Lake Naivasha National Park. Kenya.

Blue Wildebeest, Connochaestes taurinus, Shoulder height 1.4m. / 4.6ft. Antelope of open grasslands and savanna woodlands.

 

Nairobi, Kiambu, Kenya.

 

©bryanjsmith.

Lake Naivasha. Kenya.

m2m clients are always provided with a nutritious lunch as part of their participation in support group. [www.m2m.org] Photo: Andrew Topham

 

Intermediate Egret (Yellow-billed), Ardea intermedia brachyrhyncha, 65-72cm. / 25.6-28.35in. A variety of wetlands. Must be UNCOMMON because it is not in the field guide for East African birds.

 

Nairobi, Kiambu, Kenya.

 

©bryanjsmith.

Lake Manguo - Limuru - Kenya 2026

N'hésitez pas à vous faire plaisir en consultant le récit de notre voyage au Kenya sur l'adresse suivante : www.myatlas.com/tess4756.

Low light photography

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

 

Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her old family home for the wedding of Leslie to Arabella, the daughter of their neighbours, Lord Sherbourne and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt. She has come a few days earlier than the other family members who are coming to stay at Glynes for the significant event.

 

Alighting from the London train at Glynes village railway station, Lettice is quickly swept away to the house by Harris, the chauffer, in the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler. As the Daimler purrs up the gravel driveway, Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, steps through the front door followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman. Descending the stairs Marsden pads across the crunching gravel and opens the door of the Daimler for Lettice.

 

“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile as she walks up the steps to the front door. “What a pleasure it is to see you back again.”

 

“Thank you Bramley,” she replies with a satisfied smile and a sigh as she looks up at the classical columned portico of her beloved childhood home basking in the weakening autumnal sunshine of the late morning. “It’s good to be home.”

 

She sweeps into the lofty classical Adam style entrance hall of Glynes where she waits for Bramley to accept her gloves, her fox fur stole and her grey travelling coat.

 

“How was the train journey from London, My Lady?” Bramley asks Lettice as helps her shirk her coat from her shoulders, revealing a smart silvery grey frock with a sailor collar, a double rope of perfect pearls given to her by her parents as a coming of age birthday gift about her neck.

 

“Oh, quite pleasant, thank you Bramley.”

 

“Her Ladyship is expecting you in the morning room.”

 

“I’ll just go upstairs and freshen up first.” Lettice points to her escape route up the stairs to her bedroom up on the third floor of the mansion.

 

“Very good My Lady. However… I should…” Bramley adds with a touch of hesitation. Sighing he continues, “Master Lionel has arrived home from British East Africa*.”

 

Lettice feels all the happiness she felt moments ago at returning to her childhood home for the wonderful occasion of her eldest brother’s wedding dissipate at the mere mention of her other brother’s name. Her face falls and the sparkle in her eyes is extinguished by a darkness. “Oh.” she mumbles, as she deposits her gloves in Bramley’s open and expectant hand.

 

“I… I thought you were better pre-warned, My Lady.” Bramley says dourly. “Her Ladyship has been anxious awaiting your arrival. She will wan….”

 

As if on cue, one of the double doors to the morning room just down the passageway opens with a squeak of door handles, the pop of a lock and the rasp of old wood.

 

“Ahh, Lettice!” Lady Sadie’s head crowned with her well-coiffed grey hair pops around the panelled door and smiles rather forcefully.

 

The older woman slips out the door, closing it quietly behind her before marching brusquely down the hall towards her daughter, the louis heels of her shoes clipping loudly on the parquetry floor beneath her.

 

“Thank god you’re here at last!” she sighs quietly with relief as she reaches her daughter’s side and places a hand heavily upon her forearm. “I thought you would never get here! I simply don’t think I can cope alone much longer with both your brother and Eglantine together in the same room.” She breathes heavily, as if her heart is under a major strain. “You must come and rescue me, at once.”

 

“But I was about to…” Lettice begins, gesticulating to the stairs.

 

“At once!” Lady Sadie demurs commandingly.

 

“Shall I bring some fresh tea, Your Ladyship?” Bramley asks.

 

“I’d prefer a dubonnet and gin at this moment.” Lady Sadie sighs, much to the surprise of both her unflappable faithful retainer and her daughter, both of whom exchange astonished glances. “My nerves are positively shot with Lionel and Eglantine to entertain all my own,” She looks accusingly at her daughter, as if she were responsible for the train arrival times from London. “And your father and brother conveniently nowhere in sight.”

 

“They’ll be out on estate business, Mamma.” Lettice chides her mother gently, as she unpins her hat from her head and passes it to the butler.

 

“It’s more convenience if you ask me.” She sniffs and stiffens, a steely haughtiness hardening the few softened edges of her face. “Considering the time of day, tea will have to suffice. Yes, Bramley. A fresh pot if you would, and some more biscuits if you can manage it.” Turning to Lettice she adds, “Your aunt always did have an over indulged sweet tooth, even during the war when we were on rations, and it seems that your brother has developed an unhealthy love of sugar during his time in Nairobi.”

 

“Very good, Your Ladyship.” Bramley says as he discreetly retreats with Lettice’s hat.

 

Wrapping her arm through Lettice’s, Lady Sadie forcefully guides her daughter towards the closed morning room door. “I know Emmery usually takes care of you when you are here, Lettice, but your Aunt Gladys’ maid has caught the flu, at the most inconvenient of times. So, Eglantine has graciously offered to share her maid with you.”

 

“Oh Mamma!” Lettice exclaims exasperatedly, her stomach tightening as they draw closer to the door. “I really don’t need a lady’s maid. I’m quite independent in London you know. It is 1922 after all – nearly 1923.”

 

“Now, now!” Lady Sadie scolds. “I can’t have idle servants’ gossip below stairs. What would the maids from the other guests think if their hostess’ daughter declines the use of a lady’s maid? Next, they’ll be calling you a bluestocking**!” Lettice rolls her eyes. “No!” Lady Sadie pressed her right hand firmly over Lettice’s left one. “We’ll just make up an excuse that your maid was taken ill too. In saying that, I can’t believe that Eglantine brought that awful girl!”

 

“Who, Lise?” Lettice queries, referring to her aunt’s lady’s maid by her first name. When Lady Sadie nods, she continues, “I’ve always found Lise to be very sweet and obliging.”

 

“It’s not her manner I mind,” the older woman lowers her voice. “It’s her cultural heritage that offends me.”

 

“Oh Mamma! How many times must you be told? Lise, just like Augusta and Clotilde, are Swiss, not German.”

 

“Swiss, German, it matters not! They are still foreign!” Lady Sadie snaps. “Eglantine always was contrary. Why on earth she had to have a foreigner when a good English lady’s maid would have been perfectly comparable is beyond my comprehension.”

 

“Well perhaps it’s…” Lettice begins, but her retort is cut short as her mother depresses the door handle to the morning room and pushes it open.”

 

“Here she is!” Lady Sadie announces brightly with false bonhomie to the guests sitting in her chairs. “Lettice is here at last!”

 

The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of her continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of Glynes’ hothouse flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother Lady Sadie’s Yardley Lily of the Valley scent which is ever present in the air.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite nice!” Eglantine, known by all the Chetwnd children by the affectionate diminutive name of ‘Aunt Egg’, exclaims as she sits regally in the straight-backed chair next to Sadie’s soft upholstered wingback chair.

 

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, held in place by an ornate tortoiseshell comb. Sitting with perfect posture in her chair with her arms resting lightly on the arms, she looks positively regal. Large chandelier earrings containing sparking diamonds hang from her lobes whilst strings of pearls and bright beads cascade down the front 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 strikingly beautiful shades of sea blue.

 

“Hullo Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies as she walks over to her aunt’s seated figure and kisses her first on one proffered cheek and then the other as her aunt’s elegant, yet gnarled fingers covered in rings reach up and clench her forearms firmly. “I keep saying that I’m sure you say that to Lally and all our female cousins.”

