Chapter 9 - Locating the Bittersweet nightshade among the red Primroses

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 9 – Locating the Bittersweet nightshade among the red Primroses

Five minutes later, Lord Sterne entered the private parlour at the Temple of the Muses' adjoining tea room, having paused on the way to assure himself, by a swift critical debate with his mind's two halves, that he had indeed the correct assessment of the truth. He was satisfied with his analysis. He had compared his previous conversations with the person in question with the article that he had just reread. His deductions, he decided, were exactly logical, quite suited to the person he was contemplating. He had not considered that his intrusion into another's private reverie was rude and unwelcome. However, good sense held him slightly back and fortunately, instilled in him a certain diffidence of manner. The unease, he quickly dismissed, for the foremost thought on his mind was to prove his deductions right.

On entering the parlour proper, he paused for a moment on the threshold, surveying the lady in question. True to his surmises, she was indeed seated at the adjoining tea room in a private parlour writing furiously on her papers. From his vantage point, he could see that her dark hair, plainly pulled back at the top of her head, was neatly swept away from her face. The look on her face showed that she was both hard at work and deep in thought. Lord Sterne, as a man of reticent habits could appreciate her need for privacy when at work; and as such debated with himself as to whether he should interrupt her. He was loath to intrude upon the charming sight of the lady hard at work with her scattered papers and her veiled riding hat carelessly tossed on the far end of the writing surface. He smirked ruefully at himself – the sight before him reminded him of himself hard at work in his study. In spite of himself, he found that he was charmed by her absentminded groping around the table for her teacup. Nothing seemed to be able to tear the woman from her papers and her rapid scribbling.

As she waved dismissively at a particularly lonely and annoying insect of sorts, Lord Sterne felt his curiosity triumphing over propriety. Thus, he quickly cast a spell to conjure a carved rose on the ceiling above the writing lady and silently stepped forward in the small parlour.* The lady lifted her head at that moment and her dark chocolate eyes hardened coldly at the sight of the intruder. Their expression was of mingled surprise and disapproval. To Lord Sterne's amusement, she raised and passed her left hand over the papers and muttered something under her breath. The lady, on the other hand, was enraged, for to her wrath, the palely silent Marquess removed his hat and affected her a low bow without releasing her startled glare from his gaze. He seemed to be appraising her more precisely and she did not enjoy feeling exposed.

However, Miss Granger was not for nothing dubbed la Philosophe. She remained in her seat and arched her brows at the sight of the carved rose in the ceiling, which she instantly knew heralded a tête-à-tête. Then with a slight reluctant nod in the direction of the intruder, she said with chilling hauteur, "Lord Sterne, I believe?"

He nodded and took another step cautiously forward into the parlour. "Yes. And you are Miss Granger?" he mocked in a biting tone.

She threw her head back in a manner calculated to abash him. "Where are the two grey doves?"

"At the Park. They will be here in half an hour. Were you expecting someone else?"

It was so unexpected a comment that it elicited an involuntary nervous laugh from her. Lord Sterne scowled at her response; after all, was it not natural for a witty creature such as Miss Granger to have discerning admirers? Her surprise at the comment on her non-existent secret assignation was quickly mastered and she made another attempt to put the formidable man out of countenance by gesturing him to sit, by saying in a quelling tone, "Would you have some tea?" Gathering up her papers, she turned away from his penetrating gaze.

He smirked in response and for deftly catching her wrist, he received a reproachful glower. Pointedly ignoring her look of fearless disdain he said lowly with false hesitation, "I came to see a scholar named – I am uncertain of the person's name – I only know that the individual has the initials H. G."

"My wrist," she said frostily and he released his grip, noting with interest that she did not seek to rub the region where his fingers had been. Glaring at him, she leaned forward and reorganised the papers on the table. "Your only clue, I presume?"

Lord Sterne smirked, unconsciously tracing his lips with his long fingers. He was intrigued that she had neither paled nor cowered at the underhanded insinuation. "Since that person is not here; I shall pretend that I came to see you, Miss Granger – if you are Miss Granger?"

