Chapter 13 - Growing Mushrooms

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 follow the chapter. Readers who are antipathetic to them have been warned.

** Those confused as to the time line need to know this BEFORE and AFTER reading this chapter. Let the events on Chapter 12 (the previous chapter) be Day 1. On Day 1, Hermione reads that the next day (Day 2), the newspaper will run an article about 'the secret romance between the handsome Lord Villiers and the plain Miss Granger' to quote from the on-dit columns, and in three days (Day 4) there will be an exposé on Hiero Gravitas. She goes driving with Villiers on Day 1 to confirm that the miniature of Lady Lestrange (which is a copy of an original) was done by Mme Vigée-Lebrun. On Day 2, Neville, Bulstrode, William and Charles Weasley go unlock the Lestrange vault. This news is published in Day 3. Sterne tried calling on Hermione on Day 2, she was home but wouldn't receive him, hence, she 'was not home to him'. Chapter 13, occurs on Day 3, which means the Hiero Gravitas exposé will occur (plotwise) the next day (Day 4). To give you a bit of a bone to chew on, let me reveal on Day 4, the same day as the Gravitas exposé, the Duchess of Mallefille is throwing a soiree.

Now, that you are familiar with the time line, on with the story...

Language of Flowers

Chapter 13 – Growing Mushrooms

"I swear to God, I will kill him, Godmother!" spat Lord Sterne violently as he apparated to the gate outside Lady Minerva's garden. Shaking and visibly paler with anger, he watched her noiselessly open the gate without any invitation or complaint. Taking her silence as a sign to follow her into the house, he strode angrily entered her compound and shut the gate. As soon as he was inside, he removed his outer clothes and seated himself slowly in a bid to keep his temper in check and scowled at the silent lady removing her gardening gloves and large straw hat.

The lady's eyes betrayed no glimmer of surprise at Marquess's sudden manifestation in her home. "Sit," she instructed firmly, pleased that the house-elves had brought the tea things on time. Handing him a cup of strong unsweetened tea, she ventured to give voice to that which was foremost on her mind, "Are you in trouble, Severus?"

Before he could offer an appropriate answer, a bell at the fireplace sounded and a tall bearded figure appeared. The old wizard cast a cleaning charm over himself, kissed Lady Minerva's proffered hand and held it. "You appear to be a man of action today, mon enfant," he commented before settling on a chair next to Lady Minerva's.

"It is just as well you are here," snarled Sterne quietly, narrowing his eyes at the old man who had the temerity to interrupt his visit to his godmother. "Do you think I can get away with killing him?" he asked Lady Minerva in a harsh whisper.

"Who and why?" enquired Lady Minerva calmly as she cut a scone.

"If you had read the newspaper today, you would know why!" he hissed darkly, pushing away the old man's proffered lemon drop forcefully.

The wizen figure stroked his beard thoughtfully, his blue eyes twinkling. "What does it say, Minerva?"

"I read The Quibbler, Sanguine – now, be good, the both of you," she warned, scooping some jam onto her plate. "Sanguine, please allow Severus to narrate his grievances in peace."

Using the livid twitching of a nerve at the corner of his mouth to curl his lips into a smirk at the patient lady, Lord Sterne lashed out, "It was in the on-dit columns of The Daily Prophet today. I should have known that she would have driven out in Villiers' phaeton. Yesterday, I saw it leaving as I arrived at Orthod's residence."

Quirking a brow and staring at the dark figure flicking aside a lank lock of dark hair out of his face, the Duke of Sanguine issued a command, "Accio today's Daily Prophet!" He flipped through the pages of the newspaper and soon came to the society pages. "Why do you have murderous intent towards him, mon enfant?" Sterne scowled in reply and placed his hands in a steeple. "He was only driving her around town and her abigail was in attendance. It was very proper."

"Proper? We were to go to the museums to see the Elgin marbles!" growled Sterne. "I cleared a day in my schedule to do so!"

"Have you tried to obtain an audience with her?" enquired Lady Minerva, rapping Sanguine's knuckles sharply as his hand strove to seize another scone even though he had yet to finish his. "Don't be so greedy, Sanguine!"

"I called on her this morning, but was told she was 'not at home'! She was not at home to me!" he snapped, banging his fist on the delicate japan table to his godmother's chagrin.

"So she was out," said the old man calmly, finishing his scone and taking the cut one from Lady Minerva's plate.

