Grazing on the Hilltops of Winchester Grange
The Golden Flax Fields of My Youth
There is no better way to describe the country found within Winchester Grange than with the utmost respect and consideration to its residents. In my youth, I found it rather pleasant to be walking down the fine roads of the Grange, always being greeted by the ponies who lived in the rows of extravagant residences that overlooked the hill-ridden fields that lay like a backdrop against the horizon. If I recall correctly, I was of six years of age, and I had only but recently begun learning the correct societal behaviors that so often permeated the upper rungs of society. Proper this and proper that, I was born into a very proper world inhabited by only the most proper ponies. I hold no contempt against such an attitude; in fact I find it rather grand to be surrounded by well-composed folk; yet, I didn't feel as satisfied as some ponies did with the commonly accepted aristocratic lifestyle. I preferred to spend my time in a more adventurous fashion, or howmuchever adventurous a lad of my age was permitted to be. My father, Gabriel Rudge, owned the entire collective property and estate of Winchester Grange, and was considered to be the richest pony anypony could be without bordering on official royalty. He was, himself, a spirited colt, who oftentimes could be found galloping gracefully across the fields of Golden Flax that grew up in every nook and cranny of the place during the summer months. Inspired by his idiosyncratic behaviors, I often ventured out into the foothills where nopony lived nor fostered their gardens. A completely untamed, beautiful territory lay right on the doorstep of the Grange, and I had no intention of letting such a wondrous land sink into latent unexplored status. So, I took it upon myself to explore this wild country at about the aforementioned age, and continued to map it out in my mind until the age of maturity began to come upon me. It never escaped my memory, mind you, the fantastic exhilaration that always accompanied my escapades into the fields and hills, so even in my considerably older ages, I found pleasure in taking an occasional stroll through the place. Perhaps the most prominent memory of my childhood occurred one day whilst I was on one of my journeys. Hopping through the Flax (which was of great fun at the time, for the stalks reached far above my personal height), I spotted an elegant white carriage being pulled by four Pegasuses through the morning sky. The coach driver was decked in highly ostentatious apparel: a velvet coat, with a purple handkerchief sticking out of his front chest pocket, sewed with several golden buttons, and gracing his driving whip of fine brown leather, only for show. Automatically, I could tell that whomever rode within the carriage was of high repute, so abandoning my current activity of exploration, I made off for the central town.
I arrived right on time to see the carriage land in the square, and it looked to me as if several ponies had been expecting this formal visitor's arrival. The coach driver descended from his seat and proceeded to open the side-door for the carriage's passenger. This day was the first time I had ever seen an Alicorn, and I can still say with confident assurance that I was amazed by the colt's refined, graceful appearance. The colt had the outfit of a royal parson, and so genuinely intrigued the aristocrats of the Grange who had gathered around for this occasion. His voice was deep, commanding, and quite projective, even within the gable of the crowds.
"Greetings and Salutations to my dear residents of Winchester Grange! I, The Duke of Alicorns, have come to arrange an important business agreement with the lord of this land. Somepony tell him that I have come to speak with him, and that I will be awaiting his arrival in the Merrygallant Hotel. Until then, good subjects, I must retire to my selected chamber within the establishment, and await the good gentlecoat's conversation." With this speech given in brevity, he withdrew back into the carriage, the driver shut the door, mounted his seat, and took off in the general direction of Merrygallant Hotel. Wanting to be the one who delivered the news to my father, I bolted home, hearing the heightened conversations of the crowd fade away as I left its presence. The Grange's main road, Saddle Street, was a finely kept procession of bricks, well-suited for the finely kept ponies in the area. My small hooves made barely a clop as my journey ensued, taking me past the baker's, the florist's, and the tailor's establishments. My father's real estate office marked the end of the urban section of the Grange, and the following rural stretch presented a pleasing picture to any who might behold it. The land could be described by the appearance of various gemstones: The emerald sea of grass, the sapphire expanse of sky, and the ruby patches of wild roses that were openly allowed to grow free. Rhinemane Manor, my father's personal residence, began to levitate over the horizon into my view. The surrounding gate, comprised mainly of metal bars, with columns of marble interrupting their progression every thirty or so, stood open as a welcoming gesture to guests. I ran up the finely laid white dirt road that twisted and wound through the fine grass and garden areas of the estate, until finally I came upon the house itself. It was a partially aged house, being constructed by Rudges far before my father's birth. Yet in all of its years, it held in equanimity its well-kept state. Whomsoever built Rhinemane Manor had it in their mind that it should perhaps last forever. Constructed with hints at the Martingale* styles of architecture, it held many sophisticated methods by which the building supported itself. Several flying buttresses layered the outer portion, while Stallionesque* curved ceilings lined the inner portion. I practically threw myself up the front steps, and hastily opened the ornate redwood door. My promenade was sharply interrupted by an adult pony's body, and I fell backward as I ran into it.
