Chapter 19 - Trampling over Hellebore

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 19 – Trampling over Hellebore

"My dears," murmured the Duke of Sanguine to the others at his table, "we have company – unexpected company." His blue eyes twinkled in faint amusement as he watched the party of Miss Granger, Sir Harry and Brown cast cleaning spells over themselves. "Fudge, help them out of the grate," he commanded.

Lady Minerva set down her wine glass and stared with mild censure at the other guests' sudden arrival by floo. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked.

"It must be an emergency, dearest," said the Duke kindly, as he made the necessary introductions. "My nephew, Wulfric, you already know. Lady Minerva and I have only just finished dinner. Lounging over our port, you understand, I can't understand this custom of leaving the ladies out in the after-dinner talk... Now, Miss Granger, I see a certain purpose to your movements. Do you wish to tell me who has disappeared?"

Miss Granger started for a moment before recalling propriety and mumbled something about interrupting the Duke's evening.

"No trouble at all," replied the Duke, waving the three newcomers into chairs.

"My Lord Duke," Miss Granger began, licking her dry lips and twisting her ridicule in her hands. "I have some business with the Archbishop."

"You mean the special licences? They are ready, my child," quipped the handsome auburn haired clergyman, sipping his port calmly and stroking his beard.

She smiled wanly in acknowledgement, pointedly ignoring her companions' looks of incredulity and curiosity. She had been longed inured to the Duke's uncanny omniscient powers and she smirked wryly to learn that his nephew shared this trait. Thus, unlike her abigail and Sir Harry, she did not scruple to don a mask of bafflement to humour the Dumbledore men. "If it pleases your grace," she addressed the Archbishop, "may I please have one of the licences now. The other is to be given to this couple beside me."

Bewildered, Lady Minerva cast a stern look at the merrily laughing Duke as she watched Wulfric withdrew, presumably to his chamber. Sir Harry and Brown too were nonplussed by Miss Granger's request.

"What does this mean, Hermione?" stammered Sir Harry, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"She asked Wulfric for two special licences; one for you, so that you can marry Miss Brown. By the bye, you owe her the cost of it," said Sanguine, wisely stroking his beard.

"But why?" whispered Brown hoarsely.

"To prevent Harry from being mobbed when the banns are announced," was Miss Granger's straight impassive reply. "It would render the banns unnecessary. Besides, it is an impolitic cruelty to keep you separated any further."

"Hermione," Sir Harry cried, clearly moved by his friend's gesture. "It's not like we're going to elope or something."

"No?" answered Miss Granger with a dry smile and a thoughtful look. "Odd, I had anticipated Ginny's elopement with Villiers and thought that I had forestalled it. I made provisions so that it would not have occurred. It appears I stand in error for being a few hours late."

"They've eloped?" asked Lady Minerva in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because he's shot Lord Percy. If Lord Percy dies, the Aurors will descend on him. If Lord Percy lives, that pugnacious pig may very well send Bow Street on Villiers' heels. I doubt Percy will be so forgiving as to withdraw the charge," explained Miss Granger slowly as Wulfric returned with the special licences.

"Hasn't Uncle Sanguine told you?" The Archbishop looked quizzically at the Duke, matching the older man's twinkling blue eyes with his own blue stare.

"Told me what?" echoed Sir Harry and Miss Granger in urgent tones.

Harrumphing gently as she slapped his arm, Lady Minerva pursed her thin lips together and said, "You had better tell them yourself, Sanguine."

The Duke smiled at his old friend and squeezed her hand affectionately. "Lord Percy Weasley has expired."

"No, this cannot be!" exclaimed Miss Granger in a lukewarm tone, hoping that she came across as concerned.

"Yes, I knew he would give up the ghost! What a fine thing for Ron and the rest of them," razzed Sir Harry, jumping to his feet in sudden animation. Then noticing all the silent glares at him and the uncompromising glower of his beloved, he feebly commented, "He was an embarrassment to His Grace of Offaly and his family."

"Tell them everything, Sanguine," urged Lady Minerva, who signalled her displeasure by brushing aside the Duke's hand every time it stole to cover hers.

"I was hoping to use my influence to exculpate young Villiers," he said, eyeing the astonished youngsters before him. "Sterne has already addressed the Commons on the matter and tomorrow, we shall attempt to sway the rest of the Lords. They should be made to see that the young man was provoked and that Lord Percy was not the gentlemen he claimed to be. Although Villiers has a seat in the Commons, he must be tried – if it comes to that – as a peer. It is easier to be tried by the Lords than by common law, as your father may have told you, Miss Granger. With any luck, the Lords will see that in Lord Percy's unfortunate death, the ton has been freed of its most egregious fop. Do not worry, my dears, they will be made to see Lord Percy for the on-dit informant that he is."

