Chapter 7 - Conversations among the viscaria occulatas

My apologies for the delay – real life is very messy at the moment, with my academic career swinging like a yoyo. This will be a 'tide-over' post. I'll post again after X'mas. Meanwhile, if you want to read my X'mas murder mystery, go to the Petulant Poetess.

And Keladry, I hope this cheers you up! Get well soon! *air kisses cheek*

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.

Extensive footnotes (more so than usual) follow the chapter. References to Hobbes's Leviathan and Locke's Two Treatises of Government are based on my reading of the text. Readers who are antipathetic to them have been warned.

Language of Flowers

Chapter 7 – Conversations among the viscaria occulatas

Cornelius Fudge, the self-professed major domo of the Duke of Sanguine's household frowned at his master's instructions for the ball he was throwing that evening in honour of Lady Minerva's name day. He could not see how the cooks, the butlers, under-butlers, maids and steward were to make of his Grace's vague orders when he, Cornelius Hercule Fudge, could not. Oh, how he longed to be someone important in the household! He undertook the tasks of the under-butlers so as to bring himself to the notice of his employer. Instead of appreciating his efforts, the old Duke only laughed at him. The old man had the temerity to laugh at the best valet in town (another title he had coined for himself)! Not only were his efforts the object of humour, they were also seen in entirely the wrong light. Fudge considered that he was a reasonable man without notions above his station. He was not naturally vicious, he thought ruefully, he only wanted to save His Grace unnecessary expenses. His Grace only needed him to wait on him. Instead of accepting this wonderful scheme of economy, the Duke of Sanguine laughed and told him to leave well and well alone. He must not deprive the house-elves of their occupations. Reflecting on these thoughts and a poorly digest piece of bacon had placed Fudge in high dudgeon. It was in this mood that he snatched His Grace's written instructions for the ball from Fletcher, the butler. It was also on this mood that he burst into his Grace's study to confirm the instructions.

Schooling his features into a servile manner, he began his long practised speech. "What do you mean, your Grace, by asking for incense to keep out insects? Won't the smell reek and linger on the guests' clothes? Pheasant is out of season, your Grace. It will not do! Might I suggest quails; they are so much more nutritious. And the little troupe of musicians you hired must be very respectable for the gentry and common folk, but we cannot allow Mr Flitwick's recommendations to cloud our judgement. As our former colleague, Mrs Umbridge once said..."

Without warning, the Duke raised his left hand and flicked out his wand. "Silencio! Petrificus Totalus!" he commanded and successfully silenced and immobilised his valet. "Not bad for a spare wand wielded by a supposedly right-handed wizard, n'est ce pas?" he muttered, continuing his writing. Only when he had sealed his letter and put away his spare wand did he speak to his now statue-like manservant. "Such opprobrious behaviour! One might accuse of all sorts of things, Fudge! You're allowing too many things to go to your head. While I do not care much for the airs you give yourself, they do not bother me as much as your usage of the royal pronoun. I beg of you never to associate yourself with it again. It might give the other servants ideas above their station."

His blue eyes twinkled slightly before hardening a little. "It may interest you to learn that I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this fashion by my servants. I discharged Mrs Umbridge without references for this reason. It would behove you to bear that in mind."

Retrieving the list of instructions from the valet's hand, he continued, "I'll hand this to Dobby now, if you don't mind. He is quite capable, you understand. You had better rest in your room." Waving his right hand, the Duke soon deposited Fudge in his narrow chamber and magically bolted the door from the outside for a few hours. As he sat down and gave the eager house-elf the instructions for the evening's ball, he wondered aloud whether his soiree would be inhospitable enough to any insects that might stumble upon it.

Regardless of the Duke's private doubts on the abilities of ox-eye scented insect repellent incense to perform its duties, he did not neglect his. Standing at the head of the receiving line at eight o'clock, he personally greeted the first few guests to arrive. Lord Sterne, famed for his punctuality scowled at him and muttered something under his breath about hexing his host if he heard another 'mon enfant' that evening. The old man's sharp eyes had, however, caught a small cluster of scabious at his mourning evening coat. Lady Minerva arrived next to help him receive her guests; she reasoned that since it was a ball in her honour on her name day, she should play the role of the hostess at such a function. Most of the Weasley tribe arrived next together with Sir Harry, Lord Orthod, Miss Granger, Lord de Quib and Miss Lovegood. Lady Minerva and the Duke of Sanguine approvingly noticed that Miss Granger had conveyed the Duke and Duchess of Offaly as well as Lady Ginevra in her carriage, Sir Harry had driven Lords Ronald, George and Frederick in his, and Miss Lovegood had taken Lord Dragonlaire, Lord William Weasley and Lady Ginevra's Bulstrode in hers. It was soon discovered by the host and hostess that the Duke of Offaly's carriage wheel had come off rather badly earlier in the week and the family had forgotten to repair it.

