Chapter 17 - A Bunch of Love-lies-bleeding

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.

P/S The next chapter will be delayed because I'm redrafting my MA thesis and working on two research projecrs. It does not mean i have abandoned you or this story. Remember, this story has already been completed

Language of Flowers

Chapter 17 – A Bunch of Love-lies-bleeding

The next morning brought around a note from Miss Granger to Lord Villiers. It respectfully requested his presence no later than two o'clock in the afternoon that day. Although he had no intention of calling on the esteemed scholar that day, the urgent tone of her summons brooked no refusal. Thus, he dressed with unusual care in his impeccably cut buff breeches and coat of navy blue with silver buttons. Satisfied with the appearance of his hair and oriental waterfall cravat, he called for his carriage. He had, fortunately, the foresight to anticipate a sound trimming from his fair supplicant. On his arrival, he found Miss Granger occupied in her workroom, alternating between writing and preparing something in a cauldron. He was struck by the similarity between his hostess's habits and his godfather's. He could not decide whether he was amused or intrigued by the sight. The butler had announced him but to no avail, Miss Granger persisted in her work and neither looked up nor betrayed any sign of having heard the announcement of his name. Her absorption in her work reminded Villiers uncannily of his godfather's methods and resulted in a feeling of discomfiture hanging over his brow. To calm his uneven nerves, Villiers elected not the interrupt the lady in her work lest she react with the same unreasonable temper of his godfather. Instead, he opted to move to a nearby sofa.

Soon enough, Miss Granger completed her writing and was concentrating her efforts on the cauldron and its contents. He waited for her to bottle everything before he started pacing. As if suddenly alerted to his presence, Miss Granger bade him to be seated. "Thank you for arriving so promptly," said she curtly upon settling aside her papers. "I heard about our misadventures, so has Lady Ginevra."

"Will her brother live?" he asked in polite surprise.

"The reports are not encouraging. While his death will be celebrated by all sensible individuals, Bow Street does not appear sympathetic to you."

"The Malfoy name is meant to inspire a myriad of emotions," he replied with a mischievous look in his eyes.

"You must hope that the Duke of Sanguine would adequately bring to light Lord Percy's dealing with the late usurper of the Wars, Voldemort, as well as his habit of selling information of the ton to the on-dit columns and his attempted abduction of Miss Lovegood."

Villiers showed a look of astonishment in his smirk.

The lady's eyes twinkled in admiration of her friend. "Ah, you do not know that on the night you shot him, or should I say on the night of the Duchess' soiree, he attempted to abduct poor Miss Luna. She would have been had not her presence of mind rescued her."

"How?" he asked with cold curiosity, taking a pinch of snuff.

"She cast a simple translocation spell and he landed in the vicinity of your appalling Hades."

"How did he gain entry to the de Quib household?"

"He followed them home under the protection of a disillusionment charm. It flickered off just as she stepped out of her father's carriage at their home. He made a grab for her; her father stunned him and she translocated him. Very neatly done, if I do say."

"How are Miss Lovegood's nerves after this incident?"

"As well as any sensible woman's," answered Miss Granger with a smile.

"And does she continue to receive Lord Ronald's suit?"

"They have come to some form of an understanding. Their engagement is to be announced in the society pages. The legal papers have to be drawn up so as to safeguard Luna and her fortune. Ron would have to put up with much as the husband of the Baroness de Quib."

"But he cannot take her title! It's Miss Lovegood's!"

Miss Granger rolled her eyes in exasperation at his obtuseness. "Of course not! It will grant the children the Lovegood name and perhaps Ron will learn to act for her in the Lords when the time comes. But I doubt it – he has no head for politics."

"Droll, isn't it to call him the husband of the Lady de Quib!"

The lady smiled wryly and shot her companion an intelligible look. "The price of marrying money and a title, my lord!"

Comprehending her look, Villiers ventured, "While we are speaking on the cost incurred for engaging in certain deeds, I suppose that you are acquainted with the conditions necessitating my egress to France."

"When do you leave?" she asked without any hint of interest.

"By tomorrow."

She stared at him with a faraway look on her eyes and murmured, "It is too soon for me."

"Why? What do you mean? Will you miss me?" he teased.

Miss Granger twitched her lips into a lopsided smile. "It is my plan. A present for you."

"A gift? What kind of gift?" he questioned warily.

She shot him a cold hard look. "It is entirely contingent on your plans."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you intend to take anything with you on your flight? Money, clothes, and o, I don't know... Ginny, perhaps?" she softly asked, her eyes narrowing.