"Careful, young master Gabarlile! You almost made me drop these carnations!" The hand-servant, Merriam, stood over my floor-bound person, levitating a brass tub of soil and red carnations with her magic. "Where're you off to in such a hurry, anyhow? I'll not have you running so tactlessly through the residence, disturbing the master's guests." She levitated me off of the floor, and back onto my feet. "There you are. Now, go to the washroom and compose yourself; you're positively filthy!"
"Yes ma'am." Ceasing in my hurried flurry, I walked properly and composedly to my designated destination. There were other ponies in the house; some, I recognized from the urban Grange, yet others I hadn't seen before. The polished marble floors reported with the sound of controlled steps, and beheld several shadows of the myriad guests. There were a few that stood out among the rest, and they were concentrated into their own group in the center of the room. These ponies looked especially posh, decked in flamboyant colors, much like those upon the coach driver for The Duke of Alicorns. As I passed them, I could pick up traces of conversation about a grand castle of some sort. The way they talked about it made it seem as if it were the most stupendous thing in the entire world. Their voices faded into the background of chatter as I made my way through the foyer. I circumvented the long, curvy staircase that penetrated the back of the room, and entered the door into the kitchen and dining areas. The dining hall was just as grand as the exterior of the place; a overly-long oaken table stretched from the entrance to the fireplace in the opposite wall, making it an estimated thirty feet long. As always, it was ornamented with silver plates, fine crystal pitchers, and translucent vases containing white and lavender flowers, fresh picked every day. The diamond chandelier suspended from the ceiling cast off speckles of light and prismatic refraction from whatever illuminating source there might have been about, according to time of day, whether it be the sunlight pouring in from the huge windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, or the flickering flames of the fireplace. A swinging door in the corner led to the kitchen, which was juxtaposed with the washroom. As I headed to the door, I noticed half of a pony's head sticking out from behind one of the chairs that vanished as soon as I beheld it. Curious, I walked over to the chair, walking around the table to do so. Eventually, the image of a young filly (at my same age) came into view.
"Christina! What're you doing in the dining hall?" Christina was a filly I knew from the local academy. Our fathers were very good friends, and so I deduced that her father might be here at the manor along with all of the other guests.
"Oh.....I uh.......nothing, Gabarlile. I just....uh.....got a little lost." She straightened her composer and tried to look dignified, as well as justified in my finding her outside of the perimeters of the group of guests. She began to walk back towards the door to the foyer. "I was simply taking a look at your house, as I've never seen it before." Even at that age, I could detect the scent of a lie.
"You were not! You were spying on me, weren't you?", I responded.
She returned my statement with gasps of annoyance and exasperation. "Spying?! Why on Earth would you suspect me of spying on you, Gabarlile Rudge? You assume too much of yourself!" With this statement, her dress got caught on her hoof, and she stumbled onto the floor. I tried to retain composure, and struggled to prevent myself from laughing as I helped her up. "I can see that smug look of amusement on your face, you animal! Don't think I can't! Just get your hands off me, I don't need your help!" She huffed out of the room as soon as she regained her footing. I simply smiled and resumed my task of getting to the washroom.
Arriving back into the foyer among the guests, I now had the look of a well-washed gentlecoat. That's when I spotted my father among the group of refined stallions, engaging in a very bright conversation about the aforementioned castle. I wandered over to him, and gave his waistcoat a tug. He turned toward me and smiled.
"Gabarlile! Wonderful to see you back at the house!", he said genially.
"Father, I have something to tell you..."
"In a moment, my boy. I was just talking to Mr. Radigan Tarch here about a lovely piece of property that's about to be erected here in the Grange!" He turned back to Radigan. "As I was saying, I do believe that revenue would soar past the roof if such a project were to be undertaken. Winchester Grange is a place with an absolutely spotless economic record, and we have the finances to invest in such a venture, so I say why not? It's a marvelous idea if nothing else!"
