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 are very far from Cavendish Mews, and in fact far from London. Taking advantage of their employers’ attendance of an amusing Friday to Monday country house party in Scotland, Lettice’s maid, Edith, and her best friend Hilda, the maid of Lettice’s married Embassy Club coterie friends Dickie and Margot Channon, with permission, have arranged to take a weekend trip of their own to Manchester where they are staying for Friday and Saturday nights, before returning to London on Sunday so that they are ready to receive their employers upon their return on Monday. Both maids landed upon the idea to visit their friend Queenie on the Saturday. She lives in the village of Alderley Edge, just outside of Manchester, which is easily accessible via the railway, allowing them to take tea with her at a small tearoom in the pretty Cheshire village.
Queenie, Edith and Hilda all used to work together for Mrs. Plaistow, the rather mean wife of a manufacturing magnate who has a Regency terrace in Pimlico. Queenie was the cheerful head parlour maid, so both Edith and Hilda as younger and less experienced lower housemaids, fell under her instruction. Queenie chucked her position at Mrs. Plaistow’s a few years ago and took a new position as a maid for two elderly spinster sisters in Cheshire to be closer to her mother, who lives in Manchester. Still in touch with Edith, Queenie writes regularly, sharing stories of her life in the big old Victorian villa she now calls home, half of which is shut up because one of the two sisters is an invalid whilst the other is in frail condition and finds it hard to access the upper floors.
We find the three maids in Mrs. Chase’s Tearooms, a pleasant establishment decorated tastefully with pretty furnishings and shelves around the walls lined with the proprietress’ collection of blue and white china. Dressed in their home made best, which thanks to Edith and her skill with a needle and thread makes them look very smart and more middle-class than the humble domestics they are, Edith and Hilda alighted at Alderley Edge railway station and were quickly swept into an all-embracing hug by the jolly Mancunian maid. Gossiping and laughing all the way, the three ladies strolled the short distance from the railway station to the quaint Victorian cottage in the high street that now serves as Mrs. Chase’s tearooms. Smiling broadly upon their arrival and admiring Lettice’s plum ensemble and black straw cloche and Hilda’s smart green frock, Mrs. Chase was about to show them to the sunny prized position in the window overlooking the street when the smile suddenly faded from her face, and she showed them instead to a discreet table towards the back of her establishment. Edith and Hilda eagerly discussed Mrs. Chase’s self-proclaimed ‘famous cream teas’ and all three ladies settled upon ordering them.
“I’d appreciate payment up-front, ladies.” Mrs. Chase says pointedly with a small sniff as her nose turns up almost imperceptibly.
“That’s a bit unusual,” Edith begins.
“That’s fine, Mrs. Chase.” Queenie interrupts her brightly, fetching out her reticule* hurriedly and passing the correct money for all three cream teas to the proprietress. Mrs. Chase looks suspiciously at the coins in the palm of her hand, flipping them over with her bony thumb and index finger before pocketing them in her apron. “My treat, girls!” Queenie adds with a forced sense of gaiety when her two friends attempt to protest her handing over her hard-earned wages to pay for their afternoon tea. “After all,” she follows up with a kind smile. “It’s not every day that two of my best friends come visiting all the way from London.”
“Well,” Hilda explains. “My employers, the Channons, are friends of Edith’s Miss Chetwynd, and all three of them have gone away for a weekend in Scotland together, so that enabled us both to be free to come and visit.”
“Well, it’s awfully good of you to come all this way, just for me.” Queenie says gratefully. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since Edith wrote to me.”
“I’ve never been outside of London before,” Edith says excitedly. “So, it was a real adventure to travel by railway to get to Manchester, and to stay overnight no less.” She smiles and blushes prettily as she mentions her naivety. “Of course, Hilda’s travelled much more than me. She went with Mr. and Mrs. Channon recently to Lord and Lady Lancraven’s country house in Shropshire.”
“Really Hilda?” Queenie remarks in an impressed tone. “You must tell me more. The Miss Bradleys never go anywhere, what with one being an invalid and the other quite infirm, as I think I wrote to you, Edith.” Edith nods in agreement. “And where are you two world travelling ladies staying overnight in Manchester?”
“I found us reasonably priced lodgings with a most respectable lady who runs an establishment for travelling ladies just a short walking distance from Manchester Central railway station**.” Hilda says proudly. “We’re sharing a room there.”
“Ahh, just like the old days in your attic room at Mrs. Plaistow’s, then.” Queenie remarks, making Hilda and Edith giggle as they nod. “Only far more comfortable.”
“And better heated.” giggles Edith.
