The 1/6 scale parlour sits on top of our old aquarium, currently vacant. To decorate for Christmas I temporarily appropriated a picture frame for a fireplace. The firescreen/coal box is made from an old earring, a piece of lead flashing and liners from an instant coffee canister. This was necessary to cover the bottom of the frame. I may replace the fireplace later. The outer structure is crafted from balsa and beechwood and the the inner firebox from craft foam.

 

Rusty and Dusty Buchanan play with their new Radio Flyer.

painted out the fireplace at last...

made firescreen from patchwork curtain in studio, not sure if it will stay.

but it does a good job at hiding the fire insert that needs to be ripped out :)

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

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 Lady Gladys felt that it was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe.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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh ha, ha!” mocks Lady Gladys.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Lady Gladys grunts her ascent with a curt nod.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Very well, Gladys, I recant.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“What do you mean, Eglantyne?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Phoebe?” Lady Gladys queries.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes Aunt Egg.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

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

  

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

Before going into luncheon, Lettice is taking tea with her favourite aunt in her wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. As Lettice picks up the fine blue and gilt cup of tea proffered by her aunt, she cannot help but feel sorry for Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid and Clotilde, the second parlour maid, who must feel that their endless dusting is futile, for no sooner would they have finished a room than they would have to start again since dust would have settled where they began. In addition to being a fine ceramicist, Eglantyne is also an expert embroiderer, and her works appear on embroidered cushions, footstools and even a pole fire screen to Lettice’s left as she settles back into a rather ornate corner chair that Eglantyne always saves for guests.

 

“So, how did you find Gossington, Lettice?” Eglantine asks as she sips tea from her own gilt edged teacup.

 

When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large blue glass droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the sparkling blue bead necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind.

 

“Oh it was splendid, Aunt Egg.” Lettice enthuses from her seat. “The Caxtons really are a fascinating and rather eccentric pair.”

 

“Yes,” muses Eglantine with a smile. “That’s why I like them, and always have. I knew you would too.”

 

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with them, and certainly not well enough to obtain an invitation for me, and Margot and Dickie.”

 

“Well, I didn’t want your first visit to Gossington be one you entered into by yourself. Whilst I know you can hold you own socially, my dear, I sometimes feel the first visit to Gossington can be a bit daunting if you are on your own, especially with so many witty young writers and poets in Gladys’ circle. I’ve heard and witnessed her houseguests saying the wrong thing in front of a wit, and before you know it, they become the butt end of witticisms all weekend, which can become rather tiresome after the first evening if you are subject to them.”

 

“Well, luckily nothing like that happened on my visit to me, Margot or Dickie: in fact no-one really.”

 

“It must have been a more sedate weekend then.” Eglantyne remarks sagely. “No Cecil or Noël then, I take it?”

 

“Cecil?” Lettice queries, before thinking again. “Cecil, Beaton***? Noël Coward****?”

 

“Yes.” Eglantyne remarks nonchalantly as she tugs at the edges of her soft pink silk knitted cardigan’s tassel ties to loosen it around her waist. “I do love them both dearly, and they’re terribly fun and awfully clever, but their wit, Noël’s especially, can be quite cutting. Noël’s planning to put out a new show later this year after his success in America and here with ‘The Young Idea’*****. It’s called ‘The Maelstrom’ or ‘The Vortex’****** or some such thing. It’s about a relationship between a son and his vain and aging mother.” She rolls her eyes. “Which could be really rather tedious, with two actors quipping at one another over three acts, except he’s decided to make the mother character a promiscuous creature with an extramarital affair at the heart of the play, and throw in some drug abuse just for a bit of spice, which should make it a roaring success, and an entertaining evening at the theatre, or at least we all hope so.”

 

“No, they weren’t there.” Lettice admits. “I would have loved it if Noël Coward was though. Gerald would have been green with envy. He has a fascination with him.”

 

“Well, I’m hardly surprised by that.” Eglantyne replies, looking her niece squarely in the face, giving her a knowing look. “They have so much in common, as he does with Cecil.” She cocks an eyebrow and moved her head slightly.

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice gasps, raising her hand to her throat, where she clasps at the dainty string of pearls she wears as she feels a flush of embarrassment begin to work its way up her neck and to her cheeks.

 

“Surely you aren’t shocked, my dear?” Eglantyne says, before carefully placing her cup back on to the galleried silver tray on her petit point embroidered footstool, on which the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl stand. “When you’ve moved in the artistic circles I have, you learn very quickly that love comes in many forms – not just between a man and woman.”

 

“I am shocked, Aunt Egg.” Lettice admits, smoothing the crepe skirt of the eau de nil frock she is wearing. “I’ve always told Gerald to be so careful.”

 

“Oh, come dear: a man running a frock shop! It may be all well and good in Paris, but not in London, my dear!”

 

“There’s Norman Hartnell*******.” Lettice counters.

 

“Exactly!” replies Eglantyne with a knowing nod. “Anyway, however discreet Gerald may be, I have it on very good authority from acquaintances of mine in Chelsea, that he has been seen at select gatherings of like-minded souls with a rather talented and handsome young West End clarinettist on his arm.”

 

“Who told you about Gerald and Cyril?”

 

“Never you mind, Lettice my dear. I’m not giving up two of my very best sources of delicious London society gossip to you, just so you can go and tell them to keep mum! I want to know all the ins and outs of what is going on, especially about people I know. I need my little indulgences, since I cannot be everywhere as I’d like to be, and I am no longer quite the topic of drawing room conversation any more as my star fades. Even my art is now seen as Fin de Siècle********, rather than à la mode********* by the newer generation of artists, in spite of my best efforts to try new things and keep ahead of the trends.” She sighs. “I fear it is a lost cause. We all of us will fall out of fashion one day.” She pauses and considers something for a moment. “Goodness! I’m starting to sound like the mother in Noël’s new play. If I didn’t know he’d based her on Grace Forster**********, I might assume he had done so on me!” She reaches out and grasps Lettice’s bare forearm near her elbow and squeezes it comfortingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t speak out-of-turn about our dear Gerald. I know he’s your best chum from childhood days, and I love him almost as much as you do. His secret is perfectly safe with me.”

 

“Well, I’m grateful for that.” Lettice sighs. “I do worry about Gerald. I have known about his inclinations for a long time now, and I’ve met Cyril several times, but Cyril is more flamboyant and open about who he is than Gerald is.”

 

“Don’t worry. The gossip stemmed from a perfectly safe source, and as I said, they have only been seen together as a couple at select parties where such inclinations are not uncommon.” Eglantyne releases a satisfied sigh, indicating the conclusion of that particular conversation. “Now, thinking about acquaintances, and going back to your original question about my acquaintance with the Caxtons: I’ve known Gladys for longer than I’ve known John. I knew her when she had published her first Madeline St John novel. What she writes is ghastly romantic drivel in my opinion, and I was horrified to find you reading her romance novels, Lettice.”

 

“I don’t read them any more, thanks to Margot, who has broadened my reading range considerably from Madeline St John romances.”

