Chapter 3 - Juniper sprouts on the Box Tree

As this is a Regency story, there is bound to be some AU-ness and OOC-ness. Please bear with me. Emphases are in italics and titles of books &ca are underlined. This story places great stress on the significance and meanings of flowers.

Language of Flowers

Chapter 3 – Juniper sprouts on the Box Tree

Severus, the Marquess of Sterne, arrived home still in a huff and instructed his man to turn away all unimportant callers (if any) for the evening. Arriving at the realisation that the more he thought on his godfather's ridiculous plot – for plot it must be called – the crosser he became. To palliate his mood, he decided to retreat into his private interconnected library, study and laboratory. Working always eased his soul, and tonight, his mind needed to be soothed.

"Ha! What does he take me for?" he spat while pounding wormwood extract with a dried bat's wing. "As if I was unable to keep Sybill Trelawney at bay! Haven't I done so for the past twenty years? Humbug! I've even kept that old man of hers at bay when he constantly thrust his blasted seer of a daughter at me. Old Lord Trelawney must be as senile as my godfather! If he weren't Lady Minerva's brother-in-law, I would have hexed him! Bloody Godfather! Escort Miss Granger around indeed! Ha! That will be the day!"

As he glided to his worktable to check on the by-products of his latest extraction project, he was alerted to Filch's presence at the door of his private sanctuary. Without looking up at his man he rolled up his white sleeves and kept his eyes on the distiller. "Well, Filch, what is it?" he hissed impatiently.

"Milord," said the manservant slowly in his thick Scottish brogue, shifting his weight uneasily between his feet. "Young Lord Villiers to see ye. 'E won't go till 'e's seen ye, 'e says. I couldn't turn the young'un away when 'e looks so wild, ye might say."

"Is he dressed in rags?" sneered Lord Sterne, as he lifted a vial and swirled it gently before his eyes.

"Nay, milord, he ain't been in a fight, but 'e's mighty upset."

The alchemist-Marquess sat down at his worktable and started writing. "Send him up, Filch. And no more visitors this evening, you understand? Or I'll hex you into a spittoon."

The young gentleman leaning against the wall in a most despondent manner watched Filch exit the study in a cringingly servile manner and his eyes lit up with cruel glee that the manservant had been told off. However, Filch soon cast him a dirty and penetrating look that brought him back to the purpose of his visit. Filch roughly thrust a candle into the young visitor's hand and cackled his way upstairs. This gentleman, who was dressed as befitted the Pinkest of the Pinks, was still clad in his very long and voluminous silk lined driving coat that was embellished with several shoulder capes and secured by large mother of pearl buttons. Standing at the corridor along the area his would-be host chillingly dubbed 'the dungeons', he remained cold and felt, for the first time in years, very much alone. Removing his gloves of York tan from his hands to his pockets he checked his pale blond hair, which was carefully anointed with Russian oil and swept completely away from his prepossessing face so as to cling neatly to his scalp. After hearing Filch lock the heavy front doors of Lord Sterne's house for the night, the young Marquess (for it was the young gentleman's rank) inhaled sharply so as to gather the courage to knock on the doors to his host's study.

On hearing a non-committal grunt from the interior, the young man let himself in. "Good evening, godfather," he greeted in a small voice as he saw the figure in the shadowy flickers of the candlelight writing.

Lord Sterne waved for him to sit down. "So, what can I do for you, my Lord Villiers? To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this unsolicited visit?" he enquired in a low voice. "Did the Duchess throw you out for your gaming debts again? Or is this about another one of your birds of paradise? Or worse yet, your by-blows?"

Lord Villiers laughed nervously. "I've given up the gaming hells when you last bailed me out. I have no desire to end up like the Offaly family," he paused in his affected mirthful tone and added in the barest hint of a whisper, "even if I have a tendre for their daughter."

"Did you say something?" asked the older Marquess carelessly, as he labelled a bottle from the distiller and replaced it on the table. "Specifically about the charms of a Lady Ginevra Weasley, only daughter of the impoverished Duke of Offaly?"

The young man twitched his lips into a sad smile. "I might have."

"Is there some rabid disease in the air?"

"Sir?" quizzed the young man curiously, as he cast his eyes around the office.

"Do not tell me you have caught the disease of fancying yourself in love with a penniless nobody?" Lord Sterne continued to stopper and label his bottles of flower extracts.