 

“And I keep telling you that you will never know until after I’m gone.” her aunt laughs raspily in reply. “For then the truth will be known through the disbursement of my jewels. To my favourite, or favourites, go the spoils!”

 

“Oh Aunt Egg!” Lettice scoffs. “You really mustn’t talk like that.”

 

“Eglantine always talks like that.” mutters Lady Sadie disapprovingly as she resumes her own seat.

 

“I wish I was six feet under when I can’t even smoke one of my Sobranies****.” Eglantine quips sulkily. “But your mother won’t let me smoke in here.”

 

“It’s undignified for a lady to smoke in public.” Sadie defends.

 

“I thought that we were in private, dear Sadie.”

 

“Don’t be so literal Eglantine, or are you being obtuse on purpose?” Sadie asks. Eglantine smiles mischievously behind one of her hands at the rise she has gained from her detested sister-in-law. “It’s undignified for a lady to smoke. Anyway, this is my house, so I should be allowed to make the rules.”

 

“Hullo Lettuce Leaf!” comes a male voice to Lettice’s right, its well-modulated tones dripping with a mixture of mirth, mischief and malice.

 

Cringing at the use of her abhorred childhood nickname, Lettice turns her head, to where her brother, Lionel’s reclining form lies amidst the overstuffed confines of their mother’s floral chaise lounge, where he flips rather languidly through a more recent copy of Lady Sadie’s Elite Styles*****. He looks up at her and purses his thin lips in what Lettice can only presume is his version of a mean smile, but looks more like he just smelt fresh horse droppings.

 

“Lionel.” Lettice says laconically in a peevish tone, returning his steely gaze of her with her own.

 

“Your brother has just been regaling us with wild tales of his horse breeding in British East Africa,” Eglantine remarks cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the animosity radiating already between the two siblings. “Haven’t you, my darling boy!” She lets go of Lettice and reaches over to her nephew’s hand, which he proffers to her so she can grasp it lovingly.

 

Lettice casts her eyes critically over her brother. His looks have changed over the three years of his exile to Kenya after fathering illegitimate children to not one, but two of the Glynes maids and the dullard daughter of one of their father’s tenant farmers in the space of one year. He has lost the softness of entitlement that he had, replaced now by a more muscular ranginess created through the exertions of breeding horses on a high altitude stud on the slopes of the Aberdare Range******. The African sun has bleached his sandy tresses blonde, a change made even more noticeable by the golden sunbathed pallor of his face. Yet for all these changes, Lionel still has blue eyes as cold as chips of ice, full of hatred, and a mean and malevolent smile beneath his equally mean little strip pencil moustache as he looks at her with barely contained detestation. Lettice shudders and looks away.

 

“It looks as though the Kenyan climate agrees with you, Lionel,” Lettice concedes. “You look remarkably well.”

 

“I am well, my dear little sister.” he replies in a rather bored tone. “The sun is glorious out there: full and rich, not like the weak version shining here.”

 

“Sit here, Lettice my dear.” Eglantine insists, standing up, snatching up her Royal Doulton rose decorated teacup and gliding around the table on which sits the remains of morning tea.

 

“Oh no, Aunt Egg.” Lettice protests. “I’ll be quite fine…”

 

“Nonsense, my dear.” Eglantine settles into the ornate Victorian salon chair of unidentifiable style opposite, the hem of her gown pooling around her feet like a cascade of water. “Your mother and I have had all morning to chat with Lionel. You two are the closest in age, and besides, you haven’t seen each other in three years, so I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.”

 

Just at that moment there is a discreet knock at the door.

 

“Come.” calls out Lady Sadie commandingly from her throne by the cracking fire.

 

The door is opened by Moira, one of the Chetwynd’s maids who has taken to assisting wait table at breakfast and luncheon on informal occasions since the war, who walks into the morning room holding the door open for Bramley, who steps across the threshold carrying a silver salver on which stand a fresh pot of tea and coffee, milk, sugar and a cup matching the others already being used for Lettice.

 

“You had better have brought more of those biscuits, Bramley!” Lionel snaps at the butler, carelessly tossing the magazine he had in his thin hands aside onto the floral pouffe that acts as a barrier between he and his sister, the magazine clipping his cup, which rattles emptily as it jostles in its saucer. “A man needs to eat!”

 

“Yes Sir.” Bramley replies obsequiously, politely ignoring Lionel’s rudeness as he carefully slides the tray, on which stands a plate of fresh colourful cream biscuits, onto the round central table as Moira picks up the tray of used tea implements to take away.

 

As Moira straightens up, Lionel catches her eye and gives her a conspiratorial wink, making the maid smirk and colour flood her cheeks. Although not noticed by Lady Sadie or Eglantine who are now engaged in a conversation about flowers for the wedding, Lettice’s sharp eye doesn’t miss the silent exchange between the two, and as Moira curtseys to her mistress, Lettice makes a mental note to have a word with the Chetwynd’s housekeeper, Mrs. Casterton, later, and remind her to have her warn not only Moira, but all the new maids on the staff about her brother’s roué ways.

 

“I see you haven’t changed, Lionel.” Lettice remarks dryly as she takes her seat next to her abhorred brother, glancing meaningfully between him and the retreating figure of Moira.

 

“Evidently neither have you, Lettuce Leaf.” Lionel smirks with unbridled delight as his sister cringes yet again at the mention of her nickname. “You always were the Chetwynd with the sharpest eye. I should have aimed better at you with my slingshot when I was eight and you were six.” He shuffles forward on the chaise and snatches three biscuits greedily from the gilt edged plate before shuffling back with them, tossing two carelessly onto his saucer with a clatter and placing the remaining one to his lips. “If I’d had a sharper eye, I’d have had better aim. If I’d had better aim, I could have blinded you like I wanted to. If I’d blinded you, in one eye at least, it would have saved me a lot of trouble later in life, and banishment to the wilds of Africa.”

 

“You always were cruel to me,” Lettice mutters bitterly with a shiver as she remembers the sharp pain of the stone at it hit her temple and imbedded itself into her flesh. “To all of us, really. Lally, even Leslie,” She reaches up and rubs the spot where a faint scar still remains from the gash left by the stone shot from her brother’s catapult. “But cruellest of all to me. You savoured every hurt you could inflict on me.”

 

“Survival of the fittest, my dear Lettuce Leaf.” He bites meaningfully into the biscuit, growling menacingly, imitating a wild beast tearing at the flesh of its kill.

 

“You’re a brute, Lionel.” Lettice looks away in disgust. She reaches out and takes up the teacup Bramley brought her and pours tea into her cup.

 

“Top me up, Lettuce Leaf!” Lionel pipes up loudly.

 

“Oh!” gasps Eglantine from across the table. “I haven’t heard you called that for years, Lettice.” She chortles happily. “Haven’t you two grown out of calling each other childhood nicknames?” she remarks good naturedly, picking up her cup.

 

“Evidently not, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies with false good humour.

 

From her wingback chair Sadie quickly glances with concern at her two youngest children before turning back to Eglantine and answering her question.

 

Lettice deposits her cup on the table between she and her mother and then reaches for the teapot. She leans over towards her brother, who indicates with lowered lids and a commanding nod towards his empty cup, however she ignores his lofty silent demand and hovers with the pot’s spout over Lionel’s groin.

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Lionel snarls viscously as he glances with irritation at his sister.

 

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” She tilts the pot slightly, making Lionel flinch and squirm on the chaise in an attempt to avoid any hot tea hitting and burning him in such a sensitive area. Seeing his reaction, she smiles and returns the pot to an upright position in her hand. “I’m not the frightened little girl you said goodbye to here three years ago, Lionel.” she warns him quietly. “I live independently in London now, and I’m a lot more worldly than I was.”

 

“Slut!” he hisses.