“Well I’m sure it’s every bit as fine as the Crown Plaza***.” Queenie opines.
“At a fraction of the cost.” Hilda smiles smugly.
“Three cream teas, then.” Mrs. Chase announces imperiously as she appears at the table carrying a wooden tray laden with their orders and tea making paraphernalia. She lowers the tray to the lace decorated tabletop and somewhat brusquely serves the three maids their cream teas before making an abrupt turn and sweeping away.
Hilda looks at the small pin dish of cream and the pin dish of jam critically. “Mrs. Chase seem to be a bit mean with her servings of jam and cream to make up our cream tea. I’ll get her to fetch us some more.”
As Hilda goes to stand, Queenie puts out her hand to stop her. “Oh, don’t bother, Hilda.” she says quickly, a look of anxiety in her bright blue eyes as she catches her friend’s gaze. “There’s enough for two.”
“Two?” Edith queries. “But there are three of us, Queenie.”
“Oh,” Queenie blusters with a casual wave of her hand over the jam and cream. “Life here in Cheshire is far too rich for my waistline.” She pats her stomach. “I’ll just have butter on my scone. I don’t want to trouble Mrs. Chase when she’s busy.”
Edith looks up from their table to the room about them, which is empty except for two other occupied tables with two ladies at each: hardly a bustling establishment. As she glances at them, Edith realises that the women have been looking in their direction with openly hostile glances. At being caught out staring, the other female patrons quickly glance away and focus on their plates, their heads bowed conspiratorially together where they whisper in critical tones.
“Is everything alright, Queenie?” Edith asks, glancing across the lace tablecloth covered table, first to Hilda, who has obviously noticed what she has judging by the concerned look on her face, and then to Queenie, who seems more focussed on breaking her scone on two.
“Of course!” she replies brightly, yet with an edge of awkwardness to her statement. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just get this feeling,” Edith lowers her voice and leans in towards her friends. “This feeling that perhaps we are not so welcome here.”
“I’m sure that’s just your imagination, Edith.” Queenie says dismissively with a chuckle. “You always did have such an overactive imagination.”
Edith and Hilda exchange doubtful glances with one another.
With their afternoon tea served, the girls chat about how their lives have been since leaving Mrs. Plaistow’s as they enjoy their scones.
“I’ve been following your new employers in the society pages of the London papers the Miss Bradleys get.” Queenie remarks as she picks up her buttered scone and takes a bite. “Mr. and Mrs. Channon seem to be such a glamourous couple, Hilda. He’s so handsome and she’s so beautiful with her dark hair and eyes.” She sighs. “She’s always dressed to the nines**** and dripping in jewels! It must be so wonderful to work for the son of a marquis.”
“’Hilda, have you got sixpence for the driver?’ ‘Hilda, have you washed my best set of stockings – the ones that don’t have a ladder in them?’ ‘Hilda, will you help me dress – I’m in rather a hurry.’ ‘Hilda, this is Jonty Billingsworth: he slept on the sofa last night and hopes we might have some kippers for breakfast.’ ‘Hilda, can you lend me five pounds?’ I hate to disappoint you, Queenie, but working for the aristocracy is not all it’s cracked up to be.” Hilda states matter-of-factly after washing a mouthful of scone down with a gulp of tea, before quickly adding as an apology to Edith, “Not that I’m complaining. The Channons’ household may be a little disorganised and somewhat unconventional, but it’s still a hundred times better than old Mrs. Plaistow’s was, and I’m so grateful to you for getting me the position, Edith!” She reaches out her fat fingers to her best friend who stretches out her own hand, allowing it to be embraced. “They may not be the wealthiest of employers, but they are very decent to me. My bedroom has central heating, and they weren’t averse to letting me come up here for the weekend whilst they are away. A lot of other employers wouldn’t be so kind.”
“I thought all aristocrats were rich, Hilda. What about all those diamonds Mrs. Channon wea…”
“Paste.” Hilda hisses conspiratorially, cutting Queenie off. “The family may have a title, but they are… now how did Mrs. Channon phrase it?” She ponders for a few moments as she takes another gulp of tea. “The Channons are ‘property rich, but cash poor’.”
“That sounds rather odd.” opines Queenie.
“Well, it gets more so, Queenie. It’s as I said to Edith not long ago. When we went to stay with the Lancravens for New Year, I had to pretend all Mrs. Channon’s paste jewellery was real, and hand it over to the butler of the house to be locked up in a safe, asking him to fetch her jewellery box out when I needed to get something for Mrs. Channon to wear.”
“But they treat you well, Hilda?”
