Chapter Four
…is never found again.
Hermione tried hard not to agonize over her predicament and admirably paid attention to their leave-taking, bidding goodbye to the MacMillans, the Prewetts and the elder Rashleighs as she and Leontes boarded the chaise. They were bound for Red Lion Square, Holburn, where Mrs Rashleigh’s brother lived as a physician. (He was also an art connoisseur, and Leontes had great friendship with him, from what H. Rashleigh had written of him in her diary.) The journey itself would take a week, with stops to change horses and rest for the night.
Caledon and Chrisanty Prewett had quite a tousle, both wanting to be the one to hand her in. The two brothers were nearly exact counterparts of Fred and George, except that they had black hair. That, paired with their pale blue eyes, would have made Hermione fluttery like a schoolgirl, if she wasn’t a little distracted by the lonely thought that she was centuries away from her husband.
“Pray visit my aunt Bones in King’s Square. We are certain Cicely is with her. And pray warn her not to come home without enough port to pacify my father, or new silk gloves for my mother,” Clementine said in a stage whisper after Hermione’s maid had finished arranging her skirts in the carriage floor. Mr Prewett scowled and vowed nothing could stop him thrashing his undutiful daughter. Leontes looked quite alarmed here, and seeing Hermione had noticed, tried to mask it by bowing to their send-off party. He climbed the chaise and sat beside her with a sigh.
“Are you warm?” he asked his ‘sister’ offhandedly as the carriage wheels trundled into motion. It was very early in the morning, and they couldn’t see past several feet out the window due to the fog still blanketing Bodmin Moor.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Hermione lied. “You’re the one who looks like you had something unpleasant for breakfast.”
“I’m fine.”
“Suppose you tell me more about Emilia.”
“No.”
“But we have time, and you can’t read without going insane in all this juggle and rattle.”
“Sleep, then. You packed all night.”
Hermione hadn’t slept much because of worrying and planning and looking for another journal that might shed light to the mystery that was Emilia, but as Mrs Rashleigh had the habit of checking on her ‘daughter’, Hermione had brought out a valise, nearly laid all the contents of her wardrobe on her bed, and told them the ruse that she was picking what to bring although Leontes insisted that she had enough clothes at Red Lion Square to last a lifetime.
“You’d be bored then,” she countered with a grin. Over the few days, Hermione had fallen into pace with bickering with Leontes. His deep affection for his sister was evident, though he always complained of exasperation.
“Are you spending this whole travel plaguing me? Because if you are, I’m trading my seat with Mr James’s and be postilion in his place.”
“And get us in a bog or off a cliff?”
Leontes changed mid-laugh to a cough. He choked. Hermione thumped his back.
“You’re incorrigible, Hermione.”
“If you want to silence me, tell me a story. Start with Emilia.”
“She’s not a story.” Leontes averted his eyes and looked straight ahead out the window.
“Of course not, Leon. That’s why I want to know about her.”
He turned to her a little bewildered. “You’re just not being tiresome, are you? You really can’t remember her?”
Hermione thought it best not to answer. She just looked at him expectantly. She had mastered this technique with Ron and Harry.
“She died three years ago. You didn’t like her because she was just Dawson’s daughter. You forget that we only came upon the Rashleigh Manor through father’s great-uncle. You and Mother and Father and your airs… But I loved her. We kept it from my father and mother.”
Hermione succeeded in acting like this wasn’t news. She just smiled and touched his brown sleeve. “I was a good confidant then, wasn’t I?”
However, Leontes spoke as if he was alone in the chaise. His voice had changed, and under the sleeve, Hermione felt his arm muscles clench. She looked down and saw his hands were fists on his knees. “She didn’t tell me she was ill. She just died without my knowing she was even dying.”
He was angry. Hermione removed her hold on his arm. He noticed this and blinked. He took a deep breath; the color that had gathered on his face diminished and he sank back on the seat as if tired.
“Do you know this secret Ci”Miss Prewett”has? If you do, would you have compassion for your brother and tell me?”
Hermione smiled. She understood. Her hand returned on his arm. “She is not ill; I can assure you of that.”
He smiled back, a pained smile that gave Hermione foreboding. He closed his eyes and slept.
Hermione chewed on her lip for several moments. At the chaise’s front end, several easels were propped on the luggage platform, encased in sheepskin. Hermione could see them through the front window, and it was all she could do not to stop the carriage right then and look through them to see if the portrait she was to save was among them. She looked at Leontes and pulled out her wand.
