two-hour journey took nearly double that and they were all gasping for a cup of tea when they drove along the Winchester Road into the little village of Chawton.
“Straight to Cassandra’s Cup, I think,” Muriel directed.
Richard smiled. She might be bossy, but she did know her way around.
Arthur found a parking spot along a low stone wall and Muriel led the way. “Oh!” Elizabeth came to a full stop. “That’s it! Chawton Cottage. I’ve seen so many pictures—and there it is.” The rather plain redbrick house with its narrow strip of grass separating it from the road was directly across from the white building with the large teacup-shaped sign hanging over its door.
They walked through a flower-decked courtyard where several guests were taking their tea alfresco and went on into a room filled with small tables, its ceiling hung with rows of china teacups. They were shown to a table by the window in the second room, and Muriel, without asking, ordered afternoon tea all around.
Richard gazed out the window past the red geraniums filling the window box. “You see that bricked-in window,” Muriel directed. Indeed, a large area of brick on the left side of the house showed by its slightly different color to have been a remodel. “Edward had that done. Thought the window looking right out on the busy road would be too public for his mother and sisters. Put a bookcase on that wall and cut a new window at the far end of the room to overlook the garden. Apparently the Austen women approved—they had little enough option—but I think it a pity. Rather jolly to have been able to see the world passing by on its way to Winchester, I should think.”
“Apparently Jane was so happy to be back in their own home in her beloved Hampshire, the placement of windows would hardly have been her first concern,” Richard suggested. “Although, I expect she appreciated her brother’s thoughtfulness and the privacy.”
“I can’t wait to see it all,” Elizabeth said around bites of a scone laden with clotted cream and strawberry jam.
“No rush. Need to settle in first,” Muriel declared. “Our hostess will be expecting us.”
“Where are we staying? Are there B & B’s in the village?” Elizabeth asked.
Muriel hmphed as if to say that was all very fine for the hoi polloi. “As a patron of the Chawton House Library, I’ve arranged for us to stay on the grounds. I believe you’ll find it a very high standard of comfort, and most convenient for everyone’s research.” She looked meaningfully at Gerri, who was still eating, as if to say, Get on with it, girl. Gerri blushed and pushed her plate away.
And, as predicted, a short time later when Arthur turned into a long, private lane, drove past a church and on through the wide, green grounds surrounding a stately home, Richard had little doubt about the high standard they would encounter. Muriel led the way inside where they were met by a well-groomed lady in a white blouse and navy-blue skirt, her short blond hair in a sleek coiffeur. She welcomed Muriel, then turned to the others. “I’m Sylvia Martin, the manageress. I’m so pleased we were able to accommodate Dr. Greystone for your tour.”
“We’re delighted to be here,” Richard replied.
While Muriel signed the register for the group, Sylvia Martin handed out the keys. “Everything should be ready for you, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact Lilly, our housekeeper.”
They had turned back to the door when an unusually tall, slim woman came down the wide oak stairway. “Ah, Rosemary,” Sylvia said. “You remember Dr. Greystone. She’s brought us some visitors from America. I know they’ll be wanting to work in the library.” She introduced Rosemary Seaton, Chawton’s head librarian, to the newcomers.
The librarian assured them she would be very happy to help with their research, and after a few moments of general conversation, Muriel led her party to the converted stable
“Straight to Cassandra’s Cup, I think,” Muriel directed.
Richard smiled. She might be bossy, but she did know her way around.
Arthur found a parking spot along a low stone wall and Muriel led the way. “Oh!” Elizabeth came to a full stop. “That’s it! Chawton Cottage. I’ve seen so many pictures—and there it is.” The rather plain redbrick house with its narrow strip of grass separating it from the road was directly across from the white building with the large teacup-shaped sign hanging over its door.
They walked through a flower-decked courtyard where several guests were taking their tea alfresco and went on into a room filled with small tables, its ceiling hung with rows of china teacups. They were shown to a table by the window in the second room, and Muriel, without asking, ordered afternoon tea all around.
Richard gazed out the window past the red geraniums filling the window box. “You see that bricked-in window,” Muriel directed. Indeed, a large area of brick on the left side of the house showed by its slightly different color to have been a remodel. “Edward had that done. Thought the window looking right out on the busy road would be too public for his mother and sisters. Put a bookcase on that wall and cut a new window at the far end of the room to overlook the garden. Apparently the Austen women approved—they had little enough option—but I think it a pity. Rather jolly to have been able to see the world passing by on its way to Winchester, I should think.”
“Apparently Jane was so happy to be back in their own home in her beloved Hampshire, the placement of windows would hardly have been her first concern,” Richard suggested. “Although, I expect she appreciated her brother’s thoughtfulness and the privacy.”
“I can’t wait to see it all,” Elizabeth said around bites of a scone laden with clotted cream and strawberry jam.
“No rush. Need to settle in first,” Muriel declared. “Our hostess will be expecting us.”
“Where are we staying? Are there B & B’s in the village?” Elizabeth asked.
Muriel hmphed as if to say that was all very fine for the hoi polloi. “As a patron of the Chawton House Library, I’ve arranged for us to stay on the grounds. I believe you’ll find it a very high standard of comfort, and most convenient for everyone’s research.” She looked meaningfully at Gerri, who was still eating, as if to say, Get on with it, girl. Gerri blushed and pushed her plate away.
And, as predicted, a short time later when Arthur turned into a long, private lane, drove past a church and on through the wide, green grounds surrounding a stately home, Richard had little doubt about the high standard they would encounter. Muriel led the way inside where they were met by a well-groomed lady in a white blouse and navy-blue skirt, her short blond hair in a sleek coiffeur. She welcomed Muriel, then turned to the others. “I’m Sylvia Martin, the manageress. I’m so pleased we were able to accommodate Dr. Greystone for your tour.”
“We’re delighted to be here,” Richard replied.
While Muriel signed the register for the group, Sylvia Martin handed out the keys. “Everything should be ready for you, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact Lilly, our housekeeper.”
They had turned back to the door when an unusually tall, slim woman came down the wide oak stairway. “Ah, Rosemary,” Sylvia said. “You remember Dr. Greystone. She’s brought us some visitors from America. I know they’ll be wanting to work in the library.” She introduced Rosemary Seaton, Chawton’s head librarian, to the newcomers.
The librarian assured them she would be very happy to help with their research, and after a few moments of general conversation, Muriel led her party to the converted stable
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