"Funny? Oh, how you wound me, cruel woman!" Bert clutched his hands to his heart in mock drama. "Dost thou doubt my words? Would you make a mockery of me? Alas! Alas I am undone!" He fell to his knees, grinning through his attempt at looking properly struck and wounded.
"And I could do with a glass of wine, if it do you fine. You do have spirits around here, don't you? If I've found myself in manor full of teetotalers, I may have to lodge a complaint."
But if this place really did have everything, he imagined there was wine. It was really staggering, when he thought about it. A kitchen that provided practically anything?