 

“Well thank goodness for Margot Channon!” Eglantine breathes a sigh of relief. “Jolly good show, Margot. I never thought of her as a great reader of anything outside the society and fashion pages of the newspapers.”

 

“Oh, she’s a great reader, Aunt Egg. But my maid likes to read Madeline St John novels. She was positively beside herself with excitement when she found out I was meeting her favourite authoress.

 

“Well, I don’t know if I approve any more of your maid reading such romances than I do you, but whatever I may or may not think of the good of Gladys’ novels, they obviously have a broad appeal. Anyway, after her moderate success with her initial books, she met John, and then she became a patron to the arts thanks to the Caxton brewery money. She even bought more than her fair share of some of my ceramic pieces. Simply because she could, and she could promote my work.”

 

“I know, Aunt Egg. She showed me.”

 

“Anyway, it was really just by a stroke of good fortune that you received your invitation at just the right time.”

 

“Not according to Lally, Aunt Egg. She was put out because it rather spoiled the plans she had for us whilst I was staying with her at Dorrington House, and I think she was a little hurt that she wasn’t included in the invitation to Gossington, but Margot and Dickie were.”

 

“That might explain why she was so short with me when I telephoned Buckinghamshire last week to ask after her wellbeing and that of the children in Charles’ absence. Well,” She sighs in an exasperated fashion. “I cannot extend the largess of someone else any more than I already did to wrangle you and the Channons an invitation.” Eglantyne takes another sip of her tea. “It actually came about because Glady telephoned me a few weeks before Christmas. She was vying for an introduction to you after reading the article about you in Country Life. As you now know, her niece Phoebe has come into property here in London, and Gladys felt Phoebe needed a push to redecorate and make the place more her own, rather than simply adding a layer to her parent’s designs.” She pauses again. “I take it you did accept Glady’s commission.”

 

“Gladys is a little hard to refuse, Aunt Egg.” Lettice admits, before taking another sip from her cup. “She would have worn me down at length if I had said no.”

 

“Oh yes, that’s Gladys!” Eglantyne chortles, making the faceted bugle beads tumbling down the front of her sea green Delphos gown jangle about, glinting prettily. “She wears everyone down eventually.”

 

“But as it was, she didn’t have to, and I said yes.”

 

“Good for you, Lettice. It will be healthy for you to be working and creative. It will take your mind off all this Selwyn Spencely business. I take it you haven’t heard from him?” When Lettice bites her lower lip and shakes her head, Eglantyne continues. “Pity. I always thought him more of a man and would stand up to his bullying mother. She always did ride roughshod in everything she did when she was younger.”

 

“I wouldn’t dare go against lady Zinnia’s wishes, Aunt Egg. She’s positively terrifying.”

 

“You do realise that this is potentially your new mother-in-law if all goes according to your wishes for you and Selwyn, Lettice?”

 

“Of course!” Lettice replies. Then she pauses and her face clouds over. “Mind you, I hadn’t really considered the concept any more than an abstracted and distant idea until you just mentioned it. That is a rather frightening thought, especially if she doesn’t particularly like me.”

 

“Zinnia doesn’t like most women, Lettice, especially ones whom she perceives as a threat to her, or her well laid plans. You are young and pretty, and far more fashionable than she is. You are intelligent and often challenge the world and your place in it, as you should. However, like me, Zinnia’s star is fading as she gets older. She won’t always wield this power she currently has over Selwyn, especially if he comes back from Durban in a year feeling the same as when he left. You told me that Zinnia had agreed that Selwyn could marry you if he felt inclined upon his return.”

 

Lettice nods in response to her aunt’s statement, which comes across as more of a question.

 

“And you still love him?”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice gasps. “How can you even ask?”

 

“You are young, my dear. When I was your age, I was forever changing my mind about all sorts of things: what to do, where to go, what to wear.”

 

“Well, Selwyn isn’t a Sunday best hat, subject to the fickle of fashion, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Just so, my dear. So long as you are sure.”

 

“I am, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies with a steeliness in her voice. “Most definitely.”

 

The two ladies fall into a companionable silence for a short while, momentarily distracted by their own private thoughts. Between them on the mantle, Eglantyne’s gilt Georgian carriage clock marks the passing of the minutes with gentle ticks that echo between the two women, the sound absorbed by all the soft furnishings and knick-knacks around the room.

 

“Aunt Egg?” Lettice ventures tentatively at length.

 

“Yes, my dear?”

 

“What did you mean by Gladys wearing everyone down?”

 

“Just that my dear. Gladys has always had the power to pester people into submission.” Eglantyne laughs. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, it’s a few things, really. To begin with it was something Sir John said.”

 

“John?”

 

“Oh, not her husband, Sir John – Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”

 

“Good heavens!” Eglantyne gasps. “Was he there? Nasty old lecher. I still can’t believe Sadie invited him to that matchmaking ball she held for you, when she knows as much about his reputation as a womaniser as I do.”

 

“He was there, Aunt Egg, and he was actually very nice to me throughout the weekend, and not the least predatorial.”

 

“Will wonders never cease? Does he have an ulterior motive?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Well, just mind yourself around him, my dear Lettice. I’m no prude like your mother, but I do know that he isn’t a man with whom you can let down your guard. Always be on alert with him.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Good girl. Of course, I should hardly be surprised that he was talking about Gladys. It’s no secret that when Gladys was still Gladys Chambers, she and Sir John Nettleford-Huges were an item. Then she met Sir John Caxton, and that ended the affair. You did know that, didn’t you Lettice?”

 

“Not before Sir John arrived late to dinner on our first evening at Gossington. But then Gladys told us a few stories about their time together over the course of the weekend.” Lettice blushes as she remembers the tale Lady Gladys told the company at dinner of Sir John eating fruit from the small of her back.

 

“Yes, I’m sure she did.” Eglantyne’s mouth narrows in distaste. “Her taste in men was always questionable prior to her meeting her husband. Anyway, what did Sir John Nettleford-Hughes have to say that would trouble you, my dear?”

 

“Well, he said Gladys usually wears people down to her way of thinking in the end.”

 

“And why does that concern you, Lettice? Are you worried that Gladys is going to insist on making changes Phoebe or you don’t like? I can assure you that she adores her niece. Phoebe is the daughter Gladys never planned to have, but also the child Gladys didn’t know could bring her so much joy and fulfilment in her life, as a parent.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, Aunt Egg, but it does seem to me that there is an ulterior motive to Gladys wanting Phoebe’s flat redecorated.”

 

“An ulterior motive, Lettice?”

 

“Yes.” Lettice sighs. “I think Gladys sees her dead brother and sister-in-law as some kind of threat to her happy life with Phoebe.”

 

“Threat?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s a very grave allegation, my dear Lettice.” Eglantyne says with concern. “What proof do you have to support your suspicions.”

 

“Nothing solid, only circumstantial anecdotes.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Well, when she talks about her deceased brother and sister-in-law in front of Phoebe, or even to Phoebe, she refers to them as ‘Reginald and Marjory’, not ‘your mother and father’ or ‘Phoebe’s parents’.”

