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.
After a busy morning working at her desk, painting some interior designs for one of a flurry of new clients since the publication of her interiors for ‘Chi and Treth’, the country residence of her friends Dickie and Margot Channon, in the periodical ‘Country Life’*, Lettice prepares to curl up in one of her armchairs and enjoy the latest edition of Vogue whilst taking a reviving cup of tea provided to her in her favourite Art Deco teaset by her maid, Edith, when the telephone rings noisily on the occasional table beside her.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Oh pooh!” Lettice curses. “And just as I was about to get comfortable.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Edith, just a few paces away looks aghast at the sparkling silver and Bakelite telephone. “That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself. She then adds more loudly, “If it inconveniences you, Miss, you should have it disconnected.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Yes, I’m sure you’d like that, Edith.” Lettice says with a cheeky smile. “Aa it happens, it’s not an inconvenience at all. It’s actually a delight to have it, although exactly who is calling, it is yet to be determined as to whether they are a delight or not.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Oh Edith, be a brick and get that, would you.” Lettice says sweetly to her maid as she snuggles herself comfortably into the rounded back of her armchair with a mirthful grin and picks up her magazine.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I think it would be better if you answered it, Miss.” Edith says doubtfully. “You’re closer. You just have to reach across and pick it up.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Nonsense,” Lettice answers dismissively. “It might be someone I might not wish to be at home to. You answer it.” She waves her hand dismissively at the telephone and turns back to her magazine, before she continues to flip through it in a desultory fashion.
Edith walks in and up to the black japanned occasional table upon which the telephone continues to trill loudly.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I know you don’t like it, Edith, but this is for your own good. As I keep telling you, any household you work in will have one now, so you simply must get used to answering it.” Lettice says in a matter-of-fact way. “Just pick it up and speak clearly into it, Edith. Quickly, before whomever it is hangs up. It may be Selwyn!“
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“I should run the Hoover over your chord, you infernal contraption.” Edith mutters. “Let’s hear you ring then!”
Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, and how popular her services are with the raising of her profile thanks to the ‘Country Life’ article, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Smoothing her suddenly clammy hands down the apron covering her print morning dress she answers with a slight quiver to her voice, “Mayfair 432, the Honourable Miss Lettice Chetwynd’s residence.” Her whole body clenches and she closes her eyes as she waits for the barrage of anger from some duchess or other titled lady, affronted at having to address the maid. A distant female voice speaks down the line. “Yes, this is the residence of Miss Chetwynd.” she answers, wondering why the caller didn’t listen to her the first time. There is a barrage of sharp barks followed by scolding at the end of the line before the female caller asks to speak to Lettice. “I’ll… I’ll just see whether she is at home.” she replies awkwardly. “May I ask who is calling, please?” The female voice burbles down the line again. “Yes, thank you Mrs. Hawarden. Just one moment please.”
Lettice looks up at her maid queryingly, her gaze answered with a shrug of her maid’s shoulders as she covers the mouthpiece to muffle any conversation between the two of them as Lettice has wisely shown her.
“Hawarden?” Lettice ponders, chewing her bottom lip in concentration as she considers the names of her current clients in her head. “I don’t think I know that name. Has she called before, Edith?”
The maid shakes her head quickly, her eyes growing wide in concern at having to hold the telephone’s receiver. “She has a very broad accent, so I’d says she’s from up north.” Edith raises her eyes to the white painted ceiling, as if that indicates north as she holds out he receiver hopefully to her mistress, the mouthpiece still covered by her clammy hand.
“Oh!” Lettice exclaims with frustration, taking pity on her nervous maid. “Oh very well.” She throws down her magazine onto the black japanned surface of the coffee table next to her teacup and the sugar bowl of her tea set, and indicates to Edith to pass the telephone receiver to her. “You are positively exasperating sometimes, Edith.”
“Yes Miss. Thank you, Miss.” Edith says gratefully, beaming in delight as she bobs a quick curtsey and hands the receiver to her mistress, who shoos her away with an elegant, if dismissive wave.
“Good morning, this is Lettice Chetwynd speaking. Mrs. Hawarden is it?” Lettice introduces herself and asks politely.
“Oh Miss Chetwynd!” Edith may be reluctant to answer the telephone, but her hearing and observation skills are excellent. The female voice at the other end of the line is clearly from Manchester judging by the thick and syrupy accent. “I’m so pleased you’re in. My name is Mrs. Evelyn Hawarden.”
