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.
Lettice is far from Cavendish Mews, back in Wiltshire where she is staying at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, 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. Today she is at Arkwright Bury, a Regency style country house, partially overgrown with creepers, set amidst a simple English park style garden belonging to a neighbour, of sorts, of her parents: Mr. Alisdair Gifford, nephew of Sir John Nettleford-Hughes and his Australian wife Adelina. Belonging to the Giffords for a few generations, Arkwright Bury was destroyed to some degree in a fire in the 1870s, but was then restored. During the ensuing years, when the house passed from Mr. Gifford’s father to Mr. Gifford’s older brother, Cuthbert, the house fell into disrepair. When he committed suicide after the war, the house was inherited by Alisdair Gifford, as Cuthbert had no spouse or offspring. The present Mr. and Mrs. Gifford have spent the better part of the last five years trying to save and restore Arkwright Bury from the ravages of neglect.
Mr. Gifford’s uncle, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes was the one who set the wheels in motion for Lettice to visit Arkwright Bury and his nephew, Mr. Gifford. 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 time 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, 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. Luckily Selwyn Spencely, the handsome eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, 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. As she was leaving to return to London on the Monday, Sir John approached her and asked if she might meet with his nephew, Mr. Gifford, as he wishes to have a room in his Wiltshire house redecorated as a surprise for Adelina, who collects blue and white porcelain but as of yet has no place to display it at Arkwright Bury. Lettice arranged a discreet meeting with Mr. Gifford at Cavendish Mews to discuss matters with him, and was then invited to luncheon with the Giffords at Arkwright Bury under the ruse that she, as an acquaintance of the Giffords with her interest in interior design, had come for a tour of the house. She agreed to take on the job of redecorating the room using a facsimile print of the original papers hanging in what was then called the ‘Pagoda Room’ before the 1870s fire, reproduced by Jeffrey and Company*.
Lettice is taking advantage of a window of opportunity provided with the Giffords taking a short seaside holiday in Bournemouth, arranging for her professional paper hangers from London to come to Arkwright Bury and hang the small quantity of wallpaper produced from a sketch done by Lettice. Now with the smell of wallpaper glue still fresh, Lettice takes a satisfied breath as she admires the hangers’ skill as she runs her hands across the smooth paper covered in stylised pagodas, trees and oriental patterns. Around her the burble of gentle male Wiltshire accents and the sound of crockery against crockery fill her ears as agricultural labourers she has hired for the day from the Glynes estate carefully move furniture intended for use in the room into place and unpack the many boxes of Mrs. Gifford’s collection, carefully laying the pieces out so that Lettice can arrange them all in a pleasing manner.
“My Mrs. has got a dresser full of blue and white china like this.” one worker remarks as he unwraps some Eighteenth Century plates featuring a leaf decoration from a Sunlight Soap** crate and hands it carefully to Lettice who places it facing upwards on the shelf of the little Georgian corner cabinet, the only original feature of the old room to survive the conflagration of the 1870s.
“Get away with you, Bill!” chortles his friend, one of the other workers who busies himself removing a Blue Willow Pattern vase from a much smaller box, where it is nestled next to a similarly patterned teapot. “Your Mrs. wouldn’t have china as fancy as this stuff. Good quality is this.”
“Oh,” Bill exclaims, swiping his tweed flat cap off his head in a sweeping gesture and bowing to his friend. “An expert in china are you, now Len?”
“I know a bit.” Len replies proudly. “Enough to know that what your Mrs. has on her dresser shelves aren’t these.”
“I must remember your expertise, Mr. Musslewhite.” Lettice remarks with a cheeky smirk as she takes another plate from Bill and slips it on top of several others, beneath a blue and white floral teapot. “I could use a man with a little knowledge and a keen eye to peruse the country house auctions down here for me.”
“Oh!” Len clears his throat awkwardly and bows his head over the box. “Begging your pardon, Miss Chetwynd. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I meant no disrespect.”