Bulstrode, as it transpired, was invited by Lady Minerva, who had heard the young abigail sing during her visit to the Duchess of Offaly's household three days ago. The abigail was to entertain the party with an aria or two later in the evening; and according to the Duke of Sanguine, it would bring him much joy to uncover the truth about her. The invitation had also been extended to Miss Granger's Brown, but it was politely declined. The young lady's unfortunate previous liaison with Lord Villiers still shamed her and she could not bear exposure in a public crowd. This reason was accepted by Mr Longbottom with approval and the rest with alacrity. Pushing that thought and Sir Harry's strange blank look at Brown's absence out of his mind, the Duke of Sanguine continued to greet the rest of his guests – the Misses Patil, the honourable Mr and Mrs Shacklebolt, Count Moody, Lord and Lady Trelawney, Lady Sybill Trelawney, Lord Lupin, the honourable Mr Flitwick, Lady Sinistra and her niece, Miss Vector, Lord Percy Weasley and quite a few others. However, it was at the exact moment at the end of the second cotillion when the Duke of Sanguine had despaired of having the Duchess of Mallefille and Lord Villiers presence that they arrived. Sanguine smiled at hearing the Duchess of Mallefille's boast that she was fashionably late to Lady Parkinson, soon died when he realised that Miss Granger and Bulstrode were seated and unsolicited for the first two dances. He was about to claim Miss Granger for a dance after depositing Lady Minerva in a chair when he saw his godson conjure a poesy of throatwort for the young lady and engaging Bulstrode for a dance. As his curiosity was piqued, he wandered over to Miss Granger.

"No desire to dance, my dear girl?" the Duke of Sanguine asked, chuckling at her intent study of the poesy and Draco's attempts to see to his mother's comfort.

She smiled gently at him, "I have a waltz with Lord Sterne later. Perhaps, you would like to stand up with me now, Duke? "

"Oh no!" he laughed merrily, tapping his nose with a conspiratorial wink. "I have to attend to my guests and ensure that all is fair in the card room."

Miss Granger caught his wink and its implied meaning and smiled wryly. "You could encourage Neville to ask Bulstrode to dance. I think he wants to but is too diffident."

"I will do so." He paused and looked at his godson's graceful dancing form. "Sterne asked you to dance yet?"

"He's reserved an allemande."

"Why do you think my Lord Sterne ask you for a dance?"

"My educated guess would be this – a keen desire to escape from Lady Sybill's assiduous embraces."

As they shared a laugh, the Duke observed Villiers approaching them with a look resembling desperation in his cold eyes. "Lord Villiers has come to claim you; you won't be needing me for a while. However, that lady," he paused and indicated the Duchess of Mallefille, "might get cross. Look how she stares at Miss Bulstrode so intently – why, one would think she had seen a ghost. She was deeply attached to her sister, Bellatrix. You might know her as the late Lady Lestrange, wife of the late Lord Lestrange. Despite her airs, Narcissa Mallefille is an affectionate woman, much attached to her husband, some would say – too attached. I do not blame her at all. He was and by all accounts still is extremely uxorious – spoiled her it seems. Now, what I want to know is her interest in young Miss Bulstrode. I've heard the rumours of course, but..."

However, he did not allow himself to finish as he was within the hearing of the haughtily handsome Lord Villiers. Slapping Villiers's back affectionately as he vacated his seat, the Duke made his way to the pale blonde beauty in a gold court dress favoured by the queen of the previous reign.

"Miss Granger," saluted Villiers, bowing low over her extended gloved hand. "Might I interest you in a little social intercourse?" He swept his free hand in the direction of the ballroom.

"Not as yet, Lord Villiers, I am not inclined to dance now," said she, as she arose from her seat and took his arm. "However, you may have the next if you take me for a turn around the room." Her eyes darted significantly at the Duchess of Mallefille before resting briefly on Millicent Bulstrode.

The young Marquess smirked conceitedly to show that he understood. Miss Granger, on the other hand, was sure that he hadn't. The old Duke of Sanguine was intimidating at a fact, that had young Lord Villiers known, would have made him reconsider his past action towards Bulstrode. However, she was in an equable mood and had no wish to disabuse her companion of his conceptions. She allowed herself to be led to one of the French windows and waited for him to speak.

"Mother wants to know if I have made any progress with you."

"Inform her I am retiring and shy; that I do not trust easily and all that other gibberish about maidenly modesty."

"I have to be careful not to have more than two dances with Lady Ginevra."

"Recall that this is a ball. It will not do for me to be seen monopolising you. It shows a want of propriety," reminded the young lady.

"I have to arrange another meeting with Lady Ginevra, she will inform you of the details."

"Villiers! You cannot continue with her in this way. You could endanger her reputation! You should make a firm stand where your affairs are concerned!"

He violently flung her hand off his arm in exasperation and hissed desperately, "That's why I'm speaking to you. You're a woman of resources – help me, please."

"To do what?"

"To marry her and appease my mother," he whispered harshly.

"Write to your father. I am sure that the Duke is a reasonable man," she said frostily, as she replaced her arm on Villiers's and led him around the room once again.

"I have! But..." he muttered with much anxiety.

"But?" asked Hermione impatiently.

"My post owl has not returned," was the lame reply

"Then wait!" she hissed irritably, as they passed by the Weasley twins demonstrating their latest toys to the society mammas. "Better acquaint yourself with Ginny first. You must allow her to trust you first. Once those two things are in place, I'll think of something to assist in your union."

"I shall hold you to your word, Miss Granger," declared a now less agitated Villiers. The movement of the dance brought Bulstrode to their notice. "That brooch that Miss Bulstrode on her throat is familiar. Have you seen it?"

Miss Granger shrugged. "No. She's always had it as far as I know."

"And who was..." Villiers's words were truncated by the obsequious attentions of Lord Percy and Miss Granger slipped away to Lord Lupin's stand by one the chairs without so much as a backward glance at Lord Villiers.

"Something caught your attention, Lord Lupin?" she asked playfully.