“Lord strike me dead!” Mr James gasped. He pulled on the reins and the team nearly sat down. Somber Londoners on their way to business stopped in their sedate gaits as if stunned and stared at the post-chaise.
Hermione pointed her wand at the glass covering the front window. A small hole appeared. Through this hole, an Obliviate spell hit Mr James squarely in his nape. He blinked, and, apparently relieved of the astonishing memory of being in Cornwall one second and being in London the next, he shook the reins with a nervous glance to his passengers, as if afraid they were annoyed about his dawdling. Hermione gave him a curt nod through the window, and turned to wake her brother, who yawned, stretched and looked out, muttering, “Oh, finally.”
After fifteen more minutes of agony, they arrived in Holburn. After the mansions in Cornwall, the houses there looked small to Hermione, but they were pretty in their quaint way, all bricks, stone and slate. They stopped before a gray and white house that was easily the largest in the square. Beside the door, there was a brass plate, but before Hermione could read it, the door opened, and like a whirlwind, a woman descended the steps and opened the carriage door.
“To think that I was thinking of you only this morning! I was just about to write! Oh, Leon, Hermione! Your uncle would be so pleased! But he had gone out, and will be gone until the morrow, I’m afraid. No matter. And what delightful sleeves you have today, my dear. Look over there, Mr Prentice is ogling your waistcoat, I always tell him you are very smart, Leon. Here, my sweet, let Lily untie your hat, you will disarrange your coif if you try it yourself.”
All this was uttered by the woman with hardly a breath in between embraces to Leon and kisses to Hermione’s cheeks. She was tall and thin, with her hair high up in a bun. She was fair from head to toe, because her hair was the palest blonde. Her gown was almost too brightly white for the eyes, but Hermione thought it fitting for the wife of a physician.
“Aunt Athena, you had better continue our welcome inside; I see Mrs Kettleburn has joined Mr Prentice in ogling us.”
Hermione nodded to agree with Leontes, and Aunt Athena waved at her neighbors before sweeping back up to her door. Lily, the servant, followed after seeing that neither brother nor sister had brought any luggage. Hermione then had the opportunity to read the brass plate. Leontes was occupied with his easels, and that was lucky, because Hermione had tried to hide her surprise but failed.
Surgeon, Surgeon Instrument Maker, Chymist
King’s Square~
The day passed remarkably well for Hermione in King’s Square. Aunt Bones allowed them to visit Diagon Alley after making them swear they’d be back for supper. Charing Cross was to the east of the square, and as punishment for portkeying without permission, Aunt Bones forbid them the use of the fireplace, and instead sent them on foot to The Leaky Cauldron with a pie recipe for Emma Dodderidge.
Outside the house, Cicely said, “We could Apparate, you know, but my aunt knew I wouldn’t subject you to that discomfort.”
Hermione relished the refreshing view of London, with chaises and sedan chairs instead of cars and trams rolling up and down the roads. They walked North instead of East, and strolled along Oxford Street until they came upon Hyde Park where the Serpentine was in construction. Though the fashionable hour was still a long way off, there were women walking here with much more gargantuan skirts than she or Cicely had ever worn, and the two of them often shared a private laugh over the thought of how these women contrived to move.
With this gallivanting, they soon tired.
Cicely suddenly pulled Hermione to a less crowded street. Just a couple of men were walking down it. When these men had turned the corner, Cicely took her wand from her décolletage and stuck out her arm.
BANG!
A violently purple stagecoach appeared in front of them. There were no horses tethered to them, though Hermione suspected there were thestrals in the harnesses instead. Hermione faked an astonished look, Cicely smiled and led her to the stagecoach’s door, which opened, revealing a long-faced young man in a glaring waistcoat”it was violently purple on one side and violently yellow on the other.
“Welcome to the Knight Coach, emergency transportation for the witch and wizard aground. I am Barnabas Prang, and I will be your conductor this””
“Good morning to you, too, Barny. To The Leaky Cauldron, please.”
Cicely dropped some Knuts onto Barny’s pouch, and he gave them tickets. Hermione continued her look of utmost interest until Cicely held her hand and pulled her to a seat. As soon as she was settled, Hermione locked a hold on her chair, preparing for the Knight Coach’s BANG.
