Chapter 2 - Extracting Achimenes Cupreata from Wolfsbane

Author's note a: As this is a Regency story, there is bound to be some AU-ness and OOC-ness. Please bear with me. This story is set sometime between 1814-1817.

Author's note b: Emphases are in italics and titles of books &ca are underlined.

Author's note c: This story places great stress on the significance and meanings of flowers.

Author's note d: I sometimes repeat endnotes/footnotes because it is my experience that readers very rarely refer back to a previous chapter where I have explained something, and ask me something that I have already explained before.

Language of Flowers

Chapter 02 – Extracting Achimenes Cupreata from Wolfsbane

The youthful looking middle aged gentleman in the blue coat with black facings and silver lace, who was seated in the window of a slightly darkened dressing room idly looked down into the street of Hanover Square, ceased for a moment to bother about his host's reticence. Among the passers by a strawberry blond in pale green caught his eye. She looked vaguely familiar when she put her arm on a similarly coloured gentleman's arm and disappeared down the street.

"Really, Severus, I do not see why you are making such a ruckus over nothing," exclaimed the gentleman in the blue coat after he waved his wand and lit a few more candles in the dressing room.

"Nothing?" hissed the pale figure before the mirror. "Nothing!?! My mind informs me that there are at least four definitions for nothing and in this situation, my Godfather's 'nothing' will invariably turn out to be something."

"It is only an invitation to dinner," replied his friend, as he moved to the sofa near the mirror. "You could always claim indisposition and remain home. Just tell your man, Filch, to give the 'You're not home' line."

"My Godfather would know, Lupin! You are acquainted with his singular talent for omniscient visions," answered the tall pale gentleman as he struggled with his cravat before the mirror.

Lord Lupin idly stroked his moustache. "You could come to the opera with Harry, Ron and I. I still owe you a dinner for curing my condition." On his companion's indignant snort, he laughed lightly. "Oh, pardon me, monsieur le marquis, you have been expecting an invitation to our odious club or a gaming hell."

Satisfied with his cravat at last, the Marquess of Sterne signalled to his valet to assist him into his black coat. "Lupin," began the gentleman with a low sneer as he looked over his full mourning clad self in the mirror. "Since those two are too dense to be corrupted with philosophy, dissipation seems to be the only option. By the bye, I did not recall inviting to my residence today or at any time."

"Ah, Severus Xenophon Snape," exclaimed Lord Lupin with a cheerful smile. "Neither did you turn me away."

"Yes. An oversight on my part," drawled Lord Sterne coolly as he flicked his hair irritably from his face. "What did you want? To borrow a book?"

"To invite you to our club, old boy. It had been in Sirius's family for years and now that he's gone, we might as well be its patrons."

"Spare me your sentiment reminiscences!"

"Count Moody will be delivering a lecture this evening at Black's. I know you admire his work on continental dark arts theory."

"Prior to listening to the old bore from Saint Petersburg, I would have to endure two and a half hours of Potter and Weasley's company at the opera while they attempt to make impressions on the Season's debutantes."

"And why shouldn't they?" laughed Lord Lupin. "Harry has the command of his fortune and Ron needs to look about for another lady ever since Miss Granger turned him down thrice."

"She is an intelligent woman then!" Lord Sterne said, ignoring his companion's laugh. "Spare me your analysis of Sir Harry 'hero of our times' Potter, Baronet, and Lord Ronald 'the sporting captain' Weasley," snapped the Marquess testily as he fastened his cloak. "Your young charges are your business, not mine. Besides, Lupin, you owe me nothing."

"Back to your interest in 'nothing', old bean?" Since this is from the mouth of a man in perpetual mourning, I shall take it with a large handful of salt. Well," said Lord Lupin with forced cheer as he consulted his pocket watch. "I had better leave you to your fate. I'll drop by to accompany you to Flourish and Blotts tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," was the clipped reply. "Don't bother Apparating outside, I'll have my carriage deposit you at the opera."

Without waiting for a reply, Lord Sterne left the dressing room and was on his way to his Godfather's dinner party.

Silently arriving at Half Moon Crescent, he slowly made his way up the path to the stately town house of the Duke of Sanguine. The evening was unusually cool and as such, it managed to soothe his distemper somewhat, enabling him to better reflect on the circumstances that led to his summons at his Godfather's.

Five days ago, the Duke of Sanguine had called on him. Lord Sterne paused in mid-thought and grimaced. No, it would be more accurate to say that Sterne had arrived home from his weekly meeting with the editor of Ars Chemica to find the wretched old man happily whistling an old Welsh air as he sat in the antechamber of Sterne's modest bachelor's chambers. That old man certainly had a way of cajoling others, mused Lord Sterne. Within fifteen minutes, the Duke of Sanguine had all but extracted his godson's reluctant promise to dine with him at Half Moon Crescent in five days time.