Christina's father, Radigan of course, chuckled for a moment. "Gabriel Rudge, if there ever was an industrious pony with such a drive behind his dealings, it would most emphatically be you." He checked his pocket watch. "Oh dear, my wife will be quite put out if I don't head for my own residence here in a short bit. I'm afraid I'll have to bid you adieu, my good friend. Perhaps you would be available to come by my place in the Lord's Parish, just down Rudge Avenue, tomorrow morning? Mrs. Tarch would be delighted to have company over for a light breakfast. It's been far too long."
"Jolly good idea, Radigan! Be expecting me on the morrow!", my father heartily responded. With this, Radigan departed Rhinemane, along with Christina, who had her chin pointed almost straight up in the air when she noticed me looking at her. "Now, what is it you wanted to tell me, my good boy?" I jumped a little bit, being too involved in staring at Christina.
"Oh yes, there was a stallion who came into the Grange today, and he was dressed up in really fancy clothes! He said his name was....uh....the Duke of Alicorns! He said he wanted to speak with whomever owned the Grange, so I ran home to tell you."
My father closed his eyes, smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, I know, Gabarlile. The Duke has come to set up a business proposition with me, since I'm the owner of the Grange's real estate company. He sent me a letter two weeks ago as a formal notice of his arrival. I'm to meet with him after this get-together has come to a close, and we'll discuss the matter of business at hand. Did he say where he was staying?"
"Yes sir. Marrygalant Hotel, I think.", I said, cocking my head in an effort to remember. "What's the business proposition, father?"
He looked around the room at all of the guests, then he leaned down to whisper to me. "Follow me into your room, and I'll tell you. I don't want the common citizens to know about this just yet. There is to be a formal speech given in the square that informs them of its initiation. I have the whole thing planned out." I followed him up the polished redwood staircase, down the left hall and into my room, the last door on the right. He walked over to the closed curtains and opened them, flooding the room with fresh sunlight. "Look out onto the open fields, Gabarlile, and tell me what you see." I did as he said, and beheld a lush sea of green grass rolling over the hills, infinitely into the horizon. Canterlot Mountain, the highest mountain in Equestria, poked up over to the left, looming over the entire property, casting a great purple shadow whenever the sun set behind it.
"I see the Grange's rural stretches, and Canterlot Mountain."
"Exactly, Gabarlile. Now, just imagine, a great castle sticking out of the side of Canterlot Mountain. Imagine great white spires with turrets capping their tops, and great purple banners decking the sides of the palace, with the symbol of the royal family upon them. Imagine the numerous crowds of ponies that will come from all over Equestria, just to trade in this new capital city, and thereby coming through Winchester Grange. We will be the neighbors of royalty! Imagine the possibilities, my dear boy!" His eyes were practically sparkling at the thought of such a place. He gazed up at the mountain, and it was hard to tell whether he saw the reality of the nothingness that was there at the present time, or the picture of what was to come with the castle. "Canterlot Castle.", he muttered. "Just think of it..." He seemed lost in his prospects. Merriam came rushing into the room, interrupting his daydream.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but the guests have started leaving."
"Ah! I'll need to go down to bid them farewell. Prepare me an outing suit, Merriam. I plan to leave for Merrygalant Hotel here in about half an hour."
"Of course, sir." Gabriel left the room, and Merriam soon followed. I turned back to the window, and gazed at the spot on the mountain my father had pointed to. If I tried hard enough, I could just picture the speckles of light that would come from the castle windows at nighttime.
*Martingale and Stallionesque - Martingale is the proper term for the stirrups used to keep a horse's head into position, and Stallionesque, in the present context, is a pseudo-variation of the word Arabesque, which is a style of medieval architecture.
Grazing on the Hilltops of Winchester Grange
Breakfast With Good Friends
The morning was a misty one, much to the distress of Merriam. "Oh, why must we...", a sneeze interrupted her sentence, "ugh...excuse me, why must we step out into this dreadful weather at such an early hour?" She refrained from beholding the appearance of trudging down the road. Gabriel simply looked at her and smiled.