"Mother said the same thing about her, Godfather. She even asked me what I thought Father would say?"

"And what did you tell Madame la Duchesse?" came the cold disinterested question as the Marquess arranged his newly distilled essences into their trays.

"That he isn't around in British Isles. He is exiled in France. After all, you and the Duke of Sanguine had arranged it; for which, I am thankful, I realise now that our family could have been executed for treason. It is only through your influence that I have my present place in parliament, acting in Father's seat in the Lords."

The older man waved his hands in a dismissive gesture before he started tracing his lips with a long, thin index finger. "Yes, yes. How does this fit in with your amour for Lady Ginevra?"

"I want you to help me."

"Which is to say you need me to help you because you have no one else you trust. I assisted you twice – once so that your family could retain the lifestyle it was accustomed to; and second, when I extracted you from that gaming hell. Can't you ask someone else with nothing better to do than help young couples thwarted in lust, I mean, love?"

Villiers ignored his godfather's words. "Please help me! I've tried reasoning with Mother that Lady Ginevra's blood is as good as ours. I am next in line to a dukedom and she is the daughter of a duke; we are equally matched. But all Mother can say is, 'I will not have Mallefille Manor polluted.' She would rather I court the Granger creature for her money. I think it could be the Irish blood of the Weasleys"

The dark haired Marquess smirked and raised a brow in amusement. "You are a credit to your Mother; you do justice to her manner of speech."

"Will you help me?" asked the younger man insistently.

"No. You can court her yourself. Go to her house, declare yourself and inform her family of your intent. Do so the honourable way and you will have no problems."

"But, Mother..."

"Oh, let the devil take your mother! She is the daughter of a knight, a mere knight ennobled for being the last King's gentleman of the Stables! She who is a daughter of that illiberal ancient house of Black. It is your life, Draco!" ejaculated Lord Sterne.

"Until Mother relents, I can do nothing. Hence, I require your assistance."

"To convince her of your so-called passion? For that chit just out of finishing school?"

"No! To help convince my strawberry blonde beauty that my affection is real," said Draco in exasperation.

Lord Sterne shuddered in mock disgust. "Spare me your abhorrent sentiments of lust!" Then turning to the younger man with a sinister smirk, he brought a tray of unlabelled distilled essence bottles before him. Leaning in on his young guest and trapping him in the chair, the older Marquess's glittering eyes danced menacingly as he quietly issued a challenge. "Pick a bottle, Draco."

"Sir?" murmured he in uncertainty, noticing that his godfather had addressed him by his name.

He mocked in a low quite voice, as his eyes narrowed slightly, "Pick the right one and I will see what I can do. Pick the wrong one and I must bid you goodnight." He caught his godson's hand hesitating and curled his lips into a smirk. "Well? I thought you were a gambling man, my dear Lord Villiers?"

In response, Villiers shut his eyes, held his breath and randomly picked a bottle, which the older man immediately took. Opening his eyes to see a frown briefly alight on his godfather's brow, he knew he had been successful. "What did I pick?" he asked, watching the Marquess with the hooked nose mix his selected bottle's contents with that of a larger decanter.

"Extract of juniper," was the scathing reply. A glass was hastily thrust into the young man's hands. "Drink!"

"What is it?"

"Poison, of course! I want to see if it works."

The young man laughed nervously after sniffing the contents of the glass. "You are actually informing me that you wish to poison me?"

"Do you mean to say you wouldn't extend me the same courtesy, Villiers? Rejuvenating gin does not kill, at least my notes do not indicate death. Well? Drink it, man! I want to be proven wrong! Let's see if you fall dead!"

Realising that Sterne was being his usual mordant self, Lord Villiers cautiously took a sip of the so-called gin. "How is this significant to me?"

"A new potion, I am trying – it should help you to help yourself."

"I don't follow."

Lord Sterne rolled his eyes and curled his lips in annoyance. "I must record this in my log – extract causes stupidity upon consumption! Have you learnt nothing from me! Juniper is a flower. It imparts its distinctive flavour to gin and its berries are known for their rejuvenating effects. As a blossom, it represents protection and succour. As a potion, it may ward off epidemics. Thus, it ought to mean everything to you. You may now swallow the gin."

As soon as the empty glass was returned to him, the older man begrudgingly revealed that he would see what he could do to assist the young Marquess. After a few more shared gins, he thoughtfully asked, "You do realise you may bankrupt yourself assisting her family?"