 

His insult slices Lettice to the bone, but steeling herself, she remains poised and unflinching as she tilts the pot down again, this time allowing the smallest amount of hot tea to escape the spout. It splatters onto a cream coloured rose printed on the fabric of the chaise and is quickly absorbed. “Is that the kind of parlance fashionable in Nairobi these days?” she asks mockingly in a falsely sweet tone.

 

“I’ll tell you what I do know, my dear little sister, having been a damn good racehorse breeder these last three years.”

 

“And what’s that Lionel?” Lettice proceeds to pour tea into her brother’s empty cup.

 

“I can tell that you’re still a stupid little filly who needs a good siring from a stallion.” He gently grinds his groin back and forth, representing the act.

 

Unflinching, Lettice replies breezily, “Oh, so you’ve learned about animal husbandry whilst you’ve been away. Good.” She leans closer to Lionel. “But your use of that language and vulgar and unnecessary demonstration just makes me feel even more disgusted by you.” She screws up her nose in distaste and looks down upon him.

 

Undeterred, determined not to be outdone and to inflict hurt on his little sister, Lionel continues, “Mater told me that here you are at twenty-two and you’re still an old maid, despite her attempts to get you married off.”

 

“In case you’ve forgotten Lionel, there has been a war, and a whole generation of men far better than you have been wiped out.”

 

“Mater would happily foist you off onto any unwitting fool of a man, war cripple or otherwise that would have you. However, it appears that there are no takers: not even a shellshock victim or a blind veteran. If that’s what you call living an independent life, I pity you, Lettuce Leaf - shrivelled and dried up old Lettuce Leaf, trodden on and soiled, Lettuce Leaf.”

 

“I have a good life in London, I’ll have you know, Lionel. I run my own business now.”

 

“Oh yes, Mater told me that you’re pursuing this little interior design charade of yours to fill the gap that no husband will fill.”

 

“And I happen to be very good at what I do.” Lettice speaks determinedly over her brother’s hurtful words.

 

“If you say so, dear.” Lionel sneers. “Pass me the milk and the sugar.”

 

“I’ve been very successful” Lettice passes him the sugar bowl.

 

“Going to snitch to Pater and Mater again, are you, you little worm?” Lionel shakes his head as he hands the sucrier back to his sister. “Just like you did three years ago.”

 

“If I think there is a necessity, Lionel.” Lettice remarks as she returns the sugar bowl and takes up the milk jug. Leaning down in a pretence of adding milk to his tea, she quietly whispers to Lionel, “Have I cause to do so?”

 

“What?” Lionel snorts derisively as he takes the jug roughly from her. “With that little filly?” He glances to the door through which Moira exited with Bramley. “Fear not, my plucky little sister. My tastes have changed since I was forced to leave here.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that.” Lettice scoffs. “A leopard, his spots and all that.”

 

“No, I have, I assure you. I prefer mares now. The quality is better.”

 

“What are you insinuating, Lionel?”

 

“Well, despite Pater’s attempt to punish me for my dalliances: for the sewing of my wild oats,” Lettice looks away in abhorrence yet again as Lionel reaches down and rubs his inner thigh lasciviously. “He’s actually landed me in heaven on earth by sending me to Kenya.”

 

“Heaven?”

 

“Yes. The Muthaiga Club******* is full of hedonistic aristocrats, adventurers and elite colonial ex-pats,”

 

“No wonder you feel at home there.”

 

“Whose wives,” Lionel continues. “Are very bored in their husbands’ lengthy absences,” He hands her back the milk jug. “And their tiring presences. And unlike silly little fillies like the Moiras of this world, the mares know how not to get in the family way.”

 

“You sicken me, Lionel.” Lettice spits quietly.

 

In spite of her apparent engagement with Eglantine in conversation, Lady Sadie is keenly aware of the trouble brewing between er two children on the other side of the table, and her pale face crumples with concern.

 

“Nairobi is a veritable hotbed of drug taking and adultery,” Lionel goes on unabated. “Where promiscuity is de rigueur, little sister.” He smiles smugly as he takes a sip of his tea. “I was even taught a few things by the wife of a British peer who happens to be a good friend of Pater’s from his club!”

 

“Have you absolutely no shame?” Lettice asks in revulsion.

 

“Ahh, but that’s the good thing about Kenya. No-one has any need for shame there. Promiscuity and sexual prowess are badges of honour.”

 

“Then I’m sure you can’t wait to get back to your debauched lifestyle.”

 

“When I’m surrounded by British piety and hypocrisy here, my oath I am.”

 

“What are you two saying over there?” Lady Sadie pipes up nervously as she holds her cup and saucer in her lap.

 

“Oh, I was just asking Lionel when he has to go back to Kenya.” Lettice replies, looking gratefully to her mother for once.

 

“But he’s only just arrived, Lettice my dear!” chuckles Eglantine. “Surely you can’t want him to leave.”

 

“Oh it isn’t that, Eglantine,” Lady Sadie assures her sister-in-law. “It’s just that with the long journey both from British East Africa and back, he’ll have been away from the stud a good while, so he can only really stay until just after the wedding.”

 

“Oh really, Lionel?” Eglantine asks with a pout. “Can’t you even stay until Christmas? I don’t think we’ve had a Christmas with all you children under one roof since before the war.”

 

Knowing that his father, with whom he has a very strained relationship since being exiled in shame, only let him come back for Leslie and Arabella’s wedding for appearances’ sake, Lionel keeps up the pretence for his aunt’s sake and adds as he settles back into the scalloped back of the chaise, “Sorry Aunt Egg, but Mater is right. I’ll have been away from the farm for more than a month and a half by the time I get back.”

 

“But surely you have a steward you can leave in charge of the horse stud whilst you’re away.”

 

“Oh, I do, Aunt Egg.” Lionel agrees. “Capital chap too. Most capable.” He gazes down into his teacup. “However, it doesn’t pay to be away for too long. Kenya is full of treasure hunters and people on the make. I won’t let my stud suffer to line the pockets of, or up the prospects of, another man.”

 

“You always were competitive, even as child, my dear Lionel.” Eglantine smiles, shaking her head indulgently.

 

“Thinking of which, the Limru races will be coming up, not to mention the Kenya Derby******** so I have to be back for them!”

 

“Oooh!” Lettice sighs, raising her hand to her temple. “I think all this talk of wild Kenya is getting a bit much for me after my journey down from London.” She stands abruptly. “Would you all forgive me. I think I’d like to go to my room and lie down. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a short snooze and a freshen up.”

 

“Oh yes, do go up, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says soothingly, the look in her eyes betraying the fact that she knows how difficult it is for Lettice to even be in the same room as her brother. “It will be an hour or so before luncheon, so plenty of time to rest and recuperate. By that time your father and Leslie will be back from their estate rounds.” Turning to Eglantine she addresses her, “Eglantine, why don’t you and Lionel take a stroll around the gardens. I can’t stop you from smoking out of doors, and I’m sure Lionel would be happy to escort you.”

 

Lettice retreats, sighing with relief as she pulls the door of the morning room shut behind her, blocking out the hubbub of chatter. As she starts to retreat down the corridor, back to the main staircase, the door opens behind her and Lady Sadie slips out.

 

She scuttles up to her daughter. For the first time today, Lettice notices how pale and drawn her mother looks. Her pallor isn’t helped by her choice of a burnt orange coloured blouse, yet Lettice sees the dark circles under her eyes.

 

“Thank you for that, Lettice. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

 

Lettice is stunned by her mother’s gracious acknowledgement and more so her thanks.

 

“Don’t worry,” Lady Sadie continues. “He’ll be gone the day after the wedding.” She heaves a shuddering sigh.

 

“If I don’t murder him before then.” Lettice seethes angrily.

 

“Well, if you do, I’ll help you bury his body in the rose garden.” Lady Sadie remarks with a smirk in a rare show of humour. “Your father has seen to it that Lionel will leave on Thursday, threating to cut him off without a bean if he doesn’t go quickly and quietly. Goodness knows the total of Lionel’s chits from the Muthaiga Club your father could practically re-roof this place with.”

