The group paused as a spritely lady walked down the stairs towards them, about the same age as Lavender but with short grey hair and a more serious expression. “Don’t be daft, Lavender, I’ve never known a pair as committed to their work. Master Woolstenbury would never allow romance between her craftsmen.”

She stopped before them. “My name’s Liddy Luckhurst. Welcome to your new lodgings.” She frowned. “Lav, weren’t we expecting two girls and a boy?”

“Oh, I think it’s my fault,” said Prue hurriedly. “I’m Frances, with an e, and Craftsman Primrose assumed it was an i and that I was a boy.”

“Ah, easy mistake. Well, I’m sure I can make a quick rearrangement with the beds,” said Liddy.

“We could take one of the doubles from the girls’ room and replace it with two singles from the empty boys’ room?” suggested Lavender.

Liddy nodded. “I can ask a couple of the older apprentices to help. I’ll take your cases to your room while you tuck in.” She picked up a couple of cases and started up the stairs.

“Right, then,” said Lavender. “The room to the right is the parlour; you’re welcome to use it anytime. It’s a good place to mix with the other apprentices and get to know them.” A cosy glow shone from underneath the closed door and laughter sounded inside. “We’ll not overwhelm you by introducing you to them just yet – all in good time. The kitchen is down the hall there, and ahead through this door is the dining room.”

Lavender led them into the dining room. The walls were set with shelves bending from the weight of ancient-looking books and various objects: glass orbs, beads, dangling crystals, lamps, goblets, jars of dried herbs and flowers, claws, and a stuffed crow. Prue looked around in wonder at the many chaos lamps hanging from hooks; they were different here, producing a sunnier, more orange light than the lamps at home – perhaps they used a different oil?

There was a large rectangular table surrounded by at least twenty chairs. It was laden with bowls filled with peas, carrots, marrow, corn, potatoes, golden-brown pies and steaming jugs of gravy. It smelled like Sunday at the farm.

“Do sit down,” said Lavender.

Prue pulled out a gold painted seat nearest to her.

“Best not sit there, dear,” said Lavender swiftly.

“Oh, sorry,” Prue said, wondering if it was perhaps a very precious antique chair. She sat in the next empty chair and the others all took seats.

A delicate cough came from under the table. Lavender stood up. Prue looked to Agapantha who shrugged. Lavender gestured to them to stand too.

Something furry brushed past Prue’s legs, making her jolt.