you often in the London illustrated papers, don’t we Geraldine?” pipes up her sister.
“Oh quite! Quite Henrietta! What a marvellous time you must have up there in London. It’s good of you to come and join us for these little parochial occasions, which must be so dull after all the cosmopolitan pleasures you enjoy.”
“Not at all, Miss Evans. Now, please do go in. You must be freezing after your drive up from the village. There’s a good fire going in the antechamber. Please go and warm yourselves.”
“You are too kind, Miss Chetwynd! Too kind!” acknowledges Henrietta.
The two rather macabre nursery rhyme characters giggle and twitter and walk into the ballroom antechamber.
“Ahh, Lady Sadie,” a well intonated, yet oily voice annunciates, causing Lettice to shudder. “What a pleasure it is to be asked to the event of the country season.”
Lettice turns to see Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, tall and elegant, yet at the same time repugnant to her, dressed in full eveningwear, yet also wearing a very ornamental turban in deference to the Hunt ball’s fancy dress theme. Lettice shudders again as Sir John takes up her mother’s right hand in his and draws it to his lips and kisses it.
“Oh, Sir John!” Lady Sadie giggles in a girlish way Lettice seldom hears from her dour and matronly Edwardian mother.
“Well, I must kiss the hand of the brave and bold defender of the Empire.” He smiles up at her with wily eyes glittering with mischief. “You are Britannia, are you not?”
“Indeed I am, Sir John.” Lady Sadie chortles proudly. “Well done. Now, you remember my youngest daughter, Lettice, don’t you?” She turns Sir John’s and her own attention to her daughter beside her.
“Good heavens!” Sir John exclaims, his piercing blue eyes catching Lettice’s gaze and holding it tightly as he eyes her up and down. “Could this elegant Marie Antoinette be the lanky teenager I remember from 1914?”
Lettice feels very exposed by the intensity of his stare, and she feels as he looks her over, that in his mind he is removing her gown and wig to see what lies beneath them. She feels the flush of a blush work its way up her neck, the heat of it at odds with the coolness of the Glynes necklace of diamonds and rubies, lent to her for the evening by her mother, at her throat.
“I’m actually Cind…” Lettice begins, before stopping short and gasping as she feels the sharp toe of her mother’s dance pump kick firmly into her ankle beneath her skirts. “So pleased to see you again, Sir John.” she concludes rather awkwardly.
“Do you know, Sir John,” Lady Sadie gushes. “I do believe we have a painting of Marie Antoinette in our very own Glynes gallery.”
“Is that so, Lady Sadie?” he replies, without disengaging his eyes from Lettice.
“Yes, one of Cosmo’s ancestors brought it back from France after the Revolution, when all those lovely things from the French aristocracy were being sold for a song.”
“Then I should very much like to see it, Lady Sadie, and make my own comparison between the woman that was,” He takes up Lettice’s right hand and plants a kiss on it just as he had done to her mother. “And the lady who is.”
Lettice quickly withdraws her hand from Sir John’s touch, feeling more repugnance for him by the moment.
“I’m sure that could be arranged, Sir John,” Lady Sadie says with a beaming smile. “Lettice, perhaps you might show Sir John the painting of Marie Antoinette in the East Wing Long Gallery after the buffet supper tonight?”
“I shall look forward to that, my lady,” Sir John says without waiting for Lettice’s agreement, his gaze still piercing her, until suddenly he glances away and strides confidently in the wake of the two Miss Evanses.
Lettice greets the next few guests politely, yet vacantly constantly gazing at the top of her glove clad hand where she felt Sir John’s pressing lips. She is still distracted by it when a cheerful voice interrupts her uneasy thoughts.
“I say, Lettice my dear, are you quite well?”
Brought back from her unsettled imaginings, Lettice finds herself staring onto the most friendly looking pirate she has ever seen.
“Lord Thorley!” she says with a genuine smile forming across her lips. “How do you do.”
“You are looking a bit peaky, my dear.” he replies, lifting up his black felt eye patch so that he might see her with both eyes. Looking concerned, Lord Thorley Ayres continues, “Are you quite well?”
“Oh, quite, Lord Thorley. It’s just a little… a little warm in here, what with the fire and my costume.” She starts fanning herself with her hand.
“Oh, I thought you looked a bit pale, rather than flushed, my dear.”
“Don’t nanny poor Lettice so, Thorley,” mutters his wife, dressed as a Spanish Infanta of the Seventeenth Century in a magnificent panniered gown and fitted bodice that pushes her already evident breasts further into view. “The poor thing probably feels quite overwhelmed by the ball. It’s been a few years since there was a ball here last. Now move along and let me see the woman who was once the girl I knew.” She shoos her husband along with a wave of her hand.
“Lady Ayres,” Lettice says with a pleasurable smile. “How very good to see you. It’s been far too long since we had a ball here.”
“Quite right. But all that sadness and austerity of the war is behind us now, thank goodness!” She rolls her eyes implying the tediousness of the Great War just passed. “Now we can enjoy our fun and frivolities again, just as we used to. Now, of course you remember our son, Nicholas.” Lady Rosamund grasps the slender shoulders of a young man in a Pierrot costume and forcefully moves him forward to meet Lettice.
“Of course I do.” Lettice remarks kindly, smiling at the young man around her age, who is obviously reluctant to be there. She remembers the stories friends from the Embassy Club have told her about Nicholas Ayers, the reluctant heir to a vast estate, Crofton Court, in Cumbria. They giggled and blushed as they told Lettice in less than hushed whispers that his visits to a well known Molly-house** near Covent Garden and his debauched ‘at homes’ on Fridays were amongst the worst kept secrets in London. She gazes at his pale face, which was evidently white enough before being given a liberal dusting of white powder. How ironic, she thinks to herself, that his face is painted up so sadly with Pierrot’s iconic dark teardrop running from his left eye, when he is so evidently unhappy to be on parade as a reluctant suitor under the hawk eyes of both his parents. What sort of life will he live, she wonders, never mind the poor unfortunate society debutante who does eventually marry him, oblivious to his inclinations towards men rather than women? She knows her father knows about Nicholas’ inclinations, but is equally aware that her mother is innocent of such knowledge. She glances quickly at her mother and when she sees that she is talking animatedly to the next guest, she leans forward and whispers in Nicholas’ ear, “It’s alright, you only have to dance with me the once, and then you’ve done your duty.” Nicholas looks at her in genuine fear. “It’s alright. Your secrets are safe with me Nicholas. I won’t tell. I don’t want to be on parade any more than you do, so let’s just do our duty, and then you can go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine.”
“Can’t you two wait until you are on the dancefloor to whisper sweet nothings in one another’s ears?” chortles Thorley good naturedly, a cheeky smile painting his lips.
“Don’t embarrass them, Thorley!” Rosamund slaps her husband’s hand playfully with her ivory and lace fan, the pearl drop earrings at her lobes shaking about wildly. She reaches out to Nicholas and grabs him by the shoulders again, steering him away. “Come along Nicholas. You’ll have plenty of time to dance with Lettice later.”
Lettice glances at her mother, who has now turned all her attention to her daughter. She smiles proudly and nods her approval at a potential interest between Lettice and Nicholas Ayres and his tens of thousands of pounds a year. Lettice glances away quickly, allowing her eyes to follow the backs of Nicholas and Lord and Lady Ayres as they wend their way into the throng gathering in the antechamber adjoining the ballroom, and sighs quietly. A lecherous old man who would enjoy nothing more than a moment alone with her, and an invert*** who would probably rather face a pit of snakes than dance with her: how will she survive this ordeal of her mother’s making? Why can’t her mother just accept the fact that she is happier being unmarried and running a successful business.
Sighing, Lettice quickly reforms her painted smile and greets the next Hunt Ball guest.
*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
**A Molly-house was a term used in 18th- and 19th-century Britain for a meeting place for homosexual men. The meeting places were generally taverns, public houses, coffeehouses or even private rooms where men could either socialise or meet possible sexual partners.
*** Sexual inversion is a theory of homosexuality popular primarily in the late 19th and early 20th 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.
This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster. On its mantlepiece stand two gilt blue and white vases which are from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. They are filled with a mixture of roses made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The marble and ormolu clock on the mantle between them is of a classical French style of the Georgian or Regency periods and comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The fire dogs and guard are made of brass and also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House, as to the candelabra hanging on the wall either side of the central portrait.
The gilt Louis Quatorze chairs either side of the fireplace and the gilt swan pedestals are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The candelabras on the two pedestals I have had since I was a teenager.
The pair of Palladian console tables in the foreground, with their golden caryatids and marble were 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 floral arrangements in urns on top of the tables consist of pink roses, white asters and white Queen Anne’s Lace. Both are unmarked, but were made by an American miniature artisan and their pieces have incredible attention to detail. The Seventeenth Century musical statues to the side of the flower arrangements were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. They were hand painted by me.
All the paintings around the Glynes ballroom antechamber in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and the wallpaper of the ballroom antechamber is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.
The marquetry floor of the room is in fact a wooden chessboard. The chessboard was made by my Grandfather, a skillful and creative man in 1952. Two chess sets, a draughts set and three chess boards made by my Grandfather were bequeathed to me as part of his estate when he died a few years ago.
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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.
Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home as her parents host their first Hunt Ball since 1914. Lady Sadie has been completely consumed over the last month by the planning and preparation of the occasion, determined that not only will it be the event of the 1922 county season, but also that it will be a successful entrée for her youngest daughter, still single at twenty-one years of age, to meet a number of eligible and marriageable men. Letters and invitations have flown from Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour* to the families of eligible bachelors, some perhaps a little too old to be considered before the war, achieving more than modest success. Whilst Lettice enjoys dancing, parties and balls, she is less enthusiastic about the idea of the ball being used as a marriage market than her parents are.
The fancy dress Hunt Ball has now been in full swing for several hours and after the splendid buffet in the Glynes dining room, the guests are starting to thin a little as the older generation and those staying further afield start to depart, whilst some of the younger party-goers cast their eyes about and with heads bowed conspiratorially together discuss fresher pastures to move to before the night is through. Sir John Nettleford-Hughes has departed in a rather disgruntled mood having not had the pleasure of being shown the Glynes portrait of Marie Antoinette by Lettice, leaving in the company of a rather buxom Columbine, noticeably younger than him, anxious to assuage his wounded pride. Nicholas Ayres is noticeably absent, as is Marsden the Chetwynd’s tall and handsome first footman. In spite of the dwindling number of guests, the Georgian style ballroom of Glynes with its golden yellow wallpaper and gilt Louis Quatorze furnishings is still very much alive with colour and movement as couples in slightly deshabille fancy dress dance together. The band hired by the Viscount continues to play foxtrots, and polkas, however the novelty dances of the earlier evening have been replaced with more sedate waltzes. Their sound carries over the general hubbub of voices chattering punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. Around the perimeter of the ballroom’s parquet dance floor, guests sit in chairs and sofas, massaging sore heels and toes, chatting idly over champagne, or admire and remark on the fancy dress attired couples still taking to the floor. Yet one couple who caused quite a stir in the latter part of the evening are not on the floor as Lettice and Selwyn Spencely sit in a quiet alcove of the ballroom drinking champagne, nibbling canapés and laughing over stories of when they played together as children of six, all under the watchful eyes of the great and the good of the county.
“Oh they do look sweet together,” Gerald’s mother, Lady Gwyneth, remarks from her seat on a gilt Louis Quatorze sofa, raising a lace handkerchief to her mouth as she lets out another of her wheezing coughs.
Rubbing her friend and neighbour comfortingly on the back, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, who sits beside her on the sofa, takes her eagle eyes momentarily from her daughter’s romantic progress to look with concern upon her friend. “I do wish you’d reconsidered coming tonight, my dear.”
“And miss this spectacle?” Lady Gwyneth replies in a raspy voice as she catches her breath. “Never!” She takes another few shallow breaths as she presses her chest inside the tightly laced bodice of her Eighteenth Century ballgown. “We haven’t had such an occasion to look forward to since 1914. I wasn’t going to miss this for the world, dear Sadie.”
“This cool spring evening air is not good for you, Gwen.”
“Oh, pooh the cool evening air!” Lady Gwyneth bats away with her fan. “It’s just the remnants of that chest cold I had in November, Sadie.”
“Which was still nagging on New Year’s Eve, Gwen.”
“Now, I won’t have you nanny me, however well meaning the thought is,” She pats Lady Sadie’s hand with her own. “Tonight, of all nights.”
“Yes, well,” Lady Sadie smiles pleasingly as her gaze goes back across the alcove to her daughter and Selwyn. “Sir John went off in rather a huff. However,” Sighing happily she continues. “It does seem to have worked it’s magic, which makes all the planning well worth it.”
“Sir John is no loss my dear,” Lady Gwyneth replies as she takes a sip of her champagne. “It has been whispered that he is known to be a bit of a lecher.”
“If the stories about him are true.”
“Well I’d say they must be. Did you see that girl he left with this evening?”
“No.”
“She was young enough to be his daughter, and she flaunted herself shamelessly before him! No, if Lettice was going to be paired with anyone this evening, you’d be hard pressed to make a better match than Selwyn Spencely.” Lady Gwyneth smiles munificently at the pair. “He’s handsome and charming.”
“Not to mention rather well off, and heir to a duchy.” Lady Sadie breathes, raising her own glass of champagne to her lips.
“All you need is one direct hit,” Lady Gwyneth begins when they are suddenly interrupted by Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler.
“Er, excuse me My Lady,” he begins.
“Yes Bramley?” Lady Sadie glances up at her faithful retainer with inquisitive eyes. “What is it?”
“Beg pardon the intrusion, My Lady, but Mr. Spencely is asking for another bottle of champagne for he and Miss Lettice to share.”
“Give Mr. Spencely anything he desires, Bramley.” Lady Sadie replies. “Fetch out a decent bottle from the cellars.” Glancing at her friend she quickly adds, “Not that this is poor quality,” She taps her half empty glass with her glove clan finger. “But we don’t want anything to take us off the bullseye. Do we Gwen?” She chuckles as Bramley quietly withdraws.
“Indeed not, Sadie.” Lady Gwyneth agrees, a twittering, girlish laugh escaping her own lips as she speaks. “Spoken like a true cupid!”