 

“He’s just the same Mamma.” Lettice says with exasperation. “He hasn’t changed at all. In fact, I think he’s worse than before he left. He’s so full of bravado and priggish male privilege.”

 

“I’ve already told Mrs. Casterton to keep a sharp eye on all the maids whilst he’s here.”

 

“That won’t be easy with Leslie and Bella’s wedding to host, Mamma. You’d be better to tell her to warn all the girls to be on their guard.”

 

“Hhhmmm…” Lady Sadie considers. “Very sensible, Lettice. We’ll make you a suitable chatelaine of your own fine house, yet.”

 

“Oh Mamma!” Lettice sighs.

 

“Only until Thursday.” the older woman repeats.

 

“Only until Thursday.” Lettice confirms in reply.

 

*The Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, commonly known as British Kenya or British East Africa, was part of the British Empire in Africa. It was established when the former East Africa Protectorate was transformed into a British Crown colony in 1920. Technically, the "Colony of Kenya" referred to the interior lands, while a 16 km (10 mi) coastal strip, nominally on lease from the Sultan of Zanzibar, was the "Protectorate of Kenya", but the two were controlled as a single administrative unit. The colony came to an end in 1963 when an ethnic Kenyan majority government was elected for the first time and eventually declared independence as the Republic of Kenya.

 

**The term bluestocking was applied to any of a group of women who in mid Eighteenth Century England held “conversations” to which they invited men of letters and members of the aristocracy with literary interests. The word over the passing centuries has come to be applied derisively to a woman who affects literary or learned interests.

 

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

 

*****Elite Styles was one of the many glossy monthly magazines aimed at leisured middle and upper-class women, describing and illustrating the popular fashions of the era.

 

******The Aberdare Range (formerly the Sattima Range) is a one hundred mile long mountain range of upland, north of Kenya's capital Nairobi with an average elevation of thirteen thousand one hundred and thirty feet. It straddles across the counties of Nyandarua, Nyeri, Muranga, Kiambu and Laikipia.

 

*******The Muthaiga Club is a club in Nairobi. It is located in the suburb of Muthaiga, about fifteen minutes’ drive from the city centre. The Muthaiga Country Club opened on New Year's Eve in 1913, and became a gathering place for the colonial British settlers in British East Africa, which later became in 1920, the Colony of Kenya.

 

********The annual Kenya Derby has been held since 1914, originally at Kenya’s principal racecourse in Kariokor, near Nairobi’s centre until 1954 when it was moved to the newly erected Ngong Racecourse.

 

Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian and Victorian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection including pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The silver tea set and silver galleried tray on the central table has been made with great attention to detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The gilt edged floral teacups, saucers and plates around the morning room come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The Elite Styles and Delineator magazines from 1922 sitting on the end of the chaise lounge and the floral pouffe were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.

 

Lady Sadie’s morning room is furnished mostly with pieces from high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. Lady Sadie’s cream wingback armchair is a Chippendale piece, whilst the gilt decorated mahogany tables are Regency style, as is the straight backed chair with unpadded arms. The ornate mahogany corner chair is high Victorian in style. The desk and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. The china cabinet to the left-hand side is Georgian revival and is lined with green velvet and fitted with glass shelves and a glass panelled door. The cream coloured footstool with gold tasselling came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The floral chaise lounge and footstool I acquired from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay.

 

The china cabinet is full of miniature pieces of Limoges porcelain that were made in the 1950s. Pieces include a milk jug, three sugar bowls and two lidded powder bowls. Also 1950s Limoges porcelain is the vase on the far left of the photo on the Regency table holding pink roses. The roses themselves are handmade miniatures that come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The fluted squat cranberry glass vase on the table to the right of the photo is an artisan miniature made of hand blown glass which also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. Made of polymer clay that are moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements, the very realistic looking red and white tulips are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany. The tiny gilt cherub statue I have had since I was a teenager. I bought it from a high street stockist who specialised in dolls houses and doll house miniatures. Being only a centimetre in height and half a centimetre in diameter it has never been lost, even though I have moved a number of times in my life since its acquisition.

 

The plaster fireplace comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom as well, and the fire screen and fire pokers come from the same high street stockist who specialised in dolls houses and doll house miniatures as the cherub statue. I have also had these pieces since I was a teenager. The Royal Doulton style figurines on top the fireplace, 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 Chetwynd’s family photos seen on Lady Sadie’s desk, the mantlepiece and hanging on the walls are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.

 

The two books about flower growing on Lady Sadie’s desk are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The painting of the Georgian family above the fireplace comes from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, whilst the two silhouette portraits come from Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The painting of the lady in the gold frame wedged up in the corner of the room surrounded by photos is made by Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

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

Waterfalls in black and white

The waterfall

Lake Manguo - Limuru - Kenya 2026

N'hésitez pas à vous faire plaisir en consultant le récit de notre voyage au Kenya sur l'adresse suivante :

www.myatlas.com/tess4756

Tea plantations along Kiambu Road, east of Limuru, Kiambu County.

Lake Manguo - Limuru - Kenya 2026

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

 

Lettice is engaged to Sir John Nettleford Hughes. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John, according to London society gossip enjoys dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Although she did not become engaged to him then, Lettice did reacquaint herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by mutual friends Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate in 1924. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again later that year at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. When Lettice’s understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, fell apart, Lettice agreed to Sir John’s proposal. Whilst attending the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes* in Paris last year with her now fiancée, Lettice learned from one of Sir John’s lovers, Madeline Flanton, actress from Cinégraphic**, that Selwyn’s dissolution of Lettice’s and his understanding and proposal to Kitty Avendale a diamond mine heiress, brought to Lettice’s attention by Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, may not be entirely true.

 

Today we are following in the footsteps of Lettice and her best old oldest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. Gerald a member of the aristocracy like Lettice, and the two grew up on adjoining estates in Wiltshire. However, although also being a member of the landed gentry Gerald’s fate is very different to Lettice’s. He has been forced to gain some independence from his rather impecunious family in order to make a living. Luckily his artistic abilities have led him to designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is finally beginning to turn a profit. As Lettice’s oldest friend, Gerald is the one she usually turns to in a crisis. And so she did, when she began to question all she had been told about Selwyn and his engagement. Gerald suggested engaging the services of a Pinkerton***. Thus we find ourselves south-east of Cavendish Mews, past the Royal Academy**** in Burlington House, across Piccadilly Circus*****, not far from the National Gallery****** in an alleyway in Piccadilly called George Court, which runs between The Strand and Victoria Embankment. Whilst not far geographically from Cavendish Mews, the tall and narrow, grim red brick buildings, filthy with soot, which block out the spring sky above, and the rather seedy looking mixture of grubby Georgian and Victorian shopfronts is a world away from the cleanliness, light and elegance of Lettice’s Mayfair flat. With Lettice trailing nervously behind, Gerald leads her up a narrow creaking staircase lined with worn and frayed stair carpet, up several flights to the poky and rather dingy office of Mr. Cookson.

 

Lettice paces the small room, whilst she and Gerald await the return of Mr. Cookson to his office after fetching the file he has on his investigations into Selwyn Spencely and Kitty Avendale’s engagement from his adjoining locked storage room. She can feel the tattered qualities of the threadbare carpet beneath her feet as she walks the width of the small room, made more so by the general clutter of the space. Her eyes flit in a desultory fashion about the tiny office, from the rather mean looking old fashioned fireplace with its Art Nouveau detailing on which stands a pipe rack with several pipes in it, to the large map of the world above it peppered with pin holes and drawing pins in different colours. Lettice sniffs the stale air, her nose crumpling with distaste as she inhales a mixture of pipe tobacco, dust and general dampness, the latter of which she assumes is because of their proximity to the Thames. Mr. Cookson’s habit of smoking is evident from the black pipe resting in a brass ashtray full of ashes, and a tin of Ogden’s Juggler tobacco on his cluttered leather topped desk, and the general miasma of pipe smoke that has not dissipated from the airless room, even with its small window, bare of curtains and offering a depressing view of a brick wall opposite, being ajar to allow some cleansing breeze through. “Where have you brought me Gerald? A bordello?” Lettice hisses with concern through her teeth as she eyes the embossed and ornate Victorian flocked wallpaper which must once have been a gaudy gold, but whose colour has been tarnished by years of coal and pipe smoke.

