[Lilly]

Lilly Greengage shifted the basket of plum preserves on her hip. Oh, not that the basket itself was filled with the preserves, that would have proven quite messy, indeed. No, the basket was stacked with ten fair-sized crocks of the purple-red delight; the top of each of sealed with a thick layer of wax. Lilly, herself, had done the ladling in and the sealing of the preserves; her Gran had done the making of them. And this year she’d let Lilly in on her secret ingredients – the ones the ladies in the Westfarthing would give their eyeteeth to know.

These were to be a present for Miz Bunce, and old friend of her Gran’s. She could use them in her plumcake or sweet rolls or just serve them up on the lovely scones she made sometimes when her Gran would visit for tea.

Pausing at the turn off to the Inn, Lilly set down the basket for a moment, rubbing her hip where the weight of it had dug in. She could see the Inn. And there in the yard, some commotion. Her blue eyes sparkled as she took in the odd sight. Well, not so odd, she thought, a smile dimpling her cheeks. She’d always thought of the Inn as a rather magical place where anything might happen.

Lilly took a moment to smooth down her green skirt and tuck her blouse in neatly. She adjusted her black wool vest, making sure the three bone buttons were all done up. Her yellow curls she pushed back from her face, putting the little carved wooden combs in to either side of her part. With a shrug she let the folds of her brown wool cape swirl into place, its little hood hanging neatly down her back. She wanted to look nice when she presented her and her Gran’s gift to Miz Bunce.

The basket once more secured against her hip, she set off toward the Inn proper, stepping off the main path, so as to avoid the goings-on in the front yard. ‘I’ll just go around to the back,’ she said, keeping eyeing the scurrying lads. It was then she looked to the side of the house and saw Miz Bunce and another lady she knew.