“And what are my two favourite ladies plotting?” a male voice with its round tones slightly slurred by champagne pipes up.
“Oh Gerald!” gasps his mother, clasping her chest and wheezing again. “You scared me.”
“Sorry Mummy.”
“Gerald,” Lady Sadie greets him with a stiff and curt nod.
“We were just talking about dear Lettice and that nice gentleman, Selwyn Spencely.” Lady Gwyneth gushes quietly. “They do seem to have,” She pauses as she thinks for the right words. “Hit it off. That is what you Bright Young Things say, isn’t it? To hit it off?”
“I think it was used long before we started using it, Mummy.” Gerald replies, smiling at his mother. He turns and gives Lady Sadie a decidedly colder and calculating look, swaying on the spot slightly as he clutches his half empty champagne flute. “Plotting the wedding, are we Lady Sadie?”
“Oh Gerald,” his mother scoffs kindly. “We were just saying what a sweet couple they make. Don’t you think so too?”
Just at that moment, the two Miss Evanses, the spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village, walk over to say their goodbyes to Lady Sadie, but not before engaging Lady Gwyneth in animated conversation, their twittering voices sounding like the crack of dried autumn leaves underfoot.
Gerald glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, one dressed as Little Bo-Peep complete with shepherdess’ crook and the other as Miss Muffet with a hand crocheted spider dangling from her wrist, both looking more like tragic pantomime dames than anything else and makes sure that his mother is fully engaged with them before commenting on Lettice and Selwyn. “Delightful,” Gerald replies to Lady Sadie in a flat voice, not even glancing over to where Lettice and Selwyn sit, instead holding Lady Sadie’s gaze in his own.
Not to be intimidated, the Edwardian matron looks back at him hostilely. “I didn’t take you for a bad loser, Gerald.” she says crisply.
“A bad loser, Lady Chetwynd?” Gerald sinks down slightly clumsily into the chair next to the sofa upon which the two ladies sit. “Me?”
“You, Gerald.” Lady Sadie answers in clearly enunciated syllables, her eyes narrowing and her mouth pursing bitterly as she does.
“What have I to be a bad loser about, Lady Chetwynd?”
“I should have thought that was obvious. Why, Lettice and Mr. Spencely of course. You always were on the bitter side, even as a child, if Lettice made a new friend who threatened you in her affections.”
“Lettice and Selwyn?” he snorts derisively. “I think not.”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Gerald. You’ve been vying for my daughter’s attentions for years: monopolising her at functions and spending more time in her flat than your own from what I can gather.”
“My, Lady Chetwynd,” Gerald sighs. “What clever little spies have you found to infiltrate our lives in London? You really are barking up the wrong proverbial tree with your ideas about Lettice and I. We are friends only, close friends – best friends perhaps – but friends only.”
“You’ve been a bad influence on her,” Lady Sadie continues, lowering her voice so that her friend beside her won’t accidentally hear her insulting words directed towards her son whilst she chats with the Miss Evanses. “I even had to warn her away from you for this evening, so that more eligible young men might stand a better chance of turning her head with you out of the way.”
“Ahh, but I did take her away from Howl… err… Jonty Hastings. I had to save her from his unwanted attentions.”
“Well, be that as it may, Jonty Hastings is no loss. His expectations are nothing in comparison to Mr. Spencely’s.” She waves her glove clad hand in the pair’s general direction. “My daughter could be a future duchess with all going well.”
Gerald leans against the armrest of his chair and starts sniggering as he continues to look incredulously at Lady Sadie.
“What are you laughing at, Gerald?” Lady Sadie snaps.
“You, Lady Chetwynd,” Gerald smiles, snorting as he smothers his chortling less than successfully. “You and your ridiculous schemes.”
“Me… my…” Lady Sadie splutters.
“Oh it’s not that I don’t think that Selwyn and Lettice don’t make a nice couple. They do. But I’d advise you not to matchmake them.” He wags his finger admonishingly at Lady Sadie before continuing rather mysteriously “Don’t forget, I know Selwyn and his family far better than you do, Lady Chetwynd.”
“How dare you!” the old matron hisses, her face draining of colour so that her pallor is as white as her costume. “The impudence!”
“Sorry Lady Chetwynd, but it’s true. The duchess has plans that don’t include Lettice.”
“The duchess?”
“Lady Zinnia: Selwyn’s mother.”
“Lady Zinnia?”
“Yes, I should have thought her distain of you was evident from her obvious snub of you.”
“Gerald, how much of my husband’s champagne have you drunk?” She scowls at him.
“Not enough yet, and certainly not enough to fail noticing Lady Zinnia’s absence from your ball.”
“She’s unwell. A chest cold.” Lady Sadie defends. When Gerald simply nods, cocking a knowing eyebrow as he does, she continues. “Mr. Spencely told me himself. He’s come from her bedside.”
“That must have been a very quick onset of her chest cold, since she was at the theatre with Selwyn on Thursday night.”
“One has heard of such occurrences, Gerald.”
“She must be losing her touch if she couldn’t keep him at home this evening.” When Gerald sees the lack of understanding in Lady Sadie’s flint hard eyes as they bore into him with undisguised hostility, he adds. “You see, when she accepts invitations out of politeness, Lady Zinnia always makes her excuses.” He smiles in a slightly lopsided way. “And when it is an invitation extended to her son for a potentially undesirous match between him and a less than suitable girl, she usually manages to distract him with a made up malady to keep him at home.”
“Gerald, how dare you say such things!” Lady Sadie’s face goes from porcelain white to flushed red as rage surges within her. “You claim you are Lettice’s friend, yet this is how you speak of her? I pity her if you are any gauge of her friends.”
“On the contrary, I’m paying Lettice a compliment, for if Selwyn managed to get here in spite of his mother’s protestations, he must really have wanted to meet her again after all these years.”
“Do you know what I think, Gerald?” Lady Sadie places her glass on the table before her.
“I suspect that you are going to share your insights with me, even if I don’t wish to hear them, Lady Chetwynd.”
She turns fully towards him, leaning heavily upon her own arm rest as she squares her shoulders. “I think you are just a nasty, bitter man, Gerald Bruton. You are angry with the world because of the cards you have been dealt in life. You’re the second son of a family in dire financial circumstances, so your chances of making an advantageous match are nigh on impossible.”
“You may be right, Lady Chetwynd, which is why I enjoy the largess of others so much,” He holds up his nearly empty champagne flute. “You and your daughter included, thank you. And you may also be right that I am bitter about how my life has turned out thus far. I probably shouldn’t have said to you the things I have, and in hindsight I shall doubtless regret it. However, I’m not saying these things to hurt you Lady Chetwynd. Truly I’m not.” He looks at her as intently as he can manage. “I am saying them as a warning to you, so you can stop this ridiculous match before poor Lettice gets hurt. Selwyn is lovely, and he may fall in love with Lettice and she him, but I hope not, for it is Lady Zinnia who will have the final say as to who Selwyn marries. And Lettice is not in the running, Lady Sadie.” He drains the remnants of his champagne from his glass. “And now, if you will excuse me, gracious hostess, I am going to press upon your generosity yet again and fill my glass with your good champagne.” He tries to stand, but makes a false start, slumping back into his seat.
Lady Sadie seizes her chance and turns back to Lady Gwyneth, who is still being held in the court of the Miss Evanses. “Oh Miss Evans, Miss Evans, are you going?” She looks up with an expectant look into their faces. Then, without waiting for a reply, she excuses herself and turns to Lady Gwyneth. “Excuse me my dear,” she hisses quietly. “But I think Gerald has imbibed just a little bit much this evening. I think you and Edmund might take him home.”
“Oh no.” Lady Gwyneth looks beyond her friend’s shoulder and sees Gerald stand up and wobble slightly. “Oh, you’re right.” She pats Lady Sadie’s hands. “Thank you my dear for keeping an eye on him, and thank you so much for such a lovely evening.” She elicits another wheezing cough from deep within her rasping chest as she rises to her feet. “I say again, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
As Lady Sadie turns her attentions to the Miss Evanses, Lady Gwyneth moves over and carefully wraps her arm through her youngest son’s, securing him firmly in spite of her own fragility. “Come Gerald. I think you’ve had enough. Don’t you agree?” she asks kindly as she looks up to his rather sad face with brilliant eyes made even more brilliant by unshed tears flooding them. “We really should be going. What with your father and your brother making nuisances of themselves around the neighbourhood, the last thing our family name can afford is you making a scene at the event of the county’s social season. Now come along.”
“Oh I wasn’t making a scene,” Gerald defends himself, his slurring words giving away his level of inebriation. “I was just telling old Lady Sadie over there some home truths.”
“Yes, well,” Lady Gwyneth remarks, patting his hand comfortingly whilst steering her impressionable son away from their hostess and the romantic looking Lettice and Selwyn. “That’s not a good thing either. You know Sadie doesn’t like being told anything she doesn’t want to hear. Now let’s go home, assuming the old pile hasn’t fallen in on itself out of sheer exhaustion in our absence.”
The pair slowly walk away, taking deliberate steps around the perimeter of the slowly emptying dance floor, nodding goodnight to acquaintances and friends.
*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The gilt Louis Quatorze chair and sofa, and the gilt swan pedestals and round table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The savoury petite fours on the gilt white porcelain plate 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. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, Beluga caviar and salmon and cucumber. The two glasses of sparkling champagne are made of real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The silver champagne bucket is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. 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 floral arrangements in urns on top of the pedestals consist of pink roses, white asters and white Queen Anne’s Lace. Both are unmarked, but were made by an American miniature artisan and their pieces have incredible attention to detail.
The Palladian console table (one of a pair) to the right of the photo, with its 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 gilt blue and white vase on the console table comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. It is filled with a mixture of roses made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. A second vase of roses to match is in the immediate foreground to the left of the photo. The candelabras hanging on the wall also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House.
All the paintings around the Glynes ballroom in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and the wallpaper of the ballroom antechamber is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.
The marquetry floor of the room is in fact a wooden chessboard. The chessboard was made by my Grandfather, a skilful and creative man in 1952. Two chess sets, a draughts set and three chess boards made by my Grandfather were bequeathed to me as part of his estate when he died a few years ago.
MINIMAL - Tuscan Room Set @collabor88
- Bed PG&ADULT
- ConsoleTable
- Plants
- SideTable
- Rug
- Room
- Fatpack available
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 have headed north-west from Cavendish Mews, across Marylebone, past Regent’s Park, the London Zoo and Lords Cricket Ground to the affluent and leafy residential streets of nearby St. John’s Wood. It is here that Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie friends Minnie Palmerston and her husband Charles reside in a neatly painted two storey early Victorian townhouse on Acacia Road that formerly belonged to Charles Palmerston’s maternal grandparents, Lord and Lady Arundel. Lettice has been commissioned to redecorate their dining room, after Minnie decided to have a go at it herself with disastrous results.
The day is bright and sunny as the weather starts to turn to warmer weather, and the street is quiet with only the footsteps of perambulating neighbours enjoying the good weather and occasional bark of a dog, which blend with the distant rumble of traffic from busy Finchley Road in the distance as Lettice strides across the road and walks up the eight steps that lead up to Minnie’s black painted front door. She depresses the doorbell which echoes through the long hallway inside and waits. Moments later, there is the sound of unhurried footsteps in the hallway that echo with authority as they approach.
The door is opened by a tall middle-aged woman wearing the blue and white striped print dress that is the morning uniform of many women in service around the upper-class houses of London. She wears a crisp white apron over the high buttoned frock, and her pale and slightly bony face framed by dark wavy hair appears from beneath a stiffly starched and goffered morning maid’s cap.
“Good morning, Madam.” the maid says in an Irish brogue, her face changing dramatically as she smiles down at Lettice.
Given the unfortunate nickname ‘Monstrous Minnie’ by Lettice’s old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy and of her Embassy Club coterie, Minnie has the propensity to have fits of histrionics, often ending in her yelling, crying, or both. Such outbursts, often directed towards her maids for the smallest infraction or irritation, make Minnie a far from attractive employer, in spite of the higher-than-average wages that she pays. Since she and Charles moved in to St John’s Wood around twelve months ago, she has been through nine maids within the first seven of those. Lettice is pleased to see Siobhan still answering the front door after five months, and still smiling.
“Good morning Siobhan.” Lettice answers with a sigh of relief, releasing the breath she has been holding ever since she climbed the stairs to the townhouse. Lettice is never quite sure what she will be faced with, or whom, when she visits the Palmerstons. “How are you?”
“Oh, one mustn’t grumble, Madam. Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Lettice says as she steps over the threshold and into the townhouse’s vestibule. “Is your mistress at home?”
“Yes,” Siobhan says with a certain weariness and resignation as she helps Lettice out of her fox fur stole and her favourite powder blue coat and hangs the up on the heavy Victorian coatrack.
“That doesn’t sound promising, Siobhan.” Lettice says cautiously.
Minnie hired Siobhan because she thought that as she was Irish, she would be used to high spirits and histrionics, and from all that Lettice has gathered from her friend since the new maid started, it seems she was right. Siobhan has taken no offence to any outburst from her mistress, and to her credit, has even pulled her mistress into line a few times, which only a woman sure of herself and her beliefs could do without risking dismissal and a poor reference.
“Oh no. She’s fine, Madam.” the Irish maid elucidates with a sigh. “But she’s been like a naughty child around a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve ever since your men arrived two days ago with the new dining room furnishings.”
“Oh.” Lettice mutters, trying to remain serious at the maid’s complaint, but unable to hide the smile of mirth that turns up the corner of her mouth.
“I can’t keep her out of there for love nor money, Madam.”
At that moment their conversation is interrupted by an excited scream.
“Lettice! Lettice darling! Is that you?” echoes Minnie’s voice loudly from upstairs.
“See what I mean.” Siobhan mutters.
With a thump of excited footsteps, Minnie appears on the landing wrapped in a blue jacquard kimono of polychromatic silk with an embroidered collar and cuffs. Taking in her friend’s appearance, Lettice presumes she is halfway through getting dressed for an outing, for she has a soft green frock on beneath the robe, which hangs open, but her feet are still clad in vibrant pink satin mules with marabou feather trim.
“I knew it was you!” Minnie exclaims and she hurtles down the stairs with thudding footsteps and the next moment Lettice is enveloped in an embrace of blue, red and green satin which smells faintly of a mixture of Habinita* and cigarettes. Looking up into her excited face, Lettice can see that Minnie’s eye makeup is only half done. “How are you, Lettice darling?”
