The Sealed Letter - Fabric Clutch

Carry a beautiful piece of history with you. This limited edition cotton-linen clutch features a 19th-century botanical artwork on one side and a vignette of the life of a florist's daughter on the other. Lined with linen and finished with an antique brass zip, this clutch is both romantic and functional. Perfect for adding a touch of Victorian-inspired elegance to your outfit. Matching boxy top sold separately.

22cm x 30cm.

Designed and made by Meg in The Patch, Australia. Printed in Thornbury by NextState Print on 94% cotton, 6% linen certified to OEKO-TEX Standard 100 (11-29208). Linen is woven with yarn grown in Normandy, France (grown and harvested with Reel Linen), milled in China, and meets certification for European Flax yarn, Oeko-Tex 100 Standard, Fair Labor Association, Higg Index, UN Global Compact, and ZDHC.

All megsmithmakes garments are Ethical Clothing Australia accredited and made in Melbourne with natural fabrics and GOTS organic cotton thread. megsmithmakes is a proud member of Seamless Australia.

Meg Smith makes unconventional, slow fashion heirlooms that are designed to last generations, gather memories, and be cherished across time.

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"...it was only a short letter, a few important words that seemingly carried an immense amount of weight. She had left it for her father with his breakfast that morning, having collected it the previous day as she made her deliveries to the town’s wealthier merchant households. The paper had felt luxurious - a thick, textured cream that was bulky when folded, and sealed with a forest green wax and family crest which she did not recognise. Her father had paused when he saw the letter, lying as it was next to his cheese and bread. She noted how he had studiously ignored it whilst he ate, and had only reached for it after finishing his meal and the hot mug of tea that followed. Why on earth was he avoiding it so? She was too timid to ask him directly, and could certainly never summon the mischief to invade his privacy. That evening as she painted in the attic, she heard her father’s familiar movements from down in his workroom, a sound that was most unusual at this time of evening. She listened absently for some time, eventually being drawn once again to the feel of her brush on canvas, when her concentration was abruptly severed by a series of short raps on the shop door, followed closely by the sound of her father’s boots striding across the floor. Her hand paused mid-stroke and she held her breath, straining to listen to the muffled voices that rose up the stairs…"

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