She poured him a cup of tea and kept her amused but wary eyes on his. "I am Miss Granger. Since I have had some prior acquaintance with you, you must forgive me if I ask you why you should doubt it?"

"Well, Severus Snape, my Lord Marquess of Sterne, if you do not apologise for your incivility, you will face my wrath!" she thought, waiting expectantly for his answer.

"Because the Miss Granger I know would be more civil and catholic in her behaviour," he replied. "I came here with the expectation of meeting a reasonable person."

"I am perfectly reasonable now."

"You were better equipped for reason when black has been committed on white," he drawled carelessly, before sipping the strong black unsweetened tea.

Her eyes took on almost metallic in wariness. "No doubt I should be grateful for the compliment however inelegantly expressed!"

"It was not a compliment," he growled.

"Ah no! How stupid of me! The Duke of Sanguine had told me of your remarkable manners and from your forcible way of drawing attention to your habits – I must own that he is utterly correct – you are famed for your incivility."

"Did he? I must thank him for being such a reliable gazette," he quietly replied. "Why are you here?"

"I might ask you the same."

"I have already revealed my business and intent," he purred dangerously.

"Have you?" Miss Granger straightened herself and glared at him.

"Yes, and it is only fair if you reciprocated the action."

"My affairs are my business," she riposted.

The flash of a sardonic smirk vanquished the scowl in his eyes. "So you say, though sometimes, one's discoveries could lead to greater repercussions."

"Are you speaking of your discoveries, my lord?" she asked cautiously.

"Discoveries in general," he purred, as his eyes searched her face. "Are we dagger-drawing?"

"It appears that both our weapons are at each other's throats," she replied coolly. "And I can as yet uncover no motive for your attack."

Lord Sterne raised a brow and curled his lips contemptuously. "So you say."

"I am not accustomed, sir, to listen to the sort of language you use in private!" Miss Granger frostily declared, gathering her papers once more.

"Oh, is that all! A thousand apologises, madam!"

"It is not so much your vocabulary that is at fault, rather your less than engaging manner in riding rough-shod over people – such as myself, whom you think beneath your touch!"

He leaned forward and frowned at her, his eyes glittering in excitement and uncertainty. "I am only so to people who bore me and you are not one of those fools."

"Then why are you in such a mood with me?"

"Because you put me out of temper."

"Am I to be thus obliged to you?" she scoffed the ironic gratitude. "You have flattered me long enough, Lord Sterne. I demand to know your true business," she insisted and moved to replace her papers in her writing tablet.

"No, Miss Granger," he purred, placing his finger on the papers. "I am interested to know how your morning's work was done."

"At this table, amidst that buzzing beetle's droning and my thoughts."

"You know what I mean, Miss Granger," he said and reached out for the whole stack of papers with his wand drawn.

"Expelliarmus," she said coldly and knocked his wand of his hand, retrieving her papers with her free hand. Pointing her wand at him, she continued, "I had expected better of you, Lord Sterne. Pray, what interest do my papers generate? A woman's words are all they are; they can be of no interest to a worldly creature such as yourself."

"Call it an intellectual exercise," he drawled as he re-seated himself opposite her.

"I am not amused."

"Neither am I," he answered, silently summoning his wand to his hand. "Expelliarmus! Accio Miss Granger's papers!" Once these commands were issued, Hermione was flung back in her seat. She scowled at him when she realised her wand and papers were in his possession. She hoped that he would only see what she wanted him to see on the papers. "Very clever, Miss Granger, now, if you had been honest, this would be unnecessary."

"I am calling you out."

He laughed coldly and stared earnestly at her. "Absurd! You will not live, whatever your choice of weapon."

"And you will have to leave England upon my death. Or have you forgotten the existence of the Bow Street Aurors or the duelling laws?"

"I have not," he assured her coolly.

"Then why do you persist?"

"Why do you persist?"

"I only wish to confirm that which my mind has told me."

"Which is nothing at all – if you are resorting to such mean tactics," she snapped

"Tut, tut, Miss Granger," Lord Sterne purred with narrowing eyes. "You reveal much more than you know."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she hit on her perceived reason for his odd behaviour. "You are no longer a spy. The war is over. Your feelings of suspicion are ill-placed. This is 1815! It is a modern world. The French are no longer our naval enemies and the Crown is safe."

