Chapter 11 - Dried Crown of Thyme

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 11 – Dried Crown of Thyme

It was a few days before Lord Sterne had the pleasure of learning more about his godson's progressing amour. He was walking on a remarkably windy Thursday morning along St James's Street when he encountered Lord Villiers striding towards him. It immediately became apparent that he was labouring under a strong sense of resentment, for hardly had he extended a greeting to his godfather than he burst out with the rather unnecessary information that he was coming to visit him, adding explosively, "What do you think has happened, Godfather?"

"You wish to inform me, and I have no objection to hearing it," replied the older man coldly.

"I was coming to do so. You wouldn't believe it! I scarcely do myself. I mean to say, when you consider all that has taken place and how unsupportable my father was – it makes me mad as that Weasley fop and so would anyone!"

"Hmm?" murmured the gentleman in black as he pushed purposefully forward.

"You could say that! But I warn you, it will likely send you up into high dudgeon when I tell you! For all the damnable..."

Lord Sterne looked sharply at the young man and interrupted him. "By Jove! Tell me or leave me be!" he hissed, his voice low against the wind.

The blond glared at his godfather and announced with stiff Malfoy indignation that he was just about to tell when he so rudely broken in on him and pointedly stopped the morose man in his tracks, saying portentously, "I have received a letter from my father, sir!"

"Is that all!" Lord Sterne retorted with a sneer

"How do you expect me to speak when you give me no encouragement?"

Sterne curled his lips into an impatient grimace. "I congratulate you on your powers of observation!"

"Will you listen to me?"

"If you will tell me what ails you and cease babbling like an incoherent child!"

"I am not babbling!"

The Marquess made a dismissive gesture with his right hand before flicking his hair aside. "You quarrelled with your mother over it, I expect. Or perhaps, Mallefille has disinherited you, Draco?"

"Mother might if she had the full power of the estate," he replied. "Father has no intention of doing so. He told me to elope and threatens to discontinue my allowance if I do not bring Lady Ginevra to Calais or Paris to obtain his approval. I would not have believed he could ever have behaved in such a manner! Elope indeed! He promises to arrange for a wedding at the Embassy. He has always seemed to me to be a very good father, but now, I do not scruple to say that this business has wounded me grievously! How dare he insult the honour and virtue of my beloved in such an uncouth fashion!"

"It certainly shows a want of propriety," acknowledged Lord Sterne. "Yet it reveals that he cares a great deal for you and your future. No doubt, someone or something has informed him that your lady is of solid character, good breeding, decent birth and winning ways. As this paragon of virtue sounds too good to be true, it is natural that he demand to inspect his prospective daughter."

Unable to think of a suitable retort, Villiers harrumphed in sullen indignation.

"Did he say anything else?

Lord Sterne suppressed a smirk when he caught his godson's eyes flash a look of surprise. "What do you mean?" asked the young man.

"Was there anything else in the letter?"

"Nothing!" as the uneasy reply.

"Don't lie to me, boy! You would not have your tail between your legs if he did not reprimand you over something."

"How did you know?"

"It is too plainly obvious for me to inform you."

"The devil take you, Lord Sterne."

"And you too. Now, out with it," insisted Lord Sterne in a snarl.

"You know, my opera dancer?"

Sterne frowned as half-remembered memory surfaced in his mind. "You had three. Remind me of the one you speak of."

"Millicent Bulstrode," he whispered.

"Cannot say I am acquainted with her," Sterne replied nonchalantly, feeling his black cravat as they stepped into the parlour at Black's.

Following the older man into the empty reading room at the club, he added as an afterthought, "She caused a sensation at Sanguine's party for Lady Minerva. She sang Mozart that evening."

"Indeed? I did not notice." Sterne dismissed the house-elf that collected their coats, hats and canes.

"Hiding from Sybill Trelawney, weren't you?"

Sterne chose a seat where the chess pieces where newly arranged and placed himself in the shadows. He gestured for his pale aristocratic companion to sit opposite him. "I do not hide from my enemies; I employ diversionary tactics."

"Be that as it may, she was hailed as quite a success."

"Yes, yes, forget the successful–unsuccessful business. What is it about her?"

"She is my cousin," Villiers declared between his teeth, annoyed at losing his knight so soon after his opening move and his godfather's insinuating tone.

