Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home to broach a most delicate subject about her forthcoming wedding, a subject which has caused a scene between Lettice and her mother.
For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.
Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice recently reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show 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. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. However, in an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they did not make their engagement public until the new year: after the dust about Selwyn’s break of his and Lettice’s engagement settled. Sir John motored across from Fontengil Park in the days following New Year and he and Lettice announced their engagement in the palatial Glynes drawing room before the Viscount and Lady Sadie the Countess, Leslie, Arabella and the Viscount’s sister Eglantyne (known by all the Chetwynd children affectionally as Aunt Egg). The announcement received somewhat awkwardly by the Viscount initially, until Lettice assured him that her choice to marry Sir John has nothing to do with undue influence, mistaken motivations, but perhaps the person most put out by the news is Aunt Egg who is not a great believer in the institution of marriage, and feels Lettice was perfectly fine as a modern unmarried woman. Lady Sadie, who Lettice thought would be thrilled by the announcement of her engagement, received the news with a somewhat muted response and she discreetly slipped away after drinking a toast to the newly engaged couple with a glass of fine champagne from the Glynes wine cellar.
Today we find ourselves in the Glynes library. A refuge for the Viscount from his wife, the library is a quiet space that smells of dust, old books and woodsmoke. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Sunlight pours through the tall windows facing out to the front of the house, burnishing the polished parquetry floors. Dust motes, dance blithely through beams of spring sunlight. And there, sitting at his Chippendale desk, sits Viscount Wrexham, with Leslie standing at his right shoulder as he shares estate correspondence with his father.
“And what’s this?” the Viscount asks as Leslie wafts a chit* written by hand on a scrappy piece of paper in front of him.
“It’s from Leonard Musslewhite, Pappa.” Leslie replies. “It’s for the temporary repairs he did to Eyebright Farm’s barn after that big storm that brought down the old cedar tree.”
“Ahh yes!” the Viscount replies, remembering the early spring storm, more wind than rain, that blew tils and chimneypots from roofs and felled trees across the county. “Well, pay him out of the petty cash, Leslie my boy, and then look in the estate diary as to when we can pay a visit to Eyebright Farm. Those are slate tiles on his barn roof, and temporary or no, Lenoard Musselwhite’s no carpenter, so I don’t imagine his patch job will be much chop**. Do you?”
“No Pappa.” Leslie agrees with a chuckle. “And that barn is in good form for its age. I’d hate for there to be any damage because of a leaking roof when it next rains. We can see if any of the slate tiles that blew off during the storm are salvageable.”
“Good thinking, my boy!” the Viscount agrees with a curt nod. “Anything else before I settle down to my latest stamps?” He lovingly caresses a strip of six brown unfranked Penny Black*** stamps poking out of an envelope that arrived from London in the morning post.
“Well,” Leslie says a little reluctantly. “There is also this.” He holds out a letter with distaste written on a mauve coloured sheet decorated with violets around the edge, covered in spidery copperplate. As he does, a waft of flowery perfume drifts through the air between them.
“Pooh!” the Viscount decries, screwing up his nose at the scent. “What the devil is that, Leslie?” He recoils from it as though it were poisoned. “That looks… and smells like something for your mother, not me!”
“I wish I could say it was, but no, it’s addressed to the office of the estate and is for you, I’m afraid, Pappa. It’s a rather simpering letter from Geraldine Evans.” Leslie replies, referring to the elder of the two genteel gossipy spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village. “It’s about that plot of land next to their house that belongs to Lord Bruton.”
“What the blazes is that whittering Geraldine Evans writing to me about a matter involving Bruton for?”
“It seems that the rumour mills of the village are running hot again about Lord Bruton being beset with financial difficulties, and word on the high street seems to be he is wanting to sell the land. Miss Evans wonders whether, being his friend, you might find out if there is any truth to the rumours, and if so, could you put in a good word for her, as she and her sister would like first dibs**** to acquire it. She’d prefer it to stay open meadow.”