Lettice feels Minnie’s whispery kiss on her cheek as she is released from her friend’s enthusiastic embrace. “I’m very well thank you, Minnie darling. And you seem very excited.”
“Oh I am, darling! I am positively in raptures over the things that have been arriving with your men to redecorate my dining room with.”
“Told you.” mutters Siobhan with a knowing look to Lettice.
As if by her speaking, Minnie suddenly becomes aware of her maid’s presence, she says, “Haven’t you got some dusting or airing to do, Siobhan?”
“Yes, Madam.” The Irish maid replies with her eyebrows arching over her dark brown glittering eyes, before bobbing a curtsey and walking off down the hallway towards the rear of the house.
“She seems to be fitting in well.” Lettice nods after the retreating back of the domestic, smiling cheekily.
“Oh yes!” Minnie sighs. “Although she has more backbone than the maids I’m used to. Still, I have to confess that if she’s willing to put up with me, I should be able to tolerate her backbone.” She follows Lettice’s gaze.
The pair watch the maid disappear through a door at the far end of the corridor.
“Come on then!” Minnie slaps Lettice on the back before quickly winding her right arm around Lettice’s shoulder, placing her left hand on her collarbone and guiding her through the maze of overstuffed cream satin settees, nests of occasional tables and potted palms of the Edwardian drawing room and towards the dining room door. “Now, the servants are at your disposal for the day whilst you are here. Cook will serve luncheon when you want in the breakfast room. Just be a dear and tell her when you want to eat by sending a message to her via Siobhan.” Minnie flings open the door to the dining room dramatically and gasps. “Here we are then!”
The dining room is completely transformed. Gone is the old fashioned and rather staid Edwardian furnishings of Lady Arundel’s time, and perhaps more importantly, gone is the busy and bold wallpaper of red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns that Minnie had had hung which had completely dominated the room. In its place, a luxurious metallic red dioxide paper embossed with flowers and leaves from Jeffrey and Company** hangs, giving the room a richness and intimacy. More importantly it doesn’t overpower the modernist paintings chosen by Charles to hang in the dining room, which sit unceremoniously placed on the fireplace mantle and on a black japanned console where Lettice’s men placed them. Two tall modern stands, the only two pieces, besides the paintings, from the room’s previous decoration, stand to one side of the tiled Art Deco gas fireplace. The rest of the room is populated with a jumble of sleek and stylish black japanned modern furnishings and lidded wooden crates of decorative items. The chairs set to go in the dining room are high backed to go with the proportions of the room, which has a high ceiling. They have been upholstered in a bold geometric pattern of red and gold, which compliments their black frames and the stylised wallpaper.
“You know,” Minnie says, releasing Lettice and stepping alongside the wall where she runs her hands over the lightly embossed pattern in the wall hangings. “I really wasn’t convinced by your choice of red dioxide, Lettice darling, even after we’d been to the Portland Gallery.” She caresses a large flower and several leaves lovingly. “I really did want gold. But now that I’ve seen it hung, I realise you were exactly right.” She looks at Lettice who sighs with satisfaction in response to Minnie’s admission. “Of course you were right, darling! Gold in here would have overpowered the paintings and the furnishings.”
“I did tell you, Minnie.” Lettice replies as she looks around the room.
“At least I did listen to you.” Minnie defends.
“It felt a bit more like coercion.”
“Well, you were right in the end Lettice. I just love this paper! It gives the room a cosy warmth, yet grandeur at the same time.”
“And it doesn’t feel like something out of Maida Vale***?” Lettice asks, referencing Minnie’s husband, Charles’, observation after she had it hung, that Minnie’s choice of bold wallpaper with its red poppies against a black background with green and white geometric patterns made the room feel like something from a gauche middle-class villa.
“Oh absolutely not, Lettice darling!” Minnie assures her friend. “Charles says it’s wonderful, and he will be more than happy to entertain in here.” Minnie looks around at the furniture, crates and artworks with a cursory glance. “Although I do think all this beauty will be wasted on those boring partners from the bank and their equally boring wives. All they care about is money, money, money,” She places a hand dramatically to her forehead and looks direly at Lettice. “Which leaves no breathing space for the art and beauty that feeds sensitive souls like you and I, Lettice darling.”
Lettice cannot help but giggle at her friend’s dramatic pose, covering her mouth with her hands as she does. “Oh Minnie!”
“Oh Minnie is right!” Charles’ pale and youthful face, clean shaven and topped with strawberry blonde hair pokes through the doorway leading from the hallway. He looks remarkably younger than his twenty eight years, appearing more like a boy of sixteen, with facial hair so pale that it is barely discernible against his peaches and cream skin. Stepping into the room he marches the few steps over to his wife and swipes her hand away from the wall. “I told you,” he scolds, not unkindly, but still with a little irritation. “Stop touching the wallpaper, or you’ll mark it.” He turns to Lettice. “Hullo Lettice darling.”
“Hullo Charles, darling!” Lettice replies, accepting an affectionate whispery kiss from her friend. “How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you and knowing that we’ll have a fully functional dining room by the end of the day. She,” He emphasises as he indicates with a flick of his thin eyebrows and a roll of his glittering blue eyes to his wife. “Has been like a jack-in-the box ever since your men came to deliver the furnishings. Every time I can’t find her where I expect her to be, I find her in here, toying.”
“So I heard from Siobhan,” Lettice remarks. “And so I see!” she adds, noting for the first time that several of the crates have had their lids prised open: the statues purchased at the Portland Gallery on Bond Street a few weeks ago lying exposed in their beds of white tissue paper or freed from them as they perch on the edge of the wooden boxes they came in.
“That’s not fair, Charles!” Minnie protests. “I was not toying!” She folds her arms akimbo, the kimono sleeves cascading prettily about her elbows. “I was… I was… communing with my new statues. After all, we’ve paid for them, so why shouldn’t I?”
“I’ve paid for them.” Charles corrects, once again not unpleasantly as he looks lovingly at his wife.
“Oh Minnie!” Lettice exclaims with exasperation. “Really! You couldn’t leave them alone for a few days.”
“Oh she’s like a kitten with a catnip mouse.” Charles laughs. “This project is her new toy, and she spends every waking hour she can in here. I told her though, that we can’t get you to redecorate the drawing room for a few months yet.”
“I wasn’t aware I was going to.” Lettice replies with a little bit of alarm.
“Well, I hadn’t actually gotten around to asking you yet,” Minnie pouts, glaring at her husband. “Thank you, Charles.”
“Never mind.” Charles answers her. “Now,” he adds as he looks his wife up and down critically. “Is this really how you greet our guest: dressed in a wrapper and slippers, Minnie?”
“Lettice isn’t a guest, Charles. She’s our friend. And as such, she’s seen us both in a far worse state than this. Don’t you remember the night Priscilla dared us to go swimming in the St James’s Park duck pond after we’d been at the Embassy until three?”
Charles shudders at the memory of dragging he and his wife from the murky depths of the lake one early morning in May, both of them drunk, drenched and draped in pond weeds, his shoes squelching and both of them shivering as the exhilaration of doing something forbidden loses its lustre as the alcoholic fug and bravado that comes with being tight**** wears off. “That Priscilla is a menace. Thank god she’s in Philadelphia, wreaking her own brand of mayhem there instead. I’m sure Georgie had no idea who he was truly marrying!” He shudders again. “Anyway, it doesn’t signify. Shouldn’t you be getting back upstairs and finish getting ready? We need to go soon.”
“I did want to stay, Lettice darling.” Minnie glowers. “But Charles contrived a visit to his parents for luncheon, whom I might just add, happen to be nicely out of town and down in Surrey, so we’ll be gone all day.”
“I told you, Lettice doesn’t need you scrutinising the placement of every item as she unpacks it, Minnie. You’ll be far more help to Lettice by keeping out of her way and coming with me for luncheon.” He looks beseechingly to Lettice to support his statement.
“It is true,” Lettice admits, speaking with a consoling tone. “That I prefer to work alone when I set up a room, Minnie darling. It will be easier if you come home and see my vision complete, and then you can see what it’s like and we can make any adjustments you want.”
“See, my poppet.” Charles goes up to his wife and drapes his arm around her and pulls her into his chest. “It really will be better if you’re in Surrey for the day. Besides, Mummy and Daddy are so looing forward to seeing you.”
“Oh!” Minnie concedes, her eyes cast to the dining room ceiling, blinking hard so as not to cry and make the makeup around her left eye not run. “I suppose you’re right. Although,” she adds. “I do think you are both beastly for ganging up on me and forcing me out of my own home.”
“Ahh-ahh!” Charles says, running his right hand lovingly over her right forearm. “No histrionics now, my sweet. You know this is best for everyone. Now, go on. Chop-chop! Go and finish getting ready, or we won’t get there in time for luncheon.”
Charles pushes he wife out the door that leads out into the hallway.
“Just ask Siobhan for anything you need, won’t you Lettice?”
“Of course,” Lettice assures him. “Oh, and thank you, Charles.” She casts her eye over Charles shoulder to where she last saw Minnie.
He winks and closes the door quietly behind him.
Lettice sighs and turns back to look at all the furnishings placed in a higgledy-piggledy way throughout the room. She walks up to two of the opened wooden crates stacked atop one another and grasps a statue of a woman in a dramatic pose with her back arched, one arm up and one arm down. She smiles and laughs quietly to herself as she cradles it in her hands. It seems apt to have chosen such a conspicuously posed statue for such a dramatic and vibrant personality as Minnie.
“See I told you,” Siobhan opens the third door of the dining room situated to the left of the fireplace which leads into what had been Lord Arundel’s smoking room. She nods and tuts knowingly. “Like a naughty child she is, dancing round the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, anxious for her presents!”
“Indeed,” Lettice muses, but choosing not to say anything more in deference to her friend.
“And what time should I tell Cook that Madam will be expecting luncheon?”
*Molinard Habanita was launched in 1921. Molinard say that Habanita was the first women’s fragrance to strongly feature vetiver as an ingredient – something hitherto reserved for men, commenting that ‘Habanita’s innovative style was eagerly embraced by the garçonnes – France’s flappers – and soon became Molinard’s runaway success and an icon in the history of French perfume.’ Originally conceived as a scent for cigarettes – inserted via glass rods or to sprinkle from a sachet – women had begun sprinkling themselves with it instead, and Molinard eventually released it as a personal fragrance.
**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.
***Although today quite an affluent suburb of London, in 1922 when this scene is set, Maida Vale was more of an up-and-coming middle-class area owing to its proximity to the more up market St John’s Wood to its west. It has many late Victorian and Edwardian blocks of mansion flats. Charles’ remark that he felt like he was in a Maida Vale dining room was not meant to be taken as a compliment considering they live in St John’s Wood.
****To get tight is an old fashioned term used to describe getting drunk.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On the lower of the two boxes is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925. The tall statue standing on the edge of the upper box is also made by Warwick Miniatures and was hand painted by me.
The three wooden crates boxes came from The Doll’s House Suppliers in the United Kingdom. Edwardian times were the heyday of advertising, so it was not unusual to see popular household brands labels emblazoned on the side of buildings and even boxes.
The black japanned high backed chairs with their stylised Art Deco fabric upholstery came from a seller on E-Bay. The black japanned console was made by Town Hall Miniatures. The tall stand on which the ginger jar stands was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The three prong Art Deco style candelabra in the console is an artisan piece made of sterling silver. Although unsigned, the piece was made in England by an unknown artist.
The paintings around the room are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States.
The Streamline Moderne pottery tile fireplace surround and the Art Deco green electric fireplace I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
The stylised metallic red dioxide floral wallpaper was paper given to me by a friend who encouraged me to use it in my miniature tableaux.
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.
Two of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie of bright young things are getting married: Dickie Channon, eldest surviving son of the Marquess of Taunton, and Margot de Virre, only daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Lucie de Virre. Lettice is hosting an exclusive buffet supper party in their honour this evening, which is turning out to be one of the events of the 1921 London Season. Over the last few days, Lettice’s flat has been in upheaval as Edith. Lettice’s maid, and Lettice’s charwoman* Mrs. Boothby have been cleaning the flat thoroughly in preparation for the occasion. Earlier today with the help of a few hired men they moved some of the furnishings in Lettice’s drawing room into the spare bedroom to make space for the hired dance band and for the guests to dance and mingle. Edith’s preserve of the kitchen has been overrun by delivery men, florists and caterers. Yet it has finally all fallen into place perfectly just as a red and white striped marquee is erected by Gunter and Company** over the entrance and the pavement outside.
Now we find ourselves in Lettice’s dining room, which has become the focal point for half the party guests as her dining table is given over to a magnificent buffet created by Harrods catering, whilst Dickie stands at one corner, thoroughly enjoying playing the part of barman as he makes cocktails for all his friends.
Lettice sighs with satisfaction as she looks around the drawing room and dining room of her flat. Both rooms have a golden glow about them created by a mixture of electric light and candlelight and the fug of cigarette smoke. The rooms are populated with London society’s glittering young people, nicknamed “bright young things” by the newspapers. Men in white tie and tails with a smattering of daring souls wearing dinner jackets chatter animatedly and dance with ladies in beautifully coloured evening gowns with loose bodices, sashes and irregular and handkerchief hems. Jewels wink at throats, on fingers, dangling from ears and in carefully coiffed and finger waved hair, illuminated by the brilliant lighting. Bugle beads glitter as gowns gently wash about the figures of their wearers as they move. Everywhere gay chatter about the Season and the upcoming wedding of Margot and Dickie fills the air, the joyous sound mixing with the lively jazz quartet who play syncopated tunes lustily in a corner of Lettice’s drawing room.
“Dubonnet and gin?” Dickie asks Lettice as she stands by the buffet and picks up a biscuit lightly smeared with salmon mousse.
“Oh you are a brick, Dickie!” Lettice enthuses, popping the dainty morsel into her mouth. Accepting the reddish gold cocktail from him she adds, “But really, this is your party. You should be out there, socialising with Margot, not standing here making cocktails for everyone.”
