//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3 
// Story: Final Curtain 
// by Purple Patch 
//------------------------------//

“Well, she sounds...interesting.” Was all Shining could manage.
“It sounded like they all had a grudge against her.” Cadence surmised.
“That did seem to be the case.” Alma replenished their glasses “Well...after drinks, Rowena volunteered to take me to Room Viola. I tell you, it was like scaling the Canterhorn. The house was high in more ways than one but we got there.”


	
Catching their breath as they cleared the final step, the mares took in the room.
“The Canterhorn is conquered” Alma chuckled through gasps as she gazed around.
The room was spacious, more than enough to accommodate her and the luggage, possessed of an ensuite washroom. Various paintings and antiques cluttered the walls and furniture and the design of the rugs, blankets and pillows was traditional embroidery based on the tapestries she’d seen at the Canterlot Royal Palace whenever she visited Cadence.
“Well...this is really quite lovely.” Alma said, wide-eyed at the sight.
“I’m glad you like it.” Rowena said, still having that twinge of awkward breathlessness on her voice that she had even before her flight up the stairs. She shook her head, sighing “And you’re so nice that now I wish, for your sake, you hadn’t come. I can’t believe Persnickety led you on this way. He knew what would happen, that’s why he left in the first place.”
Alma stared at her with puzzlement.
“Dear Celestia, you talk like I’m on Death Row here. What am I in for?”
Rowena looked outside, shut the door and approached Alma with a worried look on her face.
“You saw them down there. You saw how my family plotted and schemed, casting doubt and blame on one another like that.”
“I’ve seen worse.” Alma said, shrugging.
“No, no, that’s the point. This is them on their good days. This is them when they’re too busy spitting on that dreadful Honeysuckle that they forget how much they hate each other.” she looked ready to cry “I used to love it here at Papa’s so much but he’s just become so horrid. As soon as you’re old enough to benefit the family in some way, he resents you for not doing so every minute of the day. And it’s so utterly hypocritical of him to act like we’re the embarrassments! How would you react if your grandfather brought that simpering trollop into the house and showered her with jewels and dresses that your own grandmother once wore?!”
Alma paused.
“I’d be more worried about how my grandmother would react. Eighty-five she may be, Granny Zumurud still packs a mean right-hook.”
She chuckled and then caught sight of Rowena’s humourless expression. Her smile faded on her face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean...”
“It’s fine...” the young unicorn made a face as if she were having a migraine “But, I mean...what if he leaves Sanguine Hall to her? What would happen to the rest of us? And I used to think it would be Tartarus if Babbles or Gormless got the place...” she shook her head “Look, don’t let their pretty smiles and fancy manners fool you. It’s a warzone here. Aunt Gwen, Aunt Ninny, Aunt Maeve, even mother, they all fight amongst themselves, for the inheritance. You won’t know it but it’s there, the looks they give each other, the veiled threats...Old mares can be so foul.”
“I don’t know...” Alma shrugged half-heartedly “To an observer, it shouldn’t be too bothersome and if you’re looking for a helping hoof, I could manage.”
“But...”
“Look, Rowena...” Alma put up a measured hoof “It’s okay. Honestly. I’m just here to paint a picture. I’m not familiar with how these things work out but I’m sure you won’t come to any harm and besides...I don’t think you should tell me anything you’ll want to kick yourself for later on...or want to kick me.”
Rowena paused, looking her up and down in a forlorn manner, and nodded, turning for the door.
“Dinner’s at eight o’ clock.” she said plainly “You’ll hear the gong.”
Opening the door, she turned back, standing in the doorway.
“I won’t say more but there is malice about this house...you’ll see. Papa seems to bring out the worst in all of us.”
“I’ll be fine, Rowena.” Alma said kindly but firmly as her worrisome guide left her alone in Room Viola.


For the next half-hour, Alma Rose occupied herself with a little light reading and idle sketches.
One of them, making sure to omit it to the couple, was of Shining and Cadence with a foal between them.
She smiled at the sight.
That would be the day.
The gong came as inevitably as Rowena had forecasted. Making her way back downstairs was not as arduous as going back up, particularly not with anything to carry.
