FASHION-DETECTIVE
FASHION-DETECTIVE
FASHION-DETECTIVE
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Danielle Whitfield
Contents<br />
Foreword 1<br />
Introduction 2<br />
Examination report: 13<br />
The case of the fake Worth<br />
by Annette Soumilas<br />
Short story: 17<br />
The real McCoy<br />
by Garry Disher<br />
Examination report: 21<br />
The case of the poisonous pigment<br />
by Bronwyn Cosgrove<br />
Short story: 24<br />
The bequest<br />
by Sulari Gentill<br />
Examination report: 27<br />
The secret in the doll’s dress<br />
by Kate Douglas<br />
Short story: 31<br />
Paper piecing<br />
by Lili Wilkinson<br />
Examination report: 35<br />
The case of the fraudulent fur<br />
by Kate Douglas<br />
Short story: 39<br />
Escape from Grantchester Manor<br />
by Kerry Greenwood<br />
List of works 43
Foreword<br />
Fashion Detective is an exhibition that heralds an innovative new approach to<br />
the interpretation and display of fashion and textiles at the National Gallery of<br />
Victoria. A departure from the usual conventions of chronology, artistry and<br />
technique, Fashion Detective is instead a set of investigations that challenge us to<br />
reappraise what we see and know.<br />
The exhibition takes a large number of unattributed nineteenth-century<br />
garments and accessories from the NGV’s collection as the basis for a series<br />
of ‘cases’. Encountered as small vignettes, these cases tell different stories of analysis<br />
and deduction, and present alternate ways of reading fashion. Some rely on objectbased<br />
study and forensics to reach conclusions; others are purposefully speculative.<br />
It is always pleasing to see contemporary artists engage with the NGV collection in<br />
creative ways, and Fashion Detective introduces a new model for this. By inviting four<br />
leading Australian crime writers to create short stories based upon the works on<br />
display, the exhibition explores the mysteries of our collection in surprising ways.<br />
Melbourne has always had a strong affinity with crime fiction, and it is great to see<br />
current exponents of the genre bring their rich imaginations to this project.<br />
This publication brings together the many investigative layers which inform<br />
Fashion Detective. Elucidating the curatorial rationale behind the exhibition,<br />
here forensics and fiction are presented as a two-fold encounter with the objects<br />
on display. While succinct case studies by the Gallery’s Textile Conservation team<br />
provide fascinating insight into the scientific nature of conservation work and what<br />
is revealed by close examination, the four specially commissioned crime fictions<br />
introduce narrative possibilities that speak to our interest in the social life<br />
of clothing.<br />
I extend particular thanks to authors Garry Disher, Kerry Greenwood, Sulari<br />
Gentill and Lili Wilkinson for their inspired responses to this project. I also offer<br />
thanks to the exhibition curator, Danielle Whitfield, and the Textile Conservation<br />
team led by Bronwyn Cosgrove, as well as to the entire NGV staff involved in<br />
bringing this exhibition and publication to life. I am delighted to see such creative<br />
collaboration and invite you to enjoy this unique approach and the many mysteries<br />
it explores.<br />
Tony Ellwood<br />
Director, National Gallery of Victoria
Introduction<br />
Never trust to general impressions,<br />
my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details.<br />
Sherlock Holmes, A Case of Identity (1892)<br />
Danielle Whitfield<br />
2
Introduction<br />
Danielle Whitfield<br />
You see, but you do not observe.<br />
The distinction is clear.<br />
Sherlock Holmes, The Scandal in Bohemia (1892)<br />
ny gallery archive contains a large number of works that<br />
remain unattributed – ‘makers unknown’. Anonymous<br />
and often inscrutable, these objects have the capacity<br />
to excite our curiosity at a time when the world is<br />
besieged by brands and logos. Within fashion especially,<br />
the contrast between today’s superstar couturiers and the nameless<br />
dressmakers and tailors of earlier centuries could not be greater.<br />
Fashion Detective takes a selection of miscellaneous nineteenth-century<br />
garments and accessories from the National Gallery of Victoria’s<br />
collection as the starting point for a series of investigations. Using<br />
material evidence, forensics and newly commissioned fictions as<br />
alternate interpretative strategies, the exhibition is an encounter with<br />
the art of detection.<br />
Taking its cue from tropes of Victorian crime fiction, Fashion Detective<br />
is divided into a series of ‘cases’ that present the visitor with<br />
different investigative paths and narrative opportunities. From fakes<br />
and forgeries to poisonous dyes, concealed clues and mysterious<br />
marks to missing persons, the exhibition places objects under close<br />
examination. Each case follows a specific course of analysis that<br />
encourages thinking differently about what we see and what<br />
we know.<br />
Fashion Detective is not intended as a comprehensive study of<br />
nineteenth-century dress. Rather, it is an exhibition about modes of<br />
investigation; about leads, encounters, discoveries, stories, science<br />
and speculation. It is about the detective work that curators and<br />
conservators undertake, and what this can reveal. Ultimately it is<br />
about questions – many of which will never be answered.<br />
Reading fashion<br />
Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but<br />
concentrate yourself upon details.<br />
Sherlock Holmes, A Case of Identity (1892)<br />
Learning how to ‘read’ a dress has been an important concern for<br />
fashion studies scholars in recent years. Drawing on the work of art<br />
historian Jules Prown, Valerie Steele, Director and Chief Curator<br />
of the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology, New York,<br />
describes the process as involving three stages: description, deduction<br />
and speculation. 1<br />
The description stage records the physical characteristics and features<br />
of a garment, including its measurements, medium, construction<br />
details, style, colour, texture, use and wear. It establishes whether<br />
or not an object is complete, whether it has been altered or repaired<br />
and flags questions about authenticity. The deduction stage involves<br />
reflection on the sensory interaction between ‘object and the<br />
perceiver’. 2 It considers the garment in terms of how it would have<br />
been worn, what it might feel like to wear, what it reveals about the<br />
wearer’s taste or social status and how it compares to other examples.<br />
The speculation stage involves ‘framing [a] hypothesis and questions’<br />
for testing against external evidence. These questions in turn drive<br />
specific paths of research. 3<br />
Fashion and forgery<br />
I’d be more worried if my product<br />
wasn’t being copied.<br />
Miuccia Prada 4<br />
Unknown (France), Bodice, c.1885 (label detail)<br />
The central question in ‘The case of the fake Worth’ is about<br />
attribution: is the labelled Bodice, c.1885, a fake couture garment?<br />
Is the label a forgery? While the answer is more complex than a<br />
simple yes or no, detailed object-based analysis was essential to the<br />
conclusion. Clues gleaned from the garment’s construction (stitching,<br />
pattern pieces, boning, finishing techniques, alterations, labelling and<br />
fabric choice), stylistic analysis (knowledge of the designer’s oeuvre)<br />
and historical research all formed part of the material evidence.<br />
Mary Richardson, Sampler, 1783<br />
3
complex and linked to different historical modes of circulation and<br />
exchange, not least its acquisition by the NGV in 1963.<br />
Knowing whether or not something is a forgery forever changes<br />
the way we look at it, but learning to tell the difference between an<br />
original and a copy is, as Nelson Goodman famously argued, a matter<br />
of learning how to perceive. 9<br />
Fashion and forensics<br />
C27H25N4(SO)01/2<br />
Chemical composition of Perkin’s mauve<br />
(left) François Pinet, Paris (shoemaker), Jean-Louis François Pinet (designer) Boots 1867<br />
(right) Pair of authentic Pinet shoes exhibited by S.D. & L.A. Tallerman in Sydney, 1878<br />
Counterfeiting was rife in the latter part of the nineteenth century.<br />
In 1896 Georges Vuitton, son of Louis Vuitton, designed and<br />
registered the house monogram – a pattern of interlocking LVs<br />
interspersed with quatrefoils and flowers – in response to the<br />
counterfeiting of their bespoke travel goods. Similarly, in September<br />
1878 celebrated Parisian shoe designer Jean-Louis François Pinet<br />
engaged retailers Samuel D. and Lewis A. Tallerman (of London and<br />
Melbourne) as:<br />
His sole agents for the New Zealand and Australian colonies<br />
[after] having received information that the name and brand of his<br />
house [was] being fraudulently used and placed upon boots and<br />
shoes of low price and inferior description. 5<br />
Today, fashion fakes present an even bigger problem. Luxury brands<br />
are among the most counterfeited products. In 2013 the counterfeit<br />
goods industry accounted for two per cent of the world trade. 6<br />
For Sherlock Holmes, the great nineteenth-century literary detective,<br />
acuity, intelligence and the aura of scientific enquiry were the factors by which<br />
he decoded evidence – be it a watch, hat, stick or the appearance or<br />
clothing of someone. 10 Suitably then, forensics also plays a crucial role<br />
in Fashion Detective. Utilising methods inherent to textile conservation,<br />
including microscopy, x-radiography, scanning electron microscope<br />
(SEM) and ultraviolet (UV) scanning; chemical analysis in the form<br />
of x-ray fluorescence (XRF), Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy<br />
(FTIR), chromatography and specialist digital photographic processes,<br />
the exhibition considers the myriad ways that objects can be decoded.<br />
Unknown, Doll, 19th century<br />
X-ray of Doll, 19th century<br />
Cases such as ‘The secret in the doll’s dress ’ highlight what x-radiography<br />
and forensic photography can add to our understanding of an object.<br />
‘Reading’ the aged paper fragments secreted between layers of<br />
diamond-shaped silk patchwork in this dress produced unexpected<br />
information about its likely place and date of creation. Likewise, SEM<br />
analysis and microscopy enabled a positive medium ID in ‘The case of<br />
the fraudulent fur’, and also revealed new information about industry<br />
practice and social tastes.<br />
Fashion and colour<br />
Unknown, (China), Louis Vuitton, Paris (after), Speedy handbag, c.2014<br />
Handbags and wallets originating from China typically top the list, with<br />
Louis Vuitton products the most popular, particularly the Speedy and Alma<br />
monogram handbags. 7 As Dana Thomas writes:<br />
By putting an emphasis on the logo and spending millions to<br />
advertise it, luxury companies made their brands, rather than<br />
products, the objects of desire. They also created a demand that<br />
they couldn’t meet and a product average consumers couldn’t<br />
afford … Counterfeiters stepped in. 8<br />
Although highly problematic, contemporary fashion fakes are, for the<br />
majority, an acceptable consumer commodity. The House of Worth<br />
and Bobergh Bodice, however, is not – its circumstances are more<br />
Two investigations in Fashion Detective employ chemical analysis to<br />
explore the relationship between colour and fashionable aesthetics in<br />
the nineteenth century. Fashion today is based on a continuous cycle<br />
of new trends in which colour plays a key role: ‘grey is the new black’.<br />
Yet colour in fashion changed most radically in the nineteenth century<br />
following the accidental discovery of aniline purple (later named<br />
mauveine) in 1856 by a young Scottish chemist, William Henry Perkin<br />
(1838–1907), while he searched for a malaria cure. 11 Perkin’s finding<br />
was the catalyst for the emergence of a low-cost, artificial dyestuffs<br />
industry which produced colours that rapidly replaced traditional dyes<br />
made from plants and insects. Within a decade, textiles saturated with<br />
the new, gaudy chemical hues of synthetic colours, such as magenta,<br />
fuchsia, violet, aniline black, Bismark brown, methyl blue and<br />
malachite green, were in widespread use. 12<br />
4
Unknown, England, Dress, c.1865 (detail)<br />
Unknown, Australia, Dress, c.1865 (detail)<br />
By 1859 English newspapers such as Punch were satirising the extent to<br />
which Perkin’s vivid purple shade was dominating fashionable dress. (A<br />
novelty exacerbated by purple’s symbolic associations with aristocracy<br />
and royalty.) But what exactly did this colour look like? While a small<br />
swatch of silk dyed with a batch of the original dye is housed in the<br />
Imperial College chemistry archives, London, and an image of this<br />
can be seen on Wikipedia, records of Perkins purple are scant and<br />
identifying the colour by the naked eye is an impossible task. Employing<br />
chromatography and spectroscopy to analyse our holdings of mid to late<br />
nineteenth-century purple garments and accessories, this case attempted<br />
to locate evidence of this pivotal moment in fashion history.<br />
‘The case of the poisonous pigment ’ concerns the widespread use of<br />
green arsenical pigments as colouring agents in the early part of<br />
the nineteenth century. Discovered by Carl Scheele in 1778, and in<br />
widespread use by 1800, copper arsenate dyes such as Scheele’s Green,<br />
and later Schweinfurt green, were exceedingly popular due to their<br />
vivid hues. Cheap to make and chemically stable, the dyes were not<br />
only adopted by painters, cloth makers, wallpaper designers and dyers,<br />
but were also used to colour countless everyday goods, such as soap,<br />
candles, children’s toys, confectionary and packaging.<br />
By the late 1850s, after a three-year-old boy died after ingesting<br />
pigment flakes, anxiety about the prevalence of arsenic was expressed<br />
in British news articles, pamphlets and books. In 1862 a coroner’s<br />
inquest found that a woman died as a result of sucking an artificial<br />
grape coloured with Scheele’s Green. 13 At around the same time<br />
Australian newspapers reprinted reports from British medical journals<br />
warning of the dangers of arsenical green wallpapers (‘Put it up on<br />
your walls and you are lining your rooms in pure death’ 14 ) and listing<br />
the ghastly symptoms of arsenic poisoning, including ‘irritation,<br />
gastric derangement, ulceration, inflammation, palpitations, joint pain,<br />
irritability and weakness, and in the worst cases, memory loss, spasms<br />
and partial paralysis.’ 15<br />
Poisonings were also linked to the wearing of arsenical garments.<br />
London physician George Rees found green muslins to be especially<br />
hazardous after analysing a sample that contained sixty grains<br />
of Scheele’s green per square yard. The pigment was so loosely<br />
incorporated that ‘it could be dusted out with great facility’. 16<br />
Our fair charmers in green whirl through the giddy<br />
waltz … actually in a cloud of arsenical dust …<br />
Well may the fascinating wearer … be called a<br />
killing creature … she carries in her skirts poison<br />
enough to slay the whole of the admirers she may<br />
meet with in half a dozen ballrooms. 17<br />
John Leech, The Arsenic Waltz. The new Dance of Death. (Dedicated to the green wreath and dress-mongers.), 1862<br />
5
With this in mind, ‘The case of the poisonous pigment ’ asks if there is<br />
anything dyed arsenic green in the NGV collection, putting dresses,<br />
