Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
This morning Lettice is entertaining her friend Margot Channon, a fellow member of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie and her best girlfriend. Edith, Lettice’s maid, has brought out Lettice’s Art Deco tea set, which now sits on the low black japanned coffee table between them along with a plate of delicious looking jam fancies that have come from the Huntley and Palmers tin in the flat’s kitchen. The mid-morning sunlight pours in through the window and the air is pungent with the fragrance of flowers as the two friends wait for Edith to withdraw from the drawing room, and earshot, before picking up on their conversation.
“My goodness, Lettice darling,” Margot exclaims as she picks up her fine bone china teacup with the Art Deco patterning and gilt edge, and sinks back comfortably into Lettice’s comfortable round tub chair. “It’s beginning to look like the Regent Street Flower Box in here!” She gesticulates to all the vases of flowers around them with her manicured hands.
“Oh yes.” Lettice remarks as if she is taking in the number of bouquets of roses, asters and orchids gracing the surfaces of her drawing room for the first time. “Yes, I suppose it is a bit much, Margot darling.”
“Are they all from Selwyn?” A cheeky half smile curls up Margot’s red painted lips as she waits for the answer she knows she is going to receive.
Lettice nods shallowly in reply, the movement a little self-conscious and shy.
Margot arches one of her fashionably shaped slim dark eyebrows as she contemplates her best girlfriend with an intense gaze from her deep sloe eyes. The smile on her painted lips falls away as she takes in the finer points of Lettice’s body language that only a close friend would notice: the way Lettice picks up her teacup a little hesitantly, the way she shuffles slightly awkwardly on the soft cushioned seat of her armchair, the way her blue eyes flit around the room in a desultory fashion.
“But you haven’t asked me here today to admire the floral arrangements given you by Selwyn, have you darling?” her remark coming out of her pretty mouth more like a statement of fact than a question.
“What Margot?” Lettice exclaims, raising her delicate fingers to her collar bone where she immediately starts to worry at the string of creamy pearls she wears: another sign to Margot that there is something afoot. “Can’t I have my very best bosom friend* over for a morning of idle gossip? How can you even suggest such a thing?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Lettice.” Margot eyes her friend firmly. “It might appeal to Selwyn, but I’ve known you for long enough. I may not be worldly, or know how to run a household properly, but I do know when you’re up to something.”
“Well,” Lettice sighs, her shoulders sagging as she sinks back into her own tub chair with her cup of tea. “It is true, I didn’t really ask you over here to talk about Elizabeth’s** wedding to Bertie***.”
“Aha!” Margot crows triumphantly. She smiles smugly as she takes a sip of her tea before continuing. “Enough of the niceties and subterfuge. What devilish plot are you hatching behind those purportedly innocent lids of yours? Come on, spit it out: I’m all ears.”
“Alight!” Lettice leans forward in her seat conspiratorially and slides her cup back into its saucer.
Margot leans forward in her seat, mirroring Lettice, snatching up a jam fancy from the plate between them as she waits for Lettice to continue, popping its edge between her white teeth and biting down into the flaky biscuit crust.
“I need your help, Margot. I need you to come to the Great Spring Show**** with me.”
“Good god no!” Margot exclaims, sending pieces of partially chewed biscuit spraying from her mouth. “Why?”
“Oh, I knew you’d say that.” Lettice sulks.
Margot coughs and clears her throat. “You know I’m emotionally scarred by my experiences of being paraded about there as a jeune fille à marier***** by Mummy before the war!” She scrapes pieces of biscuit off her morning frock with her right index finger and thumb and drops them onto her saucer. “I felt humiliated! It was like being at one of those hideous cattle shows you people born and raised in the country seem to favour, only I was the cattle on show, not the spectator, and no-one wanted to acquire me. Why can’t you ask Gerald?”
“I did,” Lettice replies downheartedly. “But he said no.”
“Wise man. Good for him.” Margot concludes. “It’s ghastly: all those anxious mothers and daughters perambulating about and showing off, all the parvenues wearing just a little too much jewellery and just too bright a shade of frock trying too hard to blend in and not be ill at ease with their new money, the withering gazes coming from the beady eyes of those society matrons as they pass judgement on all and sundry from beneath their new spring millinery.” She sighs and clears her throat of the last few stubborn remaining crumbs as resolutely she picks up her teacup again. “No, it is simply too, too hideous.”
“Oh please, Margot darling!” Lettice implores. “I need you to come with me. Please!”