Alma had dressed herself a little with a blue silk shawl decorated with silver inscriptions that her father had brought over from his homeland in Saddle Arabia. It wasn’t an extensive piece of wear but it served to make a decent impression.
At around the third floor where Rowena had mentioned most of the elder generation of the family (Or at the least the most favoured) resided, Alma glanced down as something stirred on the carpet.
It was a sleek white cat, having just roused from an afternoon nap it seemed and was eying her, one ear twitching curiously.
Alma gave it a smile but, as cats were wont to do, it paid her little mind and disappeared down the corridor leading to the lower flight of stairs.
Passing room after room, names of Shaking-Spear heroines engraved on small gold plates at each one, she caught sight of the cat passing through a slightly ajar door marked Juliet.
Voices came from within, neither of which particularly familiar.
Alma had always been a curious mare and, stepping lightly, cocked her ear straight up and listened.
A mare’s voice, brusque and harsh, accent of a fairly urban sort.
“It’s a miracle I don’t lose my mind! You think I enjoy living in this mausoleum with a bunch of old crones and a foal who’d make Discord look safe and sane?!”
Then a stallion’s voice, low and austere but trying to sound gentle.
“My dear, sweet bud of nectar, I would never allow you to come to harm. Are your days so troubled since I brought you here under my very roof?”
“Oh not at all, it’s a laugh a minute” the mare replied sarcastically, sighing with frustration “If you really cared about me, you’d put me in a position where I wasn’t looked down on! You owe it to me, Roddy! A mare has her self-respect!”
Roddy?
Who had said that name before?
Though in a rather different way.
There was a pause.
Then the mare’s voice sounded again.
“There’s someone out there! It’s that disgusting foal again!”
‘Gulp’
Alma speedily made her way along, round the corner to the staircase and was gone before the door could fully open.
Taking a deep breath at the great hall, she paused and contemplated.
Rowena hadn’t been entirely wrong.
Something was afoot in this house.
The quiet clearing of throat beside her caused Alma to turn. Aeschylus, the old butler, was standing before her.
“Are you looking for the drawing room, madam?” he asked.
“Well, I heard the gong.”
“Yes, the family meet in the drawing room at the sound of the gong and waits for his grace to appear. I shall show you the way, if you like.”


The drawing room was among the several rooms that Alma was uncertain was the largest or not.
Treasures and ornaments from ages past swathed the place, all in the same decor and design as the decorations in her room.
The memories of old Marchion when the Sanguines were kings.
The fireplace was lit, a gentle ochre glow illuminating the place, darkness having fallen outside.
Alone in the room, she looked for somewhere to sit. No chair or settee seemed small enough for a single pony.
Alma had a more-or-less wealthy upbringing but this was something new entirely.
The graceful hoof-steps approaching were familiar.
“All alone, Miss Rose? How neglectful we are.” Gwendolyn Aerie Sanguine appeared in her stately manner.
“It’s fine, I was having trouble occupying myself.” Alma said, a half-truth.
“Do sit down. Aeschylus will serve sherry when there’s a full house.” Gwendolyn said “Is Viola to your liking?”
“Pardon?” What had sounded like a rather inappropriate question, Alma quickly reworked in her head “Oh the room? Yeah, it’s great...I mean very...uh...proper.”
Gwendolyn gave her a knowing smile.
“There’s no need to be too formal with us, Miss Rose. We’re not all snobs here. There is just something rather important about which I hoped to speak to you earlier.”
“Yes?”
The blue mare gave an uneasy look.
“I understand that, in the capital...how to put this...eating meat is not best practiced.”
Alma pursed her lips.
Gwendolyn spoke not of eating red meat, of course. Eating fellow beasts of hoof had been a cardinal sin long before the age of Alicorns, but the consumption of poultry, fish and crustaceans was still allowed, if very uncommon. Griffons, carnivores themselves, had no interest in the treatment of non-sentient avians and if the hippocampi of old had ever objected to their land-bound relatives dining on sea creatures they’d said nothing for the last few thousand years.
But the cost of keeping and tending animals for slaughter was not cheap and over the millennia the Alicorns had ruled it had simply fallen out of fashion in most parts of Equestria. There simply wasn’t much point when the wars were over and the soldiers once again took up their yokes and trowels to harvest trees heavy with fruit and fields brimming with crop without fear of having to protect it as fiercely as they once had. Alma had heard meat-eating was still done among the noble families, more as a novelty than anything else, but she’d never expected to partake and wasn’t sure she’d want to.
