Before John had the opportunity to admonish his son, Ann was back.

‘It does say your name on the outside,’ she put the package down beside Ursula, ‘but that might be a mistake?’

‘Let me see.’ John held his hand out for the parcel and looked closely at the stamps before passing it back. ‘A couple here for your collection, Finlay.’

‘Is it a present for me, then?’ Ann’s impatience got the better of her.

‘I don’t think so, my dear.’ John looked at his pocket watch and checked it against the clock on the sideboard. ‘I need to get moving; if the printing presses aren’t running properly on a Monday we never catch up for the rest of the week.’ He smiled at Ursula. ‘But of course, you’ll remember that.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Last night’s dinner was excellent.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘I am very much looking forward to tonight’s meal.’

*

Ursula carried the parcel back into the empty kitchen. ‘Hello?’ She heard a scraping noise coming from the maid’s room above the scullery, followed by footsteps clattering down the uncarpeted staircase. Isobel appeared, twisting her long hair into a bun and pinning it awkwardly.

‘Sorry, Mrs Black. I was just tidying myself up, it’s been a bit of a rush this morning.’

‘I need to speak to you about tonight’s dinner.’

‘The pie?’

‘No, not the pie, which I am sure will be perfectly adequate. I mean the vegetables.’

‘The vegetables?’ Isobel echoed.

‘I was wondering what you have in the larder, and hoping there is something more interesting than cabbage.’ Ursula started to walk towards the scullery and the larder with its cold marble shelf.

Isobel got there before her. ‘There are onions and potatoes and at least a pound of carrots.’

‘I was hoping we might have some parsnips. I have an idea for them.’

‘Sorry. Perhaps if they are added to the order for next week?’

‘Maybe the carrots would do.’ Ursula moved back into the kitchen and unlocked the tall cupboard beside the range. ‘Do we have any honey?’

‘Of course, Mrs Black. It’s on the breakfast table every Sunday. Are you wanting me to make a cake?’

Ursula shook her head. ‘My mother used to make roast parsnips with honey and sage, and I was just thinking it would be more interesting than plain boiled carrots.’

‘There is sage. It grows up at the end of the garden. Miss Ann and I planted it last summer; we grew it from some seeds the postman gave me.’

Ursula turned around at the second mention of the postman in as many days. ‘Really?’

‘I cut it down at the end of the summer and dried it above the stove. There’s a full jar of it behind the cornflour.’ She pointed into the cupboard. ‘And rosemary, and some thyme as well.’

‘And this is all from the postman?’