parasols, shoes, millinery and wallpapers through an XRF machine<br />
in order to ascertain traces of the deadly copper arsenate pigment.<br />
The results revealed something of the chemical composition of the<br />
nineteenth-century fashion palette.<br />
Material memories<br />
The garment is a ghost of all the multiple lives<br />
it may have had. Nothing is shiny and new;<br />
everything has a history. 18<br />
A less deadly form of evidence relates to factors of wear and use.<br />
As fashion scholar Amy de la Haye writes:<br />
Perhaps more than any other medium, worn clothing offers<br />
tangible evidence of lives lived, partly because its very materiality<br />
is altered by, and bears imprints of, its original owner. A<br />
garment’s shaping can become distorted in an echo of personal<br />
body contours. It can become imbued with personal scent, and<br />
bear marks of wear, from fabric erosion at the hem, cuffs and<br />
neck, to stains that are absorbed or linger on the surface of the<br />
cloth. 19<br />
Just as a study of the Bodice reveals that significant alterations were<br />
made for different wearers over two decades, other works in Fashion<br />
Detective disclose information about how they have been worn,<br />
used and cared for over their lifetimes. Within the exhibition, a<br />
wall of shoes interrogates the physical and scientific effects of time:<br />
threadbare surfaces, discolouration, corrosion, soiling, scuffing and<br />
creasing. These traces speak to the particularity of fashion collections<br />
and, by default, to the complex decisions that conservators and<br />
curators face in caring for these objects.<br />
Harrods, London, Travelling hatcase, 1901–04<br />
Unknown, Shoes, 1880–93<br />
Patterns of collecting also fall under scrutiny in Fashion Detective.<br />
Within the exhibition, ‘The case of the missing man’ examines<br />
fashion and the archive as means by which histories and memories<br />
are formed. Acknowledging that archives are by their very nature<br />
fragmentary, formed over time through a combination of institutional<br />
acquisition policies, curatorial impulse and voluntary donation, the<br />
case investigates why the NGV collection includes so little nineteenthcentury<br />
menswear. 20 Ostensibly a case about a lack of evidence, this<br />
enquiry considers what is salient about a group of four waistcoats,<br />
and asks: Are collections about what we see, or do not see?<br />
Unknown, England, Waistcoat, c.1845<br />
6
Within the exhibition, four ghostly white dresses recall this phenomenon.<br />
Each has a fragmentary piece of provenance information associated with<br />
it that forms one thread of a greater mystery: a torn wedding photograph,<br />
a newspaper clipping, a family story and a catalogue entry.<br />
Writing about fashion in fiction, Claire Hughes notes: ‘Descriptions<br />
of dress help us to fill out our pictures of the imagined words of fiction<br />
… They lend tangibility and visibility to character and context’. 26<br />
This potential of fashion to serve narrative ends is evident today in<br />
contemporary runway collections, where garments enact storylines,<br />
and in short films and photography where fashion is frequently<br />
cast as the central protagonist. The four short fictions in Fashion<br />
Detective draw on the complicity between clothing, fashion, crime and<br />
mystery in the nineteenth century. Scripting evocative and exciting<br />
new contexts for the works on display, these stories offer parallel<br />
encounters with the facts at hand. Here, fashion forms the very heart<br />
of fiction as the material evidence in a greater mystery.<br />
The game is afoot.<br />
Photograph of Wedding dress, 1939–74<br />
Fashion and fiction<br />
Although empirical modes of investigation underscore Fashion Detective,<br />
the exhibition is also deliberately speculative. It accepts we may never<br />
know the answers to our questions about the garments on display –<br />
who were they made by, who wore them, where are they from? – and<br />
so turns to fiction as a way of creating ‘cultural biographies’ for the<br />
works on display. 21 Exploiting the historical synergy between the<br />
establishment of professional detective agencies 22 and the rise of literary<br />
detectives in the nineteenth century, 23 Fashion Detective invited four of<br />
Australia’s leading crime writers – Garry Disher, Sulari Gentill, Kerry<br />
Greenwood and Lili Wilkinson – to create new short fictions based on<br />
objects from the NGV collection.<br />
Throughout the nineteenth century, clothing, along with other physical<br />
data, was pivotal to both crime solving and crime fiction, and a<br />
number of famous London cases rested on the discovery of clothing<br />
clues. In 1849 the infamous Bermondsey murderess Maria Manning<br />
who, along with her husband, killed her lover, was captured by way<br />
of a bloodstained dress she had stashed in a railway station locker. 24<br />
Similarly, the horrific Road Hill case of 1860, concerning the murder<br />
of three-year-old Saville Kent, centred on a missing nightdress.<br />
Fictional detective tales emulated forensic police work by incorporating<br />
material clues such as clothing and hair, objects that could be singled out<br />
and studied for information, into their storylines. In Charles Martel’s<br />
The Detective’s Notebook (1860), a button left at the crime scene holds the<br />
key to the case, and in Wilkie Collins’s The Diary of Anne Rodway (1856)<br />
a murderer is brought to justice via the discovery of the missing end of a<br />
torn cravat.<br />
The detective genre was so popular that it also started fashion trends.<br />
Collins’s sensation novel The Woman in White (1860), for instance, caused:<br />
Every possible commodity to be labelled ‘Woman in White’.<br />
There were Woman in White cloaks and bonnets, Woman in<br />
White perfumes and all manner of toilet requisites … music shops<br />
displayed Woman in White Waltzes and Quadrilles. 25<br />
Unknown, Bookmarks, c.1890<br />
Notes<br />
1 Valerie Steele, ‘A museum of fashion is more than a clothes-bag’, Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture,<br />
vol. 2, no. 4, 1998, p. 327. More recently, scholars have called for interdisciplinary approaches that recognise fashion’s<br />
engagement with contemporary visual and cultural discourses.<br />
2 Jules Prown, ‘Style as evidence’, The Winterthur Portfolio, vol. 15, 1980, p. 71.<br />
3 ibid.<br />
4 Miuccia Prada quoted in Dana Thomas, Duluxe: How Luxury Lost its Lustre, Allen Lane, London, 2007, p. 276.<br />
5 Samuel D. & Lewis A. Tallerman, ‘Notice: Pinet’s French boots’, Sydney Morning Herald, 25 Nov. 1878. I thank<br />
Bronwyn Cosgrove for drawing my attention to this article. Pinet also authorised Tallerman to take legal action<br />
against any persons found distributing counterfeit versions of his boots and shoes.<br />
6 Jack Ellis, ‘International – Counterfeiting statistics need to be backed up by consumer education’, 19 April 2013,<br />
World Trademark Review, , accessed 2 April 2014).<br />
7 Samuel Weigley, ‘The 10 most counterfeited products in America’, 24/7 Wall St, ,<br />
accessed 14 Jan. 2014.<br />
8 Thomas, p. 274.<br />
9 Nelson Goodman quoted in Michael Wreen, ‘Goodman on forgery’, The Philosophical Quarterly, vol. 33, no. 133, 1983,<br />
p. 340.<br />
10 Stephen Knight, Crime Fiction Since 1800: Death, Detection Diversity, 2nd edn, Palgrave Macmillan, New York, 2010,<br />
p. 56.<br />
11 Perkins was quick to realise the commercial application of his discovery. He filed a patent for the dye and within<br />
two years had established a small dye-making factory outside of London which synthesised aniline from coal tar – a<br />
readily available by-product of the coal gas and coke industries.<br />
12 Akiko Fukai, ‘The colours of a period as the embodiment of dream’, in Fashion in Colours: Viktor & Rolf & KCI, Kyoto<br />
Costume Institute, 2004, pp. 274–8.<br />
13 Paul Bartrip, ‘How green was my valance?: environmental arsenic poisoning and the Victorian domestic ideal’, The<br />
English Historical Review, vol. 109, no. 443, Sep. 1994, pp. 891–913.<br />
14 ‘Death on our walls’, Sydney Morning Herald, 26 July 1861, p. 8 (reprinted from London Review, 11 May 1861).<br />
15 ‘Arsenic in wallpapers’, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 Oct. 1871, p. 6 (reprinted from British Medical Journal).<br />
16 James C. Whorton, The Arsenic Century: How Victorian Britain Was Poisoned at Home, Work, and Play, Oxford University<br />
Press, Oxford, 2010, p. 181.<br />
17 ibid.<br />
18 Hussein Chalayan quoted in in Caroline Evans (ed.), Fashion at the Edge: Spectacle, Modernity and Deathliness, Yale<br />
University Press, New Haven, 2003, p. 57.<br />
19 Amy de la Haye, ‘Vogue and the V&A vitrine’, Fashion Theory; The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture, vol. 10, no. 1,<br />
2006, p. 129.<br />
20 The NGV collection has approximately 1200 Western garments and accessories from the period 1800–1900.<br />
Menswear and accessories account for 15 per cent of this collection.<br />
21 See Igor Kopytoff, ‘The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process’, in Arjun Appadurai (ed.), The Social<br />
Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1988, pp. 64–91.<br />
22 The French Sûreté was established in 1811, and Scotland Yard sent out its first plain-clothes detectives in 1842.<br />
23 Edgar Allan Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morge (1841) is generally accepted as the first iteration of this new literary<br />
genre.<br />
24 Kate Summerscale, The Suspicions of Mr Whicher; or, The murder at Road Hill House, Bloomsbury, London, 2008,<br />
p. 69.<br />
25 Stewart Marsh Ellis, Wilkie Collins, Le Fanu and Others, Constable, London, 1931. The Woman in White was reprinted six<br />
times in its first six months of publication.<br />
26 Clair Hughes, Dressed in Fiction, Berg, New York, 2006, p. 1.<br />
7
Unknown, England, Carriage dress, c.1830<br />
9
Unknown, Australia, Dress, c.1865<br />
10
Unknown, Australia, Dress, c.1878<br />
11
Unknown, Australia, Wedding dress, c.1885<br />
12
Mme Delbarre, London (dressmaker), Mourning gown, 1885–90<br />
13
14<br />
The case<br />
of the fake<br />
Worth
Examination report<br />
Annette Soumilas<br />
Case<br />
The case of the fake Worth<br />
Item<br />
Bodice, c.1885<br />
Summary<br />
Bodice, presented to the National Gallery of Victoria by Miss<br />
M. Bostock in 1963, and labelled the House of Worth and Bobergh,<br />
poses a number of curatorial questions relating to authenticity: is<br />
the label for this bodice authentic? Does the styling of the bodice<br />
correspond with the date of the label? Was the label attached to<br />
the bodice at the time of its manufacture, or at a later date? Did<br />
the bodice have multiple owners? Historical and technical analysis<br />
of the garment and its label by the NGV’s Textile Conservation<br />
department suggests that the label may indeed be authentic, and<br />
possibly rare, and that the bodice may have passed through the<br />
hands of several owners. The problem, then, is determining the<br />
authenticity of this label and, by default, of the bodice itself.<br />
Background information<br />
English-born dressmaker Charles Frederick Worth (1825–95) was<br />
one of the most celebrated designers of the nineteenth century,<br />
known as the ‘father of haute couture’. His clients included royalty,<br />
the famous and the wealthy. Many examples of his work exist in<br />
museum collections today, mostly identifiable by couture labels. Our<br />
knowledge of his work is communicated by these primary sources.<br />
A nineteenth-century couture house’s public image, the protection<br />
of its designs, and all its industrial power were conveyed through<br />
its label. 1 The practice of attaching fake and counterfeit labels to<br />
garments existed at this time, as it still does today, to ‘authenticate’<br />
garments of dubious origin, and thereby to increase their value. By<br />
signing his creations Worth placed himself on an equal footing with<br />
artists who sign and personify their work. From this gesture, the<br />
‘magic of labelling grew by creating an aura that then spread to the<br />
label’s products’. 2<br />
The system of labelling was used for mass-produced fashionable<br />
accessories, such as shoes and hats, from as early as 1780. 3 Worth<br />
continued this established tradition and, when he opened his own<br />
couture house in 1858 in partnership with the Swede Otto Gustaf<br />
(Gustave) Bobergh (1821–1881), he was the first to extend the<br />
practice of labelling to identify his garments.<br />
The distribution of clothes was a well-established practice in the<br />
nineteenth century. Labelled garments were not necessarily owned<br />
by one individual only. A hierarchy for cast-off garments existed to<br />
facilitate the disposal of clothes, which were frequently altered to<br />
fit a new owner. Worth and Bobergh boasted a wealthy clientele.<br />
Many serving women to royalty and the upper-classes received castoff<br />
garments from their employers. As these items of clothing could<br />
be sold to secondhand traders, they were a great source of profit to<br />
domestic staff. Many of these garments would eventually end up<br />
in the hands of rag-pickers or in the wardrobes of theatres. Along<br />
the way, labels identifying the garment would be transferred to<br />
‘authenticate’ the garment, thus enhancing its saleability. 4 This practice<br />
could easily have extended to the Worth client and her servants.<br />
Beyond construction details, fabric is also an important consideration<br />
in this investigation. Worth always retained a preference for figured<br />
textiles, which were quite popular during the 1850s but fell out<br />
of favour during the 1860s. In 1872 Worth attempted to relaunch<br />
‘figured, cut velvet’, but his clients did not share his enthusiasm,<br />
maintaining that ‘they did not (want) to be dressed like furniture’.<br />
Worth’s taste was vindicated in the 1880s and 1890s when the fashion<br />
for these textiles prevailed. 5<br />
The genre of fabric which enjoyed the greatest degree of favour<br />
during the 1880s was unquestionably velvet and plush. In the October<br />
1881 issue of L’Art de la Mode, Jenny Lensia wrote:<br />
Velvet is the shimmering setting that best sets off the<br />
beauty of the woman; simple in its magnificent elegance,<br />
it marvellously highlights the sculptural forms of those<br />
who are truly beautiful … All women dressed in velvet<br />
appear majestic.<br />
Luis Jimenez y Aranda, Le Carreau du Temple, Paris, 1890, private collection<br />
Unknown (France), Bodice, c.1885 (detail)<br />
15
Evidence<br />
According to Worth’s biographer Diana De Marly, the first original<br />
Worth label appeared in 1860, after Worth became couturier to<br />
the Empress Eugenie (1826–1920). 6 The label was stamped in gold<br />
capital letters: ‘WORTH AND BOBERGH, 7 RUE DE LA PAIX,<br />
PARIS’, and included Eugenie’s coat of arms. Bodice’s label is stamped<br />
in gold on white Petersham ribbon with the words ‘WORTH AND<br />
BOBERGH, 7 RUE DE LA PAIX AU PREMIERE’.<br />
Unknown (France), Bodice, c.1885 (label detail)<br />
Unknown (France), Bodice, c.1885 (detail)<br />
Worth & Bobergh, Paris, Bodice, 1860s, collection of Martin Kramer<br />
The font and use of gold on white Petersham is thus consistent with<br />
an authentic Worth label. The words ‘Worth and Bobergh’ and<br />
the inclusion of the address, specifically au premiere (the first floor),<br />
suggests that this label was used by Worth during the two years<br />
(1858–60) when he first opened his house in rue de la Paix, before the<br />
Empress Eugenie became his client.<br />
The garment itself is made from black figured cut silk velvet<br />
featuring a rose and fern – motif which during the nineteenth century<br />