“Why should I bother going out there to socialise,” he waves his hand across the crowded room to the edge of the makeshift dancefloor where his fiancée stands in a beautiful ankle length silver georgette gown studded in silver sequins, surrounded by a small clutch of equally elegant young guests. “When they all have to come to me for drinks.”
“Ahhh,” Lettice titters as she sips her cocktail. “So there is method in your madness, Dickie.”
“Isn’t there always, Lettice?” he laughs. “Now, you are technically hostess of this bash. Go out there and dazzle everyone.” Then he stops and adds, “Well, not quite everyone.” And he blows a kiss to his fiancée whose eye he has caught from across the crowded room.
“Alright Dickie,” Lettice laughs and she saunters off into the crowd, pausing to smile and say hullo and accept the compliments of her many guests.
Suddenly she spots a beautiful woman in a pale pink beaded gown with dark finger waved hair framing her peaches and cream complexion standing docilely by the dancefloor watching the stream of passing couples dancing past in each other’s arms. She seems distant and remote, even a little sad, and far removed from the frenetic energy and jolly bonhomie about her. Excusing herself from the couple who are addressing her, Lettice slips over to her.
“Hullo Elizabeth***!” Lettice embraces her warmly. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come along tonight considering everything that’s happened.”
“I wasn’t sure myself, Lettice.” Elizabeth replies, a warm smile revealing a slightly crooked set of teeth. “But I couldn’t let Dickie and Margot down.” Then she adds quickly as an afterthought, “Or you, darling Lettice.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come. How are you feeling?”
“A little battered and bruised emotionally.” Elizabeth admits with a lilt of sadness. “But one mustn’t complain.”
“I still don’t understand why you said no to his marriage proposal. I thought you loved Bertie****.”
“I did.” Elizabeth remarks before correcting herself. “I do! But I’m afraid that if I said yes to him, I’d never, never again be able to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to. Besides,” she adds conspiratorially, glancing about her before continuing. “His mother terrifies me.”
“She terrifies all of us,” Lettice laughs lighty as she waves her hand gaily about the room. “Now, what you need to pick you up and forget your heartache is one of these.” She points to the glass in her hand.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asks, eyeing Lettice’s glass and sniffing its contents with suspicion.
“A Dubonnet and gin. Dickie will make you one. Go and ask him.” Lettice grasps Elizabeth by the shoulder and sends her toddling across to Dickie as he stands behind a line of bottles and a beautiful arrangement of roses.
“Lettice!” Margot suddenly calls from across the room, beckoning her over enthusiastically. “Lettice, darling!”
Squeezing between small clusters of well-dressed guests drinking and eating or leaving the dance floor, Lettice makes her way over to her friend.
“Hullo Margot, darling! Are you having a fabulous time?”
“Fabulous isn’t enough of a word to describe it, darling!” she replies with eyes shimmering with excitement and joy. “Such a thrilling bash! I can’t thank you enough!”
“Yes Lettice,” a deep male voice adds from behind her. “You certainly do know how to throw a party!”
“Lord de Virre!” Lettice exclaims, spinning around. “Oh! I didn’t know you’d arrived. Now, who can I introduce you to?”
“No-one my dear. My beautiful daughter has been doing an ample job of introducing me to so many people that already this old man cannot remember who is whom.”
“Never old!” Lettice scolds, hitting his arm playfully as she curls her own through the crook in his. “Then if I can’t introduce to anyone, perhaps I can entreat you into eating something.”
“Now that I won’t refuse, Lettice.”
Lettice and Margot guide Lord de Virre across the crowded dining room to the buffet table weighed down with delicious savoury petit fours, vol-au-vents, caviar, dips, cheese and pâte and pasties. Glasses full, partially drained and empty are scattered amidst the silver trays and china plates.
“Champagne, Sir?” Dickie calls out.
“Good show Dickie!” laughs Lord de Virre over the noise of the party. “Playing barman tonight, are we?”
“It’s the best role to play at a party, Sir.” He passes Lord de Virre a flute of sparkling champagne poured from the bottle wedged into a silver ice bucket.
Behind him Lettice spies Elizabeth with a Dubonnet and gin in her glove clad hand. Lettice catches her eye and discreetly raises her glass, which Elizabeth returns with a gentle smile.
“Now Lettice, darling,” Margot enthuses as she selects a dainty petit four. “Daddy has just reminded me of an idea we had a few weeks ago, which I meant to ask you about, but between all Gerald’s dress fittings and other arrangements for the wedding,” She flaps her hand about, the diamonds in her engagement ring sparkling in the light. “Well, I completely forgot.”
Lettice tries not to smile as she feels the gentlest of squeezes from Lord de Virre’s arm and remembers the conversation that she and he had some weeks ago in his study. “What is it?” She glances between Margot and her father, pretending not to know what is coming.
“Well, Daddy suggested… I mean… I was wondering…”
“Yes, Margot darling?”
“Well, you know how the Marquess is giving us that house in Cornwall?”
“Yes! Chi an… an…?”
“Chi an Treth!” Dickie calls out helpfully.
“Yes!” Margot concurs. “Beach House! Well, it hasn’t been lived in for ever such a long time, and it’s a bit old fashioned. Daddy is kindly organising for it to be electrified, re-plumbed and have it connected to the Penzance telephone exchange for us.” Margot pauses. “And… well he and… we… that is to say that I thought…”
“Yes?” Lettice coaxes with lowered lids as she takes a gentle sip of her Dubonnet and gin.
“Well, we… Dickie and I that is… well we rather hoped that you might consider fixing up a couple of rooms for us. Would you? I would just so dearly love a room or two decorated by you! Dickie even thinks that his father can pull some strings and get you an article in Country Life if you do?”
“Oh Margot!” Lettice exclaims, releasing her grip on Lord de Virre and depositing her glass on the table she flings her arms about her friend’s neck. “I’d love to!”
Lettice suddenly feels a gentle poking of fingers into the small of her back. Letting go of Margot, she stands back and looks at her, remembering the lines Lord de Virre asked her to come up with and rehearse upon agreeing to Margot’s request.
“Of course, I can’t do it straight away, you understand. You know I’m currently mid-way through Miss Ward’s flat in Pimlico.”
“Oh that’s alright,” Margot beams. “The modernisation isn’t finished yet, so we won’t even be going down there to inspect the place until after our honeymoon.”
Lettice feels Lord de Virre’s prodding in her back again.
“And I won’t do it for free, Margot. I have already given you a wedding gift. I’m a businesswoman now.”
“Oh, well that’s just the thing,” Margot exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. “Daddy has kindly agreed to pay for it all.”
Lettice looks up at Lord de Virre. He looks back at her seriously, but she can see a smile tweaking the edges of his mouth, trying to create a cheeky smile. She tries to keep up the pretence that she didn’t already know that Margot was going to ask her to redecorate for her and Dickie as she says, “Really Lord de Virre? All of it? That’s very generous of you.”
“Not a bit of it, Lettice. This is a good, sound business transaction. You may send your quotes to me for consideration,” He ennunciates the last word carefully to stress its importance, more for Margot’s sake than Lettice’s. “Once you have seen the rooms as they are now.”
“Thank you Lord de Virre,” Lettice replies. “Well Margot, I suppose that settles it then!”
“Oh Dickie!” Margot exclaims, scuttling over to her fiancée. “She said yes!”
“Who did, darling?” Dickie asks as he adds crème de menthe to colour his Fallen Angel cocktail a pale green.
“What do you mean, who?” Margot hits his arm jokingly as she sways excitedly from side to side. “Lettice of course!” She looks back over to her friend standing alongside her father. “She’s agreed to decorate for us.”
“Oh, jolly good show!” Dickie smiles. “Thanks awfully Lettice, darling! Now you’re the brick!”
“Always Dickie!” Lettice laughs back.
“Listen Dickie!” Margot gasps. “The band is playing ‘Dancing Time’*****! Come away from the bar and dance with me.”
“You’d best not refuse her, my boy!” teases Lord de Virre. “It’s madness if you try. I never could!”
The happily engaged couple hurry across the room, hand in hand, slipping between clusters of guests before disappearing into the crowd on the dancefloor as the music from the band soars above the burble of the crowd and the clink of glasses.
“So, we finally have an official arrangement, Miss Chetwynd?” Lord de Virre says discreetly as he raises his glass towards Lettice.
“I think we do, Lord de Virre.” Lettice smiles and clinks her glass with his as they toast their arrangement formally. “Your offer is simply too good to refuse.”
*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.
**Gunter and Company were London caterers and ball furnishers with shops in Berkley Square, Sloane Street, Lowndes Street and New Bond Street. They began as Gunter’s Tea Shop at 7 and 8 Berley Square 1757 where it remained until 1956 as the business grew and opened different premises. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Gunter's became a fashionable light eatery in Mayfair, notable for its ices and sorbets. Gunter's was considered to be the wedding cake makers du jour and in 1889, made the bride cake for the marriage of Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, Princess Louise of Wales. Even after the tea shop finally closed, the catering business carried on until the mid 1970s.
***Elizabeth Bowes Lyon as she was known in 1921 went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to"
****Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
*****’Dancing Time’ was a popular song in Britain in 1921 with words by George Grossmith Jr. and music by Jerome Kern.
This rather splendid buffet of delicious savoury treats might look real to you, but in fact the whole scene is made up on 1:12 scale miniatures from my miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
On Lettice’s black japanned dining table delicious canapés are ready to be consumed by party guests. The plate of sandwiches, the silver tray of biscuits and the bowls of dips, most of the savoury petite fours on the silver tray furthest from the camera and the silver tray of Cornish pasties were 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 cheese selection on the tray closest to the camera were made by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as are the empty champagne glasses all of which are made of hand blown glass. The bowl of caviar was made by Karen Lady Bug Miniatures in England.
The tray that the caviar is sitting on and the champagne bucket are made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. 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. Several of the other bottles of mixers in the foreground are also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin, the bottle of Crème de Menthe, Cinzano, Campari and Martini are also 1:12 artisan miniatures, made of real glass, and came from a specialist stockist in Sydney. Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin. Crème de menthe (French for "mint cream") is a sweet, mint-flavored alcoholic beverage. Crème de menthe is an ingredient in several cocktails popular in the 1920s, such as the Grasshopper and the Stinger. It is also served as a digestif. Cinzano vermouths date back to 1757 and the Turin herbal shop of two brothers, Giovanni Giacomo and Carlo Stefano Cinzano, who created a new "vermouth rosso" (red vermouth) using "aromatic plants from the Italian Alps in a recipe which is still secret to this day. Campari is an Italian alcoholic liqueur, considered an apéritif. It is obtained from the infusion of herbs and fruit (including chinotto and cascarilla) in alcohol and water. It is a bitters, characterised by its dark red colour.
The vase of red roses on the dining table and the vase of yellow lilies on the Art Deco console are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium. Also on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The pair of candelabra at either end of the sideboard are sterling silver artisan miniatures from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in England. The silver drinks set, 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 and the Art Deco cocktail cabinet (the edge of which just visible on the far right-hand side of the photo) which were made by J.B.M. Miniatures.
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.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Tonight however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home as her parents host their first Hunt Ball since 1914. Lady Sadie has been completely consumed over the last month by the planning and preparation of the occasion, determined that not only will it be the event of the 1922 county season, but also that it will be a successful entrée for her youngest daughter, still single at twenty-one years of age, to meet a number of eligible and marriageable men. Letters and invitations have flown from Lady Sadie’s bonheur de jour* to the families of eligible bachelors, some perhaps a little too old to be considered before the war, achieving more than modest success. Whilst Lettice enjoys dancing, parties and balls, she is less enthusiastic about the idea of the ball being used as a marriage market than her parents are.
The fancy dress Hunt Ball is now in full swing. The band hired by the Viscount plays waltzes, foxtrots, and polkas, as well as a smattering of novelty dances like the Grizzly Bear and the Bunny Hug to amuse the younger set of party-goers. Their sound carries over the general hubbub of voices chattering punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. The Georgian style ballroom of Glynes with its golden yellow wallpaper and gilt Louis Quatorze furnishings is alive with colour and movement as pirates dance with nursery rhyme dames, maharajas foxtrot with princesses and clowns waltz with ladies in Georgian dress. Around the perimeter of the ballroom’s parquet dance floor, guest mill about, sharing county and London gossip, or admire and remark on the fancy dress attired couples taking to the floor. In their midst, Lettice, dressed as Cinderella in an Eighteenth Century gown and pomaded wig, dances, or rather tries to dance, a foxtrot with eligible bachelor and heir to several large estates, Jonty Hastings.
“Oh, do push off Howley, there’s a good chap!” Gerald says rudely as he tries to cut in and sweep Lettice away from Jonty’s rather stiff and awkward arms. “I don’t think Lettice’s feet can survive any more of your hopeless, uncoordinated trotting.”
“Don’t call me that, Gerald,” Jonty replies rather wetly, his face taking on the appearance of a petulant child as it reddens in embarrassment. “I’ve not been called that for years, thankfully, after you christened me with that awful nickname. You always were the mean one.” He glances at Lettice who is holding Gerald’s gaze imploringly. “Except to your favourites, of course.”
“I’m sorry Howley,” Gerald continues, deliberately ignoring Jonty’s request not to use the nickname given him. “But you can’t seriously expect me to stand back and watch you try unsuccessfully to sweep the most eligible and beautiful girl in the place into your arms. It’s simply too preposterous for words. Try one of the Miss Evanses instead.” Gerald nods in the direction of the two elderly spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in Glynes village. “They seem to be more to your standards, and they aren’t as picky as Lettice is.”
As Jonty pauses to look in the direction of the two elderly women, one dressed as Little Bo-Peep and the other as Miss Muffett, both looking like macabre versions of their nursery rhyme characters, Gerald seizes his chance and cuts firmly in, casting Jonty aside with an adept movement and sweeping Lettice quickly away.
“Oh you really are awful, Gerald!” Lettice says with a serious look, gazing at her friend dressed in a Tudor courtier’s outfit made from the brocades and laces left over from his clients’ commissioned frocks.
“Well, I’m the second son of an insignificant and impoverished family, so it’s my prerogative to despise someone like Howley Howling Hastings with all his wealth and good connections.”
“I don’t think it suits you to be so cruel, Gerald. You may not have Jonty’s family bank vault, but you have grace, charm and handsomeness that he doesn’t possess, and I think that makes you about even. Poor Jonty.”