"Perhaps, it is something to do with multiples of five," muttered the pallid pedestrian in a dark undertone to himself. While he did not know nor care for his godfather's off-kilter schemes, he privately wondered as to his purpose in the wider schema of the Duke's plans. What exactly was the Duke planning that it required a tête-à-tête at a dinner party?

"Intimate dinner party," Lord Sterne reminded himself, as he saw a carriage with the Earl of Transfig's coat of arms materialise some distance ahead of him. What could be the matter of discussion or as he suspected, speculation that required Lady Minerva McGonagall's presence to temper the Duke's intents? Could it have something to do with his controversial decision not to deliver a paper at the Academy or any of the clubs on his lycanthropy cure?

"No," thought the Marquess of Sterne as he shook his head, "that was illogical." He knew that his preference for personal privacy did not preclude his gnawing vanity or his godfather's pride in his serialised account of the lycanthropy cure in Ars Chemica. He paused in his steps and leaned slightly on his malacca cane as if struck by something in his thoughts.

Damn his own self-reflection! That very vanity would be the curse of his existence for this reason and the many seasons yet to come. So, that was why his godfather had summoned him! It was so bloody obvious that he had wrongfully discounted it from the beginning. His own desire for recognition and vain appearance of intellectual modesty had brought him to the notice of matchmaking mammas of the ton. Merlin forbid! Confound the tyranny of his desire to be the top of his field of research. Curse the on-dit columns for highlighting his so-called modesty in chusing to publish his work rather than launch on a lecture tour! Reminding himself to send a scathing howler to the on-dit columnist, one Miss Rita Skeeter, he resumed his walking pace in a bid to calm himself.

"I should have known that my tyranny predicated on my vanity! I wonder which accursed mother, no, sow wants to prostitute her daughter to the dubious fame of being the wife of the eccentrically reclusive research and some time educator, Lord Sterne!" he muttered in an angry hiss. However, he could not resist his urge to smirk at the stupidity of fashionable Society. His godfather would undoubtedly find it droll and would, naturally, given his meddlesome streak, want to 'discuss' the matter with him. Old Fool! Did not he realise that there would be no marriage or tender flirtation? He would be true to the memory of the vivacious, headstrong and intelligent Lily Evans. So what if she had thrown herself away on a mere baronet? It had been more than twenty years since her passing, no-twenty-four years to be exact and he persuaded himself that he would never find her equal. It was only for her sake that he tolerated her son and it was for her sake that he never took himself out of full mourning.

"Dear Lily," he thought, swallowing his resentment of her late husband bitterly, "a pity I could not have offered for you. That blasted Voldemort and his hollow schemes to reform the monarchy and government! To what end? His demise when it turned out that his utopian dream was a modern-day tyranny? His ignominious end at the hands of the Duke of Sanguine, Lily's damnable son, Sir Harry Potter and the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the self-styled nobles for justice?"

No, he shook his head firmly as he arrived at the doorstep of his godfather's townhouse; it was all over and pointless to dwell on the miseries of the past.

Just as that thought passed his mind, the door opened and his godfather's man, Fudge announced, "His Lordship, the Marquess of Sterne."

Without waiting for him to remove his beaver skin hat, malacca cane and cloak, his godfather bounded up to him warmly clasping his hand. "Glad you could make it, mon enfant!" he said with a good deal of good humour.

Lord Sterne smirked and wryly noted a daub of rouge on the old man's left cheek where he must have demanded his godmother kiss him. "As if I had a choice?" he muttered sotto voce, "where is my charming godmother? I must pay my obligatory respects to her."

"Supervising Dobby and Winky as to the table settings," replied the Duke of Sanguine, as he led Lord Sterne into the dining room where Lady Minerva was adjusting the wine glasses with a flick of her wand.

She silently commanded her old friend, the Duke, to seat him at the head of the table with a dart of her shrewd eyes and another flick of her wand to indicate a chair, before turning her attention to Lord Sterne. "Severus," she cried coolly, extending both her hands to her godson.

"Madam," he acknowledged, receiving her hands and bowing low over them. "Your devoted servant. Are we expecting any other guests this evening? The Shacklebolts mayhaps? Or Mme de Beauxbatons and Sir Rubeus?

"So, you've heard about Hagrid's nuptials to the half-sister of the French Wizarding King?" enquired the Duke of Sanguine, as he watched his godson pull out a chair for Lady Minerva, who signalled for Lord Sterne to be seated.