“She’d be better writing to Gwenyth than me,” the Viscount mutters, referencing Lord Bruton’s wife Lady Gwenyth, flapping irritably at the letter, indicating for Leslie to take it out of his sights. “If she wants to curry favour with Bruton.”
“She probably feels that with you two being friends, Lord Bruton is more likely to confide in you than Aunt Gwen,” Leslie responds, calling Lady Bruton by her honourary title of aunt. Looking imploringly at his father, he goes on, “Especially when it comes to financial woes, which you know he won’t share with her.”
The Viscount looks doggedly at his son. He sighs resignedly and then holds his hand out to Leslie and snatches the letter. “Alright. I’ll write back to her, even if it is just to shut her whittering up for now.” He slips the offending letter into one of the small drawers beneath the brown and gilt leather tooled surface of his desk. “I’ve heard nothing about it.”
“As I said, it’s probably just rumours, Pappa.” Leslie says with a relieved sigh. “You know how the village is when it comes to gossip.”
“Yes, and Geraldine and Henrietta Evans are the worst perpetrators of Glynes village gossip!” the Viscount opines gruffly. “Blast the pair of them!”
Leslie nods in agreement, not being particularly enamoured of either lady.
Just then, one of the warm mahogany doors of the library opens inward and Lettice slips in and slinks across the room without greeting either her father or her eldest brother.
“I hope, Lettice,” the Viscount mutters warningly, glancing up addressing his sulky youngest child as she moves towards them with hunched shoulders. “That you haven’t come in here to make a scene. This is one of the few places in the house I can escape your mother’s histrionics, so I shan’t tolerate yours. Your brother and I are busy with estate affairs. Too busy for a scene like the one I witnessed before.”
Earlier in the day, alerted to it by the sound of raised voices echoing down the corridor, the Viscount had walked into the Glynes flower room and come across Lettice and her mother arguing bitterly, before Lettice slipped away, her face awash with tears. Lettice has been visiting Glynes especially to see her mother to broach a subject of some delicacy about her forthcoming marriage to Sir John. Several weeks ago, when Lettice and Sir John were taking tea with his younger sister, Clemance Pontefract, who as a widow, has recently returned to London and set up residence in Holland Park, Lettice suggested that Clemance might help her choose her trousseau*****. Thinking that Lady Sadie’s ideas will doubtless be somewhat old fashioned and conservative when it comes to commissioning evening dresses and her wedding frock, Lettice wants to engage Clemance’s smart eye and eager willingness to please Lettice as her future siter-in-law to help her pick the trousseau she really wants. Knowing that the subject would be difficult to discuss with her mother, with whom she has a somewhat fraught relationship, she decided to approach her face-to-face. Unsurprisingly, Lady Sadie did not take kindly to the suggestion, any more than she did the idea that Lord Bruton’s son, Gerald, Lettice’s oldest childhood chum and best friend, who has started designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, making Lettice’s wedding frock. In the end, Lady Sadie wouldn’t countenance the idea of Gerald making Lettice’s gown, since she felt it would be embarrassing for her youngest daughter to appear in a frock made by the son of her family friend and neighbours, Lord and Lady Bruton, as well as have Gerald as a guest at the wedding. It was this definite final pronouncement that drove Lettice away in tears.
“I can see by your face, my girl, that you are still very angry with your mother.” the Viscount observes as he looks into his daughter’s red and pouting face, her cheeks still marred by her earlier tears, and her bright blue eyes glistening with a barrage of them that are yet to be shed.
“What’s Mater done, Tice?” Leslie asks in concern.
Lettice slumps into the Chippendale chair on the opposite side of the desk to her father and elder brother. She utters a shuddering sigh. “She’s just being her usual, beastly self, is all, Leslie!”
The Viscount looks up at his son’s uncomprehending face. “Your Mother is refusing to let Gerald Bruton make Lettice’s wedding dress.”
“Oh.” Leslie opines with raised eyebrows.
“She wants us to go to ghastly Madame Handley-Seymour’s****** in Bond Street instead!” Lettice bursts. “But I won’t go! I just won’t!” She thumps her palm on the edge of her father’s desk in frustration, making the owl under glass and double silver picture frames shake, and the Viscount’s ink bottles on their silver tray rattle noisily.
