“So...where exactly to begin?” Alma said, puffing her cheeks in thought
“Where else but the beginning.” Shining pointed out.
“Yeah, it’s just...I’m having trouble figuring deciding when it was that I felt weird about it and when it was that things actually started getting weird...” The young pegasus sat back and massaged her temples.
It was clear anxiety was weighing on her. Cadence, being the mare she was, placed a comforting hoof on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Alma. Keep calm...” She and Alma both took a deep breath as she spoke, starting the story for her “So you were asked to paint this stallion’s portrait? Prince Herod Sanguine, his name was, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah...” Alma said at last “Prince Herod Bludric Sanguine, that’s how it started anyway. I got a letter from Prince Herod’s daughter-in-law who keeps house for him. Gwendolyn Aerie Sanguine, her name was.”
“Curious name.” Cadence murmured.
“Well apparently, she used to be called Lapis Lazuli but Prince Herod...ah, what’s the word...” Alma pondered a moment “Well...he renamed her, really, when she married into the family. She and his son performed several plays together and she worked with his Herod himself in King Drear.”
Shining and Cadence exchanged a look of curiosity between them. Apparently theatre was as important to this Sanguine family as bloodline.
Alma continued.
“Anyway, I told them that portrait-painting wasn’t really my area of expertise. I’m better at more abstract stuff.”
“Yeah, I’ll need to remember to see the College Gallery. I’d love to see your work.” Cadence added offhoof before returning to the topic “But if you turned them down...”
“Well, that’s the thing. They were persistent, I’ll give ‘em that.” Alma shook her head “Because the next thing I knew, Sir Persnickety was at my doorstep. He’s Prince Herod’s nephew, I found out.”
They knew the name. Persnickety was a well-to-do, white-coated, saffron-maned stallion around Canterlot, a pony who was far more famous for being easy to spot in a crowd than through any note or deed due to his fashionable eggplant-indigo jacket, top hat and monocle he wore everywhere and for every occasion. He apparently made his fortune in shipping and navigation a while ago. It hadn’t made any headlines but he lived comfortably and, for the most part, was amiable, if not a little too uptight.
“So, then you said yes?” Shining asked.
“Well, I said yes to lunch.” Alma replied bashfully “It was at The Crepe Suzette. It’s not something you turn down unless you want to look like a real weirdo.”
The Crepe Suzette, a restaurant frequented and judged ‘satisfactory’ by Zesty Gourmand, was about as high-class as a citizen of Canterlot could ask for without being an immediate member of the royal family. Shining and Cadence both nodded. Refusing an invitation would’ve looked peculiar to say the least and Alma had never enjoyed going against the trend.
“Even if the food is pretty meagre and the friendly faces even more so, it was a very generous gesture. But, in any case, I still told him that the commission for the portrait was something I just didn’t feel comfortable about.”
“But why?” Persnickety’s mellow expression did not change. It was clear he was used to sorting these things out diplomatically, a quartermaster and entrepreneur rarely got far without the skill.
Alma, already uncomfortable with the surroundings, busied her hooves with checking the cutlery, unsure of what several of the various apparatus were even used for.
“Well, please don’t think I want to offend in any way, Mr Persnickety...” she began.
“But of course.” he replied.
“...It’s just that...the request I received specified a portrait of your uncle as MacHeath, six-feet-by-four, to be completed in just over a week? I’m not a house painter, Mr Persnickety, I’m not even, strictly speaking, a professional portrait artist. Sorry, it doesn’t sound like a job I’d be wise in taking.”
“I entirely understand. Forgive us, Miss Rose, for being so abrupt. Circumstances were rather thorny, so to speak.” He tugged at his napkin nervously “You see, it’s Papa’s seventy-fifth.”
Like most sheltered nobility, he referred to his eldest family member as ‘Papa’ and said the word as if it was monosyllabic so it came out more like ‘P’Pa’, something Alma had always found rather odd in grown ponies.