"Indeed, it is difficult to notice such a piece of information when my godson flashes the society pages under my nose so often. Furthermore, it isn't everyday a mere knight weds a French duchesse and takes her name," sneered the dark haired young gentleman.

"Alas, it seems our Severus is already acquainted with the latest news," sighed the Duke, snapping his fingers to signal that the first course should materialise on their plates. "Then, mon enfant, you must have heard that Remus, Harry and your godson, young Villiers, are quite the beaux of the season, as are you, might I add."

Lady Minerva shot her friend a warning glance as she replaced her soup spoon.

Ignoring the lady's private looks, the Duke continued, "Have you given the matter any thoughts, mon enfant?"

"Other than the fact that it is incongruous to place old confirmed bachelors like Lupin and I next to Sir Harry and Lord Villiers, I have no desire to dwell on society's idle gossip."

"You do realise that without your intervention, Lord Villiers would have forfeited his title, fortune, lands and seat in the Lords to the Crown after the war?" asked the elderly man with his blue eyes twinkling lightly.

Lady Minerva silenced the Duke with a scathing look.

"Duke," said Lord Sterne quietly, tightly clenching his napkin. "Kindly inform me as to the reason why I have been summoned here today?"

"Pity, Moody couldn't make it this evening; he's delivering a lecture at Black's later this evening," said the Duke to Lady Minerva.

"Well," came the insistent voice of Lord Sterne, "Sanguine?"

Dabbing his mouth delicately with his napkin, the Duke smiled. "Have you ever considered that a life like mine is lonely? Have you ever thought of doing anything for companionship?" Lord Sterne did the next best thing – he scowled at his godfather and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. The Duke took his godson' silence as an invitation to continue, "Act like a man of sense, Severus. You need a quiet, well bred female who won't have her head full of romantic notions or expect you to be caught up in the transports of passion over her. I know you're till mourning for Lady Potter; as such, I know it would not suit you to offer for some out-and-outer expecting you to dangle after her forever or some other flummery."

Lord Sterne spat his wine into his napkin to contain his ironic laughter. "Who said anything about offering for anyone?" he asked his godmother. "Was someone stupid enough to offer for me? Don't tell me, godmother, your niece, Lady Sybil Trelawney is still dangling after me?" Angrily swallowing the rest of his wine, which he angrily coughed up again, he ranted, "I am going to die constant to the memory of Lily Evans. Your half-baked schemes are better left with the on-dit columns, Duke!"

Lady Minerva rose to pat her godson's back to ease his choking fit. "Sybil's tendre is not issue here. Sanguine has a grand scheme about my protégé. Though I see no reason why Sybil should be passed over – she is beautiful in her own way and witty too, at times..."

"And worthy of so much more than I could offer her," Lord Sterne snarled in a dangerously low, his eyes glittering in controlled irritation.

"Ah," interjected the Duke. "But Miss Granger has not a romantic disposition1"

"What!" exclaimed Lord Sterne in disbelief and some amusement, "The twenty-five year old blue-stocking whom society has christened La Philosophe? I have too much respect for another intellectual to put her through this mockery!"

"Not court her, my boy; but escort her. Her father, the Baron Orthod is very ill and will be unable to escort her around town as much as he would like. Minerva, has under, er..., my persuasion, er..., volunteered your name. After all, you are a confirmed bachelor and will arouse no real suspicion. Minerva will accompany you if need be. And there is an additional incentive to this."

"What?" spat Lord Sterne, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his godparents as he traced his lips with a long finger in thought.

"Sybil would invariably cease pursuing you if you were perceived to be ostensibly courting another," Minerva added quietly.

"I've taught the insufferable know-it-all at Garswoth and I cannot abide by her. Find Potter, Lupin or that young Weasley idiot to play suitor."

"I'm afraid that would not be possible, for Miss Granger will undoubtedly be in need of your assistance, as does your godson," said the old man.

"I have heard enough, Sanguine," announced Lord Sterne testily. "Thank you for dinner. Godmother, I trust you will knock some sense into his bloody skull."

Watching their godson bellow for Fudge to retrieve his cloak, hat and malacca cane, the elderly couple stood side by side without looking at each other. "I told you it would be a disaster," commented the lady.

"Not quite," replied the gentleman, as he heard the door slam. "Not quite."

Footnotes:

Readers, you will notice that the title of the chapter contains the name of flowers/plants. This is significant to understanding the plot. While some of you may be familiar with the language of flowers, I beg you to allow for differences in interpretation. Some flowers/plants have one meaning during the time of the Regency and another during the Victorian era. My guess is that those of you familiar with this language are acquainted with the Victorian interpretation rather than the Regency one.