"Politics has nothing to do with my behaviour, Miss Granger." Pointing her wand at her, he turned briefly to the papers. "A short story? Such a badly written one too, German has never been one of your stronger languages. Who would have known you were capable of writing romances."

"Sneer all you want, Sterne!" she spat, all formality abandoned. "It is my hobby and I beg you to leave me to it!"

Lord Sterne looked at her hard chocolate pupils with his narrowing eyes. "Is that a note of relief I detect in your voice?" He observed that her breathing had quickened and that the wretched insect was gone – either that or it must have found a perch on which it could rest.

She laughed. "Your imagination is more vivid than mine!"

"We shall see," he murmured.

"So we shall," she said and reclaimed her wand. "Touché, my Lord Marquess." Lord Sterne's eyes flew to hers in a brief moment of startled realisation, for he was quite taken aback by the young lady's uncompromising spirit. For a perilous moment, Lord Sterne hovered on the brink of losing his temper, but his quick logic came to his rescue. Instead, he yielded to the impulse to come to points with her. He curled his lips into a condescending smirk. "How unhandsome of you to have given me such a set down," she continued.

"How unjust of you to accuse me of giving you a set down when I have made myself so very plain!" he retorted.

"It is to be hoped," said Miss Granger with great feeling, as she levelled her wand at his, "that we are not destined to consort with each other at the end of our bargain. You arouse in me an almost overwhelming desire to give you the best trimming you have ever had in your life."

He bowed slightly as if honoured by her tribute. "How can you do so when I am famed for my incivility? I should instantly meet you verbally in your own terms. Since I am an ill-mannered man and you are a well-bred woman, you would be bound to come off the loser in such an encounter."

"I do not know that for a fact; you may have to prove it first."

"Prove it, you say?" he drawled in a deliberately quiet manner, "Very well." Then, directing his attention to the papers, he countered the encryption spell there and read silently off the first page.

"Fiend!" she hissed, at the realisation that he had uncovered the truth.

Casting a stronger encryption spell on the papers before he handed them back to her, he said, "Everything appears to be in order."

She narrowed her eyes guardedly. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"Nothing. It has confirmed my deductions and I am once again at peace with the world," he answered wryly.

"Is blackmail part of your repertoire too? I have prepared myself for that eventuality. You will not get a shilling or any other object from me!" she vehemently announced.

His eyes took in the sight of the woman who maintained her dignity so well under pressure. Curling his lips into a smirk, he lowly drawled, "I expected nothing less from you."

"You really are hateful, you know."

"I know," he said with a look of supreme conceit. "These are my best talents."

"You are a misanthrope; I wonder if you even like anyone enough to respect them."

He surprised them both by voicing the truth. "Yes, the deceased Lady Potter and you."

"Still wearing the willow," she asked, ignoring his second indicator.

"It appears so."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. I know I can't trust myself and that should be reason enough for you to do the same."

Miss Granger gathered her papers and writing tablet. After shrinking them to fit into her riding ridicule. "Arrogant caprice!"

"Insufferable know-it-all!"

"You are the know-it-all, sir; and you are insupportable!"

"I know," the Marquess answered coolly, tracing his lips in thought.

"How long have you known? How long have you suspected?"

"I have been sure since ten o'clock this morning; I have suspected for almost a week and a half."

"How?" she gasped incredulously, gripping the edge of the table for strength.

He smirked and sneered quietly, "You ought to be more careful with your spoken words; they have the tendency to appear in your black on white"

"I will rely on your discretion," came her reply, as she avoided his eyes.

Lord Sterne berated himself for giving up part of his armour at the revelation. Why had he confessed to his tendre for the lovely Lily Evans? Why had been driven to confide in the chit before him? How could he have told her he liked her! Fortunately, she had enough tact not to allude to his faux pas.

"My lord," Miss Granger began slowly, breaking his self-reflective train of thought, "I will expect you to keep your promise."

"What I know, I know – I will no longer speak on the matter."