She felt there was just something about it that would feel a bit...weird.
The pegasus answered.
“Yeah, that’s a bit of a complicated subject. It’s not illegal or anything, it’s just not done a whole lot. But if it would be more convenient...”
“No, no, you see, Blueblood’s never had a taste for meat either so I tend to speak to the cooks and have them organise something more substantial for him.” Gwendolyn sat down “They almost always make more than the colt can eat so I can very easily accommodate you for that. Today I believe they’re preparing a Crepe Mondeline, it’s a rice-flour pancake topped with shredded cabbage, sliced peppers and a poached egg with a cherry tomato and basil relish, crushed garlic and a drizzle of sour cream.”
“Oh...thank you, very kind, that sounds delicious.” Alma said, finding a place to sit “But I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Not at all, it’ll save them having to waste anything. I’ll have a word with Aeschylus before we’re all served. He’ll let them know.”
“Yeah, there was something I was going to ask...” Alma began “Your son...and Aeschylus. They seem pretty...close.”
“Ah, yes.” Gwendolyn sighed, a slight hint of melancholy playing on her features “My husband, Lockhart Heraldric Sanguine, Blueblood’s father and Prince Herod’s only son and heir...was not with his son for very long. And with me usually occupied housekeeping, Blueblood was looked after by Aeschylus, who’d had a son around the same time as us.”
“Conkers?” Alma supposed.
“That’s right. They were raised together. They’re practically brothers. And Aeschylus is, in perfect honesty, the closest thing he’s ever had to a father. He was a satisfactory teacher, quite a bit too lenient to my son’s flaws, sad to say, but he made a decent effort regardless. As he gets older, many of the family believe Aeschylus should be sent away but Blueblood will not hear of it. Our old butler is...very important to him...” Her words came slow as clear sadness seemed into her tone “Though his true father, if he were alive...I’m sure he’d be...Are you alright?”
Alma was fidgeting uncomfortably. She’d sat on something. Something with a hard corner. Reaching under the couch, she pulled out a small book with dry, browned pages and an ornate, embellished cover.
She read the title.
“The Ancient Art of the Embalming of Corpses...ew...”
“It sounds like one of the books from our collection.” Gwendolyn eyed it “May I see it?”
“Sure” Alma held it out. It was enveloped by a silver haze of magic as the mare gave it a closer look.
“Yes, I believe it is...No wonder.”
“No wonder what?” Alma asked.
“Well, you see I came in here yesterday just in time to see Prince Herod’s...” Gwendolyn paused, thinking of the right word “...lady friend sitting down there rather suddenly with a very pink face. I dare say she took it from the library and neglected to put it back in its correct place. I’ll take care of that.” She deposited it in a pocket within her dress.
“It looks like an antique. Is it valuable?”
Gwendolyn’s brow creased slightly.
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, Miss Rose...I can think of few other reasons why it should commend itself to Miss Honeysuckle.” She gave an awkward grimace as she spoke the name “One is rarely called to mention her and books in the same breath.”
“Well, not one on embalming corpses, that’s for certain.” Was all Alma could say to that. She felt uncomfortable talking about Honeysuckle, whatever her opinions on her.
And that conversation she’d overheard still bugged her. Did Prince Herod have another mare around?


There were more hoofsteps and the drawing room got a little less vacant as Ninienne and her son, Bayard, approached. Bayard had dressed himself in a plain blue jacket and white neckerchief. His injured wing was in view, bandaged and motionless at his back. Ninienne meanwhile was in a lush red velvet dress with a lace collar, almost dancing with every step.
“Papa’s just coming down, everypony.” she beckoned.
“Oh blast...” Gwendolyn gave a light groan “Blueblood will be late.”
“Afraid so, Auntie.” Bayard sighed mirthlessly “He was still in the bath when I tried to call him.”
At this, Ninienne tutted, a smile barely hidden on her face as she raised a glass.
She rarely wasn’t seen with a glass beside her, Alma noticed.
“Hardly the way to stay in Papa’s good graces is it, Gwen dear.”
