Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we have headed a short distance north-east across London, away from Cavendish Mews and Mayfair, over Paddington and past Lisson Grove to the comfortably affluent suburb of Little Venice with its cream painted Regency terraces and railing surrounded public parks. Here in Clifton Gardens Lettice’s maiden Aunt Eglantine, affectionately known as Aunt Egg by her nieces and nephews, lives in a beautiful four storey house that is part of a terrace of twelve. Eglantine Chetwynd is Viscount Wrexham’s younger sister, and as well as being unmarried, is an artist and ceramicist of some acclaim. Originally a member of the Pre-Raphaelites* in England, these days she flits through artistic and bohemian circles and when not at home in her spacious and light filled studio at the rear of her garden, can be found mixing with mostly younger artistic friends in Chelsea. Her unmarried status, outlandish choice of friends and rather reformist and unusual dress sense shocks Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, and attracts her derision. In addition, she draws Sadie’s ire, as Aunt Egg has always received far more affection and preferential treatment from her children. Viscount Wrexham on the other hand adores his artistic little sister, and has always made sure that she can live the lifestyle she chooses and create art.
Lettice is taking tea with her favourite aunt in her wonderfully overcluttered drawing room, which unlike most other houses in the terrace where the drawing room is located in the front and overlooks the street, is nestled at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful and slightly rambunctious rear garden and studio. It is just another example of Lettice’s aunt flouting the conventions women like Lady Sadie cling to. The room is overstuffed with an eclectic collection of bric-à-brac. Antique vases and ornamental plates jostle for space with pieces of Eglantyne’s own work and that of her artistic friends on whatnots and occasional tables, across the mantle and throughout several glass fronted china cabinets. Every surface is cluttered to over capacity. As Lettice picks up the fine blue and gilt cup of tea proffered by her aunt, she cannot help but feel sorry for Augusta, Eglantine’s Swiss head parlour maid and Clotilde, the second parlour maid, who must feel that their endless dusting is futile, for no sooner would they have finished a room than they would have to start again since dust would have settled where they began. In addition to being a fine ceramicist, Eglantyne is also an expert embroiderer, and her works appear on embroidered cushions, footstools and even a pole fire screen to Lettice’s left as she settles back into a rather ornate corner chair that Eglantyne always saves for guests.
“Well, I think you did the right thing, my dear.” Aunt Egg says with conviction in her sparkling green eyes. “That Mrs. Hawarden’s taste sounds absolutely vulgar. Mind you, what can one expect from the wife of an industrialist in Manchester! They breed them differently up north.”
“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims. “I never thought I would hear such words fall from your lips. You are the one who always chides any one of us if we utter anything that isn’t egalitarian! You scoff at Mater because she is such a snob.”
“Well, she is a snob.” Replies the older woman, picking up a dainty biscuit from the plate perched upon a footstool covered in her own petit point handiwork. “I’m simply making a frank observation.” She pops the biscuit into her mouth and chews on it.
When she was young, Eglantine had Titian red hair that fell in wavy tresses about her pale face, making her a popular muse amongst the Pre-Raphaelites she mixed with. With the passing years, her red hair has retreated almost entirely behind silver grey, save for the occasional streak of washed out reddish orange, yet she still wears it as she did when it was at its fiery best, sweeping softly about her almond shaped face, tied in a loose chignon at the back of her neck. Large amber droplets hang from her ears, glowing in the diffused light filtering through the lace curtains that frame the window overlooking the garden. The earrings match the amber necklace about her neck that cascades over the top of her usual uniform of a lose Delphos dress** that does not require her to wear a corset of any kind, and a silk fringed cardigan, both in beautiful shades of golden yellow.
“Why on earth Mrs. Hawarden doesn’t simply go and reside in one of those awful Metroland*** Tudor Revival villas those developers keep advertising on the outskirts of London, I don’t know?” the older woman says once she finishes her mouthful of biscuit. “They would be better suited to be the blank canvas for her taste for dark brown stained woodwork and ubiquitous distemper. No, I say again, my dear, that it would be a travesty to tear apart all that wonderful history built up in that lovely house over many years.”
“That isn’t to say that it won’t happen, Aunt Egg.” Lettice replies. “Mrs. Hawarden has plenty of money to splash around. I’m sure there are a plethora of other interior designers who would love the opportunity to receive a commission from her.”