Villiers paled at her remark and a muscle throbbed uncomfortably at his temple. "You have quite an assessment of my character, Miss Granger."

"You could say I have you utterly," she lightly replied in a tone that made Villiers feel like he was mouse cornered by a cat. "You cannot possibly hope to spirit Ginny away without marrying her first."

"I can do so in Paris. My father's influence counts for something in the French Court."

She inclined her head carefully to the left so as to better examine his eyes. Glowering at him with disapprobation, she said, "And ruin her in the eyes of society? I think not. However, with my gift, you will be free from the possible accusation of inducting a woman of the ton to a life of perdition."

He looked at her quizzically, "What is the nature of this generous gift?"

"A special licence," she revealed and surveyed Villiers expression through a vial she held up to her eyes. "But Wulfric Dumbledore informs me that it will not be ready until the evening of your departure date. By that date, you would have Apparated yourself to Calais and be en route to Paris in your coach."

"Why will it take so long? I thought Dumbledore's the Archbishop of York. He's second highest ranked clergyman in the country!"

"You will receive an immediate dispensation of whatever other impediments if the Archbishop of Canterbury endorses it as well. His Grace of Canterbury will only return a few hours before you will be obliged to leave."

"I am all astonishment!" declared Villiers leaning forward in his seat.

"Rightly so," she answered with a smirk. "I had intended for you to be wed by Neville Longbottom. That, however, is no longer an option. It is a lesson for me – do not allow my vanity to get better of me. The best laid plans do go wonderfully awry."

"How did you manage to contrive it?"

She laughed merrily at him, puzzling the poor Marquess. "Simple, I asked."

"You know, Miss Granger," said Villiers with a smile of relief. "Now that I have spoken to you, I am uncertain as to whether it would be prudent to leave the country."

"You will have to spare your mother any further anxiety concerning your safety," she stressed, her eyes and expression grave once again.

"'Pon rep', Miss Granger, you sound exactly like my godfather!"

She allowed a smile to play at the corner of her lips. "Should I be flattered?"

"You could be."

"Yet, I am unmoved. Come, Villiers, we must go to Ginny and inform her of the plans. Wait for me to change."

* * *

Miss Granger was not the only person desirous of an interview with Lord Villiers, for Lord Sterne was also in the same mind. Unable to find the young man at the Clubs, Sterne sought for him at his residence. To his surprise, he was informed by his godson's man that he had left for the Orthod residence. Intrigued, Sterne hastened to Lord Orthod's home in the hopes of securing both Miss Granger and Villiers. However, on his arrival at the house, he was told that she had gone out with Villiers to the Weasley Ladies Reformatory to meet Lady Ginevra. Instead of finding any evidence to that effect, he found Sir Harry engaged in an earnest tête-à-tête with Miss Brown at the Duchess of Offaly's favourite charity. After giving then the barest of greetings, he stormed home in a temper. Where were all the people he wanted to see? He had, at the ungodly hour of six o'clock in the morning, called on the Duke of Sanguine's residence only discover that he was already in Scotland for the birth of his great-nephew. Thinking that Lady Minerva would be able to act as his voice of reason, he had gone to her house only to find it shut up and its knocker removed. Enquiries at Trelawney House did not shed any light as to his godmother's disappearance. By the time he had left the Orthod townhouse, Sterne was increasingly of the mindset that he was deliberately kept from a scheme. Despite his knowledge that ill temper would beget irritability, he continued to fume and speculate on the state of affairs that Villiers had thrown himself. After browsing through the shelves of books at Hatchard's, Sterne found that his temper was still at boiling point. Deciding that a cup of tea would be useful in soothing the windmills in his mind, he proceeded to the bookshop's adjoining tearooms. Looking at the lists of private parlours that he had been occupied, Sterne formed the opinion that he needed to blow his brains out if all it could do was consider the prospect of discussing his latest Ars Chemica article with Miss Granger. His mind and ear appeared to have collaborated to vex him for he heard the voice of his little alchemical philosopher. Tossing aside the lists of private tea rooms, he followed what he perceived to be her voice. Without knocking or waiting for an invitation to enter the private parlour, he burst in to find Villiers discussing something with Miss Granger.

"Well, well, Miss Granger, how do you do," he growled in displeasure, as he sought to grapple with the unfamiliar emotion coursing through his veins. "Villiers, what brings you here? Does your mother still want you to wed la femme savante? Did she put you up to this rendezvous?"

"My Lord," snapped Miss Granger sharply, throwing her head back in defiance. "Are you drunk?"