“Tice!” Leslie is shocked by Lettice’s sudden petulant outburst
However, the Viscount takes it all in his stride as he says “Temper! Temper, Lettice my girl. I told you already, I’ll have no histrionics.”
“Sorry Pappa.” Lettice mutters in a low and unhappy tone. She sniffs as she takes a crumpled lace edged handkerchief from a small pocket in her spring frock and dabs at her nose and wipes her eyes and cheeks with it. “It’s just so miserably unfair. Mamma is being a beast for not letting Gerald make my wedding frock when I especially want him to. He’s made me so many frocks since he opened his shop in London. Who would know what suits me better? Certainly not Madame Handley-Seymour!”
“Why has Mater taken so against Gerald making Tice’s wedding frock,” Leslie asks. “Especially if she really wants it. It is Tice’s wedding after all. Why shouldn’t she get married in a frock of her own choosing?”
Lettice smiles up gratefully at her brother from her seat.
“Because, Leslie my boy, your Mother feels that it would be an embarrassment to the family,” the Viscount elucidates with remarkable calm.
“How so, Pappa?”
“Well, Gerald will be an honoured guest at the wedding too, and she feels it would just be too ridiculous for all the great and good of the county attending the wedding to know that he also made Lettice’s dress. She also thinks it would be an embarrassment for Lord Bruton, as we all know he doesn’t exactly approve of his son’s… ahem!” the Viscount coughs and clears his throat awkwardly, blushing a little as he does. “His choices in life.”
“Well, Roland isn’t exactly a pillar of society.” Leslie remarks, referring to Lord Bruton’s son and heir and Gerald’s older bullying brother. “Carousing and womanising with girls of an unsuitable class aren’t the most moral of behaviours. In fact, I’d say of the two of them, Gerald is the one he should be less concerned about. Besides, Gerald did a beautiful job making Bella’s wedding dress, and he was invited to our wedding, as were all the Brutons, and there was no kerfuffle. Well, none that I know of, anyway.”
“Yes, I know.” the Viscount hisses. “But let’s be honest, Leslie: a man making ladies garments is a bit of a rum business*******, don’t you think?” He turns back to his daughter and adds a little more softly with a gentle smile, “Your mother has a point, Lettice my dear.”
“You’re taking her side, Pappa!” Lettice gasps, sitting up more straightly in her seat, her jaw squaring with indignation. “I think that’s jolly unfair!”
“No, I’m not taking anyone’s side, Lettice.” the Viscount holds up his hands in defence. “In fact, I am trying to keep as far out of this business as I can. Frocks and wedding plans are your mother’s domain, not mine, so I defer to her decisions on this matter.”
“So, you agree with Mamma about not letting Clemance Pontefract help with my trousseau too, Pappa?” Lettice asks in disbelief.
“Who’s Clemance Pontefract?” Leslie queries.
“John’s younger widowed sister who lives in Holland Park.” Lettice explains.
“What has she got to do with your trousseau, Tice?” Leslie persists.
“Clemance has only recently returned to London after her husband died. She’s ever so smart and select and knows so much about fashion. She spent many years before the war in Paris, and returned there at the end of hostilities. John and she are very close, and he knows she feels lonely and at a bit of a loose end here in London, so we thought that we’d try and involve her more in the wedding by letting her help me pick my trousseau, especially since Mamma hates coming up to London.”
“Well, I can understand if Mater feels put out by you involving a relative stranger, Tice.” Leslie interrupts Lettice’s explanation.
“She’s not a stranger, Leslie!” Lettice retorts.
“To you maybe, but to Mater she is. To me too.”
“To all of us.” the Viscount adds.
“She’s John’s younger sister.” Lettice persists.
“That may be, but have we met her?” Leslie counters. “No! Sorry Tice, but Mater is in the right this time.”
“Of course you’d take her side too, Leslie,” Lettice spits in frustration. “Being her favourite.”