"How in all of Equestria could you consider this dreadful? It's a wonderful morning! Just look at the clouds; they're so close, I feel like I could take off and soar through the sky. It's a shame I wasn't born a Pegasus." He directed his gaze up into the deep blue sky, cut through with stretches of clouds, all blurry in the haze of vapor that hung over the land. Too tired to contribute to the conversation, I simply stumbled along behind the two. "Besides, even if it were dreadful, we wouldn't want to demonstrate impoliteness toward the Tarch family. They invited us to a breakfast early on this very morning, and so to the breakfast we must go!" We came upon the urban Grange in little-to-no time, spotting the pillared building with golden letters that spelled out 'Rudge Acres'. It resembled, in its architectural design, the Trojan Pantheon*, with its marble columns arranged across the face, the wide steps stretching across the entire width of the edifice, and the triangular roof designed for structural support. Farther down the brick road, past the residents and shops that lined either side, lay the town square, the intersection of Saddle Street and Rudge Avenue. Even as early as it was, there were many early-bird ponies trotting in miscellaneous directions in the middle of the Grange. Many of them, well acquainted with the Rudge family, waved to us as we walked by. We took a right at the intersection, and kept on forward past Derby street until we arrived at the large Cul-de-sac known as The Lord's Parish. Many Victorian-style homes lined the circumventing area around the road, all of which were obviously ubiquitously designed in the same appearance for uniformity. The largest residence, that of Radigan Tarch, sat in the middle of the circular array of houses, with its front gate wide open. We made our way into the frontal yard of the property, which contained the most well-kept grass in all of Equestria (Rhinemane Manor not withstanding), a large wall of hedges that provided a sort of inner-gate, and circles of extremely colorful flowers. The brick path spanning from the gate to the front steps of the house was in superb condition; not a single brick crooked, tilted, chipped, out of place, or in any other form of imperfection. The house itself was also made of brick, although said brick was of a slighter tint of red. Two half-towers, amalgamated into the bulk of the structure, sat on either side of the central face of the building, which itself was lined with expansive windows. The property looked to be extremely symetrical in design, and had been composed in such a meticulous manner, that one would assume it to have taken centuries to reach completion, and required endless amounts of labor to maintain itself. We eventually reached the front door, which was of a hard, thick wood painted over in the loveliest color of white. Gabriel sounded a few rapacious yet controlled strikes on the door, and we awaited permission for entrance. The door was opened by a well-dressed steward pony, who, with a bow and a gesture, guided us into the house. The interior matched the exterior in extravagance to a tee; polished wooden floors, a large, open foyer, and the scent of innumerable breakfast dishes coming from somewhere to the left. There was an overhanging walkway that hugged the upper section of the foyer's walls, all lined with black metal railing. We heard hoofsteps coming from just above us on the walkway. Radigan came into view after he had walked some ways down the walkway, and began to descend the steps that lay on either side of the wall opposite to the door.
"Gabriel! Jolly glad that you could make it to breakfast, my friend!", he said. The steward stepped over and began to take off our coats, then hung them on a near-by banister suspended from the adjoining wall. "Priscilla, our wonderful chef, has prepared a marvelous morning meal that I'm sure you'll enjoy to the last bite!"
"I cannot thank you enough for such a lovely gesture, Radigan!", returned my father. "It's been far too long since I've sunk my palate into some of Priscilla's wonderful confections." Radigan had, by that point in the conversation, reached us by the door, and began to escort us to the dining hall. As my olfactory senses suggested, it was over to the left.
Radigan extended his hoof to Merriam and gave her a proper greeting. "In all of these years I've known Gabriel, I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of formally addressing his head servant. It's very nice to finally speak with you, Merriam."
She let him take her hoof in his. "Entirely enchanted, Mr. Tarch." Radigan stepped over to me and patted me firmly on the back.
"What about yourself, Gabarlile? Have you been doing well at Birchbrook Academy?"
"Yes sir, I'm the best in my class at mathematics and history."
He let out an admiring laugh. "You remind me of your father when he was your age. He and I attended Birchbrook together, and he was always outwitting the rest of his class; especially when it came to the upper-level courses such as economics and finance. I, admittedly, was only talented in the realm of music, but that didn't stop me from becoming wealthy. Today, I'm one of the world's leading composers. Remember this, Gabarlile: no matter what you end up doing, if you put your mind to it, and stick through the hard work, you can accomplish anything."