Sterne raised a brow, feigning a mild look of interest. "It appears you had committed serious blunder. Perhaps therein lies the reason for your father's suggestion of an elopement with your Lady Ginevra."

"It was an affaire court; she was not eligible. You know that I do not ruin ladies if our stamp!" Villiers said defensively.

"Yet you promised Miss Bulstrode your affection and your protection. Most interesting, my Lord Marquess!"

"You don't see the gravity of the situation!"

"Oh no, I see it very clearly," sneered his godfather. "She is your Uncle Lestrange's natural daughter. She met you when she in mourning for her mother, Marianne Bulstrode, the chanteuse. You seduced her with your fancy oriental waterfall cravat and smooth ways. Until, en fin, you grew weary of her. Then, at Sanguine and Minerva's ball, you saw her wear her painted miniature brooch. A brooch Lestrange left with the deceased Marianne."

"You know?"

"Yes." Sterne curled his lips into a knowing smirk.

"Does anyone else know?"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he muttered, "Yes."

Villiers gasped in mind perturbation. "Who?"

"Your father," began Sterne in a cruel hiss. "Your mother is aware of the girl's parentage but not of her past with you. Let's not forget the old man – I am certain he suspects; for all I know, he could already be aware of it."

"You mean Sanguine?"

"Is there any other as skilled in uncovering such information?"

"Yes," said Villiers with conviction. "You."

"You flatter me, Draco."

"No one has flattered you, sir."

"No? You've hurt my feelings," mocked the older man with a knowing scowl, taking the young man's bishop.

"You have no feelings," stated Villiers.

Casting a smirk at his godson, his Lordship purred coldly, "Thank you for reminding me; I was beginning to feel vaguely human."

"You? Human?" choked Villiers, struggling to keep his laughter contained in his throat. "Heaven forbid!"

However, both men gave in to the impulse and shared a brief shout of laughter that seemed out of place in the reading parlour at Black's.

Allowing his features to harden into their usual thoughtful mode, the Marquess of Sterne asked, "Tell me honestly, Draco, has this former ladybird of yours even sought more compensation?"

"No. She seems very respectable now."

"Oh yes, she caught the eye of young Nott and Goyle."

Matching his godfather's scowl, he hotly announced, "I'll run them through if they dare so much as cast designs on her virtue, Goyle especially – he's been telling Mother on me."

"Hadn't you already deprived her of her virtue?" questioned Sterne with deliberately carelessness.

"That is not the point! She is my cousin. I will make amends to her. I cannot acknowledge her in public, but I have every intention of treating her in a manner of a coupe-jarret Lestrange."

Lord Sterne leaned further back into his chair and moved his rook with a mordant sneer, "You will not be the first."

"What do you mean?"

Sterne traced his lips as they curled into a disdainful smirk when he saw that Villiers had gambled away his checkmate in eight. "Simply that someone has been treating her like a real lady, a genteel poor member of the ton. He treats her with respect without knowing who she is."

The young marquess cracked his lips into a smile reminiscent of his father's look of arrogant assurance. "Who is this fool?"

"Longbottom," was the laconic reply, as the black knight took a white bishop.

"The Vicar of Chelsea Common!" laughed the blond in amusement. "Does he love her? Can he love her? He has no fortune of his own and his manners are execrable, even with his Fluxweed connexion."

Staring pointedly at Villiers, Sterne said in a low emotionless voice, "Those things are nothing, Lord Villiers. He wants a helpmate and she has the proper demeanour and a good temperament. No doubt, it comes from being a genuine repentant fallen woman."

"Perhaps. All the same, it is a respectable match for her. It might cause a scandal when Longbottom comes into the Earldom, but she will be established by then. I might as well write to Father and tell him that there will no impediment to my match. But I do not agree with the elopement nonsense. It is akin to going to Gretna Green. Ginny will kill me if I commit her to such a marriage."

"So will the Duchesses," reminded Sterne with a cruel smirk.

"But isn't Gretna Green an idea..."

"It is a legitimate one."

"Not you too!"

"Lord Aberforth Dumbledore is there. His son is the Archbishop of York."

"Special license?"

