In 1882 the Shakespeare Hotel in Stratford-upon-Avon was not the splendid leaded-windowed, black and white beamed building we see today, but a mid-Victorian pile with a plastered facade that was thought to reflect the prosperity of the guests who frequented the establishment: guests who were warmly welcomed by a liveried doorman beneath the imposing entrance porch that straddled the pavement. Only the rich, those who claimed to be rich, those who planned to be rich, and the guests of the rich, oh, and the dishonestly rich, stayed there.

But the inside of the building could not disguise its 16th century origins, indeed it flaunted them. The grand dining-room was something magnificent to behold. A large, gold-framed mirror dominated the wall above the fireplace, reflecting the red Persian carpets that covered the polished oak floors. The glass of the heavily curtained windows shone like silver, and like the mirror, reflected the warmth and expense. Of course Henry Donaldson and Littleton were very much at home in such surroundings, and in their starched evening wear added to the sparkle and sense of occasion.

A few days after Sergeant Parker met his wife Ann in The Shakespeare Rooms at the theatre, Pierre, the maitre d’hotel of the Shakespeare, showed the recently arrived actors to their table, which was the longest in the entire room, with its white Irish linen tablecloth adorned with silver cutlery, deeply cut crystal glasses, tall vases of flowers and glass bowls full of fruit.

As each of the actors sat a veritable swarm of waiters, in black-tailed coats, high collars, and white aprons, served warm soft bread rolls, wrapped in napkins, with each diner given a small silver dish of fresh farm butter, all of which glistened and gleamed in the recently installed gas lighting. Indeed, George Bartlett had no sooner sat down than he was sizing up where he could conceal any of these delicacies for later.

And while George attempted to take care of his future dietary needs, Henry Donaldson settled himself at one end of the great table, opposite Littleton at the other. Donaldson was immediately proffered a cigar by an anxious waiter, who eventually, and with shaking hands, managed to ignite it with a large match. Littleton accepted a fine Havana too, making quite a fuss about igniting the thing with his newly acquired golden mechanical lighter. He didn’t need a waiter to light a cigar for him. He had the style to do that for himself.