block behind the manor house. The first room was Richard and Elizabeth’s. “Self-catering,” Muriel explained as she showed them the small kitchen their cozy accommodation provided. “Gerri and I have the rooms next door, and Arthur is on the end. Take a minute to settle in, and then I’ll show you around the library. I know you’re anxious to get to work.”
“The cottage museum—” Elizabeth began.
“Plenty of time for that tomorrow,” Muriel dismissed her. “Library in half an hour?” It wasn’t really a question.
Richard considered saluting, but restrained himself.
Thirty minutes later, Muriel was racing them through the elegant Tudor country home of Jane’s elder brother Edward Austen Knight. Every winding staircase and uneven passage took them to another room with dark Elizabethan paneling and plush furniture—much of the drapery and upholstery in a wonderful print of old books. These were rooms that invited sitting to read or to indulge in gentle conversation. Or mere contemplation. But not so for Muriel Greystone’s entourage, as they barely had time to note some of the authentic sixteenth-century fixtures and Knight family portraits around the walls of the hall; the long, polished mahogany table at which Jane dined and the huge fireplace of the dining room; the shelves filled with antique books in another room, its fireplace crowned with a pair of magnificent antlers. Great hall, tapestry gallery, scullery . . . they saw it all from top to bottom, including the small garret that had once been servants’ quarters, now lined with top-heavy-looking bookcases. “Mostly just storage here—books that haven’t been properly cataloged yet, that sort of thing.”
Back down a flight of stairs, Muriel threw the door open on a white-walled room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases between windows looking out over seemingly endless swathes of green. Tables in the center of the room were piled high with open volumes and half-scribbled notepaper. “This is the reading room. As you can see, very much a working room. You’ll do your reading in here.” She aimed her last comment at Gerri, but Richard felt sure the directive was for himself as well.
Rosemary Seaton rose from her desk in the corner. “Our library is devoted to female English writers from 1600 to 1830, so of course we have an extensive collection of material from Jane’s time.” She turned to Richard. “Dr. Greystone mentioned you’re interested in The Watsons. ”
Richard wondered when she’d had time to do that, but agreed that indeed, he was.
“You’ll be pleased to know that we have The Watsons completed by Edith Brown.”
Richard smiled. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. It was hardly the breakthrough of discovering long-lost original documents, but it was an excellent start to a project he was becoming quite interested in. To tell the truth, he wouldn’t have been adverse to finding his desired volume on the shelves of leather-bound tomes and settling into one of the overstuffed sofas right now, but Elizabeth was looking decidedly restless.
“That’s excellent news,” he said to Rosemary. “I shall look forward to diving into it right away, but I think we’ll just take a stroll around the grounds first.”
Without waiting for Muriel’s permission, he took Elizabeth’s arm and led the way back down the wide, curving staircase and out into the late afternoon. “Where to?” he asked.
Elizabeth took a deep breath of the grass-scented air. “Oh, thank you, Richard. I know you’re anxious to start your research and it’s all absolutely wonderful, but my head is swimming. Let’s walk back to that charming church.”
The gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way up the lane. In the field beyond, two young women were leading horses into a field. On their right, a gardener dug in a bright flower bed. They took the path to their left which led past flanking yew trees to the lychgate and on to the
“The cottage museum—” Elizabeth began.
“Plenty of time for that tomorrow,” Muriel dismissed her. “Library in half an hour?” It wasn’t really a question.
Richard considered saluting, but restrained himself.
Thirty minutes later, Muriel was racing them through the elegant Tudor country home of Jane’s elder brother Edward Austen Knight. Every winding staircase and uneven passage took them to another room with dark Elizabethan paneling and plush furniture—much of the drapery and upholstery in a wonderful print of old books. These were rooms that invited sitting to read or to indulge in gentle conversation. Or mere contemplation. But not so for Muriel Greystone’s entourage, as they barely had time to note some of the authentic sixteenth-century fixtures and Knight family portraits around the walls of the hall; the long, polished mahogany table at which Jane dined and the huge fireplace of the dining room; the shelves filled with antique books in another room, its fireplace crowned with a pair of magnificent antlers. Great hall, tapestry gallery, scullery . . . they saw it all from top to bottom, including the small garret that had once been servants’ quarters, now lined with top-heavy-looking bookcases. “Mostly just storage here—books that haven’t been properly cataloged yet, that sort of thing.”
Back down a flight of stairs, Muriel threw the door open on a white-walled room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases between windows looking out over seemingly endless swathes of green. Tables in the center of the room were piled high with open volumes and half-scribbled notepaper. “This is the reading room. As you can see, very much a working room. You’ll do your reading in here.” She aimed her last comment at Gerri, but Richard felt sure the directive was for himself as well.
Rosemary Seaton rose from her desk in the corner. “Our library is devoted to female English writers from 1600 to 1830, so of course we have an extensive collection of material from Jane’s time.” She turned to Richard. “Dr. Greystone mentioned you’re interested in The Watsons. ”
Richard wondered when she’d had time to do that, but agreed that indeed, he was.
“You’ll be pleased to know that we have The Watsons completed by Edith Brown.”
Richard smiled. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. It was hardly the breakthrough of discovering long-lost original documents, but it was an excellent start to a project he was becoming quite interested in. To tell the truth, he wouldn’t have been adverse to finding his desired volume on the shelves of leather-bound tomes and settling into one of the overstuffed sofas right now, but Elizabeth was looking decidedly restless.
“That’s excellent news,” he said to Rosemary. “I shall look forward to diving into it right away, but I think we’ll just take a stroll around the grounds first.”
Without waiting for Muriel’s permission, he took Elizabeth’s arm and led the way back down the wide, curving staircase and out into the late afternoon. “Where to?” he asked.
Elizabeth took a deep breath of the grass-scented air. “Oh, thank you, Richard. I know you’re anxious to start your research and it’s all absolutely wonderful, but my head is swimming. Let’s walk back to that charming church.”
The gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way up the lane. In the field beyond, two young women were leading horses into a field. On their right, a gardener dug in a bright flower bed. They took the path to their left which led past flanking yew trees to the lychgate and on to the
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