"Someone," he answered with a little welcoming smile.

"Who is the happy lady?"

"The one in the pale blue lace fichu."

"Don't be a tease! At least three ladies here matching that description, Lupin."

The Baron chose not to answer; instead he straightened his posture as the present dance set came to an end. Noticing Lord Sterne striding purposefully towards them, they both rose.

"Miss Granger, you promised me this gavotte," the Marquess hissed insistently, as he extended his gloved right hand.

Taken aback, Miss Granger began to protest slightly. Puzzled, she looked behind Lord Sterne and heard Lord Lupin chuckle at Lady Sybill's approach. Taking in Lady Sybill's gown of pale blue and the lace fichu, she cast Lupin a sly look before turning to Lord Sterne with a mirthful smirk.

"Miss Granger," growled Sterne in a low dangerous voice, his eyes narrowing at the presence of danger. "The gavotte."

"Why there you are, Sterne. I was beginning to despair that you would not be here. Shall we have the next to dances? You can sit beside me at the dinner," chimed Lady Sybill in a singsong voice as she draped herself on the Marquess's arm.

Accessing the situation, Miss Granger knew what must be done – she placed her hand in Severus's extended one, looked at him knowingly before addressing Lady Sybill. "Unfortunately, my lady, Lord Sterne has already engaged me for the next two dances." Nudging Lord Lupin with her other arm by swinging her ridicule into his chest, she continued, "Lord Lupin, however, was admiring your fine eyes and had not the courage to ask you to dance. He kept asking about that lovely lady with eyes like quicksilver. Since he is so taken with you, you could oblige him with a dance or two. Since Lord Sterne has already arranged to be of my party, I am afraid I must leave you in the capable hands of Lord Lupin."

Pretending not to notice the tell-tale flutter of envy playing at Lady Sybill's lips and light flush of disappointment upon her cheeks, Lupin quickly seized both the initiative and the lady's hand for the dance and led away to the far corner of the room.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," murmured Sterne in a barely audible drawl as he turned noticeably paler.

"Cross with me for being so overbearing?" she asked lightly as they began the set.

"Only with myself," was his quiet response.

"How singular! I did not know you would feel the loss of Lady Sybill's company and great enthusiasm for you so keenly!"

His eyes flickered in a moment of amusement. "It is a great loss," he muttered gravely.

"It is too late now, my lord, Lupin seems to have captivated her attention."

They shared a mutual knowing glance after observing Lupin and Lady Sybill laugh at one of her comments.

"Was that magnificent piece of knight errantry necessary, Miss Granger?" he asked with a scowl, his expression belying the backhanded compliment.

"It was masterful, I know," she answered frostily.

He arched a brow in interest at the fact that she no longer blushed over compliments (regardless of their execution) and accepted them matter-of-factly. Staring at the confident young lady, he enquired as to her day and learnt that she had been reading and studying all day. "Anything of note struck you?" he asked

"Many things...Your observations on camomile extract and how well it describes your character."

"I advise you not to take my likeness, Miss Granger, or you will be petrified."

"But I must!" the lady insisted seriously. "The mind is the only constant in human affairs, Lord Sterne. While you present a disagreeable, truculent face to the world, your work acts like camomile, does it not?"

He curled his lips contemptuously in response so as that she would not see him biting his tongue and holding back the words there were there. He longed to inform her that her analysis had him utterly.

The lady, however, took his scowl as a sign of encouragement and was emboldened to continue as soon as the movement of the dance united them once again, "To soothe and comfort man's fear of violent death* from within was a property of camomile, you acknowledged this in your last article."

"It was in response to a critique."

She feigned a look of surprise. "I did not know you drew criticism."

"It is part of the educational project."

"Ah yes, the truth behind paideia. It seems well established in your article on the merits of flower and plant essences."

"Plants, simple plants are often overlooked in favour of more exotic ingredients."

"Hear, hear!" agreed Miss Granger. "It is a lost art. There is something extremely mathematical and poetic about the properties of plant extracts. Plato made quite a study of it in his academy. Ageômetrêtos mêdeis eisitô – it highlights a relationship between mathematics, philosophy and alchemy that has often been close but not always easygoing. Sadly, it is a neglected field of study. I am surprised you had not pointed it out. The beauty of this study is that it reveals much about the researcher..."

"How so?" he enquired, baring his uneven teeth in a gesture of challenge. "One chooses one's ingredients based on the purpose of the brew."

"The purpose of the brew is always clear enough from the name. I'm speaking of a more thorough analysis on the brewer, the methodology and the selected ingredients. The purpose of the potion is predicated on his or her knowledge. This knowledge shapes the underlining reasons for his selection of particular plant substances."

"Mere speculation, Miss Granger, you are using vanity as a base."

"Yet amour propre and amour de soi have the same root," she retorted, her eyes dancing with the refreshing intellectual exercise. "One is drawn to the familiar because one knows what it is capable of. For instance, you are fond of using wormwood in your concoctions."

"Because it is a versatile binding reagent," he snapped defensively.

"I am merely stating a fact," she answered coolly, staring into his obsidian pools without blinking or flinching at his harsh glowering eyes and the firm grip at her hands. "Wormwood represents absence and it is a very apt description of you for you rarely grace social occasions."

"I am only one person; it is an inefficient study."