“Now it’s you who isn’t being fair, my girl. Your Mother has a right to feel bitter about being usurped, Lettice.” the Viscount tries to reason with his youngest daughter. “It has always been the preserve of mothers, going back generations, to help their daughters choose their wedding trousseau. Just think about it from her perspective. You come sauntering in here and tell her that she’s been replaced by a woman she has never heard of, never mind met. I’d feel like I was being discarded like something unwanted if I were her too.”
“Pappa has a point, Tice.”
“I’m not replacing Mamma!” Lettice laughs with incredulity. “As I said to Mamma before, it’s not like I’m suggesting that I go wedding frock shopping with Margot.” Lettice implores. “Clemance is more around Mamma’s age than mine, and I wasn’t suggesting that Clemance take over, either, just simply be of help. After all, she lives in London.”
“Yes, and we have a townhouse in Fitzroy Square********.” the Viscount counters.
“Yes, which you only open up when you and Mamma have to go up to London, which the pair of you only ever do now when you have to go to one of the King’s levées********* or other courtly duties. Clemance lives in Holland Park. We could go shopping if Mamma doesn’t feel like coming up to London.”
“Ahh, but you see, Lettice my girl, she does feel like going up to London.” The Viscount pauses and looks earnestly into his daughter’s face. “For you.”
“In fact,” Leslie adds. “She’s been rather excited about helping you pick clothes. She’s been talking to me about it like a twittering bird over the last few weeks.”
“Yes, I know,” Lettice adds rather flatly. “She’s been making plans in my absence, and has written a list of whom she deems the ‘most suitable’ court dressmakers that we can visit, without even asking me what my preference might be.”
“Touché, Lettice my dear.” the Viscount adds to the conversation. “You’ve been making your own plans for goodness knows how long about this trousseau business without your mother.”
Lettice’s mouth flaps open and closed, but nothing comes out as she realises that her father is correct, and she suddenly recognises the miscalculations she has made with her plans, even though they have been done with good intentions.
The trio fall silent for a moment, the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece and the twitter of blackbirds in the shrubbery outside the library windows the only things to break it.
“There’s an extra reason why John particularly wanted Clemance to be involved in the acquiring of my trousseau, Pappa.” Lettice finally says, breaking the thick hush of the room. “One I didn’t disclose to Mamma.”
“This should be good.” the Viscount mutters with resignation, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms akimbo across his golden yellow shepherd’s check********** vest.
“What is it, Tice?” Leslie asks, leaning forward with interest.
Lettice’s eyes dart between her brother and her father. “I’ll tell you, but only if you both promise never to bring this up in Clemance’s presence.”
“I promise.” Leslie readily agrees.
“I promise conditionally.” the Viscount grumbles. “If it really is something that should not be spoken about in front of this Clemance sister of Sir John’s. Tere are far too many inconsequential secrets in this world, and you know I don’t like secrets as a general rule, my girl.”
“Oh it is very consequential, Pappa, and if either of you tell Mamma, she must be sworn to secrecy too.” Lettice insists.
“Well,” the Viscount adds. “I cannot say in all honesty that your Mother is the soul of discretion, however she knows when to keep a confidence, Lettice. Go on.”
A few more tense moments go by as Lettice considers what her father has just said.
“John wants Clemance to be involved in my wedding plans because,” Her voice catches for a second. “Because she and her husband did have a daughter, who like me was born in 1900.” Lettice’s eye shimmer with tears and her lip trembles slightly. “But she… she died of diphtheria when she was twelve.”
A tenseness suddenly fills the atmosphere around the trio as Leslie and the Viscount process what Lettice is telling them.
“So, you see. That’s why you can’t say anything in front of Clemance, unless she divulges it to you, which I doubt she will do. She hasn’t disclosed it to me.”
“Then how do you know this to be true, Tice?” Leslie asks.
“Because when John and I visited Clemance in Holland Park, I saw a portrait hanging in the hallway of Clemance with a little girl. I asked John, and he told me quickly, but in the strictest confidence, what I have just told you now. Clemance has been at rather a loose end since her husband died. Aside from John, she has no close family. She has taken rather a shine to me, and John thinks this fondness comes about because I remind her of her lost daughter.”