"Have you never thought on that?" sneered Sterne patronisingly. "Wulfric Dumbledore may assist us." he continued, appraising him with utter contempt when he caught his godson's smug look.

"Did you mention my nephew?" murmured a well-known voice behind Sterne's seat.

Scowling a greeting without rising or turning around to acknowledge the old man, he coldly said, "Sanguine, old goat," before removing the Duke's firm wrinkled hand from his shoulder. "Didn't hear you enter."

"No apologies needed, mon enfant," came the good natured reply, as the bearded old man sat down to watch the chess match. "Hello, Villiers."

Villiers made his greetings and attempted to move his queen.

"Don't touch the pawn, lad. Move the bishop and you'll have a mate in six," instructed the Duke of Sanguine, ignoring the scowl an impatient finger drumming of his godson. Glad to have advice on his appalling chess playing abilities, Villiers followed the Duke's recommendation with an obliging nod of his head.

"What brings you here at this early hour, Duke? Aren't you engaged to promenade with Lady Minerva and Lady Sybill?" spat the pallid Marquess testily.

The Duke laughed. "I just saw Moody off. He's been invited to speak at the University of Bonn. Minerva does not need me today. It seems she cannot find a use for me yet. She's chaperoning her niece to a drive with Lord Lupin."

"Poor Sterne!" laughed Villiers, moving his pawn.

"I shall bear the loss tolerably," Sterne acerbically assured his companions.

"You know, mon enfant; if you must keep your hair at shoulder length, you could tie it up like your charge's progenitor."

"I dare not – Mallefille's style is inimitable."

"As is your own," noted Villiers.

"Checkmate," hissed Sterne, moving his bishop. "Should have moved your pawn, Draco. Really, Sanguine, what is wrong with my hair?"

The Duke picked out a small, nearly concealed speck of something from his godson's hair at his collar. "This flew in when I walked in and it clung to you. You should wash your hair today; it will attract less beetles," said Sanguine with a chuckle, throwing the beetle out the window. "I recommend Ox-eye's essence wash."

Sterne looked askance at the dotty old man; his narrowing dark eyes searching the grave blue ones. "Perhaps I should brew some."

"You would the gainer. Look what it has done for my beard! My nephew would tell me..." Villiers and Sterne exchanged an intelligible look and rolled their eyes at the Duke's rambling. "You were speaking of my nephew when I came in. Would you like to meet him?"

"Is he in town?" enquired Sterne, making a mental note to discuss this development with Miss Granger.

"Not yet, but he will be next week."

"How long will he be here?" asked Villiers politely.

"Two or three months, I can't say for certain. He has some business with the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Perhaps, Sanguine," muttered Sterne with affected indifference. "You would arrange for an introduction whether we like it or no."

As the old man nodded, the attention of the gentlemen was drawn to an altercation in the adjoining room between Lord Percy and Lord Ronald Weasley. The curious Duke and his companions moved there to observe the causes of it. Sterne, however, draped himself in a chair in the shadowy part of the drawing room and casually darted his eyes between the brothers. He took in their flushed faces and the beleaguered Sir Harry Potter by his friend's side. Evidently, the altercation was over a woman.

Sir Harry tried to keep the two brothers apart without any success. They looked set to come to blows and Sterne noted sardonically that his attention was riveted. It could become interesting after all – men quarrelling over a female; men killing themselves over a woman – the same day in and day out – nothing ever happens, thought Sterne with a contemptuous curling of his lips.

"You have no right to aspire to her hand, Percy! You are not even fit to kiss the mud on her boots!" Lord Ronald almost screeched, to Sterne's amusement. Dissatisfied with his brother's air of studied disinterested arrogance, Lord Ronald withdrew his wand and pointed it shakily at Lord Percy.

"Ron...calm down," implored Sir Harry in a placating tone as he attempted to pull his friend away. "Think about your parents."

Lord Percy lazily threw himself into a chair and checked his reflection in the window. "Oh, don't be so naïve, Ronald," he laughed haughtily. "You have nothing to offer the lady other than ₤3000 a year. I, however, will adorn her arm and house with me. Face it, dear brother, I am a much better match for the future Baroness de Quib."

"You are no such thing. You're a blackguard, Percy Weasley!" roared Lord Ronald, trembling with rage.

"Really, such language! No wonder she does not favour you. You will never hear me use my tongue so poorly."