Persnickety continued in a courteous and slightly apologetic manner.
“He was so in hopes that the realm would honour him with a portrait.” He rolled his eyes “Alas, the realm has dragged its collective hooves and so Papa, being the gracious and humble stallion that he is, has decided to honour himself. He hasn’t the reputation to hire a professional portraitist, no offence intended, nor would he be satisfied with anypony lower than a high-class capital graduate. We took a while tracking you down, hence the rather strict time-limit but I promise we will make it worth your while. If my personal opinion counts for anything, with the duress he’s putting on you, he should be grateful if he gets a simple face study but my uncle can, to his credit, be counted on to reward those who service him well. Money really is no object, to me or my uncle.”
“I’m still not quite sure.”
“Oh come now, Miss Rose, once a week.” The stallion insisted “And I assure you...You’ll loathe our family.”
“I’m sure I would but...” Alma paused and looked him in the eye quizzically “Sorry, I’ll do what?”
“Not to alleviate, you understand, but taken en masse, they can be quite revolting.” Persnickety gave a morbid chuckle “It’s why I prefer to remain here in the capital. Of course I received rather a mouthful from the old boy for it and had to give up my claim to heirship of Marchion but, quite frankly, I counted that as a benefit” He realised his mouth had run away with him somewhat and backtracked slightly.
“But not to worry, they behave themselves around guests, at least, and working hammer and tongs, as it were, you won’t see much of them.”
“Hammer and tongs aren’t quite how I like to work.” Alma replied, thoroughly bemused “The main problem is I’ve never painted to order or with a time-limit or six-feet-by-four. I am flattered, honestly, by the request but I just don’t see how I can satisfy.”
“Miss Alma Rose, I promise you, you will have as much support from us as possible. Any necessities or requirements, let them be known ahead of time and we’ll take care of it.”
“Really, I don’t want to impose...”
“Nothing of the sort. We’ll all want Papa to be in a good mood for the special day.” Persnickety rolled his eyes again “You see, however much he rants about it, he’s not going to be around forever. And on this occasion, the evening’s festivities will be marked by the reading of his will.” He paused, making a meaningful raise of his brow “Do you follow?”
Alma gave something between a sigh and a chuckle.
“Honestly, Mr Persnickety, I’m tempted to accept just to see this place for myself!”
“Splendid.” He sat back with a smile “The family will be delighted but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Expect me on the big day and I wish you the best of luck.” He turned as an immaculate waiter brought forth the long-awaited starters “Now...Did you order the Doeufs-et-Doignons Baudelaire or did I?”
Alma paused and glanced at the barely identifiable dish.
“Your guess is as good as mine...”
“Curiosity got the better of you, then?” Shining asked knowingly.
“It sounded like some cosmic horror story, Cadey. Honestly, I felt quite excited. I feel deprived of dysfunctional family life, growing up with such quiet, well-mannered parents.” Alma giggled, shaking her head at the incredulity of it all.
“Which, I imagine, is how you came to be on the train to Marchion?” Cadence said.
“Yep. And it was there that I got my first real taste of what to expect...”
The ride to Marchion took Alma through the rolling fields and forests between the capital and the vassal states in the outskirts. Times were this had all been former farmland, used by the warring states to grow grain and produce to be sold for weapons, armour and the horse-power to equip it for war against the first alicorns.
The impatience and single-mindedness of the old petty kings proved their undoing. Selling too much food for weapons was never a good idea. One could not eat sharpened steel and the more soldiers hired, the more mouths needed feeding.
Many states fell within the first winter, starving in the frozen fields or beset upon by their own mutinying guard.
Equestria held out, its union between the three loyal tribes allowing them to brace for any peril.
It had been many long centuries since then. Grass and trees were all that was left of most of the vanished warring states, once proud enough to be called kingdoms.
