[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger watched as the Innkeeper and Cook spoke. She had gathered the violets . . . blues and yellows and whites. And, to her delight, in a little patch beneath the Ash tree that overlooked an older part of the flower patch, were the Heart’s Ease, a much loved pansy-violet of old with its lavender-blue, white and yellow petals. The little basket she had been given to put the flowers in put forth a light and lovely scent.

Away from the heat of the cooking hearth, Cook had sat her down, with a small bowl in which she’d gently beaten together some egg whites and a little water. Dipping her small brush into the egg mixture, ginger lightly painted the petals of the violets, a flower at a time, then holding the now sticky violet over another bowl filled with fine milled sugar, she sprinkled a small stream onto each flower, coating them with the shiny crystals. Flower after flower was patiently done in such a manner, then laid gently on a baking rack to dry.

‘How long will these last,’ she asked Cook, about halfway through the task. ‘A year,’ came the quick reply from Miz Bunce, as she added a few grinds of pepper and a little chopped parsley to the stew. ‘’We only need them to last a week, though.’ Cook came over to give a critical glance over at the lass’ effort. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘You’ve a deft hand at that.’

Ginger blushed at the compliment, the crimsoned stain spreading up her fair neck to her cheeks, which soon burned bright as beacons. ‘Never have done such before,’ she confided to Cook. She picked up one of the violets and twirled it about in her fingers. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful cake, isn’t it? My stars, it will look just like a big bouquet of flowers!’

Buttercup bustled in from the common room, her eyes widening at the racks of bejeweled flowers. She picked up one of the more dried ones and admired it from all sides. Without thinking, she popped it into her mouth, the sweet surprise of it making her smile. With a cluck of disapproval, Cook shooed her out of the kitchen before she could taste another, ushering her to the door with directions to tell Derufin and the others to come in, in a bit, for lunch. Ginger, while Cook’s back was turned, winked at Buttercup, then boldly popped one of her creations into her own mouth.