represented sorrow and mourning. The bodice lining is constructed<br />
from silk, whilst the sleeves are lined with cotton. The jacket is<br />
fastened at its centre-front by dark blue velvet-covered buttons, and<br />
features internal boning of baleen and metal. The rose and fern motif,<br />
coupled with the black colour of the cloth also suggests that the bodice<br />
could have been worn during the late 1850s and 1860s for mourning.<br />
X-ray of Bodice, c.1885 (detail)<br />
16
Unknown (France), Bodice, c.1885 (interior detail)<br />
Unknown, Australia, Dress, c.1865 (detail of bodice pattern showing no back seam)<br />
Unknown, Australia, Dress, c.1885, (detail of bodice pattern showing centre back seam and peplum)<br />
Unknown, France, Bodice, c.1885 (detail of bodice pattern showing no back seam and peplum addition)<br />
Bodice shows evidence of extensive alterations that resulted from<br />
restyling and refitting, probably executed at intervals between<br />
c.1860 and c.1885. Unfortunately, only traces of hallmark couture<br />
dressmaking techniques are evident due to these extensive alterations.<br />
Conclusion<br />
If the label is authentic, it would have been in use during the initial<br />
two years of Worth and Bobergh’s partnership. During these years,<br />
the Worth establishment was, according to De Marly, ‘far from being a<br />
stately salon’. 7 However, Worth’s clever self-promotion soon attracted<br />
a wealthy and fashionable clientele. Although the bodice has been<br />
extensively altered, traces of styling from c.1860 are evident, as are<br />
alterations that correspond to styling of the mid 1880s. The fabric from<br />
which the bodice is constructed is of very high quality and its colour<br />
was fashionable in the later decades of the century. The rose and fern<br />
motif suggests that the bodice could have been worn for mourning<br />
in the 1860s, and later as a fashionable choice during the 1880s. It is<br />
likely that the garment changed hands several times. The label alone,<br />
and the cloth from which it is constructed, has enough value to have<br />
sustained alterations and wear over twenty-five years.<br />
Whether the label was attached to the bodice at the time of its<br />
manufacture remains indeterminable.<br />
The NGV’s Textile Conservation department would like to thank textile and costume<br />
collector Martin Kamer for his generous advice.<br />
NOTES<br />
1 Olivier Saillard & Anne Zazzo (eds), Paris Haute Couture, Flammarion, Paris, 2013, p. 26.<br />
2 ibid., p. 29.<br />
3 ibid., p. 26.<br />
4 E. A. Coleman, The Opulent Era: Fashions of Worth, Doucet and Pingat, Brooklyn Museum<br />
in association with Thames and Hudson, London, 1989, pp. 32–3.<br />
5 Saillard & Zazzo, p. 31.<br />
6 Diana De Marly, Worth: Father of Haute Couture, Elm Tree Books, London, 1980, p. 39.<br />
7 ibid., p. 34.<br />
17
THE<br />
REAL McCOY<br />
He followed her to a poky parlour furnished with sagging<br />
armchairs, a scarred table and dressmaking paraphernalia.<br />
On a bust, half completed, was a long-sleeved, tight-waisted<br />
woman’s jacket. Byrne went straight to it, the young woman<br />
watching bewilderedly.<br />
Garry Disher<br />
18
Garry Disher<br />
arvellous Smelbourne, thought Detective Byrne, kicking<br />
at a rat and stepping over the alleyway’s sewerage drain.<br />
The rat looked better fed than the Collingwood urchins<br />
who tugged at Byrne’s coat-tails.<br />
‘Who are you, Mister?’<br />
A thin hand crept into his pocket. Byrne swiped it away<br />
and knocked on the warped door to No. 23. A young woman<br />
answered, whispering, ‘Yes, sir?’<br />
Black hair in a French knot, a tense hand clutching her<br />
collar, and quite beautiful, Byrne realised. He removed his hat.<br />
‘Detective Byrne, Mrs McCoy.’<br />
‘Is it about Albert?’<br />
‘May I come in?’<br />
He followed her to a poky parlour furnished with sagging<br />
armchairs, a scarred table and dressmaking paraphernalia. On a<br />
bust, half completed, was a long-sleeved, tight-waisted woman’s<br />
jacket. Byrne went straight to it, the young woman watching<br />
bewilderedly.<br />
‘A poor copy, Mrs McCoy.’<br />
Her puzzlement increased. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’<br />
He opened a wing of cloth to reveal the Worth label. ‘By<br />
representing these as real, you are breaking the law.’<br />
All at sea, she collapsed into a chair. ‘But Albert said we<br />
was licensed.’<br />
‘He lied’, said Byrne gently, eyeing photographs on a<br />
mantelpiece: McCoy the gentleman, a hand on the shoulder of<br />
his seated wife; McCoy the sea captain; McCoy standing guard<br />
over captured Kanakas on board a blackbirding ship.<br />
‘I swear to you, sir, I had no idea …’<br />
She rallied, tilting her lovely face to him. ‘I sewed day and<br />
night so we might have food!’<br />
Byrne nodded. All through the colony factories were closing,<br />
leaving the poorhouses and charities overstretched. He knelt beside her.<br />
‘Tell me where he is, Mrs McCoy, and I’ll see what I can do.’<br />
She clutched him. ‘He has been gone this past week, and not<br />
a word.’<br />
In the wind, thought Byrne, leaving this beautiful creature<br />
behind. He felt an unaccountable desire to embrace her, and<br />
sensed that she might welcome it, in her loneliness and misery.<br />
But he had work to do. ‘If Albert returns, Mrs McCoy, urge<br />
him to turn himself in.’<br />
Unknown, France, Bodice, c.1885<br />
Byrne left the noxious laneways and returned to police headquarters,<br />
passing drunks, ratcatchers and constables evicting tenants behind on<br />
their rent. The Force had been shaken up in the years since the Kelly<br />
Outbreak, but still policemen were expected to do the work of the<br />
moneyed classes. If I were Police Commissioner, Byrne thought …<br />
He reported to his inspector, attended to paperwork and, as<br />
evening fell, headed to Carlton and his lonely room in an Elgin<br />
Street boarding house. But first he called reluctantly at a grand<br />
house in Macarthur Square, where he informed Mr Edmund<br />
Longmire, of the Longmire Emporium, that he’d made progress<br />
in his search for the man who, pretending to be a representative<br />
of a famous French haute couture company, had gone about the<br />
city selling fake Worth jackets.<br />
Longmire, a man composed of expensive cloth, whiskers and<br />
apoplectic cheeks, demanded to know what kind of progress.<br />
‘We know who he is, sir, and will soon have him behind bars.’<br />
Longmire looked down his veiny nose at Byrne. ‘What good is<br />
that to me? I am a laughing stock and out of a hundred pounds.’<br />
Lifting his hat to the man, Byrne left, swearing never to let<br />
Longmire know where Mrs McCoy lived. The thought of those<br />
meaty hands around her fine neck … No, a bully like Longmire<br />
would hire ruffians, he thought.<br />
19
Unknown, Australia, Waistcoat, 1890<br />
bluestone wall, a shotgun resting on his torso. His right thumb<br />
was hooked on the trigger and his face was a mess of bone and torn<br />
flesh. He wore black trousers and jacket over a bright waistcoat with<br />
yellow piping.<br />
Stewart & Co., Melbourne, Australia, 1879–96, No title (Young bearded man), carte-de-visite, 1880s<br />
Three days later the body was found by a child as she walked from<br />
her tenement home, near Queen Victoria Market, to the Pym Shoe<br />
Company in Fitzroy. Running down an alley behind Macarthur<br />
Square in the pre-dawn light, she’d tripped over a pair of legs.<br />
‘I were late for work, sir’, she told Byrne.<br />
She hawked and spat into a grimy rag, which she returned to<br />
her sleeve. Wheezing, trembling, she said, ‘Beg pardon, sir’.<br />
Byrne patted her arm. The girl probably stitched shoe leather<br />
twelve hours a day in poisonous, unventilated air.<br />
‘Just lying there with no face’, she continued, glancing back<br />
shakily, even though Byrne had moved her away from the body,<br />
out onto the Square.<br />
‘You saw no one?’<br />
She shuddered. ‘Only me and him, sir.’<br />
Byrne penned a note to her employer, arranged a cab for the girl<br />
and returned to the body. Albert McCoy sprawled where the shadows<br />
were deepest, his legs splayed on the cobblestones, his spine against a<br />
Beside the body was a sample case spilling Worth jackets and an<br />
album of cartes-de-visite depicting McCoy wearing the same waistcoat.<br />
Each had been printed by Stewart and Co. of Bourke Street, with the<br />
name M. Henri DeSalle written on the back.<br />
Byrne snorted. ‘Albert, Albert …’<br />
Spotting a tuft of white in McCoy’s waistcoat pocket, Byrne<br />
pulled out a sheet of folded paper.<br />
‘To my darling wife’, he read:<br />
‘Pray Forgive me, dear Connie, but I am Burdened by Guilt and Regret<br />
for Deceiving you, Mr Longmire and many others. I have brought Shame to<br />
you and must now put it Right. You are yet Young and will find your way.<br />
I have led a full life. Your loving Husband, Albert.’<br />
Connie, Constance, thought Byrne. He glanced over the wall.<br />
For Albert McCoy to shoot himself dead against Longmire’s back<br />
wall was a gesture either of atonement or contempt. He sighed. He<br />
was obliged to tell Longmire, but would take pleasure in reporting<br />
that no, a hundred pounds had not been found on the corpse.<br />
The next day, still tingling from the sensation of Connie McCoy’s<br />
slender, grieving form clutching him in the viewing room of the<br />
morgue that morning, Byrne attended the autopsy.<br />
‘One Albert Aloysius McCoy’, he told the police surgeon.<br />
The surgeon looked doubtfully at the torn face. ‘If you say so.’<br />
20
A. J. White, London (hatter), Top hat, 1901–04 (detail)<br />
A. J. White, London (hatter), England, Top hat, 1901–04<br />
‘His personal effects attest to that,’ said Byrne, ‘and his widow<br />
identified his remains this morning’.<br />
‘A wife knows her husband’, the surgeon said.<br />
He sniffed the naked torso. ‘Carbolic. This fellow’s been in a<br />
hospital.’<br />
The missing days, thought Byrne. And McCoy did look ill, a<br />
shadow of the man portrayed in his studio photographs. Gaunt,<br />
pale, scarred, with battered hands, the left noticeably larger than<br />
the right.<br />
As if reading Byrne’s mind, the surgeon pointed with a scalpel.<br />
‘Left-handed.’<br />
And so the autopsy proceeded. Bored, queasy, Byrne elected<br />
to sift through McCoy’s belongings. A poor collection for the<br />
widow: the cartes-de-visite, a handkerchief, a sixpence and a small<br />
bottle of Mrs S. A. Allen’s World’s Hair Restorer.<br />
He snorted, examining a carte-de-visite for further evidence of<br />
McCoy’s vanity. A full head of hair, a stout chest, a fine suit and a<br />
cocky pose, right fist deep in a waistcoat pocket.<br />
Just then, Byrne’s skin crept. He swallowed. He peered at<br />
the waistcoat. The right pocket, habitually used by McCoy, was<br />
stretched and shapeless. He checked the hair restorer. It claimed to<br />
‘restore Gray, White, or Faded Hair to its youthful Colour, Gloss<br />
and Beauty’.<br />
Re-joining the surgeon, he asked, ‘This fellow is left-handed?’<br />
‘Indeed.’<br />
‘In poor health?’<br />
‘Inadequate nourishment, hard manual labour, alcohol … I<br />
see it often in destitute men who, at death’s door, are removed to a<br />
rest house by hospitals anxious to avoid the expense of a funeral.’<br />
‘Almost bald.’<br />
‘Lost his hair long ago.’<br />
‘Was he dead before he was shot?’<br />
It was the surgeon’s turn to freeze, shears poised to crunch<br />
open McCoy’s ribcage. ‘An interesting question.’<br />
Byrne hurried back to the Detective Branch where he used the<br />
telephone exchange to call the Port of Melbourne. A coastal tramp had<br />
steamed out of Port Phillip that morning, bound for Sydney; a clipper<br />
would sail for London that afternoon; and various smaller craft would<br />
be coming and going.<br />
Byrne raced out and hailed a cab. Feeling tense, powerless and<br />
bounced about by the carriage, he calmed himself by working out<br />
the stages of the deception. McCoy learns the police are closing<br />
in. A man given to deception, he fakes his own death using one of<br />
the city’s forgotten men. And with no face to aid identification, a<br />
harried policeman might rely on a handful of belongings.<br />
Another outrage for poor Constance.<br />
‘We’re here, Guv’nor’, the cabbie said.<br />
Gulls wheeled and screeched, smokestacks eddied, stevedores<br />
shouted, whistles blew. Spotting the London-bound clipper,<br />
passengers milling at the gangway, Byrne ran, casting about for a<br />
tall, vigorous man who no doubt had changed his appearance.<br />
But what stopped the detective was not McCoy. What stopped<br />
him was a lovely tilted chin glimpsed through the throng, a slender<br />
neck, a pretty cheek tucked against a solid arm. Here was the<br />
final stage of the deception. Gathering himself, Byrne straightened<br />
his tie, buttoned his jacket, removed his pistol and cuffs. ‘Albert<br />
McCoy, I presume?’ he said, confronting the husband, trying not<br />
to show his hurt to the wife.<br />
21
23<br />
The case of<br />
the poisonous<br />
pigment
Examination report<br />
Bronwyn Cosgrove<br />
Case<br />
The case of the poisonous pigment<br />
Item<br />
Daisy and Trellis wallpapers, designed 1864<br />
Summary<br />
In 2003 analysis of a sample of Morris & Co.’s Trellis, wallpaper<br />
by Andy Meharg of the School of Biological Sciences, University<br />
of Aberdeen, Scotland, identified the presence of copper arsenic salt<br />
in the green paint. 1 Morris & Co. wallpapers in the NGV collection<br />
were similarly suspected of containing arsenic compounds. This<br />
investigation set out to prove or disprove the theory.<br />
Background information<br />
Illness or death relating to the abundance of arsenic-based pigments<br />
is a key popular narrative of the nineteenth century. Arsenic-based<br />
green pigments were widely used to dye fabrics and foodstuffs, such<br />
as sweets and desserts, and were also used extensively in paints and<br />
wallpapers. In 1858 an article in The Times estimated that British<br />
homes contained 100 million square miles of arsenic-rich wallpaper,<br />
and that a 100 m2 room might contain 2.5 kg of arsenic. 2<br />
Identification of arsenic-based pigments in William Morris wallpaper<br />
has been a point of discussion as it juxtaposes Morris’s background<br />
as a shareholder in Devon Great Consuls (DGC), a mine that became<br />
the world’s largest source of arsenic, against his utopian socialist ideals.<br />
There is evidence to suggest that Morris was not overly alarmed<br />
about the health risks associated with arsenic in wallpapers. Concerns<br />
advocated by articles in The Lancet during the 1860s and the general<br />
press through the 1870s, most notably an 1875 campaign in The Times<br />
that described DGC as containing enough arsenic to poison the entire<br />
world, seem to have had little impact on the designer. 3 In correspondence<br />
to his dye manufacturer Thomas Wardle in October 1885,<br />
Morris wrote:<br />
As to the arsenic scare, a greater folly is hardly possible to<br />
imagine: the doctors were being bitten by witch fever … It is<br />
too much to prove that the Nicholson family were poisoned by<br />
wallpapers: for if they were a great number of people would<br />
be in the same plight, and we would be sure to hear of it. 4<br />
Morris & Co., London (distributor), William Morris (designer), Jeffrey & Co., London (printer),<br />
Daisy, wallpaper, 1864<br />
Morris & Co., London (distributor), william morris (designer), Phillip Webb (designer), jeffrey &<br />
co., London (printer), Trellis, wallpaper, 1864 (designed)<br />
24
x 1E3 Pulses<br />
5<br />
Calcium<br />
19th century emerald green watercolour pigment<br />