"Not if I assist Offaly in politics?"

"Good Lord, don't tell me you're a Whig now?"

"No!" protested Villiers. "I mean assist the Duke's rise to a prominent position in governance where the chances of improving his fortune are greater."

"What about the other creature your mother wanted you to marry?"

"Miss Parkinson may be a Baron's daughter but it would be a shocking mésalliance to marry a woman whose family fortune was obtained through trade. That would be no different from allying myself with a cit."

Sterne curled his lips in repugnance at his godson's ugly words. The Malfoys were still inexorably proud of their money and standing. Still, it was refreshing to learn that his godson would rather many a lady without a dowry rather than a lady with ₤30,000. Perhaps the lad really was in the throes of a passion. He made a mental note to casually bring this matter to Lord Lupin's attention; it maybe the cause of good sport to come. A nudge and a question from Draco brought Lord Snape back from his reverie.

"Why weren't you at the opera? Lady Sybill was asking after you."

The darker man made a face and curled his lips contemptuously. "I was dinning with Sanguine and Lady Minerva. And I see you left the opera after Act One."

"Touché," laughed Villiers, "I don't envy you having Lady Sybill run after you."

"May you be blessed with a Sybill Trelawney of your own," commented Lord Sterne in a dead tone. "Enough of my lack of romantic liaisons, tell me about your Lady Ginevra."

At the prospect of highlighting the qualities of his love, Draco brightened up considerably. "Her skin is good, her teeth are even and her hair a perfect strawberry blonde. The weather bows to the commands of her smiles and when she goes riding in Park, she is Artemis incarnate. She may be rather simply attired but instead of rendering her common, she resembles an angel – an Irish angel. I first saw her outside Lincoln's Inn a year ago where she was waiting for the eldest brother, Lord Dragonlaire to collect the post for her. She helped some street children peel an orange. I had thought her rather common at first, until someone in the crowd threw a pebble at me for my family's involvement in the civil war. She immediately cast a total body bind on that person and told him off. I can still recall the manner in which she declared me a somewhat respectable creature even if I appear to be a neck-or-nothing young blood of Fancy. She is so kind, and so good. She maybe a tad outré like her mother, but she is so mature and never judgemental that I cannot help but like her. Lately, it has been getting difficult to even get a glimpse of her. Previously, I could see her at large social events and exchange greetings. Now, she is almost always accompanied by either a member of her family or Miss Granger or Miss Lovegood. I saw Lady Ginevra today at the opera in the box with her parents, but because she looked at me with such suspicion when I caught her eye, I did not dare speak to her or them."

"Very interesting," replied Lord Sterne, leaning back into his chair. "We were speaking of your Lady Ginevra's friendship with Lord Orthod's daughter, are we not?" Draco nodded. "Offaly's English estates are in between the Potter and Orthod's country seats; they've been friends since their childhood."

"I have two suggestions, Draco. First, you must apprise Miss Granger of your intent towards Lady Ginevra. Second, you and your lady (if she is stupid enough to want you) must learn the language of flowers so that you are better able to communicate with each other. Miss Granger should assist in both your plans as well as your education in the language of flowers, if my assessment of her character is correct."

"Any recommendations?" asked Draco earnestly.

"Start by sending her sweet alyssum and yellow acacia. Stay the night, if you wish. It is fast approaching one in the morn. You know where the best guest room is. Ring for Filch if you need anything." With these words, Lord Sterne left the study for his own room where he pondered on the connection between his godson's visit and his godfather's dinner party.

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.

(1) Juniper stands for "succour and/or protection". This is a particular recurring theme in this story, which I drew from an old Christian legend that the infant Christ was hidden from Roman soldiers beneath a juniper bush during the Holy Family's return to Egypt. Furthermore, hunters in Leicestershire, where fox and hare hunting is quite a sport, never chase foxes and hares when these creatures run amongst juniper. It was believed that the foxes and hares would remain hidden in the juniper until they should to leave that sanctuary. What is the juniper's significance in this chapter? What is the juniper's significance to the Malfoy family as a whole in the schema of this plot? You must discern it yourself.

See a juniper here http://www.angelfire.com/blues/deborah/images/juniper.jpg

(2) The Box Tree represents "stoicism".