 

Eglantyne pinches the inside of her right cheek between her teeth as she considers Lettice’s observation. “Well, it probably helps keep the waters from getting muddy. The Chambers died out in India when Phoebe was still very young. I would imagine that Gladys and John are more like parents to Phoebe than Reginald and Marjory were.”

 

“Yes, but nevertheless, they are her parents.” Lettice counters.

 

“That’s true. But Gladys referring to them as she naturally would by their first names is no reason to see her feeling threatened by their memory, Lettice.” Eglantyne cautions with a wagging finger from which clings a large amethyst ring which sparkles in the light of the drawing room.

 

“But this brings me back to my concerns about what Sir John Nettleford-Huges said, which culminates with what you said just a moment ago. If Pheobe really is the child that Gladys never had, nor knew she wanted, but that subsequent to her discovery of the joy of parenthood Gladys’ narrative with Pheobe is for her to look upon Gladys more as a mother than her own mother, then she would naturally want to put an emotional distance between Phobe and the memory of her own mother. I think she is deliberately trying to eradicate the memory of Reginald and Marjory from Pheobe’s mind.”

 

“I really do think you are overdramatising things, Lettice my dear.” Eglantyne insists. “Gladys loves Phoebe. Why on earth would she want to banish her precious memories of her parents, who were taken far too soon?”

 

“Because she sees them as a threat to the legitimacy of her rearing of Phoebe.”

 

“But how can two dead people threaten what Gladys and John did, stepping in to take care of Phoebe as their ward?”

 

“Nothing, but that doesn’t mean that Gladys doesn’t think it. People can be irrational, Aunt Egg.”

 

“The only person I am thinking may be a little irrational at present, I’m sorry to say, is you, my dear.”

 

“But Gladys doesn’t have anything nice to say about her brother or sister-in-law. She is very dismissive of their memory, and she is openly disparaging in her remarks about Marjory.”

 

“Well, it is true that Gladys always felt that Reginald could have married someone grander than Marjory, who was just a middle-class solicitor’s daughter from Swiss Cottage***********. But really, Lettice, how does this dislike of Reginald’s choice in wife manifest itself as a threat to Gladys?”

 

“Well, when I was taking to Phoebe about redecorating her parent’s Bloomsbury flat, she seemed quite uninspired by the idea. She seems perfectly happy to leave things as they are, whereas it is Gladys who seems intent on redecorating every part of the flat, and in so doing remove any memory of her brother and his wife. She is quite enthusiastic about it, as a matter-of-fact.”

 

“Look, Lettice,” Eglantyne says, leaning forward in her wing backed chair and looking her niece earnestly in the face. “You’ve met Phoebe now. You know how fey she is.”

 

“Yes, that’s an apt description of her, Aunt Egg. My thoughts were that she has a very other worldly way about her.”

 

“Exactly, Lettice. So, you also know that she isn’t like Gladys. She doesn’t express her opinions readily.”

 

“I’ll say. It was hard enough to squeeze a colour choice to redecorate the flat with out of her.”

 

“And that’s why Gladys came to me, asking for your services. She is concerned that Phoebe is so disinterested in anything beyond her studies in horticulture that she will never redecorate the flat. She thought that being closer to Phoebe’s age, you might be able to make some headway where she, being so much older, has failed.”

 

“But would it be so bad for Phoebe to leave things the way they are in Bloomsbury, if the arrangement in existence suits her?”

 

“If Sadie had given you a fully furnished flat, would you have left it decorated in the way she gave it to you, Lettice?”

 

“Of course not!” Lettice scoffs.

 

“Exactly!”

 

“But that’s because I am an interior designer, and I have my own independent ideas about what my home should look like.”

 

“Of course you do.” Eglantyne soothes. “So, think for a moment. Even with her backwards ways of thinking, has Sadie ever tried to stop you from redecorating your own flat at Cavendish Mews?”

 

“Well, no.” Lettice says. “But what does that have to do with Gladys and Phoebe?”

 

“Sadie wouldn’t stop you from having some independence and would allow you to express your own opinions in style at the very least. Perhaps Gladys is trying to instil the same streak of independence in Phoebe, which is obviously so sorely lacking in her.” She tuts. “Consider that, my dear, before you go accusing Gladys of wishing to wipe away the memory of her brother and sister-in-law. Now.” The older woman gets to her feet with a groan. “I must see what is happening with luncheon.” She groans again as she rubs the small of her back. “Augusta is very good, but like me, she has been slowing down a little bit as of late. We’re all getting older. Please excuse me, my dear.”

 

Lettice sits in her chair and contemplates what her aunt has said as she watches the woman love elegantly around china cabinets the sofa and occasional tables as she wends her way to the drawing room door. What Eglantine says is true, but at the same time, Lettice cannot help but feel that her own judgement of the situation is somehow more in line with the truth of the matter. Lady Gladys has agreed to arrange a time, when she is back in London promoting her latest romance novel, to take Lettice to view Phoebe’s Bloomsbury flat, and she wonders what that occasion will be like.

 

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

 

**The 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.

 

***Cecil Beaton was a British fashion, portrait and war photographer, diarist, painter, and interior designer, as well as an Oscar winning stage and costume designer for films and the theatre. Although he had relationships with women including actress Greta Garbo, he was a well-known homosexual.

 

****Noël Peirce Coward was an English playwright, composer, director, actor, and singer, known for his wit, flamboyance, and what Time magazine called "a sense of personal style, a combination of cheek and chic, pose and poise". He too was a well-known homosexual, even though it was taboo in England for much of his life.

 

*****’The Young Idea’, subtitled ‘A comedy of youth in three acts’, is an early play by Noël Coward, written in 1921 and first produced the following year. After a pre-London provincial tour it ran at the Savoy Theatre for 60 performances from 1 February 1923, and is one of Noel Coward’s first commercial successes, albeit moderate. The play portrays the successful manoeuvring by two young adults to prise their father away from his unsympathetic second wife and reunite him with his first wife, their mother.

 

******’The Vortex’ is a play in three acts by the English writer and actor Noël Coward. The play depicts the sexual vanity of a rich, ageing beauty, her troubled relationship with her adult son, and drug abuse in British society circles after the First World War. The son's cocaine habit is seen by many critics as a metaphor for homosexuality, then taboo in Britain. Despite, or because of, its scandalous content for the time, the play was Coward's first great commercial success. The play premiered in November 1924 in London and played in three theatres until June 1925, followed by a British tour and a New York production in 1925 and 1926. It has enjoyed several revivals and a film adaptation.