"Very cavalier, isn't it, Duke?" asked Miss Granger, placing the special licence handed to her in her ridicule.

"But necessary if his exile is to be of as short a duration as possible."

"I see," said Miss Granger with a nod. "We each will do what we can. I'm going now, thank you for your assistance. Brown, let us leave. Harry will escort us. Goodnight, all."

On her arrival home, Miss Granger waited till her abigail turned in for the night before dressing herself, packing a few necessities which she shrank to fit into her band box, which she had transfigured into a page boy's pouch. Within half an hour, she emerged as a Malfoy page on her mare and made her way to Dover swathed in a voluminous travelling cloak and thick scarf. As the London landmarks faded and Hunslow Heath was left behind, she hoped that her father would not kick up a fuss as to her disappearance. Not trusting Brown to deliver a message to his Lordship, she opted to write a note to him. This letter, which informed Lord Orthod of his daughter's intentions to ensure that her friend's reputation remained in tact, was placed on his desk in his study. He would, Miss Granger, was certain, find it in the morning before breakfast. His lordship, as his daughter instinctively knew, would decline food for a day and consult his friends, the Duke of Sanguine and Lord Lupin. Miss Granger also predicted, from her previous knowledge of her abigail's oftentimes vapid general expression, that her absence would not be missed till the afternoon. And when her departure had been discovered, the inestimable Lavender Brown would fall into a deep swoon and deplete London's supply of hartshorn. Shrugging off these thoughts, Miss Granger urged her mare forward until the poor creature was quite blown when it arrived at the English-French Apparition point at Dover.

A quick glance at her pocket watch showed that it was close to one in the morning. Although she knew the apparition portal would be open at six by the innkeeper whose establishment was near it, she wanted to pursue the couple. There was no time to be lost if she was to catch up with them. Collecting all that she had brought with her in her pouch, she sent the mare to inn's stables, instructing the stable-hand to allow it to head home after it had rested, and proceeded to harangue the innkeeper at wooden public house called, Thickey's. She shuddered involuntarily at the name and remembered that Villiers had mentioned that the inn at the Dover apparation point was named for its burly owner.

Miss Granger inhaled a deep breath and marched into the suspiciously named Thickey. "My master, the Marquess of Villiers came by here some hours ago. He had forgot some of his things. I must take them to him or he will never rest easy," she lied with a vexed expression on her face.

"Looky 'ere, laddie," said the innkeeper, taking in the Malfoy livery of the page. "The point has to be closed from eleven at night till six the next morn. It's goin' to stay closed till six! You could sleep in the stables with your master's horse until we send the animals over by barge in another hour."

"If you will not open the Apparation point for me, how will I get my lord's things to him?" she asked, injecting a despondent tone in her voice.

"That, laddie, is betwixt your master and ye," snorted the innkeeper before he spat into a nearby spittoon.

Miss Granger flashed the innkeeper an indignant look. "Mr Thickey, my master will more likely take issue with you if he does not sleep on his own linen tonight!" Observing the man's uneasy expression and shifty eyes, she decided to call his bluff. "When I served the Duke of Mallefille, the proprietor of a respectable rest house in Calais, let us traverse to England so that he might give his wife a final embrace. Him a foreigner too! I would have thought a fellow countryman might understand the way of the Quality. But I see, you clearly don't."

"Now wait here, laddie," said the innkeeper hotly. "I know Quality when I see them."

"That may be, but you do not know their ways!" the page answered frostily. "Let me Apparate to Calais so that my master need not know of your shameful disregard for his needs!"

"It wouldn't be right I opened the portal just for you – it wouldn't be worth my while," whispered Thickey conspiratorially.

"You can have a crown if you open the portal and seal it again as soon as I have gone. The Quality often pays that sum to use the portal. What do you say?"

"Oh, very well, laddie, seeing how I like ye so much. A coachwheel then," he conceded greedily, sticking out his large hand for the coins.

"You are to send the chestnut mare back to London as soon as it is able. It is a well trained beast and will know how to return to the proper stables," she instructed the innkeeper before disappearing from England with a soft popping sound.