“What?” Gerald replies. “Would you rather I left you with him, Lettice?”
“Well, no.“ Lettice admits with a downwards glance as her cheeks fill with an embarrassed flush.
“Exactly! We can’t have our Cinderella of the ball being monopolised by such a wet blanket as Howley! You’ll never marry him anyway.”
“I think Mater would like it if I did.” Lettice admits. “By your own admission, he’s very wealthy, and very eligible.”
“So is Nicholas Ayers,” Gerald counters. “In fact, he’s richer, but you aren’t going to marry him. I think if he has his way, he won’t marry anyone, and I stand a far better chance with him than you do. Doesn’t your mother know he is a lost cause?”
“No, she doesn’t,” she cautions Gerald. “And you mustn’t tell her, Gerald. She’d be horrified, parading him before me if she knew. Thinking of my mother, where is she?” Lettice asks, glancing around at the sweeping couples that glide about them.
Gerald cranes his neck to try and see over the top of the sea of bobbing wigs, turbans, pirate hats and clown cones. “She’s over there,” He glances with concern at Lettice.
“What is it Gerald?”
“She’s talking with Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, no doubt about you. Lucky I’ve saved you, my dear! Now, just follow my lead.”
And with that, Gerald begins to move Lettice around the floor, away from the watchful eyes of her mother and other party guests to the door leading out into the antechamber adjoining the ballroom. As they reach the edge of the floor, Gerald sweeps Lettice out, bows and offers her his arm as he escorts her off the floor and through the doors of the antechamber.
“Come. I think you’re in need of refreshments, Cinderella,” Gerald says with a smile. “After all your exertions on the dancefloor.”
Gerald escorts Lettice through the guests milling about in the antechamber, the pair smiling and imparting passing greetings with nods to friends and acquaintances they meet along the way.
“Where are you taking me?” Lettice asks.
Gerald doesn’t answer her, until finally they walk out into the great Adam style hall of Glynes. The sound of chatter from the room behind them takes on a ghostly air, as do the refrains of the band as they strike up a waltz.
“Oh dear. I should be dancing this with Nicholas Ayres.” Lettice remarks.
“Oh pooh, Nicholas!” Gerald scoffs. “He’ll be as grateful to be off the hook as you are, darling. Here!” He stops before one of the gilt Palladian console tables that flank the entrance to the ballroom antechamber and indicates to its surface next to an ostentatious floral arrangement of soft pink hot house roses, white asters and frothy Queen Anne’s lace. “I managed to steal a few petit-fours from the buffet being set up in the dining room, and get u a fresh glass of champagne each.” He picks up a glass of bubbling golden liquid and passes it to Lettice. “Cin cin, darling!”
“Oh Gerald!” Lettice gasps, happily accepting the glass which she clinks with his. “How did you manage to do it?”
“Well, as you said so yourself just moments ago, I have grace, charm and handsomeness: traits that come in useful from time to time.”
“How?”
“There was a rather gullible girl I remember from the village who is helping the caterers set up the dining room table. She was happy to fetch a couple of little deadlies for the young man from the Big House, especially when I begged and cast her a mock look of sadness and misty eyes.”
“Oh, you are wicked, Gerald. You do know how to make an evening more pleasurable.”
Gerald smiles proudly, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“I do hope you’re happy with the selection. I managed to get a caviar, a lettuce and egg and a tuna and cucumber.” He glances down at the gilt edged white plate on the console table’s surface standing next to a porcelain figurine of a girl playing a lute.
“Rather!” Lettice concurs, removing her right glove and taking up the caviar petit-four. She sighs as she takes a small bite from it. “Oh! I was so busy dancing with eligible bachelor after eligible bachelor that I hadn’t noticed how hungry I was.” She smiles and takes another bite and then a third, consuming the whole thing.
“Pleased to be of service, my lady!” Gerald makes a sweeping bow before her.
“You know I could get into terrible trouble being out here with you, you know.” Lettice giggles, taking another sip of cool champagne.
“How so?” Gerald asks. “You know you are perfectly safe with me.”
“Oh it’s not that. Mamma gave me a stern talking to before the commencement of this evening’s ceremonies. She warned me that your acerbic tongue is a bad influence on me.”
“Acerbic tongue?” Gerald cries, looking aghast, albeit not seriously, at Lettice. “Moi? Acerbic! The nerve of her saying that!”
“And she told me that it would be a waste of my time an energy spending time with you, when you are so frightfully unsuitable, being the spare, rather than the heir.”
“Not to mention my family’s somewhat questionable finances.”
“Well, “ Lettice blushes, casting her eyes down to the face of the statue of the lute player. “She did mention that too.”
“Did she also mention I’d rather take off with Leslie than you?” Gerald asks her in a whisper. When Lettice shakes her head, he sighs and then continues in a slightly higher volume, yet still not much more than a whisper. “Well at least some things about my life still remain private. I suppose our money troubles were bound to reach Lady Sadie’s ears at some stage. I just hope she doesn’t mention it to Mamma.”
“Surely if your father is in financial difficulties, your mother would know about it, Gerald.”
“I don’t think so. He has always done his best to protect Mamma from having to worry about such things. When she mentions going up to London for the Season, or buying a new hat, he always manages to placate her with some story or other. So, as far as I’m aware, she has no idea and lives in blissful ignorance.”
Suddenly, the door leading from the driveway clatters open and a gentleman in a long cloak and top hat appears in silhouette against the lights overhead. With all the guests having arrived some time before, the front door is no longer manned by the Chetwynd’s first footman, Marsden, who is now occupied with serving champagne in the ballroom, so the gentleman opens the glass vestibule door himself and walks in unannounced into the hall, which is empty except for a few couples trying to find a moment of privacy in the shadow of a pillar and Lettice and Gerald enjoying a few minutes of elicit peace.
“I say, can I help you?” Lettice asks, placing her glass on the marble tabletop and walking across the hall.
“Oh I say,” the gentleman remarks in a clipped, well-bred voice as he removes his cloak and shakes it out noisily. “I am sorry. I’m awfully late. Can you point me in the direction of one of…” He stops abruptly as he gazes down at Lettice’s face looking up at him.
“One of?” Lettice asks, looking up expectantly into a pair of rather striking deep brown eyes.
“Goodness! Can it?” the stranger stammers. “No! No, it… no it can’t be! Can it?”
Lettice continues to look up in bewilderment at the man as he now removes his hat, revealing a head of neatly coiffed brown hair that frames his handsome face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to finish your sentence if you wish me to help you, sir.” she remarks prettily.
“I’m so sorry,” the stranger apologises again. “But are you the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd by any chance?”
Lettice shakes her head slightly in disbelief, her eyes squinting. “Yes, yes I am. Have we met, sir?”
“Oh not for many years. The last time I saw you was at Queen Charlotte’s Ball** in 1919, but I haven’t actually spoken to you since we were about six, yet I’d know your face anywhere.”
“Not since we were six?” Lettice giggles, her laugh echoing about the mostly deserted entrance hall. “You have a good memory for faces if you remember mine so well. Who are you?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to recognise me, dear Lettice, but I’m Selwyn: Selwyn Spencely.”
Lettice’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Good heavens! Selwyn!” Lettice laughs loudly. “I say, how do you do!”
“I’m sorry I’m so unconscionably late!” Selwyn apologises again. “My mother has been unwell with a rather nasty cold. I was reading to her, and I tarried later with her than I perhaps should have. I just wanted to be sure she had dozed off before I left.”
“That’s quite alright, Selwyn.” Lettice continues to look up in surprise to Selwyn’s patrician face. “The last time I can remember seeing you was when we were around six and you were covered in hedgerow mud, being pulled away by your mother into a waiting carriage.”
“Yes,” chuckled Selwyn. “I remember that occasion well. She was furious!”
“I remember thinking it was at odds to her name, being a beautiful flower. Violet isn’t it?”
“Zinnia, actually.”
“Oh yes! Lady Zinnia!” Lettice giggles self-consciously. Then, looking down she notices her newest guest’s hands are full. “Oh here, let me take your cape and hat, Selwyn.” She reaches out and takes them from him. “I’ll find Bromley or another servant to take them away.”
A gentle, yet deliberate clearing of his throat alerts both Selwyn and Lettice, who had forgotten all about him momentarily, to Gerald’s presence behind them, lolling against the console table. “Hullo Selwyn.” he greets the newcomer crisply.
“Gerald! How do you do, old chap!” Selwyn smiles over at Gerald.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Lettice remarks.
“Oh yes,” Selwyn replies jovially. “Gerald and I are members of the same club. Aren’t we Gerald? I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“Well, I’ve been too busy to spend much time at the club lately.” Gerald excuses himself offhandedly.
“Ahh.” Selwyn acknowledges non-committally, yet with an air of knowing something unspoken as he cocks an eyebrow. “Frocks, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes!” Lettice enthuses. “He’s made my wardrobe for more stylish and modish, haven’t you Gerald?”
Gerald blushes at the compliment, but says nothing.
“Well, come along Selwyn,” Lettice says with delight as she hooks her arm into his. “Let’s go find Mamma and Pappa. They’ll be pleased to see you here, even if your mother couldn’t be here.”
“Shall I take those?” Gerald asks helpfully, reaching out for Selwyn’s cape, hat and gloves. “You can’t very well go back into the ballroom holding them.”
“Oh would you, Gerald?” Lettice exclaims. “Oh that would be a wonderful help.”
“I’m practically a member of the family, so I’ll have no difficulty finding Bramley.” He takes the items in his hands. “Now, you two run along.” He flaps his hands at them. “Shoo.”
The pair give Gerald appreciative smiles, and then walk off slowly, arm in arm, back into the ballroom antechamber, Lettice’s giggling and their quite chatting quickly enveloped into the general burble of voices.
Gerald looks back at the two unfinished glasses of champagne and the canapes and sighs, suddenly acutely aware of how empty the cavernous hallway is without his beloved friend.
*A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.
**The Queen Charlotte's Ball is an annual British debutante ball. The ball was founded in 1780 by George III as a birthday celebration in honour of his wife, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, for whom the ball is named. The Queen Charlotte's Ball originally served as a fundraiser for the Queen Charlotte's and Chelsea Hospital. The annual ball continued after Queen Charlotte's death in 1818, but was criticised by the British Royal Family in the 1950s and 1960s and folded in 1976. It was revived in the Twenty First Century by Jenny Hallam-Peel, a former debutante, who shifted its focus from entering high society to teaching business skills, networking, and etiquette, and fundraising for charities. Debutantes being presented curtsey to a large birthday cake in honour of Queen Charlotte.
This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The floral arrangement in urn on top of the console table consists of pink roses, white asters and white Queen Anne’s Lace. Although unmarked, it was made by an American miniature artisan with incredible attention to detail. The Seventeenth Century musical statue of the lady playing a lute to the right of the flower arrangement was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It was hand painted by me. The floral arrangement and the statue are both one of a pair.
The savoury petite fours on the gilt white porcelain plate 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. Each petit four is only five millimetres in diameter and between five and eight millimetres in height! The selection includes egg and lettuce, Beluga caviar and salmon and cucumber. The two glasses of sparkling champagne are made of real glass and were made by Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Palladian console table on which the items stand is one of a pair. With their golden caryatids and marble tops, they were 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 gilt Louis Quatorze chairs and the gilt swan pedestals in the background are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
All the paintings around the Glynes ballroom antechamber in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and the wallpaper of the ballroom antechamber is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper from the 1770s.
The marquetry floor of the room is in fact a wooden chessboard. The chessboard was made by my Grandfather, a skilful and creative man in 1952. Two chess sets, a draughts set and three chess boards made by my Grandfather were bequeathed to me as part of his estate when he died a few years ago.
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.
Friends of Lettice and Gerald, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has instructed Lettice to dispose of some of the darker historical pieces of furniture from the house and replace them with newer, lighter pieces. This idea rather upset Lettice, who has a very strong sense of history. Fortunately, Gerald came up with the idea that she can repaint and re-purpose a few pieces, thus satisfying Margot’s desires for lighter and newer pieces, whilst also keeping the history of furnishings intact within ‘Chi an Treth’.
It is evening and Lettice is standing on a white drop sheet, considering a Regency demilune table* that she has painted creamy white before her. Whilst she contemplates, 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, is draped languidly across one of her Art Deco tub arm chairs with a half drunk glass of champagne in one hand and a half finished jacket of fetching navy blue and white lying across his lap as he carefully stitches red piping along the Peter Pan collar**. Not uncommonly the two keep each other company as they work. For Lettice, it is companionable time spent with her dear friend, and for Gerald, whose finances are somewhat straitened, it saves him money using Lettice’s electricity and dining, quite literally, on her largesse.
“You know it won’t paint itself Lettuce Leaf.” remarks Gerald as he looks up from his work, pulling up a long red thread between his fingers.
“Don’t call me that Gerald!” Lettice quips at her friend. “We aren’t children anymore. You know I don’t like it.”
“I’ll stop calling you Lettuce Leaf when you start to paint that table, rather than prevaricating and procrastinating.”
“Do you promise, Gerald?” Lettice asks, looking back at her friend over her shoulder.
“No,” Gerald admits as she begins to stitch again. “Of course I don’t.” He pauses and looks up at Lettice again. “But you have to paint that table, come what may. Margot has agreed that you could re-purpose any pieces of furniture from ‘Chi an Treth’ that you like.”
“Oh I don’t know, Gerald.” Lettice groans in reply as she runs her hand over the smooth pearlescent white surface. “What if I’ve made a mistake and just ruined a perfectly beautiful piece of furniture with some white house paint.”
“Nonsense, darling girl!” he scoffs in reply. “You’ll only ruin it, if you don’t paint it.”
“I wish you’d never talked me into the idea of hand painting Margot’s furniture, Gerald.”
“I’m beginning to wish the same myself,” Gerald mutters in reply as he observes his friend surrounded by her paints and palette gripped by stifling indecision.
The sight of his best friend biting her left thumbnail distractedly as she gazes painfully at the table fills Gerald with a mixture of pity and resolve. He roughly stabs his needle into a piece of completed piping on the collar, sighs and puts the jacket aside on the black japanned coffee table between his chair and Lettice’s usual seat. With a groan, he manoeuvres himself in his seat until he is in a position where he can get up easily from it. He meanders around the table and over to Lettice where he drapes an arm around her shoulder comfortingly. She leans into him and places her head against his collarbone.