“They certainly treat me well, Queenie. I’d rather be the Channon’s maid than the old Marquis and Marchioness any day! He yells and barks out orders, frightening everyone: I don’t think he actually speaks in a normal tone of voice to anyone, including his wife, and she’s just a mean, cold and odd fish.”
“And they pay you promptly?”
“Well, the pay was a bit haphazard for a while. Mrs. Channon has no head for figures, and her father, who manufactured boots before the war, and made even more of a fortune during it, is rich, so she doesn’t know how to manage a household budget. As I said before, she’s always asking me for a shilling for the taxi driver, or a few pounds to settle her dressmaker’s bill: not that I even have that kind of money!” Hilda pauses. “Or worse, hiding and telling me to answer the door to the wine merchant with whom they have accrued an overdue debt, and lie baldly to his face and tell him that they aren’t home! However, just lately Lord de Virre, Mrs. Channon’s father, has stepped in to help out a bit financially, since the Marquis and Marchioness can’t, and it seems as if Mr. and Mrs. Channon can’t live within a budget to save themselves. So, he pays my wages now, and he pays them promptly.”
“Goodness!” Queenie gasps. “You never write saying that you have that problem, Edith. Does your Miss Chetwynd borrow from you too?”
“No,” Edith laughs, picking up her cup to take a sip of tea. “Luckily for me, not all children of aristocratic families are cash poor like Mr. Channon. Miss Lettice’s family is very wealthy, and she earns extra money designing rooms on top of her allowance, so I’m never left short.”
Just then, the door to Mrs. Chase’s opens, the bell above the door announcing brightly the arrival of two rather doughy and well dressed matrons in matching hats and coats with creamy white pearls cascading about their necks and down their fronts. As Mrs. Chase walks across the floor of her tearooms to greet them, they spy Queenie and her friends at their table, mutter something intelligible about the three friends to Mrs. Chase, turn their backs on her and walk out again.
“How peculiar.” notes Edith as she picks up her scone and takes a bite, allowing the luxury of the light and fluffy baked good to fill her senses.
“Yes, I’ve seen some of Miss Chetwynd’s interiors in the papers too.” Queenie says quickly, distracting her friends.
“She was even in ‘Country Life’***** in April last year!” Edith says proudly. “It was so thrilling to see her name and her interior designs in print! Miss Lettice even gave me my own copy of the magazine, so that I could cut out the article and stick it in my scrap book.”
“That was nice of her.” Queenie says cheerfully.
“For shame!” a haughty voice in clipped tones slices through the three friends’ conversation.
The trio look up to see one of the two women formerly sitting closest to them now standing up at their table, her face white and contorted in revulsion as she stares at them momentarily. “The effrontery!” she mutters as she and her friend gather up their coats and bags and walk towards Mrs. Chase to settle their bill.
“Queenie.” Hilda says firmly. “Enough of the jolly pretence. We’re obviously not welcome here. What on earth is going on?”
Queenie blushes at having been caught out, her pretty peaches and cream complexion flushing red with embarrassment. “Can we just finish up our cream tea and go, please? I’ll tell you everything then.”
“I think I should like to know now, rather than wait,” Hilda spits hotly, raising her voice as she does so. ‘Wouldn’t you Edith?”
“Well, I…” stammers Edith awkwardly.
“Please Hilda!” Queenie pleads. “Don’t make a scene. It will just make things worse. I promise that once we get outside, I’ll tell you everything. Honest I will!”
“Are you… are you?” Edith’s pale blue eyes grow wide, and she blushes as she glances at Queenie’s belly, enshrouded in a pretty cotton print frock.
“Goodness no, Edith!” Queenie hisses quietly. “It’s nothing sordid like that.” Her face colours even more at the insinuation made by her friend. “Just hurry up and finish and we’ll go, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”
A short while later, after having stuffed down the remains of their cream tea in less than ladylike gulps, the three friends find themselves outside Mrs. Chase’s establishment where the late winter air around them feels warmer than the atmosphere of the tearooms. Following Queenie as she walks down the high street towards the Victorian villa she shares with the Miss Bradleys, Hilda and Edith remain in awkward silence as they wait for their friend to start explaining. The wide street is lined with neat Victorian and Edwardian double story shops, many built of red brick with slate roofs and Mock Tudor gabling. A smattering of automobiles and lorries trundle past them in either direction, their chugging more noticeable in a village than in the busy streets of London where such noises are constant. Finally, Queenie stops walking and sinks down onto a public bench near the kerbside.