* * *

Whatever Miss Granger's vaticination of the state of her father's household upon her disappearance, she could not have supposed that his reaction to her departure would be so violent. The good Lord Orthod had risen at his usual hour and had hopes of passing his habitual pre-breakfast hour reading in his study. His projected hour of quiet repose was rudely shaken after a perusal of his daughter's missive. So forceful was his shock that he was only found by his man a few minutes before the breakfast hour sitting palely at his desk with shaking hands and wild eyes. The valet soon returned his master to bed and requested Cook to prepare a thick meat broth with leeks in the hope that it might tempt the master. Arranging for the young Miss's abigail to sit with his lordship, the valet, one Podmore by name, took it upon himself to fetch the family surgeon, Augustus Pye.

It was in such a gloomy scene that Lord Sterne encountered as soon as he stepped across the Orthod threshold. The oppressively quiet air in the house would have unnerved the common man but not the Marquess of Sterne. When his enquiries after the lady of the house met with silence, he knew immediately that something was amiss. As soon as he was ushered into the sickroom, his lordship's dejected and ashen expression alerted his suspicions. The surgeon, Pye, was still volubly recommending all manner of remedies to Lord Orthod, which the old gentleman listened to with closed eyes. Sterne, however, wished to discuss the old man's ailment with the sufferer himself and was keen to be rid of the surgeon. Glaring at Pye, he pointedly told the man to leave.

"No, I cannot do that, sir. His lordship has to be bled," reasoned Pye, tapping his bottle of leeches.

Sterne narrowed his eyes and in a sharp reproachful hiss consigned the doctor and his remedies to the deepest recess in hell. Not satisfied with that vituperative outburst, he also treated the man of medicine with a pungent and scholarly criticism on the whole race of leeches.

The doctor started back at this stinging diatribe of his profession which he had listened to with rapt attention and some admiration. So, he wanly said, "May I have the pleasure of knowing your trade, sir?" You appear to be very knowledgeable in the medical arena."

"Perhaps you have heard of me?" Sterne drawled in a lazy tone that belied the contempt in his eyes. "I am Severus Snape."

"Oh!" cried Pye in an odd admixture of enthusiasm and trepidation. "I did not recognise you, Lord Sterne. You are indeed better than an apothecary."

"My good man," hissed the Marquess impatiently, "Lord Orthod does not require a doctor or an apothecary."

"You have such phlegm, my lord. Perhaps you will consent to be bled?"

"Be gone with you!" snapped Sterne irritably, flicking aside a stray lock of hair from his eyes. "You have done enough!"

Fortunately, the doctor had a modicum of sense in his brain to realise that his ability to preserve his life presently lay within his hands, withdrew with alacrity.

As soon as Brown followed the doctor out, Sterne asked Orthod to relate the matter surrounding his anxiety to him. In response, the Baron, still very much shaken by his daughter's disappearance, offered the note the she had left behind. From the frequent ink blotches, it appeared that Miss Granger had composed this in a calm thoughtful mood with many pause over her choice of words.

"Papa," she began, as abruptly as she usually was in times where her immediate action was imperative, "I have gone after Lord Villiers and Lady Ginevra Weasley. I have perused his letter to her at the de Quib dinner party while you were assisting the Duchess of Offaly with her volatile salts. You will see how desperate is the case, for it is plain (to my mind at least) that Villiers has succumbed to recidivism. He may not marry Lady Ginevra on their arrival in France. I have a plan to delve into the truth of the matter so as to show him that he must behave honourably towards her. Do not be afraid for my safety or honour, even though I may not return for supper tonight. Hermione."

Sterne started up and sat upright in his chair, crumpling the letter in his clenched hand. Something must be done and done quickly. A few quick paces about the room later, he sat down again, mechanically smoothening out the missive. It would not do to act rashly, he reminded himself. "Was anything taken?" he asked.

"Nothing of import," replied the mournful looking father. "A change of stockings, some money and a ridicule. A band box is also missing. That was all the abigail said she took."

"Did she behave strangely last night?"

"She left midway through dinner with Sir Harry and Brown to wait on the Duke of Sanguine. I know nought of her plans on her return."

"I shall see what I can do, my lord," answered Sterne, patting the Baron bracingly on his shoulder. "I will not allow your daughter to come to harm."

On leaving the house, Sterne quickly strode to Half Moon Crescent in the hope of obtaining an explanation – any explanation – to allay the wild thoughts in his mind. He did not wait for Fudge to usher him into the house, instead, he brushed past the officious creature on learning that the Duke and Lady Minerva were taking a turn in the shrubbery. Stalking closer to the elderly couple who were walking familiarly arm-in-arm, he coughed to draw attention to his presence.

"Ah, bonjour, mon enfant," chuckled the Duke with the briefest of nods. "I was hourly more reconciled to the prospect of your visit."

The Marquess bowed lowly over Lady Minerva's extended hand before looking up at Sanguine. "Your powers of penetration are a credit to you, Godfather."