Lettice smiles and chuckles quietly to herself as she looks at the triumphant gleam in Bill Berrett’s eyes as it brightens their vivid blue as he looks down on Len Musslewhite. “That’s alright, Mr. Musslewhite.” she acknowledges.
The room falls into a quiet, comfortable silence as the two labourers and Lettice continue to unpack, the rustling whispers of tissue paper and newspaper and the clunk of pottery being stacked and placed the only sounds to break it aside from a robin somewhere in the nearby grounds outside.
Lettice sighs again as she reflects upon the fine detailing of a large oriental teapot with a wicker handle. She considers it to be one of the finer examples in Mrs. Gifford’s collection thus far and sets it aside along with the early Willow Ware teapot and vase that Len Musslewhite has now unpacked. Her plan is to place three or four of the highlights from the collection in the middle of the room on the beautiful marquetry surface of a loo table*** which currently stands, surface facing outwards in a vertical position against the wall. As she glances at a large footed tazza, which last time she saw on top of Cuthbert Gifford’s old rolltop desk when this room was still a disused study and storeroom, an efficient rapping on the door breaks her consideration of whether the tazza should sit on a small wine table***** on a taller carved wooden pillar.
“Miss Chetwynd?” a polite female voice calls deferentially as a friendly middle-aged face framed by salt and pepper hair set in neat finger waves****** appears from behind the door as it opens.
“Yes Mrs. Beaven?” Lettice addresses the Gifford’s housekeeper.
“Beg pardon, Miss, but there’s a telephone call for you.” the housekeeper replies.
“For me?” Lettice queries. The only people aside from Mr. Gifford who know she is at Arkwright Bury are her parents, and unless they have rung through to the switchboard operator at the Glynes post office, they don’t know the telephone number.
“It’s Mr. Gifford, telephoning from Bournemouth, Miss.” Mrs. Beaven elucidates. “You may take the call in Mr. Gifford’s library downstairs.” The housekeeper eyes the mess of crumpled newspaper, tissue paper and quickly emptying crates littering the clean, dark stained floor.
“Thank you, Mrs. Beaven.” Lettice replies as she carefully works her way through the sea of boxes spewing forth paper and contents, so as not to break any of the china. As she reaches the housekeeper’s side, she sees Mrs. Beaven’s disgruntled look and follows her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Beaven, Mr. Berrett, Mr. Musselwhite, and I will tidy all this up before we leave.”
“I certainly hope you will, Miss Chetwynd.” the older lady replies with a sniff as she hoists her pert nose in the air. “Your London wallpaper hangers certainly didn’t! They left me with paper scraps to sweep up and glue marks to take off the floor. I’ve only just had Joyce clean this floor, again.” She pauses and emphasises the last word in her sentence as she speaks.
“Ahh, well, I’ll be sure to pass your complaints on, Mrs. Beaven and address your concerns with my paperers.” Lettice replies lightly, not wishing to be reprimanded like a naughty schoolgirl when the issue is not of her making, especially not in front of her father’s labourers, and sweeping that particular topic blithely away. “Now, the library, you said?”
Mrs. Beaven’s face crumples in concern as she looks at their print smudged fingers. “I hope your men don’t expect luncheon in the dining room with you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Oh no, mum!” pipes up Mr. Berrett as he manoeuvres the now empty Sunlight Soap crate off the top of a second lidded crate yet to be unpacked. “A slice of your finest pork pie and some blackcurrant wine in your lovely kitchen will suit Len and me perfectly.”
“What cheek!” scoffs the housekeeper.
“The library, Mrs. Beaven?” Lettice persists, reminding the woman that she came to deliver a message, and now needed to take Lettice to the telephone, for even though Lettice has had a tour of Arkwright Bury, she would be hard pressed to remember behind which closed door sist the library and the waiting Mr. Gifford at the other end of the telephone line.
“Right this way, Miss.” Mrs. Beaven says, walking away with measured steps in her sensible black court shoes.
