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Oswald held up two fingers to the stall owner, who handed over two packets tied up with string. “Not for many a year,” he admitted, handing over payment. He tucked the cards into a pocket inside his cloak and took her hand again.

“Will your brother Mason come to court for the Solstice feast?” she asked raising her voice against the crowd. “Or will you go to Cadwallader?” She was not sure he had even heard her above all the hubbub. He tugged her forward toward another stall which had poles all round displaying colored ribbon and scarves. In spite of the fact she owned so many, Fen found herself exclaiming over a veil decorated with pretty birds all along the edges. “Oh, these are pretty!”

“Embroidered by my own daughter’s hand,” said the old woman sat perched on an upturned barrel. “Two-penny each.”

Fen could have sworn she heard her say two for a penny to the woman before her, but before she had even opened her mouth, Oswald had handed over a coin. “Pick four,” he said. “Perhaps you could give one to Linnet.” At her surprised look he added. “For Solstice.” So he had heard her after all! She picked one with bluebirds for her sister-in-law that she’d never met and then one with red-breasted robins for Mathilde Martindale; green finches for Eden Montmayne and bright kingfishers for Hester Schaeffer. She just hoped they wouldn’t think them too provincial, as they were all such fine court ladies.

“Not picking one fer yourself?” asked the old woman shrewdly.

“How did you know I wasn’t choosing one for myself?” asked Fen, startled.

The old woman cackled. “Cos you, my fine lady, would be goldcrests.” She ran a scarf through her fingers before holding it up for her perusal.

Oswald reached across, presumably with another two pennies, for the scarf was thrust into Fen’s hands and she turned around and found herself herded back into the throng. “You do not haggle!” she said loudly. “With the stallholders. You’re supposed to negotiate.”

“Over a few pennies?” Oswald shrugged, unconcerned. “Who else do you need to buy for? Solstice gifts,” he prompted.

“For my – for Orla,” she corrected herself, referring to her ex-sister-in-law. “And I would like to get something for Trudy,” she said naming her maid. “Oh, and Meldon, of course,” she added. “How about you?”

He thought this over. “I don’t generally,” he admitted. “Mason’s children?”

“Oh yes. You said your godson was a babe in arms. How old are your nieces?”

“Three years. Lily and Margaret are twins.”

“Something for them to play with, then?” she suggested. Behind her an altercation had broken out, but she had only half turned her head at the cry of ‘Stop thief!’ when Oswald drew her close to him.

“Keep walking straight ahead,” he said calmly. “We’ll head toward that inn with the sign of the ram’s head.”

Fenella craned her head above the crowd to make out the inn sign daubed in muted colors. Was it a ram? Her husband’s eye was far keener than hers, she realized. Behind them the sounds of jostling and fighting were unmistakable, but Oswald had placed himself firmly between her and the hubbub, so she relaxed and pocketed the scarf. Out of the corner of one eye she noticed a young man sat at a stall with brightly-clothed puppets. He sat whistling and sewing a miniature peacock-blue jacket.

“Oh, look!” she said catching Oswald’s sleeve. “How about a puppet for the girls?” He followed her as she forged toward the toy-maker’s stall. “Oh, these are pretty,” exclaimed Fenella looking at the brightly-painted ceramic faces. “And there are knights!” she exclaimed, pointing to the back of the stall where they stood in a row. “Oh, and little wooden horse’s heads on sticks!” The young man passed her a knight wordlessly, to examine. “Thank you,” said Fen turning it over carefully. “You are very clever.” The small knight wore a yellow tunic and leather brown boots. He had a cheerful open countenance and rosy red painted cheeks.

“Looks rather like Roland,” said Oswald disparagingly. “Same vacuous stare.”

Fen ignored this. She was starting to realize that insulting each other was the Vawdrey brother’s way. “I have an idea,” she said turning to him impulsively. “Why don’t we buy three? One for each of the children and they can be named for you, Mason and Roland!”

Oswald looked rather pained. “Do you have one in a black tunic?” he asked turning to the young man, who simply shrugged and gestured to the ones on the stall. They only seemed to deal in colorful wares.

“You would be the scarlet tunic,” said Fen.

“Scarlet?”

“Like the robe you wear,” she explained.

Oswald looked taken-aback. “I only wear that in the privacy of my own chambers,” he said sternly.

“I think of you as scarlet,” said Fen obstinately. “Now, should we get the blue or the green one for Mason?” asked Fen looking at the row of knights.

Oswald sighed. “You choose,” he said, reaching for his purse. The young man hopped up from his stool and reached for the dolls Fen pointed to. The entire transaction took place without him uttering one single word. When he took the payment from Oswald he swiftly bowed, then returned to his sewing.

“Do you suppose…?” Fen whispered, but her words were swept up in the crowd, as she was swept forward, clutching the dolls to her breast.

They stopped three stalls down and Oswald bought a simple cloth bag with a long handle. He took the dolls from her one by one and stuffed them into the bag. Then he extracted the scarves and the decks of cards from his own cloak and added them as well.

“Wait,” said Fen, reaching for the scarf she had stowed away, but her inner pocket was empty. “Oh no…”

Oswald held up a hand. “Fear not,” he said. “They’re all here,” he held up the bag before slipping the strap over his neck and shoulder.