"No, you old fool! She did not want to see ME! How dare she use me in this puerile manner – when I have done nothing to her! Nothing! She did not attend to her end of the bargain! How dare she go around promenading and exposing herself to the public with Villiers! She is supposedly mine! She is mine until Sybill Trelawney changes her name to Lupin! We had a civil agreement!" he barked with a glare that would have resulted in his man, Filch, slinking away into the shadows for the rest of the day.

"Well," exclaimed Lady Minerva in a quietly indignant voice, "I see you are speaking of Miss Granger. You do realise that we women are not livestock you can barter, own and sell. Miss Granger is a sensitive and intelligent woman. She is a person; a human being. I beg you to remember that, Severus."

Seeing how their godson had ignored Lady Minerva's words, the Duke of Sanguine sought to soothe her with a gentle press of her hands. Then, to ensure that she was apprised of all the details of the matter at hand, he quizzed, "Perhaps, my Lord Marquess would like to tell us the rest?"

"Why need I tell you when everything is already stated in the on-dit columns! They must have been gallivanting about town! You will soon come to the part of the article when Skeeter says they went to see Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun. No doubt, he wanted a portrait of her!" he levelled at his godparents, glaring at the old man.

"Think rationally, Severus. All sorts of people go to Madame Vigée-Lebrun's studio," reasoned Lady Minerva, cutting a scone for herself.

"Unsurprising too, considering what a long career she's had. Why, she's been doing muggle styled paintings for us in London since 1776. A very respectable woman; she keeps a record of all her commissions, isn't that clever? That way, she knows exactly who she painted and when. Remarkable ingenuity, isn't it? At one point, she was taking in commissions from the aristocracy to make copies of miniatures, all of which she imbued with her own inimitable style. Lestrange was one her best clients I heard," murmured the Duke of Sanguine to Lady Minerva, popping a lemon drop into his mouth.

"I don't see how all that matters?" snapped Sterne acerbically.

"You don't? All the more the pity, mon enfant," replied the Duke noisily chewing his sweet and defending himself against Lady Minerva's sharp rap of his knuckles for daring to sweep the scone crumbs off his beard to her carpets. "Could Miss Granger be aiding Lord Villiers in going to Madame Vigée-Lebrun's? Could it be that they were there to verify a portrait that she had done? Could such a portrait have come into Miss Granger's possession? Surely, the artist herself would know whether a portrait allegedly in her style was authentic."

"Mere speculation," said Sterne, waving his hand dismissively and sipping his fifth cup of tea.

"You have not read the paper in its entirety?"

"Does it matter?" he hissed, sullenly staring at a scone in front of him.

"Many exiguous threads are needed to weave a cloth, mon enfant, remember that. At present, we have only one thread."

"No, we don't!"

"The visit to Madame Vigée-Lebrun, you mean," said Lady Minerva, moving to the window to draw the drapes.

"Indeed, dearest. The other thread lies in another section of the newspaper, where it is stated that Lord Dragonlaire and Lord William Weasley have managed to open Lestrange's mysterious vault at Gringotts."

"There's nothing interesting about that," snarled Sterne, folding his arms across his chess. "They likely found the skulls of all the Lestranges' victims."

"That's what the Weasley brothers thought, for they had Miss Bulstrode and Mr Longbottom accompany them," said Sanguine over his perusal of the newspaper.

"I fail to see how this has any bearing on the skeletons and skulls in Lestrange's secret vault."

Lady Minerva set down her teacup gently and frowned slightly. "Has it been conclusively proven that the Bulstrode gel is Lestrange's?"

"That's what I am coming to, dearest. I think I had best read this portion of the article: 'The celebrated historian and alchemist, Hiero Gravitas, has revealed in the footnotes of his Wars of the Cousins that the miniature portrait brooch of the seventeenth Baroness Lestrange, mother of the late last Lord Lestrange, holds the secret of the secret Lestrange vault. With the brothers, Lord Dragonlaire and Gringotts legal advisor, Lord William Weasley, the theory forwarded by Mr Gravitas was indeed verified when the brooch proved to be the key to opening the vault. In the vault were several papers of importance, among them were documents providing for Miss Bulstrode and her late mother, the fabled soprano, Marianne Bulstrode. There was also a document signed by King Richard the fifth which legitimises Miss Bulstrode as rightful heiress to the remnants of the Lestrange fortune. Lord William Weasley, an expert in Gringotts inheritance law, had conclusively shown that the documents are authentic.' Well, mon enfant – what do you think of that?"

"Interesting, but it does not palliate my black mood towards Villiers!"

"Ah yes, you were saying that you wanted to kill him," recalled Lady Minerva with forced nonchalance.

