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 east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, around Trafalgar Square and up Charing Cross Road, where, near the corner of Great Newport Street, Lettice is visiting A. H. Mayhew’s*, a bookshop in the heart of London’s specialist and antiquarian bookseller district, patronised by her father, Viscount Wrexham. It is here that Lettice hopes to find the perfect birthday present for the son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely. The pair have made valiant attempts to pursue a romantic relationship since meeting at Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie’s, Hunt Ball the previous year. Yet things haven’t been easy, their relationship moving in fits and starts, partially due to the invisible, yet very strong influence of Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, the current Duchess of Walmsford. Selwyn is not one to make a fuss about his birthday, but under Lettice’s persistent pressure, he has acquiesced and agreed to an intimate dinner with Lettice at The Savoy Hotel** in a few weeks. This gives Lettice just enough time to find a present for Selwyn. As Lettice lingers out the front of Mr. Mayhew’s, peering through his tall plate glass windows that proudly bear his name and advertise that he does purchase libraries of old books, she hopes that somewhere amidst the full shelves inside, there is the book she hopes to give to Selwyn that will further solidify her commitment to him in his eyes.
She sighs and walks up to the recessed door of the bookshop which she pushes open. A cheerful bell dings loudly above her head, announcing her presence. As the door closes behind her, it shuts out the general cacophony of noisy automobiles, chugging busses and passing shoppers’ conversations dissipates, the shop enveloping her in a cozy muffled silence produced by the presence of so many shelves fully laden with volumes. She inhales deeply and savours the comforting smell of dusty old books and pipe smoke. 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 shop windows facing out to the street, highlighting the worn Persian and Turkish carpets whose hues, once so bright, vivid and exotic, have softened with exposure to the sunlight and any number of pairs of boots and shoes of customers, who like Lettice, searched Mayhew’s shelves for the perfect book to take away with them. Dust motes, something Lettice always associates with her father’s library in Wiltshire, dance blithely through beams of sunlight before disappearing without a trace into the shadows.
Lettice makes her way through the shop, wandering along its narrow aisles, reaching up to touch various Moroccan leather spines embossed with gilt lettering of titles and authors, until she nears the middle of the shop, where sitting at his desk before a small coal fire, smoking his pipe, sits the bespectacled Mr. Mayhew in his jacket, vest and bowtie, carefully checking titles on his desk’s surface against a hand written inventory. The portly, balding gentleman is so wrapped up in his work that he appears not to notice Lettice as she stands before him.
“Good afternoon Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice says, her clipped tones slicing through the thick silence of the shop.
“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew sighs with delight as he realises who is standing before him, removing his gold rimmed spectacles and setting them aside atop his old cash box featuring an old photograph of a Georgian Mansion cut from an old book that could not be salvaged and sold. “Why if it isn’t my favourite Wiltshire reader herself.” He takes one final pleasurable puff of his pipe before putting it aside.
Lettice rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently. “I’m quote sure you say that to every reader whom you know well, Mr. Mayhew.”
“Ahh,” the old man remarks, lifting himself out of the comfort of the well worn chair behind his desk, wiping his hands down the front of his thick black barathea vest. “But not every reader I know as well as you come from Wiltshire, Miss Chetwynd.” He reaches out and takes Lettice’s dainty glove clad hand in his and raises it to his lips.
“You kiss me like I’m the Queen, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice laughs.
“Well, you are royalty, of a sort, to me, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew replies as he releases her hand. “You and your father.”
“Yes,” Lettice muses happily. “I don’t suppose you have many customers who are such avid collectors or rare antiquarian editions of Goethe*** as my father.”
“Now, now, Miss Chetwynd, you play your own part in the success of Mayhew’s,” the old bookseller chortles. “Thanks to you showing an interest in fine editions yourself, under your father’s wonderful tutelage.”
“Well, I’d hardly classify myself as a collector, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice scoffs. “At least not like my father is, but then I live in a neat modern flat in Mayfair which does not afford me the space of a library like my father has.”
“More’s the pity, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew opines. “I feel every home should have a library.”
“You’d be far wealthier if they did, Mr. Mayhew.”
“That may be true, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew agrees. “But you misjudge my motivations.” he chides Lettice mildly. “I didn’t establish my little bookshop simply to make money. What a ludicrous idea that any shopkeeper would set up his establishment simply to make money, when he can take equal measure of profit and pleasure from his endeavours. I have a great love of books, Miss Chetwynd, both the written word and the engraving,” He waves his hands expansively at the floor to ceiling bookshelves around him, filled with hundreds of volumes on all manner of subjects. “As well you know. And I feel that a house is not a home without at least a small library of books.”