"Count Moody favours swamp magnolia not only for its abilities to brew potions of an even consistency, but also to highlight his ill-temper. His choice of this reagent encourages him to persevere. But fear not, his skill is nothing next to your. And the Duke of Sanguine favours the American starwort for its abilities to soak up any excess causal reagent. It also adequately elicits his weltenshauung."

Lord Sterne rolled his eyes not completely convinced. "And what about you?"

She laughed lightly (he thought she was laughing at him and frowned). "I have not been brewing potions for a while, so it is impossible for me to tell."

"You lie," he said a little maliciously through his teeth.

She, however, smiled coldly at him, continued dancing and replied, "So you say."

"I can remove your gloves to check your fingers."

"And you will cause scandal."

"I will see your hands at the dining area."

"You will notice that they are spotless."

Their eyes held a gaze that was longer than permitted in polite society but they seemed oblivious to the short-sighted stares of Lady Sybill. The unyielding chocolate pools stared back at his smouldering obsidian ones.

"Keep dancing," Miss Granger commanded as soon as she felt Lady Sybill's eyes on them. "Or your admirer will rescue you from me."

"Ah," he conceded, keeping his anger in check, realising that he was unable to retort.

Despite the verbal sparring, Sterne was far from insulted. He was intrigued. He did not remember Hermione so confident and radiant at Garswoth. Clearly, her private studies have augmented her mind and her sharp wit. He knew she was no beauty, yet the way she spoke and carried herself seemed to him a proclamation of her quiet neglected brand of beauty. Although she differed vastly from Lily Evans (he could not think on her as Lady Potter without a sour pang), Miss Granger shared the late beauty's grace and intellect. As soon as the dancing recommenced after the dinner intermission, he immediately claimed her for a waltz before Lady Sybill could accost him. Seeing how his godmother's niece had quickly accepted Lord Percy's arm, Sterne turned to his partner without displaying any sign of relief.

"Miss Granger, do not be shocked at the proposition I am to offer you," he drawled silkily.

She carefully avoided his eyes and looked at Lupin cutting in Lord Percy's waltz with Lady Sybill. "Is this a carte-blanche? Should I feel insulted or honoured?"

"Neither," he said with the utmost gravity, as he caught her bite her lower lip. "I will help you with Villiers and his Lady Ginevra, if you help me with Lady Sybill."

Her composure returned, she looked coolly into his eyes and asked, "How may I be of assistance? If it is indeed assistance you require?"

"I will pretend to pay court to you, giving us more time to think on Villiers's dilemma, thus opening the route for Lupin's pursuit of Lady Sybill."

"Yes, he does appear taken with her."

"Is that a mark of assent, Miss Granger?"

"You do honour me with your confidence. I must think the matter over," she answered. "For the sake of the beautiful throatwort pinned to my gown, I will agree to this scheme. After all, it is only pretend."

"Indeed," he murmured, spinning her in tune to the waltz rhythm as his eyes darkened and glittered coldly with a silent prayer that the soul of the late Lady Potter would forgive him for neglecting her memory.

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) Viscaria occulata poses the question "Will you dance with me?"

View it here http://www.butchartgardens.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/seedsViscarialarge.jpg

(2) Ox-eye means "patience". In Regency times, it was spelt thus. View it here http://aquat1.ifas.ufl.edu/wedtri4.jpg and http://www.monasheetourism.com/PlantsandFlowers/T%20132%20Oxeye%20Daisy.jpg

Now, it is known as the oxeye daisy. It is a flower that is both loved and hated. It was a plague on pastures and crop fields across Europe. The Scots called the flowers "gools". The farmer with the most gools in their wheat field had to pay an extra tax. Now the gools have invaded this continent from coast to coast. The oxeye daisy is a short-lived perennial originally brought here from Europe. The dainty flowers have escaped cultivation and now crowd out other plants on many rangelands. A vigorous daisy can produce 26,000 seeds per plant, while smaller specimens produce 1,300 to 4,000 seeds per plant. Tests have shown that 82% of the buried seeds remained viable after six years, and 1% were still viable after 39 years. Oxeye daisy requires cold winters to initiate blooming. The plant also reproduces vegetatively with spreading rootstalks. Daisies are resistant to many herbicides.

The oxeye daisy is mildly aromatic, like its close cousin, chamomile. The leaves and flowers are edible, though palatability may vary. A tea of the plant is useful for relaxing the bronchials. It is diuretic and astringent, useful for stomach ulcers and bloody piles or urine. Also used as a vaginal douche for cervical ulceration. The daisy is aromatic, used as an antispasmodic for colic and general digestive upset.

Sheep, goats and horses eat the oxeye daisy, but cows and pigs do not like it. The plant spreads rapidly when cattle pastures are managed with a low stock density and continuous grazing regime. Under these conditions, cows repeatedly select their preferred plants, while ignoring unpalatable species like the oxeye daisy.

Switching to higher stock densities and shorter grazing periods does encourage cattle to eat and trample more of the plant. Intensive grazing and trampling slightly reduces the number of seeds produced, and presumably injures younger rootstalks. Trampling also brings dormant seeds to the surface and removes the canopy cover so those seeds will germinate with mid-summer rain showers. In normal years, those seedlings will dry-out and die before becoming established, further reducing the number of seeds in the seed bank. It should be noted, however, that intensive grazing in wet summers may increase the number of successful seedlings. As many as 40% percent of the seeds consumed by cattle may remain viable after passing through the digestive tract, so care should be taken to avoid spreading the seeds when moving stock.

(3) Scabious means "unfortunate love".