"Judging from the way he looks, he still does," quipped Sanguine, his eyes glittering in amusement.

"Skeeter says they were happily engaged in their drive around town. What could they have discussed that would result in mirth?" spat Sterne with a derisive snort. He rose and started pacing; then violently flicking a lock of his hair from his line of vision, he continued vehemently, "She did not have the courtesy to inform me that she did not want to see me! If she had, I would have respected her wishes! Villiers is the cause of this! To think that I petted and looked after Mallefille's son, and he takes her on a jaunt around town!"

"That does not mean you have to kill Lord Villiers," reasoned Lady Minerva calmly, pouring him another cup of tea.

"I will do so honourably – in a duel," he announced bitterly.

"The Bow Street Aurors will have your head, fool! You would have to flee to France! You would be no different from Mallefille!" reminded Sanguine absentmindedly, popping yet another sweet into his mouth.

"Selfish, utterly selfish, Severus," said Lady Minerva, nibbling on a teacake. "Do you want to bring scandal to Miss Granger?"

"No!" he snapped, still scowling, averting his eyes from the sight of his godfather and his sweets.

"Does this mean you will desist from this ridiculous course of action?"

Lord Sterne remained silently in thought for half a minute before he finally spoke in a neutral tone through his teeth, "I don't blame her for throwing me over. I concede she has helped me advance Lupin's suit with Lady Sybill. But I do not intend to sit idly by when Miss Granger's virtue and honour are called into question. That Skeeter creature accused her of toying with gentlemen. She insulted Miss Granger's upbringing. It stated that she had thrown me over for an heir to a Dukedom. Its veracity is immaterial. I cannot abide by such scurrilous reports of her. Skeeter painted her to be a woman of dubious mores. How can I remain silent? Villiers is the cause of this and I intend that he should carry his responsibilities through if he truly wishes to fix his interest with her."

"My, my" muttered Sanguine, stroking his beard carefully as he chewed on yet another sweet. "Can it be that you are jealous?"

"Bah! I have no jealous bones in my body!" Sterne declared furiously, setting aside his teacup with such force that the table trembled.

"Jealousy is predicated on envy. You clearly envy your godson," noted Sanguine causally, rubbing the knuckles that Lady Minerva had rapped once more with her butter knife.

"I do not!" he protested testily, scowling at the old man.

"Envy means you think you desire what the person has; in short, you think and feel the other party is undeserving of that which you desire. Feeling so leads to jealousy."

"Humbug! Stuff, old man! Nothing but stuff!" swore Sterne heatedly. "I am content with my lot!"

"Really? I wonder what Lady Potter would say?"

On hearing that name, Lady Minerva turned her head sharply towards her old friend and sharply rapped her butter knife on his knuckles in disapproval.

"Lady Potter?" murmured Sterne lowly, tensing his fingers at the edge of the table.

"Yes, Lady Potter, formerly Lily Evans, daughter of Lord and Lady Ambrose Evans, sister of Mrs Dursley. You were quite fond of her once. You always felt that Sir James did not deserve her, if memory serves me correct. Is it not the same here, mon enfant?"

"I will not tolerate your inane and specious speculations as to the state of my private affairs!" Sterne said vehemently through his teeth as he rose to take his leave. He was furious that the old man had ferreted out his secret – that the thought of Lady Potter no longer pained him.

After a curt bow to Lady Minerva, he stormed out of her house without bidding the Duke of Sanguine goodbye. As he made his way down the street, he wondered whether there was any truth to the old man's words. To his mind, it appeared that the Duke had been insinuating that he had been untrue to the memory of the deceased Lady Potter. Perhaps he was, answered his left brain, he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly into a window before him; his mind hurling all manner of accusations at him. How dare he aspire to the possession of purity! How and why did he dare aspire to it when he was thoroughly impure? Was purity truly an attraction to the impure such as he? He curled his lips contemptuously at himself as he made his way home in his strong unrelenting strides. He should bludgeon himself or arrange for someone to kill him in a duel – he had committed a grievous sin twice. He had failed to learn from his past – first Lily Evans and now, her. Cursing himself, he soon arrived at his town house and hastened to the comfort of his library.

With a strong drink in his hand, he laughed coolly at himself for succumbing to the merits of Miss Granger's quiet charms and Lady Potter's graceful manners. These women were kind, intelligent, quick witted and pure of heart – they ought to be worshipped and adored by all, he reflected.

