Chapter 11: The Last Supper

We hurried back to the mansion so that James and I could bathe and dress for our dinner that evening. Mrs. Whitney had invited us to dine at the estate, where a number of our guests were staying with her. Ahkbar Singh had managed to avoid this dinner by complaining of an intestinal ailment, but the amused look in his eyes convinced me that this was a most opportune illness. However, James and I would be accompanied by both my Matron of Honor and my putative father, Siobhan and Uncle Wally. This seemed a most hazardous undertaking.

Ever since their first meeting, the two had been throwing sparks at each other in a grander fashion than any fireworks display. It had started when Siobhan had proclaimed, immediately after meeting our military and naval guests that it was too bad that the Americans had contented themselves with kicking out the British, and they should have reversed the process and invaded England. Uncle Wally had laughed and asked whether Siobhan had been born in Belfast or Londonderry. At her answer of Boston, he had replied that the Boston Irish were even worse than the original, and that it if Ireland was such a paradise, why were all the Irish living elsewhere.

This had set the tone and tenor of every subsequent meeting between the two, and the level of insult had grown to alarming proportion! Neither James nor I could account for Siobhan’s behavior, for it was perfectly obvious that it was she who was instigating these troubles; Uncle Wally’s rapier-like ripostes were only made in response to her discourtesies. Siobhan had certainly been around other Britons and been quite content and happy with their company. She and I were the dearest of friends, and she was most pleasant with Mrs. Pembleton and the other officers of Uncle Wally’s escort. However, the simple act of a greeting would be enough to set her off against my godfather, and though he would laugh, he would also invariably respond with a stinging taunt of his own.

Now neither James nor I knew quite what to do about the tempest brewing beneath our roof, and what mischief Siobhan and Uncle Wally would manage during the wedding and reception after. We arranged as best we could to keep the pair separated during the days, and even at dinner kept them at opposite ends of the table, yet affairs were quite tense when both were in each other’s presence. This was the first formal engagement involving both, and as such was to be a harbinger of our fate. In truth, I suspected both James and I were silently wishing that one or the other was not to be involved, but it was far too late for that!

Even tonight we attempted to separate the battling twosome, as we drove to the Whitney estate with James driving and Uncle Wally seated next to him, and Siobhan riding behind with me. Even at this Siobhan bridled, declaring it improper that the Irish ever be behind an Englishman, to which Uncle Wally answered that he was simply espousing Professor Darwin’s primacy of the fittest. Already the evening looked to be a disaster of the worst sort, and it had not even begun yet!

Surprisingly, dinner was not quite the disaster it could have been, at least not initially. Siobhan managed to mind her manners until the very end, even though Mrs. Whitney, unknowing of the feud, had assigned her and Uncle Wally to seats facing each other near the center of the long table. As usual, it was Siobhan who started it, when Uncle Wally finished his meal and turned to our hostess and complimented her on an excellent dinner.

“Really, Major Haversham? I always thought that the English preferred to dine as your Mister Swift suggested, by fattening Irish babies for the English table.”

The entire room quieted at this, with a collective gasp at the sheer effrontery of the insult. The mood was not lightened when Uncle Wally responded, with a smile, “Quite so, and I prefer mine with a nice red wine and mushroom sauce.”

You could practically hear the eyeballs clicking in their sockets as every eye in the room returned to Siobhan, now seething with anger at this rejoinder. “Sir, if you were my husband, I should poison your tea!”

“Madame, if you were my wife, I should drink it!”

At this, Siobhan gave forth a shriek of outrage and pushed back from the table, knocking her chair over behind her, then threw down her napkin and stormed from the room to the mixed shock and amusement of the rest of us. James merely buried his head in his hands, missing the look on Uncle Wally’s face. He seemed as shocked as the rest of us by how far events had progressed, so he stood up and said, “Excuse me, but it would seem as if I have some amends to make.” He left the room to search out Siobhan, leaving the remainder of our group to gape at each other and comment on the events of the evening.

I should point out that the insult I have mentioned is most frequently attributed to an exchange between Lady Astor and Mr. Winston Churchill. However, while neither was present (Really, they were both but little older than I and quite unknown at that time!) both had friends who were, and I cannot but think that they both heard of the exchange through them. Regardless, as we separated after the meal, the gentlemen to retire for brandy and cigars and we ladies for a more genteel sherry, the talk of the evening was most certainly the renewal of the War of 1812 we had all just witnessed.

Within the hour, James had found me in the parlor and whispered in my ear that we should find the two adversaries and retrieve them before blood was shed. I nodded my silent agreement and took his arm, to begin our search. We were able to follow the track from the dining room to the main salon, then off to a smaller parlor, and finally through a side entrance into the gardens behind the home.

“How appropriate,” remarked James to me quietly. “The one left standing will be able to bury the other quite easily.”

“That’s not funny,” I replied, though I said it with a giggle. “Do I bet on Siobhan or Uncle Wally.”

“Either way, we call the police, and they are both out of our hair!”

We conducted what seemed to be an increasingly fruitless search through the extensive grounds, moving further and further away from the mansion in our search for the two combatants. We were on the verge of giving up, and in fact, I had already reversed my course and had begun to pull James with me, when he took my hand and pulled me back. Pointing, he whispered, “Shhh,” and directed my attentions to a small gazebo. It was dark, but the gazebo was lit by a small electric candelabra, and the moon was out, so we could see clearly, and what we saw was most astonishing.