“Welcome to Amwell!” boomed their host, Mr Hooper, as Mr Bennet handed the ladies down one by one. Several feet away, Colonel Fitzwilliam was assisting Miss Kitty, Miss Darcy, and Mrs Annesley down from Darcy's carriage. All of the ladies were bundled up warmly, and wore their kid gloves so they could enjoy the outdoors for the afternoon. The weather had not turned yet, as Mr Bridges had sworn it would, and the travellers were grateful.
“Hooper, this is my daughter Miss Kitty, it is her outing today.” Mr Bennet introduced his host to his daughter and her guests. “And this is The Honorable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy, Mrs Annesley, our guest, Miss Jane, who has amnesia and does not know her surname, and my youngest, Miss Lydia Bennet.”
“Amnesia you say! How did you find such a person, Bennet?” Mr Hooper asked in surprise.
“I shall tell you over a glass of port in your library.” Mr Bennet, a misanthrope to his core, waved away his daughter and her guests.
“Allow me to introduce your guide, Mr Dean.” Mr Hooper gestured to another man nearby in his fifties–with a walkingstick and whose waistcoat was stained with moss–who doffed his cap. “Mr Dean is our head gardener here at Amwell. He will give you a guided tour of the grove, and if you wish to part ways for sketching or other adventures on the grounds after, he will find you a few boys to show you around. When you are ready to return to the house, there will be tea laid in the parlour for you. If Mrs Hooper is available later, she may join you.”
“Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mr Hooper.” Miss Kitty curtsied.
“You are quite welcome, Miss Kitty, I do hope you and your friends enjoy your visit.” The man bowed and entered the house with Mr Bennet, as the others turned away from the brick edifice and followed Mr Dean.
Miss Kitty took Miss Darcy’s arm–and–steadily ignoring both Lydia and Jane–followed the guide with the others.
“Ladies, sir, welcome to the humble marvel of Amwell, Scott’s Grotto. Cut into the chalk hillside, and built by the poet–Mr Scott–some eighty years past. A man of verse, of virtue–and–by all accounts–of excellent disposition.” Mr Dean stood in front of the entrance of the grotto and held his audience spellbound.
Jane examined with interest the rain headers which were used to direct water away from the roof as she listened to Mr Dean speak.
“Mr Scott walked these hills of Hertfordshire daily, and built this labyrinth of stone with his own hands, side by side with his workers.” Mr Dean turned and led the way into the grotto. “This passage leads to the Consultation Room. This was the first part of Scott's Grotto or, as he termed it, hisShell Temple.Now, if you will follow me, we shall enter what Mr Scott called his outer hall of meditation. Please, do mind your head, sir; the ceiling was not made for modern hats.”
The group stepped into the glimmering entrance chamber and admired the walls, which were studded with shells and mirror glass, by the light of the many thoughtfully provided torches. The light flickered in unpredictable patterns as they all heard Miss Kitty whisper to Miss Darcy, “Did he really build ithimself?”
Mr Dean overheard and smiled. “Indeed he did, miss, though I daresay he was more skilled with a pen than a stonemason’s tool. Still, he oversaw every stone that was laid, every shell placed.”
“Rather like a soldier’s campaign, only with more amethysts,” Colonel Fitzwilliam observed.
“And with fewer casualties, Colonel.” Mr Dean smiled again. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, when their party had explored the room thoroughly, and marvelled over all of the stones, shells, and colourful glass, he invited them to follow him to the next room.
“The grotto is formed of six chambers. The first is to welcome guests. The poet kept a stool in that corner, a little table with ink and paper for visitors to sign, and a flask of brandy.” Mr Dean again waited patiently for the guests to explore the room and then led them down another passage. “This room, Mr Scott calledThe Oracle. Here, he would sit for hours, listening to the wind pass through the chimney. He believed the wind could answer questions if one listened closely enough.”
Later, as they passed under narrow arches, and into a chamber lined with thick chunks of colored glass, Mr Dean continued. “This room is the chapel.”
“It does seem like a place for prayer,” Miss Darcy whispered.
“We shall shortly come to the inner chamber, Mr Scott’s writing room. Take your time as you enjoy the chambers and passages. The grotto rewards close attention to detail.”
Chapter Nineteen
An hour and a half later,Jane approached the banks of the River Lea with Lydia and Colonel Fitzwilliam, having left the younger girls behind to sketch.
“I simply cannot leave Amwell without walking the banks where Isaak Walton fished.” Colonel Fitzwilliam had been quite insistent on this point.
“That horrid man who wrote that boring book that you and my brother never stop talking about?” Georgiana objected. “I would rather stay here, and sketch the summerhouse with Kitty, rather than see another river. Everywhere we go, you and my brother must look at a river and discuss trout for hours.”
“The Compleat Angleris a most invaluable and informative text!” Fitzwilliam insisted. “There is not a sportsman in the country who will not agree!”
“Let them go,” Kitty advised her friend. “And let them take Lydia with them. Miss Jane wanted her to come so badly, she can manage whatever tantrum is surely coming.”
“Only if my guardian agrees.” Georgiana looked to Colonel Fitzwilliam hopefully.
“Of course you may stay with your friend and Mrs Annesley.” Hesmiled indulgently. “Mr Dean will be close, I am certain, and your footman James can be called from the carriage to attend you.”
“Of course, sir.” Mr Dean whistled to two young boys who were waiting for instructions nearby. One ran off to the stables to find the footman, the other was instructed to guide Colonel Fitzwilliam and the other two ladies to the river.
“I have not said anything disagreeable all day! Not once!” Lydia objected hotly.
Jane put a hand on her arm. “Then do not give in to her and begin now. Let her be the one to say disagreeable things. Then later, you can point out that if her day was ruined, she did it herself.”
