The Linley Sambourne House in Kensington

Linley Samburne House, 18 Stafford Terrace, Kensington, London

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What first struck me about the Linley Sambourne House was the time capsule element. What next struck me was the contrast between it and the nearby Leighton House Museum.

Edward Linley Sambourne (but nobody ever called him by his first name) was a famous Victorian era illustrator, perhaps best known for his work for the satirical magazine, Punch. While both he and Leighton were artists living in an enclave of artists and writers in Kensington, their work, circumstances, and abodes were altogether different.

The house at No. 18 Stafford Terrace was a revelation. We had been staying in a flat in a Victorian-era house. Ours, like so many, had retained only a few of its original features—which makes sense, given the development of things like indoor plumbing, electricity, etc., since the 1850s (when many of these houses were built in Kensington).

However, at Sambourne House, thanks to Mr. Sambourne’s descendants, time stands still for the most part, allowing us to time travel to a middle-class Victorian household. While this was the home of an artist, and reflects that fact, the layout and a great deal of the decoration reflects the taste of the time. And it gave me, finally, a clear sense of the way a London townhouse would be laid out in the 19th century. Yes, I look at floor plans and photos, but nothing compares to being there, and a little imagination allows one to extrapolate from the 1870s to the 1830s.

Since the house was so interesting, and rather like Ham House, a rare survivor, I have many images, which means our tour will be in two parts.

The lavatory under the stairs is a great example of the time capsule element. In most houses, areas like this have been modernized. Also, the level of design was so impressive. The Victorians and their predecessors wanted everyday items to be beautiful as well as functional.

This reel takes us through the entrance hall into the dining room.

The dining room is much as it was in 1877, and like so many other parts of the house, needs video to truly give you a sense of the place.

Collecting the blue and white porcelain plates was a fashion craze among artists in the 1870s. The glass case fitted to the window is a rare survivor. Cultivating ferns and other plants in these cases was another Victorian fashion. Similar cases were once attached to the Drawing Room windows on the floor above—which I’ll get to in the next blog post.

The Morning Room reel completes our tour of the ground floor. This was primarily Marion Sambourne’s domain. This wall, like that of the Dining Room, is divided into three tiers, and the faded paper comes closest to showing what the house would have looked like in the 1870s. Right after purchasing the house, the Sambournes knocked out the rear wall and installed the beautiful window.

In the next blog post, we’ll look at the first and second floors (U.S. second and third floors ).

Leighton House Museum

George Frederic Watts RA, Portrait of Frederic, Lord Leighton, P.R.A, 1888.

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Though the artist Frederick Leighton belongs to the late Victorian era, rather than the time of my stories, I decided to visit his house in Kensington again (we’d toured it several years ago) because artists’ residences are interesting, especially those of 19th century artists. Not all were starving in garrets, as Leighton House demonstrates.

Born to wealth, Leighton was one who did not fret about where his next meal was coming from. He was able to furnish his house with treasures from around the world. One of several additions was the Arab Hall: "More expensive to build than the whole of the original house, on completion in 1882 it caused a sensation,” according to the museum’s brochure. It still does.

To my great regret, I can’t offer a reel of the Arab Hall, thanks to a miscommunication at the time of our visit. However, these images at the museum website should give you an idea.

Still, I think the Staircase Hall (reel below) is pretty impressive, too.

Video of the Staircase Hall at Leighton House

Below are a few other images, to give you an idea of Leighton’s taste. #1 & #2 Architect George Atchinson, with whom Leighton worked on the house from the time he acquired the empty plot until shortly before his death; #3 a pair of marble columns on the ground (U.S. first) floor; #4 the Drawing Room (since Leighton’s studio was his reception room, this infrequently used room was the “withdrawing room” for Leighton’s women guests, after dinner); #5 & #6 the Drawing Room’s Murano glass chandelier; #7 & #8 Leighton’s painting, Eucharis (Girl with a Basket of Fruit); #9 & #10 one of the pair of beautiful bookcases in the first floor (U.S. second floor) Studio; #11 & #12 the German marquety table, also in the Studio; #13, #14, #15 the Antechamber, containing a mashrabiya, a pierced wooden screen; #16 Loretta showing off in the Silk Room, the last change Leighton made to his house, and which he used as a gallery for pictures by his artist friends.

If you’d like to see what his house was like when Leighton was alive, you might take a look at this Strand Magazine article of 1892.

Searching for the sites in "My Inconvenient Duke"

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Ready for lunch at Ye Olde Cock Tavern

Please brace yourself for some extremely nerdy history—and yes, let’s start by saying I can get a little obsessive about historical details.

For the most part, when writing my stories, I’m living in the past, via books (some of them quite old and crumbling) and online sites. Every book also requires me to consult several maps, from different years. Coordinating between the early 1800s and the 2020s helps me work out distances (not always clear on old maps) and helps me calculate travel times (via online tools + aforesaid crumbling books).

So, yes, I do my best to be accurate. But when I’m in London, I can’t resist checking: finding the places and making sure I got things right. There’s also the thrill of finding a building, for instance, that’s still there. It doesn’t matter if I already know it’s still there. I get excited, as I did the day I was walking alongside the Thames in Richmond, and saw, peeping out over the trees, the top of what I felt certain was Asgill House, aka Ithaca House, where Raven Radford’s parents live in Dukes Prefer Blondes. Yes, I knew it was in Richmond, close to the river—hadn’t I researched the daylights out of it? All the same, to stand in front of it and get a sense of the environment was a joy, which I shared with you in my Asgill House post.

Another place I knew still existed was the Cock Tavern, where Blackwood meets Maggie Proudie, in My Inconvenient Duke. It dates to the 1500s, though changes have occurred. The most startling one—and the one I forgot when I was standing in Fleet Street, baffled (this often happens, as I have no sense of direction)—was that it had moved across the street in the 1880s, fifty years after the time of the story. Then, in the 1990s, a fire destroyed the interior. It was rebuilt, using old photographs, but it does not look as it did in the 1880s, as you can see if you view some of the images at the London Picture Archives.

What it looked like in 1832 is anybody’s guess. I suspect that the sort of layout we see in the 1880s (Image #3) isn’t completely different from the 1830s. It very likely would have had boxes (in the U.S. we call them booths) similar to those in Image #4, a Thomas Rowlandson print of 1800, of another tavern on Fleet Street, either the Rainbow or the Wheatsheaf.

Another, much more elusive location was the site of the Holland Arms, which became the Lovedon Arms in the Blackwoods’ story. I knew that the inn no longer existed, but I wanted to find where it used to be, an interesting challenge in the Kensington High Street. As mentioned in my notes to the book, the Holland Arms was also referred to as the White Hart and the White Horse in some sources.

Image #1 shows it as the White Hart on the travel map in Cecil Aldin’s The Romance of the Road. Image #2 is an 1832 map of the area of Kensington where Blackwood and Alice search for Ripley. The 1827 map in Image #3 pinpoints two locations: the Holland Arms/White Hart/White Horse to the left and the toll gate to the right. #4 is the Holland Arms as it appeared in Leigh Hunt’s The Old Court Suburb (1855). #5 and #6 show where it stood. That’s me, looking triumphant, once I felt sure this was the place. Image #7 is the Kensington tollgate. And #8 was the big surprise. I kept looking at the building and wondering if that had been a tollgate. After double and triple checking the location, I feel reasonably certain that this was site of the Kensington tollgate. I know the gates were abolished in 1865. However, I don’t know if the toll-keeper’s building survived. Is this the original building, renovated? Another building erected on the site? What’s its current function? More sleuthing required.