“I don’t know why you are being such a silly goose and doubting yourself, Lettuce Leaf.” His remark is rewarded with a flapping sulky slap to his left hand as it hangs loosely by his side. He steps away slightly, dropping his arm from around her and grasps her upper arms with his hands. Crouching slightly so he can catch her downward glance beneath Lettice’s fringe he continues, “You have so much talent. You know you do. Look at all the fine interiors you have done so far. You convinced Mrs. Hatchett not to have floral chintz wallpaper.”
“Pity I couldn’t convince her not to have her soft furnishings upholstered in the stuff.” Lettice counters poutily.
“You gave Wanetta Ward a flat that every moving picture star either side of the Atlantic Ocean would kill to have.”
Lettice allows the briefest of smiles to grace her lips.
Gerald smiles and continues softly, “That’s your artistry at work. You know you have the skill. Even if you didn’t, you have your Aunt Eglantine and I telling you how bursting with artistic strength you are. Faint heart and all that, eh?” He glances over at the untouched table.
“Oh, very well Gerald. I’ll do it!”
“That’s my Lettuce Leaf!” Gerald sighs proudly as he embraces her. “Now, show me the design again.”
She picks up a piece of paper, slightly worried at the edges by constant fingering, and hands it to her friend.
“So you see,” she points. “I have a central footed urn from which I have snaking acanthus leaves sprouting to either side. It harks back to Regency designs.”
“But against a pale background, and with a lighter touch, it will suit Margot’s more modern tastes, whilst at the same time being truthful to ‘Chi an Treth’s’ origins.” Gerald says with a knowing look.
“Exactly.” Lettice sighs.
“Well then!” Gerald says matter-of-factly, holding the sheet back out to her. “Best get on with it!”
Whilst her friend wanders back to his perch on her Art Deco tub chair and takes up his sewing, Lettice starts to mix her oil paints. She squeezes a worm of base yellow from a silver tube, before uncapping a deep red. She adds a touch of it to the yellow and smiles with satisfaction as she darkens it. Taking up her tube of blue, she squeezes it onto her palette and carefully adds it a little at a time to the yellow to darken and desaturate it. Satisfied with her shade of ochre, she takes up a thick brush, dabs it in the paint and carefully starts to paint the central footed urn with definite strokes.
Sensing movement in the periphery of his vision, Gerald glances up momentarily to see his friend bent over the table, her palette locked through her crooked left thumb, her right arm moving in sweeping gestures as she starts to paint the tendrils of acanthus. He smiles triumphantly to himself, but allows himself no more celebration until the task is complete, and returns to his own work, remaining silent as he allows Lettice’s artistry to work its magic.
Lettice picks up a tube of russet paint, squeezing a small amount onto her paint covered palette. Discarding the tube on the floor, where its thud is deadened by the drop sheet, she grasps her tube of ebony and dabs the smallest amount next to the russet, before gently mixing a little of the black into the red, deepening it. She sets aside her thicker brush, depositing it into a Victorian jug containing linseed oil and takes up a smaller brush which she uses to make a pattern around the top and down the front of the urn. The droplets look like rubies imbedded in the golden ochre of the pot. Squeezing some white onto her palette, she adds some of the black she hasn’t used to it and mixes up a pale grey.
Unaware that she is being discreetly observed from across the room by her friend, Lettice picks up her tube of ultramarine, she pushes out a small pool of shiny blue paint and carefully mixes it, little by little with the grey until she has a bluish dove grey. Taking up her finer brush again, she paints sinewy strokes between the ochre tendrils to which she then adds more stylised acanthus leaves.
Finally, with a sigh, Lettice discards her bush onto her paint palette. It lands with a clatter against three others she has been using. “There!” she says with a satisfied huff.
“Done, darling?” Gerald asks casually, without looking up from his careful stitching of the red piping around the white collar of the jacket, carefully containing his excitement and apprehension.
“I think so.” Lettice says with a lilt of relief in her voice.
“May I see it, then?”
“Of course, Gerald!” Lettice exclaims. “I want you to be the very first to see it!”
Gerald swivels himself again, and carefully putting the jacket aside, he walks over to where Lettice stands, and he shuffles alongside her. The pair stand in silence for a short while, the Art Deco clock ticking on the mantlepiece the only noise emanating throughout the room.
“Well?” Lettice asks pensively, her hand raising to her lips. “What do you think?”
For a moment Gerald can’t answer. Arching his eyebrow over his left eye he shakes his head slightly and says with a proud smile turning up the corners of his mouth, “I think it’s beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Really, darling,” he responds almost in a whisper of awe. “And, I think Margot is going to love it.”
*Co-opting the French word for “half moon,” the demilune table is an accent table featuring an elegant, rounded front and a flat back. A demilune's flat back allows it to sit flush against a wall, making it a striking substitution for a standard console table or credenza.
**A Peter Pan collar is a style of clothing collar, flat in design with rounded corners. It is named after the collar of Maude Adams's costume in her 1905 role as Peter Pan, although similar styles had been worn before this date. Peter Pan collars were particularly fashionable during the 1920s and 1930s.
For anyone who follows my photostream, you will know that I collect and photograph 1:12 size miniatures, so although it may not necessarily look like it, but this artistic scene is in fact made up of 1:12 size artisan miniatures from my collection, including pieces from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The Georgian style demilune table, central to our story is an artisan miniature from Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Painted white and then aged, it has been hand painted with a Georgian style design on its surface.
The Limoges style jug, paints, paint brushes and paint palette on the table and footstool were all acquired from Melody Jane Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. To the left of the photograph is a Chippendale cabinet which has been hand decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks. To the right of the photograph you can see a chair made of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs down the arms of the chair. The chair set has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven.
The Chinese folding screen in the background I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
In front of the screen on a pedestal table stands a miniature cloisonné vase from the early Twentieth Century which I also bought when I was a child. It came from a curios shop. Cloisonné is an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects. In recent centuries, vitreous enamel has been used, and inlays of cut gemstones, glass and other materials were also used during older periods. The resulting objects can also be called cloisonné. The decoration is formed by first adding compartments (cloisons in French) to the metal object by soldering or affixing silver or gold wires or thin strips placed on their edges. These remain visible in the finished piece, separating the different compartments of the enamel or inlays, which are often of several colours. Cloisonné enamel objects are worked on with enamel powder made into a paste, which then needs to be fired in a kiln. The Japanese produced large quantities from the mid Nineteenth Century, of very high technical quality cloisonné. In Japan cloisonné enamels are known as shippō-yaki (七宝焼). Early centres of cloisonné were Nagoya during the Owari Domain. Companies of renown were the Ando Cloisonné Company. Later centres of renown were Edo and Kyoto. In Kyoto Namikawa became one of the leading companies of Japanese cloisonné.
The drop sheet to protect Lettice’s Mayfair drawing room floor is really the corner of an ordinary bed sheet.
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 in Lettice’s chic, dining room, which stands adjunct to her equally stylish drawing room. She has decorated it in a restrained Art Deco style with a smattering of antique pieces. It is also a place where she has showcased some prized pieces from the Portman Gallery in Soho including paintings, her silver drinks set and her beloved statue of the ‘Modern Woman’ who presides over the proceedings from the sideboard.
“Luncheon is served, Miss.” Edith, Lettice’s maid, announces in a brave voice, disguising her nerves cooking for Lettice’s father the Sixth Viscount of Wrexham as she drops a respectful curtsey on the threshold between the dining room and the drawing room.
“What’s that?” Viscount Wrexham pipes as he sits up in the Art Deco tub chair by the fire that he has been comfortably installed in for the last hour and a half.
“Luncheon, Pappa.” Lettice replies. “Thank you, Edith.”
“Yes Miss.” Edith replies. She bobs another quick curtsey and wastes no time scurrying back through the green baize door into the relative safety of the kitchen.
“Shall we go through, Pappa?” Lettice asks with a happy smile and an indicating gesture.
The Viscount and his daughter stand up and stroll into the dining room, leaving their empty aperitif glasses on the low coffee table. Lettice takes her place as hostess at the head of the table, whilst her father takes his place to her left.
“What’s this?” the Viscount burbles discontentedly as he looks across the black japanned Art Deco table.
“It looks like luncheon to me, Pappa.” Lettice replies sweetly, aware that her answer will irritate her father. “Edith’s roast chicken. How delicious.”
“I can see that Lettice.” Viscount Wrexham growls. “Don’t be obtuse!”
“Then be more specific, Pappa.”
“To be more specific. Why did that lazy girl just leave it in the middle of the table. Girl! Girl!” he bellows towards the door. “Come here, girl!”
“Pappa!” Lettice exclaims.
Edith hurries back through the door with a harried look on her face. “Yes, Your Lordship?” She makes a quick bob curtsey and gazes down at her fingers folded neatly in front of her.
The Viscount glares firstly at her, then turns silently to glare at the food causing offence on the table.
“Thank you Edith,” Lettice says apologetically in a soothing tone. “His Lordship was mistaken. You may return to your duties.”
“What? I…” the older man splutters, turning his offended gaze to his daughter.
“Pappa.” Lettice places her elegant hand with its manicured nails over her father’s bigger hand and waits until Edith has slipped back through the green baize door like a shadow. “Papa. You’re in London now, not in Wiltshire: in my flat, not in Glynes*. This is luncheon, à la London. And in London, in my flat, we serve ourselves luncheon on informal occasions. Would you carve?” She proffers the carving cutlery to her disgruntled father.
“Well, I suppose someone must, since you see fit to deprive us of a butler,” he mutters.
“Pappa, look around you. I live in a flat, not a mansion. I don’t need a butler. Edith does very well as a cook and maid-of-all-work. And I’d like to keep her, so please stop terrorising her by bellowing at her.”
“What about for a dinner party! Don’t tell me you insult your guests as you do your poor Father by forcing them to serve themselves. You’ll never have a single client if you do.”
“No Pappa,” Lettice sighs in an exasperated fashion. “Edith can wait table as good as any butler.”
“Ptah! What nonsense! A girl waiting table. It’s like the war all over again.”
“Or,” Lettice speaks over her father forcefully to prevent a tirade coming from his lips. “If needs be, I hire extra staff from a domestic agency in Westminster Mamma put me in touch with. It’s the same agency she uses when you both come up to London from Glynes.” She spoons some boiled vegetables onto her plate next to the piece of roast chicken her father placed on it. “Thinking of which, it was lovely of Mamma to send up some orange roses from Glynes.”
“Yes, your Mother has done particularly well with the roses in the greenhouses at Glynes this year. They have protected the blooms from the Wiltshire cold and provided a profusion of flowers.”
“They are beautiful.” Lettice smiles as she looks at the fiery orange blooms in the tall cut crystal vase on the table before her.
“Well, your Mother and I both agree that this London flat of yours, like so much of London, lacks colour. It’s all black and white, just like those Bioscopes** you young people so adore.”
“Nonsense Pappa! My flat has lots of colour. Just look at the art on my walls.”
“Finger paintings!” he snorts derisively as he takes a bite of his chicken. “Your Mother and I agree about that too. Not to mention,” the Viscount pauses, deposits his cutlery onto his plate and turns in his seat to look behind him at the statue of the bronze woman reclining, yet gazing straight at him with a steely gaze. “Ahem.”
“It’s called modern art, Pappa. And she is divine: the embodiment of the New Woman in bronze. Anyway, thankfully my clients happen to like my choice of ‘finger paintings’ and modern sculpture from the Portland Gallery.”
“Aah, yes well,” the Viscount clears his throat and dabs the edges of his mouth with his blue linen napkin. “Thinking of clients. That brings me to the purpose of my visit.”
“Of course. There has to be a reason beyond visiting your beloved youngest daughter just to see to her welfare.”
“Now, don’t be like that Lettice.” He wags a finger admonishingly at her. “Many is the time I’ve come up to town just to have the pleasure of your company over luncheon at Claridge’s. No. No, your Mother, heard from… a friend, ahem.” The older man clears his throat awkwardly. “That you designed some interiors for the wife of that banker, Hatchett: the chorus girl.”
Lettice purposefully lowers her fork. Picking up her glass of red wine she replies, “I did Pappa. What of it?”
“Oh Lettice! Your poor mother and I were hoping that it was just a rumour.”
“Well why shouldn’t I design interiors for her? I’m an interior designer and she needed some rooms redesigning.”
“Lettice! You know perfectly well why. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. You aren’t a child anymore. You know your position in society. Be an interior designer by all means, but at least stick to your own class and be a society interior designer, my dear.”
“That doesn’t pay the bills, Pappa.”
The Viscount looks askance at his daughter. “For shame, Lettice!”
“Pappa, I’m a businesswoman now. I must talk about money. At least the Hatchett’s paid for my services.”
“You’re of age now Lettice, and I pay you a damn good allowance that should more than cover your expenses, and maybe even extend to getting a decent butler rather than a maid. Frocks, even the ones you like, can’t be that costly, surely.”
“Pappa, it’s not so much about the money. It’s about the success of my business. I want to do something with my life. I can’t be a successful interior designer if I provide my services at no fee. I’d be a sham!”
“Well what about that cousin of your Mother’s in Fitzroy Square? Cousin Gwendolyn wasn’t it?”
“Pappa, the Duchess of Whitby still hasn’t paid me a third of what she owes for the redesign of her small reception room. I’ve sent her two reminders which she has politely ignored. She is never at home when I visit, and she is evasive to say the least over the telephone.”
“Oh.” the Viscount looks down at his plate. “Well… well, I’ll talk to your Mother about talking to Gwendolyn about that.”
“It would be even better if you did Pappa.” Lettice raises her glass of claret. “She is more inclined to listen to you, as head of the Chetwynd household.”
“Oh, very well Lettice.” he sighs and clinks glasses with his daughter.
“Thank you Pappa!” She leans over and pecks her father on the cheek, sending a flush of colour across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “You are a brick!”
The two continue to eat their luncheon from Lettice’s gilt blue and white Royal Doulton dinner set in an avant garde Art Deco pattern. For a short while the companionable silence is only broken by the sound of cutlery against crockery.
“Your Mother is right. I never could say no to you, Lettice.”