"Yes, yes, my dear boy," said Lady Minerva by way of greeting. "If you could but give me a few more minutes with Sanguine, I shall return to the house and you'll have him to yourself."

Bowing his assent, he sat down in a small pavilion and watched his godfather earnestly plead with his godmother. The lady, however, appeared unmoved and conjured a potted plant before slipping into the house. The duke, he noticed (unbeknownst to the lady), had kissed the sash of Lady Minerva's gown when he bent to pluck a blossom from the plant she conjured. What the nature of the endeavour was, Sterne could not say; but from the duke's perceptibly heavy steps, he gathered that it was not an altogether successful enterprise.

"Alors, mon enfant," said Sanguine, securing the snapdragon blossom he had plucked to his coat as the tea things appeared on the table. "How much do you know about Miss Granger's sudden flight?"

"You have heard?" said Sterne, quietly tracing his lips with his fingers.

"Naturally," laughed the old man, stroking his beard. "I am a sinister person with uncanny powers of penetration."

Sterne scowled and made several caustic and denunciatory comments on his godfather's abilities. "Then you will hear me out. I believe that rascal has abducted Miss Granger."

"Surely, you mean Lady Ginevra."

"Devil take Lady Ginevra! It is very likely that that reprobate abducted them both. He must have drugged Lady Ginerva, then abducted Miss Granger!"

Sanguine eyed his godson sympathetically. "How did you arrive at that masterful deduction?"

Recalling the scene of his confrontation of Villiers and Miss Granger at Hatchard's tea room parlour, he clenched his fist and stuffed it into his coat pocket. "It is my contention that the special licence was intended for Villiers and Miss Granger."

"You astonish me," said the Duke in mild surprise.

"He will not have her, I say! He has no right to ruin one woman and marry the other for her money."

"You appear quite set in your opinion, mon enfant," warned Sanguine, making an elaborate show of cutting a patisserie.

"I know Villiers, old man," insisted the Marquess as his brows knotted together in barely controlled rage. "I've known him since he was in his damnable cradle!"

"Your lack of faith in the three young persons concerned is disturbing. Leave them be – they will return shortly and all will be well."

"How can you say that!"

"Because I know so. I was at the Lords today and made my excuse for you," said the Duke conversationally, munching the creamy pastry without getting any of it on his beard.

"Damn your parliament! I'm speaking of saving Miss Granger's reputation and making her see Villiers for the rake that he is."

Sanguine raised a mobile brow and smiled slyly. "I suppose you will go after them?"

"Indeed, I shall! There will be many difficulties for Villiers to travel with two women."

"You can continue to think so if it comforts you. Have you occurred that your outburst is bordering unto irrationality, Severus?"

"Nonsense!"

"I believe you have grown jealous bones," teased the Duke, offering the young man a ridiculously pink patisserie.

"Damn you, Sanguine! I will not listen to your madness any longer. I am for Paris."

"If you must leave – go. Do remember to inform Villiers that he may return to England after his honeymoon. The charges against him have been dropped by the Lords and the Commons."

"Not if I kill him first!" answered Sterne through clenched teeth.

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) Hellebore means "scandal" and "calumny".

View it here http://www.farmyardnurseries.co.uk/hellebor/hellebore.jpg, http://www.munchkinnursery.com/newsletter/helleborus/hellebore-pink-274x205.jpg,

http://graphics.gardenweb.com/graphics/images/hellebore.jpg and http://www.wildchicken.com/nature/photography/hellebore_dish_1024x768.jpg. The generic name of this plant is derived from the Greek elein (to injure) and bora (food), and indicates its poisonous nature. The specific name refers to the dark coloured rootstock. The whole plant possesses drastic purgative, emmenagogue and anthelmintic properties, but is violently narcotic. It was formerly much used in dropsy and amenorrhoea, and has proved of value in nervous disorders and hysteria. It is used in the form of a tincture, and must be administered with great care. According to Pliny, Hellebore was used as a purgative in excess by Melampus, a soothsayer and physician in 1,400 BC. This is why we use the name Melampodium for any kind of Hellebore. Spenser in the Shepheard's Calendar (I kept the spelling authentic), 1579, alludes to the medicinal use of Melampode for animals. Parkinson, writing in 1641, tells us: "a piece of hellebore root being drawne through a hole made in the eare of a beast troubled with cough or having taken any poisonous thing cureth it, if it be taken out the next day at the same houre."

Parkinson believed that White Hellebore would be equally efficacious in such a case, but Gerard recommends the Black Horehound only, as being good for beasts. He says the old farriers used to "cut a slit in the dewlap, and put in a bit of Beare-foot, and leave it there for daies together."

