Theoretically, the manor alcohol policy was that anything left out in the open was for communal consumption. Also theoretically was that anything not locked away was "out in the open." By the same theory, anything you had locked in your room, or at least in your family's wing, was private--even if you had only just looted it from the communal stash.
So, theoretically, you could treat the house bar as a liquor store.
Minus the money part.
"G'morning," Genie nodded, stomping through with a canvas grocery tote swinging on her arm. It clinked suspiciously when she set it down on the low bar. "Any news on whether we're getting that heavy rain today? Damn radio's been threatening it for a week."
Stepping behind the bar without a twitch of hesitation, she began going through the shelves with a focus that would've impressed a librarian or a raiding Viking. Within a few minutes, three bottles were liberated and relocated to the tote. There was a notable lack of shame in the air.
Two more deposits later, she paused with a bottle in each hand. "Lovage syrup? Who the hell in this bloody house needs two different brands of lovage syrup? It's basically parsley. Someone here is enamored with alcoholic salad."
She looked up at Taran with a grim expression. "We are living in dark times."