Naturally, there is also a deeper meaning beyond that of the flowers. What it is – I leave it to you to uncover.

On the Plants mentioned in this chapter

Achimenes Cupreata means "such worth is rare".

This flower is now known as the flame violet (Episcia cupreata (Hooker/Hanstein). It is a gesneriad, a member of the Gesneriaceae. The family is best known for the African violets with their white, pink, or purple flowers. Flame violet flowers are brilliant orange-red. Yes, I know my dating for this flower is incorrect, but there was no other flower with the symbolism and the meaning as this one. If you need to take issue, let me remind you that even the immortal Shakespeare used occasional anachronisms.

William Jackson Hooker originally named the plant Achimenes cupreata in 1847. The species epithet, cupreata, is Latin for 'copper', and is a reference to the colour of the underside of the leaf of the original wild plant. Under cultivation, the flame violet has given rise to numerous leaf colorations; these cultivars are grown for their foliage. Although flame violets produce seeds, they mainly reproduce by stolon or runner. A new plant grows at the tip of the stolon. In good conditions, a flame violet will colonize bare, shaded soil which gave the plant another common name, carpet plant. Johannes Ludwig Emil Robert von Hanstein was one of the first experts in the study of gesneriads. In 1865, he reclassified the flame violet as an Episcia, a genus established by C. H. Persoon and an allusion to the plant's deep shade habitat. Flame violets do not tolerate direct sunlight. Preferring shade, they readily adapt to cultivation as houseplants.

Now, think about what I have just said vis-à-vis this remarkable plant. How does it fit in with Miss Granger and Lord Sterne's characters (more so with this gentleman)? Think about it.

Wolfsbane represents "misanthropy".

You may be surprised that Wolfsbane (also commonly called Aconite and Monkshood) are of the buttercup family. Look at the pictures closely and you will notice that the plant has 5 blue or yellow sepals. One of these sepals is shaped like a hood or a helmet. And in the old days, think old fashioned mages, monks and whatnot – they had this hood over their heads. This is why the English called it Monkshood. The flowers as you notice are rather showy, but at least it warns you not to mistake the plant's roots for horseradish. If you really must play Potions Master with Wolfsbane, please be careful. The juice of the wolfsbane root produces a feeling a numbness and tingling when tasted (as in a lick – if you swallow – it's your own funeral).

As to why wolfsbane represents "misanthropy", let us go into the meaning of "misanthropy". A misanthrope is someone who feels an intense dislike of people and wants to be alone. This begs the question that the person is already in society and cannot fully escape from it. After all, it is only in society that one meets people and only when one has met people can one decide to dislike them. Wolfsbane is very ornamental garden plants. Someone once told me that aconites are hardy perennial. They thrive very well in any ordinary garden soil (Americans call soil "dirt" if I am not mistaken), but ONLY if they grow beneath the shade of trees. Because they thrive under trees, shaded from the sun, livestock are very fond of eating them. And when the animals eat aconite, they die. Now, think how this applies to Severus...

Aconite/wolfsbane has been ascribed with supernatural powers relating to werewolves and other lycanthropes either to repel them or induce their lycanthropic condition.

Just in case you're wondering, let me say that the meaning Monkshood conveys is completely different from the meaning conveyed by Aconite and Wolfsbane. Aconite and Wolfsbane means "misanthropy". But Monkshood has two meanings: (1) A deadly foe is near, and (2) The chivalric acts of knight-errantry.

Miscellaneous Notes

On-dit is French for "we tell". In the context of Regency speech, it meant gossip about the town that is usually published in the newspapers. It has since come to be in use in English.

In those days, "chusing" was how they spelt "choosing".

What is Black's? What is a gentleman's club?

There were many clubs in London during the Regency period. The oldest and most famous of these was White's. But within this story, I have renamed White's. I call it Black's (after Sirius Black). If you are curious as to name of Black's and these sorts of gentlemen's clubs, read on. I have modelled Black's heavily after White's.

White's can be found at 37-38 St James's Street. It was founded – 1736. White's is the oldest club in London, growing out of White's Chocolate House which opened in 1698. The building burnt down in 1733 and so the club moved a few doors up St James's Street and then to its current location around 1755. It was sometime around 1736 or just after that it established as a club and included among its membership of the time such great personages as the Duke of Devonshire, Earl of Rockingham, Bubb Doddington and Sir John Cope.

