A week later, Rose sat at the kitchen table shelling peas, her mind on what clothes her brother would need for starting work with Clive. After years of practice, shelling peas was so automatic that she could let her mind wander unfettered as she worked. But suddenly she was called back to the present by the unusual feel of a pea pod in her fingers. She looked down and found the pod she had been about to open was a darker green, less rounded and felt like worn leather rather than the soft flesh of a pea pod. She peered more closely and discerned small letters, MAUD, stamped into it.
“Excuse me, Hannah, I think I have a message for the mistress,” said Rose as she stood, ready to deliver the pseudo pea pod.
Hannah looked up from where she was rolling out the pastry for the evening’s pie and