Marchion had been one such state, surrendering when their doom was nigh. Its kings gave up their crowns and agreed to the terms set out by Equestria. But vassal states remained their own states nonetheless, with their own laws, their own customs, their own leaders and their own populace, rarely venturing out of Equestria, the resentment of millennia-old defeats still burning in some minds.
Marchion, however, was considered fairly safe. It hadn’t risen up during the chaos of the Civil War, one of the few vassals to pass off such an opportunity, and its leaders had largely relegated themselves to royalty in-name-only, the Sanguine family’s exploits in the theatre testament to such.
Alma had been reading a book on it on the train as she calmly ate her lunch, a tomato puree and chopped-olive roll, idly gazing out the window.
“Ahem.”
The sound of a stallion loudly clearing his throat behind her caused Alma to jump and cough repeatedly, narrowly avoiding choking.
The stallion stood in the doorway, not overly invested in helping her.
“You’re not ill, are you?” he drew back slightly as if afraid of catching something.
“No, no, it’s just...” Alma spluttered through coughing.
“Your drink is over there.” he pointed curtly to a small bottle of lemonade in her hamper beside her which she snatched up and gulped on, washing down the bread, tomato and olives caught in her throat. Gasping for air, red in the face, she gave a begrudging look to the newcomer who didn’t seem to register.
“Thanks a whole bunch.”
“Not at all. Now...” He cleared his throat again, fussily set out a large handkerchief on the carriage seat opposite her and sat down in a manner he was trying to make look suave “Would you be the ‘gifted artiste’ coming to Sanguine Hall to paint the soon-to-be seventy-fiver, by any chance?”
Alma took him in. He was a young unicorn stallion similar to Persnickety in coat and mane though his tones were significantly brighter. His mane was long, slicked back over his head but for a single lock gaudily trailing over his face. He was dressed in a short black jacket decorated with a rose in one lapel and a blue bowtie. His cutie mark were two four-pointed stars atop one another, gold over silver, like the archaic unicorn kings of old.
He had the look of a royal to him and clearly was used to thinking that but she’d never seen him with Cadence or anywhere she frequented in the capital at all.
“Yes, that would be me.” she answered, her breath back at last.
“Wonderful.” he gave an arrogant smile “You see, I’m on my way there myself. I don’t suppose we’ve met.” He extended a hoof “The name’s Blueblood, grandson and heir of Prince Herod and guest of her Majesty’s court. Charmed.”
She managed a half-smile and shook the hoof he presented. Catching note of his peeved expression, she realised he’d extended it as if to be kissed as Celestia and Cadence occasionally did.
The stallion had an ego on him. That was plain to see.
“Blueblood?!” Cadence exclaimed “Dear Laurelore! And I thought spending a boat trip with Jet Set and Upper Crust was a nightmare!”
“Do you know him well?” Alma asked “I haven’t ever seen him before? He wasn't anyone we knew at school.”
“Oh no, he’d never dream of setting hoof near ‘common upstarts' like us, he’s that sort of stallion. You know the one.” The pink and purple alicorn shook her head “He’s something of a figure around court. I’ve never really thought to ask where he came from and how he fits in but he acts as if he owns the place. Lazy, rude and more full of himself than anypony I’ve had to cross!”
“He makes life Tartarus for the guard as well.” Shining groaned “He once hoof-picked eighteen officers to guard him on a journey out of the capital. Do you know where he took us? The travelling merchant stall about ten feet from Canterlot’s walls! And he insisted we stay by him for the rest of the day! He was treating us like new clothes to show off or something.”
Alma weighed their words and chuckled.
“Yep. That sounds like him alright. We...kind of hit it off...”
He coughed awkwardly, subtly wiped his hoof with another handkerchief not quite out of her sight, and spoke.
“I find it rather a lark that you’re coming to paint Papa in all his regalia. Very charitable, I have to say.”
“So...” she tried hard to show courtesy while ignoring the lack of it she received from him “Prince Herod is your...”
