" "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. At last his voice came to release her tension. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her.
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