The housekeeper shows Lettice into Arkwright Bury’s library on the ground floor. Although nowhere near as large or palatial as her father’s library, Mr. Gifford’s gives off the same comforting feeling of being cocooned by books, and has the same smell of old books and woodfire smoke. The library, like most renovated rooms in the house, has a classical country house appearance, with comfortable armchairs unholstered in gold satin, a selection of curios and collections reflecting Mr. Gifford’s country pastimes and pursuits and a smattering of antiques. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of books, and the large plate glass window gives the room a light and airy feel whilst affording views of the curving gravel driveway and anyone who approaches the house from the front. In the centre of the room stands Mr. Gifford’s large partner desk******* upon which sits his green Bakelite******** telephone.
“Mr. Gifford,” Lettice says cheerfully down the telephone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you whilst you are away. How is Bournemouth?”
“Capital, Miss Chetwynd! Capital!” Mr. Gifford replies with equal cheer. “Adelina has just gone for a stroll along the promenade, so I thought I’d quickly telephone whilst she is out of the house and see how you were getting on.” He pauses. “Not that I’m checking up on you at all. I have total faith in you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Not at all, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice assures him. “No, things are going splendidly. My paperers have done an excellent job, and the room looks so much fresher and brighter now. Oh,” she adds. “I’m afraid my London hangers have rather upset your housekeeper. She was complaining to me about the paper they left and the glue marks on the floor.”
“Pshaw!” Mr. Gifford dismisses Lettice’s summary of Mrs. Beavan’s complaint. “Don’t give it a thought, Miss Chetwynd. Mrs. Beaven is always complaining about how untidy we are. I think she does it to make sure that we know how much work she does about the place, not that she does most of the hard graft, which is done by her underling, the all suffering but sweet tempered Joyce.” Lettice can hear Mr. Gifford chuckle in an amused fashion distantly down the slightly crackling line. “Let Mrs. Beaven complain. It makes her happy. Now, thinking of happy, you are happy with the paper on the walls, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Oh yes, quite, Mr, Gifford.” Lettice assures him. “My men did a lovely, smooth job, and you can barely see the joins. They also cut it expertly around the uneven edges of the old Georgian corner cabinet. I’m sure after a few years, you will be able to tell visitors to Arkwright Bury that this was the original paper from the Pagoda Room.”
“Capital, Miss Chetwynd! Capital!” Mr. Gifford enthuses down the line. “And you found all of Adelina’s collection easily enough from my instructions.”
“Yes thank you, Mr. Gifford. I have two of my father’s men unpacking even as we speak. I’ll spend some time this afternoon arranging and rearranging, and review what I’ve done tomorrow and the day after, just to make sure I’m happy with the arrangement.”
“So, everything will be in place for when Adelina and I arrive home, then, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Of course, Mr. Gifford!”
“Capital, Miss Chetwynd! Capital!” Mr. Gifford chortles.
“I just hope Mrs. Gifford likes how I arrange it, Mr. Gifford.”
“You’ve met Adelina, Miss Chetwynd. You know how delightfully aimable she is.”
Lettice silently considers Mr. Gifford’s choice of words. Whilst she enjoyed Mrs. Gifford’s company, and found her to be a very pleasant luncheon companion, aimable would not be a word Lettice would have used to describe Mrs. Gifford, who is very particular and, also very independent and proud of her own abilities in interior design. However this is a conversation she and Mr. Gifford have already had. Mr. Gifford gave her his assurance that if his wife doesn’t like the design, he will take full responsibility.
“Well,” Mr. Gifford goes on unabated in his positiveness. “I have no doubt that how you set things up will not only delight Adelina, but also my Godfather too. I popped into Southwark Street last week and told him that you were going down this week to decorate. He’s most anxious to receive a progress report.”
“I do hope Mr. Tipping********* isn’t going to pay me a surprise visit, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice says, airing her concerns. “Especially when the room is all at sixes and sevens.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Chetwynd. My Godfather won’t organise to photograph the room for Country Life********** or consider writing the article before Adelina gives the room her approval.”