“Be that as it may, at least it isn’t you who is pandering to that woman’s whims. Your father and I taught you well - even Sadie to a degree – to respect the history of a home. A home is merely a house with history.”
“Well, I do hope that other people will like my Modernist Revival style as Mr. Tipping**** calls it.” Lettice replies a little desultorily.
“As one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Great Britain, I have no doubt that there are far more people who will follow Mr. Tipping’s elegant and qualified taste, than will follow the whims of a vulgar and showy industrialist’s wife from Manchester who is of no consequence to anyone other than to herself.” The older woman nods matter-of-factly.
“I do hope you are right, Aunt Egg.”
“Of course I’m right, my dear.” Eglantine soothes from the comfort of her cream upholstered Chippendale wingback armchair. “Let me tell you a story. Once, some years ago, before you were born, I was very taken by the Ballet Russes who were performing here in London. I found their passion and colour exciting and stimulating. Your father, always happy to indulge my passions cultivated a friendship with a visiting Russian count, the Count Baronovska. However, it was his wife who truly fascinated me.
Why Aunt Egg?
Because my dear, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was everything I ever dreamed of being. She was elegant and worldly,
But you are elegant and worldly.
When compared alongside the Countess, I felt anything but either of those things.
I can hardly imagine that, Aunt Egg. You were famed as a beauty when you were younger, and you still are extremely elegant.”
“Ah, how you flatter me child.”
“And I have always thought of you as wise and worldly, Aunt Egg. It’s why I come to you for advice.”
“Well, in comparison to a Bright Young Thing like you, I am worldly wise, but I knew nothing compared to the Countess Baronovska.”
“Tell me what she was like.”
“She was tall and statuesque, with a proud bearing, yet she was in no way haughty. Her skin was flawless and snowy white, like porcelain. The almost translucent quality of her flesh was only highlighted by her dark curls which framed her face. Her swan neck was made for the display of pearl chokers. Like so many White Russians before the Revolution, she had a fortune in jewels and she wore them with style and panache: ropes of pearls and circlets of diamonds and rubies placed in ornate gold settings graced her throat and cascaded down the front of her gowns, all of which were exquisitely made, not in Paris or London like those your mother and I wore, but by her own seamstress in St Petersburg.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“And so she was to look at. I’m quite sure your father had a mild crush on the Countess.” Aunt Egg chortles
“Did Mater know?”
“Discretion was never your father’s strong suit my dear. He still wears his heart on his sleeve, so I have no doubt that Sadie knew – not that your father would have done anything to reproach himself with. He has always been a gentleman. However, whilst your father was in love with her beauty, I was in love with her intellect and power.”
“Power?”
“On yes. The Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska was not like so many other members of the Russian court, filled with self importance and self entitlement. No, she cultivated her intellect and charms, and she used them to influence others to her advantage. I’m sure she only married the Count for his money, which sounds like an uncharitable thing to say, but she was a woman who had ambition in a time and a place where so few women, like your mother,” She rolls here eyes. “Did. She wanted the Count’s money to be used to greater benefit than the way he used it, which was to drink and play the gambling tables along with all the other Russian aristocrats.”
“So what did she do?”
“I’m not sure how, and she was so discreet that she would never confide it in me, but somehow she managed to get her husband to sign away all his wealth to her, so it was she who owned their lands and managed their fortune. It was she who gave her husband a small allowance and paid any of his unpaid gambling debts. The rest of the money she put to work by creating her own business, just like you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In a time when it was almost unheard of that a woman ran her own business affairs, especially in a patriarchal society like Russia, the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska did.”
“What business did she have?”
“The Countess was a woman who had her own unique style. She also loved beautiful objects and art, so she set up her own porcelain factory.”
“A porcelain factory? Truly, Aunt Egg?”
“Yes indeed. The Countess’ porcelain factory was in Crimea, and adjoined the Baronovska estate. As I said, the Countess had the most amazing mind, and she had a head for business. She was also smart that during a period when there was great worker discontent with other manufacturers treating those who worked in their factories no better than slaves, whilst living high off their hard work, the Countess made Baronovska Porcelain a place where people were not only happy to work, but made it a haven for young Russian artists who would never have had a chance to develop their talents were it not for her. As a result Baronovska Porcelain made high quality pieces that were beautifully designed and unique. With their connections within the inner circles of the Royal Court of the Tsar, pieces were highly sought after and commanded very high prices. Even today, if a piece of Baranovska Porcelain were to miraculously turn up at Sotheby’s or Bonham’s, it would command a very fine price.”
