Begonias BEWARE!—A.T.Bennett
Imagine that it’s 1889, and you've had a terrible couple of days.
I mean really bad.
The brutal murder of your wealthy dowager aunt means that, as her adopted niece and sole heir, you have a million and one things to do.
First and foremost, there is the whole, you know, murder investigation. The local constabulary spent most of last afternoon tearing the mansion apart, dragging mud all over the Persian rugs and pestering your scullery maids. Apparently, the police took the cook in for questioning, resulting in burnt toast, gritty coffee, and a rubbery boiled egg for breakfast.
But that is not all! As an eligible woman now in possession of a sizeable fortune, you now have to navigate both “mourning” and “courtship”.
Of course, people had to show grief publicly. Murder was bad enough, but the press was quick with the printing of fashion faux pas in the gossip columns. One misstep with crepes, jewelry, or hats and it was social ruin!
Why, just last year, the Lord Blickle ordered the pallbearers to wear candytuft instead of marigolds at his mothers-in-law’s funeral, and he lost his box seat at the opera!
The flowers were already trickling in. Not for dear, old aunty. Oh no, no, no…for you! Soon it will be a downpour aster peppered with baby’s breath. Armloads of pink, red, and white camellias. Daffodils wrapped in ferns, gardenias in ivy. And roses. So many roses.
Siiiggghhhh.
As writers of historical fiction, mystery, or steampunk, it is important that you include little tells that are period appropriate. In every era, in every class of people, there is an undercurrent of secret languages. These can display love — like the above bombardment of bouquets — send messages, or even warnings. Victorians had floriography (the language of flowers), which was accessible to a wide range of people. It was easy to pick daffodils, but people could buy roses. Fan fluttering was another form of code and a wonderful way for the upper class to hold conversations across a ballroom. Touch the handle to the lips and you are telling a suitor to kiss you. Draw the fan across the cheek and you are saying, “I love you”. If you twirl it in the right hand, you are saying, “I love another”. Twirl it in your left hand, and the meaning switches to “we are watched”.
Yes, watched. The flip side of these “subtle” displays of public slang is that it’s out there, in public, for all to see. So, could a spy network pass coded messages at a crowded art exhibit? Could two amorous painters woo each other silently at a distance of twenty paces? Yes, absolutely. But it comes with the risk of interception, or even misinterpretation.
(There are also entire codes set to parasols and handkerchiefs, which I shall not get into, but believe me, it’s there and it’s extensive.)
It is easy to fall down rabbit holes of research regarding these odd forms of self-expression. They are fascinating! The trick is not to assume your reader has done the same. Would they know yellow lilies suggest happiness while orange lilies denote hatred? Of course not! Provide context through the characters’ reactions. A crumpled bunch of rhododendrons — which mean danger, and beware — should absolutely tip a scene to total chaos. It’s your job to make it clear why.
Now how would our young heiress reply to such suitors? It depends. Did she murder her aunt? Does she want to court protection, or seek to increase her own fortunes through marriage? Or does she simply want to grieve, and tell the lot of lovelorn losers to take a hike?
Well, if the latter is true, perhaps she would send them all an orange lily or two.
As a final note, I would highly recommend reading Kate Khavari’s wonderful novel, A Botanist’s Guide to Flowers and Fatality, for examples on how to incorporate “flower” clues into your writings. It’s the fourth book in a historical mystery series, if you’re looking for an excuse to expand your library! (Teehee)