[piosenniel]

Cook got up from her chair and brought the scrubbed taters to the table along with a couple of paring knives. ‘Never mind the skins, my dear,’ she told Ginger, shoving a pile in front of the girl. ‘We’ll get these quartered while we talk.’ Ginger’s quick hands bent to the task as did Cook’s, and soon the taters were piled up in a pan and advice heaped upon the young woman.

Ginger, for her part, mostly nodded her head as Miz Bunce spoke, but she stopped her whenever she didn’t understand or when she disagreed. Soon the pan was full and Cook filled it with water to set the taters boiling over the cook fire. Two large lamb roasts that Cook had earlier tucked into a pan and set on low in the oven were taken out to be basted, and their seasonings adjusted . . . then back they went to finish their slow roasting. Finally, Cook brought out a colander full of peas fresh picked in the garden and she and Ginger set to popping the tender green jewels free of their casings and into a large pan. They would be steamed lightly, and served glistening with butter.

As they sorted and worked through the peas, Cook suggested they make a little plan . . . just a little something to get Master Ferdy reacquainted with his childhood friend. The workers would be eating at the Inn tonight. Ginger was to be the server at the table where Ferdy would sit. And tomorrow, she said, taking a butterknife to one of the hinges that held a cabinet door on, she would ask Master Andwise if he might spare his son for a bit . . . there was a cabinet in the kitchen needed fixing . . .

‘And shall I be in the kitchen then helping you?’ asked Ginger, wondering what little job Cook would set for her.

‘No,’ said Cook. ‘I think the garden will need some tending, and you’ve just the hand and eye for weeds it needs. Master Ferdy and I will have a little talk. He’s not got a mother to set his head straight on his shoulders . . . I’ll just prod him along a bit. Had to do that with my own two sons. They could be a bit thick-headed at times.’ Cook tapped her foot on the floor, as she thought for a bit. ‘Believe I’ll first have a little talk with the lad’s father, though . . . best to have all your ducks in a row before a project’s begun . . .’

Cook untied her apron and hung it on the peg by the back door. Now you just watch those taters for me. I’ll be back in time to set the peas on.’ The late afternoon sun poured low across the back yard of the Inn as Miz Bunce clapped her bonnet firmly on her head and set off for the old groundskeeper’s cottage.