Zinc<br />
Morris & Co Daisy – green leaf<br />
Morris & Co Trellis – green foliage<br />
4<br />
Barium<br />
Barium<br />
Arsenic<br />
Lead<br />
2<br />
Chronium<br />
Copper<br />
Lead<br />
Iron<br />
Zinc<br />
Arsenic<br />
Lead<br />
0<br />
2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16<br />
– keV–<br />
XRF spectra of emerald green pigment (copper arsenite) control against green samples from wallpapers<br />
Process<br />
After visual examination, NGV conservators employed x-ray fluorescence<br />
(XRF), a non-destructive form of analysis that is useful in the<br />
identification of metals, mineral and pigments, to identify the presence of<br />
arsenic in each object. XRF utilises a beam of radiation to force changes<br />
in the sample at an atomic level. These changes result in the release of<br />
secondary x-rays, the energies of which are characteristic of individual<br />
elements, and can be used to identify elements present in a sample.<br />
Evidence<br />
In contradiction to the analysis carried out by Professor Meharg, XRF<br />
analysis of the NGV Daisy and Trellis wallpapers did not indicate the<br />
presence of arsenic-based green pigments. Trellis is Morris’s earliest<br />
wallpaper pattern and one of his most popular. Registered in 1864,<br />
printing for both wallpapers was contracted to Jeffrey & Co., London.<br />
Printed with wood blocks and distemper – a mixture of pigment,<br />
animal glue and whiting (calcium carbonate) – the wallpapers’<br />
patterned areas are thick and have a chalky surface. Jeffrey & Co.<br />
continued to print for Morris & Co. until 1927, when work was taken<br />
over by Arthur Sanderson & Sons. 5<br />
The absence of arsenic in the NGV samples could be attributable<br />
to a difference in the pigments used in different colour ways, or it<br />
could be explained by the fact that Morris & Co. discontinued the<br />
use of arsenic-based green pigments in 1883, replacing them with less<br />
toxic green pigments 7 . The presence of chromium in the spectra may<br />
indicate the use of the green pigment chrome oxide. That arsenic is<br />
not present in XRF spectra for the NGV samples could indicate that<br />
both wallpapers were produced after this date.<br />
Conclusion<br />
As arsenic is not present, these wallpapers would not have evolved<br />
volatile poisons in damp circumstances, however it is interesting to<br />
note the presence of lead, possibly in the form of lead oxide: a white<br />
pigment that may have been employed to create a pale shade of green.<br />
Due to its wide use in paints, lead has taken on the mantle of the<br />
domestic interior poison of the twentieth century.<br />
NGV Conservator undertaking XRF analysis<br />
I would like to express my thanks to Deb Lau, CSIRO, and Michael Varcoe-Cocks,<br />
Head of Conservation, NGV, for their assistance with this project.<br />
Notes<br />
1 Andy Meharg, ‘The arsenic green’, Nature, vol. 432, no. 688.<br />
2 Paul Bartrip, ‘How green was my valance?: environmental arsenic poisoning and the Victorian domestic ideal’, The<br />
English Historical Review, vol.109,issue 433, September 1994, p.904<br />
3 Patrick O’Sullivan, ‘William Morris and arsenic – guilty, or not proven? ’, William Morris Society Newsletter, 2012, p. 12.<br />
4 Norman Kelvin, The Collected Letters of William Morris, vol. 2, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, pp. 463-4.<br />
5 LesleyHoskins, ‘Wallpaper’, in Linda Parry, William Morris, Philip Wilson Publishers in association with The Victoria<br />
and Albert Museum, London, pp. 198–223.<br />
6 O’Sullivan, p. 12.<br />
25
THE<br />
BEQUEST<br />
If your lodgings are not to your liking, sir, then depart.<br />
But allow me to remind you that the terms of Millicent’s<br />
bequest were unambiguous.<br />
Sulari Gentill
Sulari Gentill<br />
eginald Kane was untroubled as he stepped through<br />
the doorway of the very room in which she’d taken her<br />
life. It was, after all, just a room. He did not quail at the<br />
indelible bloodstains on the wall, but rather studied the<br />
grim splatter with an unseemly scientific curiosity.<br />
‘I shall take the rooms down the hallway.’ Edward Mayfield’s<br />
voice was cold, chilled with an unveiled contempt for the callous<br />
blackguard to whom he was about to hand the keys<br />
to his sister’s house.<br />
‘Very well.’ Kane rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked<br />
in the pockets of his waistcoat. He considered the room itself. It<br />
was easily the best in the house, generously proportioned with a<br />
rather pleasant outlook over the rose gardens. The plasterwork<br />
on the ceiling was in excellent condition despite evidence of rising<br />
damp, and the walls … well, they could be papered. He shook<br />
his head. Poor Millicent – fragile, desperate girl. How carefully<br />
she had planned her melodramatic revenge, convinced that this<br />
room would conjure some torment on her behalf. He might<br />
have laughed if not for Edward Mayfield. ‘You’ll organise for the<br />
room to be decorated, I presume?’ he asked, tapping the soiled<br />
paintwork with the silver pistol-grip of his walking stick.<br />
‘Yes.’ Edward could barely look at the man. The vain peacock<br />
who called himself learned. Millie’s murderer. Millie’s heir.<br />
‘I shall send you some swatches.’ Kane inspected the French<br />
lace curtains disdainfully. ‘I’m afraid Millicent will not be<br />
remembered for her good taste.’<br />
Edward’s jaw tensed, his dark eyes flashing dangerously as<br />
he looked Kane up and down. Millie’s bloody blue-eyed prince.<br />
‘Quite’, he said, but nothing more. His sister’s wishes had been<br />
clear and Edward was determined to fulfil this last duty. Under<br />
his wardenship Reginald Kane would serve the sentence Millicent<br />
had, in her despair, died to impose.<br />
Kane smiled. He knew well that Edward Mayfield loathed<br />
him, blamed him for a madwoman’s decision to destroy herself.<br />
Kane shook his head: the grieving fool was conspiring with his<br />
dead sister to punish the man who’d disappointed her. The whole<br />
family was insane.<br />
‘I say, Mayfield old chap, can’t we simply come to an<br />
understanding?’ he suggested. ‘Surely you have places you’d<br />
rather be? Surely there are debutantes in Melbourne who’d be<br />
more welcoming of your attentions than I?’<br />
Edward flared, grief and fury suddenly unguarded on his<br />
face. ‘Do not think I will tire of my charge, Kane. Sleep a single<br />
night outside that room and I will be here to know, to deny you<br />
one more penny of Millicent’s fortune!’<br />
Kane rolled his eyes. He was a man of science who no more<br />
believed in spirits than in fairies. He’d happily sleep a year in<br />
this room to inherit the estate and, he expected, he would sleep<br />
quite well.<br />
The wallpaper was imported, a William Morris design in Scheele’s<br />
green. It buried all signs of damp, and Millicent, beneath a pattern of<br />
clumped daisies. The effect was cheerful without being too feminine.<br />
Morris & Co., London (distributor), William Morris (designer), Jeffrey & Co., London (printer),<br />
Daisy, wallpaper, 1864<br />
The colour had not been Kane’s first preference, but he liked it rather<br />
well. Edward Mayfield, it seemed, had the kind of refined taste that<br />
had eluded his dreary sister.<br />
The once-struggling schoolteacher surveyed the bedchamber<br />
as he loosened his cravat. The fire was lit, the warm, merry<br />
movement of the flames casting the room in gentle light. The<br />
furniture was new and of a quality befitting his recent social<br />
elevation. With a deep sigh of contentment, Kane inspected the<br />
tall cedar chest of drawers, charmingly lined with wallpaper<br />
remnants. Every detail of his windfall was exquisite. A servant<br />
had laid out his nightclothes on the bed and placed a balloon of<br />
brandy on the side table by his armchair. Smiling, Kane hung<br />
his jacket on the mahogany dumb valet. If he’d known Millicent<br />
possessed such a fortune he might have agreed to marry her and<br />
given that pompous headmaster his notice months ago.<br />
No matter. It had all worked out rather well anyway.<br />
It was a month before Reginald Kane came to be less self-satisfied<br />
with his good fortune, and another before he began to suspect he was<br />
being poisoned. Initially he’d dismissed the abdominal cramps and<br />
breathlessness as passing maladies that a man was bound to contract<br />
from time to time. Perhaps he’d been indulging too heartily in the rich<br />
food and plentiful whisky to which his new address gave him access?<br />
So, he asked for simple suppers and drank only with his meals.<br />
With no improvement, however, he wondered if Edward<br />
Mayfield’s dour presence was having an effect on his digestion.<br />
Surely the man’s vindictive demeanour was sufficient to curdle<br />
the contents of any gut? And so the erstwhile schoolteacher took<br />
27
to dining alone in his room. Still the pains continued and seemed,<br />
indeed, to become more severe.<br />
It was then that Kane became frightened. Was Mayfield<br />
poisoning him, lacing his meals with some evil toxin? He<br />
considered now whether he’d been too blithe in taking up<br />
residence with mad Millicent’s brother. Was the scoundrel plotting<br />
to avenge his sister with murder?<br />
Kane fed his next meal to Mayfield’s beagle, but the<br />
hound showed no ill effects at all. Neither did the cat, nor the<br />
cook’s young son to whom he gave the pudding. Despite this,<br />
Kane began to dine at his gentlemen’s club, carefully avoiding<br />
any consumption that Edward Mayfield may have had the<br />
opportunity to contaminate. And for a time his constitution<br />
seemed restored, but the rally was short-lived and his health<br />
proceeded, once again, to decline.<br />
Edward Mayfield observed his breakfast companion from behind<br />
The Argus. Kane was, as always, immaculately groomed, but his eyes<br />
were sunken and shadowed in a face that was sickly pale. He touched<br />
neither food nor drink, nervously arranging and rearranging his cutlery<br />
instead. ‘How did you sleep, Mr Kane?’ Edward asked with practised<br />
civility.<br />
Kane regarded him sharply, suspiciously. ‘Is it your intention<br />
to exhaust my reason, Mayfield? Is that what you are doing, sir?’<br />
Edward’s brow rose. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,<br />
Mr Kane. I do not recall making any demands on your ability to<br />
reason. Indeed, I have kept our conversations as simple as I can<br />
manage in deference to your abilities.’<br />
‘You know exactly what I mean!’ Kane spat. ‘What tricks<br />
have you employed to keep me from sleep? This unrelenting<br />
illness that will not leave me be ...’ He stopped to cough, wincing<br />
when the paroxysms finally abated. ‘Let me tell you now,<br />
Mayfield,’ he spluttered, ‘you will not oust me with schoolboy<br />
pranks!’<br />
Edward went back to his paper. ‘What exactly is your<br />
complaint, Mr Kane?’<br />
‘I am disturbed at night …’ Kane faltered.<br />
‘Perhaps that’s your conscience.’<br />
‘My conscience is untroubled, Mayfield! Your sister’s death<br />
was nothing to do with me.’<br />
‘Is that so?’ Edward slammed down his newspaper. ‘You<br />
wooed her, lied to her, seduced her with your intellectual<br />
gibberish and then, when she could see no future but you, you<br />
ruined and discarded her so callously that she turned a shotgun<br />
upon herself in a manner that denied her and her family even the<br />
solace of a Christian burial!’<br />
Kane coughed again. Edward waited until he’d stopped. ‘If<br />
your lodgings are not to your liking, sir, then depart. But allow<br />
me to remind you that the terms of Millicent’s bequest were<br />
unambiguous. You’ll inherit nothing unless you sleep a year in the<br />
room in which she died!’<br />
Kane blanched. His debts had accrued at an alarming rate<br />
over the past months – meals at the club, not to mention dues,<br />
carriages, acquisitions of fine new clothes to suit his station,<br />
champagne. Without Millicent’s legacy he would be bankrupted.<br />
So he said nothing.<br />
‘If you are ill I will send for a doctor’, Edward Mayfield<br />
offered darkly.<br />
‘I, sir, will retain my own’, Kane wheezed.<br />
‘As you wish, Mr Kane’, Edward replied. ‘Though a priest<br />
might be of more use.’<br />
‘A priest? Do you threaten me, Mayfield?’<br />
‘I simply suggest that your haunted conscience may be more<br />
appropriately treated by a man of the cloth.’<br />
Dr Arthur Carrington was a fellow member of Reginald Kane’s club.<br />
They were friends of a sort. Carrington’s manner befitted the easy<br />
expansiveness of his stature, and his company was of great comfort to<br />
his troubled patient. He laughed at the notion that Kane’s illness was<br />
caused by some spiritual cause. ‘My dear fellow, I do not believe in<br />
curses. You will find that simple treatable disease is the cause of your<br />
current troubles.’<br />
The physician then set about to address Kane’s symptoms with<br />
medical science. He diagnosed diphtheria and instructed that the<br />
windows be closed and the fire stoked. Under his orders a vaporiser<br />
was installed and the stricken schoolteacher confined to bed.<br />
Reginald Kane lay back on the soft pillows, relieved,<br />
comforted by the certainty of modern medicine. The kerosene<br />
flame of the vaporiser burned, releasing steam continuously from<br />
its place in the corner, and the air soon became warm and moist.<br />
The now familiar hacking cough seized him again. Carrington<br />
had given him a draught to help him sleep. For some reason<br />
unknown, Kane thought of Millicent as he drifted finally into the<br />
arms of Morpheus.<br />
When the door was forced, Edward Mayfield allowed the constables<br />
to enter first. The room was uncomfortably close, and what air<br />
remained in it was damp. The walls dripped. It was probably this<br />
which had swelled the timbers of the doorjamb and sealed the<br />
bedchamber like a crypt.<br />
Edward held a handkerchief to his face against the odour – a<br />
peculiar, mousey smell – as he examined the ruins of the room. It<br />
appeared Kane had been trying to refill the vaporiser when he’d<br />
succumbed. The schoolteacher’s gaze was fixed in death upon<br />
a single panel where condensation had completely peeled the<br />
fashionable green wallpaper away. Exposed to the moisture, the<br />
stain of Millicent Mayfield’s blood had brightened and spread.<br />
And Reginald Kane lay twisted on the floor, his lips as blue as the<br />
eyes which had once held Millicent in thrall.<br />
28
29<br />
The secret in<br />
the doll’s dress
Examination report<br />
Kate Douglas<br />
Case<br />
The secret in the doll’s dress<br />
Item<br />
Doll’s dress, c.1865<br />
Summary<br />
During the conservation condition assessment of this Victorian<br />
doll’s dress in 2006, it was noted that damage had caused two<br />
small sections of paper containing text (one handwritten, one<br />
printed) to become visible, indicating the existence of paper<br />
templates beneath the silk. The location of this text was recorded,<br />
the area photographed and the paper templates subsequently hidden<br />
by conservation repairs. In preparation for Fashion Detective analysis<br />
was carried out by textile conservators at the National Gallery of<br />
Victoria to determine if it was possible to ‘read’ what was written<br />
on these hidden paper templates.<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865 (detail of handwritten text taken during conservation assessment<br />
in 2006)<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865 (detail of printed text taken during conservation assessment in 2006)<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865<br />