Gwendolyn raised her eyebrow slightly and frowned but said nothing as Ninienne sipped her drink, a victorious glint in her eyes.
Rowena hadn’t been so wrong after all. Swords were drawn. One slip-up and they all pounced.
Alma felt a little less safe.
Rowena herself followed in through another door, dressed in a dainty floral blouse.
“Oh good, he’s not here yet.” she sighed gratefully “I came down by the back stairs, heading him off at the pass.” She stood by Bayard who had made his way behind a chair, steadying himself, and smiled sweetly.
“Good evening, Mister Hawthorn.” she said, barely containing a shy giggle.
Bayard returned the smile, face full of charm.
“Good evening to you, Miss Buttercup.”
“What’s this, my darling boy? More mischief?” Ninienne asked coyly, a playful smirk on her face.
Both young lovers looked at the floor bashfully.
“Oh, is mummy not to be told?” Bayard’s mother sighed “Oh dear. Very well, let’s keep it to ourselves, why don’t we?”


“Ahem!”


As loud and brusquely as his grandson had done on the train, Prince Herod Sanguine announced his coming before entering.
Taking every step like some officer inspecting his troops, he cut an imposing figure. He was tall and quite muscular though he’d grown a significant paunch in his age. His white coat was wrinkled but not sagging and his gold mane, though long turned white, still reigned proudly over his head and neck and was coupled with a great beard and moustache curling slightly round the cheeks. His cutie mark resembled the flag atop Sanguine Towers only the red star, instead of crossing over the silver, instead was smaller and thus fitted within, backed by a gold swirl casting an upside-down crescent shape. His proud blue eyes skimmed the crowd with an imperious gaze as his family positively stood to attention.
At the sight of Alma Rose, he smiled grandly and approached, every step stately and austere.
“So this is our distinguished painter?” his voice was loud but not alarmingly so, enough to fill the room. A trait among the prouder sort of actors. Bending down and taking her forehoof in his own he smiled wider, his azure eyes twinkling.
“I am delighted, Miss Alma Rose.” he kissed the forehoof “Truly delighted.”
Alma smiled, half-flattered, half-embarrassed by the stallion at least three times her age making such a gesture.
“I hope you continue to be.” she said.
“I believe I shall, my good lady” he waved a forehoof around the drawing-room “Let it never be said that any honoured guest was neglected here at our ancestral Sanguine Hall. I dearly hope my kin have made your stay pleasant thus far.”
“Oh they have, don’t worry.” she felt bashful under his gaze “I’ve been treated very well, thank you.”
“I am most content to hear you say so, Miss Rose. I believe I have been overly coercive in my haste to have your talents.” he sighed “Perhaps my nephew was right to chastise me for it. But fear not. However pressured you have been I shall do my utmost to ease it all. My house is yours. Ask of me whatever you would require. I shall not refuse without good cause, oh munificent artisan.”
And with that, he turned round and fixed his gaze on his daughter-in-law.
“Gwendolyn...” he said, his voice becoming that much more stern “My impression was that Gormless Blott would be joining us from the capital at the same time Miss Rose graced us with her presence. Indeed you assured me this would be so.”
“Yes, Papa. He is here, as I said.”
“Therein I fear you are mistaken, Gwendolyn. For I do not see your son here or anywhere else. Or do you suggest my eyes are failing me at this time?”
“No, no, Papa. He is coming, I promise you, he’s simply been...preoccupied.” Graceful as she had seemed, Alma noticed the mare whither slightly under Prince Herod’s gaze.
“Preoccupied?” Herod wrung the word round his tongue as if they were two words “How?”
“He had an important letter to write to his fellow courtiers back in the capital. Such things cannot be rushed or delayed. He may not have heard the gong.”
Herod took a deep inhale through his nostrils, his massive chest rising and falling.
“In what room is he, Gwendolyn?” he asked.
Gwendolyn’s face possessed a worried twinge.
“Titania, I believe.”
“Then he most certainly heard the gong.” Herod’s sternness could cut through the wooden furnishings of the drawing room wall. His eyes were piercing and his tone daunting.
Yet there was something triumphant about his manner, as if he was somehow glad to be insulted.
Ninienne too, gave Gwendolyn a look of faux-pity and gave her drink another sip.