“She sounds like a very shrewd businesswoman.”
“You remind me of her a little. She was a woman who marched to the beat of her own heart, and stuck to her specific ideas about what was fashionable. She didn’t follow trends, she set them with her fine porcelain.”
“And she reminds you or me, Aunt Egg?”
“Why yes Lettice. See, by you refusing to do what that awful Hawarden woman wanted: paint her rooms oatmeal and strip back the many years of history that house her manufacturer husband bought her as a toy, you have stuck to your own ideals, just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.” She smiles at her niece. “I’m proud of you for not following her wishes, simply because she has the money to pay you for your services.”
“I’m starting to think that I perhaps should have been a little more direct with her.”
“Perhaps my dear, but she still may not have listened to you, and insisted on you doing her bidding against your own better and far superior judgement.” She reaches out and pats Lettice’s hands with her own gnarled bejewelled one. “Just like the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska, I know that you too will be a trend setter, and in the not too distant future, I’ll wager.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Aunt Egg.”
“Nonsense my dear! Self-deprecation and hiding one’s talent under a bushel never did anyone any good, my dear. You will be the toast of London one day,” She taps her nose knowingly. “You mark my words.”
“Did you ever visit the factory, Aunt Egg?” Lettice says in an effort to change the subject.
“Actually, yes we did. That was when I received these two vases.” She indicates to two vases on the mantlepiece. “A gift from the Countess, whose generosity I can never repay.”
“Oh Aunt Egg! I have always admired those.”
“Well, perhaps I will leave them to you in my will when I die, my dear.”
“Oh Aunt Egg!”
“It’s a pity I didn’t buy more pieces whilst we were there. The Countess served us tea from the most delicate and dainty tea set with the same pattern painted upon it. Oh! It was the most beautiful tea set I think I have ever seen.” The older woman sighs. “Still hindsight is fine thing to have.”
“You said ‘we went’, Aunt Egg. Who is ‘we’?”
“Of course you weren’t born yet, but your father, your mother, Leslie, Lally and Lionel, even though he was only a toddler at the time, all visited the Count and Countess Baronovska in Russia. However, as I recall, the Count slipped off to St Petersburg as soon as it was polite for him to make a hasty retreat to the gambling tables allure. The Countess Baronovska had the most beautiful dacha in Crimea where we all stayed as her guests. She told Leslie and Lally as many Russian faerie tales that they could coax out of her. She had a soft spot for the children, since she and the Count had no children of their own.”
“Do you think the Countess planned it that way? It sounds to me like she had very definite plans for her future, and children may have been a hinderance.”
“In the case of children, I think not. I suspect that the Count was drawn to St Petersburg not just for the lavish life at court and the gambling, but for the allure of a number of women as well. I think the Countess would have liked to have had a large brood of her own. Although,” Aunt Egg’s voice becomes a little melancholy. “Considering what has come to pass in Russia, perhaps it is just as well that she never had children. The Countess invested some of the profits from her factory in the people who lived and worked on her estate and worked in her factory. She made sure that people had repaired roofs over their heads, nutritious food and access to healthcare, yet it still made no difference in the end. Like so many Russian Aristocrats, she fled when the Revolution came, and had to leave behind so much, including her beloved porcelain factory.” She sighs. “Goodness knows what has happened to it now.”
“Did you ever see the Countess Baronovska again?”
“Yes, your father and I did in,” She ruminates for a moment. “In 1919 as I recall. The Countess was still beautiful and elegant, in spite of what happened to her, and her somewhat diminished circumstances, although I do think she managed to escape with a king’s ransom in jewellery. She promised that we would stay in touch. We used to correspond for many years. I even sent her photographs of you as you grew up, and I told her about all your artistic attributes, which I know she would have appreciated, had she ever met you.”
“Where do you think she is now, Aunt Egg?”
“Goodness knows my dear. She has gone to ground, I know not where. However, I do know that it will be for her own good reasons that she has. Russian émigrés have been dispersed everywhere between here and Shanghai. Perhaps one day she will turn up again.”