“Grandfather. Yes.” He butted in, his mood appearing to sour at his grandfathers name “Sordid, isn’t it. My mummy is Gwendolyn who sent you the invitation, you see. She looks after him. And Daddy...was...Sir Lockhart Heraldric Sanguine, his eldest son.”
‘Celestia help us, this one says ‘Mummy and Daddy’!’ Alma thought, losing some amount of faith in ponykind.
Still, the young stallion did seem troubled about speaking of his parents.
Pausing, he slouched over the seat in what he must have thought looked dashing and lit a cigarette.
The smoke lurked around the room. Alma had never liked smoking, particularly not in close proximity.
“Er...excuse me...” she motioned.
The stallion turned his gaze nonchalantly towards her. She coughed meaningfully a couple of times.
He removed the cigarette from his mouth and mumbled.
“Ah yes, sorry...”
He didn’t put it out as she hoped he would. Instead his horn lit up and he opened the window of the carriage. Fortunately she was sitting facing the back so the smoke was mostly swept out into the fields but that didn’t make him seem all that more considerate.
Fighting the wish to give him a piece of her mind, Alma searched for a non-delicate subject of talk.
“I was told your family perform.” She began “Do you fall into that category?”
He raised one eyebrow.
“How considerate of you to take a notice.” He said in a snide tone.
‘Oh so now it’s me that needs to be considerate?! That’s rich!’ she fought hard not to say as Blueblood continued.
“Yes, I quite enjoy performing and I find I make good impressions when one is given opportunity...” His smile curdled “Opportunity which, with a word from the grand old steed would be all the year round. Only in my case, the grand old steed chooses never to speak.” He tutted “Talk about blood being thicker than water.”
The train gave a faint whistle and Blueblood positively grimaced in a revolted sort of way.
“Oh sweet Paradise, don’t look!”
Alma jumped, startled.
“What is it?”
“I can’t bear it. Every time I see it, it gets uglier!” Blueblood was massaging his temples as if in the midst of a migraine as the train turned round on the hillside and the grand ramparts and the lofty towers of Sanguine Rise Castle peered over the forest canopy.
A flag flew from the highest perch, a directional star, similar to Blueblood’s cutie mark only, in the flag’s case, the foremost star was a deep red and the star behind pearl white. Identical but smaller stars stood in the corners of the banner as it waved to the passengers over the hill.
“Gods, the unending horror of it!” Blueblood groaned “Castle Despair!”
Stopping at the modest train station, an ornate arch welcoming them to Marchion State, Alma lugged her artist’s equipment out onto the platform as Blueblood watched disinterestedly.
“Thanks, thanks for the help!” her sarcastic tone was becoming frequent.
“No trouble.” Blueblood said, not paying her much attention. Peering through the steam from the docked train, he gave a smile.
“I say.” He exclaimed as two ponies, a mare and a stallion, emerged “I spy with my little eye, Sanguines by the dozen. Greetings, you two!”
Alma glanced at them. Both of them were well-dressed and walked in a stately manner, albeit the stallion managed with a walking-stick. He was a rangy pegasus, light-orange in coat with a short russet-brown mane and a trim moustache. His cutie mark was a wispy white cloud passing over a silver star. He’d dressed himself in the garb of a Cloudwatcher, Outer Equestria’s Auxiliary Air Force, with a navy-blue long-coat and a military cap. One of his wings was tucked through a sleeve but the other was hidden under the coat entirely.
Alma knew well that pegasi only hid their wings when they’d injured them.
The mare was a young unicorn, frail of stature. Her coat was a pale shade of yellow and her mane was dark green, curling round her shoulders. Her face had a certain tired look to it that made her look quite a bit older than she must have been but otherwise seemed in very good spirits. She was wrapped up in a grand fur collar that seemed to dwarf her modest build. Her cutie mark was a blooming flower with three small silver stars bursting forth from it.
They both smiled at her and Blueblood as they approached, the pegasus tipping his cap.