View it here http://homepage.eircom.net/~hedgerow4/devils-bit-scabious.JPG and http://www.ernest-charles.com/acatalog/field_scabious_350.jpg

This pretty blue flower's name has unfortunate origins in the Latin word scabies, a kind of skin disease, and 'scab', these and similar conditions it was thought to heal. The herbalist, Culpepper, also applied the fresh plant to carbuncles which would virtually disappear 'in three hours space'. The Devil's Bit scabious bore the descriptive country name 'pincushion'. The root of this variety looks like a truncated finger and it was said that the Devil bit it off hoping that the plant would die and be of no benefit to the human race.

(4) Throatwort means "neglected beauty".

The throatwort is also known as the fig-wort in some cultures. You will notice from the pictures http://www.californiagardens.com/images/Trachelium_caeruleum_aspect_c.jpg and http://www.flowers.org.uk/images/flowers/aut03_tracheliumclose_lrg.jpg that the plant has diverse great, strong, hard, square brown stalks, three or four feet high, whereon grow large, hard, and dark green leaves, two at a joint, harder and larger than Nettle leaves, but not stinking; at the tops of the stalks stand many purple flowers set in husks, which are sometimes gaping and open, somewhat like those of Water Betony; after which come hard round heads, with a small point in the middle, wherein lie small brownish seed. The root is great, white, and thick, with many branches at it, growing aslope under the upper crust of the ground, which abides many years, but keeps not his green leaves in winter. It grows frequently in moist and shadowy woods, and in the lower parts of the fields and meadows. It flowers about July, and the seed will be ripe about a month after the flowers are fallen.

Some Latin scholars during the High Middle Ages called the throatwort/fig-wort, "Cervicaria" because it is appropriated to the treatment of ailments in and around the neck. However, by the 15th-16th century, the English gave it the name "throatwort" because it was found suitable to treating throat complaints. Culpepper's The Complete Herbal (that I am quoting in its medieval English) says, "Venus owns the herb, and the Celestial Bull will not deny it; therefore a better remedy cannot be for the king's evil, because the Moon that rules the disease, is exalted there. The decoction of the herb taken inwardly, and the bruised herb applied outwardly, dissolves clotted and congealed blood within the body, coming by any wounds, bruise or fall; and is no less effectual for the king's evil, or any other knobs, kernel, bunches, or wens growing in the flesh wheresoever; and for the hæmorrhoids, or piles. An ointment made hereof may be used at all times when the fresh herb is not to be had. The distilled water of the whole plant, roots and all, is used for the same purposes, and dries up the superfluous, virulent moisture of hollow and corroding ulcers; it takes away all redness, spots, and freckles in the face, as also the scurf, and any foul deformity therein, and the leprosy likewise."

(5) Wormwood stands for "absence".

View it here http://www.xanatos.com/earthshine/image/digital/wormwood1.jpg

The Wormwoods are members of the great family of Compositae and belong to the genus Artemisia, a group consisting of 180 species, of which we have four growing wild in England, the Common Wormwood, Mugwort, Sea Wormwood and Field Wormwood. In addition, as garden plants, though not native, Tarragon (A. dracunculus) claims a place in every herb-garden, and Southernwood (A. abrotanum), an old-fashioned favourite, is found in many borders, whilst others, such as A. sericea, A. cana and A. alpina, form pretty rockwork shrubs.

The whole family is remarkable for the extreme bitterness of all parts of the plant: 'as bitter as Wormwood' is a very ancient proverb. The genus is named Artemisia from Artemis, the Greek name for Diana. In an early translation of the Herbarium of Apuleius we find these words, "Of these worts that we name Artemisia, it is said that Diana did find them and delivered their powers and leechdom to Chiron the Centaur, who first from these Worts set forth a leechdom, and he named these worts from the name of Diana, Artemis, that is Artemisias."

The Common Wormwood held a high reputation in medicine among the Ancients. Tusser (1577), in July's Husbandry, says:

While Wormwood hath seed get a handful or twaine

To save against March, to make flea to refraine:

Where chamber is sweeped and Wormwood is strowne,

What saver is better (if physick be true)

For places infected than Wormwood and Rue?

It is a comfort for hart and the braine

And therefore to have it is not in vaine.'

Besides being strewn in chambers as Tusser recommended, it used to be laid amongst muffs and furs to keep away moths and insects.

According to the Ancients, wormwood counteracted the effects of poisoning by hemlock, toadstools and the biting of the seadragon. The plant was of some importance among the Mexicans, who celebrated their great festival of the Goddess of Salt by a ceremonial dance of women, who wore on their heads garlands of Wormwood.

With the exception of rue, wormwood is the bitterest herb known, but it is very wholesome and used to be in much request by brewers for use instead of hops. The leaves resist putrefaction, and have been on that account a principal ingredient in antiseptic fomentations.

The root of wormwood is perennial, and from it arise branched, firm, leafy stems, sometimes almost woody at the base. The flowering stem is 2 to 2 1/2 feet high and whitish, being closely covered with fine silky hairs. The leaves, which are also whitish on both sides from the same reason, are about 3 inches long by 1 1/2 broad, cut into deeply and repeatedly, the segments being narrow (linear) and blunt. The leaf-stalks are slightly winged at the margin. The small, nearly globular flowerheads are arranged in an erect, leafy panicle, the leaves on the flower-stalks being reduced to three, or even one linear segment, and the little flowers themselves being pendulous and of a greenish-yellow tint. They bloom from July to October. The ripe fruits are not crowned by a tuft of hairs, or pappus, as in the majority of the Compositae family. The leaves and flowers are very bitter, with a characteristic odour, resembling that of thujone. The root has a warm and aromatic taste. As can be anticipated, wormwood likes a shady situation, and is easily propagated by division of roots in the autumn.