Herod drew himself back up, turned to the butler and his threatening manner was gone almost entirely, as quickly as he’d adopted it.
“Aeschylus, you may oblige me with a whiskey and soda.”
“Oh now, Papa, those aren’t good for you.” Ninienne pointed out, seriousness in her tone.
“She’s right you know.” Gwendolyn added “Doctor Caraway distinctly said one small glass of sherry or red at meals or...”
“HOLD! ENOUGH!” The aged unicorn raised a hoof high in the air, not to strike at anypony but to grab attention nonetheless. The two mares jumped and were silent on his signal. Satisfied, he gave the butler another smile.
“Go, Aeschylus, stay me with flagons.” The butler bowed and departed a moment. Herod turned back to Alma with a magnanimous air.
“You see, Miss Rose, how an old stallion departs from his well-ordered ways in your honour?”
“Oh really, Papa, it’s so careless of you.” Ninienne fussed “It would serve you right, you know, if you wake up with those awful stomach cramps and the...oh my gods.”
She started suddenly. Alma looked over and saw her and Gwendolyn staring aghast at Honeysuckle, who’d just entered in a dazzling gown studded with quartz laced into the embroidery, a pair of gold and turquoise bracelets around her forehooves and a great necklace with the largest diamond Alma Rose had ever seen.
She smiled sweetly and spoke with that high-pitched lisp.
“I adore it when ponies are pleathed to thee me. Woddy, darling, when the applauthe quite dieth down, I’d like a gin and tonic.”
Gwendolyn whispered, appalled at the sight
“She’s wearing...Oh how could she?”
Alma gave a puzzled look, something that was doing quite frequently at Sanguine Hall.
What exactly had them so riled at Honeysuckle’s extravagance? It was quite distracting certainly but the two mares acted like they’d seen somepony murdered before them.
And Honeysuckle seemed all too aware, though showed nothing.


“Papa, earnest master of the house, forgive me!” Showering apologies and flattery, Blueblood hurriedly entered.
“Dear sire, I creep, I grovel, I cannot apologise enough for my tardiness.” he glanced aside to the butler “Aeschylus, dear fellow, I know you try your best but if you can’t ring the gong louder than that, find somepony else who can, there’s a good stallion.” Aeschylus gave a nervous nod as the young stallion went back to simpering to his grandfather who eyed him humourlessly.
“Great one, please tell poor, sorry old Gormless he’s forgiven...” He gave a sycophantic smile and attempted puppy eyes.
No such luck. Alma observed the look Herod Sanguine gave his grandson. No better face of disdain and disappointment could be found but on his face.
Noticing the mood turning awkward, Blueblood turned to Honeysuckle.
“Darling Honey, intercede for me, would you? You know how I’ve been these last few-gyaaah!” He drew back with a shriek, as if struck, at the sight of the jewellery around Honeysuckle’s neck.
“Oh my gods! That’s...”
“Blueblood, that’s enough!” Gwendolyn interrupted sharply.
“But...but...” she stammered, gawking and spluttering like a throttled fish “But that’s...She’s wearing Grandmama’s Ghoran Diamond Pendant Necklace! And her Antelopian Bangles and tha-tha-that’s the dress she wore to the Royal Millennial Jubilee Ball!”
“Nithe, aren’t they?” Honeysuckle chirruped, fluttering her eyelashes, seemingly oblivious. There was a lot of ‘seemingly’ about her of late “Woddy picked them out jutht for me. I’m ever tho thwilled.”
Where Blueblood had before given his grandfather a look of fawning respect, now his look was indignant, positively outraged.
“But...Papa, you...”
“Be quiet, Gormless!” Herod thundered, silencing his grandson at last. Blueblood closed his mouth and chose to discreetly sulk out of his grandfather’s gaze as Herod drew himself up, breathed deep through his nostrils and spoke in that haughty manner of his.
“It is time we went in. Aeschylus you may serve my whiskey and soda in the dining room.” He paced over to Alma and extended a forehoof “Dear lady, allow me.”
Gingerly, uncomfortable with just how much attention she’s suddenly gotten, Alma took his foreleg in her own as Prince Herod prepared to lead her to the dining-room.
“Roddy?!” A shrill voice pierced the silence as Honeysuckle shot her host an indignant look “I haven’t had my drink.”