"Ron," urged Sir Harry angrily, "Leave the great game of match-making alone. Miss Lovegood knows that Lord Percy's heavily in debt to the tradesmen and the other Hells."

Smiling brazenly at them as his eye twitched nervously, Lord Percy laughed, "I am to be her investment and she is to be mine. Nothing you can do about it, gentlemen. When sanctioned by her excellent father, she will come to see that I am best suited to her and she will look on me favourably." Lord Ronald's trembling became increasingly pronounced and he accidentally let slip his wand. "Retrieving my poor brother's things, Potter? I feel sorry for you." He paused and took some snuff, ignoring Sir Harry clenching and unclenching his fists. "On better reflection, I suppose it is not your fault. You seem to enjoy cast-offs, such as Miss Granger's abigail."

"Why you scoundrel!" Sir Harry lunged at Lord Percy. "You have never a feather to fly with!"

Neatly tripping Sir Harry, Lord Percy snorted in disgust, "People of your class, like my unfortunate immediate family, grieve me. Don't you realise you are beneath my touch and inferior to heiresses such as Miss Lovegood."

"I've had enough of you!" bellowed Lord Ronald, as he assisted his friend to his feet before spitting in his brother's face. Lord Sterne raised a brow in surprise. He had expected Lord Percy to call his brother out; he had not anticipated Lord Ronald's impulsive action. Closer inspection revealed that Lord Sterne's surmise was correct. Lord Percy carefully wiped the spit from his face in the dead silence of the club, rose deliberately from his seat and removed his glove from his pocket. Spectators itching for a fight were rewarded when Lord Percy smacked his brother and Sir Harry with the glove before loftily saying, "You have insulted me, my clothes, and my immaculate manners long enough. I am calling the both of you out. Pick your weapons." Some of the younger members of the club gasped in shock and Lord Percy nodded politely to his audience. "Rapiers, pistols or wands? Who will be your seconds? Mr Clearwater and Mr Goyle will be mine."

Lord Ronald was about to bluster an answer when Sir Harry silenced him with a pinch. "There will be no duel," he said with as much calm as he could muster, clenching his fists.

"Are you a coward, Sir Harry?" scoffed Lord Percy nervously as the enormity of his chosen course of action took root in his weak febrile mind. He crossed his legs anxiously as his mind had chosen to remind him that the baronet was an excellent marksman and wandsman."

"No, I am not as callow as Ron in these matters. But we have honour, Lord Percy – I don't think you know what it is, seeing how pigeon-livered you are."

"No need to insult me, sir. Will dawn suit you?" he asked, realising with pleasure that Sir Harry had no desire to fight him.

"There will be no duel!" stressed Sir Harry. "I hold his Grace of Offaly too highly in my esteem to pursue this course of action you created."

"Yes! You can ride rough-shod over Mother and Father, even if you think you're above their touch! After all, they are never high in the in-step!" riposted Lord Ronald.

"I will not stand for this insult! This is not the last time I shall attempt to defend myself. Mark my words, Potter, Ron – one day, I will run my sword through you both."

"And be caught by the Bow Street Aurors, no doubt," said Sir Harry coolly.

On hearing those words, Lord Percy emitted a cry of exasperation and hurried out of the club as all his bravado deserted him.

"You did well," offered the Duke of Sanguine quietly, shaking both men's hands. "I am proud of you – the both of you."

"They acted out of self-preservation," whispered Sterne to Villiers in his usual denigration of Sir Harry and Lord Ronald's characters. His remark drew a snort of agreement from the young man.

"Where do you think he has gone?" asked Lord Ronald with a touch of concern in his angry voice.

"Hades," answered Lord Villiers loudly in a confident voice.

"The gaming Hell?" gasped Sir Harry. "How do you know?"

"I used to see him there."

"Go on, Villiers," goaded Lord Ronald disagreeably. "Rub my family's dirty linen in my face!"

"Contain yourself, Lord Ronald," drawled Sterne, pushing Villiers behind him. Nodding to Sir Harry in thanks for restraining his friend, he continued, "It is a matter of simple deduction, as Sanguine will tell you."

The Duke shrugged and murmured that he knew nothing of the modern gaming hells beneath his twinkling blue eyes.