“But why?” Margot asks. “I didn’t think the Great Spring Show was particularly your scene, Lettice darling: more that of your mother. It strikes me that Sadie would be quite at home amid the horror of so many women beneath a single tent, all mixing up a turgid social melee where anyone can become a victim to their tutting and bitter tongues for dropping the tiniest of social briquettes. I should have thought that coming from the country as you do that you would have had enough of flower shows there to cure you of them for the rest of your life.”
“You aren’t entirely wrong there,” Lettice agrees. ‘But I need to go, even if every fibre of my being rails against me attending, and I need you to come with me, despite all your misgivings.”
“So, I say again Lettice, why? You must throw me a bone if you are to have any chance of me even so much as contemplating going.”
“You’ll be potentially assisting me with my love life.” Lettice says hopefully.
“Your love life?” Margot takes another bite of her biscuit as she waits for Lettice to continue, tiny crumbs sticking to her red painted lips.
“Selwyn will be there.” Lettice elucidates.
“Really?” Margot’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t think it was particularly, dishy Mr. Spencely’s scene either.”
“It’s not, but he’s going anyway.”
“Well surely as you are no longer a debutante, and you have been seen dining with Selwyn, even if you’ve been careful enough not to end up in the society pages, that you can meet him in a place as innocuous as the Great Spring Show.” She wags a finger at Lettice as she stares intently at her. “There’s more to this than you are letting on. These titbits you’re casting me aren’t nearly tasty enough for this dog. Go on.”
Lettice glances around the room with guilty eyes and sighs. “You’ll think me a fool.”
“I’ll do no such thing!” Margot defends. “Until I know all the facts, at least.” she adds with a cheeky smile. She then looks Lettice firmly and earnestly in the eye. “Come on Lettice darling. This is me you’re talking with. How many foolish schemes and plots have we helped each other with over the years? Some worked, but may didn’t, and we’re still friends.”
“Do you remember me telling you about Pamela Fox-Chavers?”
“Yes,” Margot replies, quickly trying to recall what Lettice told her about her. “She’s Selwyn’s cousin?”
“Yes, that’s right: a distant one.”
“And he’s chaperoning her to certain occasions throughout the Season because she is just out, isn’t he?”
“Yes: a favour to his mother.”
“Oh I see!” Margot gasps with realisation. “You want me to go with you to the Royal Horticultural Society’s garden show so that we can just run into Selwyn, quite by chance.”
“Exactly. It will be less suspicious and draw less attention if I just happen to be there with a friend than if I went there by myself. If I went alone that would be too obvious, and raise some eyebrows.”
“Then I take it that this plan of yours is not being made in conjunction with Selwyn.”
“That’s correct.”
“But what I still don’t understand is why Gerald won’t escort you. Coming from the country as you do, he loves these sorts of occasions far more than I, and it will be good business for him to be seen there. All that exposure to those society matrons and their influence over the fashions their daughters wear would do his fledgling fashion house wonders.”
“He doesn’t want to be a party to what he calls my spying. He and Selwyn are members of the same club, and they do know one another socially.”
“Ahh,” Margot utters, the glee raising a glint in her eyes. “The plot thickens. So, you aren’t really going to the flower show to see Selwyn. You’re going so you can size up your competition.”
Lettice doesn’t reply, but the guilty look on her face and her failed attempt at a nonchalant shrug are enough of an answer.
“But I didn’t think Pamela Fox-Chavers was competition. You told me that Selwyn told you that he is doing this as a favour for his mother.”
“That’s what he tells me.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe him.” Lettice defends. “It’s more that I think that there are other games being played by certain parties.”
“And the end game for them doesn’t have you and Selwyn riding off in the sunset to live happily ever after, I take it?”
“Exactly, Margot darling.”
“And who might these people be?”
“Selwyn’s mother principally, I believe.”
“The Duchess?” Margot’s eyes grow wide. “Interesting. What proof do you have?”
“Well, nothing that I can truly substantiate,” Lettice admits. “But I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“Well, you know I’m a convert to a woman’s intuition, Lettice darling. So, what brings you to this conclusion?”
“Do you remember at Priscilla’s and Georgie’s wedding I pointed out a man whose attentions I spurned at Mater’s Hunt Ball?”
“Yes, a rather thin and decidedly oily man,” Margot remarks, pulling a face of distaste as she remembers his presence. “And much older than you too, but I can’t recall his name.”
“Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”
“That’s it!”
“Well, at the wedding, Sir John bailed me up, and he told me that Selwyn isn’t free to make a marriage of his own choosing. He said that Lady Zinnia and Lord Fox-Chavers had arranged a marriage between their two children long ago.”
“An arranged marriage?”
“Yes, between two very powerful and influential families. It makes sense.”
“And do you believe this Sir John?”