“Then I suppose my flat may be classified as a home in your eyes, Mr. Mayhew, since I do have a number of beautiful volumes from you in my own bookshelves.”
“Of course you do, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” the old man purrs pleasurably. “You are a discerning woman of good taste.”
“And deep pockets, just like my father.” Lettice laughs good-heartedly.
“Now, what is it that I can entice you to add to your bookshelves today, Miss Chetwynd?” He steps out from behind his cluttered desk and speaks as he moves. “Now let me see. I did recently get a splendid edition of some Georgian interior designs that might appeal to you. Did you find that Regency cabinet maker’s book I found for you, useful, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Oh I did Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies, acknowledging one of a number of fine and rare books the old bookseller has found Lettice since her move to London and the establishment of her interior design business.
“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew clucks, clapping his hands in delight.
“However, it isn’t me that I’ve come looking for a book for.” Lettice quickly adds before Mr. Mayhew begins the task of locating the book of Georgian interiors unnecessarily.
“Oh,” the bookseller replies a little downheartedly. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any new antiquarian versions of Gothe that I think His Lordship would like.” He scratches his balding head. “Although I do have quite a fine newly published edition of Padraic Colum’s**** ‘The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles’***** illustrated by Willy Pognay, which luckily for you, Miss Chetwynd,” He wags a chubby finger at Lettice. “I forgot to mention to your father when he ordered his last shipment of books.”
“Oh I’m not looking for a book for my father either, Mr. Mayhew, at least not today.”
“Oh?” the older gentleman turns back to Lettice. “Your friend Mr. Bruton perhaps?”
“No, not him either, Mr. Mayhew.”
“Then who are you looking for a volume for, Miss Chetwynd? You know I have no head for guessing games, and I have no doubt that a lady as sociable as you would be well connected to many a distinguished person who would enjoy a volume from my humble little establishment.”
“You are a flatterer, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice laughs, blushing at the bookseller’s remark. She pauses for a moment before continuing. “I am actually looking for a book on architecture today. A very close friend of mine, who just happens to be a budding architect, is celebrating their birthday soon.”
“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew replies. “And would this budding young architect happen to have recently had success with a commission for a house in Hampstead, Miss Chetwynd?” he asks discreetly.
“You are well informed in here, aren’t you, Mr. Mayhew?” Lettice gasps in surprise.
Mr. Mayhew smiles enigmatically and taps his nose knowingly. “Well, contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally have my eye drawn to the social pages of the London newspapers by Mrs. Mayhew, especially when she recognises the name of the daughter of one of my most regular and loyal customers.”
“Well, suppose you and your social informant were correct,“ Lettice begins discreetly.
“Yes, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew coaxes with a wry smile.
“And assume that the aforementioned up-and-coming architect expressly stated the fact that he was particularly enamoured in older English architecture for his own amusement.”
“Yes, Miss Chetwynd?”
“If you wanted to show your sincerity and your interest in the architect’s personal amusement, what would you recommend, Mr. Mayhew?”
“Well, Miss Chetwynd. I’d certainly want to give him something very special indeed.”
“Yes, I thought you might say that, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice smiles.
“Then I have not disappointed you, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew returns her smile.
“You never disappoint me, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice counters. “But you never cease to surprise me.” she adds with the heavy implication that she hopes he can find for her the perfect birthday present for Selwyn.
“Then let Mayhew’s not let you down on that count either, Miss Chetwynd.”
“You never do, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies with a sigh of comfort, releasing a pent-up breath she didn’t realise she had been holding.
Mr. Mayhew picks up his spectacles and puts them on the bridge of his nose again before looking around him, squinting as he considers what volumes lie on the shelves in the darkened, cosy interior of his bookshop. As a proprietor who knows his stock well – almost like one would know a family – he says, “I think I might have just the thing. Please, take a seat, Miss Chetwynd.” He indicates to the chair on the opposite side of the desk to his own. “If I may beg your indulgence, I won’t be too long.”
“You may, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.
The bookseller makes a small bow before he bustles off, disappearing amidst the bookshelves.
Lettice perches herself on the edge of the rather hard Arts and Crafts wooden seat and peruses Mr. Mayhew’s cluttered desk which is piled with old leather volumes, some of which speak of times long ago with their worn covers and aged pages. On the corner of the desk, precariously balanced and in danger of falling off if the proprietor were to push the books further across his desk, sits a photograph of Mrs. Mayhew in a dainty gilt frame. Next to it sits a desk calendar, set to the wrong date. Lettice listens and hears Mr. Mayhew muttering quietly behind a bookshelf nearby as he searches for what he hopes to find. Discreetly she changes the date on the calendar to the correct date for the old bookseller, smiling as she does so. In front of the photo and calendar sits a small brass pot of ink in which stands a quill feather pen, the fibres of which are yellow with age and dust. She toys with it in an amused fashion.