 

“Mr. Cookson happens to come highly recommended.” Gerald quips quietly back from the uncomfortable and old fashioned, high backed Arts and Crafts chair - one of two on their side of the desk which takes up the majority of the room.

 

“Yes, about that,” Lettice whispers back. “I meant to ask you how it was that you settled upon Mr. Cookson’s services.”

 

“He has helped a few of my friends out of some sticky situations involving extortion*******,” Gerald shudders as he utters the last word. “Mr. Cookson has a knack of finding the undetectable.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Skeletons in the cupboards of the blackmailers which they themselves did not wish to have exposed.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice’s eyes fall away from Gerald’s profile in awkward embarrassment.

 

“I warned you that engaging a man like Cookson was going to get grubby, Lettice darling. No-one’s hands remain clean for long. It’s just something you are going to have to get used to.”

 

“I know…. I know.” Lettice raises her powder blue glove clad hands in defence, then quickly puts them down before adding, “No pun intended.”

 

Gerald chuckles, and Lettice smiles, both in a moment of levity.

 

She walks over to the fireplace in distraction and runs a finger along the mantle next to the pipe stand. “It certainly isn’t very clean in here.” She rubs the dust picked up on her glove between her index finger and thumb. “And look at the state of his desk! I assume there is a desk under there.”

 

“Lettice!” Gerald hisses.

 

“Mr. Cookson’s housekeeper’s skills leave something to be desired.” Lettice goes on undeterred.

 

Gerald turns around in his seat and glares at Lettice.

 

‘What?”

 

“You sound just like Sadie sometimes.” he remarks witheringly, referring to Lettice’s judgemental mother, as he gives her a tired look.

 

“No I don’t!” Lettice answers quickly, her eyes widening in surprise at Gerald’s candid observation of her.

 

“And you look like her when you do things like that.” he nods at Lettice’s raised finger and thumb before lifting his own and rubbing them together, mimicking her, causing her to quickly drop her right hand and hide it behind her back. “In my experience,” Gerald goes on. “Private Inquiry Agents******** of any merit do not have tidy offices, because they are too busy working for their clients.”

 

“In your experience?”

 

“With my friends.” Gerald elucidates.

 

“Oh…” Lettice’s mouth forms a perfect oval a mixture of surprise and shock.

 

Lettice begins to pace again, the atmosphere of nervousness in the office seemingly growing more intense, as the sonorous ticking of Mr. Cookson’s wall clock and the distant sound of London traffic from The Strand grows more noticeable in the suffocating, muffled air.

 

“Oh for God’s sake!” Gerald finally bursts. “Do sit down Lettuce Leaf!” He uses Lettice’s most hated pet name from childhood.

 

“Don’t call me that, Gerald!” Lettice answers, stopping her traversing back and forth. “You know I hate it! We aren’t children any more.”

 

“I will when you stop being annoying like a child, and come and sit down.” He pats the worn and cracked tan leather seat of the chair opposite him, causing a cloud of dust motes to arise from it.

 

Lettice emits a cough and sulkily stops her stalking before coming and sitting down in the vacant chair next to her best friend. “Sorry Gerald darling.” she apologises earnestly. “I’m just so nervous about what Mr. Cookson will reveal.” Worry fills her pretty features as she looks Gerald squarely in the face whilst wringing her hands. “What if it’s bad news?”

 

Gerald reaches out his left hand and places it calmingly on Lettice’s right knee. “Whatever he tells us, bad or good, it will be an answer, and that in itself is good.”

 

“Oh, I was sick with worry last night, wondering if John is involved in all this business with Lady Zinnia,” She places her own hand atop Gerald’s and squeezes it. “I barely slept a wink.”

 

“I know.” Gerald opines. “I can see by the dark circles under your eyes.”

 

Lettice gasps and raises her fingers to the flesh beneath her sparkling eyes.

 

“Ahh, here we are.” Mr. Cookson says in a cheerful tone as he bustles back into his office through the open Pyramid Glass********* glassed panelled door leading from his adjoining storage room. “The Spencely file!” He hits the surface of a brown leather journal in his hands, creating a fruity thwack, and like most things in the office when disturbed, a cloud of dust. “You must pardon my rather lax housekeeping, Miss Chetwynd.” he goes on with a chuckle. “But I don’t engage the services of our building’s char********** to clean my office, and I’m very seldom here to clean it myself.”

 

Gerald gives Lettice a knowing look.

 

“Excellent hearing comes with the territory of being a Private Enquiry Agent, Miss Chetwynd.” he adds with a gentle smile.

 

Lettice blushes red with embarrassment at having been overheard by the investigator.

 

“In my profession, you tend to be distrustful of people, especially of those who have the ability to rifle through your drawers when you aren’t around. Whilst I’m sure Magdaléna is a very good char and perfectly trustworthy, my suspicious mind just can’t come at a Silesian*********** cleaning in here, without me being present.” He sits down in the more comfortable looking rounded clerk’s chair on his side of the desk and drops the journal on the only part of the desk before him not cluttered with typewriter or a jumble of correspondence, paperwork and journals. “Now,” he sighs as he takes out his gold pocket watch and places it on the cluttered desktop next to the journal before he picks up his pipe from his ashtray and inserts it into his mouth, strikes a match which he places to the pipe’s bowl and begins to draw on it, creating a few puffs of pungent greyish white smoke. “Shall we begin?”

 

Mr. Cookson, in Lettice’s mind is a rather forgettable, portly looking middle-aged man, which she then considers is probably to his advantage in his line of work. He has phlegmatic skin that suggests he spends more time in the corners of darkened rooms and hidden in the shadows of alleyways than in sundrenched parks or the open countryside. His strawberry blonde hair atop his head is sparse and fine, leaving a balding pate, whilst his thick handlebar moustache************ with its expertly waxed ends which curve upwards dominates his jowly and wizened face. Tobacco stains along the upper bristles over his mouth attest to how much he smokes his pipe. He wears gold rimmed glasses which enlargen his alert blue eyes, which sparkle like bright aquamarine chips from amidst the crinkled flesh around them. His suit is black and is as nondescript as Mr. Cookson himself is, and could belong any one of the numerous clerks, civil servants and office workers of London’s business district. Lettice imagines he wears a bowler hat as a topper to his three piece suit and tie ensemble, and walks with a black brolly, just like hundreds of other men in the city. His worn hands are pudgy, with sausage like fingers which are surprisingly dexterous as he flips through the journal and withdraws a sheath of papers and notes with ease from amidst the pages.

 

“Please, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald replies.

 

Mr. Cookson draws on his pipe pleasurably again, before releasing another puff of acrid smoke. “Well, firstly. When you came to see me Mr. Bruton, one of the things you raised was establishing whether there was any defining link between the Duchess of Walmsford and Sir Nettleford-Hughes.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice blurts out. “That was at my insistence, Mr. Cookson. Since Sir John is my fiancée, and this matter refers to the gentleman with whom I had a romantic arrangement prior to him, so I need to know whether my fiancée and Lady Zinnia are connected in any way. Did he stand to gain from his engagement to me?”