Background information<br />
The maker of the doll’s dress used the traditional quilting method<br />
of English paper piecing when hand-stitching the dress. This method<br />
involves folding and basting a variety of silk fabrics around tiny<br />
diamond-shaped paper templates. The silk patches were then sewn<br />
together using fine whipstitches. Quilts made using this method often<br />
have the paper templates left in place, leading scholars to believe they<br />
were an intrinsic part of the quilts’ layering used to provide strength<br />
and warmth. 1 In support of this, analysis of historic quilts shows that<br />
when paper piecing wore out, it was sometimes replaced. 2<br />
Unknown, Australia/England, Patchwork cover, c.1890 (detail of the intact paper template, visible at back<br />
of quilt)<br />
The maker of the doll’s dress used the tumbling block quilt pattern,<br />
which was extremely popular in Britain at this time not only for<br />
making quilts, but also for producing small decorative items. 3 Another<br />
example of Victorian quilting in this exhibition is Patchwork Cover,<br />
c.1890, which was also made using tumbling block and paper piecing.<br />
Unlike the doll’s dress, which is fully lined, this quilt no longer<br />
has a lining and almost all of its templates are missing. Some small<br />
paper fragments, however, remain in seams, as well as one complete<br />
template with handwritten script.<br />
30
In the nineteenth century paper was an expensive commodity, and it<br />
was common practice for even the wealthiest households to re-use it.<br />
Because of the paper’s previous use, paper templates remaining within<br />
examples of patchwork can provide information regarding dates and<br />
sometimes a geographical location for the work. Papers found in other<br />
English quilts from this period have been recycled from ephemeral<br />
materials, such as school exercise books, ledgers, advertisements,<br />
newspapers and receipts. 4<br />
Process<br />
With the help of the NGV’s Photographic Services department, it<br />
was suggested that perhaps the best chance of ‘reading’ the paper was<br />
to transmit light through the doll’s dress, in the hope that this would<br />
show any dark areas of ink beneath the silk. The dress was carefully<br />
suspended so that light could shine through one side at a time. A<br />
photographic flash was positioned on one side of the dress, and the<br />
camera on the other to record the light shining through. The flash was<br />
set so that it was powerful enough to penetrate through the multiple<br />
layers of fabric, as well as the paper in between.<br />
This technique was also trialled in infra-red to see if it improved the<br />
readability of the text. An infra-red sensitive camera was used with an<br />
infra-red pass filter over the lens to block visible light. This particularly<br />
enhanced the readability of the typeset words, but not the handwriting.<br />
The transmitted light was strong enough to show a faint glow<br />
through the silk patches, and a few dark smudges became visible on<br />
the monitor. The camera focus was painstakingly adjusted through<br />
the various layers until the camera was focused on the paper layer.<br />
A number of eerie-looking printed and handwritten words became<br />
visible, clearly showing that a large number of the paper templates<br />
had been recycled from printed material.<br />
Transmitted light photograph in infra-red revealing the word ‘presence’ printed in letterpress<br />
Evidence<br />
Transmitted light photograph in infra-red revealing the word ‘GUILD’ printed in letterpress<br />
The printed characters are likely to be letterpress, a relief printing<br />
technique commonly used in the nineteenth century that may leave an<br />
indentation on paper. They are clearly defined, and perhaps a slight<br />
impression can be discerned from the initial photograph. The type<br />
is serif, with pronounced contrast between its thick and thin lines.<br />
Unfortunately the typeface could not be identified from the images.<br />
Some of the printed words are clearly discernible, such as the words<br />
‘GUILD’ and ‘Presence’. Other words are only partially readable.<br />
However, with uncanny convenience the date ‘1859’ can be clearly<br />
read on one of the printed paper templates. The typematter does<br />
Transmitted light photograph in infra-red revealing the date ‘1859’<br />
not seem dense enough to be a newspaper column – but this is a<br />
subjective assumption. The printed characters are more likely to be<br />
from another ephemeral source, such as an advertising flyer which<br />
might include a current date.<br />
31
Transmitted light photograph showing copperplate handwritting<br />
X-ray showing construction details including basting stitches, folds of silk patches and paper patches<br />
Many of the handwritten words could only be partially read: the text<br />
is quite large, is often fragmented and the ink is less dense than that<br />
of the printed words. The style is clearly copperplate, a neat round<br />
handwriting meticulously learnt by children in Victorian times, which<br />
is slanted and looped with thick and thin strokes created by differing<br />
pressures produced by the flexible metal pointed nib of a dip pen.<br />
Although it was not expected that x-radiology would differentiate<br />
between the carbon of the printing ink and the other materials in the<br />
dress, it was hoped that the differences in paper thickness created from<br />
the impression of the letterpress would reveal the text. This was not<br />
the case, but the x-ray does provide valuable information about the<br />
structure of the dress, including its basting stitches, folds of silk patches<br />
and the condition of the paper patches beneath. The x-ray indicates<br />
that the paper shows signs of wear but, after approximately 150 years,<br />
has not broken down as much as would be expected of groundwood<br />
newsprint, indicating that the paper was of good quality, which is<br />
typical of paper from the middle part of the nineteenth century.<br />
Thank you: John Payne, Senior Conservator, Painting, NGV (x-radiography);<br />
Narelle Wilson, Photographer, NGV (infra-red photography); David Harris,<br />
Paper Conservator, State Library of Victoria, Melbourne (advice on paper and typeface).<br />
NOTES<br />
1 Joanne Hackett, ‘X-radiography as a tool to examine the making and remaking of historic quilts’, V&A, ,<br />
accessed 1 March 2014.<br />
2 Sue Pritchford (ed.), Quilts 1700–1945, Queensland Art Gallery, Brisbane, and Victoria and Albert Museum, London,<br />
2013, p. 134.<br />
3 Jenny Manning, Australia’s Quilts: A Directory of Patchwork Treasures, AQD Press, Sydney, p. 198.<br />
4 Pritchford, p. 134.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Transmitted light and infra-red analysis revealed that many of the paper<br />
templates inside the doll’s dress contained printed words produced by<br />
both letterpress and copperplate techniques. We were fortunate to find<br />
the printed date of 1859 among a collection of words, which supports<br />
the catalogue dating of c.1865 and shows that the dress is unlikely to<br />
have been made before 1859. It is unknown, however, how long the<br />
dress took to make or how long the paper was stored before cutting<br />
into templates. This research has added a valuable layer of information<br />
about hidden components of the doll’s dress.<br />
32
PAPER<br />
PIECING<br />
It is exquisite. Pieced all over in thousands of little diamonds, each one perfectly<br />
pointed and embroidered with flowers. The dress shimmers with all the colours<br />
of the rainbow. It glows in the dullness of the cottage. Kitty can barely breathe.<br />
She lifts it gently from the box. The fabric is butter-soft, and whispers like silk.<br />
Lili Wilkinson
Lili Wilkinson<br />
xcuse me? Is anyone home?’<br />
The cottage is small and cramped and smells of mildew.<br />
A few coals glow in the hearth. Kitty removes her bonnet<br />
and shakes the rain from it. Curls cling to her cheeks like<br />
clammy weeds. She shivers and moves closer to the fire, where two<br />
ancient armchairs crouch on the hearth.<br />
For a moment Kitty thinks she’s alone, but something moves<br />
in the shadows and she sees the old woman, sitting in one of the<br />
armchairs. Gnarled and twisted like an old branch, the woman<br />
might have been sitting there forever. It’s impossible to tell where<br />
the armchair ends and where the woman begins. Milky eyes<br />
blink. Paper-dry skin sinks into a toothless mouth. The only signs<br />
of life are the faltering movements of her twisted fingers, fumbling<br />
and catching as she pushes an ancient needle through scraps of<br />
fabric and newspaper, snipped carefully into tiny diamond shapes.<br />
‘I’m so sorry’, says Kitty, taking a step backwards. ‘I didn’t<br />
realise anyone was home. I got caught in the rain, you see …’<br />
The old woman’s claw-like fingers grope and clutch at the<br />
needle and thread. Her breathing is ragged, with a deep, chesty<br />
whistle. Kitty glances around at the dark corners of the cottage<br />
and sees decades of dust and dry leaves.<br />
‘I didn’t know someone lived up here’, she says.<br />
Kitty wonders if Ruth ever came to this place, if she ever met<br />
this woman. Maybe this woman was the last person to see Ruth<br />
alive? Looks like it has been a long while since the old woman has<br />
seen anything, but still …<br />
‘She was my cousin’, says Kitty, stepping towards the woman<br />
as she fumbles in her reticule. The newspaper clipping is a little<br />
damp from the rain. Kitty slides it into the old woman’s hands,<br />
the black ink headline shrieking familiar words:<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865<br />
SEARCH FAILS TO RECOVER MISSING GIRL<br />
The woman’s fingers brush over the newsprint and slowly,<br />
creakily, she pushes the paper into her basket, where it joins the<br />
diamond-shaped scraps.<br />
‘I’m sorry’, says Kitty. ‘I really didn’t mean to disturb you.<br />
I just … they never found her, you see. And I just can’t help<br />
wondering.’<br />
The rain pounds on the roof of the little cottage. Kitty shivers.<br />
She doesn’t want to go back out there. She looks around for a<br />
coal scuttle or a woodpile to build the fire up, but there is nothing.<br />
She holds out her hands to the few dying embers. Her wet clothes<br />
are sticking to her skin. She glances at the old woman.<br />
‘Do you even know I’m here?’ asks Kitty, half to herself.<br />
The old woman laboriously pulls the needle and thread through<br />
a tiny scrap of blue cloth. It is sky blue. Ruth used to wear a hat<br />
with ribbons that colour. Kitty can see them bouncing above yellow<br />
woven straw and chestnut curls as Ruth races through waist-high<br />
summer grass, shrieking at some game or other.<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865<br />
Kitty blows on her hands to warm them. She has to get out<br />
of her wet clothes. She shrugs off her waterlogged jacket and<br />
taffeta dress, letting them slop to the floor. She removes two wet<br />
petticoats and then, with a sideways glance at the old woman,<br />
unties the ribbons supporting her crinoline, and steps out of it,<br />
like a bird released from a cage. She unlaces her boots, unhooks<br />
her ruined silk stockings from their garters and peels them off.<br />
Underneath, her toes are blue-white from cold. With stiff fingers<br />
she pulls at the ribbons of her corset, and it joins the rest of her<br />
garments on the floor in a soggy heap, the white muslin and<br />
cotton turned grey from mud and water.<br />
34
It is a perfect fit. It requires no whalebone corset or steel<br />
skirt hoops. She doesn’t have to mould her body to fit the<br />
dress – the dress fits her. It clings and shapes in all the right<br />
places. It whispers to her like the wind blowing through summer<br />
branches. It smells of waist-high grass and warm breezes.<br />
Thunder rumbles overhead again. Kitty pulls the unoccupied<br />
armchair closer to the fire and sinks into it. She isn’t cold<br />
anymore. The dress, light and airy as it is, is keeping her warm.<br />
‘I’ll just sit here for a moment’, she says to the old woman,<br />
curling her bare feet underneath her and resting her head on the<br />
back of the chair. ‘While my own things dry. Then I’ll take it off<br />
and go home.’<br />
Standing in her chemise and drawers, Kitty feels smaller,<br />
more vulnerable without her layers of cloth, leather, whalebone<br />
and steel. She casts around for a shawl or a blanket, and for a<br />
moment the old woman shifts in her chair, her head tilting so<br />
slightly that Kitty wonders if she imagined it. She looks in the<br />
direction that the old woman seems to be indicating, and spies<br />
an old chest gathering dust in a corner. As her icy fingers fumble<br />
with the catch she has a sudden burst of sympathy for the old<br />
woman, grasping at her needle. But her sympathies are soon<br />
forgotten, because in the chest is a dress.<br />
It is exquisite. Pieced all over in thousands of little diamonds,<br />
each one perfectly pointed and embroidered with flowers. The<br />
dress shimmers with all the colours of the rainbow. It glows in the<br />
dullness of the cottage. Kitty can barely breathe. She lifts it gently<br />
from the box. The fabric is butter-soft, and whispers like silk.<br />
‘Did you make this?’ she asks the old woman.<br />
Kitty holds the dress up against her body. It clings to her,<br />
wrapping itself around her curves like a warm, whispering<br />
embrace.<br />
For a moment, everything else goes away. The pounding<br />
rain, the whistling breaths of the old woman. There is just silence<br />
and stillness. Then a great crash of thunder shakes the walls of<br />
the cottage. Kitty looks up and sees that it is growing dark. Her<br />
thumb brushes over the intricately embroidered bodice of the<br />
dress. She should put it back. She should pull on her own, wet,<br />
clammy dress and brave the rain. Her parents will be worried.<br />
And they have good reason to be, after what happened to Ruth so<br />
many years ago.<br />
Kitty bends over to put the dress back in the chest, but finds<br />
that she can’t quite bring herself to let it go. She glances over at<br />
the old woman, who, for the first time since Kitty’s arrival, stops<br />
sewing. It’s as if the cottage itself is holding its breath. Kitty finds<br />
her gaze dragged back to the dress, and her bottom lip catches<br />
between her teeth.<br />
When she awakes a few hours later it is truly dark. The fire hasn’t<br />
died yet and it casts a dim, flickering light around the cottage. Kitty<br />
feels fuzzy-headed from sleep. Her feet are numb from being curled<br />
underneath her. The old woman is still sewing. Kitty sees now that<br />
she is piecing together tiny diamonds, creating a miniature version of<br />
the dress she is wearing.<br />
‘Did you ever wear it?’ she asks, smoothing a hand over her<br />
skirts. ‘It must have been long ago.’<br />
The woman reaches for another scrap of cloth, pinching<br />
it around a diamond-shaped scrap of newsprint. The woman’s<br />
whistling breath sets the steady rhythm of her sewing. She seems<br />
to have sped up a little, her movements no longer quite as shaky.<br />
‘I should get up’, Kitty murmurs drowsily, her eyelids starting<br />
to sink. ‘I really should go home.’ But she can’t stop her eyes<br />
from closing.<br />
When Kitty wakes the second time, she thinks that the storm has<br />
ended. But then a flash of lightning illuminates the room and she<br />
can see driving sheets of rain through the thick little window. She<br />
just can’t hear the rain any more. A sting of panic pricks icy holes in<br />
Kitty’s belly, and she glances over to the other armchair, where the old<br />