You may even be interested to learn that wormwood is used a very Old Love Charm. It goes like this:

"On St. Luke's Day, take marigold flowers, a sprig of marjoram, thyme, and a little wormwood; dry them before a fire, rub them to powder; then sift it through a fine piece of lawn, and simmer it over a slow fire, adding a small quantity of virgin honey, and vinegar. Anoint yourself with this when you go to bed, saying the following lines three times, and you will dream of your partner "that is to be":

"St. Luke, St. Luke, be kind to me,

In dreams let me my true-love see." '

Culpepper, writing of the three Wormwoods most in use, the Common Wormwood, Sea Wormwood and Roman Wormwood, tells us: 'Each kind has its particular virtues' . . . the Common Wormwood is 'the strongest,' the Sea Wormwood, 'the second in bitterness,' whereas the Roman Wormwood, 'to be found in botanic gardens' - the first two being wild - 'joins a great deal of aromatic flavour with but little bitterness.'

The whole herb - leaves and tops - gathered in July and August, when the plant is in flower and dried. Collect only on a dry day, after the sun has dried off the dew. Cut off the upper green portion and reject the lower parts of the stems, together with any discoloured or insect-eaten leaves. Tie loosely in bunches of uniform size and length, about six stalks to a bunch, and spread out in shape of a fan, so that the air can get to all parts. Hang over strings, in the open, on a fine, sunny, warm day, but in half-shade, otherwise the leaves will become tindery; the drying must not be done in full sunlight, or the aromatic properties will be partly lost. Aromatic herbs should be dried at a temperature of about 70 degrees. If no sun is available, the bunches may be hung over strings in a covered shed, or disused greenhouse, or in a sunny warm attic, provided there is ample ventilation, so that the moist heated air may escape. The room may also be heated with a coke or anthracite stove, care being taken that the window is kept open during the day. If after some days the leaves are crisp and the stalks still damp, hang the bunches over a stove, when the stalks will quickly finish drying. Uniformity in size in the bunches is important, as it facilitates packing. When the drying process is completed, pack away at once in airtight boxes, as otherwise the herbs will absorb about 12 per cent moisture from the air. If sold to the wholesale druggists in powdered form, rub through a sieve as soon as thoroughly dry, before the bunches have had time to absorb any moisture, and pack in tins or bottles at once.

Its chief constituent is a volatile oil, of which the herb yields in distillation from 0.5 to 1.0 per cent. It is usually dark green, or sometimes blue in colour, and has a strong odour and bitter, acrid taste. The oil contains thujone (absinthol or tenacetone), thujyl alcohol (both free and combined with acetic, isovalerianic, succine and malic acids), cadinene, phellandrene and pinene. The herb also contains the bitter glucoside absinthin, absinthic acid, together with tannin, resin, starch, nitrate of potash and other salts. It is often used as a nervine tonic, particularly helpful against the falling sickness and for flatulence. It is a good remedy for enfeebled digestion and debility.

In the Middle Ages, wormwood tea was taken to relieve melancholia and treat jaundice. Monks in those days also burnt the plant and made tea from the ashes to treat dropsy. The people then believed that wormwood flowers, dried and powdered, are most effectual as a vermifuge, and used to be considered excellent in agues. The essential oil of the herb is used as a worm-expeller, the spirituous extract being preferable to that distilled in water. The leaves give out nearly the whole of their smell and taste both to spirit and water, but the cold water infusions are the least offensive.

The intensely bitter, tonic and stimulant qualities have caused Wormwood not only to be an ingredient in medicinal preparations, but also to be used in various liqueurs, of which absinthe is the chief, the basis of absinthe being absinthol, extracted from Wormwood. Wormwood, as employed in making this liqueur, bears also the name 'Wermuth' - preserver of the mind - from its medicinal virtues as a nervine and mental restorative. If not taken habitually, it soothes spinal irritability and gives tone to persons of a highly nervous temperament. Suitable allowances of the diluted liqueur will promote salutary perspiration and may be given as a vermifuge. Inferior absinthe is generally adulterated with copper, which produces the characteristic green colour.

The drug, absinthium, is rarely employed, but it might be of value in nervous diseases such as neurasthenia, as it stimulates the cerebral hemispheres, and is a direct stimulant of the cortex cerebri. When taken to excess it produces giddiness and attacks of epileptiform convulsions. Absinthium occurs in the British Pharmacopoeia in the form of extract, infusion and tincture, and is directed to be extracted also from A. maritima, the Sea Wormwood, which possesses the same virtues in a less degree, and is often more used as a stomachic than the Common Wormwood. Commercially this often goes under the name of Roman Wormwood, though that name really belongs to A. Pontica. All three species were used, as in Culpepper's time.

Dr John Hill (1772) recommends Common Wormwood in many forms. He says:

'The Leaves have been commonly used, but the flowery tops are the right part. These, made into a light infusion, strengthen digestion, correct acidities, and supply the place of gall, where, as in many constitutions, that is deficient. One ounce of the Flowers and Buds should be put into an earthen vessel, and a pint and a half of boiling water poured on them, and thus to stand all night. In the morning the clear liquor with two spoonfuls of wine should be taken at three draughts, an hour and a half distance from one another. Whoever will do this regularly for a week, will have no sickness after meals, will feel none of that fullness so frequent from indigestion, and wind will be no more troublesome; if afterwards, he will take but a fourth part of this each day, the benefit will be lasting.'