"Why?" he asked himself bitterly, cradling his head in his hands in torment. "Why did I have to feel for them? Why haven't I thought of Lily in a while? Why?" Downing his sixth swig of Firewhisky, he sought to comfort himself by telling himself aloud that it was a fortunate thing he never discovered himself to Lily. If he had, he was certain that she would have in all likelihood told him she was already spoken for. She would have been so gentle and kind yet firm with him so much so that he would have shot himself for his unworthiness. Men such as himself, he felt, were too tainted by the dark deeds of their past to deserve any kindness. Lily Evans was fortunately dead and he did not scruple to put her momentarily out of his mind. The issue surrounding the present frosty relations with Miss Granger was another more pressing matter. She apparently believed that he had revealed her secret to the on-dit columns. She had, in his opinion, rightly condemned him without seeing him, yet he could not prevent the stirrings of his feelings of injustice in his heart and soul. Despite that sentiment, another part of him resented her highhanded behaviour towards him. "Damn her! What is she doing to my mind! Lily Evans never had this effect on me! Why am I thinking on Lily Evans with such equanimity!" he whispered violently to himself. Picking up a nearby glass and staring intently at its carvings, his grip on that artefact tightened as he cursed Skeeter for ruining his relationship with Miss Granger, Flinging his glass into the grate of the empty fireplace, he railed against his faculties for ever perceiving Miss Granger as anything more than an insufferable know-it-all. Why had he been lured to see her mind? Why had he been drawn to her writings? Why did he have to uncover her identity Hiero Gravitas? He laughed caustically at himself, despising the irony of his present predicament while perversely enjoying the agony it wrecked upon his mind.

"Milord," came the dismembered voice of Filch from outside the door. "Ye all right?"

Sterne laughed ruefully again and took another long swig from his Firewhisky bottle. "What do you want, Filch? Do you intend to offer absolution for my sins?" he laughed hollowly at the belief that he would never fully exonerate himself in Miss Granger's eyes.

"If it please ye, milord, the Duke of Sanguine's man just left a note. Doth ye want me to bring it to ye?"

He flicked his wrist sharply thereby opening the door to his man. Catching his master sloughing in his favourite green armchair in front of the fireplace drinking directly from the bottle, Filch had the perspicacity to quietly leave the note on the small table beside his Lordship's elbow and hastily departed.

"Can't the old man use the floo?" muttered Sterne angrily as he picked up the note. The cryptic message merely ran,

Scarabs are sacred.

Sanguine.

He leaned back into his chair and drummed his fingers on his lips in deep thought. What could the Duke mean by his three lines of scrawl? He knew his godfather was hinting at the way in which he could re-establish himself in Miss Granger's eyes. But to do so, he had to uncover the message's meaning. He rose and began to pace in his study. All his conversations with Miss Granger, on the matter of her other self, were conducted sub rosa. He had always ensured that their talks were under a rose carving or a hanging rose so as to safeguard her secret. Only a person devoid of honour would eavesdrop on a sub rosa conversation. He paused in his tracks and sank into chair at his desk with a sudden realisation – the only way anyone could be privy to a sub rosa* conversation was to be in the same room as the spell caster and the conversationalists. The Duke of Sanguine had intimated as much. In Duke's residence as well as Lady Minerva's, there was the distinct scent of ox-eye incense used to keep out insects. Furthermore, anyone outside the vicinity of the spell would find themselves listening to humming and should they still persist and attempt to join in the conversation, they would find themselves temporarily mute. So, the damnable on-dit columnist must have been in the room and near the conversationalists when the spell was cast. Sterne leaned back into his chair, formed a steeple with his hands.

It was apparent to Lord Sterne that the Duke undoubtedly knew the secret identity of the on-dit witch, Rita Skeeter. Then, it struck him – there was only one way she could have been privy to all sorts of societal gossip without being present. She must be an unregistered animagus. Given the Duke's recent persecution of insects, Sterne was positive that Skeeter's secret animagus form was an insect. And given the ubiquitous presence of a single beetle in the oddest of places such as Black's, Hatchard's, The Temple of the Muses, his coat and so on, Sterne deduced that the beetle was indeed Skeeter. If the exposé on Miss Granger was to be published in evening edition of The Daily Prophet on the morrow, there was only one method she could deploy to prevent a scandal over her name. She would have to be confronted and she must confess it all and avert the potential disaster. Thumbing through his agenda book, he saw that the following evening was the Duchess of Mallefille's thirty-third wedding anniversary rout party. Shutting the book dramatically, he saw that he would have to act fast. Striding to the fireplace, he threw in a handful of floo powder. "Black's" he commanded.