 

“Well,” Mr. Cookson chortles, sending more puffs of smoke into the air like a steam shovel*************. “You’ll pardon me for being so forward, Miss Chetwynd, but I think Sir Nettleford-Hughes has a great deal to gain from having a wife as witty, adroit and charming as you.” He chuckles again, withdrawing his smoking pipe and smiling indulgently at Lettice. “However, I know that is not what you are referring to in the way of gain.” He pauses momentarily. “Miss Chetwynd, through my thorough investigations, I have not found any links between your fiancée and the Duchess. They may have passed each other at social functions, but my sources confirm that Sir John has not been present at any of the Walmsford properties since 1910, and even prior to that, it was only occasionally, and from what I can glean, because he was accompanying a guest who had been invited by the Duchess.”

 

“No invitations directly to Sir John from either Lady Zinnia or the Duke?” Gerald clarifies.

 

“None, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson confirms. “Nor any telephone connections between households.”

 

Lettice heaves a sigh of relief as she releases the pent-up breath she did not realise she had been holding on to, since Mr. Cookson began to speak about the results of his investigations. She falls back against the hard, high back of the chair and physically settles within her powder blue coat with the arctic fox collar. “Oh, that is a relief, Mr. Cookson.” she breathes. “Such a relief!”

 

“I’m quite sure it is, Miss Chetwynd.” The older man nods at Lettice. “Furthermore, to acquit your fiancée from any involvement in the matter which I am investigating, I have established that it is well known within his social circles that there is no love lost between he and the Duchess. He is quite happy to share his dislike of her with the fellow members of his club.”

 

“Thank goodness it is a different one to the Duke’s club then.” Gerald interjects, his own voice and eyes filled with relief as he glances across at his best friend and reaches out, grasping her hand. “I doubt the Duke would appreciate his wife being spoken of with distain.”

 

“Perhaps not, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson concedes. “So, Miss Chetwynd, it seems that your suspicions as a result of the timing between Sir Nettleford-Hughes’ first proposal to you, and the revelations of your own understanding with Mr. Spencely being broken by an unexpected engagement by the Duchess, are unfounded. Rather the timing between the two was simply an unfortunate coincidence, rather than contrived happenstance.”

 

The solace at Mr. Cookson’s pronouncement bubbles up inside Lettice, and she laughs with nervous relief as tears well in her blue eyes, making them shimmer. “Thank goodness.”

 

“That’s splendid news. Mr. Cookson.” Gerald enthuses, squeezing Lettice’s hand comfortingly again.

 

Mr. Cookson smiles as he puffs again on his pipe, allowing Lettice to bask in the momentary happiness of her ease before continuing, “Now, as to the engagement between Mr. Spencely and Miss Avendale, well that is a very fine and different kettle of fish**************.”

 

“And what does that mean, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks warily, her eyes narrowing as the relief she felt dissipates as quickly as it came, and a knot forms in her stomach.

 

“Well,” Mr, Cookson releases another cloud of smoke from his pipe. “I have done a great deal of research from here in London, but I can find no trace of this Miss Kitty Avendale. It’s like she emerged from nowhere like a puff of smoke.”

 

“She came from Australia, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice responds. “Lady Zinnia told me so.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, Miss Chetwynd, but even a girl from as far flung a corner of the British Empire would have left some traces if she is mixing in salubrious social circles.”

 

“That strikes me as an odd business, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald opines.

 

“As it does me, Mr. Bruton, especially if she is a diamond mine heiress.”

 

“If, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks.

 

“Well, I’m no diamond mine owner myself, Miss Chetwynd, nor wealthy as a result of good fortune, but what I do know from my years of experience in this business, and my dealings in high society is, that if she really were a diamond heiress, even one born in Australia, her father would want her presented at court to help ensure a good marriage to someone in the peerage.”

 

“And Lady Zinnia would never allow anyone of an inferior background, who hadn’t been presented at court, marry her son, no matter how rich she was, or stood to become upon her marriage, or her father’s death.” Lettice says.

 

“Exactly, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Cookson purrs.

 

“Lady Zinnia disliked me because she felt my lineage to be inferior to that of the Walmsfords, coming from what she called an undistinguished county family.” The snub still burns Lettice.

 

“Well, there is no mention of a Miss Kitty Avendale in the Court Circular***************, nor in any list of debutantes being presented going back as far as 1900.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure she isn’t that old, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice says, remembering the bright face flushed with youth from the newspaper clippings Lady Zinnia presented her with.

 

“Thoroughness is a trademark of mine, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Cookson counters as he wags a finger warningly at her. “And many a photograph in many a newspaper has been doctored to deceive and falsify a person’s looks or age.”

 

Lettice cannot fault his argument, as several photographic images taken of her mother, Lady Sadie, in recent years have been touched up in to make her appear more youthful and less jowly.

 

“The first entry I can find of Miss Kitty Avendale, daughter of a mine owner, or even a Kitty Avendale of a less salubrious background, is in the East African Standard****************, where she is reported to be staying at the Muthaiga Club***************** in Nairobi.”

 

“Nairobi?” Edith and Gerald both exclaim together as one, casting knowing glances at each other.

 

“Yes. She makes quite a splash****************** apparently, dressed in the latest Parisian fashions, drinking gin like water, and throwing around money like it were breadcrumbs at the bridge and poker tables of the club. From there, it is reported that she journeys on to Durban after a few weeks stay in Nairobi.”

 

“My youngest brother lives north of Nairobi.” Lettice manages to utter, almost choking on the words.

 

“And he’d enjoy nothing more than to create sport at Lettice’s expense.” Gerald adds. “The cad.”

 

“Yes,” Mr. Cookson says calmly, puffing again on his pipe as he refers to his notes. “I am aware of your brother Lionel’s existence, Miss Chetwynd. He was banished to British East Africa******************* by your father, Viscount Wrexham, let me see…” He ponders as he scans his spidery script. “In 1912 after he… ahem…” He clears his throat rather awkwardly.

 

“Please don’t spare my blushes********************, Mr. Cookson, or Gerald’s.” Lettice responds dryly. “You’ve obviously done some thorough research into our family and its black sheep. Gerald and I are both well aware of why my brother was banished to British East Africa. His reputation for getting women into trouble is no doubt as well known there today as it was at home at the time of his banishment.” She sighs heavily. “But a horse stud on the Aberdare Range********************* is more at arm’s length from the Chetwynd family’s good name, and therefore more palatable to my father and aunts.”

 

“Do you think Lionel might be involved in this affair, Mr. Cookson?” Gerald asks anxiously.

 

“I can’t say for certain, because I don’t know, Mr. Bruton.” Mr. Cookson folds his arms akimbo and draws on his pipe again, making the tobacco inside crackle as smoke seeps from his mouth, rising in curlicues around his face. “I don’t wish to speculate when I don’t have the facts. You know that I deal in facts, Mr. Bruton.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald demurs.

 

“It seems a little tenuous a connection,” Mr. Cookson says through his yellowing teeth. “But nevertheless, worth an investigation whist I’m out there, based upon what you have just told me about the acrimonious relationship between he and Miss Chetwynd. He makes for a good scapegoat, but I do not wish to be prejudicial towards Mr. Chetwynd.”

 

“There is no love lost between me and Lionel, I can assure you, Mr, Cookson.” Lettice says flatly. “My siblings are the same.”

 

“Still, there should be no bias towards your brother, Miss Chetwynd. As I say, he makes a convenient scapegoat, but may not in fact be connected at all. I repeat: I only work in facts.”

 

“Are you going to British East Africa then, Mr. Cookson?” Gerald queries.

 

“I am, Mr. Bruton, and I think, just at the right time too, what with all this talk of revolution and an imminent general strike********************** being bantered about.” He gesticulates in the air with his hands. “I sail for Mombasa via the BISNCo line********************** aboard the SS Madras on Monday, and then travel overland to Nairobi, before I then journey on to Durban to further my investigations once my business is settled in Nairobi.” He sends out another curlicue of pipe smoke from his lips. “Which is why I wanted to see you before I go. I imagine I’ll be gone a few months, but I’ll wire you if anything of vital importance arises.”