“Well, that’s a relief, Mr. Gifford.” Lettice sighs.
“Well, I’d best pop off the line now, Miss Chetwynd. I’m not sure how soon Adelina will be back, and I’d hate to be caught as it were, and have to give the surprise up too soon. Goodbye then, Miss Chetwynd. See you very soon.”
“Goodbye Mr. Gifford. Enjoy the remainder of your stay in Bournemouth.”
As Lettice hangs up the receiver of the telephone in the cradle it utters a small strangulated final ting. She sighs and leans against Mr. Gifford’s partner desk. Quietly, Lettice hopes that Mrs. Gifford will like the room as she has it arranged. A second article in Country Life under the favourable penmanship of Henry Tipping would only add to her already increasing reputation as one of the best young and upcoming interior designers. The story may also eventually reach far flung Durban, where she quietly hopes against hope that Selwyn is still thinking fondly of her in spite of their enforced separation at the hands of his mother.
*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.
** Sunlight Soap was first introduced in 1884. It was produced at Port Sunlight in Wirrel, Merseyside, a model village built by Lever Brothers for the workers of their factories which produced the popular soap brands Lux, Lifebuoy and Sunlight.
***A loo table, also known as a tip-top table, is a folding table with the tabletop hinged so it can be placed into a vertical position when not used to save space. It is also called a tip table and a snap table with some variations known as tea table or pie crust tilt-top table. These multi-purpose tables were historically used for playing games, drinking tea or spirits, reading and writing, and sewing. The tables were popular among both elite and middle-class households in Britain and America in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. They became collector's items in the early in the Twentieth Century.
****A tazza is a shallow cup or vase on a pedestal. First used in Britain in 1824, it comes from the Italian for cup, as well as derivations in Arabic and Persian dialects.
*****A wine table is a late Fifteenth Century device for facilitating after dinner drinking, the cabinetmakers called it a "Gentleman's Social Table." It was always narrow and of semicircular or horseshoe form, and the guests sat round the outer circumference. The wine table might be drawn up to the fire in cold weather without inconvenience from the heat.
******A finger wave is a method of setting hair into waves that was popular in the 1920s and early 1930s. Silver screen actresses such as Josephine Baker and Esther Phillips are credited with the original popularity of finger waves. The process involved pinching the hair between the fingers and combing the hair in alternating directions to make an "S" shape wave. A waving lotion was applied to the hair to help it retain its shape. The lotion was traditionally made using karaya gum. Over the years, the use of clips (and later tape) also became popular to hold the heavy damp waves until the gel dried. According to ‘Techniques of the 1920s and 1930s’: “Finger waves were developed in the 1920s to add style to, and soften the hard appearance of, the bobbed hairstyles that became very popular during the flapper period.”
*******A partner desk is a large desk with an open kneehole which allows use of the desk by two people seated opposite each other.
********Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, teapot handles, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
*********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.
**********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.
This rather untidy space, all at sixes and sevens, may not be quite what you think it is. Whilst I know you feel sure you could pick up a teapot or plate, you may need to consider using tweezers, for this whole scene is made up entirely of 1:12 miniatures from my collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The blue and white china you see on the floor, spilling forth from boxes and sitting on shelves, are sourced from a number of miniature stockists through E-Bay, but mostly from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The gild edged Willow Pattern teapot is a hand painted example of miniature artisan, Rachel Munday’s work. Her pieces are highly valued by miniature collectors for their fine details.
The round loo, which is tilted like a real loo table can be tilted, is an artisan miniature from an unknown maker with a marquetry inlaid top, and also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. So too did the Georgian corner cabinet with its delicate fretwork and glass shelves.
The boxes you see around the room came from a specialist stockist of 1:12 miniatures on E-Bay.
The ladderback chair on the right of the photo is a 1:12 miniature piece I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the left came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney.
The wallpaper is an Eighteenth Century chinoiserie design of pagodas and would have been hand painted in its original form.
