Eating Dinner on a Horse

By Robert J. Vallance

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to eat dinner while sitting on top of a horse?

 

In 1903, it was rumored that the social elite wore tuxedos to bed and brushed their teeth with champagne. While those two claims are unsubstantiated, what is outrageously true is that C.K.G. Billings, a wealthy industrialist, once held an unusual dinner for his fellow horse racing enthusiasts. To celebrate the completion of his luxury stables in what is now Fort Tyron Park, Billings and 32 guests mounted horses and dined on seven exquisite courses in an upscale Manhattan restaurant.

 

Whether you're a fan of quirky comedy, historical fiction, silly satire, or just in the mood for something fun and original, join Robert Vallance in this riotous retelling of the most novel dinner of the Gilded Age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert J. Vallance
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201769772

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, situations, organizations, entities, and locales depicted in this novel, while at times based on historical occurrences, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to sincerely thank KM, BD, SD and RY for reading the early drafts and providing feedback. I greatly appreciate your critique and I couldn’t have done it without you!

To The Reader

This is based on a true story that took place in New York over a century ago.

No eyewitness accounts exist of the dinner. Therefore, we must use print media and sporadic informal reports to piece together what actually happened that winter evening in 1903. Where it was unclear as to what exactly occurred and how the banquet unfolded, I took artistic liberty and filled in the gaps using reasonable estimation one could expect from such a novel event.

Robert Vallance

New York, March of 1903

Chapter 1 – The Stables

M agnificent!

Cornelius Kingsley Garrison Billings strode into the twenty-five thousand square foot stables that rested on a bluff over the Hudson River. The final coat of white paint was not yet dry, though the natural gas magnate, dressed in full riding garb, took no notice. You’ve built me a palace. It’s as splendid as I envisioned it.

Jonathan Oakleigh beamed; his hands clasped behind his back. Thank you, Mr. Billings.

They stood in the atrium. Windows high in the ceiling flooded the open second-story balcony with light. Snuffles from the first eight horses echoed throughout the structure. A polished brass nameplate fixed near each stall highlighted the occupant’s name, mark, and breed. Jonathan had ushered everyone out just before Billings had arrived to allow their employer to fully inspect his new stables in uninterrupted silence.

Billings smiled at Jonathan and rubbed his thick mustache. Aside from a thin ring of hair, his head was as bald as an egg and only the mustache provided a sufficient quantity of strokable hair. His voice reflected off the high ceiling. It’s definitely spacious.

It is, sir, Jonathan agreed. His heart raced as he spoke to the businessman; he hoped his breath sounded even. You’ll find that you can turn a carriage right around. No need to back anything out.

Billings nodded his approval and walked down the aisles; his footsteps echoed off the thick plank flooring. You’ve met every expectation, he called back. Thank you, Mr. Oakleigh. Thank you. I feel like a little lad, with two bits in my pocket, and I’ve just stepped into the confectionery store.

Jonathan bowed at the praise and followed dutifully as the industrialist surveyed each one of the thirty-one stalls, and then the connected carriage room.

A couple of years ago Jonathan had been a farrier; his life one dismal horseshoe after the next, hammering yet another hunk of iron while dodging haphazard kicks. But fate had handed him a random chance. He had become project manager of the stables and had proved himself; enough, he hoped, to get a respected promotion into the Peoples Gas Light & Coke Company. The sprawling Chicago utility conglomerate was one of the twelve constituents of the Dow Jones Industrial Average, and Billings held a controlling interest.

Billings climbed the stairs and inspected the hayloft and then the guest rooms above the stable. Ten rooms provided enough space to house two entire families. An antechamber provided additional lodgings for service staff.

Next, it was down to the basement with the blacksmith forge, storage rooms, wine cellar, gymnasium, swimming pool, and of special interest, the engine room and Edison dynamo that ensured a reliable supply of electricity, steam heat, and hot water for the entire building. Then back to the ground level for a review of the sleigh room, feed room, coach room, harness room, mudroom, jockey bunk room, loose box, kitchen and saucery, manure shed, woodshed, gardeners’ quarters, and granary. It’s zinc-lined, Jonathan said, tapping the inner wall, with a capacity of five thousand bushels.

Billings whistled and looked up at the distant ceiling lit only by tiny skylights. Pigeons hadn’t yet claimed it as a home.

Jonathan led them out a side door into the spacious courtyard onto fresh gravel that had been laid just this morning. Empty flower beds edged in stone sat in the