 

“I’d appreciate it, Mr. Cookson.” Gerald replies.

 

“What do you think you’ll discover there, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice asks.

 

“Hopefully,” the older man sighs. “More than I have discovered here. Wealth and privilege has long created deference in this country, and my investigations into the Duchess’ involvement in this matter have fallen on deaf ears, and doors very firmly closed. Kenya and South Africa, however, are wilder frontiers, further afield from Britain’s grasp, where the existing rules of class, privilege and deference do not apply so strictly. Whilst I have established no connection between Sir Nettleford-Hughes and the Duchess, I can’t say I have been as fortunate to be able to connect her with this Miss Avendale who is purportedly engaged to her son.”

 

“Purportedly?” Lettice asks in amazement, scarcely daring to hope.

 

“Now, I don’t wish to raise any false flags for you, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Cookson tempers quickly, raising his hands towards her placatingly. “But I find it equally odd that a family as prominent as the Duke of Walmsford’s would not announce their only son’s engagement, as I did Miss Avendale’s lack of presentation before the engagement.”

 

“Then you think there may be no engagement, Mr. Cookson?” Lettice persists.

 

“I must stress that I do not wish to speculate about what may, or may not, have transpired, Miss Chetwynd. All I am saying is, that I need more definite proof. These clippings,” The investigator foists out several of the newspaper articles Lettice stole from Lady Zinnia’s cache, which she then gave to Gerald when he spoke of engaging the services of a Pinkerton. “Appear to be fishy, just like Miss Avendale’s sudden appearance from nowhere. However, I need access to the newspapers the Duchess has written that they come from. None of these have mastheads on them, only the Duchess’ say so. We have no definitive proof that they haven’t been fabricated by the Duchess for her own deceitful purposes, like Miss Flanton led you to believe when you were in Paris last year.”

 

“So, you think they may be false then?” Gerald asks.

 

“The Duchess has the means at her disposal, and with my investigations into her, purposely blocked, I’m sure she gets whatever she wants, but her reach cannot be omnipotent.”

 

“You’ve never met Lady Zinnia.” Lettice remarks.

 

“No, I’ve never had the pleasure, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Well, I can assure you that there is no pleasure meeting her, Mr. Cookson.” Lettice explains. “Your observation of her is remarkably true-to-life. I only hope that you are right about her limitations.”

 

“I hope so too.” adds Gerald.

 

“Then that makes three of us, Miss Chetwynd, Mr. Bruton.” The investigator sucks on his pipe again, his eyes narrowing as he stares off into the distance. He removes his gold rimmed spectacles and drops them carelessly atop the journal on Selwyn and he massages the bridge of his nose. His jaw squares. “The Duchess may be wilful, but she has yet to meet a man as tenacious as me.”

 

Lettice looks at Gerald and smiles hopefully into his equally optimistic face.

 

*The International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

**Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.

 

***A “Pinkerton” is a private detective, and refers to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, founded by Allan Pinkerton, known for its historical role in labour disputes and spying. For decades after Allan Pinkerton's death, his name became a slang term for any private investigator, regardless of whether they worked for the Pinkerton Agency or not. Today, the agency (now simply called Pinkerton) focuses on risk management, intelligence, and security services.

 

*****Piccadilly Circus is a famous road junction and public space in London's West End, acting as a major tourist hub known for its large neon advertising screens and the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain (often called the Statue of Eros). Built in 1819 to connect Regent Street with Piccadilly, it is commonly called the "Times Square of London" and is a popular meeting point. Historically, the name derives from a Seventeenth Century frilled collar known as a "piccadil", while "circus" refers to the circular traffic junction.

 

****The Royal Academy of Arts is a prestigious, independent institution in London dedicated to the visual arts, founded in 1768 by forty artists and architects under King George III. It was originally located at Somerset House before moving to Trafalgar Square and finally to its permanent home at Burlington House, Piccadilly, in 1868. It is renowned for hosting the annual Summer Exhibition (a major feature of the London Season) which it has been holding since 1769, promoting art through education, and being run by artists and architects.

 

******The National Gallery, located in Trafalgar Square, is a world-renowned art museum housing a premier collection of over two thousand three hundred Western European paintings dating from the Thirteenth to the early Twentieth Centuries. Founded in 1824 by the British government, Parliament purchased thirty-eight paintings from the estate of merchant John Julius Angerstein, following his death, to establish a national collection, which was later housed in Trafalgar Square. The building was designed by architect William Wilkins and opened1838. It features masterpieces by artists like Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Monet, and Rembrandt, offering free general admission to the public.

 

*******Male homosexual acts were illegal in England during the 1920s, governed by the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, which prohibited all male homosexual activity, even in private. Convictions carried severe penalties, including hard labour. Blackmail was a significant and common danger for homosexual men when this story was set in 1926. Because male homosexual acts were illegal and carried immense social stigma, men were exceptionally vulnerable to extortionists who threatened to expose them to the authorities or the public.

 

********In 1920s England, private investigators were most commonly referred to as Inquiry Agents or Private Inquiry Agents. They were frequently engaged for matters involving surveillance and divorce, with other common terms including private detectives, commercial agents, and private investigators used.

 

*********"Pyramid Series" glass is a type of opaque, textured architectural glass designed with deeply angled surfaces. It was extremely popular in the 1920s and 30s in spaces, such as domestic bathrooms or in commercial offices, where it would allow light in, but block the view through the window, this providing privacy.

 

**********A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.

 

***********Silesia was an independent political entity in existence in the 1920s, but it was heavily restructured following the Great War. After the 1921 plebiscite and three uprisings, the region was split: the Autonomous Silesian Voivodeship (part of Poland since 1922) and the provinces of Upper and Lower Silesia in the Weimar Republic. Silesia still exists today as a distinct historical and geographical region in Central Europe, though it is no longer an independent political entity. Today, the vast majority of Silesia is located in southwestern Poland, with smaller parts in the Czech Republic and Germany. It is characterised by its rich industrial heritage, especially in Upper Silesia.

 

************A handlebar moustache is a distinctive facial hair style featuring a thick moustache with long, upwardly curved or curled ends that resemble the handlebars of a bicycle. It requires substantial length, regular training, and grooming wax to maintain its signature, often stylized, "hooked" shape.

 

*************A steam shovel is a large, steam-powered excavating machine invented by William Otis in 1839, designed to dig and move massive amounts of soil or rock. Popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, these machines used cable-operated buckets and were essential for building railways, canals, and mining, eventually being replaced by diesel shovels in the 1930s.

 

**************"A kettle of fish" (often used as "a pretty/fine kettle of fish") originates from Eighteenth Century Scotland and Northern England to describe a messy or disagreeable situation. It refers literally to a picnic where salmon was boiled in a "kettle" (large vessel), with the "mess" of fish bones symbolizing confusion.

 

***************The Court Circular is the official, daily record of past engagements and official duties carried out by the British Monarch and members of the Royal Family. Issued by St James's Palace, it provides a verified, factual account of royal movements, often published one day in arrears in national newspapers like The Times.

 

****************Founded in 1902 by Alibhai Mulla Jeevanjee as the African Standard in Mombasa, The Standard is Kenya's oldest newspaper. Initially a weekly serving European settlers, it became the East African Standard in 1905, moved to Nairobi in 1910, and rebranded to The Standard in 1977. It now serves as a major Kenyan media outlet.

 

*****************The Muthaiga Club is a club in Nairobi. It is located in the suburb of Muthaiga, about fifteen minutes’ drive from the city centre. The Muthaiga Country Club opened on New Year's Eve in 1913, and became a gathering place for the colonial British settlers in British East Africa, which later became in 1920, the Colony of Kenya.

 

******************The origin of the idiom "make a splash", meaning to attract a great deal of attention, is not precisely dated, but it has been in popular use since the early Twentieth Century. Whilst the exact moment of its first use remains unknown, it evolved from earlier metaphorical uses of the word "splash." By the early 1800s, the noun "splash" was already being used to describe a "striking or ostentatious display", which laid the linguistic groundwork for the later, more common idiom describing someone who attracts significant attention.