He further tells us that if an ounce of these flowers be put into a pint of brandy and let to stand six weeks, the resultant tincture will in a great measure prevent the increase of gravel - and give great relief in gout. 'The celebrated Baron Haller has found vast benefit by this; and myself have very happily followed his example.'

(6) Swamp Magnolia stands for "perseverance".

View it here http://www.georgian.edu/pinebarrens/bi_p_mvi.htm

Magnolia virginiana 'Sweetbay' also called Laurel or Swamp Magnolia is a small, multi-stemmed, deciduous shrub of loose, open upright habit in the North and deciduous, semi-evergreen forming a large pyramidal tree in the South. It is a graceful tree known for the sweet fragrance of its flowers. In the landscape the Sweetbay Magnolia is excellent as a specimen tree or large shrub or as a patio plant. The foliage is bright green on the upper surface of the leaves with the undersides a white to silvery colour that looks frosted. The autumn foliage is a mix of yellow, brown and green. The creamy white, lemon-scented flowers bloom late May to June and will continue to bloom sporadically during the summer. The 2 inch long aggregate fruit which ripens typically in August changes from green to red as it matures. The fruit is very handsome where the bright red seeds are exposed.

(7) American Starwort represents "Cheerfulness in old age".

View it here http://lachlan.bluehaze.com.au/usa2002/june2002/16jun2002a/mvc-013f.jpg

This plant is a very valuable diuretic, and has been found advantageous in some affections of the kidneys and bladder, dropsy, and gonorrhoea. A decoction of it may be drank freely, according to its diuretic influence. In dropsy, a tincture made with whiskey is preferred. The plant deserves more attention than it has heretofore received.

(8) Between the years 1780-1820, the little bag/purse thing that ladies carried was called a ridicule. It was only in 1820-1860s that it was called a reticule. I have kept the old-fashioned spelling in this plot. Why was it called a ridicule? Because it seemed a ridiculous notion in the late 18th/early 19th century to carry outside the dress those personal belongings formerly kept in large pockets beneath the dress. When waists rose and skirts narrowed, bulky pockets could no longer be accommodated without spoiling the line of the dress, and so the ridicule became an essential accessory. The term "reticule" seems to have come into use around the mid-19th century.

(9) The phrase "you have me utterly" was then understood as "you have utterly caught my likeness". Do not allow your modern minds to misread the old-fashioned phrases.

(10) Paideia is ancient Greek for education or learning.

(11) In this chapter, we are told that Dumbledore throws a soiree for Minerva's name day. A Name-day is the feast day of your Patron Saint. Patron Saints are men and women who have been honoured by the Catholic, Russian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox and Ancient Anglican Church (the Anglican Church is actually very catholic in form – the only difference is that there is no elevation of the host. Anglicanism is not the same as Protestantism). These are men and women who have lived through the centuries in such a holy manner as to have been declared by the Churches mentioned above to be Saints or Blesseds. If we bear the name of one of these, this Saint is known as our Patron. Each Saint has been assigned a feast day by the Church. The feast day of your Patron Saint will be the day on which you celebrate your Name day. In Romanov Russia, the aristocrats had great celebrations for their name days.

*(12) Man's fear of violent death is an idea adapted from Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan to justify the need for governance. Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) was a tutor, secretary and philosopher who happened to be a sceptic, atheist and an absolutist. As you can see, he too, had a mixed reputation. He was actually almost persecuted for some of his unorthodox views on Christianity. He is shocking in that he denies the trinity and all that. He supports absolute government, especially government by one man, as he's a monarchist, but he write after some serious political events in England and Europe, after the English Civil War between the Monarchists and Cromwell. That's why he's called an absolutist, because in the Leviathan, he justifies the absolute power of the sovereign. But this thinking did not endear him to the Monarchists because they denied the divine right of the king. So poor Hobbes was attacked wherever he turned, he was attached by the clergy for unorthodox Christian ideas, attacked by the royalists for denying divine kingship, attacked by the Parliamentarians for supporting absolutism. And there was the treaty of Westphalia in 1648, which marked the beginning of the Modern European state system. But that came after 30 years of warfare between and among European states. And much if that war was caused by religious intolerance, you know, the Catholics versus the Protestants – that's the situation that Hobbes was responding to and his solution to this is the Leviathan. In part, Hobbes is responding to the Machiavellian problem of the new prince who must always appear religious and lead an army into battle; so part of the more important reasons for reading Hobbes is to see how he begins to respond to the problems posed by Machiavelli's new prince. There's this continuity, this tradition to remind you of some of the main tenets – it's a human centred world that began with Machiavelli and this world's going to be very restless, leading to lots of change. Hobbes matches Machiavelli in almost every way. So, in part, his response to Machiavelli would be to be Machiavellian and Hobbes is very important for setting the stage for the modern liberal world because he will introduce the notion of natural rights, which will form the basis of what we will understand as human rights. So keep in mind the Machiavellian connexion all the time when you're reading Hobbes.