Blueblood introduced them.
“This is my cousin, Rowena Buttercup.”
“Hello.” the mare said, politely but briskly and giving a slight curtsey.
“And the warrior bold is Bayard Hawthorn, another cousin.”
“How do you do?” The stallion’s hoof-shake was firm but warm. There was a very friendly tone about him.
Alma found herself feeling safe with him.
“Very well, thank you.” she answered with a smile.
“My good kinsponies, this is Miss Alma Rose.” Blueblood gave an effete show of hoof as he presented her.
“You’ve really come! We can hardly believe it.” Rowena’s tone was almost breathless “Grandfather is ten years younger.”
“Whereas I am aging by the minute.” Blueblood butted in “Do say you’ve bought the car.”
“Only Conkers and the baggage cart, I’m afraid.” Bayard said, turning to Alma “Have you much luggage?”
“Ah...” Alma gestured to her generous amount of artist’s supplies and equipment.
“Oh, so you have.” Rowena gave an awkward grimace “Well, pop your things on the cart and I think we can manage...”
“I refuse to walk!” Blueblood snapped, stamping one hoof.
Rowena sighed impatiently but Bayard gave him a curt smirk.
“Then you make sure it arrives safely, cousin. I’m sure there’s room for one on the cart.”
Blueblood paled, straightened up and nervously approached the cart.
A shaggy, ochre-coated, heavily-built young pegasus about Blueblood’s age bowed and set about hoisting Alma’s belongings onto the cart with great amounts of strength and dexterity, carrying as much as four of the bulky boxes and bags at a time, before taking the reins of the cart and checking on the passenger, wedged somewhat uncomfortably between the luggage on the seat.
“Everything alright, sir?” his voice was unusually quick and high-pitched but Alma didn’t care to dwell on it.
“Yes, yes, can’t be helped. Let’s get going.” Blueblood said brusquely “The sooner we’re home the better-Whoamph!” he lurched back as the pegasus, Conkers, took off with the cart at an alarming speed, the perturbed protests of Blueblood sounding over the clatter of wheels on cobblestone as they sped up to Sanguine Hall.
“Slow down Conkers, you clod! You’ll have us all over!”
Neither Bayard, Rowena nor Alma could suppress a satisfied chuckle.
The three made their way up to Sanguine Hall by hoof. Alma was a fairly laid-back Pegasus and, while she was known to fly in moments of exuberance, she usually kept hooves on the ground in conservative company. It helped not to rile those with influence in domains far from home.
The way up to the house passed through a park that surrounded them with hedges and bathed them in the shadows of great oaks. Marchion had known peace for a long time and the atmosphere suited it well.
The two Sanguines were on her shoulder, informing her of things to come.
“The house is fairly quiet at the moment, enjoy it while it lasts.” Rowena explained “Of course, the clan will gather for the great day. My mother will be there, Cordelia Wildsmythe Buttercup-Sanguine as she is now, but father’s touring in Saddle Arabia.”
“Really? Is he in the army?” Alma asked.
“No, he suffers from hay-fever at this time of year.”
Alma paused.
“So he heads to the desert?”
“Hmm...Tells you everything you need to know about my father.” Rowena answered bashfully.
“Then there’s my mother, who’s already here.” Bayard joined the conversation, walking briskly with his stick “And not to mention our Aunt Maeve, we call her Muffy, who’s never married but dies for love every few months.”
“Three sisters?” Alma asked with a curious smile.
“Good subject for a play. So like our grand-father.” Bayard chuckled before catching his walking stick on the edge of a cobblestone. He fell to one side, narrowly managing to steady himself before he fell over completely, quietly cursing.
Rowena gasped and clutched at his shoulder.
“Bayard! My darling, are you alright?!” she exclaimed, pulling him up on his hooves and stick again.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry yourself about it.” he assured her, his free wing wrapping round her shoulders quite tenderly. They smiled at each other in a way that certainly implied there was more going on than indirect relations.