woman is still sewing. Kitty can’t hear her whistling breath any more,<br />
but the panic has stilled, replaced with a kind of drowsy fascination.<br />
Just for a moment …<br />
Just to see how it feels …<br />
She pulls the dress over her head, and with fast fingers does<br />
up the tiny cloth-covered buttons. The woman resumes her sewing.<br />
Unknown, England, Doll’s dress, c.1865 (detail of printed text from a photograph taken in 2006)<br />
35
The miniature dress is taking shape – it has a bodice and<br />
skirt that exactly matches the one Kitty is wearing. And it isn’t<br />
just limp fabric either. It is beginning to bulge and swell. The old<br />
woman must also be sewing a doll to wear the dress, building it<br />
up as she goes.<br />
Another flash of lightning, and Kitty wonders sleepily why<br />
she can’t seem to hear anything anymore.<br />
‘Am I dreaming?’ she murmurs, and her voice sounds like it’s<br />
coming from a long way away.<br />
As she speaks, the old woman stops stitching for a moment.<br />
Kitty blinks.<br />
‘Did you hear me?’ she says.<br />
The old woman’s paper-thin lips suck inward over her gums,<br />
then she blinks her milky eyes and resumes her sewing.<br />
The fire is blazing when Kitty awakens for the third time. The room<br />
is illuminated and the old woman is bent over her work, the needle<br />
flying in and out of the fabric. The doll has arms and legs now, and a<br />
head with yellow woollen hair. In the light of the fire, Kitty can see the<br />
diamond-shaped scraps of newsprint more clearly, can even read some<br />
of the words:<br />
Maisie Gummer<br />
missing<br />
Elizabeth Finch<br />
Harriet Larkin<br />
unable to recover<br />
girl of fourteen<br />
Bessie Smythe<br />
searched in vain<br />
Some of the newspaper diamonds look old. Very old.<br />
A flash of gold glints on the old woman’s finger as she reaches<br />
for a scrap of yellow fabric. She is wearing a ring, a simple thing<br />
set with a single ruby. Kitty has seen it before.<br />
That ring, she wants to say … That ring belonged to my<br />
cousin Ruth.<br />
But when she opens her mouth to say it, nothing comes out<br />
but croaks and wheezes. Maybe she has caught a chill. The old<br />
woman – is she so old, after all? – places careful stitches on the<br />
doll’s face – a pretty, bow-shaped mouth under an elegant nose.<br />
Who are you, Kitty tries to say. What did you do to Ruth?<br />
What are you doing to me?<br />
The woman’s mouth forms the shape of words, but Kitty<br />
can’t hear.<br />
For a fourth and final time, Kitty opens her eyes. She blinks heavily,<br />
trying to shake sleep away. The hut blurs around the edges. Once<br />
more, Kitty tries to rise from the chair, but she cannot move at all.<br />
Coloured fabric flashes before her and she sees that the woman has<br />
somehow exchanged clothes with her during the night. Now it is she<br />
who is wearing the beautiful coloured dress, and Kitty is just wearing<br />
rags.<br />
The woman’s red lips curl in a smile as she makes another<br />
stitch.<br />
It’s getting harder for Kitty to open her eyes after each blink.<br />
Stitch.<br />
Kitty sees the doll in her coloured dress, red bow mouth<br />
pursed shut. The woman is placing the last few stitches, the doll’s<br />
piercing blue eyes and dark lashes.<br />
Stitch.<br />
The woman glances at Kitty with eyes that are the same<br />
precise shade of blue.<br />
Stitch.<br />
The woman rises from her chair with a single graceful, fluid<br />
movement. Kitty’s sight grows dim. The last thing she sees is the<br />
woman move towards her. Then everything is milky grey and,<br />
no matter how many times she blinks, Kitty can’t see anything.<br />
She feels the doll pressed into her hands and, as she grips it, the<br />
stitches come undone and the doll collapses into tiny scraps of<br />
fabric and paper.<br />
Kitty feels the faint brushing of air as the woman passes her.<br />
Muscles creaking and aching, she manages to move her hand.<br />
She reaches out, groping until her paper-dry skin brushes the<br />
cool steel of a needle. She grasps it with twisted fingers, and with<br />
her other hand reaches for a tiny piece of fabric and a diamondshaped<br />
scrap of newspaper.<br />
Stitch.<br />
36
37<br />
The case<br />
of the<br />
fraudulent<br />
fur
Examination report<br />
Kate Douglas<br />
Case<br />
The case of the fraudulent fur<br />
Item<br />
Muff, c.1920<br />
Summary<br />
This 1920s muff from the National Gallery of Victoria’s collection<br />
had the appearance of being made from a mink, with the paws and<br />
head intact. Analysis was carried out by NGV textile conservators<br />
to determine what animal the fur came from, and some surprising<br />
information was uncovered about the animal’s identity.<br />
Background information<br />
There is a long history of cheaper furs being altered by a variety of<br />
techniques during processing to replicate more expensive and rare<br />
furs but this was particularly prevalent in the 1920s. The popularity<br />
of fur in this period, coupled with the shortage of the rarer and more<br />
valuable furs, meant that quality furs were in short supply. An effective<br />
means of relieving this shortage was the dyeing of cheaper skins to<br />
replicate scarcer furs. Obviously in doing this the financial reward was<br />
also huge. This activity is described neatly in a quote by William E.<br />
Austin, consulting chemist to the American fur industry, in 1922:<br />
There are many animals among the more common and more<br />
easily obtainable ones, whose skins are admirably suited as<br />
the basis of imitations of the more costly furs. Some of the<br />
furs which are adapted for purposes of dyeing imitations are<br />
… red fox, rabbit, hare, muskrat … and imitations made of<br />
mink, sable, marten, skunk … And indeed there are very few<br />
valuable furs which have not been dyed on cheaper pelts. 1<br />
Process<br />
To determine the structure of the muff, it was studied by the<br />
NGV Textile Conservation department using visual observation<br />
and x-radiography. The micro-morphology of the fur fibres were<br />
then analysed using an optical microscope and Scanning Electron<br />
Microscope (SEM). Finally, because of the complexities of identifying<br />
furs, an expert in fur identification was used to confirm the findings.<br />
Unknown, Muff, c.1920<br />
X-ray showing the hand-stitched seams between fur pelts, constructed legs, dome support inside<br />
the head and the metal wire holding the glass eyes in place.<br />
38
Evidence<br />
On examination it can be seen that the fur on the muff is thick, shiny<br />
and fine, and the pelt is an even black colour from skin to tip, apart<br />
from the fur on the head and legs which is black with a red undertone.<br />
This uniformity of colour raises the possibility that the fur has been<br />
heavily dyed, as animals which have black pelts tend towards a<br />
brownish shade of black with subtle variations in colour nearer the<br />
skin. 2<br />
X-radiography revealed that the ‘mink’ on the muff is actually a<br />
construction made from several pelts of animal fur, with the main<br />
body of the muff constructed from three sections, stitched together<br />
with two invisible joins along the length of the object. The head and<br />
two paws are attached separately. The x-ray taken of the muff clearly<br />
showed the seams between all pieces. In addition, it was revealed that<br />
the head contains a dome, giving it form and structure, and that the<br />
glass eyes are held together inside the head with a material whose radio<br />
opacity suggests it is metallic wire. The paws are tubes of seamed pelts,<br />
unfinished at the ends, and the nose and ears are stitched in place.<br />
A few individual hairs were removed from the muff and examined<br />
using an optical microscope, with three distinct types of fur discovered:<br />
fine, intermediate and coarse. The intermediate fibres have a distinct<br />
ladder-like appearance in the medulla (the central portion of the fibre).<br />
This appears as evenly spaced, dark patches arranged as a single<br />
series. The medulla of the guard fur, by contrast, has a very fine<br />
granular texture. Although these observations narrowed down the<br />
possible fur suspects, a number of animals, including cat, mink and<br />
opossum, possess similar identifiers.<br />
Fine, immediate and coarse fibres viewed through an optical microscope (whole mount, 400x<br />
magnification)<br />
Detail of the constructed head on the muff<br />
Fine mink fibres viewed through an optical microscope (whole mount, 400x magnification)<br />
Scale casts were made to further differentiate between these fibres. The<br />
process revealed a distinctive, overlapping diamond petal scale pattern<br />
on the mid-length of the intermediate fibre and base of the coarse<br />
fibre, with waved mosaic patterns at both tips. This information gave<br />
a match for fox but not for mink, which, though similar at the tip, has<br />
lanceolate and pectinate (teeth-like) patterns at base. 3<br />
X-ray showing the internal structure of the constructed head (detail)<br />
39
Cross-section of fine fur fibre viewed through SEM (high vacuum detector, 2500x magnification). Angular<br />
contours can be seen on one of the fibres. This image was taken from a gold-coated cross-sectioned block<br />
(to make it conductive of electricity).<br />
Scale casts made of the coarse (left) and medium (right) fibres viewed through an optical microscope<br />
(whole mount, 400x).<br />
Use of the Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM) located at RMIT<br />
University, Melbourne, obtained a more detailed view of these<br />
patterns and confirmed with increased accuracy the patterns seen by<br />
the scale casts.<br />
Coarse fur fibre viewed through SEM (low vacuum detector, 2400x magnification). The voltage of the<br />
electrons (HV), spot size (Spot) and scale bars are labelled in the image.<br />
Cross-section of coarse fur fibre viewed through SEM (high vacuum detector, 2500x magnification).<br />
The image shows the oval medulla at the interior of the fibre.<br />
With analysis complete and a possible identification of the fur as<br />
being from the Vulpes vulpes (fox) species, we decided to confirm our<br />
findings with an expert in the field. Some hairs were sent to biologist<br />
Barbara Triggs, a recognised expert in the identification of mammal<br />
species. Triggs used microscopic techniques and confirmed with ninety<br />
per cent certainty that the fur is fox. She also confirmed that the fur<br />
had been heavily dyed, which interfered with her ability to see the<br />
medulla, and thus identify the fibres with 100 per cent certainty.<br />
Conclusion<br />
This investigation is a reminder that garments made from furs are<br />
not always what they seem, and that being suspicious is justified when<br />
studying them. In the case of the muff, it is likely that pelts belonged<br />
to the common red fox, which were dyed, shaped and joined to have<br />
the appearance of a far more prestigious animal and fur. Optical<br />
microscopy and Scanning Electron Microscopy were valuable tools<br />
in determining the fur’s true identity.<br />
Fine and intermediate fur fibres viewed through SEM (low vacuum detector, 3000x magnification)<br />
The SEM also allowed us to take accurate measurements of the<br />
diameter of the fibres. The fibres were then embedded in resin and<br />
sputter-coated in gold (to provide a conductive surface), allowing<br />
cross-sections of the fibres to be studied. These showed the fibres are<br />
oval with angular contours in the fine fibres and oval medullas – again<br />
a match for fox 4 (mink has a more flattened oval with no angular<br />
contours 5 ). Dimensions gained of the fur from the SEM analysis also<br />
correlated with the dimensional diameter range expected for fox fur. 6<br />
Thanks to: John Payne, Senior Conservator, Paintings (x-radiography); Barbara Triggs,<br />
Biologist (fur analysis). The authors acknowledge the facilities, and the scientific and<br />
technical assistance, of the Australian Microscopy and Microanalysis Research Facility<br />
at the RMIT Microscopy and Microanalysis facility at RMIT University, Melbourne.<br />
NOTES<br />
1 ‘Overview’, Furskin Identification, , accessed 10 Jan. 2014.<br />
2 William E., Austin, Principles and Practice of Fur Dressing and Fur Dyeing, D. Van Nostrand, New York, 1922, p. 3.<br />
3 H. M., Appleyard, Guide to Identification of Animal Fibres, 2nd edn, WIRA, London, p. 19.<br />
4 ibid., p. 10.<br />
5 ibid., p. 19.<br />
6 Austin, p. 93.<br />
40
ESCAPE FROM<br />
GRANTCHESTER<br />
MANOR<br />
It is not enough to get away, she thought, handing<br />
out the arithmetic tests amid a general gloom.<br />
One must have a destination.<br />
Kerry Greenwood
Kerry Greenwood<br />
lump, dark Isabelle Hinton was an excellent seamstress –<br />
everyone said so: her mother, now in heaven, her<br />
employer, Lady Grantchester, the Lady’s mother, Lady<br />
Hester, and the housekeeper, who handed Isabelle the<br />
precious linen to invisibly mend.<br />
Now she was sewing for her freedom and the stitches had<br />
never been more disgraceful.<br />
Only that morning, things had been calm. Quiet, orderly,<br />
pleasant. Isabelle had washed, dressed and taken into the<br />
kitchen her little brother Henry, aged six, and her little sister<br />
Jemima, aged eight, for the cook Mrs Ellis to feed and find<br />
tasks for until morning lessons. At precisely ten o’clock, Isabelle<br />
had received her charges in the schoolroom, sat the girls down<br />
to their samplers and the boys to their Latin books, and set<br />
some arithmetic, despite complaints. She was governess to the<br />
Grantchester children, Elaine and Alastair. As a friendless poor<br />
relation, Isabelle had accepted the position because it meant that<br />
she could have her siblings with her, not farmed out to some<br />
other poor relative who might not appreciate them. And the<br />
Grantchester children were not unusually difficult, though they<br />
were not very bright. Elaine thought of nothing but clothes and<br />
beaux, and her brother was struggling with Amo, amas, amat long<br />
after Henry had parsed all the way through to amaverunt.<br />
Unknown, Hat, 19th century<br />
Then my Lady Hester had demanded her presence, and<br />
Isabelle had accompanied her to the luxurious room where the<br />
dowager spent her mornings.<br />
‘You are a good girl, Isabelle’, she said flatly. ‘You are<br />
eighteen now?’<br />
‘I am, my lady’, said Isabelle, curtseying.<br />
‘Have you considered marriage?’ demanded the old woman.<br />
‘No, no, I can’t expect to marry, your Ladyship, I have<br />
the children to care for ...’ faltered Isabelle, for she had an<br />
understanding with a stalwart Cambridge baker named Thomas<br />
Curtis. But the Dowager Lady Hester didn’t need to know that.<br />
‘I have decided something which will make you joyful’, said<br />
the old lady, eyeing Isabelle like a vulture eyes a lamb. ‘You shall<br />
marry my son.’<br />
‘My lady?’ gasped Isabelle. Alastair was too young, the lady<br />
must mean Daubney, disgrace to the household, a libertine and<br />
rake riddled with disease.<br />
‘He came racketing home last night, vowing repentance as<br />
always’, continued the old woman. ‘He needs a wife, to settle him<br />
down and provide him with an heir. We have been kind to you,<br />
you are fresh and pure ... are you not?’ snarled the dowager, and<br />
Isabelle blushed pink.<br />
‘I am’, she responded. The dowager smiled unpleasantly at<br />
her flushed cheeks.<br />
‘Then it is settled. The children shall be sent to the country,<br />
you need not be bothered by them. You need only to endure him<br />
until you are carrying his child. Once we have two, then he can<br />