“It’s sad that you have lost a friend who obviously meant a great deal to you, Aunt Egg.”
“We all lose people eventually my dear,” the older woman says with a sad smile. “Or they lose us. Death sees to that.”
“Please don’t talk like that, Aunt Egg.”
“Oh very well, my dear, if it troubles you to hear it, however true my statement is. At least I have some photos, many wonderful letters, and these two beautiful vases, to remind me of the lovely, clever and kind the Countess Elena Ludmilla Baronovska.”
*The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".
**The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.
***The trains that killed the English countryside made the suburbs, for they brought semi-rural areas ripe for development within easy reach of city. This huge expansion of London and the regional cities between the two world wars democratised home ownership and the rows of almost identical rows of houses were derided by the wealthy upper classes and were nicknamed “Metroland”, after the commute via Metropolitan Railway people would need to take each day to and from work. It applied to land in Middlesex, west Hertfordshire and south Buckinghamshire. “Metroland” was characterised by the construction of Tudor Revival suburban houses.
****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.
This overstuffed and cluttered late Victorian room might look a bit busy to your modern eye, but in the day, this would have been the height of conspicuous consumption fashion. What may also surprise you is that the entire scene is made up with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story today, the two vases standing on the mantle with their blue and gilt banding of roses are “Baroness” pattern, made by Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures.
The irises and tulips in the two vases and the foxgloves appearing to the far right of the photograph are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.
Also on the mantlepiece are a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces! Between them stands a gilt carriage clock made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The pretty lace and floral fan behind it, leaning against the overmantle glass is a 1:12 artisan miniature that I acquired from a specialist doll house supplier when I was a teenager. The two “Japonism” style paper fans stuck into the fretwork around the overmantle mirror I acquired at the same time from the same shop as the lace fan. The one on the left-hand side is hand painted with flowers and has been lacquered before being attached to a little wooden handle.
The fireplace and its ornate overmantle is a “Kensignton” model made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. The mirrored china cabinet with its fretwork front was also made by Bespaq, as were Aunt Egg’s white floral figured satin upholstered Chippendale chair and the ornate white upholstered corner chair. The peacock feather fire screen, brass fire tools and ornate brass fender come from various online 1:12 miniature suppliers.
The footstool on which the tea set stands is also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.
The hand embroidered footstool in front of Aunt Egg’s Chippendale wingback armchair and the hand embroidered pedestal fire were acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as was the 1:12 artisan miniature sewing box on the small black japanned table to the left of Aunt Egg’s chair. The tapestry frame in front of Aunt Egg’s chair comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The tea set on the embroidered footstool in the centre of the image is made of white metal by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, and has been hand painted by artisan miniaturist Victoria Fasken.
The two whatnots are cluttered with vases from various online dolls’ house miniature suppliers, several miniature Limoges vases and white and lilac petunia pieces which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton.
The Royal Doulton style figurines in the china cabinet are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s.
The white roses in the blue and white vase on the sofa table are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. Aunt Egg’s family photos, all of which are all real photos, are produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal. The 1:12 artisan miniature blue and white jasperware Wedgwood teapot on the round table near the bottom of the photo is actually carved from wood, with a removable lid which has been hand painted. I acquired it from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures. The hand blown blue and clear glass basket next to it comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The paintings around Aunt Egg’s drawing room come from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The round pictures hanging on ribbons were made by me when I was twelve years old. The ribbons came from my maternal Grandmother’s sewing box, and the frames are actually buttons from her button box. The images inside (two Victorian children paintings on one and three Redoute roses on the other) were cut from a magazine.
The wallpaper was printed by me, and is an authentic Victorian floral pattern produced by Jeffrey and Company. Jeffrey and Company was an English producer of fine wallpapers that operated between 1836 and the mid 1930s. Based at 64 Essex Road in London, the firm worked with a variety of designers who were active in the aesthetic and arts and crafts movements, such as E.W. Godwin, William Morris, and Walter Crane. Jeffrey and Company’s success is often credited to Metford Warner, who became the company’s chief proprietor in 1871. Under his direction the firm became one of the most lucrative and influential wallpaper manufacturers in Europe. The company clarified that wallpaper should not be reserved for use solely in mansions, but should be available for rooms in the homes of the emerging upper-middle class.
The Oriental rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.