1851: Honoria Mallard
Letter fragment to her sister
The winter rains have at last relented, leaving us sodden but serene, and I find myself lingering over memories of last spring’s Centenary with a fondness that even the Sussex mists cannot dampen. How vividly I recall you amidst the throng at the great luncheon in the Pavilion—your gown of sprigged muslin a perfect foil for that exquisite cameo brooch you wore pinned at your throat. The carved shell, with its classical figures in such delicate relief, caught the light from the stained-glass windows like a jewel from antiquity itself; it was the admiration of every lady present, myself included.
It puts me so much in mind of a similar piece I once noticed during a visit to the Mallard estate in the ‘30s—a treasure displayed in one of the cabinets and surrounded by what appeared to be a blaze of diamonds. Yours must be a most faithful replica, capturing every curve and contour with remarkable precision. As for the stones encircling it, they sparkle with such convincing fire that one might almost be deceived; yet I know your circumstances in Singapore would never stretch to the genuine article, so I assume them to be paste of the finest quality—quite clever, and far more prudent than indulging in such extravagance.
Pray tell me the name of the jeweller who crafted it for you; I am quite set upon commissioning a copy, that I might wear it to the next assembly and evoke those golden days anew.
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