In the Italian Renaissance, the box tree was frequently used a background in paintings because it symbolised the Resurrection of Christ. Given Christ's behaviour throughout the New Testament, the box tress soon also acquired the meaning of stoicism. See it here http://www.2020site.org/trees/images/box_tree1.gif. Consider its signifance in what has yet to come...

(3) Sweet alyssum means "worth beyond beauty".

When it was first discovered, the flower was crushed and drunk in a sort of tea by those deemed "insane" as it was believed to remedy raging madness. See it here http://www.calflora.net/bloomingplants/sweetalyssum.html

(4) Yellow Acacia means (a) "secret honourable love" or (b) "I dare not declare". Both meanings are implied in the text and the situation at hand. Think about it.

See it here http://alba.web.infoseek.co.jp/yellowseason/acacia_baileyana.jpg and here http://www.alchemy-works.com/Resources/acacia_illus.JPG. The Yellow Acacia is a small graceful tree well adapted to growing inside; it is also a very good greenhouse plant. It has a profusion of beautiful flowers covering the entire plant. The small yellow puff-like flowers are very fragrant and appear in clusters during late winter, these will be followed by seed pods. However, there are some varieties of Acacia that may bloom all year. The plants have compound leaves and are well branched. Be aware some varieties do have nasty thorns. If you grow Acacia as a bonsai culture it requires special attention to make them bloom.

Why does it mean "declare I dare not?" Because the flower will not stand freezing. If the woman of your dreams denies you, you will be frozen and so die – like the yellow acacia. It stands for "secret honourable love" because it flourishes in warm weather. Your love for your beloved is secret and you do not want to sully her name; it is enough for you to see her and be near her. You bask in the warmth of her friendship and you thrive – in warm weather so to speak.

(5) "Bird of paradise" is one of the many Regency slang words for mistress or woman of easy virtue.

(6) "By-blows" is one of the Regency slang words for illegitimate children.

(7) Draco refers to "the Lords". This is a reference to the House of Lords.

(8) Whenever "Commons" is mentioned, I am referring to the House of Commons.

(9) "Neck-or-nothing young blood of Fancy" is Regency slang for sporty and fashionable young nobleman.

(10) "Pinkest of the Pink" is Regency slang for an extremely fashionable young man.

(11) Hell is the abbreviated name for "gaming hell". A gaming hell is a gambling establishment. It's kind of like a casino without all the neon lights and loud music. A young "pigeon" was more likely to fall victim to a dishonourable "shark" at a hell than at an elite gentleman's club.

(12) Cit is a contemptuous term for a member of the merchant class, one who works in or lives in the City of London, i.e. the central business area of London.

(13) Some readers might take offence at the phrase "tendre" used here. I understand that some might look on it as a bastardisation of the French. I know the original phrase is "tendre penchant". In Regency English, the term "tendre" is usually understood to mean a strong liking for. The term "tendre" was used by W. M. Thackery, who wrote, "You poor friendless creatures are always having some foolish tendre" in Vanity Fair. So you see, in English, it is perfectly acceptable.

(14) Anti-Irish prejudice is a very old theme in English culture. Despite this explanation, my betas and prelim readers were still confused as to reason why. This warrants a little lecture, so bear with me. If you want more information, email me. But I might take a while to reply. I've a lot on my plate right now. The written record begins with Gerald of Wales, whose family was deeply involved in the Norman invasion of Ireland.

In his 12th-century History and Topography of Ireland Gerald wrote contemptuously of the people, portraying them as inferior to the Normans in every respect:

"They live on beasts only, and live like beasts. They have not progressed at all from the habits of pastoral living." He condemned their customs, dress, and "flowing hair and beards" as examples of their "barbarity". He also vilified the religious practices and marriage customs of the people:

"This is a filthy people, wallowing in vice. Of all peoples it is the least instructed in the rudiments of the faith. They do not yet pay tithes or first fruits or contract marriages. They do not avoid incest." (cf. Gerald of Wales, The History and Topography of Ireland,Penguin Classics 1982)

British contempt for the Irish was part of an increasing disdain for foreigners in general. The Swiss traveller de Saussure observed them in 1727:

"I do not think there is a people more prejudiced in its own favor than the British people, and they allow this to appear in their talk and manners. They look on foreigners in general with contempt, and think nothing is as well done elsewhere as in their own country." (cf. J.H. Plumb, England in the Eighteenth Century, Penguin, 1950, p. 33)

* Released this chapter early as I have to invigilate (americans call it proctor I believe) exams next week.