be safely confined in an asylum. You will be a merry widow, and<br />
your sons will inherit all this. Agreed? Good’, and she waved<br />
Isabelle out.<br />
The door had barely closed when Isabelle began to<br />
plot. She needed a disguise, for she knew that she would be<br />
prevented from walking down to the village. From now until she<br />
married Daubney, Isabelle Hinton would be a close prisoner of<br />
Grantchester Manor.<br />
It is not enough to get away, she thought, handing out<br />
the arithmetic tests amid a general gloom. One must have a<br />
destination. And Isabelle had one. She wrote a note to her<br />
Thomas and, when the children’s luncheon was served, slipped<br />
down to the stable yard and gave her last shilling to her father’s<br />
cousin, Ralph, to convey to him. Ralph would not betray her. He<br />
was in love with Tom Curtis’s housemaid.<br />
Unknown, Child’s mourning dress, c.1882<br />
42
I probably have a few days, thought Isabelle, since the sot<br />
Daubney would be in full horrors by now, and no one could expect<br />
him to make coherent vows while delirious. Isabelle shelled peas for<br />
the cook while she sorted, sifted and discarded plot after plot.<br />
Until she knew – and then she paled so remarkably that<br />
the cook gave her brandy and bade her sit with her head down,<br />
sniffing smelling salts. Isabelle obeyed. What she had in mind<br />
would require courage and daring. And she had that. Before she<br />
died, her mother had been a renowned hunter, never refusing<br />
a fence. Isabelle would not refuse this one. And she would<br />
rather die than marry Daubney. He would infect her instantly.<br />
She shuddered.<br />
When she was missed, people would look for a woman with a small<br />
girl and boy. Therefore, a day later, Isabelle sat in her room, making<br />
mourning clothes for two small girls out of her old box-pleated tunic,<br />
the pleats harvested, and some scraps of black silk which had been<br />
in the sewing room. Looping stitches ‘sewn with a red hot needle<br />
and a burning thread’, stitches that her Grandmother would have<br />
made her pull out and sew again. She had a discarded dress and<br />
bonnet, a bundle of needments slung from her shoulder, and her<br />
siblings by the hand.<br />
‘We must be very quiet, quiet as mice’, Isabelle instructed.<br />
Then she descended the servant’s stairway into the cellar, trying<br />
not to breathe too loudly, twisted the handle on a certain wine<br />
barrel, and watched the door swing open.<br />
‘It’s dark!’ whimpered Henry.<br />
‘It’ll be light inside’, Isabelle assured him, lighting her candle<br />
lantern. ‘It’s an adventure!’<br />
Henry stepped inside, grip firm on his toy piggy. Jemima had<br />
Lambie. Isabelle shut the door behind them, and it clicked. Two<br />
miles to Cambridge, and the tunnel as black as the inside of a fish.<br />
Two thousand paces with the left foot.<br />
It was a well-made tunnel, arched brick vaulting, Cambridge’s<br />
secret escape from plague or invasion. And it was dry underfoot.<br />
Untouched for a long time. Spider webs stretched across it.<br />
Isabelle made the children duck underneath them. For a while<br />
they got on well. Then first Henry, then Jemima began to tire.<br />
They hauled on her skirts and started to whine.<br />
‘Just a little longer’, urged Isabelle. ‘It’s not far now.’<br />
‘Are we going to die?’ asked Henry, interested. ‘Will there<br />
be angels?’<br />
‘No, we are going to live, and we are going to live all<br />
together’, Isabelle told him. ‘If you keep walking I’ll tell<br />
you a story.’<br />
The children loved Isabelle’s stories. ‘Once upon a time,’ she<br />
started, desperately trying to think of a tale, ‘there was a prophet<br />
of the Lord whose name was Jonah’.<br />
‘Heard it’, sniffed Henry, dragging at her hand. ‘I’m tired,<br />
I want to sit down. I want to go home!’<br />
‘Don’t be such a baby’, chided Jemima. ‘Tell us another story,<br />
Isabelle!’<br />
‘Once upon a time there were three little mice’, she started.<br />
Surely they had walked more than two thousand paces? The<br />
children took such small strides. There was a light ahead, which<br />
gave her courage. ‘And a nasty cat sat waiting at their mouse hole,<br />
so that they couldn’t get out.’<br />
‘Like us,’ commented Jemima. ‘Lady Grantchester was going to<br />
send us away. She told us. Somewhere nice, she said. I didn’t believe<br />
her’, said Jemima with the artless honesty of an eight-year-old.<br />
‘Neither did I’, Isabelle agreed. ‘So the clever mice found that<br />
there was a mouse-run which would take them right out of the<br />
way of the angry cat.’<br />
‘Did it work?’ asked Henry.<br />
The end of the tunnel, a door, and Isabelle knew the catch.<br />
The door swung open. She was embraced, in her mourning<br />
clothes, by her own big, blond Thomas Curtis, who gathered her<br />
into his floury arms. Isabelle almost wept with relief, but there<br />
was still a task to do before they were safe. They hurried through<br />
the chapel into the street as the music from a rehearsal rose and<br />
swelled like a blessing.<br />
‘Angels’, said Henry. ‘I told you so.’x<br />
No one noticed an attentive baker escorting a widow in<br />
weeds, heavy veil over her face, and her two sad orphans along<br />
King Street to the parish church, where the priest waited. Isabelle<br />
untied her bonnet and flung back the veil.<br />
‘I come to you with nothing’, she said. ‘Will you have me as<br />
I am, and the children?’<br />
‘As though they were my own’, said Thomas, and kissed her,<br />
beaming all over his big, ugly, good-natured face. ‘We shall live<br />
together all the days of our lives, and I shall bake and you shall<br />
sew, and nothing will come between us. And you are my son now,<br />
Henry, and you, Jemima, are my daughter.’<br />
‘I like you’, said Henry. ‘This is Piggy. He likes you, too.’<br />
Thomas greeted Piggy courteously.<br />
Jemima said nothing, but leant confidently against Thomas<br />
Curtis as though he was a wall.<br />
Lady Grantchester arrived just too late to forbid the marriage<br />
of Isabelle Hinton, spinster, and Thomas Curtis, baker.<br />
Her face, as she offered congratulations to the radiant bride,<br />
would have curdled new milk.<br />
‘Nasty cat’, said Henry, and kicked her in the shin.<br />
Even the priest laughed.<br />
43
Miss Geddes (attributed to) (decorator),<br />
Sheet music, fancy dress, 1907<br />
This charming fancy-dress costume was acquired<br />
from a private collector in 1974 as part of a group of<br />
nineteenth-century garments and accessories. The<br />
following information was recorded at the time:<br />
‘This dress was worn to a fancy-dress ball<br />
at Mena House, Cairo, in 1907 by a Miss<br />
Geddes. The dress is accompanied by three<br />
photographs of the owner wearing it and a<br />
cutting from the Egyptian Gazette of<br />
20 February 1907 describing the ball’.<br />
While the newspaper cutting is now lost, the<br />
photograph bears this handwritten annotation:<br />
‘1907, under the orange blossom, Bloemfontein<br />
(South Africa)’.<br />
44
List of works<br />
Note to reader<br />
The list of works conforms to international<br />
and National Gallery of Victoria<br />
cataloguing standards and formats.<br />
Works are arranged within sections;<br />
in alphabetical order by artist and<br />
chronologically within each artist’s listing.<br />
Measurements for photographs are<br />
represented by image size.<br />
Firm dates for works have been established<br />
from the artist’s inscriptions.<br />
Dates supported by documentary evidence<br />
are in parentheses.<br />
The use of c. for circa implies a two-year<br />
window either side of the central date<br />
Numbers in brackets at the conclusion of<br />
the caption are accession numbers of the<br />
National Gallery of Victoria.<br />
All works are in the National Gallery of<br />
Victoria collection unless otherwise stated.<br />
David Belzycki<br />
Manager, Cataloguing<br />
<strong>FASHION</strong> & TEXTILES<br />
A. J. White, London (hatter)<br />
England active (1900s–1960s)<br />
Top hat (1901–04)<br />
rabbit fur, wood (felt), silk<br />
83.0 cm (outer circumference)<br />
14.0 cm (height) 23.0 cm (width)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D30-1976)<br />
Opera hat (1901–04)<br />
silk<br />
86.6 cm (outer circumference)<br />
2.5 cm (height collapsed) 24.6 cm (width)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D31-1976)<br />
Bowler hat (1900s)<br />
wool (felt), silk ribbon<br />
85.0 cm (outer circumference)<br />
11.0 cm (height) 22.5 cm (width)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D32-1976)<br />
Anthony Horden and Sons, Sydney<br />
(retailer)<br />
est. 1869<br />
Top hat (c.1885)<br />
silk, leather, cotton, wool<br />
90.0 cm (outer circumference),<br />
19.0 cm (height) 31.0 cm (width)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D288-1974)<br />
Bool Chand’s, Calcutta (manufacturer)<br />
India active (1900s)<br />
Pith helmet (1901–04)<br />
cotton, straw, pith<br />
99.0 cm (outer circumference)<br />
12.0 cm (height) 27.5 cm (width)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D33-1976)<br />
François Pinet, Paris (shoemaker)<br />
France est. 1850<br />
Jean-Louis François Pinet (designer)<br />
France 1817–97<br />
S.D. & L.A. Tallerman, London<br />
and Melbourne (retailer)<br />
(1870s)–1881<br />
Boots 1867<br />
satin, leather, metal<br />
(a-b) 12.5 x 7.0 x 24.0 cm (each)<br />
88220<br />
Harrods, London (manufacturer<br />
and retailer)<br />
English est. 1834<br />
Travelling hatcase (1901–04)<br />
28.0 x 46.0 x 36.0 cm (hat case)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D29-1976)<br />
Joseph Dawson & Sons, London<br />
and Northampton (shoemaker)<br />
England active 19th century<br />
Shoes (c.1836)<br />
leather, silk, mother of pearl<br />
(a-b) 4.5 x 5.0 x 14.7 cm (each)<br />
Presented by Mrs R. J. McFarland, 1987<br />
(CT15.a-b-1987)<br />
Mary Richardson<br />
active 1780s<br />
Sampler 1783<br />
linen, silk thread<br />
56.0 x 56.3 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs A. B. Kelly, 1972 (D21-1972)<br />
Miss Geddes (attributed to) (decorator)<br />
active in Egypt (1900s)<br />
Sheet music, fancy dress 1906<br />
cotton, metal, ink<br />
(a) 42.5 cm (centre back) (bodice),<br />
38.0 cm (width) 29.5 cm (sleeve)<br />
(b) 106.0 cm (centre back), 26.0 cm<br />
(waist, flat) (skirt)<br />
(c) 25.5 x 176.8 x 1.0 cm (sash);<br />
(d) 13.0 cm (height), 49.0 cm<br />
(circumference) (headpiece);<br />
(e) 24.0 x 48.0 cm (fan)<br />
Purchased through The Art Foundation<br />
of Victoria with the assistance of David<br />
Syme & Co. Limited, Fellow, 1977<br />
(D80.a-e-1977)<br />
Mme Delbarre, London (dressmaker)<br />
England active 1880s<br />
Mourning gown (1885–90)<br />
silk (moiré, velvet, satin, lace), cotton<br />
(a) 39.4 cm (sleeve length),<br />
31.0 cm (waist, flat) (bodice)<br />
(b) 190.5 cm (centre back),<br />
35.0 cm (waist, flat) ) (skirt)<br />
Gift of Mrs J. E. Wheda, 1976<br />
(D74.a-b-1976)<br />
Moubray, Rowan & Hicks, Melbourne<br />
(retailer)<br />
1878–92<br />
Unknown<br />
(manufacturer)<br />
Shoes (1880–93)<br />
leather, metal, glass, silk<br />
(a-b) 10.5 x 6.7 x 22.9 cm (each) (shoes)<br />
Gift of Mr J. G. H. Sprigg, 1971<br />
(D113.a-b-1971)<br />
Unknown<br />
Boots (c.1870)<br />
leather, metal, silk, cotton<br />
(a-b) 14.0 x 5.5 x 14.5 cm (each)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Gift of Anne Schofield, 1977<br />
(D60.a-b-1977)<br />
Unknown<br />
Child’s mourning dress (c.1882)<br />
wool, silk<br />
67.0 cm (centre back), 32.5 cm (waist, flat)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D171-1974)<br />
Unknown<br />
Child’s mourning dress (c.1882)<br />
wool, silk<br />
56.0 cm (centre back), 32.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D172-1974)<br />
Unknown<br />
Pin cushion (c.1885)<br />
silk (velvet, satin), glass (beads), metal<br />
(beads), linen<br />
7.5 x 19.5 x 19.5 cm<br />
Presented by Mr. Maurice Clarke, 1981<br />
(CT18-1981)<br />
Unknown<br />
Handkerchief sachet (c.1887)<br />
silk, wool, crystal, cotton<br />
17.5 x 17.5 x 1.5 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs Michael Parker, 1983<br />
(CT24-1983)<br />
Unknown<br />
Bookmarks (c.1890)<br />
silk, paper<br />
(1) 5.0 x 31.5 x 0.1 cm<br />
(2) 3.5 x 34.0 x 0.1 cm<br />
(3) 7.0 x 46.7 x 0.1 cm<br />
Gift of Miss H. Clark, 1976<br />
(D138A-1976 – D138C-1976)<br />
Unkonwn<br />
Mantlepiece valance and curtains (c.1890)<br />
silk, wool<br />
(a-c) 123.0 x 210.0 cm (framed) (overall)<br />
Purchased, 1988 (CT64.a-c-1988)<br />
Unknown<br />
Doll (19th century)<br />
porcelain, cotton, (sawdust)<br />
38.0 x 15.0 x 7.0 cm<br />
Gift of Miss A. Bellaire, 1961 (285-D5)<br />
Unknown<br />
Ice skating boots (c.1900)<br />
leather, metal, synthetic fibre, textile<br />
(laces, padding)<br />
(a-b) 32.0 x 29.0 x 7.0 cm (each)<br />
Unaccessioned item<br />
Unknown<br />
Muff (c.1907)<br />
feathers, silk<br />
59.0 x 39.0 x 7.0 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs R. Hamley, 1969 (D125-1969)<br />
Unknown<br />
Muff (c.1920)<br />
fox fur, silk<br />
6.5 x 30.0 x 23.0 cm<br />
Gift of Miss Irene Mitchell, 1981 (D7-<br />
1981)<br />
Unknown<br />
Wedding outfit (1939–47)<br />
silk<br />
(a) 200.0 cm (centre back),<br />
62.0 cm (waist, flat) (dress)<br />
(b) 45.0cm (outer circumference)<br />
11.0cm (height) 9.0 cm (width) (headdress)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D517.a-b-1974)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Dress (c.1850)<br />
cotton<br />
140.0 cm (centre back), 31.0 cm (waist,<br />
flat)<br />
Purchased through The Art Foundation<br />
of Victoria with the assistance of David<br />
Syme & Co. Limited, Fellow, 1977<br />
(D71-1977)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Waistcoat (c.1855)<br />
silk, cotton<br />
56.3 cm (centre back), 49.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Mrs Gwenda L. Davis and<br />
Mrs Ena Elder, 1977 (D291-1977)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Dress (c.1865)<br />
silk, cotton, glass<br />
(a) 175.0 cm (centre back)<br />
38.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
(b) 66.5 x 84.5 cm irreg. (sash)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D145.a-b-1974)<br />
45
Unknown, Australia<br />
Outfit: Girl’s dress, petticoat and shoes (c.1865)<br />
cotton gauze, cotton lace, satin, metal<br />
hooks, leather, silk (satin), cotton<br />
(a) 65.0 cm (centre back),<br />
25.0 cm (waist, flat) (dress)<br />
(b) 65.0 cm (centre back),<br />
25.0 cm (waist, flat) (petticoat)<br />
(e-f) 4.5 x 5.0 x 17.2 cm (each) (shoes)<br />
Gift of Miss Bell, 1973 (D245.a-b-1973,<br />
D245.e-f-1973)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Dress (c.1878)<br />
silk, cotton, metal<br />
173.0 cm (centre back) 37.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Miss I. B. Strachan, 1971<br />
(D10A-1971)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Wedding dress (c.1885)<br />
silk (satin), cotton, metal<br />
(a) 53.0 cm (centre back),<br />
40.0 cm (waist, flat) (bodice)<br />
(b) 112.0 cm (centre back),<br />
39.0 cm (waist, flat) (skirt)<br />
(c) 92.0 cm (centre back),<br />
137.0 cm (width) (train)<br />
Gift of Joycelyn Nixon and her family<br />
in memory of their mother Onnie Jean<br />
Nixon, 2010 (2010.29.a-c)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Waistcoat (1890)<br />
linen, silk, cotton, shell, metal<br />
55.0 cm (centre back), 40.5 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Terence Lane, 1978 (D15-1978)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Cape (c.1890)<br />
platypus fur, silk, cotton<br />
39.0 cm (centre back), 158.0 cm<br />
(hem circumference)<br />
Gift of Mrs F. Smith, 1985 (CT105-1985)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Riding outfit (c.1890)<br />
wool, cotton, silk<br />