“So, Sir John thinks she might be a bit happier, less at a loose end, as it were, if she were involved in the wedding plans.” the Viscount murmurs sadly.
Lettice nods her confirmation shallowly. “She can participate in something she never thought she’d have the opportunity to do. And like Mamma, she has been gaily chatting to me about plans for my trousseau.”
“Well,” Leslie says exhaling, releasing a pent-up breath. “That does make a difference.” He turns and looks at his father. “Surely it does, Pappa?”
The Viscount doesn’t answer straight away, remaining ponderous in his seat, scratching his freshly shaved chin with right index finger and thumb, lost in his own deep contemplation of Lettice’s revelation about Clemance.
“Pappa?” Lettice asks hopefully.
“Alright,” the Viscount finally answers. “I’ll have a quiet word with your Mother, now Lettice.”
“Oh Pappa!” Lettice exclaims, clasping her hands and beaming.
“In my own way, mind you.” he adds quickly, taking his finger away from his chin and wagging it at his daughter. “I’ll have no histrionics or scenes from you about either it, or your Mother’s choice of dressmakers, no matter what her decision is.”
“Yes Pappa.” Lettice acquiesces quietly, nodding and lowering her eyes to her lap.
“Surely Mater won’t say no to Lettice’s request once she knows about Clemance’s lost child, Pappa!” Lettice says.
“Ahh my boy!” the Viscount replies with a sigh, pushing the seat away from his desk and standing up with a groan. He pats Leslie on the shoulder. “You always were your Mother’s favourite and she yours. You forgive or don’t see half her faults.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes heavily. “However, for all her faults, your Mother is a good woman. I’m quite sure she won’t refuse. Of course,” He turns back to his daughter, who has also now arisen from her seat. “You will have to organise a suitable introduction for your Mother to meet Clemance.”
“Oh, I will, Pappa!” Lettice readily agrees, her eyes now sparkling with joy, rather than unshed tears.
“And you will go to Madame Handley-Whoever’s for a fitting, as per your Mother’s wishes.”
“But Pappa…” Lettice begins, but a serious and intense stare from her father silences her protestations.
“As per your Mother’s wishes!” he repeats firmly.
“Yes Pappa.”
“Talking Sadie around about Clemance will be a lot simpler than convincing her to let Gerald Bruton design your wedding frock though. It may take some time…”
“Oh, thank you Pappa!”
“And,” he interrupts her thankful acknowledgement. “I cannot promise you that I can persuade her, Lettice my dear. I’ll have a chat with Lord Bruton about how feels about the matter, and whether he would be too mortified by his son designing your wedding frock,” He turns to Leslie again. “Since I am now going to be obliged to go and speak with him about Geraldine Evans’ rumours and gossip anyway. If he agrees to it, that may persuade your Mother.”
“Oh Pappa!” Lettice exclaims. “You really are a brick!”
“Maybe!” he cautions his daughter. “I’ll not promise anything, but I’ll try! And if you really do want to succeed in your endeavours, I strongly suggest you try and keep on Sadie’s good side as much as you can.” He raises his bushy eyebrows smattered with silvery white hairs and gives Lettice a knowing look. “Even though I know that will be hard for you.”
“I’ll try, Pappa.”
“Good girl!” the Viscount smiles. “Come along then!” he bustles. “Let’s go find your Mother. Hopefully she’s not too far away, and in a calmer and better temper. Leslie and I have more important things to do than go on a treasure hunt for her around the house.”
The trio walk across the library together towards the double doors leading out into the grand Glynes entrance hall.
“Madame Handley-Seymour.” Leslie muses as they walk. “Madame Handley-Seymour.”
“What about her?” Lettice asks.
“Didn’t Madame Handley-Seymour make the wedding dress for your friend Elizabeth*********** when she married Bertie************ a few years ago?”
“Yes,” Lettice sighs.