It was just as well that their conversation ended on that noted, for Lady Ginevra and Lord Villiers burst into the book shop's tea room with a tray of scones, tarts and laughter.

"Clearly, someone had a good day," thought Lord Sterne, as he deftly dissipated the sub rosa* spell from the ceiling and nodded to Miss Granger. He had to be certain that he had assuaged the fear of exposure dancing in her expressive chocolate-coloured eyes.

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.

Readers may ask me – how did Severus know Hermione is Hiero Gravitas? Simple. Read SS and HG's conversations at Sanguine's ball in Ch 7, now reread the journal article in Ch 8. Tell me what you see? The more careful among you will notice that HG quotes from her own article in Ars Chemica, a week before the journal was released to the public.

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

(1) Bittersweet Nightshade represents "truth".

The bittersweet nightshade is also called deadly nightshade and the bittersweet. It is a poisonous climbing or trailing plant (Solanum dulcamara) native to Eurasia and a widespread weed in North America. It also has violet flowers with recurved corolla lobes and red berries. It gets its name from its roots – it was believed that the roots first taste bitter, but if you chew it, it becomes sweet. View it here http://www.shortcourses.com/naturelog/bittersweet-nightshade.jpg and http://www.light-chasers.com/Content/Gallery5/CU%20Bittersweet%20Nightshade%20VT%20600%20Mat.jpg

(2) Red primroses represent "unpatronised merit"

View it here http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/perennial-plants/red-primrose.jpg. The name primrose comes from medieval French and medieval Latin, "prima rosa" – which is first rose

* (3) Roses are very strange flowers. They are not among my favourites, but are still an interesting study. I know many of you are confused as to the "sub rosa" thing that I mentioned. Very well, I shall explain. But to do so, you need a small history lesson, so bear with me.

The Romans loved the rose and used it lavishly, strewing their floors, their heroes and even wine with rose petals. The little god, Cupid, was given the rose by his Mother, Venus, and in turn, gave it to the god of silence, Harpocrates. A rose carved into or hung from a ceiling meant that the conversation held beneath it was in confidence, or sub rosa. So you see, the roses are not all above love as the romantics running around the world would have us think. Sub rosa conversations are just between you and the other person; no one else must come to know of the content of your conversation.

(4) "Dagger-drawing" is Regency slang for quarrelling.

(5) "Trimming" is Regency slang for severe scolding.

(6) References to "black on white" refers to writing. How? Paper = white; ink = black; ink on paper = black on white. Black (i.e. ink) is also a double pun – the ink of the printing press (for the journal article) and the ink that is used to write the drafts of articles.

(7) Severus's "What I know, I know – I will no longer speak" line is adapted from Shakespeare's Othello.

(8) Writing tablets were very fashionable then among the pedants. Often a gentleman's item, I have endowed Hermione with it. It was a small silver case containing a tablet and matching pencil was handy for jotting down appointments or the name of a hot tip at Newmarket (where you go to see the horse races). The case and pencil might be inlayed with dyed ivory or mother of pearl.

(9) 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 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. Riding reticules were made for ladies so that their purses would match their riding outfits.

(10) Readers may dislike the fact that I called the Aurors, the Bow Street Aurors. This is a Regency story remember? I modelled the Bow Street Aurors in this story after the Runners. The Bow Street runners were like the local policemen of the age. You may see the Bow Street Office here, http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/LAbow.jpg. In 1740 Sir Thomas de Veil, established a court house in Bow Street near the Opera House in Covent Garden. Ten years later, his successor, Henry Fielding (yes – the author), formed the Bow Street Runners. Initially nicknamed Robin Redbreasts, on account of their scarlet waistcoats, the original eight Bow Street Runners were London's first band of constables. Their functions included serving writs, detective work and arresting offenders. The Bow Street Runners travelled all over the country in search of criminals and gained a reputation for honesty and efficiency. John Stafford, Chief Clerk at Bow Street. used several spies, including John Castle and George Edwards to help arrest several members of the Spencean Philanthropists, a group who were involved in the Spa Riots and the Cato Street Conspiracy. The formation of the London Metropolitan Police force by Sir Robert Peel in 1829 brought an end to their activities.

(11) 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.