The Dinner Party

It  was a very special occasion at Blackbourne Manor. This evening would mark the triumphant return of the Lord Rhett Caldwell, the Lady Rose Blackbourne's older brother, from his year-long exploration of the West Indies, and Lord Blackbourne had decided to throw a dinner party to celebrate. The Manor would be packed with some of the most influential persons of Britain, and it would, among other things, be an opportunity for the new Lord Blackbourne to take his place among the Society since inheriting his title earlier that year. The Lord was ensconced in his study, carefully mulling over his shoe collection and selecting an appropriate pair to wear that evening. It was an activity that would likely take all day.  Each of the household servants had a job to do in preparation for the evening's events, and all were overseen by the ever-watchful Dominic Samuels, the Lord's manservant.

By nine o'clock in the morning, the ever-watchful Dominic Samuels was on fire. It happened when he stepped into the kitchen see how the Manor's cook, Mrs Penelope Matthews, was progressing with preparing the supper. Hours earlier he had left her with a suggested menu for the evening, including dietary limitations of the various guests, and detailed instructions as to the presentation style of each dish. He was therefore more than a little bit alarmed when he entered the kitchen to see, not the chef earnestly slaving over several succulent and dairy-free meat pies to be served to the guests upon arrival, but rather the chef standing quite still in a corner of the room, gazing ponderously at a fire that was burning in the sink.

"Mrs Matthews, what the hell are you doing?" Dominic demanded

"Oh, hello Samuels. The sink is on fire." She observed casually.

"Then put it out! Throw water on it!" Snapped Samuels, exasperated with the eccentric woman. He did not even wait for the reply, he simply grabbed a dishcloth, soaked it in a conveniently placed bucket of water, and threw it over the flames. He was therefore surprised and not a little distressed when the flames immediately rose to engulf the cloth. "Ow! What the hell?" He cried, dropping the cloth and backing away.

"I've started the next great culinary renaissance, Samuels," Mrs Matthews calmly informed him, "Flammable water. It's going to be huge. Trust me." She then pulled a large, dry blanket out of her bosom and used it to smother the flames.

"Have you even started the dinner for tonight?" Dominic inquired, aggressively pushing down his frustration.

"There's a dinner tonight?" The chef cried, stricken. She held the face for a moment before breaking into an evil cackle and grinning widely. "I'm just foolin' you. I've got the pies in the oven now. Admittedly, they're a little heavier on the jam than you had on the menu... but I'm sure it will be fine!"

"Fine, good enough." Sighed Dominic, checking his watch and realizing that he was rapidly falling behind schedule. 

On his way to the dining room to check on the table settings, Dominic ran into the Lady, setting up decorations with the help of Mrs Matthews' daughter Lauretta and Eleanor Thomas, the maid.

As he was passing, he heard the Lady say, "No, Eleanor, the spatters need to look gruesome, not pretty! Go get more blood from the cellar and try again!" He stopped as the maid wandered off into the depths of the manor.

"My Lady, how is the decorating coming?" He inquired politely.

"Oh, it's loathsome, Samuels! Simply dreadful!" The Lady mournfully intoned

"So it's not going well, then?" It was a rather horrific scene laid out before him. Long, willowy spiderwebs coated every surface, and blood dripped from some of them onto the carpet. Skulls resided on every table, and from their eyes, candles flickered, which served more to emphasize the shadows than cast light. Dominic spent a moment wondering where the creepy, ethereal music was coming from, before he realized that Lauretta was standing directly behind him, humming moodily.

"No, it's going perfectly, Samuels! Do you use your eyes? I just told you that it was loathsome and dreadful!" The Lady shrieked, before doubling over in a dramatic coughing fit, smearing her white handkerchief with fake blood before holding it up to her lips. "I have consumption, and I shall be dead before the winter's out!!" She declared.

"It's spring, my Lady" Dominic felt compelled to point out.

"Be gone, Samuels! Leave me to my art!" The Lady waved her bloody handkerchief in a shooing motion. With a sigh, Dominic turned to leave. With any luck, the Lady's decorating would not spread beyond this wing of the Manor.

Dominic was almost glad that the only thing left to check on was his sister's table settings. Isabella was a mechanist and part-time mad scientist who lived in London Town, using her inventions to fight the good fight against chauvinist academia. She was visiting the Blackbourne Manor on the pretense of visiting her dear brother, but it was a tissue-thin disguise over her true intentions, as the leader of the London Society of Maths and Sciences would be attending the dinner party, and she had a thing or two to say to him.

Isabella was belligerent and embittered against the state of the world, and things around her tended to leak oil and/or explode, but her only job for the day was to place the finest china and silver on the table, and Dominic had confidence in her ability to do it.

The sudden and complete shattering of ones confidence is a very particular feeling, and it engulfed Dominic completely as he entered the dining room. The table was spinning. Violently. And smoking. And leaking oil all over the beautifully polished hardwood floor. In the detached, butler's consciousness that he maintained even and especially in times of crisis, he noted that his sister had indeed neatly set the plates and utensils, and had folded the napkins with an artful  flair that he must remember to have her teach him.

He forced a deep breath. At least the plates seemed to be staying in place and not flying off and breaking. Another. The floors were easily cleaned, and the damage would not be permanent. One more. Nothing had exploded yet, and that was truly remarkable for one of Isabella's creations.

When he was feeling calm enough to speak, he calmly inquired "'Dear sister, what are you doing?"

''Fixing the table,'' she replied cheerfully, attempting to wrangle it to submission and having very little luck, as she was a tiny and delicate creature for all of her aggressive personality.

"It wasn't broken"

"It is now! Don't worry though, I'm on it," she assured her brother, wiping the sweat from her brow and smearing grease across her face in the process.

"I'm sure you will," said Dominic. He had decided to give up on trying to make this evening any more than it was- a Blackbourne Manor affair. The guests would just have to cope with the madness. He just hoped that Lord Caldwell would not be disappointed.

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The party ended up being a great success. Isabella managed to hog-tie the table into submission, though it did still leak, necessitating a bucket being strategically placed beneath it; a minor inconvenience for the luxury of a stationary table. The food was delicious, though there was a heavy concentration of jam, as Mrs Matthews had mentioned. If any of the glasses were filled with flammable water, they politely remained extinguished for the duration of the evening. On the tour of the house, the Lord conveniently left out the East Wing, which was the one the Lady Rose had decorated, and none of the guest were any the wiser to the Manor's eccentricities.

The greatest disappointment of the evening was that The Lord Caldwell did not arrive at the prescribed time. The guests waited politely for him for several hours, but when it was determined that he must have been unavoidably delayed and would most likely not be making an appearance, they proceeded with the supper and entertainment in his absence.

 They were just beginning the dessert course, and Dominic was starting to relax, thinking this might be the night that the Blackbourne Manor was granted its status in the High Society, when there was a rumble. Conversation stopped as everyone tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, when there was an enormous explosion.

When the dust settled, it became clear what had happened. A steam engine stood proudly where one wall of the dining room has been seconds before, and in the conductors booth, a tall, broad-chested man in a finely tailored suit and a frankly ridiculous hat stood, booming laughter.

The Lord Caldwell had made his entrance.

Dominic stared for a moment at the ruins of his carefully constructed evening, and began to laugh along with the rogue Lord. Slowly, all residents of  the Manor joined in, while their guests stared blankly.

Society be damned, it was the perfect ending to a wildly successful Blackbourne dinner party.