“I’m sorry Hilda and Edith.” She sighs. “I should have insisted that I come to Manchester and meet you there. It’s just that when I received your postcard******, Edith, you and Hilda had arranged everything so nicely. You’d obviously worked out the railway schedules so you knew what time you would arrive and which train to take to get back to Manchester at a reasonable hour, so I just thought I’d take you to the only tearooms I know of in Alderley Edge. I didn’t want to spoil your plans.”
“So instead, you allow our visit to be spoiled!” Hilda snaps.
“Hilda!” Edith chides her friend, sinking onto the bench beside her other friend and putting an arm around her comfortingly. “You didn’t spoil our visit, Queenie. It’s been lovely to see you. They spoiled it.” She glances back up the road at Mrs. Chase’s tearooms.
“No, Hilda is right.” Queenie says, emotions choking her voice. “I spoiled it. I’m sorry. I should have thought of somewhere else for us to go.”
“But why?” Edith asks. “You live here. We wanted to see where you live, since you paint it so well.”
“Well, I suppose I painted it a little too brightly.” Queenie manages to say as she withdraws a small white handkerchief trimmed with lace from her sleeve and dabs at her eyes as she lowers her head. “Like you Hilda, my experience in Cheshire hasn’t been all that I had hoped or portrayed it to be.” She sniffs. “But then again, you don’t want to look a fool, do you?”
“You don’t look a fool, Queenie!” Edith insists, rubbing her friend’s shoulders and pulling her more closely towards her.
“So, tell us the truth then.” Hilda insists, sinking down on the other side of her friend to Edith. “You know we won’t judge you.”
“Well, you know how I told you I had had enough of the big city lights of London?” When both girls agree, Queenie continues, “Well, it is true that I wanted to be nearer to Mum in Manchester, but I’ve never lived in a village in my life before. It was Manchester where I was born, and then London, where I met you two.”
“I’ve never lived in a village before, either.” Edith says.
“Nor have I, Queenie.” Hilda admits. “What’s wrong with village life. I thought it would be all fresh air.” She inhales deeply. “And rambling the country lanes on your afternoons off.”
“And you wrote to me, telling me how happy you were, working for the Miss Bradleys: you’ve said that the old ladies don’t go out much as one of them is an invalid, and they seldom entertain. You wrote that half the house is shut up because it’s too hard for them to use it, that you have a cook, a gardener cum odd job man, and a char******* to do the hard jobs.”
“And it’s easy enough to get to Manchester on your afternoons off to go shopping and see your old mum.” adds Hilda.
“And you’re right, and it’s true.” Queenie agrees. “However, I didn’t realise that in a village, everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“So?” Hilda asks.
“So, in London or Manchester I’m Queenie Clarke, just one of any number of young working women. But here I’m Queenie, the Bradley’s maid. All the local women know who I am, who I work for and what I do.”
“Well, what difference does that make?” Edith asks kindly in concern.
“Are the Miss Bradleys unpleasant people? Are they despised by the other locals?” Hilda queries.
“Oh no!” Queenie insists. “Quite the opposite. They are cherished members of the community. All the local ladies come and visit them. And that’s the problem. That’s how they all know I’m their maid.”
“I still don’t see what’s wrong with that, Queenie.” Hilda says.
“Well, this village with its tree lined avenues and grand houses is very genteel, and with gentility, comes snobbery.” Queenie elucidates. “When you both walked into Mrs. Chases’, she was so happy to see you wasn’t she?” When both her friends nod their ascent, she continues. “That’s because you are both dressed so smartly in your frocks and hats. She assumed you were something you aren’t. But then she saw me with you, and her face fell, and she showed us to the very back of her tearooms, because then she realised that in spite of your looks, you were humble domestics, just like me. Why else would you want to know me?”
“Is that why she wanted our money up front?” Edith asks. “Because we are maids, and she doesn’t think we could afford to eat her cream teas?”
Queenie looks guiltily at both of her friends before nodding shallowly.
“The very cheek of her!” Edith gasps.
“And she was ashamed to have three domestics in her tearooms?” Hilda asks aghast.
Queenie nods shallowly again. “You see the other ladies in there are all local ladies of gentility: Mrs. Pleavin of ‘The Oaks’ was the one who said we were shameful to be sitting there with our social betters, and Mrs. Coppenhall of ‘The Willows’ was with her.”
“And at the other table?” Edith asks.
“Mrs. Pimblott of… well I’m not quite sure which house she lives in, and Mrs. Blethyn the Minister’s wife.”
“Fie on the minister’s wife for judging us as lesser than she!” remarks Hilda in hot and angry outrage. “She should be demonstrating compassion, not… not…”
“Snobbery?” Edith says helpfully.