As soon as Lord Lupin's face appeared in the flames, Sterne asked to speak to Villiers. On hearing that the young man would return within the next fifteen minutes, Sterne scowled and said, "Lupin, order Villiers to come to my residence immediately when he returns. It is imperative!" Without waiting for a reply, he closed the flow network and fell into his chair in deep thought.

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) Mushroom stands for "suspicion". If you give someone mushrooms (any kind of mushrooms), you are telling them, "I cannot entirely trust you."

(2) The term "to discover myself to you" in Regency times means, "to reveal myself to you". How you choose to interpret 'reveal' is up to you. That's what Severus means when he says he never discovered himself to Lily, i.e. he never declared himself to her. This is a fact mentioned in chapter 1. I should also add that the portion of that said conversation in chapter 1 has a deeper meaning.

* (3) 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.

(4) Ox-eye represents "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.

(5) 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? Look at Hermione, Ginny, Millicent and Lavender and tell me what you see? Think about it.

(6) A phaeton is a fashionable open-air four-wheeled sporting vehicle with seating for two; if the drivers are slim, three can be seated very comfortably. A popular version was the high-perch phaeton with its exaggerated elevation. Phaetons could accommodate two or four horses.

(6) 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.

(7) Louise-Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, French artist, the daughter and student of her father, the artist Louis Vigée, was born on 16th April, 1755 in Paris. In 1776, she married the known art-dealer Jeanne Baptiste Pierre Lebrun. She made an early and brilliant career: in 1779 she officially became a court painter of the Queen Marie-Antoinette, in 1783 she was admitted to the French Academy of Arts. "Intelligent, diplomatic, resourceful, and independent, she remains a role model to women who paint, having won wide recognition for her skills and gained admission to academies long closed to her sex." (Colin Eisler, Paintings in the Hermitage, Stewart, Tabori & Chang, 1990, p. 516.) Vigée-Lebrun was an extremely industrious and productive painter, she left more than 30 portraits of the queen and her ladies-in-waiting, many self portraits, and a lot of portraits of the European nobility. Her portraits are elegant and rich in color, very sentimental and idealized the model. But the evident difference of the models from their pictorial depiction did not embarrass the customers. Vigée-Lebrun was fashionable with the European aristocracy. Her fame grew even more with her immigration during the French Revolution first to Italy (1789-93), then to Vienna (1793-94), and then to St. Petersburg (1795-1802), where she also spent 6 very successful years painting portraits of Russian aristocrats. In her best works the magnificent art of French portraitists of the 18th century and fine sensitiveness of the European sentimentalism are happily united.

I played around with the timeframe of her life a little for the sake of the plot, but it does not affect anything within this story

(8) Unmarried women of the ton over the age of 28 are generally held to be old maidens and not likely to be ever married. These ladies can establish themselves in their own homes (as they have their own income) without censure or gossip.

(9) "Gel" is Regency slang for young lady who is old enough to be out of the schoolroom but not yet presented into formal society or Court. Older women may use the term as an affectionate form of address when talking about young debutantes in their acquaintance.

(10) On-dit is French for "we tell". In the context of Regency speech, it meant gossip about the town that is usually published in the newspapers.

(11) Hyde Park Hyde Park is one of London's finest landscapes and covers over 350 acres. In the days of the Regency, there was what was known as the "fashionable hour at Hyde Park". The fashionable hour was really three hours from half past four to seven thirty though there aren't many ladies in evidence until about half past five. By seven thirty it was time to return to one's townhouse or lodgings and change into evening dress for dinner. The Ton promenaded up and down with all the same fervour of any teenager today on what so ever street it is the thing to ride up and down peacocking and flirting with the others drawn to the place to take part in the social rituals.