Gerard describes the plant in these words:

"It floureth about Christmas, if the winter be mild and warm . . . called Christ herbe. This plant hath thick and fat leaves of a deep green colour, the upper part whereof is somewhat bluntly nicked or toothed, having sundry diversions or cuts, in some leaves many, in others fewer, like unto a female Peony. It beareth rose-coloured flowers upon slender stems, growing immediately out of the ground, an handbreadth high, sometimes very white, and ofttimes mixed with a little shew of purple, which being faded, there succeed small husks full of black seeds; the roots are many; with long, black strings coming from one end."

Once, people blessed their cattle with this plant to keep them from evil spells, and for this purpose, it was dug up with certain mystic rites. In an old French romance, the sorcerer, to make himself invisible when passing through the enemy's camp, scatters powdered Hellebore in the air, as he goes.

The following is from Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy:

"Borage and hellebore fill two scenes,

Sovereign plants to purge the veins

Of melancholy, and cheer the heart

Of those black fumes which make it smart."

Culpepper writes in 1652 that the hellebore "is an herb of Saturn, and therefore no marvel if it has some sullen conditions with it, and would be far safer, being purified by the art of the alchymist than given raw. If any have taken any harm by taking it, the common cure is to take goat's milk. If you cannot get goat's milk, you must make a shift with such as you can get. The roots are very effectual against all melancholy diseases, especially such as are of long standing, as quartan agues and madness; it helps the falling sickness, the leprosy, both the yellow and black jaundice, the gout, sciatica, and convulsions; and this was found out by experience, that the root of that which grows wild in our country, works not so churlishly as those do which are brought from beyond sea, as being maintained by a more temperate air. The root used as a pessary, provokes the terms exceedingly; also being beaten into powder, and strewed upon foul ulcers, it consumes the dead flesh, and instantly heals them; nay, it will help gangrenes in the beginning. Twenty grains taken inwardly is a sufficient does for one time, and let that be corrected with half so much cinnamon; country people used to rowel their cattle with it. If a beast be troubled with a cough, or have taken any poison, they bore a hole through the ear, and put a piece of the root in it, this will help him in 24 hours time. Many other uses farriers put it to which I shall forbear."

(2) Snapdragon has two meanings: (i) You are presumptuous, and (ii) An emphatic No. View it here http://www.hort.cornell.edu/4hplants/Flowers/Images/Snapdragon%206.jpg and http://www.lilychartier.com/images/80951%20snapdragon.jpg. Snapdragon is closely allied to the Toadflaxes. It is really not truly a native herb, but has become naturalized in many places, on old walls and chalk cliffs, being an escape from gardens, where it has been long cultivated. The botanical name, Antirrhinum, refers to the snout-like form of the flower – hence it's English name. However, before it acquired it's modern botanical name of Antirrhinum, it was known as Orontium (one Dodonaeus gave it this name), which is the snapdragon's medieval generic name because it was then believed to the spawn of the dragon that lived in the Orontes, the ancient chief river in Syria. The plant has bitter and stimulant properties, and the leaves of this and several allied species have been employed on the Continent in cataplasms to tumours and ulcers. It was valued in olden times like the Toadflax as a preservative against witchcraft. The numerous seeds yield a fixed oil by expression, said to be little inferior to olive oil, for the sake of which it has been cultivated in Russia.

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

(4) Hermione offers Thickey a crown to let her pass through the apparition point. The innkeeper replies "A coachwheel then." A Crown is worth 5 shillings. The slang word for it among the commonfolk (the cits and tradesmen) during the Regency is "a coachwheel".

(5) In the event that you are fans of Sturgis Podmore, Augustus Pye and Janus Thickey, I apologise.

The owner of the public house at the Dover apparation point to France is named for Janus Thickey. If you have read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, you will know that one morning in 1973, Thickey left a note on his wife's bedside table saying he had been eaten by a Lethifold. He was found five miles away with the Green Dragon landlady. The long term ward at St. Mungo's is named the Janus Thickey ward.

Discerning readers of Rowling's HP books will notice that I have misappropriated Sturgis Podmore as Lord Orthod's valet. He appears in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. He's mentioned as one of the OOTP.

Since we know that Augustus Pye is a trainee healer at St. Mungo's in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I decided to make a surgeon to the ton, or in this case, Lord Orthod. Readers may recall that in OOTP, Pye had the idea of giving Mr. Weasley muggle stitches when he was bitten by the snake because his wounds would not stop bleeding.

(6) 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.

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

(8) 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.

(9) 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.

(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.