“Here we are, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Mayhew replies triumphantly as he returns holding two thick volumes in his arms. He pauses as he catches Lettice stroking the quill on his desk. “What’s your penmanship like, Miss Chetwynd?”
Lettice turns around and smiles up at the old, balding bookseller. “Nowhere near as good as yours, I’ll wager, Mr. Mayhew.” she laughs. “Especially with this old implement. I prefer a fountain pen. I think you must be the only man left in London who uses a quill pen.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’m not the only man in London who still uses one,” he replies as he squeezes around the corner of his desk and returns to his side of it, dropping the volumes with a soft thud atop several other closed books. “After all, I’m sure the King has to use a quill to sign the edicts and official documents that he has to witness.”
“I’m sure even His Majesty uses a fountain pen now, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice assures him. “I know Queen Mary does.”
“Ahh, where is your sense of romance for the art of writing, Miss Chetwynd? You must admit that if Miss Austen penned beautiful pieces of literature like ‘Persuasion’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’ with a quill pen, that there is still a good reason to use one.”
“I don’t think Miss Austen had the luxury of the fountain pen being invented when she was alive, Mr. Mayhew,” Lettice laughs. “Or I am sure she would have used one as an alternative to a quill.”
“Perhaps, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew says with a cheeky smile. “But I’ll have you know that the fountain pen was actually invented before Miss Austen’s death in the early 1800s.”
“Is that so, Mr. Mayhew?”
“Indeed it is, Miss Chetwynd. It was invented in England by a man named Frederick Fölsch in 1809.”
“My goodness, Mr, Mayhew! Once again, I am amazed by your knowledge of such things.”
The bookseller basks in Lettice’s praise for a few moments before adding somewhat self-deprecatingly, “It does help that I work in a bookshop, surrounded by such knowledge, Miss Chetwynd.” He coughs and clears his throat. “Now, thinking of books, here are two volumes I think your young architect friend might like.”
He presents Lettice with a thick grey bound volume with black lettering embossed boldly upon its front.
“The Mansions of England in the Olden Times******,” Lettice reads aloud. “Pictured by Joseph Nash.”
“I’m afraid it is only volume two of a four volume set from 1840, Miss Chetwynd, but it is still very beautiful. ‘The Mansions of England in the Olden Times’ is considered to be Joseph Nash’s master work. He was a wonderful watercolourist, as you will see.” He indicates with open hands for Lettice to open the volume. “I think your friend might appreciate the watercolours therein.”
With the reverence her father taught her to have for books, particularly old and rare ones, Lettice gingerly opens the volume. Her hand gently caresses the beautifully marbled end papers before she starts turning the old pages catching the slight waft of the mixture of dust and woodsmoke of an old library, as she turns the pages.
“This book smells faintly like my father’s library, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice remarks.
“Well, I did acquire this from the family of the late Earl of Ellenborough*******, as the library stamp inside indicates. Sadly there are many estates that are now having to part with their treasures, since they can no longer afford to keep them.”
“Yes,” Lettice muses sadly. “I’m only grateful that Pater is not in that position, and he can keep his beautiful library at Glynes.”
“As am I, Miss Chetwynd.” acknowledges the bookseller.
Lettice pauses at a plate featuring the withdrawing room of Bramall Hall in Cheshire. The painting of the grand room with its ornate Elizabethan ceiling, oak panelled walls and stained glass is populated with matching Elizabethan characters: a couple by the fire, a woman in a bay window and a small child in the foreground on the edge of a rather large carpet. Her nose screws up slightly in distaste.
“Not to your liking, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew asks, picking up on her slight change in expression.
“Possibly not to the liking of the intended recipient, Mr. Mayhew. However renown a watercolourist Joseph Nash was, I don’t think my friend would like the rooms populated with imagined characters of the era. It seems a little fey.” She closes the book carefully and gently moves it aside.
“Then perhaps this will be more to your friend’s tastes.”
The old bookseller hands over a buff coloured volume of ‘The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain’********.
Lettice accepts it and flips through the pages, and quickly discovers Clendon, the family seat of the Duke and Duchess of Walmsford, and Selwyn’s ancestral family home in Buckinghamshire, amongst the plates.