(a) 43.0 cm (centre back),<br />
28.5 cm (waist, flat) (bodice)<br />
(b) 140.0 cm (centre back),<br />
25.5 cm (waist, flat) (skirt)<br />
Gift of Mr J. G. H. Sprigg, 1971<br />
(D102.a-b-1971)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Boots (1918–22)<br />
leather, linen, metal<br />
(a-b) 20.5 x 8.5 x 26.5 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Mrs M. Mirenda, 1981<br />
(CT29.a-b-1981)<br />
Unknown, Australia<br />
Australian active (early 20th century)<br />
Dress and jacket (c.1910)<br />
cotton, metal<br />
(a) 93.0 cm (centre back),<br />
57.5 cm (sleeve length) (jacket)<br />
(b) 137.0 cm (centre back),<br />
31.0 cm (waist, flat) (dress)<br />
Gift of Lara Nicholls in memory of<br />
Dorothy Isabel MacIntosh, 2011<br />
(2011.344.a-b)<br />
Unknown, Australia / England<br />
Corset (1890–95)<br />
silk (satin), cotton (lawn, lace), steel<br />
(eyelets, stays), baleen<br />
33.0 cm (centre back) 21.5 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Mr J.G.H. Sprigg, 1971<br />
(D107-1971)<br />
Unknown, Australia / England<br />
Patchwork cover (c.1890)<br />
silk, cotton, paper, ink<br />
157.0 x 131.5 cm<br />
Gift of Lady Cohen, 1970 (D44-1970)<br />
Unknown, (Australia)<br />
Bookmarks (c.1890)<br />
paper, silk, cotton (thread)<br />
(1) 5.5 x 26.0 x 0.1 cm<br />
(2) 5.0 x 24.0 x 0.1 cm<br />
Gift of Mr Rex D. Jones & Mrs<br />
I.D. Gowan, 1977 (D282A-1977),<br />
(D282B-1977)<br />
Unknown, (China)<br />
Louis Vuitton, Paris (after)<br />
Handbag (c. 2014)<br />
synthetic fabric, metal<br />
37.5 x 32.0 x 18.0 cm<br />
Private collection, Melbourne<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Dress (c.1865)<br />
silk, cotton (lace)<br />
(a) 139.0 cm (centre back)<br />
30.0 cm (waist, flat) (dress)<br />
(b) 81.0 x 67.0 cm (overskirt)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D146-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Shoes 1900<br />
cotton, kid<br />
(a-b) 5.0 x 11.0 x 4.8 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Mrs William Rees, 1977<br />
(D46.a-b-1977)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Waistcoat (late 18th century–<br />
early 19th century)<br />
wool, cotton, glass (jet)<br />
50.5 cm (centre back), 45.5 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Lady Nicholson and her daughter,<br />
1951 (1057C-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Shoes (1825–30)<br />
silk, leather, elastic<br />
(a-b) 4.0 x 6.0 cm x 24.5 cm (each)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D353.a-b-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Carriage dress (c.1830)<br />
silk (Gros de Naples), cotton (lace),<br />
metal (buckle, hooks and eyes)<br />
153.0 cm (centre back),<br />
34.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D124-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Parasol (1840–50)<br />
silk, metal<br />
73.6 x 50.8 cm diameter<br />
Gift of Mrs Hugh Morgan, 1976<br />
(D9-1976)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Bracelet (c.1845)<br />
hair (horse)<br />
17.0 x 5.8 x 0.9 cm<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D425-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Child’s dress (c.1845)<br />
silk (velvet)<br />
74.0 cm (centre back), 24.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D131-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Dress (c.1845)<br />
silk (taffeta), cotton (lace)<br />
133.0 cm (centre back),<br />
28.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Misses M. K. and A. E. Butler,<br />
1948 (753-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Waistcoat (c.1845)<br />
silk, cotton, metal (buttons)<br />
46.3 cm (centre back), 42.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of P. Peach, 1932 (3296A-D3)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Boots (c.1850)<br />
silk (brocade), leather, silk<br />
(a-b) 15.0 x 7.5 x 25.2 cm (boots)<br />
Presented by Lady Nicholson and her<br />
daughter, 1951 (1072.a-b-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Smoking cap (1850–90)<br />
silk, wool<br />
9.0 cm (height); 63.0 cm (circumference)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D433-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Doll’s dress (c.1865)<br />
silk, linen, paper, metal<br />
53.0 cm (centre back) 15.7 cm (waist, flat)<br />
Gift of Lady Nicholson and her daughter,<br />
1951 (1054-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Mourning locket (c.1870)<br />
(plastic), metal, glass, paper<br />
(photograph), hair<br />
5.0 x 4.0 x 2.9 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs Vera Donaldson, 1978<br />
(D72-1978)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Fan (1870–80)<br />
ostrich feathers, tortoiseshell, gold,<br />
brass, metal<br />
46.8 x 74.4 x 3.9 cm (variable)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D392-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Shoes 1872<br />
leather, metal (buckle)<br />
(a-b) 5.8 x 5.3 x 16.5 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Miss Mary Bostock, 1965<br />
(1336.a-b-D5)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Shoes (1874)<br />
silk, wool, linen, leather<br />
(a-b) 4.0 x 3.6 x 10.0 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Miss M. Jordan, 1952 (1116.a-b-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Bustle (c.1875–88)<br />
cotton, steel<br />
86.0 cm (centre back), 40.0 cm (width)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D448-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Work basket (1880–90)<br />
cane, metal, silk<br />
9.0 x 22.0 x 16.0 cm<br />
Gift of Miss H. Clark, 1976 (D132-1976)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Chatelaine spectacle case (c.1895)<br />
leather, metal<br />
(a) 12.7 x 5.0 x 21.0 cm (closed) (case)<br />
(b) 0.6 x 11.0 x 3.0 cm (spectacles)<br />
(a-b) 12.7 x 5.0 x 21.0 cm (overall)<br />
Gift of Mr Paul Craft, 1974 (D54.a-b-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Bonnet (19th century)<br />
silk, cotton, straw<br />
24.0 x 21.5 x 20.5 cm<br />
Gift of Misses M. K. and A. E. Butler,<br />
1948 (718-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Hat (19th century)<br />
straw, metal, silk, linen<br />
13.0 cm (height), 109.0 cm<br />
(outer circumference)<br />
63357<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Riding crop (19th century)<br />
leather<br />
52.0 x 2.8 x 2.5 cm<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a<br />
special grant from the Government<br />
of Victoria, 1974 (D497-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Girl’s dress (c.1900)<br />
wool, cotton, silk<br />
62.0 cm (centre back), 30.0 cm (waist, flat)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D186-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Brush (1901–04)<br />
bristles, wood<br />
2.0 x 52.0 x 3.5 cm<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D37-1976)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Hat iron (1901–04)<br />
iron, wood<br />
3.0 x 3.0 x 33.5 cm<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D35-1976)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Spats (1901–04)<br />
cotton, linen (lining), plastic (buttons),<br />
metal (buckle)<br />
(a-b) 18.5 x 19.0 x 3.0 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D34.a-b-1976)<br />
46
Unknown, England<br />
Sailor suit (c.1903)<br />
cotton, plastic (buttons)<br />
(a) 38.0 cm (centre back),<br />
16.0 cm (sleeve length) (top)<br />
(b) 33.0 cm (outer leg),<br />
43.0 cm (waist, flat) (trousers)<br />
The Schofield Collection.<br />
Purchased with the assistance of a special<br />
grant from the Government of Victoria,<br />
1974 (D200.a-b-1974)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Hunt dress coat (1920s)<br />
wool, silk, brass<br />
98.0 cm (centre back),<br />
62.5 cm (sleeve length)<br />
Purchased NGV Foundation, 2008<br />
(2008.332)<br />
Unknown, Europe<br />
Slippers (c.1840)<br />
wool, leather<br />
(a-b) 23.0 x 6.0 x 5.5 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Misses M. K. and A. E. Butler,<br />
1948 (763.a-b-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Boots (c.1850)<br />
silk (brocade), leather, silk<br />
(a-b) 15.0 x 7.5 x 25.2 cm (boots)<br />
Presented by Lady Nicholson and her<br />
daughter, 1951 (1072.a-b-D4)<br />
Unknown, England<br />
Shoes (1860–70)<br />
silk, leather<br />
(a-b) 4.0 x 4.0 x 12.3 cm (each)<br />
Gift of Mrs William Rees, 1977<br />
(D45.a-b-1977)<br />
Unknown, (France)<br />
Bodice (c.1885)<br />
silk, metal<br />
61.0 cm (centre back)<br />
57.0 cm (sleeve length)<br />
Gift of Miss M. Bostock, 1963 (521-D5)<br />
Woodrow, London (hatter and retailer)<br />
England active (1900s–1960s)<br />
Polisher (1901–04)<br />
silk (velvet)<br />
16.2 x 8.0 x 4.0 cm<br />
Gift of Mr William Weatherly Mortlake,<br />
1976 (D36-1976)<br />
W.S. & E.H. Thomson, London<br />
(manufacturer)<br />
England active mid 19th century<br />
Empress crinoline frame (c.1860)<br />
cotton, wire<br />
85.0 cm (centre back) 59.0 cm (diameter)<br />
Purchased, 1982 (CT95-1982)<br />
PAINTINGS AND WORKS<br />
ON PAPER<br />
Alastair Cary-Elwes<br />
born England 1866, lived in France<br />
1884–95, Scotland 1896–1946,<br />
died Scotland 1946<br />
Rupert Bunny (c.1887)<br />
oil on canvas<br />
65.1 x 81.3 cm<br />
Gift of Mr C. C. Chisholm Esq., 1962<br />
(1074-5)<br />
E. Phillips Fox<br />
Australia 1865–1915, lived in France<br />
1901–13<br />
Dolly, Daughter of Hammond Clegg Esq. 1896<br />
oil on canavs<br />
95.9 x 73.4 cm<br />
Gift of Brian Shaw QC, 2013<br />
Arthur Hughes<br />
England 1832–1915<br />
Fair Rosamond (1854)<br />
oil on cardboard<br />
40.3 x 30.5 cm<br />
Gift of Miss Eva Gilchrist in memory of<br />
her uncle P. A. Daniel, 1956 (3334-4)<br />
Owen Jones<br />
England 1809–74<br />
Design for Peri 1870-1874<br />
watercolour with pen and ink<br />
71.7 x 45.7 cm<br />
Purchased, 1976 (P84-1976)<br />
Edwin Landseer<br />
England 1802–73<br />
The Earl and Countess of Sefton and daughter,<br />
with horses and dogs (1846)<br />
oil on canvas<br />
182.4 x 286.2 cm<br />
Felton Bequest, 1948 (1825-4)<br />
Arthur Loureiro<br />
Portugal 1853–1932, lived in Australia<br />
1884–1904<br />
The seamstress’s reverie 1887<br />
oil on wood panel<br />
16.6 x 22.3 cm irreg.<br />
Presented through The Art Foundation of<br />
Victoria by Sir Thomas and Lady Travers,<br />
Governors, 1985 (A11-1985)<br />
Morris & Co., London (distributor)<br />
England 1861–1940<br />
William Morris (designer)<br />
England 1834–96<br />
Jeffrey & Co., London (printer)<br />
England (c.1836) –1930<br />
Daisy, wallpaper 1864<br />
colour woodcut<br />
115.0 x 54.0 cm (image and sheet)<br />
Gift of Michael Whiteway, 1997<br />
(1997.134)<br />
Morris & Co., London (distributor)<br />
England 1861–1940<br />
William Morris (designer)<br />
England 1834–96<br />
Phillip Webb (designer)<br />
England 1831–1915<br />
Jeffrey & Co., London (printer)<br />
England (c.1836) –1930<br />
Trellis, wallpaper 1864 (designed)<br />
colour woodcut<br />
79.4 x 56.8 cm (image and sheet)<br />
Gift of Michael Whiteway, 2009<br />
(2009.384)<br />
Hugh Ramsay<br />
born Scotland 1877, arrived Australia<br />
1878, died 1906<br />
Anxiety (c.1899)<br />
oil on canvas<br />
60.5 x 76.3 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs James Ramsay, 1943 (1200-4)<br />
Tom Roberts (attributed to)<br />
born England 1856, arrived Australia<br />
1869, lived in Europe 1881–85, 1903–19,<br />
died 1931<br />
Portrait of a young girl (1890)<br />
oil on canvas<br />
47.2 x 39.1 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs J. Richter, 1972 (A19-1972)<br />
Edward Sands<br />
active in Australia (1880s)<br />
No title (Young man with moustache),<br />
carte-de-visite (1880s)<br />
albumen silver photograph<br />
7.2 x 5.0 cm (image) (oval)<br />
Gift of C. Stuart Tompkins,1972<br />
(PH150-1972)<br />
Stewart & Co., Melbourne<br />
Australia 1879–96<br />
No title (Young bearded man), carte-de-visite<br />
(1880s)<br />
albumen silver photograph<br />
6.9 x 5.1 cm<br />
Gift of Mrs N. McLauchlan, 1975<br />
(PH52-1975)<br />
Verey & Co., Victoria<br />
1899–1900<br />
No title (Bearded gentleman), carte-de-visite<br />
(1890s)<br />
albumen silver photograph<br />
7.6 x 4.8 cm irreg. (image)<br />
Gift of C. Stuart Tompkins, 1972<br />
(PH169-1972)<br />
Yeoman & Co., Melbourne<br />
Australia 1882–1900<br />
No title (Young man, head and shoulders),<br />
carte-de-visite (1888–89)<br />
albumen silver photograph<br />
7.6 x 5.2 cm (oval) (image)<br />
Gift of C. Stuart Tompkins, 1972<br />
(PH170-1972)<br />
47
First published in 2014 by<br />
The Council of Trustees of<br />
the National Gallery of Victoria<br />
180 St Kilda Road<br />
Melbourne, Victoria 3004, Australia<br />
www.ngv.vic.gov.au<br />
This publication is copyright and all rights are reserved. Apart from<br />
any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be<br />
reproduced or communicated to the public by any process without<br />
prior written permission. Enquiries should be directed to the publisher.<br />
© National Gallery of Victoria 2014<br />
Published for the exhibition Fashion Detective, The Ian Potter Centre:<br />
NGV Australia at Federation Square, 9 May – 31 August 2014.<br />
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:<br />
Author: Whitfield, Danielle, author.<br />
Title: Fashion detective / Danielle Whitfield ; Garry Disher ;<br />
Lili Wilkinson ; Sulari Gentill ; Kerry<br />
Greenwood ; Annette Soumilas ; Bronwyn<br />
Cosgrove ; Kate Douglas.<br />
ISBN:<br />
Subjects:<br />
9780724103911 (ebook)<br />
Fashion--Fiction.<br />
Detective and mystery stories.<br />
Other Authors/Contributors:<br />
Disher, Garry, 1949- author.<br />
Wilkinson, Lili, 1981- author.<br />
Gentill, Sulari, author.<br />
Greenwood, Kerry, author.<br />
Soumilas, Annette, author.<br />
Cosgrove, Bronwyn, author.<br />
Douglas, Kate, author.<br />
National Gallery of Victoria, issuing body.<br />
Dewey Number: A823.4<br />
Publications Manager: Jasmin Chua<br />
Publications Assistant: Nadiah Abdulrahim<br />
Text editor: Mark Gomes<br />
Designer: Jackie Robinson<br />
Ebook production: Connor Byrt<br />
Multimedia: Diana Ward<br />
Photographer: Narelle Wilson<br />
Pre-press: Anne-Marie De Boni<br />
Acknowledgements<br />
Special acknowledgement for the contributions made to<br />
this exhibition:<br />
Cataloguing: Julia Jackson<br />
Conservation: Bronwyn Cosgrove, Kate Douglas, Annette Soumilas<br />
Exhibition Design: John Eccles, Katherine Horseman<br />
Exhibition Management: Edwina Brennan<br />
Kids’ space: Kate Ryan<br />
Multimedia: Matt Lim, Ben Walbrook, Diana Ward<br />
Public Programs: Emily Siddons<br />
Registration: Holli Chandler<br />
Intern: Marion Parker<br />
With special thanks to John Payne and Katie Somerville.<br />
Comparative illustrations<br />
p. 5<br />
John Leech<br />
The Arsenic Waltz. The new Dance of Death.<br />
(Dedicated to the green wreath and dress-mongers.) 1862<br />
p. 14<br />
Luis Jimenez y Aranda<br />
1845–1928<br />
Le Carreau du Temple, Paris 1890<br />
oil on canvas<br />
Private collection<br />
p. 15<br />
Worth & Bobergh, Paris<br />
Bodice 1860s<br />
Collection of Martin Kramer<br />
Image and copyright credits<br />
© Arthur Ackermann Ltd., London / The Bridgeman Art Library<br />
p. 14; courtesy Martin Kramer p. 15; © Punch Limited p. 5<br />
cover:<br />
Moubray, Rowan & Hicks, Melbourne (retailer)<br />
Unknown (manufacturer)<br />
Shoes 1880–93<br />
All reasonable efforts have been made to obtain permission to use copyright<br />
material reproduced in this publication. In cases where this has not been<br />
possible, owners are invited to notify the Publications Department at the<br />
National Gallery of Victoria.<br />
The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors and do not<br />
necessarily reflect those of the NGV or the publisher.<br />
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1