 

*******Norman Hartnell was a leading British fashion designer, best known for his work for the ladies of the royal family. Hartnell gained the Royal Warrant as Dressmaker to Queen Elizabeth (later the Queen Mother) in 1940, and Royal Warrant as Dressmaker to Queen Elizabeth II in 1957. Princess Beatrice also wore a dress designed for Queen Elizabeth II by Hartnell for her wedding in 2020. He worked unsuccessfully for two London designers, including Lucile (Lady Duff Gordon), whom he sued for damages when several of his drawings appeared unattributed in her weekly fashion column in the London Daily Sketch. He eventually opened his own business at 10 Bruton Street, Mayfair in 1923, with the financial help of his father and first business colleague, his sister Phyllis. In the mid-1950s, Hartnell reached the peak of his fame and the business employed some 500 people together with many others in the ancillary businesses. Hartnell never married, but enjoyed a discreet and quiet life at a time when homosexual relations between men were illegal.

 

********Fin de Siècle is a French phrase meaning 'end of century' and is applied specifically as a historical term to the end of the nineteenth century and even more specifically to decade of 1890s.

 

*********The term à la mode, meaning fashionable comes from the French and means literally "according to the fashion".

 

**********Grace Forster was the elegant mother of Noël Coward’s friend Stewart Forster. Grace was talking to a young admirer, when a young woman within earshot of Noël and Stewart said, "Will you look at that old hag over there with the young man in tow; she's old enough to be his mother". Forster paid no attention, and Coward immediately went across and embraced Grace, as a silent rebuke to the young woman who had made the remark. The episode led him to consider how a "mother–young son–young lover triangle" might be the basis of a play. Thus ‘The Vortex’ synopsis was born.

 

***********Swiss Cottage is an area of Hampstead in the Borough of Camden in London. It is centred on the junction of Avenue Road and Finchley Road and includes Swiss Cottage tube station. Swiss Cottage lies three and a quarter miles northwest of Charing Cross. The area was named after a public house in the centre of it, known as "Ye Olde Swiss Cottage". Once developed, Swiss Cottage was always a well-to-do suburb of middle and upper middle-class citizens in better professions.

 

This lovely tea set might look like something your mother or grandmother used, but this set is a bit different, for like everything around it, it is part of my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Aunt Egg's dainty tea set on the embroidered footstool is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The set has been hand painted by artisan miniaturist Victoria Fasken.

 

The footstool on which the tea set stands 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 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 fireplace and its ornate overmantle is a “Kensignton” model also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The peacock feather fire screen, brass fire tools and ornate brass fender come from various online 1:12 miniature suppliers.

 

The round hand embroidered footstool at the left of the photograph acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as was the 1:12 artisan miniature sewing box on the small black japanned table in the background

 

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

Taken for Macro Mondays' "Mesh" theme, this image depicts the handle of a mesh fire screen. Flames provide the background.

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

 

Lettice is taking tea with her favourite aunt in her wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. As Lettice picks up the fine blue and gilt cup of tea proffered by her aunt, she cannot help but feel sorry for Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid and Clotilde, the second parlour maid, who must feel that their endless dusting is futile, for no sooner would they have finished a room than they would have to start again since dust would have settled where they began. In addition to being a fine ceramicist, Eglantyne is also an expert embroiderer, and her works appear on embroidered cushions, footstools and even a pole fire screen to Lettice’s left as she settles back into a rather ornate corner chair that Eglantyne always saves for guests.

 

“Well, I think you did the right thing, my dear.” Aunt Egg says with conviction in her sparkling green eyes. “That Mrs. Hawarden’s taste sounds absolutely vulgar. Mind you, what can one expect from the wife of an industrialist in Manchester! They breed them differently up north.”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims. “I never thought I would hear such words fall from your lips. You are the one who always chides any one of us if we utter anything that isn’t egalitarian! You scoff at Mater because she is such a snob.”

 

“Well, she is a snob.” Replies the older woman, picking up a dainty biscuit from the plate perched upon a footstool covered in her own petit point handiwork. “I’m simply making a frank observation.” She pops the biscuit into her mouth and chews on it.

 

When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large amber droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the amber necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in beautiful shades of golden yellow.

 

“Why on earth Mrs. Hawarden doesn’t simply go and reside in one of those awful Metroland*** Tudor Revival villas those developers keep advertising on the outskirts of London, I don’t know?” the older woman says once she finishes her mouthful of biscuit. “They would be better suited to be the blank canvas for her taste for dark brown stained woodwork and ubiquitous distemper. No, I say again, my dear, that it would be a travesty to tear apart all that wonderful history built up in that lovely house over many years.”

 

“That isn’t to say that it won’t happen, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies. “Mrs. Hawarden has plenty of money to splash around. I’m sure there are a plethora of other interior designers who would love the opportunity to receive a commission from her.”

 

“Be that as it may, at least it isn’t you who is pandering to that woman’s whims. Your father and I taught you well - even Sadie to a degree – to respect the history of a home. A home is merely a house with history.”

 

“Well, I do hope that other people will like my Modernist Revival style as Mr. Tipping**** calls it.” Lettice replies a little desultorily.

 

“As one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Great Britain, I have no doubt that there are far more people who will follow Mr. Tipping’s elegant and qualified taste, than will follow the whims of a vulgar and showy industrialist’s wife from Manchester who is of no consequence to anyone other than to herself.” The older woman nods matter-of-factly.

 

“I do hope you are right, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Of course I’m right, my dear.” Eglantine soothes from the comfort of her cream upholstered Chippendale wingback armchair. “Let me tell you a story. Once, some years ago, before you were born, I was very taken by the Ballet Russes who were performing here in London. I found their passion and colour exciting and stimulating. Your father, always happy to indulge my passions cultivated a friendship with a visiting Russian count, the Count Baronovska. However, it was his wife who truly fascinated me.

 

Why Aunt Egg?

 

Because my dear, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was everything I ever dreamed of being. She was elegant and worldly,

 

But you are elegant and worldly.

 

When compared alongside the Countess, I felt anything but either of those things.

 

I can hardly imagine that, Aunt Egg. You were famed as a beauty when you were younger, and you still are extremely elegant.”

 

“Ah, how you flatter me child.”

 

“And I have always thought of you as wise and worldly, Aunt Egg. It’s why I come to you for advice.”

 

“Well, in comparison to a Bright Young Thing like you, I am worldly wise, but I knew nothing compared to the Countess Baronovska.”

 

“Tell me what she was like.”

 

“She was tall and statuesque, with a proud bearing, yet she was in no way haughty. Her skin was flawless and snowy white, like porcelain. The almost translucent quality of her flesh was only highlighted by her dark curls which framed her face. Her swan neck was made for the display of pearl chokers. Like so many White Russians before the Revolution, she had a fortune in jewels and she wore them with style and panache: ropes of pearls and circlets of diamonds and rubies placed in ornate gold settings graced her throat and cascaded down the front of her gowns, all of which were exquisitely made, not in Paris or London like those your mother and I wore, but by her own seamstress in St Petersburg.”

 

“She sounds amazing.”

 

“And so she was to look at. I’m quite sure your father had a mild crush on the Countess.” Aunt Egg chortles

 

“Did Mater know?”