"He's not in his cups," warned Villiers, as he dug his hands into his capacious cloak pockets.

Narrowing his eyes and examining the scene minutely, he hissed, "Why are you here with Miss Granger? Where is your estimable bride to be? Have you deserted her? No wonder all the ton talks of the two of you." He violently flicked aside lock of hair that tumbled before his eyes. "Have you been making another spectacle of yourselves by going around town again? There's something deuced irregular between the pair of you." He controlled the urge to hex his godson there and there. "Villiers," he commanded, turning paler with poorly suppressed rage. "A word with you – in private! NOW!"

A close study of Lord Sterne's slightly trembling form, violent speech and blind anger soon resulted in enlightenment dawning on Miss Granger. Choosing not to display her amusement and the fact that she was flattered by his attentions, she coldly nodded at the interlocutor to signal her acknowledgement of his presence. "Under different circumstances I would be happy to welcome you to partake of our tea and crumpets, but we are expecting Lady Ginevra shortly. If you will be so kind as to leave us in peace, I will give you permission to call me some time next week."

"Your permission!" he spat. "My business is with Lord Villiers, not you, Miss Granger. I beg you to keep your condescension to yourself!" Then turning to his godson with a look of hatred, he hissed, "Scoundrel! How dare you conduct your flirtations with two honourable women in this mad fashion!"

Villiers and Miss Granger exchanged looks of muted mirth before bursting into merry peals of laughter, further infuriating Lord Sterne who thought they were laughing at him.

"Villiers isn't here to flirt, and I thought you knew me better than that!" she spat, still struggling to contain her dying laughter.

"Don't tell me you two were waiting for Lady Ginevra!" drawled Sterne in a low warning tone. "I will not swallow that dribble."

"Sir," came a feminine voice at the door, which soon closed in on itself. "You have traduced the characters of my friends."

The sight of the lady in pale green shook his anger and temper into a rout. He scowled and executed a low bow. "Lady Ginevra," he greeted through his teeth,

The lady pointedly ignored his contrite salute and swept into the room to embrace her friend and her affianced. "How does it stand?" she asked.

"How does what stand?" snarled Sterne, insulted that he was still in the dark as to their plans.

"It hasn't anything to do with you," Miss Granger replied coolly.

"Are you hatching a scheme to poison the Duchess of Mallefille?"

Villiers laughed. "Poisoning mother! Indeed!"

"Well, out with it, Draco! Your business is my business." Sterne expostulated.

Lady Ginevra removed a glove of York tan from her hand. "At the outset, I had informed Hermione that you would not be so obliging as to not take exception in Villiers being in her company. Well, Hermione, it seems you were mistaken."

Sterne scowled and cocked his head slightly to the left so as to cast a reproachful look at his godson. This silent gesture confirmed Lady Ginevra's presupposition.

"Miss Granger has been so kind as to lend us her aid," explained Villiers, raising a brow of conceited amusement. "We have all been thoroughly proper and devilishly correct. Mother was pleased to think that I was fixing my interest with Miss Granger and if she knows that Lady Ginevra goes along, as she does, she assumes she is there for the sake of propriety, which is what anyone would expect. I expected that you already knew all this, my Lord Sterne, for we have been playing at this long before the debacle at my mother's failed rout party!"

Reeling under the impact of this revelation and the embarrassment of his own erroneous conclusion, Sterne was unprepared for his godson to continue, "She has more than helped us. She has sought to obtain a special licence for us."

Sterne arched a brow in reverence at Miss Granger's quick thinking and action. "You had foreseen my movements, Miss Granger."

She smiled coldly and said in a mildly bellicose tone, "I had ample opportunity for observation, my Lord. I was your student at Garswoth and your confederate in present intellectual pursuits. Organised thinking has indubitably led me to your possible course of action."

Villiers found his godfather's intent gaze unnerving and begged him to sit down. "I mean to marry Lady Ginevra."

"Will staring at me in that ridiculous way assist your cause?" barked the truculent Marquess in a tone that the younger man took to be conciliatory.

"Only if you stop keeping your eye on me," answered the young man with a rakish grin.

Sterne curled his lips contemptuously at the assembled company.

"I want to know your thoughts. Ginny said you wouldn't like it. Are you in a miff?" asked Miss Granger, offering him a cup of tea.

"No, not if you've managed to get the licence from Wulfric Dumbledore. Sanguine and his household have gone to Scotland to see Wulfric's new son. But I assume you did get it from him and the two of you are not going to do something stupid like go to Gretna Green."

