The banquet marking the end of Victoria's visit to Ireland was planned on a smaller scale than the grand events typically held in London.
That said, "smaller" was only relative to royal functions in the capital.For Ireland, it was still an enormous celebration rarely seen outside the grandest occasions.
If the previous events had been arranged for the Irish people, tonight's gathering was meant for the island's upper class.
Prominent politicians and businessmen from Dublin, Belfast, and several major cities had all been invited. Naturally, not a single one declined.
Several members of Parliament had even come over from Britain—perhaps to network with the local elite.
Among them was a face I knew well.
Coming is fine… but why appear like this without even telling me first?
"Benjamin, I didn't expect to see you again before returning to London. What brings you all the way here?"
Benjamin Disraeli laughed brightly.
"Our hardworking minister is carrying the burden alone, so I couldn't very well sit idly in London, could I? I came to help with the final arrangements."
"The final arrangements?" I replied dryly. "Our schedule in Ireland ends with this banquet."
"Well," Benjamin Disraeli said with a smile, "you're continuing on to Scotland, aren't you? I'll gladly assist there as well."
He was wearing the most flamboyant outfit in the entire hall while saying that.
It was hard to believe he had come here to work. Anyone looking at him would think he had come purely to enjoy the party.
But Benjamin had always dressed like this, so I let it slide.
"Since you've come all the way to Ireland, you might as well speak with some of the local leaders," I said. "I'll have to go see Her Majesty shortly, so I won't be able to stay with you."
"I understand," Benjamin Disraeli replied. "But to be honest, I never expected the Queen to communicate with the public so passionately. Most MPs feel the same."
He glanced toward Victoria, who was greeting Irish nobles upstairs.
"Her Majesty relies on you greatly," he continued. "Should we interpret this trend as politically favorable for our side? What do you think?"
"If we speak purely in political terms, then yes, it's favorable," I answered. "But such things can turn into liabilities at any time. Let's discuss it properly with Arthur Wellesley when we return to London."
"Understood."
With that, Benjamin immediately set off toward a pair of Irish gentlemen nearby.
His energy was remarkable.
Someone like William Gladstone would have stood solemnly in one place all evening, but Benjamin approached the two men with easy charm.
The pair—a man nearly seventy and a younger man who appeared to be his son—widened their eyes in astonishment as they recognized us.
"L-Lord Arran! Minister Killian Gore! I-if it wouldn't be too presumptuous, may we have the honor of speaking with you?"
"Please relax," I said. "This is a celebration. Feel free to speak openly. And this gentleman beside me is Benjamin Disraeli, Member of Parliament."
"Benjamin Disraeli! I've heard much about you! To meet two of the Wellesley faction's rising figures at once…!"
The old man suddenly realized he hadn't introduced himself.
"Forgive me. I am Arthur Guinness, a modest businessman from Dublin. And this is my son, Benjamin Guinness. My son has great interest in politics and greatly admires you, Minister. Our family has long supported the Conservative Party."
Being told someone admired me had become almost routine in Ireland.
But their surname immediately caught my attention.
"Guinness?" I asked.
"You run a brewery, don't you?"
The old man's face lit up.
"You know our beer?"
"Of course. Guinness beer is famous."
Arthur Guinness looked genuinely moved.
"To think someone like you knows it gives me confidence we must be making decent beer."
Disraeli chimed in with enthusiasm.
"I drink Guinness from time to time myself. The bitter richness of that stout is excellent. I never expected to meet the people who make it."
Arthur smiled warmly.
"As it happens, I often carry fresh beer samples with me for business. Would you care to taste some? Beer brewed here tastes quite different from what you find in London."
"Please pour," I said. "I'd be delighted."
Guinness beer in nineteenth-century Ireland.
That was something I absolutely couldn't refuse.
Among the upper classes of this era, wine and whiskey were the preferred drinks. Beer was usually considered a working-class beverage.
But I enjoyed both.
At Arthur's signal, his son quickly poured the dark stout into clean glasses and handed them to Benjamin and me.
"Our brewery focuses primarily on porter and stout rather than ordinary ale," Arthur explained. "We recently stopped producing ale altogether. After eighty years of brewing experience, we believe we've finally perfected a beer anyone can enjoy."
