“Oh, Agatha,” Miles gushed breathlessly, “today’s episode will become culinary legend!”

“Perhaps, but just for now, let’s allow our cat out of the bag, shall we? Because to rate our final trio, and to award our highest honor, the season’s Grand Jubilee Golden Rolling Pin, let’s welcome our esteemed and very special guest judges—Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Edgar and Prince Gerald; Maureen, the Duchess of Longshire; and a friend of the family, Mr. Carter Ogden!”

Edgar embraced Agatha, while Miles managed to bow, wave his arms and crouch in wonderment as if we were giraffes he’d spotted in the wild, enthusing, “Welcome, royals and friend! What a surprise! What an occasion! As I’m sure our contestants will agree, today is a Great British Baking Jubilee pinnacle par excellence!” He pronounced “excellence” as if it was floridly French and the equivalent of a magician’s “Abracadabra!”

“Thank you so much for inviting our little group to become part of this superb program,” said Edgar. “We’re so lucky to be here amidst all this extraordinary baking talent.”

“Just so,” said Gerald, and after trying to come up with another remark, repeated, with emphasis, “Just so.”

“I live for this show,” said Maureen. “I even watch it in the bath!”

“And Mr. Ogden?” said Miles. “Are you familiar with the Jubilee?”

“I think it’s wonderful, and it’s my dad’s favorite show of all time!”

The crowd in the tent liked this, and Edgar and I smiled at each other—so far, so good.

“You must send your father our best,” said Agatha. “Hello, Mr. Ogden’s dad! And now let’s get to it, shall we? We have three contestants who’ve survived an especially grueling season—let’s not even mention our unfortunate detour into organic braided strudel. But they’ve remained staunch and true, moving ever closer to the finish line. So let me introduce Angus McReedy, our lorry driver from East Sussex; Harriet Nordstadt, author of fourteen introduction to hand-embroidery pamphlets for children and a gifted trombonist; and, all the way from Great Torrington we’ve got Anora Persad, who brews her own nonalcoholic ales, hangs wallpaper and volunteers as a firefighter.”

The contestants were exchanging jittery but pleased glances, stunned by the royals’ presence. They took their places behind the table as jumpsuited staffers gingerly placed their entries in front of them. To my great relief, none of the contestants nor the rows of audience members were paying even minor attention to me.

Trifle, as far as I could tell, was a layered dessert consisting of just about anything combined in a large clear glass container; the trifles were colorful, complicated and reminded me of rare squids or jellyfish squeezed into cylindrical aquariums. Think parfaits on steroids, or brandy snifters packed with pudding, cream cheese and sponge cake.

“Let’s begin with Anora, our firefighter and alemistress,” said Agatha. “Tell us about your trifle.”