“And how many I help you, Mrs. Hawarden?”
“Well, I was hoping you might consider helping me redecorate the drawing room and dining room of my new home, Miss Chetwynd.” Mrs. Hawarden replies, a hopeful lilt detectable in her voice.
“Perhaps you’d care to tell me a little bit more, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice suggests as she presses herself into the white upholstered back of her chair.
“So, you’re free to take on the job then, Miss Chetwynd?” the Mancunian woman asks presumptively, releasing a sigh of relief.
“Not necessarily, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice tempers the woman’s enthusiasm politely. “I’m simply wishing to ascertain some basic facts first. Would you care to tell me in a little bit more detail about what you had in mind. Is it just the drawing room and dining room you wish to engage my services for to redecorate, or are there other rooms? What is the current standard of the rooms? Is it to be a complete redecoration, or are there some elements of your current décor that you would perhaps entertain retaining?”
“Well,” Mrs. Hawarden replies a little less eagerly, evidently disappointed by her inability to engage Lettice’s services on a modicum of detail. “Yes, it would be the drawing room and the dining room. Maybe the entrance hall too, now I think about it.”
Lettice can almost hear the woman thinking about it. Lettice pictures a more mature woman standing in her entrance hall on the telephone looking around her at the current decoration of the space.
“We’ve only just moved in you see,” Mrs. Hawarden continues. “So I’m still trying to take it all in.”
“You’ve only just moved in, Mrs. Hawarden?” Lettice queries. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to settle first and work out what’s what before you engage my services?”
“Oh no! No!” splutters the woman at the end of the telephone. “Oh no, I need it redecorating before I can possibly receive guests, Miss Chetwynd.”
Lettice’s eyes grow wide as she wonders what is wrong with the interiors. Diplomatically she asks, “Is it that the interiors are damaged, or perhaps a little shabby, Mrs. Hawarden?”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden replies. “No the interiors are in splendid condition, Miss Chetwynd. It’s not that…” There is suddenly a burst of angry yaps at Mrs, Hawarden’s end of the line. “No! Yat-See no! No!” screams the woman, causing Lettice to pull the end of the receiver away from her ear. “Barbara! Barbara! Barbara come and fetch Yat-See! He’s about to…” Mrs. Hawarden’s end of the line is suddenly muffled, no doubt by the woman covering the telephone receiver’s mouth piece with her hand. There are some more muffled cries and some more volleys of sharp barking before things go quiet again. A moment later Lettice can hear the fingers uncovering the telephone’s mouthpiece. “I am sorry about that, Miss Chetwynd.” the Mancunian replies, suitably composed again. “As I said, we’re new here, and my dear little baby, Yat-See is getting into all sorts of naughty doggie mischief.” She laughs awkwardly. “Now, where were we?”
“The décor, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice prompt politely.
“The décor? Oh yes, the décor isn’t shabby at all, Miss Chetwynd. It’s just, just somewhat, dated, shall we say.”
Lettice ponders what the woman is saying and wonders whether she has recently inherited the house and is trying to rid herself of the former owner’s influence on her new home.
“So, you have inherited the décor with the house then, Mrs, Hawarden?”
“Yes, quite literally lock, stock and barrel, Miss Chetwynd, and, well, after I saw what you did for Mr. and Mrs. Channon in ‘Country Life’, I thought you could do wonders here. You can bring in some light and modernity to the old place.”
Lettice reaches over to the occasional table the telephone’s base stands on and picks up her leather diary which sits in front of it. Flipping the silver clasp, she begins to flick through the pages.
“Well, that does sound interesting, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice begins.
“So, you’ll take it on then?” Mrs. Hawarden asks again.
“Well,” Lettice tempers her again. “We shall have to see. I’d like to consult with you a little more, here at my residence in Mayfair and meet you formerly, before I make my final decision. Perhaps you might be free next Wednesday, Mrs. Hawarden?”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Hawarden balks. “I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m far too busy getting things straightened out here.” The sound of the dog’s yapping and the chiming of a grandfather clock can be heard in the distance in the pregnant pause that hangs like the miles between the two women. “We really have only just moved in, and I’m still sorting things here. Couldn’t I entreat you to come here, instead? That way, we could as you suggest, meet formally, and you could see the interiors at the same time.”