Alma’s brow rise in revelation.
Honeysuckle’s voice matched the one she’d heard talking in Room Juliet.
The sweet, simpering lispy voice was completely fake. Honeysuckle was now sounding a lot more domineering and a lot less happy. The break in facade didn’t seem to bother anyone but it answered several of Alma’s nagging questions.
There seemed more to Honeysuckle than met the eye.
Herod gave a short sigh and replied.
“For that you must blame he who came down late.” He shot his sulking grandson another disparaging glare and spoke to his butler “Aeschylus, will you take pity on Miss Honeysuckle? A gin and tonic, old colt, and my whiskey, please do not dawdle.”
Aeschylus nodded and trotted away while Alma walked with Prince Herod through the dining-room doors, catching sight of Honeysuckle’s peeved scowl and Blueblood’s intrigued smirk.


The table was laid with nearly every piece of cutlery and silverware a pony could ever need. Alma would never get used to it. Once this was done, she resolved, she’d need to spend some time with ponies who ate with their hooves.
Wide silver platters lined the table in flawless order and tall ornamental candlesticks illuminated the room.
Herod released her foreleg and kissed her hoof once more before standing before his spot at the head of the table, raising a hoof and allowing his kin to sit down at their respective seats.
“A trifling feast as Lord Clopulet had it.”
There was an obedient chuckle from those present. Alma smiled at the jest though not quite understanding the context of it.
Shaking-Spear was a subject that always went a bit above her head back at college.
“Nonetheless, we shall begin.” Herod said, sitting down.
Brrrrllp!
Herod shot back up startled, as if someone had struck him in the flank with a corkscrew as a rather questionable sound produced from his seat filled the room.
Alma’s face turned red with embarrassment. Honeysuckle’s eyes widened to the size of dinner-plates, Ninienne bit her lip furiously, Blueblood, Rowena and Bayard covered their mouths with handkerchiefs and Gwendolyn put a shocked hoof to her lips.
Even some of the servants stifled chuckles.
His horn lighting up a dark gold, the seething Prince Herod removed a flat, rubber, balloon-shaped object from under the cushion on his chair and threw it on the table.
“Oh Papa...how dreadful.” Ninienne fussed uncomfortably.
Gwendolyn raised her eyebrows, her expression mellowed to neutral.
“But who on Equestria could have-”
“The darling infant, that’s who.” Blueblood announced with a victorious glint in his eye that matched Ninienne’s during his own tardiness “Really, who else could it have been?”
Ninienne herself paled. Gwendolyn meanwhile gave a small sip of her wine but said nothing.
Alma saw it all unfold. Small, subtle but distinctive.
The tables had turned.
“Oh Papa, I am so sorry. She can be terribly wilful sometimes. W-w-worry not, I...I...” she caught sight of Prince Herod’s furious scowl and began stammering, much to the nearby Blueblood’s satisfaction “I shall question her sharply on the matter first thing tomorrow, I promise, a-a-and if she is responsible, she’ll receive a good spanking.”
“Or else a disinheriting.” Blueblood whispered menacingly giving a satisfied sip of his wine.
“It shouldn’t be allowed, it weally shouldn’t.” Honeysuckle tutted, the dainty lisp having returned “It’th disgwaceful, the way she behaveth.”
Prince Herod’s snarl broke the chatter.
“I am grievously displeased!” He drawled the words around his mouth, each word emphasised with clear ire “So it has come to this. How sharper than a-”
“I believe they call it a raspberry cushion.” Rowena interjected, unable to control herself, speaking to avoid laughing.
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless foal!” Herod finished in a louder and harsher tone, his face puce, clear veins risen around his brow.
“There’s no need to get so fierce, Papa. I’m sure Babbles meant it as a joke.” Ninienne pleaded. “You know she’d never mean to upset her grandfather. She’d be very sorry if she did.”
“Then let it be so without delay, Ninienne!” Herod demanded “I shall have the ingrate brought before me!” 
“Papa, she’s already in bed.”
“If not out on her broomstick.” Blueblood muttered.
“Nopony asked you, Gormless!” Ninienne clucked irately.
“Can I butt in?”


All eyes turned to the nervous Alma who was about to tap her glass with a teaspoon.