On Rotten Row one could be seen, flirt, greet friends, and make others pea green with envy for your beautiful driving clothes and equipage or mount. There you might see that aging playboy the Duke of Queensbury ogling women from his carriage with his bold letter 'Q' on it rather than a crest. Viscount Petersham can be seen driving his famous chocolate colored coach pulled by brown horses. Mr Annesley might drive by with his roan horses standing out among all the bays and black horses. Sir Henry Peyton drives his famous Greys with their manes and tails flying like clouds in the wind. Gentlemen wearing the ankle length drab coat and yellow striped blue waistcoat of the Four-in-Hand club are sprinkled in the passing cavalcade. The Hon. Frederick Gerald Byng glides by with his carefully clipped poodle on the seat beside him. Beau Brummell always ready with a quip notes the hair curling round Byng's forehead and pauses to speak in passing. Uttering the sobriquet with the assurance it will be the on-dit of the day. "Ah, Byng, how do you do? A family vehicle, I see." It's "Poodle" Byng from now on. The Prince Regent is surely out in the equipage he proudly commissioned Stubbs to paint. Gaze upon Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire and the other great beauties of the day taking their airing. Is it just a fancy or do the Prince's eyes follow Georgiana wistfully as they pass one another? Watch the looks of awe and snubs as the notorious Letty Lade drives by in her high-perch phaeton. Carriages bearing the family crests of the Ton and the living ornament of the Dalmatian coach dog, and liveried servants glide by in gilded splendour. Among the carriages are those bearing faux crests meant to remind one of the crests of titled lovers whose Lady these courtesans will never be.

C. J. Apperley writes of the fashionable hour in Hyde Park, "on any fine afternoon in the height of the London season ...he will see a thousand well appointed equipages pass before him... Everything he sees is peculiar, the silent roll and easy motion of the London-built carriage, the style of the coachmen - it is hard to determine which shine brightest, the lace on their clothes, their own round faces, or flaxen wigs - the pipe-clayed reins - pipe-clayed lest they should spoil the clean white gloves... not forgetting the spotted coach-dog, which has been washed for the occasion... such a blaze of splendour... is now to be seen nowhere but in London."

(12) Japan is a finish on furniture of the time. A cabinet with such a finish is known as a japan cabinet, and so on, so forth.

(13) 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.

(14) 'The Temple of the Muses' or 'Lackington's Temple of the Muses' was a real bookshop in Regency London. Not as famous as Hatchard's, but in those days – it was the Borders of the town. It sold books, manuscripts, music sheets. Like its modern contemporary, Borders, The Temple of the Muses had a café where customers can have refreshment. The wealthier customers could have private parlours where they could eat and do their own work and whatnot (it was a haven for writers with nowhere to write).

From 1778 to 1798, James Lackington, the bookseller, had a shop at No. 32, Finsbury Place South in the southeast corner of Finsbury Square called "The Temple of the Muses". The shop had a frontage of 140 feet and was one of the sights of London. On top of the building was a dome with a flagpole, which flew a flag when Mr Lackington was in residence. In the middle of the shop was a huge circular counter around which, it was said, a coach and six could have been driven, so large were the premises. A wide staircase led to the "lounging rooms" and the first of a series of galleries with bookshelves. The books became shabbier and cheaper as one ascended. This, the first large book emporium was the pioneer of Remaindering, buying up bulk stock from elsewhere at a bargain price and selling cheap. Every one of the thousands of books in the shop was marked with its lowest price and numbered according to a printed catalogue. In 1792, Lackington estimated his profits for the year to be about £5000. At this period, he issued more than three thousand catalogues ("A Catalogue of Books, in All Languages, and Classes of Learning, for the Years 1806-7, Now Selling for Ready Money, at the Low Prices Affixed, Warranted Complete, by Lackington, Allen, & Co. Temple of the Muses, Finsbury Square, London.") every year. In 1793 Lackington sold a fourth part of his business to Robert Allen who had been brought up in the shop. The firm of Lackington, Allen and Co. became one of the largest in the book trade, selling upwards of 100,000 volumes yearly at their very extensive premises.

Lackington issued promotional tokens with a facing bust of the proprietor (this design, which was not particularly successful, yielded place to a more orthodox profile portrait in 1795). The reverse design, used with minor modifications in both years was a figure of Fame blowing a trumpet, proclaiming Lackington's firm the cheapest booksellers in the world. The edges of these tokens usually bore advice as to redemption, on several varieties, payment was guaranteed at the "Temple of the Muses". After Lackington's retirement, his nephew continued the store. Later in the early 1800s the bookstore was sold to Jones and Company for distribution of their books and other works. The shop burned down in 1841.

(15) In 1797 John Hatchard (1769-1849) opened a bookshop at No. 173 Piccadilly. In 1801 he moved premises to No. 190. Later the store was moved to No. 187 where it has remained. In Hatchard's time the shop was as much a social meeting place for the literary-minded as it was a bookshop. Residents of Albany, just across Piccadilly, including Byron frequented the shop. The daily newspapers were always laid out on the table by the fireplace and there were benches outside for the customers servants. He was bookseller to Queen Charlotte. The firm has always held a royal warrant since that time. His son Thomas took over the store after his father's death in 1849.