“I may reassure you on one point. I happen to know that we do indeed have rooms spoken for in each of the inns. I overheard Mr. Eckert asking Papa if he did not wish for him to reserve them in advance so we would always be assured of having the best accommodations.” For once, Hannah’s information concerned a practical matter.
“Bless Mr. Eckert.” Amy could have married the man for his efficiency if he were not sixty. And already married.
In the end, her worst fears of following a path only to discover it led to nowhere did not occur. At the turn of the road, a lively town emerged in the distance that appeared to hold a market hall where horses might be rented. After a short walk in that direction, they entered the broad street flanked by buildings, and Amy looked around uncertainly. The houses and shops were all functional one- or two-story edifices with slate roofs and white plaster and dark wooden beams visible at the junctures. Its inhabitants dressed simply, the women in cotton gowns and caps and the men in breeches and shirts or smocks. They all seemed to have someplace to go.
“We might try here, miss.” Ambrose indicated a larger building of three stories farther ahead that had an adjoining stable.
The sign above the entrance read’t Vissertje, a word that meant nothing to her, but the building did resemble an inn. “I believe you are right. Let us inquire within.”
Amy led the way into the crowded taproom, where patrons sat drinking ale. Mercifully, none of the men paid her or her sister any heed, and she stepped up to the counter with mustered confidence.
“Good afternoon. We are desirous of renting four carriage horses.” It was only after the words were out that she half turned to her sister, remembering that Hannah had come because of her capacity for the French language.
“Gorik!” the innkeeper called out over his shoulder to someone hidden from view. “Er zijn een paar Engelse dames voor jou.” Her grasp of French was suspect, but even she did not think that was the language he had spoken.
In the next instant, a man in prime form despite his gray curls and stout belly entered the taproom and removed his hat before encompassing them with a small bow.
“Good afternoon, mesdemoiselles. What can I do for you?” His English was heavily accented but perfectly comprehensible, a great relief to Amy. She could work with someone who spoke her language.
“We would like to rent four of your horses to get us to Bruges, if you please. Or, if we find them adequate, we will continue on with them until we reach Brussels. My father plans to purchase a set for our use on the Continent there.”
“You are in luck, miss. We have just the ones you need, rested and ready to set out. They can take you to Brussels.” He reached for the pen and inkpot stashed beneath the counter. “I will write down the directions of Monsieur Doumer, who will sell you two pairs for your extended stay. Or if he cannot, he will direct you to someone who can.”
“That is good of you.” Amy took the paper.
When the horses had been readied and paid for, Amy and Hannah retraced their steps in the direction of the beach. Ambrose followed behind, leading two carriage horses, with Bertie behind him leading a pair of draft horses for the heavier load. In short order, the pairs were hitched and the larger trunks were secured onto the coach that would carry the maids and housekeeper. Amy saw to everything and was the last to climb into the more spacious coach, where her family rode with the portmanteaux and smaller trunks. Theirs lurched forward first.
“The universe is a sort of book,” her father began.
“Of which one has read but the first page when one has seenonly one’s own country,” Hannah finished the quote for him, lifting her chin. “Fougeret de Monbron.”
Marianne grasped the window ledge with two hands to peer out, her blond curls having been blown out of their coiffure by the wind. “At last, we begin.”
Amy followed her sister’s gaze to the beach grass rippling on the sides of the road. The landscape was pretty, she had to admit. At least they were back in the familiarity of their family carriage, and the Continental roads appeared to be well kept. With any luck, the rest of their journey would be more enjoyable than its start.
Only one hundred and four weeks to go.
Chapter 2
After a brief stop to ask a passerby which of the two roads they must take to reach Bruges, Mr. Bridwell informed his daughters that the language they had heard in Ostend was Flemish, a fact he admitted to having forgotten, and they should expect to hear more of it as they passed through Bruges, Eeklo, and Ghent before entering the French-speaking parts of the Low Countries. They settled in Brussels for a stay of two weeks, where Mr. Bridwell purchased two pairs of horses from Mr. Doumer, allowing them to continue to their first destination for a stay of five months. Although Spa was not ordinarily on the list of essential stops on the Grand Tour, Mr. Bridwell suffered from rheumatism, and they hoped it might be eased by drinking the waters there.
The roads between cities in the Netherlands were broad and paved in stone with neatly tilled fields or meadows on either side. But as they left Brussels and traveled eastward, these became increasingly rudimentary and the towns and villages smaller. True to their name, the Low Countries had been absent of mountains and hills in their travel from the coast. However, on the third day, their carriage slowed as it began to lumber up the first noticeable incline, marking a change in their journey. Next toAmy, Hannah lifted a weary head from the squabs and leaned her forehead against the window.
“We shall soon be there,” she announced, causing both Marianne and Mr. Bridwell to peer through their windows.
“I believe you are right,” Mr. Bridwell confirmed. “The city of Spa should sit on the other side of this hill.”
The barrier of woods had been cleared to make way for the road to travel through it. Branches with light green buds nearly obscured the path as the carriage ascended the low rise. Amy opened the window for a sight of the town on the other side of the hill and was greeted with the fresh, cool scent of nature, despite the ground still being frozen in parts. It was not that she was eager to discover the novelties of Spa, but she was quite ready to climb out of the carriage and unpack her trunks for a stay of longer than a few nights.
The road widened as they crested the hill, and Amy had her first glimpse of the town. Her eyes eagerly scanned the horizon, looking for points of interest, and found ... none. Spa, it appeared from this vantage point, had been arranged in the most haphazard manner, with no town square and none of the majestic architecture of the cities they had seen thus far. As their carriage descended and drew closer to the outskirts, she caught sight of two or three buildings in the distance built in more noble lines, with steep slanting roofs made of thatch or slate. Most of the houses, however, were of wood and covered in pitch, adding to the town’s humble appearance.
The chill of the air seeped through her cloak, and she closed the window. What would their season in Spa hold? Would they find agreeable activities to divert even those who were not invalids? Would anyone speak English?
Her father stopped peering through the window and stated, not for the first time, “People have come here to drink the waters since the Romans first passed through. Some even bathe in them.” He raised an eyebrow to show what he thought of that notion.
“Does a person derive any benefit from bathing in the waters?” Hannah asked doubtfully.
“The physician in Spa whose services I have written to engage has said nothing about it,” their father replied. “I shall inquire what he thinks.”
