I nodded. “It was my mother’s favorite, before she passed away.” Bear’s face clouded. I cleared my throat. “It’s very popular in Savannah, where she came from.”

“It sounds like treacle tart with nuts,” the baker mused.

“Maybe?” I didn’t know what treacle was, but I was curious about the destiny of the steak and beer sizzling in the pan. “I wish we had time to stay and learn to make something with you.”

Perrault’s smile was tense. “We’re awaited up the street.”

“Take something to eat,” the baker urged. Perrault shook his head, ever so slightly.

“Money?” I whispered to him. He passed me a few notes, apparently resigned, and I pressed them into the baker’s hand.

“Feed someone today who needs it,” I said, smiling. Then I nodded at the pastry case, full of pies and tarts. “I’m sure I’ll be back.”

We carried on, strolling a little farther up the street. When we passed a bookshop, I glanced at Bertilak, then at Bear. “Could we stop here?” I asked. The owner was right inside, considering us curiously.

“No,” Bear said quickly. I raised my eyebrows.

Prince Bertilak smiled. “We mustn’t inconvenience anyone who hasn’t already arranged to have us visit. These things have to be planned.”

I nodded, understanding, though still disappointed. We walked on, instead, into a shop up the street where jewelry gleamed in glass cases, intricately shaped and heaped with precious stones. “Do you fashion these yourself?” I asked the owner, awed.

The old woman adjusted her glasses, nodding. “I do. My father taught me.” I peered closer at the case. “Would you take a gift, Your Grace?”

This time, I didn’t need to look to Perrault. “No,” I said firmly. “But I’m very flattered by the offer.”

The flower shop we visited next was the most crowded of all. As the florist took us through the gardens behind the store, I admired the trellises climbing with ivy, the rosebushes, the dew-covered clusters of little blue flowers whose blooms bent their heads in the slanting sunlight. I crouched beside them. “What are these called?”

“Bluebells,” he said, smiling. “They don’t grow where you live?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll send seeds with your aide. Please, choose a few for a posy.” He gestured widely at the garden.

I beamed at him. “You’re too kind.” Slowly, mindful of Bertilak’s and Bear’s and Perrault’s eyes on me, I plucked a few of the bluebells and some daisies, admiring the silky blue and white petals side by side. Almost as an afterthought, I wandered to the corner of the garden, where a few yellow blooms grew wild. I picked three of the little flowers and bundled them into the bouquet.

When I turned, Bertilak and Bear were watching me carefully, and Perrault was watching them. They didn’t speak as we left the florist’s.