"Words of true wisdom, son. You'd do well to keep them in mind.", said my father. We continued down the vast hallway that lay before us. I looked up at the walls to see large portraits of Radigan, his family, and what seemed to be a long line of his ancestors. The pictures, unlike many of such nature, seemed to have a spirit of liveliness contained in their frames. Radigan himself was smiling in every pose immortalized by the artist of these fine depictions, with his front left hoof always resting on some object of practical or serene beauty; it was only natural, for he did look so absolutely splendid in such a pose that one would suppose him to have practiced it day in and day out. We came to a large double door on the right side of the hallway. Radigan opened it to its full arcing length, and put his hoof forward as an inviting gesture. We stepped inside one of the most exquisite dining halls I've ever since lain eyes upon. There were two long oaken tables, instead of Rhinemane's singular furnishing, both stretching the length of the entire room. The platters laid upon the table were of fine untarnished silver, as were most of the utensils and containers that ornamented the tabletop. The glasses, four of which were filled with wine, two with milk, were crystal clear shapes of beauty that resembled flowing water in their curvatures.
"Please, my friends. Have a seat while Priscilla completes her fine morning cuisine." The steward, who had been following us from behind, assisted Merriam and me with our seats, and respectfully allowed Gabriel to seat himself. My father was seated closest to the head of the table, where Radigan would sit, of course. Merriam sat on the opposite side of the table from Gabriel, a seat away from the head. My seat was next to my father's, with a glass of milk beside my plate. The other glass of milk was on the plate next to mine. After we were seated, Mrs. Tarch and Christina walked into the dining hall, both donned in matching blue dresses.
"What a splendid morning to have you and your companions as breakfast guests, Gabriel.", said the elder. "I know you'll just love Priscilla's orange scones."
"It's a pleasure to be here, Helena. I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to dine with my friends at any moment."
Christina cast a glance at me, breaking her composed stride for only a moment. In that glance stood some sort of dichotomous contempt; she seemed to have a sort of feasible aversion to my presence, but some glimmer of....was it admiration?....something lingered behind her cold attitude. The mother-daughter pair took their seats at the table, Helena Tarch opposite to my father and Christina beside myself.
"So, Gabriel, I heard that you met with the Duke of Alicorns at Merrygallant Hotel yesterday afternoon.", said Radigan. "You must regale me with the details of the business proposition."
"Oh, dear, must we really talk economics at the breakfast table? This is a social get-together, not a banker's meeting.", complained Helena.
"It can be a social get-together if you please, dear. If you wish to fritter away with trivial conversation, gossip with Merriam." Helena lightly shrugged her shoulders and started to talk about recent happenings with Merriam.
"Anyhow....Gabriel. Do go on about this matter." Radigan leaned over towards my father, inviting him toward an extraneously quieted conversation.
My father leaned in. "Well, as you know, I met with the Duke yesterday afternoon in the conference room of the hotel. He had with him the entire structure of the whole deal on paper. Right down from the initial property purchase to the revenue figures that would follow from such a project. I couldn't even begin to tell you how many papers there were, Radigan. Anyway, we went over the details rather thoroughly, much to my liking. I offered a discount on the property so that he could have more to spend on construction materials and workers; I consider it an initial investment of my own. Without much further ado, he made the purchase right on the spot." He emphasized the last few uttered words with a few taps on the table with his hoof. He smiled smugly. "Let's just say that I am now a few million bits richer a pony than I was that morning."
Radigan let out an amazed laugh. "He really gave you that much for it, eh? Wonderful if not simply marvelous!"
"Yes, construction is to begin in only a fortnight. I have my own plans for the sum I've come into. Since we're going to become a marketing center in the very near future, I've decided to finance the construction of a market right here in the Grange. I'll call it 'Hoofbit Capital Center'. That'll be sure to secure our profit in the matter."
Radigan simply sat there with an admiring smile on his face. "My word, Gabriel, you really are the smartest pony I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." While the two gentlecoats engaged in their future prospects, I was sitting beside Christina in an awfully awkward silence. She simply sat there and fiddled with her glass while I sat with my hooves in my lap.
"So, you're father's a composer? I didn't know that before.", I said, trying to initiate at least some form of verbal exchange.
"No, he is THE composer. The absolute best composer of professional music in all of Equestria. Why do you think we're so rich, Gabarlile?" Her voice resonated with that same charming snobbery that had always been there.
"I was only wondering how a composer of music could make so much money so as to be the second richest pony in the Grange."