Alma gave them a look. She’d heard about cousins and even siblings marrying in the old households of former royals, something about keeping the bloodline pure. She’d always found the idea distasteful, more for its show of arrogance than anything else.
But these two seemed genuinely fond of one another.
Turning to the hedges, she saw something staring at her through the leaves.
A small pink, rather plump filly in a bonnet poked her head out and stuck out her tongue, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes.
Alma was taken aback.
“Hey!” she exclaimed indignantly. The two Sanguines broke off from their heartening moment and turned.
“What is it?” Rowena asked.
“Some horrible little foal in the hedge. She was making faces at me.” Alma stared at where she’d noticed. The filly had disappeared back into the foliage and was nowhere to be seen.
“Yes...” Bayard said knowingly “That’ll be my younger sister.”
Alma blushed.
“Oh...sorry.”
“Don’t be, she is a horror, in every sense of the word.” he said, grimacing “But grandfather dotes on her, calls her a blossoming goddess of the stage, and that suits mother if she’s in his good books, so none of us can take her aside and belt her one, unfortunately.”
“We call her Babbles.” Rowena added.
“Curious nickname.”
“Pray you don’t ever have to witness her table-manners. You’ll understand.” They walked on as Bayard continued.
“In a way, I’m the black sheep of the family, no offense intended towards sheep of any colour, of course. Because I hate the theatre, I want nothing to do with it.” He tensed his neck “I haven’t seen action since I left the Watch. My own damn fault.” he gestured to his covered wing which gave an uncomfortable stir, suggesting serious damage “Flew too far into a rainstorm over the Shimmerwood. What I’d really like to do is join the Royal Guard but with this ruddy wing and leg, it’s all out of reach for the moment.”
“Well...I have some friends in the guard. I’m sure they’d find something you could do, they’re always looking for new members.”
“Well that was nice of you.” Shining said with an impressed tone “I reckon we could find something for him to do.”
“He's a nice guy. Felt like doing him a favour, really” Alma said, shrugging “You’ll like him when you go over to Sanguine Hall...well...if.” She cleared her throat “Anyway. We met Bayard’s mother, Ninienne Igraine Hawthorn-Sanguine to use her full name.”
“What was she like?”
“Well...how to put this?” Alma pondered a moment “She’s been in a lot of plays where the actors come in and go out through Prench windows.”
“Ah....” Cadence and Shining mused aloud.
They knew what that meant.
“Hellooooooo! My dear Miss Rose! Welcome!”
A shrill yodel from the terrace caused all three approaching ponies to jump and several flocks of birds to rocket out of their branches and onto the wing.
A rather portly mare was approaching from Sanguine Hall’s interior, white-coated with a mane slightly more reddish than Blueblood’s bright blonde, bundled behind her head in an ornate netted headdress, added to which she wore a high fur collar above an off-white dress with bright red embroidery. She also wore one of the most giddy-looking smiles Alma had ever seen on a pony and came cantering down the path, a cocktail glass in one hoof, to welcome the guest, grasping her by the hoof, planting a kiss on either cheek and positively squawking out pleasantries.
“Welcome, my dear, to Sanguine Hall, welcome, welcome! Bask in its ancestral radiance to your heart’s content! We are all agog! How simply marvellous of you to come down to us from the capital to paint for our daddy! We shan’t forget your graciousness, I promise you!” She turned swiftly to Bayard and instantly switched to a frown, pursing her lips and raising one eyebrow.
“Bayard, darling, I hope you haven’t walked all the way from the station. Not with your poor leg. Now, don’t lie. Gormless has told me all.” She shushed her son before he could get a word out and turned to the mare beside him.
“Rowena, dear, why would you let him ruin himself like that? Who knows what could have happened?”
“Mother.” Bayard said at last, firmly and with an air of determination “Walking is good for me. When I left the hospital, I was told...”