I took a sip.
"Rich and pleasantly bitter. It's far superior to the cheap beers in London."
"Thank you very much," Arthur said proudly.
Perhaps it was nostalgia.
Or perhaps it was simply the freshness of beer poured on-site.
But it really was excellent.
"I agree with Killian," Benjamin Disraeli said. "There's a reason Guinness sells well in England too. This beer truly deserves to represent Ireland."
Arthur chuckled.
"Our family actually has a fair amount of English blood. That helped us receive some support early on. But we still strive to represent Ireland with pride."
English roots, but firmly established in Ireland.
Interesting.
Handled properly, this could be very profitable.
Guinness would eventually become one of the world's most famous stout brands.
If I got involved now, that rise might come even faster.
And helping develop a local Irish business would earn political goodwill as well.
"Are you exporting to other countries?" I asked.
"We ship to several British colonies."
"What about Canada or the United States?"
"Only in small quantities so far. Steamships have improved transportation, but…"
"Why not build breweries locally?"
Arthur sighed.
"That would be ideal. But the financial burden is quite heavy."
So the will existed.
Only capital was missing.
That was easy.
"I can introduce you to some reliable investors."
Arthur froze.
"Y-You would do that for us?"
"Of course."
"Ireland will soon begin large-scale migration to Canada. When immigrants arrive, many will struggle with homesickness. Familiar tastes from home will comfort them."
I smiled.
"Guinness could play a major role in that."
Arthur blinked.
"I had never thought of it that way… but you're absolutely right."
Nearby Irish elites nodded in admiration.
It was a good plan.
My brother James was already earning more money than we could reasonably spend, and our businesses in America and Canada were expanding rapidly.
Building breweries would be easy.
Irish immigrants would provide a guaranteed early customer base.
And providing a taste of home would help stabilize immigrant communities emotionally.
A perfect combination of profit, politics, and practicality.
"I'll contact a suitable investor once I return to London," I said.
"Thank you! Thank you, Minister!"
"It's for Ireland after all."
Unexpectedly pleased with this lucky development, I couldn't help smiling.
Just then, Arthur Guinness suddenly turned pale and bowed hurriedly.
"Y-Y-Your Majesty!"
…Queen?
I turned.
Victoria was standing behind us, watching with a curious smile.
"I told you to come upstairs soon," she said calmly. "But since you didn't move from the first floor, I came to see what was keeping you. It seems you were having an interesting conversation."
"Ah… we finished just now," I said quickly. "Shall we go upstairs?"
"We will," Victoria said.
"But first, I'd like to taste it."
Arthur stared in shock.
"Y-Your Majesty wishes to drink beer? A worker's drink?"
Victoria tilted her head slightly.
"I ate rutabaga, didn't I? Why would beer be any different? If workers enjoy it so much, I'm curious."
Arthur handed her the glass with trembling hands.
Victoria raised it gracefully and took a sip.
Arthur looked as if his entire future depended on that moment.
If the Queen criticized it…
The brewery's reputation could collapse.
But Victoria finished the drink and returned the glass with an elegant smile.
"It's wonderful that workers can enjoy such delicious beer," she said warmly.
"Please continue brewing it well, so tired laborers may forget their hardships, even if only for a moment."
Arthur burst into tears.
"Your Majesty! I cannot express my gratitude! I will devote my life to producing the finest beer at affordable prices for our citizens!"
The man bowed repeatedly, overwhelmed.
Having the Queen of the British Empire praise your beer personally—
That alone would transform the brand.
And Victoria had added words that would move any brewer's heart.
Even I might have cried in his place.
Our Queen really has become a natural politician.
That was exactly the kind of phrasing that touched people's hearts.
As the teacher who had taught her how to understand people's emotions, I felt deeply proud.
After comforting the emotional brewer, Victoria slowly turned her gaze toward me.
"Well then, Minister."
"Shall we go upstairs and continue our conversation?"
I swear I wasn't deliberately late.
We really were discussing something important.
But making excuses would only make things worse.
So, as a wise man, I quietly followed behind her as she walked upstairs with elegant steps.
As the mentor who had taught her how to understand people's hearts…
I felt just a tiny bit of regret.