The BANG did come, but instead of being thrown over, there was a great heave, as if the coach suddenly took off into the air. Hermione sighed in relief, but turned the sigh into a gasp for her act.
“This thing will roam London not until two decades hence, but one Seer saw it, and made use of it. Isn’t it nice that we’re ahead of Muggles”oh, forgive me, I mean no offense, dear.”
Hermione just smilingly shrugged. “What is Muggles?” In answer, Cicely just shook her head amused, and perused the pie recipe.
It wasn’t a minute before Barny announced their stop. The Leaky Cauldron was still the same, only a lot less grubby. Emma Dodderidge looked a lot like Tom, without the baldness. Her hair was a riot of blonde curls and her breasts looked like they were a couple of white mush melons. When Cicely gave her the recipe, she clutched Cicely.
“I am simply pushed against the wall here, dear, so I would impose this upon you. Please bring this pie to my great-grandaunt. She doesn’t want to see me, you see. Something about her current ficklemood attack.”
“Oh, I would love to. I have not seen Daisy in a while. And my friend Hermione here would love to see our hospital, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, dears. When you return, I’ll have moonberry pudding waiting for you.”
Cicely just nodded and led Hermione to the great hearth. Hermione listened as she explained Flooing. She again faked shock when Cicely disappeared in the flames. Emma patted her on the back and threw the powder for her.
“Pie recipes and pies! I hope my aunt Bones doesn’t serve any pies this evening,” Cicely quipped, waving her wand over Hermione to remove the soot.
St. Mungo’s was much the same as its latter counterpart. The same orbs floated along the ceilings, and the Healers had the same green robes, only that the witches had farthingales under theirs. Cicely led her along the corridors as if she had often before visited Daisy. They paused at the second floor landing; a Healer came around the double-doors and rapped them in their heads with her wand.
“The sicknesses they deal with in this floor are contagious, so the Healer gave us a Temporary-Immunition Charm.”
“Only temporary?” Hermione asked, though she knew the answer.
“Yes, the charm doesn’t work longer than six hours on adults. They last three years on infants.”
They stopped on the Selia Hippocrata Ward. On its door, there was the same hand-written sign on stiff parchment;
Trainee Healer: Algernon Buffwood
As they opened the doors to the ward, a Healer with silver ringlets under her winged cap went out. “I would be chary with these ficklemood patients right now, ladies,” she said with a smile.
Daisy smiled at them likewise. Her face was draped in a spider web of wrinkles, but her eyes didn’t look as if age had touched them. She hugged them and graciously accepted the pie, and then sent it hurtling through the air when Cicely mentioned it was from Emma. It landed on another patient’s Exploding Snap tower. Crust and custard flew everywhere. Cicely and Hermione raced out the ward in a crouch, and fell to their knees outside the doors, where they were joined in their mirth by Healer Derwent, who had stayed if anything went amiss with her high-strung patients and the visitors.
“We’re lucky to have been out, you know, as Aunt Bones tends to dither over dinner details so much until even the butcher a mile off is nervous,” Cicely whispered as they climbed the stairs to their room to dress for that evening’s company. Aunt Bones had only nodded at them when they recounted their day and then cried out when Cicely asked her if they had better dress. The woman had flown to her own room in as much speed as her skirts would allow, and then bellowed out at the girls not to tarry either.
Cicely took particular concern dressing, and exercised as much care over Hermione. They each had an elf to lace their corsets to perfection. The elves used magic, of course, and Hermione ‘oof-ed’ as all the air in her midribs was suddenly squeezed out of her.
Their stockings were of silk, and so were their hoop skirts. Their chemisette had such a profusion of lace on the sleeves, which rustled down their wrists with the illusion of being attached to their gowns. But in fact, their gown’s sleeves only reached their elbows. Cicely’s was in pale sky blue, with a red ribbon around its waist, and matching lace framing the low décolletage. Hermione’s was in gold with black trimming. Her corset was also black, matching her chemisette’s ruffles, showcasing the creamy paleness of her chest and arms.
Cicely was inspired by Healer Derwent’s ringlets, and fashioned their hair into the same style, only differing in the number and size of the curls. Hermione’s were large and many; Cicely’s were fewer and tiny.
They forewent wash-balls of rice and flour for their faces. Hermione was glad that she and Cicely were of the same mind regarding the era’s make-up. Cicely did insist on some rouge for their lips though.