“Oh such a brave old colt, Miss Rose, so courageous.” Ninienne turned her attention from her son to the guest, drawing herself up and dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes melodramatically in an attempt to shush the indignant Bayard “A roiling gallant home from battle, a grand aurora, reflection temporal of the noble kings of old" She sniffed loudly "Pray forgive a mother’s tears, Miss Rose. We Sanguines cannot always hide what is...within...” She blubbed publically for a moment then switched back to merriment as quickly as she’d left it.
“Drinks are being served in the great hall! Come quickly before Gormless quaffs the lot!”
“Hang on...” Cadence butted in “Who’s Gormless?”
“Well that’s exactly what I asked. As it turned out...”
“Gormless. Cousin Gormless, he was with you on the train, surely.” Bayard answered.
Alma blinked.
“Sorry, you mean Blueblood?”
“Oh dear. Daddy shan’t like that.” Ninienne clucked “He shan’t like that at all. I did warn him, and his poor mother.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rowena turned to Alma and explained earnestly.
“That’s not his real name, at least not at Sanguine Hall. Apart from himself, only his mother calls him by that name and so did his late father”
“Poor old Lockhart, Celestia rest his dear soul.” Ninienne blubbed again “If only he saw what his errant colt was becoming.”
“But anyway, the name Papa gives to him, and therefore what the rest of the family refers to him as, is Gormless Blott Sanguine”
“Gormless Blott?!” Cadence exclaimed “Really?!”
“Yeah...” Alma replied sarcastically “I got the impression, therein, that his grandfather didn’t exactly have a very high opinion of him.”
“I can imagine not. Though that raises the question about why he was his heir."
“Well, that’s a good question...And what I found later only upped the stakes.”
“Ah, there you are.” They found Blueblood, or indeed Gormless, reclining on the great settee in the great hall, sipping on an icy beverage.
“Come in and have a Fruit Cup. Aeschylus, drinks for our guests, there’s a good fellow.” He beckoned over an ancient-looking stallion with the same rust-red coat as Conkers the cart-driver, grey in patches but combed elegantly. He presented a tray of iced cocktails in tall glasses.
“Gods, I’m lucky to be alive after that cart up home.” Blueblood sighed, turning to the butler “Aeschylus, I don’t know what you’re feeding your colt these days but can you please tell him to slow it down? I could have broken my neck.”
“Apologies, sir. I’ll see to it that Master Conkers makes his carting less rapid in future.” Aeschylus quavered in a reedy voice, offering the tray out to Alma “Fruit Cup, madam?”
“Thank you.” Alma took one and sipped it. It was a strong drink but suitable for the atmosphere. Sitting down, she enjoyed a moment’s respite.
“Blueblood.” A voice from behind them preceded the sound of hoofsteps “Sit up straight, you’re not a foal.”
A middle-aged mare entered the room, a unicorn with an azure coat and silver mane. She wore a little makeup, not enough to be very noticeable, and was dressed in a simple but well-made indigo gown. The first thing Alma noticed about her was the way she walked, more stately and proper than she’d ever seen, not too much to look pretentious and not too little to look hasty. The way she held her head up, gazing upon them without tilting her head an inch out of place, she possessed the poise and grace of a well-groomed cat and spoke in a perfect balance between gentleness and firmness.
She smiled at Alma and shook her hoof deftly.
“Miss Alma Rose. I am exceptionally thankful for you to accept my invitation. I am Gwendolyn Aerie Sanguine.”
Alma paused.
She thought back to all of Blueblood’s discourtesy aboard the train.
Somehow she had a difficult time imagining him taking lessons in manners from anypony, let alone this mare.
Yet, turning to Blueblood, Alma noticed he had indeed sat up straight, not speedily or fearfully, but almost automatically, as if it were second-nature.
A mare who could get Blueblood to behave was impressive to say the least.
“My father-in-law looks forward to meeting you at dinner.” Gwendolyn continued “He hopes you had a pleasant journey.”