"Really?" asked Sir Harry with great scepticism.

The old man only chuckled and popped another sweet into his mouth. "It is a well known fact that Goyle and Clearwater frequent that establishment."

"I would suggest you and Lord Ronald take your curricles everywhere you go. Do not leave home without your tigers. Be careful. If you must die, race to Portsmouth and break your neck," offered Sterne frostily, picking up an abandoned newspaper.

"We won't break our necks," declared Lord Ronald stoutly. "We members of the Four-Horse Club men are the best sportsmen on the road!"

"You may have to prove that to me," replied Sterne behind his newspaper. "Villiers here bets three guineas that you will."

The sound of other bets filled the room as Severus left Black's in a thoughtful mood.

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) Thyme has two meanings: (i) activity, (ii) courage. Beyond this, there are many other implications. In the High Middle Ages, many people were wary of the scent of thyme because its scent was believed to pervade places where someone had been murdered. Make what you will of this. View it here http://pharm1.pharmazie.uni-greifswald.de/allgemei/koehler/koeh-138.jpg

Thyme, to many of my readers, is just a herb for cooking. This is not so. It has small pale purple flowers that are very pretty. The name thyme stems from the ancient Greek word 'thymos', which I translate as spiritedness. Other commentators of Plato translate it as courage, but that is a matter of debate outside this story. It is of interest to note that in ancient Delphic records, thymos was also associated with the term "to fumigate". Thyme has a very invigorating fragrance and it was burnt as incense because it was believed that its pungent and cleansing properties would inspire a more robust attitude. This would open up the Pythia's mind to possession by Apollo. Those unfamiliar with the Pythia, refer to my fic Beyond Time and Space for a definition.

The thyme flower is very pretty and very popular with bees. It makes the most wonderful honey. Interestingly, a bee hovering over thyme is a very popular motif in medieval tapestry and embroidery.

(2) Ox-eye means "patience". In Regency times, it was spelt as separately. 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 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% 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) The Weasley fop referred to in this chapter is Lord Percy Weasley – the only one of his family to be described so.

(4) A natural child of someone is the illegitimate child of someone. In this story, Millicent Bulstrode is the natural daughter of the late Baron Lestrange and Marianne Bulstrode.

(5) Draco says he will treat Millicent as a coupe-jarret Lestrange. What does this mean? In very old families, there are often many branches of a family. Regardless as to the number of the branches, they can be collated under two broad branches: (1) the aristocratic branch, called the casse-tête branch, and (2) the feudal or plebeian branch called the coupe-jarret branch. Usually the coupe-jarret branch is poor and is regarded by the casse-tête branch has having fallen down the steps of precedence and rank. Still confused? This is made more apparent if you consider the fact that younger sons don't inherit titles. E.g. Lucius in this story is the Duke of Mallefille. Let's pretend he had 2 sons, Draco and Francis. Draco has his father's next highest title, the Marquessate of Villiers, but his hypothetical younger brother will only be Lord Francis Malfoy. Draco's eldest son will inherit the title. Francis's son will be plain "the honourable Mr Malfoy". This son, like Francis, will have to make his own way in the world, seek his own profession and thus fall down in the ranks and precedence. Francis's son, therefore will then become part of the coupe-jarret branch of the Malfoy family. Occasionally, if relations between the two branches are amicable, the coupe-jarret branch may help the coupe-jarret branch to advance.

(6) The term "tiger" in regency times referred to the chap who accompanied you and helped managed your horses when you were out driving or riding. He is also your trusted carriage/curricle (fill in vehicle of choice) driver on those rare days when you are not driving. If you watch period dramas, these are the fellows behind your curricle, carriage or whatever it is. A tiger is NOT to be confused with a footman. If you had a tiger, he would most likely be a liveried groom, generally small, generally young. An owner-driven curricle or phaeton typically had a groom's seat between the springs on which the tiger sat. The single-horse cabriolet had a platform at the rear on which the tiger stood. He also managed the horses when his master ascended to or descended from the seat, and sometimes took the reins to exercise the horses while his master temporarily left the vehicle. A small, lightweight tiger was preferred in order to maintain the proper balance. In fact, it was something of a status symbol to have the smallest possible tiger.