"We will get the licence in two days," said Lady Ginevra plainly.

"Not soon enough," murmured Sterne, thoughtfully tracing his lips.

Miss Granger wrung her hands in nervousness. "Thank heavens, you're a sensible man."

"What do you plan?" asked Sterne, genuinely curious, leaning forward in his seat.

"Delay Villiers' departure by a day, produce the licence to Neville and get him to marry them," said Miss Granger, her eyes brightening at his concern for her plan.

"Do you have the licence now?"

"No. But I was assured he will meet with the Archbishop of Canterbury early tomorrow evening to obtain his endorsement of the licence and once that is done, Wulfric Dumbledore could marry them."

Sterne chose not to reply to the news he had just received. Instead, he chose to stare thoughtfully at the three young people further discussing their plans.

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) Love-lies-bleeding means "hopeless not heartless".

It is sometimes called the amaranthus by scientists. It had many names in the English speaking world such as called Flower Gentle, Flower Velure Floramor, and Velvet Flower. Love-lies-bleeding acquired it name from the fact that it looks like blood gushing from a self-inflicted stab wound. A good reason in the late Middle Ages was the woman of your dreams spurning you or forbidding you to ever play at courtly love with her again. If you want more information on the tradition of courtly love, email me. From the pictures http://www.gardenguides.com/seedcatalog/packets/loveliesbleeding.jpg, http://www.gardenerspath.com/plantguide/images/amaranthus.JPG and http://www.math.umn.edu/~white/personal/images/Garden/lovelies02.jpg, you can see that the leaves are of a reddish green colour and somewhat slippery to the touch. The flowers are more tuffs than blossoms, but it does not prevent them from being pretty. These flowers have no scent. Interestingly, if you bruise these tuffs, you get a sap that is almost blood read in colour. They usually flowered in August and die in winter when the cold arrives. Culpepper's The Complete Herbal, published in 1652 had this to say about the love-lies-bleeding, "It is under the dominion of Saturn, and is an excellent qualifier of the unruly actions and passions of Venus, though Mars also should join with her. The flowers, dried and beaten into powder, stop the terms in women, and so do almost all other red things. And by the icon, or image of every herb, the ancients at first found out their virtues. Modern writers laugh at them for it; but I wonder in my heart, how the virtues of herbs came at first to be known, if not by their signatures; the moderns have them from the writings of the ancients; the ancients had no writings to have them from: but to proceed. The flowers stop all fluxes of blood; whether in man or woman, bleeding either at the nose or wound. There is also a sort of Amaranthus that bears a white flower, which stops the whites in women, and the running of the reins in men, and is a most gallant antivenereal, and a singular remedy for the French pox." For those unfamiliar with 17th century English, I shall inform you that French pox was the derogatory English phrase of saying veneral disease. If you want an explanation as to why this is so, email me.

The other name for love-lies-bleeding is amaranth, which is an abbreviation of its genus, Amaranthaceae. In my research, I discovered that the Aztecs pounded the flowers into a mixture which they used as offerings to their gods. Sometimes, they also used the amaranth as sacred food in their sacrifices and religious rituals. A Scandinavian friend of mine informs me that in Mexico, the love-lies-bleeding is popped and mixed with a sugar solution to make "alegria" and that the leaves are used as a vegetable both fried or boiled. The Peruvians use fermented amaranth seed to make "chicha" or beer. In India, love-lies-bleeding is known as "rajeera" (the King's grain) and is popped then used in confections called "laddoos," which are similar to Mexican "alegria." In Nepal, amaranth seeds made into gruel called "sattoo" or milled into flour to make chappatis which are eaten. In Ecuador, the flowers are boiled and the boiled water add to a rum to create a drink that "purifies the blood," and is also said to help regulate the menstrual cycle. Interestingly, this same friend informs me that the little black love-lies-bleeding seeds are very high in protein, high in fibre, calcium, iron, potassium and phosphorus (almost as high as a banana apparently) contain two essential amino acids not frequently found in grains (lysine and methionine)

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

(3) The phrase "'Pon rep" was a very popular mild swear in Regency England. It is the truncated form of "Upon my reputation".

(4) The Archbishop of York is the second highest ranking clergyman in the British Islands. He is only second to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

(5) Hatchard's is a bookstore. 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, a very fashionable and expensive neighbourhood, 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. There were also private tea rooms inside where the customers could take some refreshment. 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.

(6) 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.

(7) 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.

(8) 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.

(9) 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.

(10) "To be in your/his/her cups" is Regency slang for the state of being drunk.