 

“Discretion was never your father’s strong suit my dear. He still wears his heart on his sleeve, so I have no doubt that Sadie knew – not that your father would have done anything to reproach himself with. He has always been a gentleman. However, whilst your father was in love with her beauty, I was in love with her intellect and power.”

 

“Power?”

 

“On yes. The Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was not like so many other members of the Russian court, filled with self importance and self entitlement. No, she cultivated her intellect and charms, and she used them to influence others to her advantage. I’m sure she only married the Count for his money, which sounds like an uncharitable thing to say, but she was a woman who had ambition in a time and a place where so few women, like your mother,” She rolls here eyes. “Did. She wanted the Count’s money to be used to greater benefit than the way he used it, which was to drink and play the gambling tables along with all the other Russian aristocrats.”

 

“So what did she do?”

 

“I’m not sure how, and she was so discreet that she would never confide it in me, but somehow she managed to get her husband to sign away all his wealth to her, so it was she who owned their lands and managed their fortune. It was she who gave her husband a small allowance and paid any of his unpaid gambling debts. The rest of the money she put to work by creating her own business, just like you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. In a time when it was almost unheard of that a woman ran her own business affairs, especially in a patriarchal society like Russia, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska did.”

 

“What business did she have?”

 

“The Countess was a woman who had her own unique style. She also loved beautiful objects and art, so she set up her own porcelain factory.”

 

“A porcelain factory? Truly, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Yes indeed. The Countess’ porcelain factory was in Crimea, and adjoined the Baronovska estate. As I said, the Countess had the most amazing mind, and she had a head for business. She was also smart that during a period when there was great worker discontent with other manufacturers treating those who worked in their factories no better than slaves, whilst living high off their hard work, the Countess made Baronovska Porcelain a place where people were not only happy to work, but made it a haven for young Russian artists who would never have had a chance to develop their talents were it not for her. As a result Baronovska Porcelain made high quality pieces that were beautifully designed and unique. With their connections within the inner circles of the Royal Court of the Tsar, pieces were highly sought after and commanded very high prices. Even today, if a piece of Baranovska Porcelain were to miraculously turn up at Sotheby’s or Bonham’s, it would command a very fine price.”

 

“She sounds like a very shrewd businesswoman.”

 

“You remind me of her a little. She was a woman who marched to the beat of her own heart, and stuck to her specific ideas about what was fashionable. She didn’t follow trends, she set them with her fine porcelain.”

 

“And she reminds you or me, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Why yes Lettice. See, by you refusing to do what that awful Hawarden woman wanted: paint her rooms oatmeal and strip back the many years of history that house her manufacturer husband bought her as a toy, you have stuck to your own ideals, just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.” She smiles at her niece. “I’m proud of you for not following her wishes, simply because she has the money to pay you for your services.”

 

“I’m starting to think that I perhaps should have been a little more direct with her.”

 

“Perhaps my dear, but she still may not have listened to you, and insisted on you doing her bidding against your own better and far superior judgement.” She reaches out and pats Lettice’s hands with her own gnarled bejewelled one. “Just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska, I know that you too will be a trend setter, and in the not too distant future, I’ll wager.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Nonsense my dear! Self-deprecation and hiding one’s talent under a bushel never did anyone any good, my dear. You will be the toast of London one day,” She taps her nose knowingly. “You mark my words.”

 

“Did you ever visit the factory, Aunt Egg?” Lettice says in an effort to change the subject.

 

“Actually, yes we did. That was when I received these two vases.” She indicates to two vases on the mantlepiece. “A gift from the Countess, whose generosity I can never repay.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg! I have always admired those.”

 

“Well, perhaps I will leave them to you in my will when I die, my dear.”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg!”

 

“It’s a pity I didn’t buy more pieces whilst we were there. The Countess served us tea from the most delicate and dainty tea set with the same pattern painted upon it. Oh! It was the most beautiful tea set I think I have ever seen.” The older woman sighs. “Still hindsight is fine thing to have.”

 

“You said ‘we went’, Aunt Egg. Who is ‘we’?”

 

“Of course you weren’t born yet, but your father, your mother, Leslie, Lally and Lionel, even though he was only a toddler at the time, all visited the Count and Countess Baronovska in Russia. However, as I recall, the Count slipped off to St Petersburg as soon as it was polite for him to make a hasty retreat to the gambling tables allure. The Countess Baronovska had the most beautiful dacha in Crimea where we all stayed as her guests. She told Leslie and Lally as many Russian faerie tales that they could coax out of her. She had a soft spot for the children, since she and the Count had no children of their own.”

 

“Do you think the Countess planned it that way? It sounds to me like she had very definite plans for her future, and children may have been a hinderance.”

 

“In the case of children, I think not. I suspect that the Count was drawn to St Petersburg not just for the lavish life at court and the gambling, but for the allure of a number of women as well. I think the Countess would have liked to have had a large brood of her own. Although,” Aunt Egg’s voice becomes a little melancholy. “Considering what has come to pass in Russia, perhaps it is just as well that she never had children. The Countess invested some of the profits from her factory in the people who lived and worked on her estate and worked in her factory. She made sure that people had repaired roofs over their heads, nutritious food and access to healthcare, yet it still made no difference in the end. Like so many Russian Aristocrats, she fled when the Revolution came, and had to leave behind so much, including her beloved porcelain factory.” She sighs. “Goodness knows what has happened to it now.”

 

“Did you ever see the Countess Baronovska again?”

 

“Yes, your father and I did in,” She ruminates for a moment. “In 1919 as I recall. The Countess was still beautiful and elegant, in spite of what happened to her, and her somewhat diminished circumstances, although I do think she managed to escape with a king’s ransom in jewellery. She promised that we would stay in touch. We used to correspond for many years. I even sent her photographs of you as you grew up, and I told her about all your artistic attributes, which I know she would have appreciated, had she ever met you.”

 

“Where do you think she is now, Aunt Egg?”

 

“Goodness knows my dear. She has gone to ground, I know not where. However, I do know that it will be for her own good reasons that she has. Russian émigrés have been dispersed everywhere between here and Shanghai. Perhaps one day she will turn up again.”

 

“It’s sad that you have lost a friend who obviously meant a great deal to you, Aunt Egg.”

 

“We all lose people eventually my dear,” the older woman says with a sad smile. “Or they lose us. Death sees to that.”

 

“Please don’t talk like that, Aunt Egg.”

 

“Oh very well, my dear, if it troubles you to hear it, however true my statement is. At least I have some photos, many wonderful letters, and these two beautiful vases, to remind me of the lovely, clever and kind the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.”

 

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

 

**The 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 trains that killed the English countryside made the suburbs, for they brought semi-rural areas ripe for development within easy reach of city. This huge expansion of London and the regional cities between the two world wars democratised home ownership and the rows of almost identical rows of houses were derided by the wealthy upper classes and were nicknamed “Metroland”, after the commute via Metropolitan Railway people would need to take each day to and from work. It applied to land in Middlesex, west Hertfordshire and south Buckinghamshire. “Metroland” was characterised by the construction of Tudor Revival suburban houses.