(7) The Four-Horse Club that Ron refers to a real club in Regency London. In this story, Harry and Ron are members of this elite club. Originally one of the clubs frequented by the notorious Earl of Barrymore, the Four-Horse club had been a wild group of young men who enjoyed bribing coachmen to give them the reins to the vehicles and then driving them at break-neck speeds along the very poor British Roads. By the early 19th century it was a respectable club for superb drivers. At its peak it only had some 30-40 members. It was often also called the Four-in-Hand Club, the Whip Club or the Barouche Club - the last from a description in "The Sporting Magazine" of February 1809. Club rules stated the barouches should be yellow bodied with 'dickies', the horses should be Bays, with rosettes at their heads and the harnesses should be silver-mounted. However Mr Annesley - a club member, drove roans, Sir Henry Peyton drove Greys so the colour of the horses wasn't as strictly enforced as the colour of the carriage.

The uniform of the club was strictly enforced. Whenever its members met or raced with one another, they must each wear a drab coat that reached to the ankles with three tiers of pockets and mother of pearl buttons as large as five shilling pieces. The waistcoat was blue with yellow stripes an inch wide, the breeches of plush with strings and rosettes to each knee. It was fashionable that the hat should be 3 and 1/2 inches deep in the crown.

The first meeting of the Four-Horse club was held in April 1808 and subsequent days of meeting were the first and third Thursdays in May and June. The members assemble at Mr Buxton's house in Cavendish Square and drove to Salt Hill to dinner at the Windmill first and then the next time at The Castle alternating between the two. There was rather a long complicated time when the club could not decide which hostelry to provide give their full membership too and alternated until the matter was decided by the Windmill on one broiling hot day. The cloth had been cleared and the wine placed before them when a waiter entered and asked each man to rise, the chair was removed and cool one put in its place. This attention to detail decided the Four-Horse club in its favour.

The procession was always the same. Club rules stated that each member in single file, no overtaking was allowed, and no one to exceed a trot. The procession set out from London to Salt Hill at noon, following along the Bath Road. It was 24 miles to Salt Hill so the club lunched at the Packhorse on Turnham Green and then took further refreshment at the Magpies on Hounslow Heath. They ran to Salt Hill where they remained overnight.

There popularity of the Four-Horse club began to wane around 1815 and it was disbanded in 1820. It was revived briefly in 1822 and finally died out in 1824. The Four-in-Hand club was another driving club completely which was not established until 1856. It based on the old rules of the BDC or Bensington Driving Club. The BDC was the great rival of the Four-Horse Club during the Regency era.

(8) A Guinea is worth 21 shillings or 1 pound and 1 shilling. It is highest coin denomination in those days and was partially made of gold.

(9) In this chapter, you would have noticed that I mentioned snuff. Snuff is a preparation of finely pulverised tobacco that can be drawn up into the nostrils by inhaling. It was also called smokeless tobacco. The quantity of this tobacco that is inhaled at a single time is no more than a pinch – literally. However, not all snuff-takers used it for fashion (it was then seen as a fashionable activity). Some people with nose trouble (blocked and/or running noses) used a special kind of 'snuff' which was a powdery substance, such as a medicine, taken by inhaling.

Taking snuff was a popular, widespread pastime among the upper class and middle class English of the 18th century. Snuff boxes were made by silver smiths who specialised in tightly closing boxes. Most English snuff boxes were made in Birmingham

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

(11) 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? Think about it.

(12) 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.

(13) A Curricle is a fashionable open-air two-wheeled sporting vehicle designed for a pair of horses and seating for two (i.e. the Regency equivalent of a two-seater convertible sports car).

(14) 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.

(15) To be "beneath someone's touch" is Regency cant for being (i) socially inferior, (ii) or not good enough to socialise with high society.

(16) "High on the instep" is a Regency phrase for being haughty and proud.

(17) "Never have a feather to fly with" is upper class Regency slang for having no money.

(18) Ton, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the Regency/Empire period means fashionable Society, or the fashion. It originates from the French bon ton, meaning good form, i.e. good manners, good breeding, etc. A person could be a member of the ton, attend ton events, or be said to have good ton (or bad ton). Ton can be interchangeably used with beau monde. In this story, when I spell society with a capital S (i.e. Society), I am referring to the ton.

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

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

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

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