When they came downstairs, the elves were congregated around the foyer, ready to take coats and cloaks. Hermione’s stomach butterflies Apparated at this point, because she was about to participate in an authentic eighteenth-century Wizarding dinner, and she wondered if there were any differences from the Muggle one, which in itself would be a revelation to her. History of Magic had long replaced English society history in her stored knowledge.
Aunt Bones, resplendent in black velvet and a red and black lace veil on her hair, led them to the drawing-room. Here they sat waiting for each guest’s announcement and entrance.
If it weren’t for their wives and the distinctive elaborate embroidery on their waistcoats (which were almost unvaryingly only dragons and hippogriffs), Hermione wouldn’t have told the men apart. They all wore the same wigs.
The Lufkins were the first to arrive. Mr Lufkin rather faded into the background; it was his wife who had the aura and the superior demeanor, despite being petite and pregnant.
“Do not tell me you have invited Lady Sanguina?” Mrs Lufkin said. “We passed her in a blood-red sedan chair, her chairmen paler than the moon I was amazed they could even move.”
“I did invite her, Artemisia, because it is such fun seeing the two of you sparring verbally,” returned Aunt Bones.
Cicely and Hermione were presented, but hardly had they dropped to curtsey when Mr and Madam Edgar Stroulger and Mr and Madam Glanmore Peakes were announced and ushered into the room.
These names were familiar to Hermione.
“…my niece, Cicely Prewett and her friend, Hermione Rashleigh. Ladies, Edgar is a talented young man who had recently been recognized for inventing the Sneakoscope. And of course, Glanmore here is””
“”the slayer of the Sea Serpent of Cromer! My dear sir, my brothers highly admire you, though they lost a wager to me because they insisted the sea serpent was hogwash””
“Cicely, dear.”
“It’s quite alright, Cecilia. I wish you had brought your brothers with you, Miss Prewett. And charmed to meet you, Miss Rashleigh. I hope you enjoy your evening with us tonight, though I know it would astonish more times than is proper. I was Muggleborn, you know.” Mr Peakes smiled. He was quite older than Edgar, but he looked tougher and more outgoing. Edgar was quiet and had the same dubious demeanor as Moody.
“Lady Carmilda Sanguina!” squeaked the elf-butler, in high terror rather than pompously. Hermione couldn’t contain her gasp, not when the lady suddenly appeared at her side, her lips on her neck, hissing, “I diztinguish Muggle blood that izn’t mazculine and old.”
“I’m not ‘old’, Carmilda,” said Mr Peakes lightly, pulling Lady Sanguina away from Hermione. “And look how much you scared Miss Rashleigh. Quite a faux pas unworthy of you, dear.”
“Forgive me, Miss Rashleigh,” Lady Sanguina said graciously, dropping on the couch with a sigh after returning Mrs Lufkin’s glare.
“Are you alright?” Cicely whispered to Hermione, taking her aside to the piano.
Hermione had already recovered; after all, she had faced much worse. But she pretended some shallow breaths. “She”she’s a”she looks like a””
“She is a vampire, they say she’s been around since the late fifteenth century and that she bathes in her victims’ blood to retain her youth and beauty, but nothing to fret about; she knows not to mess with us.”
“Madam Iridisca Comstock!” announced the elf.
Hermione blinked and Cicely giggled in delight. “That’s my godmother. Doesn’t she look ravishing?”
The witch had on a flowing satin gown that held all the hues of the spectrum; the rainbows of color curved and eddied with her movements as she went about kissing the ladies. “Comstock asks to be excused, dear, something came up at the Ministry, you know how it is,” she was saying to Aunt Bones, before spotting Cicely and squealing like a girl. “My sweet child, how more beautiful you bloom every year! And who is this?”
Hermione was introduced. Madam Comstock eyed her critically for several moments and then pointed her wand at Hermione’s gown. The black trimming and ruffles turned auburn. “Better, isn’t it?”
All the ladies nodded, speechless.
“Who else are you expecting, my dear Madam Bones?” Mrs Lufkin asked afterward, her eyes still on Lady Sanguina, who likewise eyed her while tracing two-inch red talons around the whalebone buttons decorating her black corset. She was the only other woman in black in the party, and Aunt Bones looked quite angelic compared to her.
“We’re waiting for just one now, dear, Lord Whithers””
“That old loon, always ‘fashionably’ late.”
“Surely you are not referring to me?”