Cautiously, she attempted to calm the waters.
“We don’t...actually know...for certain...that it was Babbles. I mean, I know it seems pretty obvious but you never can tell.”
Admittedly, Alma’s impression of Babbles was not terrific. Her relations extended only as far as the foal pulling a face at her on the pathway. Still, it seemed like proverbial overkill to treat what was clearly a simple practical joke so harshly, considering there was no definite proof she was responsible.
Alma had enjoyed the odd prank or two when she was younger and she knew that if her parents or teachers had reacted this way in the same situation, her foalhood would not have been quite as pleasant.
She almost felt sorry for the filly.
Above all else, the situation was becoming too awkward to handle.
“She’s right, you know.” Bayard added “Babbles never comes down to the dining-room on her own, and if she did, somepony would have seen. We shouldn’t just up and scream and rage at her at night, no telling how she’d take it.”
“Right, much better to wait until morning and sort this whole thing out calmly and sensibly.”
There was a pause. Prince Herod took a deep breath while Honeysuckle and Blueblood exchanged an odd look.
“You speak wisely, Miss Rose. I have...forgotten myself.” Herod said, calming substantially “But tomorrow morning we shall know, without fail, who is to blame for this insult. Be absolutely certain of that.”
Having said his foreboding piece, he put on another magnanimous smile.
“Let us now dine.”
As Aeschylus and the other servants removed the platter lids one by one, revealing a glamorous dish of Duck a l’Orange (A dish popular in Manehattan and attributed to the affluent Orange family) Bayard gave Alma a thankful smile, stood up carefully, propped himself up on his walking stick and spoke.
“Yes, well before we all get on with it, I just happen to have something to say that may cheer us all up.”
Rowena gave him a loving smile as the rest of the family gave him their attention.
“An arduous task, I think. What say you, Miss Rose? Shall we hear him?” Herod asked his guest in that cordial manner of his he seemed to reserve only for her.
“Uh...sure.” Alma answered as Bayard put a free forehoof on Rowena’s shoulders and declared proudly.
“Rowena and I...are going to be married.”


There was a pause.
Somepony dropped their fork with a clatter.
Ninienne’s face contorted with horror.
“Oh...Bayard.” she wailed.
“Here comes the hurricane...” Blueblood muttered, facehoofing.
Alma glanced around, puzzled. The way they were acting, one would think Bayard had just put a knife to his own throat.
The young stallion gave them an awkward look.
“So...I think congratulations might be in order?” he suggested.
Alma was about to speak when Herod’s growl could be heard, growing louder and louder as he rose with his seat like an oncoming tidal wave.
“Never...Never...Never...Never, Never!” he bellowed, raising his glass with his magic, shaking with fury, before pausing to glance at the drink, downing the afore-requested whiskey and soda, and then hurling it at the wall, shattering it soundly before storming out the room, making his way upstairs judging by the sound of stomping hooves.
“Exit King Drear...pursued by a bear.” Blueblood muttered again.
Alma sat back down, completely befuddled, as Bayard and Rowena gave each other a worried look.
Gwendolyn gave a sigh.
“You two could have handled that with considerably more tact. Do you mean to tell us that you didn’t mention this to him beforehoof, now of all times?”
“I hardly see how it concerns him.” Bayard retorted “We don’t need to 'notify' anypony. We’re in love.”
“Bayard, you are a blockhead! You should have known he wouldn’t take this well!” Blueblood snapped “Hay, I wouldn’t take this well.” He adopted a simpleton voice and expression “Hello there, papa, just to let you know, me and whats-her-face are wedding-bells an’ all, so any plans you have for the pair of us, well they’ve been kicked in the teeth something fierce, ta-ta. Brilliant! Now he’s going to summon Mr Runcible to change his will for the umpteenth time.”
“Let him.” Bayard said plainly, to the horrified gasp of his mother “What does it matter? You know he’s just going to change it back before the ink’s dried, the way you fawn about him. Personally, I think you’re all behaving very immaturely.”
“Bayard! Don’t dare speak in such a way! You’re just a foolish colt who knows nothing about these matters and now you’ve riled your poor papa to breaking point!” Ninienne bawled, clutching her temples “Oh gods, under-age and first-cousins, right before his eyes! After so much work! So this is a mother’s thanks!” Beside her, Blueblood mockingly played an imaginary violin.