There was such a clamour for membership that by 1745 it was decided that a second club would be established under the same roof, and this was called the 'Young Club'. The original group were called the 'Old Club'. Vacancies in the Old Club were filled by members of the Young Club. It wasn't until around 1780/81 that the unwieldy system of administration between the two clubs was amalgamated. In Regency times, it faced its great rival, Brookes's, across St James's Street and while it was regarded as a Tory club. This distinction meant little in practice as gentlemen were generally members of both. It was one of the few clubs that set itself up with premises of its own. White's, like Brookes's had restricted admission, with members being elected. It was remarked that no man was refused entry who 'ties a good knot in his handkerchief, keeps his hands out of his breeches pockets, and says nothing.' White's is most famous for its Bay Window which was built in 1811 and quickly became the preserve of Brummell and his friends. Other noted members who frequented Whites, and the notorious bow-window, were Lord Alvanely, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Worcester, Lord Foley and Lord Sefton.

Whist had been voted a dull game by the members and deep gambling was made in hazard, faro and other games of pure chance. The betting book, like the one at Brookes's, was always open on the table for bets of the most trivial nature to be laid at any time.

On Hanover Square

Severus's townhouse is at Hanover Square. It is bounded by Oxford St. on the north, Regent St. on the east, on South and West by the backs of the houses on Conduit and New Bond Streets. The square is the center of Millfield Close Estate. Layout began after the accession of George I in 1714. The Whig magnate Lt. General the Earl of Scarborough developed it who leased it from Sir Benjamin Maddox. It was the first of the great Mayfair Squares. The Church of St. George, built on St George St., was immediately fashionable. Retired Generals and other persons of distinction inhabited the homes here. Learned societies and clubs moved in as it became less fashionable. Robert Adam remodeled No. 13 Roxburghe House for the 3rd Duke of Roxburghe, famous for his book collection, in 1776. The House later passed into the hands of the Lascelles family and was thence known as Harewood House.

What is a malacca cane?

When I say "malacca cane", I do not mean that the cane came from Malacca (a state in West/Peninsula Malaysia). The word "cane" had not been applied to the fashionable walking stick up to the 16th century. During his period, however, the thick, jointed stems of tropical grasses known as bamboo and cane, and the reed-like stem of several species of palm and rattan were introduced for the stick. These were called "canes." From that day forth, the walking stick of the past merged into the cane of the future. Today the terms are used interchangeable, though the saying. "One strolls with a walking stick and swaggers with a Cane!" tend to give greater dignity to the former. (Katherine Morris Lester and Bess Viola Oerke, Accessories of Dress, The Manual Arts Press, Peoria Illinois, p. 392.) A cane was an important accessory for a man from the late 17th century through the early 20th century. A cane made of quality wood, with a silver or gold handle, told of wealth and importance. Cane shafts usually were made of wood such as ebony or rosewood or malacca.

On Pocket Watches

Pocket watches were very special things in the fashionable Regency world. To show you why – let me give you a history.

In 1675, Charles II of England introduced long waistcoats. This became the fashion, and men's watches were then worn in pockets of the waistcoat instead of pendant style from the neck.

In 1704, English watchmakers Facio de Duillier and P. and J. Debaufre developed methods for using jewels as bearings. By 1715, this practice was still rare. After about 1725 it was common to find a fairly large diamond endstone mounted in the time piece.

The commonest watches of the early 1700's had pair cases in gold or silver, both of which were plain. The gold cases of the period are 22 carat. Silver cases were rarely hallmarked before 1740, although gold hallmarks are fairly common. Dials were mainly champlevé, but were slowly replaced by white enamel dials with block numbers.

The earliest enamel dials were somewhat dull and pitted, but after 1725 they are smooth and polished. The markings on the face included bold Arabic numerals for the hours. Most of the minute markings had disappeared or made very small, and at 15-minute intervals. However, by the end of the eighteenth century the markings on the faces became much lighter and more elegant. The maker's name never appeared on the dials before 1750. By 1775, champlevé was rare. In English watches the hands were usually of the beetle and poker style, although the hour hand sometimes had a tulip pattern. The hands were usually made of black steel, although better class watches had blued hands. English watches had the hour and minute hand, whereas the continental watches of the same period tended to only have the hour hand. The watches were wound by opening a hinged back to reveal a second fixed bottom pierced with a winding hole to accommodate the key.

By 1800, the pocket chronometer was a readily available accurate watch. With the newer, more accurate escapements, other changes occurred to timepieces. A seconds hand was added to the watches. Jewelling was more extensively used, with some extremely large jewels being placed on the visible plate. Dials were usually of white enamel. Roman and Arabic numbers were both used, but Roman numerals were more common. After 1800 dials in four-colour gold became popular. Stopwatches were first made in 1821. Pocket watches were all hand made works of art owned by only the wealthy until the 1840's when inexpensive machined parts became widely available.