“At first I thought he was just spitting poison at me for spurning his attentions, but the more time that passes, the more sense it makes to me. Sir John spoke of preserving blood lines.”
“Well Selwyn and Pamela are cousins.”
“Distant cousins, yes. And Selwyn is very cagey about me meeting his mother.”
“Do you think he’s ashamed of you, Lettice darling?” Margot gasps, immediately concerned for her dear friend’s wellbeing.
“No, not at all, Margot. As I look back upon the disagreements we’ve had over meeting his mother, I actually now think he’s trying to shield me from her. I mean, I can barely remember her. Selwyn and I were only children when I last saw Lady Zinnia and I just remember a mean and angry lady dressed in black, dragging Selwyn away. However, I spoke to Leslie about her because he was older than me when she used to visit Glynes****** as part of Mater and Pater’s set, and I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s a dangerous woman.”
“So how does this plan of yours to spy on Pamela Fox-Chavers at the Great Spring Show benefit you, Lettice darling? I still don’t understand.”
“In spite of Selwyn trying to keep me and Lady Zinnia apart, one day I am going to meet her. It’s inevitable.” Lettice sighs. “And when I do, I think I am going to have to show her that I am equal to, or preferably surpass Pamela Fox-Chavers from a marriageability perspective. I need to meet Pamela and see what she’s like for myself, as I suspect I’m going to have to fight her and the Duchess in order to win Selwyn.” She releases a pent-up breath she didn’t realise she was holding in her chest beneath her aqua blue morning frock. “So you see, Margot darling, that’s why I need you to come with me to the Great Spring Show.” She looks at her friend with imploring eyes. “Please tell me that you’ll come.”
Margot sighs and fiddles with the frothy white lace edge of her parasol as it rests against the black japanned Chippendale footstool next to her chair as she contemplates subjecting herself to the social melee of the Royal Horticultural Society’s annual flower show. She doesn’t want to go, but as she stares into the worried face of her friend with her quivering lips and cornflower blue eyes glinting with fear, she knows she needs to be a true and friend to Lettice and accompany her, to be her moral support.
“Very well.” Margot agrees. “We’ll go.”
“Oh Margot!” Lettice yelps with joy. Leaping out of her seat she runs around to her friend and flings her arms around her neck. “Thank you!”
Margot laughs and pats Lettice’s back comfortingly. “You’re welcome. However, I perceive that there is a fatal flaw in this plot of yours, Lettice darling.”
“And what’s that, Margot darling?”
“Well, the Great Spring Show goes for three days. How will we know which day to attend?”
“Well we don’t,” Lettice replies with a serious face. “We’ll just have to attend all three days.”
Margot’s face pales at the thought of having to attend three interminable days of the flower show. “Well, I…” she stammers.
Lettice cannot help herself and bursts out laughing. “Oh Margot! You should see your face!” She covers her own mouth to try and stem the peals of laughter that fly from her lips. Slowly regaining her composure, Lettice returns to her seat and elucidates. “It’s quite alright Margot. I know which day to attend. I’ve already done my research.”
“Oh you!” hisses Margot admonishingly.
“I telephoned Selwyn’s office to find out which days he is out of the office. It turns out that he has a very chatty secretary. And,” She smiles proudly. ”Just to be sure, I also telephoned one of Pamela’s fellow debutantes whom I’ve seen her knocking about with, in the society pages, and pretending to be another debutante planning her social calendar, I confirmed that one of the date Selwyn’s secretary identified as being a day he is out of his practice, matches the day she said that Pamela is attending the flower show.”
“For playing such a filthy rotten trick on me, I should jolly well make you go to the ghastly flower show all by yourself!” Margot pouts overdramatically, showing that she isn’t really cross with Lettice.
“Thank you again, Margot.” Lettice says to her friend. “You really are a brick!”
*The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.
**Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
***Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
****May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
*****A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.
******Glynes is 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.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The jam fancies are also artisan miniatures from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. He has a dizzying array of meals which is always growing, and all are made entirely or put together by hand. The glass comport is made of real glass and was blown by hand. It too comes from Beautifully handmade Miniatures.
The books that you see scattered around Lettice’s drawing room 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, although these are amongst the exception. In some cases, you can even read the words of the titles, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. 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.
The magazines on the lower shelf of the coffee table were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
The very realistic floral arrangements around the room are made by hand by either the Doll House Emporium or Falcon Miniatures in America who specialise in high end miniatures.
Margot’s umbrella comes from an online stockist that specialises in miniatures, whilst her red handbag with its gold chain strap comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.
On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.
The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.
On the left hand side of the mantle is an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.
In the middle of the mantle is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in England, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.