“Stop that, Blueblood. You too, Ninienne, enough griping.” Gwendolyn ordered, turning to the disillusioned lovers “Bayard, Rowena. You know your papa is stressed at this time. Not content with this liaison of yours, of which you are quite a bit too young to be taking part in and which you have kept secret from your own parents up to now, you jump up in the middle of dinner with our guest and come forth with this unplanned, unprecedented and utterly spontaneous declaration and expect him to take it well? Do you know what this does to him, keeping such things from his gaze under his very roof? Do you want to turn him against his own family?”
“First of all, we’re not too young. I will be eighteen in a season and Bayard is twenty.” Rowena snapped, tears brimming around her eyes as she began quivering “Secondly, we haven’t given any offense except for the one he imagines! He’s just in another one of his tantrums because we didn’t crawl on our knees before him and humbly ask for his blessing! He’s not really upset, it’s all an act and the whole pack of you just encourage him day by day!” She glanced at Alma “You ought not to paint him as MacHeath, Miss Rose! What he really is is ploughing old King Drear! Did you hear him rant? How sharper than a serpent’s tooth? Who even says that in normal conversation?! He’s a damn megalomaniac!” She was becoming hysteric, Bayard nearby holding her shoulder.
“And as far as turning against his family’s concerned, he’s done that already!” she continued “Ever since she brought that tart into the house! That peroxide gold-digger, fifty years younger tha...”
“Rowena, dear...” Ninienne whimpered, pointing gingerly to Honeysuckle who was rising from her chair with a look of dismay, squeaking in a manner that suggested she was about to scream.
Rowena blanched, looking down, having realised her tongue and anxieties had run away with her while Blueblood readied both forehooves against his ears as the snivelling Honeysuckle opened her mouth wide.


“Graaaaaaaagggggggh!”


They jumped back startled. The scream that had escaped Honeysuckle’s lips was low-pitched, aged and most definitely different from her usual tone.
It didn’t take long to realise the scream hadn’t escaped Honeysuckle’s lips at all but had come from upstairs.
“Roddy?!” she exclaimed, the lisp gone “What the hay’s happening up there?!”
Speeding out the room and racing upstairs, Honeysuckle, swiftly followed by the rest of the Sanguines, sped upstairs and burst open the door to Room Ophelia.
Herod Sanguine was sprawled in an armchair, his morbid face looked in a stunned grimace, his forelegs hanging limp over the arms of the chair.
“Roddy!” Honeysuckle shrieked, rushing to his side. She seemed genuinely hysteric, Alma could swear there were tears in her eyes “What happened to you?! What’s happened?!”
Gwendolyn rushed over and worriedly clasped her father-in-law’s forehoof.
Alma heard Gwendolyn, Ninienne and Aeschylus take grateful sighs of relief as Herod’s foreleg rose in Gwendolyn’s hooves, signifying the old unicorn was still very much alive.
And in a very bad temper.
He was pointing at the bedroom mirror.
On it, scrawled onto the glass with a thick red substance in big bold letters was a simple but biting sentence.
GRANDFATHER IS A BORING OLD HAM
The Sanguine’s huddled close to peer at the spectacle.
“Upon my word!” Ninienne spluttered “Who in Equestria could have...”
“Twenty guesses, auntie.” Blueblood said in that imperious tone again.
“What is it? Grease Paint?” Rowena piped up.
“In this house? Of course it is.” Gwendolyn answered “Carmine stick.”
“I'm not sure about that. May I?” Alma stepped forward. An artist herself, she knew a thing or two about paint.
She plucked a loose feather on one of her wings and dabbed with it at the writing.
It left a little stain but not in a greasy way. It wasn’t so much drying as solidifying.
“No, it’s oil paint.” She concluded “Cadmium red by the look of it.”
“The shade is immaterial!” Herod Sanguine found his voice at last, hooves shaking in rage “This is the final straw! I have reached the limits of my forbearance for this bitter calumny!” He took a deep breath, through gritted teeth, and announced quieter but no less angry.
“My solicitor will be here by lunchtime. There are changes to the Sanguine heritage that demand my earnest attention.”