 

****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.

 

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

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

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

 

The irises and tulips in the two vases and the foxgloves appearing to the far right of the photograph are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

Also on the mantlepiece are 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! Between them stands a gilt carriage clock made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The pretty lace and floral fan behind it, leaning against the overmantle glass is a 1:12 artisan miniature that I acquired from a specialist doll house supplier when I was a teenager. The two “Japonism” style paper fans stuck into the fretwork around the overmantle mirror I acquired at the same time from the same shop as the lace fan. The one on the left-hand side is hand painted with flowers and has been lacquered before being attached to a little wooden handle.

 

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

 

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

 

The hand embroidered footstool in front of Aunt Egg’s Chippendale wingback armchair and the hand embroidered pedestal fire were acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as was the 1:12 artisan miniature sewing box on the small black japanned table to the left of Aunt Egg’s chair. The tapestry frame in front of Aunt Egg’s chair comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The tea set on the embroidered footstool in the centre of the image is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, and has been hand painted by artisan miniaturist Victoria Fasken.

 

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

 

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

 

The white roses in the blue and white vase on the sofa table are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Aunt Egg’s family photos, all of which are all real photos, are produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. The 1:12 artisan miniature blue and white jasperware Wedgwood teapot on the round table near the bottom of the photo is actually carved from wood, with a removable lid which has been hand painted. I acquired it from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures. The hand blown blue and clear glass basket next to it comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

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

 

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

 

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

After finishing college, May went back home and started working for Morris & Co., her father's firm. She was head of the Embroidery section, with a team of embroiderers. Cheltenham Art Gallery & Museum recently acquired this panel, probably intended to be a firescreen, which was designed by May. She designed pieces like this, and designed and embroidered the large, elaborate special commissions as she was one of the most skilled embroiderers working for the Firm.

According to the label in the gallery, "the right hand side of the picture, including the chalice as well as a strip along the top edge are later additions. They may not reflect the artist's original intentions."

While I was taking photos of fabrics on my "new" couch, I realized that the coffeetable and everything on it , plus the chairs, mantle, firescreen, and pretty much anything else you might see in this room...besides the floor, was either a thrift find, or free. cool

Seen on Hong Kong island in October 1991, these Dodge K series tankers were operated by Esso and the firescreens are clearly visible behind the cabs.

Ruby: "Is this another Dolls' Shelf?"

Lillian: "This is our Giants' Fireplace and we are on the Mantlepiece. It isn't original to the house but it is from roughly the same time, 1880s. It needs some work - there should be fancy bits in those frames beneath us."

Ruby: "What's that metal thing with the boat on?"

Lillian: "Ummm the Galleon - that's a firescreen, brass and it needs a polish again! It is later than the mantlepiece, from the1930s and our Daddy Giant's grandpa had one the same."

Ruby: "There are lots of clay ladies on this shelf ..."

Lillian: "Our Giants' daughter made those - and she calls the Mantlepiece the Mental-piece ..."

Collection: A. D. White Architectural Photographs, Cornell University Library

Accession Number: 15/5/3090.01023

 

Title: Eaton Hall. The Dining Room

 

Photographer: Sir Francis Bedford (English, 1816-1894)

  

Photograph date: ca. 1865-ca. 1885

  

Location: Europe: United Kingdom; Chester

 

Materials: albumen print

 

Image: 5 x 8 in.; 12.7 x 20.32 cm

 

Provenance: Transfer from the College of Architecture, Art and Planning

 

Persistent URI: http://hdl.handle.net/1813.001/5t4w

 

There are no known copyright restrictions on this image. The digital file is owned by the Cornell University Library which is making it freely available with the request that, when possible, the Library be credited as its source.

   

We had some help with the geocoding from Web Services by Yahoo!

  

Sitting Room with firescreen designed by Duncan Grant

St Elizabeth of Hungary and St Dorothea by George Frampton 1895 Given by Alice Dorothea Henderson in 1954.

 

This firescreen was commissioned in 1895 by Alice Radcliffe a wealthy art lover based in London. When she died her collection was inherited by Alice Dorothea Henderson, a bath resident. She left it to the Victoria Art Gallery in 1954., in one of the most important bequests ever made in Bath. Alongside St Dorothea, the patron saint of florists, the screen depicts St Elizabeth of Hungary, George Frampton was a leading figure in the Art and Crafts Movement and a member of the Art Workers Guild.

 

It is COLD here in SC and I LOVE it! =) It's supposed to "warm up" by the end of the week though and be in the 50's. =( However, when it is in the 30's (high or low), it is fire time at our house! I got the idea this AM to build a fire and have Jack roast marshmallows for my bench pic...however, after thinking past the cuteness part of it, I realized that might not be too safe...me trying to take pics by myself of a three-year old boy in front of a fire. Not smart. SO...we made a "pretend fire" and he loved it! Jack LOVES to roast marshmallows but doesn't like to eat them. =/ So anyway, this was perfect because since it wasn't "hot", he could get close to it and could do it all by himself without me freaking out! =O

 

And now that my Bench Monday pic is uploaded, I think I will light a flame to that tissue paper and make a real fire! HBM everybody!!! =)

A 1925 fire screen by metalsmith Edgar Brandt, on display as part of the "Jazz Age" exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art in Cleveland, Ohio, in the United States.

 

Brandt (1880-1960) was a French metalworker who lived in Paris. This fire screen, made of gilded wrought iron, depicts a stylized image of American dancer Isidora Duncan. The floral background is based on a style seen in Vienna in the 1910s. It was updated into an Art Nouveau style.

 

Art Nouveau was a style of art popular between 1890 and 1910. It was a reaction to the academism, Beaux-Arts, Neoclassicism, and Romanticism of the 19th century. Art Nouveau emphasized natural forms, particularly the curved lines of plants and flowers. Art Nouveau fell out of style by 1910, replaced by Art Deco and then Modernism.

 

#CMAJazzAge

 

1. Vintage barkcloth, 2. Barkcloth pillow, 3. Capodimonte roses, 4. Barkcloth covered lampshade, 5. Jar with handpainted roses, 6. Vintage rose painting, 7. Vintage vignette, 8. Barkcloth laundry bag, 9. Vintage wallpaper firescreen, 10. Needlepoint pillow, 11. Vintage Doorstop, 12. Handpainted roses, 13. My barkcloth pillows14. Not available15. Not available16. Not available

 

Created with fd's Flickr Toys.

Atlanta Street Fashion

 

Atlanta Street Fashion

 

detail of needlework firescreen, Atlanta Preservation Center

 

[chalk, hand toned and printed photograph, 1998]

 

On the 27th January 1832 four men, Christopher Davis, William Clarke, Thomas Gregory and Joseph Kayes, were hanged in public, on the roof of the Cumberland Road Gaol, in the centre of Bristol. Numerous others were sentenced to imprisonment and transportation.

 

They were convicted for their part in the infamous Bristol riots, that occurred in October of the previous year, sparked not least by the defeat of the Reform Act by the House of Lords.