“You have to have a favourite Pappa.” Lettice smiles happily. “Why shouldn’t it be me?”
“It should be Leslie, as my son and heir.”
“Oh, he’s Mamma’s favourite.” Lettice flaps the remark away with a flick of her left hand. “We all know that. We’ve always known that.”
“Well Lettice, as I said before. Just remember your position in society. Your Mother and I, we’re prepared to tolerate your wish to dabble in this business folly of yours before you settle down and get married, but please be a society interior designer and design for your own class. Be discerning with your choice of clients. Hmmm?” He smiles hopefully at his daughter.
“We’ll see Pappa.” Lettice replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she sips her glass of claret.
*Glynes is the home of the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire.
** The Bioscope is an early term for what became by the mid 1920s a motion-picture theatre or cinema. The Bioscope was a hand-driven projector with a low-watt bulb placed behind the reel. Originally a Bioscope show was a music hall and fairground attraction. Mary Pickford was the original Bioscope Girl, so named because of the Bioscope films she starred in during the Great War and early 1920s.
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 tableaux include:
The roast chicken, tureens of vegetables and the gravy boat of gravy on the table all came from an English stockist of 1:12 artisan miniatures whom I found on E-Bay. They all look almost good enough to eat. The 1:12 artisan bottle of Pinot Noir is made from glass and the winery on the label is a real winery in France. The bottle was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The wine and water glasses, carafe of water and the vase are all 1:12 artisan miniatures too, made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The vase is especially fine. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with lattices of fine threads of glass to give it a faceted Art Deco look. The orange roses in the vase were also hand made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The Art Deco dinner set is part of a much larger set I acquired from a dollhouse suppliers in Shanghai.
In the background on the console table stand some of Lettice’s precious artisan purchases from the Portland Gallery in Soho. The pair of candelabra at either end of the sideboard are sterling silver artisan miniatures from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in England. The silver drinks set, 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, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. ‘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 and the Art Deco cocktail cabinet (the edge of which just visible on the far right-hand side of the photo) which were 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.
Hello Minimal´s!
This is our new exclusive release coming soon at Collabor88!
MINIMAL - Boho Glam Decor Set
Separated in 6 different packs:
Backdrop,Rug,BedPG&ADULT,SideTable,ConsoleTable,Plant
Fatpack option available.
Hope you all like <333!
Taxi : ↪ collabor88
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Inworld Group - Gifts every month! “MINIMALGroup”
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Barcelona chairs by Knoll; Noguchi coffee table by Herman Miller.
Fort Lee, New Jersey residence designed by Peter Pawlak; photo from www.peterpawlak.com.
When it comes to creating new dioramas and props, the thing I make best . . . is a mess. :-)
For some reason, a majority of the settings I have ever done have all been this size. In fact, I just keep re-using this photo corner over and over and over. (But that's what I designed it to do.) I create a setting, photograph it, take it apart, then start again with a completely blank canvas when I'm feeling inspired.
The bad thing about working with such a small backdrop (12" x 12") is that there isn't much visual or physical space to photograph a doll in, so you have to choose your props very carefully. The good thing is, it forces you to get creative with the way you take your photos. Small spaces are also (usually) quicker and easier to decorate, and for someone like me who starts getting bored with a setting before I've even finished it, that's a good thing.
This is a 2014 Fashionistas Barbie (CLN68) wearing the complete ensemble from a boxed Sparkle Girlz doll called 'Rainy Day'. I repainted the originally translucent hot pink umbrella to black and white. The original doll came with a cartoonish, white and grey French Poodle wearing it's own red raincoat and a red bow, but I like this pooch more.
The foyer of Julie Anne Quay’s Manhattan apartment, which was decorated by her longtime friend and designer Richard Mishaan. Walls are painted Drab by Farrow & Ball. Her yellow labs William and Henry relax on mid-century chairs; the sculpture is by Chuck Price, the photographs are by Slim Aarons, and the painting is by Julian Opie.
Photo by William Waldron, Elle Decor, Sept. 2009.
Love what's going on here, courtesy of the fabulous Nathan Turner. He designed the space as part of the Greystone Mansion Showhouse in Beverly Hills, sponsored by Veranda magazine in Nov. 2008.
Turner mixed antiques from his shop with pieces from his Elite Leather furniture collection. The 'Blanchard' ottoman shown here is his design, from Elite Leather.
Photo by Miguel Flores-Vianna, from Turner's website: nathanturner.com.
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
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.
This evening, we have not strayed far from Cavendish Mews and are still in Mayfair, but due to a constant barrage of rain, Lettice has chosen to take a taxi, hailed for her by her maid Edith from the nearby square, to Bond Street where the premises of the Portland Gallery stand. Tonight, Lettice has been invited to the exclusive opening night of the Portland Gallery’s autumn show: a very special occasion indeed, with attendance only offered to an exclusive group of artists, patrons of the arts and special customers, like Lettice to view the very latest finds by the gallery owner, Mr. Chilvers. The gallery has been closed for the last fortnight with its thick velvet curtains drawn, excluding the inquisitive eyes and goggling glances of the foot traffic walking up and down Bond Street. As the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Lettice peers through the partially fogged up and raindrop spattered window at the impressive three storey Victorian building with Portland stone facings, which is where the gallery takes its name from. The ground floor part of the façade has been modernised in more recent times, and its magnificent plate glass windows are illuminated by brilliant light from within as guests wander about, admiring the objets d’art artfully presented in them.
“That’ll be four and six, mum.” the taxi driver says through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage as he leans back in his seat. Stretching his arm across the seat he tips his cap in deference to the well dressed lady swathed in arctic fox furs wearing a beaded bandeau across her stylishly coiffured blonde hair in the black leather back seat.
After paying the taxi fare, Lettice opens the door and unfurls a rather lovely Nile green umbrella that closely matches the fabric of her frock beneath her fur coat and alights onto the wet pavement outside. She elegantly walks the few paces over to the full-length plate-glass doors on which the Portland Gallery’s name is written in elegant gilt font along with the words ‘by appointment only’ printed underneath in the same hand. The door is opened by a liveried footman who welcomes her by name to the gallery, accepting her invitation as she steps across the threshold. “Good evening. Welcome to the Portland Gallery’s autumn show, Miss Chetwynd.” He bows as he indicates for her to step inside the crowded gallery.
“May I take your fur, madam?” a second liveried footman asks politely, holding up his white glove clad hands at her shoulder height, ready to accept her fox as she shucks out of it elegantly, revealing the gold sequin spangled panels running down the front of her drop waisted frock. He then takes her umbrella and carefully hangs both inside a discreet coat cupboard nearby.
As the door closes behind her, the quiet London street outside is forgotten as Lettice is swept up into the electrifying atmosphere of the Portland Gallery’s latest show of new and avant-garde art. The burble of vociferous, excited chatter fills her ears. Her eyes flit around the red painted gallery hung with paintings and populated with tables, cabinets and pillars upon which stand different sculptures and other artistic pieces. Everywhere the cream of London’s artistic and bohemian set and wealthy members of the upper classes mill about in small clutches remarking on the works around her. As she smiles and waves a black elbow length glove clan hand at an acquaintance from the Embassy Club, she knows it won’t be long before she sees her Aunt Eglantyne, an artist of some note in her own right, amid the bright and colourful crowd of guests, no doubt arrayed in a Delphos gown* of a dazzling shade with a cascade of precious jewels tumbling down her front and a turban adorned with a spray of jewels and an aigrette** enveloping her red hennaed hair. She sniffs the air, which is filled with a fug of different perfumes and cigarette smoke to see if she can catch a whiff of the exotic scent of her aunt’s Balkan Black Russian Sobranies***. Grasping a coupe of glittering champagne from a silver tray carried around by a maid dressed in typical black moiré with an ornamental lace apron with matching cuffs and headdress, Lettice takes a deep breath and steps into the fray.
She smiles and pauses to chat with friends and acquaintances she knows through her well-connected aunt or her own associations as she slowly works her way around the room, admiring the artworks. She wends her way through the assembled guests, smiling occasionally to some and waving to others. She stops to speak to art critic P. G. Konody****, laughing lightly as he dismisses a Post-Impressionist painting they stand before as “unintelligible” before she excuses herself and moves on. She sees her aunt, dressed just as she imagined, in animated conversation with a diminutive woman with bobbed hair and waves to her, her indication acknowledged by a smile of recognition and a gaze that implies that she will catch up with Lettice once she extricates herself from her current conversation. Moving on, Lettice brushes against artist Frank Brangwyn*****. When he turns, she stops and asks with interest about his latest biblical etchings and how he feels they will be received by critics such as Mr. Konody. Wending her way still further through the meandering gathering of guests, she stops again and converses with New Zealand artist Frances Hodgkins****** about her explorations into painting fabric designs. “My Aunt Eglantyne is also looking at creating in fabric, Miss Hodkins, but she is looking more at weaving after being inspired by the native carpets she saw on a trip to South America.” Lettice remarks. “She has even bought herself a large loom that she has had installed at her studio.”
“Ahh, Miss Chetwynd! There you are!” comes a male voice, cutting through the hubbub of chatter with its well enunciated syllables.
“Mr. Chilvers!” Lettice greets a smartly dressed man with a warm smile and the familiarity of the regular client that she is. “How do you do.”
Born Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde in the Russian seaside resort town of Odessa, the patrician gallery owner with his beautifully manicured and curled handlebar moustache fled Russia after the Revolution, escaping aboard the battleship HMS Marlborough******* from Yalta in 1919 along with the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family. Arriving in London later that year after going via Constantinople and Genoa, the Russian emigree was far more fortunate than others around him on the London docks, possessing valuable jewels smuggled out of Russia in the lining of his coat. Changing his name to the more palatable Peter Chilvers, he sold most of the jewels he had, shunned his Russian heritage, and honed his English accent and manners, to reinvent himself as the very British owner of an art gallery in Bond Street, thus enabling him to continue what he enjoyed most about being Grand Duke Pytor Chikvilazde and participate in the thriving arts scene in his new homeland.
“How do you do, Miss Chetwynd. What a pleasure to have you at my little gallery’s autumn showing, even if autumn is yet to arrive.” He takes up her hand and kisses it, perhaps one of the few Russian – and definitely not British – traits he still has.
“Well, I think with the rain outside and the cooling temperatures, it feels much more autumnal to me out there, so I think your autumn showing is well timed, Mr. Chilvers.”
“I hope then, Miss Chetwynd, that you are enjoying the sparkling champagne, the glittering company.” He nods in Miss Hodgkins’ direction, acknowledging her. “And the art, of course.”
“Of course, Mr. Chilvers.” Lettice replies with a smile, flattered by his attentions.
“Now, if I can extract you from the charms of Miss Hodgkins’ company, Miss Chetwynd, there is something in particular in my latest show that I should like to draw you attention to.”
Lettice and Mr. Chilvers excuse themselves from Miss Hodgkins’ presence and slowly wend their way through the milling clusters of party attendees, many turning heads, craning their necks or glancing surreptitiously and with a little jealousy at Mr. Chilvers to see which guest in particular has his undivided attention. The pair stop on the black and white marble floor before one if the gallery’s fireplaces,
“Is that?” Lettice begins as she stares up at the striking painting hanging above the mantle lined with pottery and glass.
“A Picasso?” Mr. Chilvers chortles with smug delight, rather like a child who has just won a game, completing Lettice’s unfinished question. “Yes, it is.”
Lettice admires the bold colours and energetic strokes of thickly layered paint on the canvas. Angular lines pick out the faces and torsos of two figures. Eyes, noses, hands, two thin lines making up a mouth. Fragmented, distorted and distracted the image radiates intimacy as much as it does boldness: a hand resting on a shoulder, the pair of figures’ heads drawn closely together, both with eyes downcast.
“It’s called, ‘Lovers’.” Mr. Chilvers goes on. “It’s part of his latest Cubist******** pieces.”
“It’s remarkable!” Lettice breathes with awe.
“I knew you’d like it, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Chilvers purrs. “Well, I’ll just leave you to contemplate Mr. Picasso’s new work, Miss Chetwynd. Come and find me if you’d like ‘Lovers’.” He smiles at Lettice’s transfixed face before silently gilding away and rejoining a nearby group of his guests where he begins chatting animatedly.
Lettice is still staring up at the intricacies of the brushwork in the painting when she hears her name being called by another male voice. “Lettice!” Turning her head away from the artwork she finds Sir John Nettleford-Hughes at her right shoulder.
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.
“Sir John!” Lettice gasps.
“Now, now!” he chides her. “Come Lettice. We are friends now, are we not?”
“Indeed we are.”
“Then enough of this ‘Sir John’ business. John will be quite satisfactory.”
Lettice laughs with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, John, but old habits and all that, don’t you know?” He smiles indulgently at her. Lettice blushes under his gaze as she goes on, “I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here this evening.”
“No?” he toys.
“No, I didn’t think a modernist exhibition like this would appeal to you, John. I’ve always assumed you to be more of a classical art appreciator.”
Sir John sighs a little tiredly. “Well, it’s true, I am a more classically inclined when it comes to art appreciation. I’ve just been taking to Ethel Walker********* over there about a portrait she has exhibited here, and I can’t say I particularly like it, much less abstractions like this.” He indicates to the Picasso above the fireplace. “Which looks unintelligible to me.”
Lettice laughs. “You sound like dear Mr. Konody over there.” She indicates to the art critic, now in conversation with two society matrons dripping in diamond and pearls over a clutch of pottery pieces by Bernard Leach**********. Turning back to the painting above the fireplace, Lettice continues, “So if you don’t like this style of art, then it begs the question, what are you doing here, John?”
“That’s easy, Lettice: Carter money.”
“Carter money?” Lettice queries.
This time it is Sir John who chuckles as he looks upon Lettice’s non comprehension with amusement. “I’m here with Priscilla.” he elucidates.
“Cilla?” Lettice queries again, at the mention of her Embassy Club coterie friend, now married to wealthy American Georgie Carter.
“Yes. Her husband’s department store money has opened the doors of the Portland Gallery to her, but whilst he is happy to foot the bill for anything that takes her fancy this evening, Georgie has cried off accompanying Priscila this evening after conveniently coming down with a sudden head cold, which I am no doubt sure will evaporate by breakfast tomorrow. So, as the honourary token uncle, I’m stepping in as chaperone for the evening.”