An old wizard had entered the room; the elf’s mouth was still open, cut off from announcing the new guest. He closed his mouth, drew in breath, and opened his mouth wide again only to be once more interrupted. “I have brought someone with me, Cecilia, the father of my granddaughter’s best friend at Hogwarts. I am quite in ecstasy over his horse drawings. And he has given me an idea we wish to share with you this evening. Do you mind, dear?”
“You expect me to rebuff when you have already brought the man? Merlin forbid such ungraciousness on my part, Stoddard. Fetch him. Shame on you for making him wait in my foyer!”
The old wizard grinned, bowed, and went out. He returned with a much younger man in tow, with black hair and a very prim expression. He smiled curtly around the party, but when his eyes reached Hermione, he blinked.
“Hermione? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Mr McGonagall, I took her with me. I’m Cicely Prewett””
“Yes, yes, I remember you, forgive me. And I bid you all good evening. Lord Whithers have invited me here after our talk this morning, and I felt it my duty to such a kind patron to acquiesce to his gracious invitation. I’ve never been to King’s Square before. And””
“”he nearly convulsed when he saw this house between the Fauconberg and Carlisle houses.”
“Well, who would have thought, indeed! I understand that to your people, there are only the Carlisle and the Fauconberg on this side, Mr McGonagall?”
“Yes, madam. Whom am I addressing?”
Introductions were done by Aunt Bones and Lord Whithers. Hermione’s stomach butterflies were in a frenzy, until Cicely whispered to her, “Go and kiss your uncle!” There, the mystery was unveiled. She held on to his arm as they proceeded to the dining room. Lord Whithers escorted Aunt Bones; Cicely held onto her godmother; Lady Sanguina was good-naturedly taken by Mr Peakes on his other arm. The other two couples followed.
Hermione braced herself, taking deep calming breaths on the sly. After this dinner, she just needed to find her ‘uncle’ alone before he left to make him forget he met his niece in London, in a house magically built between two Muggle mansions.
Author’s Notes:
~The chaise is generally an enclosed four-wheeled carriage seating up to three people, and driven by a rider mounted on one of the horses (a "postilion"). The more or less standard vehicle for families which are "respectable", but not extremely wealthy. With thanks to Magical Maeve, h_vic, and red and gold for Reference help about 18th Century travel over at the forums, though I belatedly realized Hermione wouldn't suffer through a long journey when she had her wand.
~ Red Lion Square is located south of Theobald Road and named after the inn at Holburn; this square was laid out in 1684 by Nicholas Barbon on a 17 acre paddock. It was the London residence of the famous Mr. Harrison while he was constructing his clock. I chose this as location because this is the only London street where I found a historical address of surgeons. (No kidding. What an amazing website my source is!)
~ The spell I made Hermione use was a combined Portus and Apparition spell of my own invention. It enables you to Apparate with, say, your car. Hermione invented this so that she can still enjoy short drives. Of course, you and your car always appear somewhere discreet. In this story, the chaise appeared on a deserted side-street before bursting into the crowded thoroughfare. The Londoners stared because of Mr James execration and the horses’ nearly plopping down on the road.
~ Yes, the McGonagalls have a witch for a daughter, though they themselves were Muggles. Also, ‘chymist’ is not a typo. It was spelled that way in my source.
~ Dilys Derwent was a St. Mungo’s Healer from 1722-1741 prior to becoming Hogwarts head. It is accepted canon that she might have held an administrative position afterward in St. Mungo’s to be considered Hogwarts head without a teaching stint beforehand. But as this story is in 1730, I took a liberty and made her in charge of one ward in the meanwhile.
~ The Fauconberg House and the Carlisle House shared the East Side of King’s Square.
This description of the Fauconberg House was what made my germ of an idea of inserting the Bones residence between the two houses: “This house had a frontage of sixty-four feet to the square (ref. 21) and its irregular fenestration suggests that it was originally built as two houses, or was converted into one during the course of its construction.”
~ The dinner guests were from the Lexicon’s Famous Wizard Cards list. I have never played the COS game, so forgive me if I made some mistakes in description.
The following guests are ancestors to the famous witch/wizard I was inspired with:
The Lufkins- grandparents to Artemisia Lufkin (1754-1825) (whom I declare named after her grandmother, hehe), the first witch to become Minister of Magic.
~ I will reveal my handy sources for this story only in the concluding chapter. Thanks for reading!