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The kitchen table was festooned with branches of wych elm and wattle and laid out with earthenware bowls, mugs, and wooden spoons. A cast-iron cauldron stood in the centre of the table beside a platter of seed cakes. The fire in the stove was banked to keep the pots above it at a low simmer. Tapping at the door announced a cautious Drew. ‘Mrs Shadler and Mrs Bell are here, Mam.’ ‘Amy. Ina. Welcome,’ Rosalie greeted her friends. ‘Drew, please go see if John needs any help before dinner service starts in the bar. Remember to stay out of sight. With that inspector lurking around, I want no accusations of underage drinkers or workers in that taproom.’ ‘Yes, Mam.’ A table was set in the hall just outside the kitchen, stacked with bread, tubs of butter, plates, bowls, and utensils. Drew was