 

*******************The Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, commonly known as British Kenya or British East Africa, was part of the British Empire in Africa. It was established when the former East Africa Protectorate was transformed into a British Crown colony in 1920. Technically, the "Colony of Kenya" referred to the interior lands, with a ten mile coastal strip, nominally on lease from the Sultan of Zanzibar, was the "Protectorate of Kenya", but the two were controlled as a single administrative unit. The colony came to an end in 1963 when an ethnic Kenyan majority government was elected for the first time and eventually declared independence as the Republic of Kenya.

 

********************The British phrase “to spare someone’s blushes” means to refrain from causing someone embarrassment.

 

*********************The Aberdare Range (formerly the Sattima Range) is a one hundred mile long mountain range of upland, north of Kenya's capital Nairobi with an average elevation of thirteen thousand one hundred and thirty feet. It straddles across the counties of Nyandarua, Nyeri, Muranga, Kiambu and Laikipia.

 

**********************The General Strike in Britain occurred between May the 3rd and May the 12th, 1926. It was a nine-day nationwide stoppage called by the Trades Union Congress (TUC) to support coal miners facing wage reductions and worsening conditions. Roughly one million, seven hundred thousand workers went on strike, primarily in transport and heavy industry.

 

***********************The British India Steam Navigation Company (BISNCo), originally the Calcutta and Burmah Steam Navigation Company was established 1856 in Glasgow. It was a shipping giant founded by Scotsman William Mackinnon to operate mail services between India and Burma. The company grew to operate a massive network of passenger and cargo services across the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf, later joining the P&O group in 1914 before being fully absorbed in 1977. The British India Steam Navigation Company was a major carrier on the African routes in the 1920s, connecting Britain to Kenya, Tanganyika, and India.

 

This cluttered office may look real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including some special pieces from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Mr. Cookson’s pipe, brass ashtray and box of matches on the desk are all artisan miniatures made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The correspondence, letters and newspaper are also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures with particular care paid to the authenticity of them.

 

The typewriter is a 1:12 artisan miniature made by the Little Green Workshop in England, who specialise in high-end, handmade miniatures. The details on the typewriter are wonderful. The Little Green Workshop also made the ink blotter, pen and the letter opener on the desk, all of which are made of sterling silver, and the ink blotter even has black felt along its base.

 

The brown leather journals, Mr. Cookson’s gold rimmed spectacles, his pocket watch, the desk calendar and the black lidded red ink bottle all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The pipe rack on the fireplace mantle in the background also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop, as does the British Empire era map hanging above the fireplace.

 

The two chairs may look as though they are made of wood and studded leather, however you may be surprised to learn that they are made entirely of resin. They are part of the "Take a Seat" miniature chair collection, which is a popular series designed by internationally acclaimed miniature artist Raine and produced by Willits Designs. These detailed, collectible miniatures showcase various styles and designs of chairs, and are often sought after by collectors for their intricate craftsmanship, reflecting Raine's reputation for detailed miniature art.

 

The Art Nouveau fireplace surround was made by Taylor & Barrett in England and dates from the late 1920s, and is made from hollow cast lead which has then been hand painted. Founded by Fred Taylor and A.R. Barrett, Taylor & Barrett was a prominent British manufacturer renowned for high-quality, hollow-cast lead miniature toys. They were known for extensive zoo series (animals, keepers), road signs, fire engines, trolleybuses, and detailed dolls' house items like vacuum cleaners and stoves. Before the Second World War production was high, with many items produced between 1920 and 1939. The company halted production during the war before splitting into F.G. Taylor & Sons and Barrett & Sons post-war. Their items are highly sought after by vintage toy collectors today.

 

The red, green, blue and black leather ledgers you see in the background are from my own childhood. They are able to be opened, and as a child, I created my own books by filling the blank pages with illustrations and “text”.

 

The glass fronted bookcase to the left of the photograph is a replica of a bookcase belonging to Abraham Lincoln and is part of the Lincoln Collection, made and distributed in America. The walnut shelving unit on the right-hand side of the fireplace is made by Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century.

 

The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

 

Mamiya M645J

SEKOR C 80mm 1:2.8

Fomapan 100

Amaloco am 74

Epson V550

 

Kiambu. Kenya

 

 

Kenya is among the countries identified as having unsafe tap water. It is one of 187 countries in the world where tap water is considered unsafe.

 

Not surprisingly, the safest tap water is found in developed countries. Conversely, countries in Central America, Africa, Asia and the Middle East are considered high risk.

 

According to the World Health Organization, approximately 842,000 people die each year in the world from diarrhea due to poor drinking water, sanitation and hand hygiene.

Childhood in East Africa - part of an online exhibition on the Social Documentary Network.

 

www.socialdocumentary.net/exhibit/Sonal_Shah/4857

 

www.socialdocumentary.net/exhibit.php?exhibit_id=4853

 

www.socialdocumentary.net/exhibit.php?exhibit_id=4854

 

socialdocumentary.net/exhibit/Sonal_Shah/4866

 

My pourover set from my trip to Japan, the Torch Pourover set. The donut (black thing in the back) and the glass server. Got the Takahiro kettle for quite sometime, amazing pot. I was brewing #BlueBottle Kenya Kiambu Yara Peaberry.

Hasselblad 500C/M + Carl Zeiss Planar 80mm f2.8 + Fujifilm Provia 100

Juja

Kiambu County

Kenya

Africa

Tea farm in Central Kenya

 

Kiambu Road

Lake Manguo - Limuru - Kenya 2026

Mamiya M645J

SEKOR C 80mm 1:2.8

Fomapan 100

Amaloco am 74

Epson V550

 

Kiambu. Kenya

Naivasha Lake. Kenya.

Election poster for Raila Odinga before the presidential elections of 9 August 2022.

Mamiya M645J

SEKOR C 80mm 1:2.8

Fomapan 100

Amaloco am 74

Epson V550

 

Kiambu. Kenya

Nikkormat FT2 Ektachrome slide copied by Nikon D300 + Sigma 150mm f/2.8 APO-macro DG HSM

 

_DSC7164 AF422 Anx2 1300w Q90

 

Tea Plantation

Houses for the workers of the tea plantation.

Tea Plantation

Boda boda drivers waiting for a hire. Boda bodas are motorcycles used as a taxis for carrying passengers or goods. Sometimes two or three passengers are squeezed onto a single boda boda. For many people, they are the cheapest way to get around.

 

Boda bodas are notorious for illegal and dangerous driving practices. There have been recent incidents where boda boda drivers attacked women on the streets of Nairobi. If a motorcycle is involved in an accident, often dozens of drivers congregate to harass and threaten the automobile driver. Kenyan authorities are now trying to crack down on boda bodas and to regulate the industry.

Matatus are privately owned minibuses that generally run along established routes both in urban and rural areas. They form the backbone of the transportation system in Kenya. They are typically decorated in bright colors; many matatus feature portraits of famous people or slogans and sayings.

 

My Mother and Sister just before I was born -I think my mother is pregnant in this shot-this was during the Mau Mau emergency in Kenya. Very troubled times and unpleasantness on all sides.

Boda boda drivers waiting for a hire. Boda bodas are motorcycles used as a taxis for carrying passengers or goods. Sometimes two or three passengers are squeezed onto a single boda boda. For many people, they are the cheapest way to get around.

 

Boda bodas are notorious for illegal and dangerous driving practices. There have been recent incidents where boda boda drivers attacked women on the streets of Nairobi. If a motorcycle is involved in an accident, often dozens of drivers congregate to harass and threaten the automobile driver. Kenyan authorities are now trying to crack down on boda bodas and to regulate the industry.

 

 

Tea plantations in Kiambu County, between Kiambu Town and Limuru Town.