Hobbes wrote this book, the Leviathan, in part to resolve the problem of the civil war and not just any type of civil war, but the most destructive type of civil war. Instead of giving you an in-depth analysis of the Leviathan, I shall draw you attention to Chapter XIII: Of the Natural Condition of Mankind, as concerning their Felicity and Misery. In this chapter, we are introduced to man's greatest fear – violent death. Hobbes said something about the state of nature – the thing about political philosophers is that most of them believe in some kind of state of nature. For Hobbes, it is a state prior to government. This is a novel concept because in the pre-modern context, there is no such thing as a state of nature – the understanding of the world all derives from the bible – God created the world and the Garden of Eden and he created man. The State of Nature is a completely new scientific understanding of how man goes about his business and how he came into being. Given the way we are designed, we want our desires; we are all after this one thing – POWER. Naturally! In this chapter, Hobbes introduces the chapter on human involvement in the state of nature – all men are important, in both body and mind. There's no such thing as snootiness because everyone has to depend on his prudence, which is his experience and this is true no matter how educated or uneducated you are and that's general and by this, Hobbes says that's we are equal in this respect, because no man is necessarily smarter than another. The most compelling argument that he gives for natural equality has to do with the notion of bodily strength. Now, this is odd. Why? Because there are big guys and small guys – you think that big guys can always overpower the small guys, we all have an equal ability to kill says Hobbes. Why? Because even if you're a big guy, you need to sleep and you can't stay awake all the time; and while you are sleeping, the situation is equalised – the small guy can kill you while you sleep. So, in the state of nature without government and without god, you have the ability to kill each other regardless of strength and size. And because we think we are equal in this way, it follows that we are equally able to acquire what we desire, namely our hopes and all the 'whatnots'.

Let me give you an illustration. Pretend there's only one apple left in the state of nature, we both want it to survive and thus, we are fighting over the apple. This means we'll have to kill each other because it's a war of all against all (for Hobbes, the state or nature = state of war of all against all). Why? Because humans regard every other human being as a competitor, who will try to deprive me of my desires and so you've no choice but to eliminate your competition. In the state of nature, there is no law and therefore NO JUSTICE and I then do whatever I think is necessary to preserve myself. In the state of nature, the only cardinal virtues are FORCE and FRAUD. These are Machiavelli's virtues as outlined in The Prince (cf. reference to the fox – fraud and the lion – force.). So, Hobbes, in other words, recreates the Machiavellian universe in the state of nature and this is in fact, Hobbes's answer to the Machiavellian problem – what has Hobbes done? He's made us all into Machiavellian princes. In other words, Hobbes says, "What happens if we are all Machiavellian princes?" then it's a war of all against all. What are the consequences of this? Very simple. Under the condition of the war against all principle, life will be poor, solitary, brutish and short.

He spells out the implication and he takes Machiavelli's principles so seriously that he universalises them, Machiavelli's original teachings was only meant for the new prince who will make use of the teachings. Hobbes's solution to deal with the new prince is to make everyone into Machiavellian princes. So what happens? These are the consequences of making the world wholly and truly Machiavellian. Under these conditions of war of all against all, there will be certain passions that will incline men to peace. Earlier in The Leviathan, Hobbes mentions in mechanistic psychology chapter that great desires focus our attention (Chapter I: Of Sense). When you're terrified of something then this great passion of fear also focuses your mind because fear rationalises us. In the state of war, we are focused because we fear dying a violent death. That makes us rational and under these conditions, and these fears we can come to some agreement to end this state of war because no one wants to die. Life is motion, which is about going out and getting things we like and desire, not dying and ending our desires and wants. So enter the role of reason. There are such things as useful articles of peace. For now, you can see how important this teaching on the mechanistic psychology is. Man is a machine, put him in the state of nature and he will kill other humans; fear of death rationalises them and they will find a way to get out of the situation.

How this fits in with the plot will be seen in later chapters.

(13) Ageômetrêtos mêdeis eisitô is the Greek transliteration of "Let no one who is unmathematical enter." This was reportedly the motto of Plato's academy. If this were indeed the case, I would be expelled from that place within a week – I cannot do calculus in my political science research methodology module to save my life. There's this section where I have to prove my definition of justice with a formula – still gives me shudders.

(14) Fichu is a length of fabric, usually triangular, worn around the neck and shoulders. It is sometimes tucked inside the neckline of the bodice, sometimes crossed over the bodice. If you are still uncertain, please refer to this fashion plate http://www.costumes.org/history/regency/boehn/BoulevardDesItaliens.JPG and http://www.pemberley.com/janeinfo/rgnclosup.jpg. All three women are wearing fichus of the late 18th century type. This "pouter pigeon" style of fichu fell out of fashion during the Regency years, though the term was resurrected c.1816 to refer to various sorts of bodice tuckers.

(15) When I say "abigail" here, I mean lady's maid. In this case, the term is always spelt with a lower case 'a'. The task of such a person was to dress her mistress, style her hair and chaperone her mistress around town or in company. A lady would always call her abigail by her last name/surname only. This is the etiquette and I have kept to it. Ironically, the title and the name "Abigail" is Hebrew for "father rejoiced" – why is this ironic? You will see why when I reveal Millicent Bulstrode's parentage...

(16) Amour de soi is Jean-Jacques Rousseau's term for self-love, the kind to do with basic survival.

(17) Amour propre is Jean-Jacques Rousseau's term for vanity of the self, often associated with vanity, occasionally anger and includes fear of violent death and economic loss. Some translators (myself included) believe it includes an excessive of spiritedness (cf. Greek thymos)