4
Mr. Goode led us from the morning room and into the older portion of the house, his evident enthusiasm returning with every step. Passing beneath a broad oak archway, we entered the dining room—or as Goode would rather now describe it, the dining hall.
I stopped involuntarily.
The transformation was extraordinary.
Gone was the appearance of an ordinary country house dining room. Instead, I found myself looking upon what might well have been the banqueting chamber of some medieval castle.
A pair of trestle tables extended almost the full length of the room, replacing what I assumed had once been a more conventional arrangement of furniture.
Spotless linen cloths, dazzlingly white, fell from their surfaces almost to the rush-covered stone floor.
A succession of high-backed carved oak chairs stood behind the tables, their elaborate craftsmanship immediately catching the eye.
Each place had already been carefully laid.
Instead of modern china there were broad wooden trenchers, their polished surfaces glowing warmly beneath the afternoon light which streamed through the tall mullioned windows.
Pewter flagons and goblets had been burnished until they shone like silver, while genuine silver salt cellars occupied places of honor along the tables.
Down the center stood tall candelabra, each supporting a forest of unlit candles which awaited the coming of evening.
Above us, brilliantly colored heraldic banners hung from the ancient walls, their embroidered lions, griffins, crosses, and fleurs-de-lis lending vivid color to the mellow stonework.
Every modern furnishing had disappeared.
There was not a sideboard, upholstered chair, or ornament to remind one that the late nineteenth century still existed beyond those walls.
For several moments I could almost imagine that, were the heavy door suddenly to open, some armored nobleman might stride into the dining-room-turned-banqueting-hall attended by squires and retainers.
It was Holmes who first broke the silence.
"Remarkable."
Mr. Goode's broad face positively beamed.
"I am delighted you think so, Mr. Holmes."
He walked slowly between the tables, looking about him with unconcealed satisfaction.
"Every detail you see here has been reconstructed from Professor Stratton's researches. Nothing has been left to guesswork. The placement of the tables, the chairs, the banners, the vessels, even the smallest articles upon the table—all have been arranged precisely as he directed."
He picked up one of the wooden trenchers with evident pride before carefully returning it to its place.
"The Professor was wonderfully patient. Whenever I proposed something merely because it looked attractive, he would smile and explain why it was entirely wrong. If there existed the slightest evidence that some object belonged to a later century, out it went."
Holmes slowly surveyed the room once more.
"It must have required an immense amount of labor."
"It did indeed, sir."
Mr. Goode laughed good-naturedly.
"I sometimes feared the Professor would wear me out before he was satisfied."
He gestured toward a side door.
"The meal itself is to follow his researches just as faithfully. Every dish has been reconstructed from authentic medieval sources. I shall prepare them personally, precisely as he instructed me."
The thought of Professor Stratton seemed to extinguish his smile.
For a few moments he looked silently across the room.
"It is a cruel business," he said quietly. "A truly cruel business."
He gave a slow shake of the head.
"To devote so much of himself to this undertaking, only to be taken from us before seeing it completed..."
He paused.
"Forgive me. That is hardly the point. The tragedy is that he was taken from us at all."
Holmes regarded him sympathetically.
"Does his death mean the banquet has been abandoned?"
Mr. Goode looked almost startled.
"Oh no."
The answer came with unexpected firmness.
"No, Mr. Holmes. It must go ahead."
He clasped his hands behind his back and began walking slowly along the length of one of the tables.
"The invitations were sent out some weeks ago. My guests have accepted them, arrangements have been made, provisions purchased, and everything placed in readiness."
He stopped beside one of the great candelabra.
"Professor Stratton intended to make one or two final adjustments before the evening itself. That, alas, can no longer be done."
He looked around the room with quiet determination.
"So it shall remain exactly as you see it now."
For a moment none of us spoke.
The silent room, with its waiting chairs, polished goblets, and unlit candles, seemed almost to possess a life of its own, as though merely awaiting the arrival of guests before the centuries themselves briefly turned backward.
For some moments I continued to look about the remarkable room.
There was something almost theatrical in the transformation, yet it never descended into mere spectacle.
Everything possessed the air of having been carefully considered rather than merely assembled for effect.
I could well imagine that a student of medieval England might have found very little to criticize.
Unable to suppress my curiosity, I turned to our host.
"May I ask, Mr. Goode, who is expected to attend this banquet?"
"Oh, certainly, Dr. Watson."
His good humor immediately returned.
"I have been singularly fortunate in securing a number of distinguished gentlemen."
He began counting them off upon his fingers.
"Sir Oswald Drury has very kindly accepted. Then there is Mr. Cedric Frobisher, proprietor of The London Chronicle."
He paused before mentioning another name.
"And, of course, Sir Reginald Pell."
I looked up.
"Sir Reginald Pell?"
"The very man."
"You cannot mean the High Court Judge?"
Mr. Goode smiled.
"I can indeed, Dr. Watson."
"I have heard him spoken of many times."
"I dare say most people have."
Mr. Goode seemed quietly pleased by the impression his guest list had produced.
"I confess I was more than a little surprised when Sir Reginald accepted my invitation. I had scarcely expected a gentleman in so exalted a position to concern himself with an experiment of this nature."
Holmes, who had been examining one of the heraldic banners with interest, turned back toward him.
"You have assembled a most impressive company, Mr. Goode."
"I have tried," our host replied modestly. "Whether they will think equally well of what I have prepared for them remains to be seen."
He looked slowly around the room once more, his expression a curious mixture of pride and anxiety.
"I only hope," he said quietly, "that Professor Stratton would have approved of the finished result."
Mr. Goode continued to survey the room for several moments before releasing a long, thoughtful sigh.
"I suppose," he said at last, "I may as well explain the whole scheme to you, gentlemen."
"I wish you would," said Holmes.
"This medieval banquet was entirely my own idea. I cannot pretend otherwise. Professor Stratton did not conceive it—though once I had approached him, he threw himself into the project with an enthusiasm I shall always remember."
He smiled faintly.
"I explained to him what I hoped to achieve, and from that moment onward he became my guide in every historical detail. Nothing was too small for his attention. The decoration of the room, the arrangement of the tables, the banners, the vessels,
even the dishes themselves—every one was researched with the most astonishing thoroughness."
He rested a hand upon the back of one of the carved chairs.
"My ambition is to make Northleigh Manor something more than merely another old country house. There are many such places in England, and no shortage of gentlemen willing to show visitors portraits of long-dead ancestors. I hoped instead to create something people could actually experience."
"A living piece of history," Holmes observed.
"Precisely."
Mr. Goode's eyes brightened.