“Not snobbery! Exactly, Edith.”
“Not if she wants her tombola for the returned war veterans of the village to be successful. She needs Mrs. Pimblott’s, Mrs. Pleavin’s and Mrs. Coppenhall’s support, more than she needs mine, or that of my two friends who are only visiting for the day.”
“And Mrs. Chase thinks her establishment only suitable for those ladies and not us, even though your money is every bit as good as theirs, and buys the same?”
“I knew you’d be cross, Hilda. You’ve always had a temper.”
“Only when I feel I, or my friends, have been wronged. I’ve a right mind to go back in there and give her what for!”
“Oh please, don’t do that, Hilda.” Edith placates. “You’ll just make it worse for poor Queenie. She’ll be known as the maid with belligerent friends.”
“I didn’t say I was going to be belligerent.” Hilda defends.
“No, but your voice and body language give it away.” Edith counters.
“Well, I think it’s awful that the local ladies are happy to be waited upon by the likes of us, but can’t bear to be in the same establishment. It’s appalling!”
“It’s no different in London.” Edith soothes her friend. “We just don’t see it, because London is so much bigger, and we are afforded the joy of being able to go about being just one of the crowd, and we can go to a tearooms where no-one knows whether we are domestics or duchesses.”
Edith’s comment breaks Hilda’s frustration, and she laughs.
“What is it?” Edith asks. “What did I say?”
Hilda manages to suppress her mirth enough to reply, “No-one will ever mistake me for a duchess, Edith!”
The three of them burst out laughing, not caring for a moment who they are, or what anyone else passing by may think of them. They are just three good friends laughing together.
*A reticule is the predecessor to a modern day purse and is a woman's small bag or purse, usually in the form of a pouch with a drawstring and made of net, beading, brocade or leather. They date back to the Eighteenth Century. Where did the word reticule come from? The term “reticule” comes from French and Latin terms meaning “net.” At the time, the word “purse” referred to small leather pouches used for carrying money.
**Manchester Central railway station is a former railway station in Manchester city centre. One of Manchester's main railway terminals between 1880 and 1969, it has been converted into an exhibition and conference centre. The station was built between 1875 and 1880 by the Cheshire Lines Committee, and was officially opened on the first of July 1880. The architect was Sir John Fowler. The station's roof is a single span wrought iron truss structure 550 feet long with a span of 210 feet, and was 90 feet high at its apex above the railway tracks. Glass covered the middle section, timber (inside) and slate (outside) covered the outer quarters. The end screens were glazed with timber boarding surrounding the outer edges.
***Once known as the Crown Plaza Hotel, the Midland Hotel is a grand hotel in Manchester. Opened in 1903, it was built by the Midland Railway to serve Manchester Central railway station, its northern terminus for its rail services to London St Pancras. It faces onto St Peter's Square. The hotel was designed by Charles Trubshaw in Edwardian Baroque style. The Midland has a steel structure clad in red brick, brown terracotta, and several varieties of polished granite and Burmantofts terracotta to withstand the polluted environment of Manchester. This includes some fine modelled panels by the sculptor Edward Caldwell Spruce.
****”Dressed to the nines” is a phrase some say descends from the Old English saying “dressed to the eyes,” which, because Old English is very different to today’s language, the phrase was written as “dressed to then eyne.” The thinking goes that someone at some point heard “then eyne” and mistook it for “the nine” or “the nines.” Others say the phrase is Scottish in origin. The earliest written example of the phrase is from the 1719 Epistle to Ramsay by the Scottish poet William Hamilton: “The bonny Lines therein thou sent me, How to the nines they did content me.”
*****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.
******One hundred years ago, postcards were the most common and easiest way to communicate with loved ones not only across countries whilst on holidays, but across neighbourhoods on a daily basis with the minutiae of life on them. This is because unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily basis, there were several deliveries done a day. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman.
*******A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
This delightful scene in Mrs. Chase’s tea rooms may look real to you, but in truth, all that you see comes from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The scones on the table have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The tea set on the table come from various online miniature stockists through E-Bay. The cutlery comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The tablecloth is in reality a very dainty hand made doily with detailed lace inserts.
The Queen Anne dining table, chairs and sideboard were all given to me as birthday and Christmas presents when I was a child.
The Welsh dresser and the French provincial sideboard both come from Babette’s Miniatures, who have been making miniature dolls’ furnishings since the late eighteenth century. The dresser has plate grooves in it, just like a real dresser would. It contains a mixture of blue and white china, 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 plates and charger on the wall also come from her.
The wallpaper is an Edwardian design of leaves and berries that I have printed to use.
