‘A work of art masquerading as a home’
Restoration House in Kent was Dickens’s model for Miss Havisham’s abode in ‘Great Expectations’ and Serena Fokschaner can see the inspiration
To appreciate how unusual Restoration House is you need to approach it from the lane that curves gently uphill from the busy high street in Rochester, Kent. You pass weatherboarded cottages, a Victorian Baptist church and the King’s School, screened behind high walls. And there, framed by brooding rain clouds, looms the gabled frontage of this rare, pre-Civil War townhouse that has grown up, down and sideways over the centuries and continues to evolve today.
A jangling bell summons the owners, Jonathan Wilmot and Robert Tucker, to the door. Inside there is a labyrinth of twists and turns, secret doors and dark, panelled corridors illuminated by glimpses of grand chambers. The Grade I listed building has 38 rooms and four staircases, adding to the Escher-esque air of discombobulation. “The history of this house is complex,” says Tucker, unravelling the story. It was formed of two separate Tudor and medieval houses, which came to be linked by a Great Hall and high chamber in the early 17th century when the Clerkes, prosperous Royalist lawyers, added the red-brick facade and abundance of windows as a statement of wealth.
The Clerkes named the house in honour of Charles II, who stayed here in May 1660 on his way to London from exile in France. To celebrate the royal sleepover, the interior was given a Continental makeover. Walls were painted French grey and panelling sliced to install the French doors opening on to the audience chamber. All these details were buried beneath layers of decoration until Wilmot and Tucker decided to explore the hidden history of the house. Working with a team of conservation experts they unveiled a palimpsest, imprinted with the mark of inhabitants past. It was, says Tucker, “the start of our life’s work”.
The most famous of the house’s residents never actually lived there. In Great Expectations, Charles Dickens made it the model for Miss Havisham’s ghostly abode, Satis House. Samuel Pepys also visited in 1667, finding time to sneak a kiss from the “pretty” wife of a shopkeeper and admire the cherry garden.
Lured by its cultural associations, Wilmot, previously chief global strategist at Credit Suisse, and Tucker, a former antiques dealer, acquired the house at auction in 1993 after the bank had repossessed it from the last owner, the comedian Rod Hull. The entertainer used to stage Miss Havisham-themed banquets in the Great Chamber; his predecessor, an associate of the Kray brothers, ran a nightclub, Magwitch’s, in the attic. “Everyone has loved this house… in their own fashion,” says Wilmot.
It was in a parlous state. Lintels had snapped. A bay sagged and the eastern wall was collapsing. “It was unmortgage-able but a surveyor told us that if we did specific repairs immediately, the house could be saved,” explains Wilmot. While “tackier additions” have been ripped out, elements that narrate the history of the house have been conserved. “I liken this house to a bird: if you attack it too vigorously, it will fly away,” reflects Tucker.
A previous owner in the 19th century, Stephen Aveling, an illustrator and decorator, took down walls and added stained-glass roundels “of dubious heraldry”. His romantic murals depicting the story of Geraint and Enid now have hinges so that you can peek behind to discover the door used by Charles II.
No original objects remain but, with his eye for an overlooked gem, Tucker has filled the house with pieces in keeping with the setting. A mix of 16th and 17th-century furniture glows against original paint schemes restored using a traditional recipe of earth pigments and linseed with turpentine. There are portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds and Sir Peter Lely; a pair of Gainsborough landscapes, spotted at auction, fitted perfectly in an overdoor niche. There are Carolingian artefacts, too, like the portrait of Charles II’s beloved sister, Minette. Tucker likes to believe that the rare six-octave square piano, decorated by Julius Caesar Ibbetsen, was commissioned for Kenwood House, in London. It is now used for atmospheric concerts in the Great Chamber.
This summer the house welcomed a record 300 visitors a week and, to ensure its future, Tucker and Wilmot are setting up a charitable trust to perpetuate their conservation ideals. “Being able to visit historic houses changed my life,” says Tucker, who was born in Sydney but “absconded from a world tour” to live in Britain in 1975. “Last week someone wrote in the visitor’s book, ‘Went in one person, came out another,’ which I thought was wonderful.”
Their magnum opus continues outside where they have recreated the magnificent Tudor water garden which once sat on the plot. Dotted with classical statuary, the geometrical plan – designed for stately promenading – has rills and fountains fed by the spring. The domed gazebo, a feat of brickwork inspired by no less than the Pantheon, links the upper and lower terraces.
Last year they even found time to turn the disused brewery, which loomed large in Pip’s imagination as a “wilderness of empty casks”, into apartments. There are currently two for sale where everything, as you might expect, is finished to exacting standards. Industrial features, such as steel beams or glossy tiles, have been retained but softened with classical details such as wooden kitchens, curving stair rails and wide floorboards.
The penthouse has a bird’s-eye view of gardeners tending beds and builders putting the finishing touches to the new vinery. Hercules, by contemporary sculptor Matthew Darbyshire, presides over this hive of industry. “He sums up the labours which have gone in to this house,” says Wilmot. “It has become a work of art masquerading as a home, which I feel is very English.”
‘I liken Restoration House to a bird: if you attack it too vigorously, it will fly away’