 

The gaol itself had been partly destroyed during the riot, and the Governor of the gaol, William Humphries subsequently made claim for all his losses from the City of Bristol.

 

The claim is a remarkable list, and openened debate into if and why Humphries had such vast amount of goods in his possession.

 

It also seems to confirm speculation that Humphries sold large amounts of drink to the prisoners; practice which was later condemned and made illegal.

 

After the legal deliberation, Humphries and other claimants recieved compensation for there losses, oddly paid by the Bristol Guardians of the Poor.

 

"...15,000 persons being then and there unlawfully, riotously and tumultuously assembled together to the disturbances of the public peace with force and aims etc. unlawfully and feloniously demolished and destroyed a certain house situate and being in the parish aforesaid (Bedminster) within the City and County (of Bristol) then and there also with force and aims etc at the same time unlawfully damaged and destroyed divers large quantities of fixtures, furnitures and goods, to wit: 30 tables, 30 cupboards, 100 shelves, 100 chairs, 10 sideboards, 10 wardrobes, 10 desks, 10 sofas, 10 bedsteads, with furniture, 10 other bedsteads, 50 beds, 50 bolsters, 50 pillows, 10 mattresses, 10 palliasses, 2000 pounds of feathers, 2000 pounds of hair, 20 stools, 300 yards of carpetings, 20 carpets, 20 hearth-rugs, 100 yards of floorcloth, 100 yards of baize, 50 mats, 10 pier glasses, 10 mirrors, 10 chimney glasses, 30 looking-glasses, 20 fenders, 20 sets of fire-irons, 20 fire-guards, 20 firescreens, 20 chests of drawers, 20 towel-horses, 20 clothes-horses, 20 washstands, 20 night-tables, 20 night-chairs, 5 pair of bed-steps, 20 window curtains, 50 bed curtains, 50 other curtains, 50 window blinds, 50 sun blinds, 50 venetian blinds, 10 dressing cases, 10 linen chests, 10 clothes chests, 20 other chests, 10 clothes baskets, 20 trunks, 20 boxes, 5 piano-fortes, 5 guitars, 5 other musical instruments, 5 ink stands, 5 bagatelle tables, 5 clocks, 5 dials, 5 globes, 5 thermometers, 5 legrests, 5 telescopes, 5 saddles, 5 bridles, 5 bird cages, 5 work-boxes, 5 work baskets, 50 pictures, 50 prints, 50 picture frames, 10 maps, 100 china ornaments, 20 figures, 5 models, 5 fishing rods, 5 whips, 20 swords, 20 cutlasses, 20 guns, 20 fowling pieces, 20 muskets, 20 pistols, 10 umbrellas, 5 umbrella stands, 10 lamps, 5 glass cases, 50 stuffed birds, 1000 volumes of books, 50 quires of paper, 1000 pamphlets, 10 coal scuttles, 10 table covers, 10 sideboard covers, 50 table mats, 50 other mats, 10 knife cases, 10 tea urns, 10 tea caddies, 20 trays, 20 waiters, 50 candlesticks, 50 pairs of snuffers, 50 snuffer stands, 10 iron rings, 50 dish covers, 20 kettles, 10 fountains, 5 plate warmers, 5 dressers, 50 saucepans, 10 boilers, 10 coppers, 10 frying pans, 10 grid-irons, 10 spits, 10 sieves, 5 warming-pans, 5 pairs of scales, 50 weights, 5 corkscrews, 20 ladles, 20 mops, 20 brooms, 50 baskets, 5 meat screens, 5 tripods, 100 casks, 100 tubs, 50 vats, 50 pails, 50 buckets, 50 dishes, 200 plates, 50 cups, 50 saucers, 50 basins, 50 jugs, 50 mugs, 50 pans, 100 jars, 20 decanters, 20 finger glasses, 50 tumblers, 100 wine glasses, 200 other glasses, 500 bottles, 5 glass globes, 5 sets of casters, 10 lanterns, 200 knives, 5 binns, 200 gallons of cider, 200 gallons of beer, 200 gallons of wine, 200 gallons of brandy, 200 gallons of Holland's gin, 200 gallons of rum, 200 gallons of whisky, 500 gallons of spirituous liquors, 200 pounds of pickles, 200 pounds of preserves, 20 spades, 20 rakes, 20 shovels, 20 pitchforks, 20 hoes, 20 trowels, 20 hatchets, 20 hammers, 20 pick-axes, 20 flower-stands, 100 flower pots, 500 plants, 500 shrubs, 500 flower roots, 200 pairs of sheets, 50 pillow cases, 50 bolster cases, 30 quilts, 30 counterpanes, 100 blankets, 50 table cloths, 100 napkins, 100 towels, 500 yards of linen, 500 yards of flannel, 500 yards of cloth, 500 yards of silk, 20 coats, 20 greatcoats, 20 pairs of breeches, 20 pairs of silk pantaloons, 20 pairs of trousers, 20 pairs of drawers, 20 pairs of gaiters, 20 waistcoats, 20 hats, 50 shirts, 50 caps, 50 pairs of stockings, 50 pair of boots, 50 pair of shoes, 100 pocket handkerchiefs, 100 other handkerchiefs, 10 bonnets, 20 gowns, 20 shawls, 50 petticoats, 10 cloaks, 10 pelisses, 10 muffs, 10 tippets, 50 pairs of gloves, 50 aprons, 50 shifts, 50 pairs of stays, 100 yards of ribbon, 20 brushes, 20 razors, 5 razor strops, 10 sewing boxes, 10 portmanteaus, 20 combs, 20 gallons of oil, 100 pounds of soap, 100 pounds of candles, 100 pounds of tea, 100 pounds of sugar, 100 pounds of butter, 100 pounds of cheese, 100 pounds of flour, 100 l5ounds of rice, 50 pounds of spice, 50 silver table spoons, 50 silver desert spoons, 50 silver tea spoons, 50 silver salt spoons, 100 other spoons, 50 silver forks, 100 other forks, 200 ounces of gold, 200 ounces of silver, 200 ounces of plated metal..."

The dinning room (?) with ornate mantle and firescreen.

There are still 7 more hand-forged bent "waterfall" arc's to form-

as well as 4 small-tightly-rolled scrolls.....

Then- after all of the elements are pre-polished...I can begin the TIG Welding-

to assemble all of the elements to each other-

and then to the frame.

After all those welds are ground smooth- I will later need to RE-POLISH the entire thing-

add "feet" or some way to make it stand vertically

in front of The Fireplace....

before a final matt finish clear coat can be "baked on".

 

;-D

A bespoke fire screen, made to fit an irregular shaped hearth. Three sided, it has an opening door for ease of access to the stove. The riveted and hammer faceted surrounds add interest and enhance the design. Hand forged by Artist Blacksmith Adrian Stapleton at trinityforge.co.uk.

 

Johanna's Halloween fire screen sets off a display of items for sale at her 9th Annual Holiday Folk Art Show & Open House.