“Well, it’s not my usual practice, Mrs. Hawarden.” Lettice retorts.
“Oh please!” Mrs. Hawarden pleads. “It would be so much easier if you would just come here, Miss Chetwynd. Really it would!”
“As I said, Mrs. Hawarden, it really isn’t…”
“I’m still interviewing for staff at present,” the woman bursts in, not allowing Lettice to finish here sentence. “But we did bring our cook down with us, and she makes a delicious lunch.”
“Well,” Lettice asks tentatively. “Where is your house, Mrs. Hawarden?”
“Oh, it’s only a short trip outside of London.” Mrs, Hawarden trills gaily. “No difficulty at all. I’m in Ascot**.”
“Well if it’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Hawarden, I don’t see why…”
“Next Wednesday didn’t you say? I do just happen to be free, and I can have our chauffer collect you from the railway station if you don’t feel like motoring down yourself.”
Lettice considers the invitation for a moment. Ascot Week*** is fast approaching, so she will have friends staying in the neighbourhood, so she could have luncheon with Mrs. Hawarden, and even if Lettice decides to decline her as a client, she can still visit friends before going back to London, and be given a, hopefully, delicious luncheon at Mrs. Hawarden’s expense.
“Very well, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll come up via the railroad for the afternoon.”
“Excellent Miss Chetwynd!” Mrs. Hawarden purrs with pleasure. “I knew you’d come to see reason. Shall we say one o’clock then? If you’d be good enough to consult the railway timetables and advise me, I’ll have Johnston collect you from the railway station.”
Lettice picks up her silver pen. “If you would please give me your particulars, Mrs. Hawarden. I’ll write them down.”
“Splendid! Splendid!” twitters Mrs. Hawarden in delight so evident that Lettice can picture her squirming up and down on the spot like a concertina, crumpling her tweeds.
*Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.
**Ascot is a town in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead in Berkshire. It is six miles south of Windsor and twenty-five miles west of London. It is most notable as the location of Ascot Racecourse, home of the Royal Ascot meeting. The town comprises three areas: Ascot itself, North Ascot and South Ascot. It is in the civil parish of Sunninghill and Ascot.
***One of Britain's most well-known racecourses, Ascot holds a special week of races in June each year called Royal Ascot, attended by the reigning sovereign. Once a staple for the London Season, where mothers to parade their unmarried daughters dressed in the latest European and British fashions before eligible bachelors and British society could mix with royalty in a rarefied social environment, this week has become in the Twenty-First Century Britain's most popular race meeting, welcoming around 300,000 visitors over five days, all dressed up in their finest clothes and hats.
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 including items from my own childhood.
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 magazines from 1923 sitting on the coffee table and on the lower level of the occasional table were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
On the tiered occasional table stands a black Bakelite and silver telephone is a 1:12 miniature of a model introduced around 1919. It is two centimetres wide and two centimetres high. The receiver can be removed from the cradle, and the curling chord does stretch out. In front of it is a black leather diary with the silver clasp which is an artisan crafted miniature made by the Little Green Workshop in the United Kingdom, who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.
The vase of apricot roses on the Art Deco occasional table is beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium, whilst the tall vase of flowers to the right of the china cabinet has been made by Falcon Miniatures, who are well known for their lifelike floral creations.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The black japanned wooden china cabinet with its mirrored back is a Chippendale design. On its glass shelves sit pieces of miniature Limoges porcelain including jugs, teacups and saucers, many of which I have had since I was a child. All date from the 1950s and have green backstamps on them. They come from various Limoges miniature tea sets that I own.
The high backed back japanned chair next to the china cabinet is Chippendale too. It has been upholstered with modern and stylish Art Deco fabric.
To the left of the Chippendale chair stands a blanc de chine Chinese porcelain vase, and next to it, a Chinese screen. The Chinese folding screen I bought at an antiques and junk market when I was about ten. I was with my grandparents and a friend of the family and their three children, who were around my age. They all bought toys to bring home and play with, and I bought a Chinese folding screen to add to my miniatures collection in my curio cabinet at home! It shows you what a unique child I was.
The green glass comport on the coffee table is an artisan miniature made from hand spun glass and acquired from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug. 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.