“I think my friend is intimately familiar with many of these houses and castles, Mr. Mayhew, so I fear it may not hold the appeal to him as it might for another reader.” She closes the volume.
“Does your friend have a particular era of architecture that he likes, Miss Chetwynd?” the bookseller asks solicitously, anxious to gain a good sale from Lettice if at all possible.
“Well, he does like John Nash’s********* work,” Lettice replies. “Especially the work he did around Regent’s Park.”
Mr. Mayhew thinks for a moment before replying. “Then I may be able to render assistance, Miss Chetwynd, although I will warn you, it may be a costly gift.”
“I don’t mind, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice says steadfastly. “Selw… err, my friend’s happiness has no price.”
“Very well, Miss Chetwynd. Please wait here a moment.”
Mr. Mayhew slips away through the narrow aisles lined with full bookshelves again, this time disappearing through a door at the far end of the shop which is obviously a storeroom where the bookseller keeps things that are yet to be put on display, or items that may only be shown to certain customers. He returns a few minutes later with a smart half Morocco binding with gilt lettering which he places before her.
“This is a volume of John Nash’s architectural drawings including his designs for the Royal Pavilion built for the Prince Regent in Brighton, Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace, his collaboration with James Burton on Regent Street and his best-known collaborations with Decimus Burton of Regent's Park and its terraces and Carlton House Terrace.”
Lettice gasps as she carefully looks through the large book at the wonderful neoclassical and picturesque style architectural drawings in the book. Page after page of exquisitely rendered images show with clarity every detail of some of John Nash’s most famous buildings. When Lettice turns to a page showing the details of Buckingham Palace she sighs and says, “Mr. Mayhew, yet again you never cease to amaze me with what you have within your shop. I think you have just found me, the perfect birthday gift.”
*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.
**The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
***Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) was a German poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, theatre director, and critic. His works include plays, poetry, literature and aesthetic criticism, and treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour. He is considered to be the greatest German literary figure of the modern era.
****Padraic Colum was an Irish poet, novelist, dramatist, biographer, playwright, children's author and collector of folklore. He was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival.
*****”The Golden Fleece and the Heroes who Lived Before Achilles” was a novel written by Padraic Colum, illustrated by Hungarian artist Willy Pognay, published by the Macmillan Company in 1921.
******”The mansions of England in the Olden Times” was a four volume set published between 1839 and 1849 by English watercolourist and lithographer, Joseph Nash (1809 – 1878) who specialised in historical buildings. The four volume set is considered to be his major life’s work.
*******Edward Law, 1st Earl of Ellenborough, born in 1790, was a British Tory politician. He was four times President of the Board of Control and also served as Governor-General of India between 1842 and 1844. He died in 1844.
********”The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain” is an interesting work on the Royal palaces, historic castles and stately homes of Great Britain. With an informative introduction by John Geddie, followed by the plates. Published in 1913 by Otto Schulze and Company, it features ninety-six full-page monochrome photograph plates including Buckingham Palace, Balmoral Castle, Kensington Palace and Edinburgh Castle.
*********John Nash (18 January 1752 – 13 May 1835) was one of the foremost British architects of the Georgian and Regency eras, during which he was responsible for the design, in the neoclassical and picturesque styles, of many important areas of London. His designs were financed by the Prince Regent and by the era's most successful property developer, James Burton. Nash also collaborated extensively with Burton's son, Decimus Burton.
This dark, cosy and slightly cluttered bookshop may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
All the books that you see lining the shelves of Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on Mr. Mayhew’s 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. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside one of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the books contain dozens of double sided pages of images and writing. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. “The mansions of England in the Olden Times” was a four volume set published between 1839 and 1849 by English watercolourist and lithographer, Joseph Nash (1809 – 1878) who specialised in historical buildings. The four volume set is considered to be his major life’s work. “The Royal Palaces, Historic Castles and Stately Homes of Great Britain” is an interesting work on the Royal palaces, historic castles and stately homes of Great Britain. With an informative introduction by John Geddie, followed by the plates. Published in 1913 by Otto Schulze and Company, it features ninety-six full-page monochrome photograph plates including Buckingham Palace, Balmoral Castle, Kensington Palace and Edinburgh Castle. 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. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just two of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!
Also on the desk are some old leatherbound volumes, and to the left stands a calendar with its back facing the camera, Mr. Mayhew’s pot of ink and quill pen, a cashbox tin with a historical building image on its top and a pair of Mr. Mayhew’s spectacles. All these I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
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.
The photos you can see in the background, 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 aspidistra in the blue jardiniere in the background, the pipe and pipestand, and the map also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.
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.