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

Collection: A. D. White Architectural Photographs, Cornell University Library

Accession Number: 15/5/3090.01350

 

Title: Compiègne. Family Room in the Château

 

Photographer: L. P.

  

Building Date: ca. 1770

Photograph date: ca. 1925-ca. 1950

  

Location: Europe: France; Compiègne

 

Materials: gelatin silver print

 

Image: 9.0945 x 7.5591 in.; 23.1 x 19.2 cm

 

Style: Rococo

 

Provenance: Transfer from the College of Architecture, Art and Planning

 

Persistent URI: http://hdl.handle.net/1813.001/5tj6

 

There are no known copyright restrictions on this image. The digital file is owned by the Cornell University Library which is making it freely available with the request that, when possible, the Library be credited as its source.

   

We had some help with the geocoding from Web Services by Yahoo!

  

Source: Digital image.

Set: WIL04.

Date: c1895.

Photographer: William Hooper.

HOOPER COLLECTION COPYRIGHT P.A. Williams.

Repository: From the collection of Mr P. Williams.

Used here by his very kind permission.

 

Local Studies at Swindon Central Library.

www.swindon.gov.uk/localstudies

Went out a tad late and missed the sunset, so here's another one from the fireside. :)

 

Pentax K-1 & KMZ Helios 44 (m39)

 

Shot for the Daily-In Challenge on Pentax Forums

Brass Firescreen centre piece 26x30" side pieces 13x30". $60.00

Pray For the soul of

John Joseph KEARNS

(Chief Inspector N.Z. Police)

Dearly loved husband of

Margaret Mary

Died 6th February 1961

Also his loved wife

Died 21st March 1979

Loved parents of

Bernard & John

REQUIESCANT IN PACE

 

Block 9 Plot 9 [1]

 

John married Margaret Mary nee DONOHUE c1924, marriage registration 1924/9452 [4]

  

John:

 

Born c1902, New Zealand[1]

Died 6 February 1961 aged 59 [1]

Occupation: Police Inspector [1]

 

Possible parents: Katherine Cecilia and James Patrick KEARNS [3]

Possible birth registration: 1901/6290 [3]

 

March 1942: “Sergeant J.J. Kearns, of the Christchurch Police Force, who has been transferred to Lyttelton, was met yesterday by his fellow officers and was presented with a firescreen and a wall mirror by Superintendent T Shanahan.” [4]

 

18 July 1945 - Appointed to be Inspector of Clubs for the purpose of inspecting and reporting upon Chartered Clubs [2]

 

He appears in paperspast online (via National Library New Zealand) several times under “J J Kearns” for various cases.

 

SOURCES:

[1]

heritage.christchurchcitylibraries.com/Cemeteries/interme...

[2]

The New Zealand Gazette; tinyurl.com/rv54fuwk

[3]

NZ Dept Internal Affairs historic BDM indexes; www.bdmhistoricalrecords.dia.govt.nz/search

[4]

Paperspast via National Library New Zealand; Press, 20 March 1942, Page 4; paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP19420320.2.30?ite...

  

Rolled paperwork (quilling) on a wooden frame.

Probably worked by Princess Elizabeth (born in London 1770, died in Frankfurt-on-Main 1840)

 

V&A

 

December Diary Project

Theme: Reflections/Shadows

 

You are probably saying, "where's the reflections? Where's the shadows?" Well, this shot is like one of those Where's Waldo pictures - you have to really work to find the reflections/shadows! There really are a couple of tiny ones - look carefully, you'll see them! ;-)

 

Sorry, guys - it's the best I could come up with for Christmas Day!

 

Many, many handforged parts are made to fit within the parameters of the frame which is created from a template generated by the client.

~1860-70, japanned wood, maker unknown

-------------

exhibition till 26 March, 2017

Thu 12-4

Fri 12-4

Sat 12-4

Sun-Tue closed

"The Lawler Foundry at the Metal Museum was made possible through a generous donation from the Lawler Foundry in Birmingham, Alabama. The purpose of the foundry is to support the mission of the Museum to "advance the art and craft of fine metalwork". It is a working foundry dedicated to producing high quality castings for conservation, commissions and artists. It offers classes in sand casting, an artist in residence program and regularly produces items to support other work at the Museum, including commissions and workshops for public and private schools.

    

We specialize in casting single pieces and small production runs. Castings range from a few ounces up to 20 lbs. of aluminum, 60 lbs. of brass or bronze and 100 lbs. of iron. Production can range from just a single piece up to several hundred pieces for smaller castings. Every mold is hand made in an oil-bonded sand. The sand is produced in-house and is specially formulated to achieve outstanding detail and surface finish. Our castings have reproduced detail as fine as fingerprints with a surface quality that rivals shell molding without the extra steps and costs associated with producing shell molds.

    

We can work with furniture and building restoration projects to produce identical copies of missing items such as drawer pulls, escutcheons, window and door hardware, finials, bathtub feet, lamp parts and other items that are no longer in production elsewhere. For this type of work, we normally need an original to use as a pattern. In some cases, we can cast a sound replacement from a broken piece. Reproduction work can also include machine parts and parts from antique cars and boats.

    

We work with other artists and craftsmen to help add decorative details to larger projects such as railings, firescreens or special awards. We can work from a pattern or collaborate in the design process. We have assisted many artists in turning their original vision into a unique casting.

    

Delivery of a single casting or sample from a pattern can be as short as two weeks for brass, bronze and aluminum. Cast iron is produced on an as-needed basis and delivery will take somewhat longer depending on the project." The quoted text above was taken with appreciation from as it appeared in the Description section on 14FEB2013.

I'm interested to see what the fireplace looks like underneath the paint. The stone or concrete appears to have been painted recently, perhaps to cover up smoke stains due to issues with the fireplace drawing. Note that the firescreen is custom fitted to the opening. Additionally, the valve for the gas is underneath the carpet, somewhere.

 

Finally, the space over the fireplace is just asking for a nice old landscape painting.

Glass backed bi-fold firescreen for First Responders, fireman's parents.

Robert Campin, auch Meister von Flémalle genannt (Valenciennes 1378/79 - Tournai 1444/45) oder ein Nachfolger

Maria mit dem Kind am Kamin (ca. 1440)

National Gallery, London

 

The Virgin is seated on a wooden bench in front of a large wicker firescreen, the shape of which suggests a halo, and appears to have been nursing the infant Christ. She is shown as the Queen of Heaven in her palace. Her richly ornamented dress, precious book, the cushions and the inlaid floor are all evocative of extraordinary splendour. By contrast, her child is shown naked, as if to emphasise his humanity.

 

The painting underwent a major restoration in the 19th century. A broad strip on the right and a narrow strip at the top were added. The cupboard on the right, on which a chalice is placed, is unlikely to be an accurate reflection of the original composition.

 

The view through the window is a feature of early Netherlandish painting. All its realistic details are not easily visible to the naked eye. They include a row of shops, horsemen, and men with a ladder fighting a fire.

Source: National Gallery, London

Custom carved firescreen