“And so on.” Blueblood muttered, making a space for his mother on the settee.
“Gwen, dear, where are you putting Miss Rose? Ophelia or Viola?”
“Papa named the bedrooms after Shaking-Spear heroines.” Rowena pointed out, leaning over the armchair to Alma’s side.
“Why not in Portia?” Blueblood suggested.
“Out of the question, Blueblood.” Gwendolyn answered in that measured tone of hers “The ceiling leaks. And there are rats. Portia is out of bounds. Miss Rose will do very nicely in Viola.”
“Until Aeschylus finds the rat-poison he misplaced.” Ninienne added, causing the butler to cringe slightly, the tray shaking in his hoof.
“Oh it’ll turn up around the greenhouse somewhere, Aunt Ninny, it’s hardly worth giving him a hard time over.”
It was Blueblood that had come to Aeschylus’s defence, going so far as to pat him on the shoulder. To say this surprised Alma was an understatement but she said nothing.
“Happens to everypony. And it’s not like there’s a global shortage of the damn stuff. In the meantime...” he cracked a menacing grin “We could always move darling Honeysuckle into Portia. What fun that would be.”
He and Ninienne chuckled together like a pair of crooks in a den.
“Be quiet, Blueblood” Gwendolyn said sternly.
They caught sight of Alma’s confused expression.
“Rowena, dear? Bayard? Did neither of you tell Miss Rose about Honeysuckle?” Blueblood asked with a chuckle as the two looked at each other with some amount of dread.
“Is she...one of the family?” Alma asked.
“No...” Blueblood answered, a cunning glint in his eyes “But she’d very much like to be.”
“Blueblood, really, you are impossible” Gwendolyn fussed.
“Oh come on now, mummy. She needs to know what she’s in for.” the young stallion insisted and leaned in towards Alma.
“Miss Honeysuckle is by way of being the old party’s protégé” he heavily emphasised the word.
“...I see...”
Blueblood grinned childishly.
“Or, if I may resort to Ye Olde Equestriane, she’s his bit of naughty.”
“Gormless! Don’t be disgusting!” Rowena exclaimed.
“Thank you, Rowena, but I believe chastisement is a mother’s privilege.” Gwendolyn said in that trademark measured tone.
“Daddy picked her up at some performance a year ago.” Ninienne explained, sarcasm in her voice “Took her round to stay the same way one would take home a stray dog. She’s been hanging around ever since.”
Blueblood looked around and hissed.
“She’s absolutely horrendous. We all loathe her.”
“Am I in time for a Fwuit Cup?” A high-pitched voice that would have sounded a lot more sonorous if it didn’t have the girlish lisp about it sounded from upstairs “Oh thay it’th not all gone! Honey thimply mutht have her dwinkie!”
The lisp sounded fake.
And as its owner entered, Alma found that wasn’t all.
The mare was tall and thin with a slightly beige coat, vivid blue eyes twinkling behind fluttering lashes and a mane so absurdly blonde it could not have been natural. Bright red lipstick and prominent eyeliner adorned her face along with earrings, necklace and a garish periwinkle dress with bejewelled inlays and lace fastening that pinched at her figure in the places deemed appropriate.
As she gazed around, Blueblood sprung to his hooves and smiled in a very exuberant manner, crying out joyously.
“Darling!”
The mare gasped excitedly.
“Gormy! You’ve come down for dear old Woddy’s birthday!”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Honey my pet! A drink for you, as hoped for.” His horn shone and the final Fruit Cup levitated from the tray as he positively skipped over to Honeysuckle, kissing her hoof and beckoning her back up the stairs “Come, come, my treasure! I must hear about how things have been while I was gone! How’s the old boy been, I know he must have improved with you around, so wonderful of you to...”
As his flattery trailed off, Alma looked around the room.
All four Sanguines present wore expressions of utter disdain.
She sipped her cocktail and shuddered.
Things just got worse and worse.