“Well, that’s not such a bad choice, Tice.” Leslie continues, winding a comforting arm around his little sister. “At least she’s fashionable. At least she didn’t suggest the woman who made Lally’s dress back in 1910 – you know, the one who sailed on the Titanic and was in that scandal about how empty her lifeboat was*************.”
“Oh, she mentioned her too, Leslie, don’t you fret!” Lettice replies with a chuckle.
*A chit is a short official note, typically recording a sum owed.
**The phrase “Not much chop" is an informal, English, Australian and New Zealand English idiom meaning "not very good" or "not much to be desired". It's used to express a low opinion of something or someone. Born out of the British Raj, this rem derives from the word “chop” which was a quality, class, a mark or stamp indicating this on goods send out of India, a word that ultimately comes from the Hindi word chāp, “stamp”.
***The Penny Black was the world's first adhesive postage stamp used in a public postal system. It was first issued in the United Kingdom on 1 May 1840 but was not valid for use until 6 May. The stamp features a profile of Queen Victoria.
****"First dibs" is an informal way of saying that someone has the right to have or choose something before anyone else. It essentially means having a prior claim or preference. The term is often used in situations where there are limited resources or choices, and someone wants to secure their preferred option. The origin of the phrase is believed to be a children's game called "dibstones" (or a variation of it) played in 17th-century Britain. This game involved tossing small pebbles or knuckle-bones and catching them, with the first person to catch them being said to have "dibs" on them. Over time, "dibs" became a way to express a claim on something, and "first dibs" evolved to mean having the first choice.
*****A trousseau refers to the wardrobe and belongings of a bride, including her wedding dress or similar clothing such as day and evening dresses.
******Elizabeth Handley-Seymour (1867–1948) was a London-based fashion designer and court-dressmaker operating as Madame Handley-Seymour between 1910 and 1940. She is best known for creating the wedding dress worn by Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the future Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother, for her marriage to the Duke of York, the future King George VI, in 1923; and later, Queen Elizabeth's coronation gown in 1937.
*******Rum is a British slang word that means odd (in a negative way) or disreputable.
********Fitzroy Square is a Georgian square in London, England. It is the only one in the central London area known as Fitzrovia. The square is one of the area's main features, this once led to the surrounding district to be known as Fitzroy Square or Fitzroy Town[1] and latterly as Fitzrovia, though the nearby Fitzroy Tavern is thought to have had as much influence on the name as Fitzroy Square.
*********A "royal levée" refers to a formal reception or gathering, often held by a sovereign or their representative, where they receive dignitaries, officials, and other important guests. It is a tradition with roots in ancient practices of rulers displaying their power and accessibility.
**********Shepherd’s check is a popular pattern for a rather sturdy tweed, commonly worn in the country. Coming in various colours and pattern styles, the small check version in black and white is commonly known as Pepita check in Germanic countries.
***********Elizabeth Bowes Lyon went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to"
************Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. He was Duke of York from 1920 to 1936, living in London and also (from 1932) at Royal Lodge, Windsor Great Park. He became King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth from the 11th of December 1936 until his death in 1952. He was also the last Emperor of India from 1936 until the British Raj was dissolved in August 1947, and the first head of the Commonwealth following the London Declaration of 1949.
*************Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members.
Cluttered with books and art, Viscount Wrexham’s library with its Georgian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The majority of the books that you see lining the shelves of the Viscount’s library are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too is the stamp album, the envelopes and even the Penny Black stamps on the Viscount’s Chippendale desk. 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 even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make each miniature an artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
Also on the desk to the left stands a stuffed white owl on a branch beneath a glass cloche. A vintage miniature piece, the foliage are real dried flowers and grasses, whilst the owl is cut from white soapstone. The base is stained wood and the cloche is real glass. This I acquired along with two others featuring shells (one of which can be seen in the background) from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles and a blotter on a silver salver all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. On the desk is a roller and a bell, both also made from sterling silver, a silver pen with a tiny seed pearl in its end and a brass cloisonné handled letter opener which also come from the Little Green Workshop.
The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.
In the background you can see the book lined shelves of Viscount Wrexham’s as well as a hand painted ginger jar from Thailand which stands on a Bespaq plant stand.
The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