"I don't know how, you silly boy. Don't ask me such invasive questions. They aren't your business in the first place." She tilted her head back in an effort to point her nose up in the air, a look of overly-refined dignity. The steward came out of the kitchen area with a cart full of covered platters. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach growl with hunger. He pushed it over to the table, with a female cook, one whom I presumed to be the famed Priscilla, following close behind. He set the platters down on the table, and took the covers off of each one.
"Breakfast is served", said the steward. The platters were full of several bread dishes, the most prolific of them being the platter containing the orange scones. The steward had also set out two pots of Earl Grain Tea**, and began to pour copious amounts of it into fine porcelain cups separate from our crystal glasses. The moderate and custom query for specific additives such as cream or sugar ensued, and he responded to each specific guest's preference.
"Splendid, splendid. That will be all, Jeeves. You may attend to your other duties now.", said Radigan.
"Very good, sir.", said Jeeves in a somewhat hollow, motiveless voice, then proceeded to exit the room. We began to serve ourselves with the myriad delights that rested before us. I, myself, must have consumed three orange scones in that one sitting. I do wish that Priscilla were alive at the present moment, so that she might conjure up those delicacies for me every morning. At the time, she just stood aside and waited for us all to finish our lovely breakfast. She obviously didn't have to stay in the service of Radigan; in fact, I've never quite known why she didn't start her own bakery. Perhaps it had something to do with her lesser-known fear of self-reliance. Nevertheless, she did as she would, and never did part from Radigan until death took a hold of her. After we had finished our meal, she stepped forward a bit.
"I do hope that this batch of scones suffices enough for all of your tastes." She had a very shy, withdrawn manner about her. A stiff breeze might have blown her over, she was so frail and fragile in appearance. Her eyes darted back and forth in an anxious fit, awaiting approval from her master and his guests. We all gave a reaffirming, 'why of course it did' sort of response, and that made her anxious fit dissolve into a smile and a lighter heart.
"Well, that certainly was an enjoyable breakfast, Radigan. I thank you for your invitation.", said my father.
"Anytime, my friend. I'm glad you all enjoyed yourselves." He stepped up out of his seat and assisted the women with their own seats. "And it was a delight meeting you, Merriam." Once again, he lightly shook her hoof.
"The pleasure's been all mine, sir." Helena stepped over to Gabriel and gave him a generous embrace.
"It's always so nice to have company every once in a while. It gets so dreadfully lonely in this huge house sometimes." Gabriel returned her embrace.
"As always, Mrs. Tarch. It's been a pleasure." The adults went on in this explosion of farewells while Christina and I simply stood aside, waiting for it to end. I figured I'd might as well try my luck again and attempt to bid her farewell.
"Goodbye, Christina. It was good to see you." I did a gentlecoltly bow to accompany my words.
She raised her eyebrow at me for a moment, but capitulated to formality and gave a slight curtsy. "Of course." As the three of us were leaving, I turned back for a moment to see something I did not expect: Christina was looking up out of one of the large windows in the dining hall, smiling ever so slightly. Perhaps it was just coltish fancy, but I supposed her to be smiling about me. Jeeves was at the front door waiting for us.
"Good day, sir.", he said in his same monotonous tone. He had our coats ready for us, and slipped them on as we each walked out the door. We exited the residence, and he shut the door behind us. We continued down the perfect brick path, and out the front gate, where a servant was waiting to shut it behind us.
"Well, that certainly was wonderful, wouldn't you say, Merriam?", said my father.
"Of course, sir. We must do it again sometime."
"Quite right." He looked up in the sky to see that the sun had already inched up a good distance over the horizon. "By Celestia, it's nearly 9:00! Merriam, please escort Gabarlile to Birchbrook while I go and check on Rudge Acres."
Merriam took me by the hoof with hers. "Yes sir. I expect you'll want me back at Rhinemane after I'm finished escorting Gabarlile?"
"As always, Merriam. Now, you must make haste, before the schoolmaster gives him a thrashing for being tardy." She obeyed without hesitation and began hurrying me down Rudge Avenue. Gabriel himself was beside us until we came to the square, where he made a left down Saddle Street. Merriam and I continued forward down the avenue until we went all the way past Appleline Street and Colt's Corner. At that moment, a humorous realization crossed my mind, and made me laugh a little on the inside: Christina was probably going to be late to the lesson.
* The Trojan Pantheon is a reference to the Greek Pantheon, a structure built in the classical period of antiquity that the Greeks used for governmental purposes.
** This, of course, being a reference to Earl Grey Tea.