“Oh poor John.” Lettice puts a hand up to her mouth to obscure her smile and muffle the mirth in her voice.
“Oh I wouldn’t say it’s all that bad.” Sir John replies. “Whilst the art brings me little enjoyment, I do have the pleasure of your company as a result of Mr. Chilver’s little show. And,” He lifts his coupe of bubbling champagne. “The man does have fine taste in champagne.”
“Indeed.” Lettice agrees, raising her glass to Sir John’s where they clink together.
The pair walk together away from the Picasso painting and move towards the clutch of pieces by Bernard Leech. Lettice glances back over her shoulder at the painting one final time.
“Now, whilst this pottery isn’t my cup of tea either,” Sir John remarks, indicating to the brown glazed pottery jugs decorated with naïve images of animals and plants. ‘At least I know what they are.”
Lettice laughs. “Well, that’s a start, John. Cilla and I will make a modern art appreciator of you yet.”
“Don’t even try, Lettice.” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “Now, thinking of pottery, I am sure you will do a splendid job at Arkwright Bury. Adelina will adore the room you redecorate for her, and I know how excited Alisdair is about it. he’s told me that it will look quite marvellous! Thank you for taking it on.”
“Oh no, thank you for suggesting it to me at Gossington. Your nephew and Mrs. Grifford are delightful people.”
“I knew you’d like them, Lettice. And I believe Alisdair’s godfather, Henry Tipping************ will write another favourable article about you in Country Life************.”
“Apparently so, so long as Mrs. Gifford likes the room and keeps it.”
“I’m sure she will, Lettice. I just hope theis little job of decorating Adelina’s blue and white china room will be a good distraction for you.”
Lettice sighs heavily. “It will be, John. I’ve been throwing myself into my interior design work, so as not to think about Selwyn’s absence.”
“So, have you heard anything from young Spencely since he’s been banished to Durban, Lettice?” Sir John asks.
“No, I haven’t.” Lettice sighs heavily again.
“That’s a pity, but I’m hardly surprised. Based upon what you told me about the bargain he struck with his mother, I wouldn’t imagine he’d dare.”
“Have you heard anything from him at all, John?”
“Me? Why should I have heard anything?”
“Well, it’s just,” Lettice tries to keep the hopeful lilt out of her voice as she speaks. “You mentioned him, is all. I thought that perhaps you might have heard from him.”
“We don’t really move in the same circles, Lettice. Don’t forget that I’m a bit older than you two. I’m more inclined to be a contemporary of Zinnia,” Sir John continues, referencing Selwyn’s mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, by name. Seeing Lettice’s eyes suddenly grow wide he quickly adds, “Not that I am friends with her, I assure you Lettice. She’s a venomous viper, as you know, and I’ve every wish to avoid being in her orbit. And,” he adds. “I’m certainly not one of her spies, if you are at all concerned, Lettice.”
Lettice releases a pent up breath caught in her throat in a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to hear it, John. After the revelation that Lady Zinnia knew about Selwyn and I, long before we even attempted to draw attention to our relationship, I’m not sure who to trust.”
“Well, I did try to warn you at Priscilla’s wedding, Lettice.”
“I know you did, John.” Lettice concedes, glancing down into her half empty glass. “I just didn’t want to listen.”
“Who ever wants to listen to advice they don’t want to hear, my dear?”
“No-one, I suppose.”
“Have patience, Lettice. I may not be friends with Zinnia, but I know enough about her, not to cross her, so don’t be too hard on young Spencely for doing the same, and keep your faith. If I know anything about Zinnia, it’s that she will have spies keeping an eye on everything her son does, even in far away Durban, and no doubt she is paying someone to steam open every letter he sends, and another person to read every scrap of correspondence he writes or reads, to make sure he isn’t trying to sneak a message to you, or you him.”
“Do you really think so, John? I’ve been hoping against hope, and I know my friends have too, that Selwyn would get a message to me somehow. However, to date I’ve had nothing, and I’m starting to lose hope. I do worry that a year apart may lead him to think less of me, or not at all.”
“Don’t, Lettice. Zinnia separated the two of you to try and break your bond, but if you can stay strong, you’ll win out over her scheming. She’d like nothing better than to catch Spencley sneaking you a letter, because then by way of her agreement with him, she could legitimately force him to marry someone else. He’s playing the long game, with you as the prize, I’m sure.”
“Do you really think so, John?”
“I do, Lettice.”
“Well, I must confess, you’re probably one of the last people I would have expected to hear that from.”
“As I said to you at Gossington, I was jealous that you’d had your head turned by Spencely, but I’m over that now. Jealousy in a single older man is equally as abhorrent in an older eligible bachelor as it is in a younger unmarried lady.” He gulps the last of his champagne. “However, in saying that, if anything should happen to cause your romance to Spencely fall through, don’t forget that I’m still here as an interested party.”
“Is there something you know that I don’t, John?”
“No.” Sir John replies breezily. “I’m only saying that if anything happens.”
Lettice pauses, straightens and stiffens as her eyes grow wide. For a moment she doesn’t say anything. “Is that a proposal, John?”
Sir John’s eyes flit about the crowded gallery as he considers his response before replying. “Hhhmmm… of sorts, I suppose.” He smiles enigmatically. “I’m not suggesting that I am trying to vie for your affections, Lettice. You are obviously in love with young Spencely, and I don’t wish to come between you two, or try to dissuade you from pursuing a relationship with him.”
“Then what are you proposing?”
“All I’m offering is an alternate choice, should your plans fall through for any reason. Just keep me in mind.”
Lettice lowers her gaze to the image of an owl etched into the side of a pottery jug with a long spout as she contemplates what Sir John has said. “But you’re,” She lowers her voice. “You’re a philanderer, John.”
“I’d never propose a conventional marriage, my dear Lettice, however let’s just say that if you married me, I’d pay for and let you hang a daub like that,” he indicates with a dismissive wave to the Picasso painting. “Wherever you like in any of our houses, if you let me take my enjoyment where I like it and not complain.”
He squeezes her glove clad upper arm discreetly. His touch makes the champagne in her mouth taste bitter.
“However,” he continues. “Don’t consider it now, consider it, only if the time should ever come - and I do mean, if.”
“Consider what, Uncle John?” Priscilla’s voice rings out as, dressed in a striking red frock with pearls cascading down her front she sidles up next to Sir John and Lettice. Wealth suits Priscilla, Lettice decides as she takes in the transformed figure of her friend who was once so poor that she discreetly took a typing course so as to take in secretarial work to help keep debt collectors at bay from she and her widowed mother’s door.
“I was just telling Miss Chetwynd to,” He pauses for a moment, unable to think of something to say to Priscilla instead of the truth..
“Sir John,” Lettice quickly fills in the awkward gap, reverting to formal terms like Sir John did in front of her friend to avoid any unnecessary gossip spread by Priscilla. “Was just telling me to think carefully and consider before making a decision as to whether I buy that Picasso.” She points to the painting above the fireplace.
Priscilla looks at the Picasso. “Oh Uncle John!” she exclaims in exasperation. Turning back to Lettice she continues, “I shouldn’t listen to him, Lettice, if I were you. He’s frightfully conservative when it comes to art: a real old stick-in-the-mud. I think it’s thrilling and so avant-garde, just like you. If you like it, buy it, that’s what I say, before someone else does! What is money for, if not to spend?” She giggles girlishly.
“I’ll consider all my options.” Lettice says with a smile.
“You’ll never guess what I’ve just gone and done!” Priscilla says, bursting with excitement as she changes the subject.
“I’m sure I’d never guess, Cilla.” Lettice replies. “Tell us.”
“Well, you see that woman in the brown dress over there.” She points to a woman with brown hair tied in a loose chignon at the base of her neck in a chocolate velvet dress.
“Ethel Walker, do you mean?” Lettice asks.
“Oh, you know her then.” Priscilla says, crestfallen.
“She’s quite a well known artist, Cilla darling.” Lettice soothes her friend’s ego. “That’s one of the reasons why she is at this soirée this evening.”
“What about her?” asks Sir John, his interest piqued.
“Well,” Priscilla pipes up again. “I’ve just agreed to sit for her. She walked right up to me and said she thought I had an interesting face, and she wants to paint me, even though we’d not even been introduced. It was all awfully thrilling.” She pauses for a moment before going on, “Although she told me I had to come bare faced*************,” She bites her lipstick coated lower lip, coloured almost the same shade of striking red as her frock. “As she wants to paint a portrait of who I really am.”
“Well, that’s a great honour, Cilla darling.” Lettice says. “Ethel Walker doesn’t paint anyone she doesn’t want to. Come let’s celebrate this wonderful announcement with some fresh champagne, shall we?”
As Lettice walks away arm in arm with Priscilla, she glances back over her shoulder at the Picasso painting of ‘Lovers’, and Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, smiling mysteriously and saluting her with his own empty glass: two potential male influences in her future life to consider.
*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 term aigrette refers to the tufted crest or head-plumes of the egret, used for adorning a headdress – most popular in the Edwardian eras between the turn on the Twentieth Century and the Second World War. The word may also identify any similar ornament, in gems.
***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.
****Paul George Konody was a Hungarian-born, London-based art critic and historian, who wrote for several London newspapers, as well as writing numerous books and articles on noted artists and collections, with a focus on the Renaissance.
*****Sir Frank Brangwyn was born in Bruges, Belgium and was a self taught artist, save for some instruction from his architect father. He is best known for his murals and large easel paintings on heroic and biblical themes. His first prints were wood engravings and he later trained as a commercial wood engraver. Around 1900 he began etching, producing over three hundred works by 1926. His larger etchings attracted some criticism for their deeply bitten and liberally inked plates. His smaller works were considered more successful, particularly those set figures against an architectural background. He was knighted in 1941.
******Frances Mary Hodgkins was a New Zealand painter chiefly of landscape and still life, and for a short period was a designer of textiles. She was born and raised in New Zealand, but spent most of her working life in England.
*******In 1919, King George V sent the HMS Marlborough to rescue his Aunt the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna after the urging of his mother Queen Dowager Alexandra. On the 5th of April 1919, the HMS Marlborough arrived in Sevastopol before proceeding to Yalta the following day. The ship took Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna and other members of the former, deposed Russian Imperial Family including Grand Duke Nicholas and Prince Felix Yusupov aboard in Yalta on the evening of the 7th. The Empress refused to leave unless the British also evacuated wounded and sick soldiers, along with any civilians that also wanted to escape the advancing Bolsheviks. The Russian entourage aboard Marlborough numbered some eighty people, including forty four members of the Royal Family and nobility, with a number of governesses, nurses, maids and manservants, plus several hundred cases of luggage.
********Cubism was a revolutionary new approach to representing reality invented in around 1907–08 by artists Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque. They brought different views of subjects (usually objects or figures) together in the same picture, resulting in paintings that appear fragmented and abstracted.
*********Dame Ethel Walker was a Scottish painter of portraits, flower-pieces, sea-pieces and decorative compositions. From 1936, Walker was a member of The London Group. Her work displays the influence of Impressionism, Puvis de Chavannes, Gauguin and Asian art.
**********Bernard Howell Leach was a British studio potter and art teacher. He is regarded as the "Father of British studio pottery".
***********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.
*************Ethel Walker was disapproving of cosmetics, and was known to rebuke women in public on account of their makeup. She required her models to remove lipstick and nail polish before entering her studio in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. A friend of hers recollected of her, “She executed commissions when she liked the look of the would-be sitters but before painting her women she would say ‘Take that filthy stuff off your lips’ for, always faithful to the motif, she could not tolerate the sudden assault of red upon an eye so sensitive to tone”.
Whilst this up-market London gallery interior complete with artisan pieces may appear real to you, it is in fact made up completely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection. This tableau is particularly special because almost everything you can see is a handmade artisan miniature piece.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story, the “Lovers” painting by Picasso is a 1:12 miniature painted by hand in the style of Picasso by miniature artist Mandy Dawkins of Miniature Dreams in Thrapston. The frame was handmade by her husband John Dawkins.
The painting hanging to the left of the photograph is also a hand painted artisan picture. Created by miniature artist Ann Hall, it is a copy of “Place du Théâtre Francois, Paris” by Pissarro. The two pen and watercolour images hanging to the right of the photograph are by miniature artist R. Humphreys. I acquired these through Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The jug and bowl on the fireplace mantle had been hand fashioned and painted by an unknown miniature artisan ceramicist, whilst the four bottles are hand blown by another unknown miniature artisan, as is the ship in the glass bottle on the stand to the left of the fireplace. The bottles came from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdon, whilst the jug and bowl I acquired from a private collector of miniatures selling their collection on E-Bay.
The rather lovely soapstone container on the pedestal to the right of the fireplace is Eighteenth Century Chinese, and was rescued from a wreck in the South China Sea.
The painted and glazed jugs and vases on the black japanned table in the foreground are all handmade miniature artisan pieces made by an unknown potter. They were acquired from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The glass vases in unusual shapes on the black japanned table are in reality some beautiful glass bugle beads. Between 1923 and 1939, these beads and millions like them were produced from a very successful workshop on the outskirts of Toruń in northern Poland (then Pomerania) and sent to fashion houses both locally and in cities like Prague, Vienna and Paris. Then, with the coming of Hitler's invasion of Poland and the Second World War, the owners of the workshop closed their doors. They took the beads they had in the workshop and buried them in boxes in the ground beneath the floor of the workshop and then fled, hoping to return to reclaim them some day. And so the beads remained buried beneath the flagstones throughout the Second World War when the workshop was razed, and beyond during the re-building of post-war Poland. Although still in possession of the land on which the workshop had stood, the owners and their descendants never returned to Toruń to claim them, and the beads became a thing of legend. Nearly seventy years later, descendants of the original owners returned to Toruń to live, and decided to see if there was any truth to the stories of 'buried treasure'. Much to their astonishment and delight, what they uncovered beneath the flagstones were thirty great boxes, still well preserved in the earth, of 1920s and 1930s glass bugle beads! A selection of these beads came into my possession through the mother of my goddaughters and her mother, who are extremely close friends of mine and who are artists of Polish decent directly related to the owners of the Toruń workshop.
The two pedestals either side of the fireplace were made by the high end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.
The black ladderback chairs and the table in the foreground were made by Town Hall Miniatures.
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.