by Nancy Warren
Arty and Jonathon went to Amara first; Elspeth and Jilly to Daniel, on the other side of the tent. I was thankful that I could begin baking in pure peace—no difficult questions from the master bakers, no jibes from the comedians.
I was making a lemon and poppy-seed cake—it was about time I got my namesake ingredient in the mix. Each tier would have a different flavor: Swiss meringue buttercream, beginning with lemon, then raspberry, and then strawberry, then rosewater and lemon again. When they’d said at least three tiers, I took that to mean “start there.” I’d decorate my creation with spun-sugar flowers, which I’d practiced making into a variety of species: pansy, rose, and sunflower, some painted with edible paint and some sprayed with edible gold. I hoped they’d add crunch and sweetness—and would be something no one else was doing. I’d chosen to stay away from real flowers, as that was the obvious route.
It was hard to keep coming up with original ideas, but I thought my garden of spun-sugar flowers was going to be fun. As usual, it was a lot to get done in time. I was going to need to summon up some concentration of the highest order.
After I’d tenderly placed my cake tins into the oven and wished them well, I took a moment to glance out at the summer landscape. As usual, we had spectators who’d come to watch the filming from behind a rope, vigilantly patrolled by Martin, of course.
My gaze rose higher, and there he was. My hawk, swooping silent and majestic far above Broomewode, looking down on us all.
“I hope I can make you proud,” I whispered, as though I really were talking to my dad.
Chapter 17
Time flowed, and I kept my head down and let the rhythm of baking take over. I loved when I could get into the flow, when my hands moved almost of their own accord.
My workstation neighbors were eerily quiet—no banter, no cheeky chat.
Elspeth was talking to Hamish, who was handling the pressure with his usual laid-back attitude. He was using some unusual ingredients, setting chamomile alongside honey and orange blossom. I thought it sounded delicious, but Elspeth was a little skeptical. “You’re going to have to get the balance of those flavors spot-on,” she warned. “Chamomile and orange blossom can both have a dry, tannic quality to them, even though they’re subtle and fragrant. That honey could bring out the best in them both if you get it right. But too much, and it’ll be sticky in texture and one-dimensional in taste.”
Oh wow. Elspeth was seriously on her baking game today. Wise words. I only hoped they would be helpful for Hamish, not a fright.
I set about making my buttercreams, and soon it was time to check on my sponges. I rushed over to the oven. They’d risen nicely and taken on a gorgeous golden color. I tried to ignore the cameras trained on my every move as I brought them back to my workstation to cool. I always worried I was going to drop my cakes. Even though that had never happened in my life, there could always be a first—and I didn’t want that to happen with an audience of a million people, thanks.
Now for the spun-sugar flowers. This was the trickiest part. I’d have to work quickly. I dissolved my sugar in boiling water and left it to bubble away until it turned pale caramel in color. I had to be careful not to let it crystalize. I turned off the heat and then gently poured the mixture across the handles of a row of wooden spoons so that it would harden in strands and I could turn them into flower shapes. It was fiddly work, and my heart was in my mouth the whole time, praying that I wouldn’t snap the delicate sugar strands.
The whole process was taking much longer than it had while I was practicing. I was beginning to stress out, so I stopped what I was doing and closed my eyes for a moment. I tried to channel Elspeth’s calming voice. Calm down, Poppy. One step at a time. If you can’t make ten, then aim for six or seven.
But as I kept working with the cooling sugar, I realized that I’d begun to perspire. Not just at the temples in nervousness but from the heat. I looked around me and saw that every contestant, as well as the hosts, was flushed, waving their hands about, trying to cool their cheeks.
“Is it just me, or is the temperature in here rising?” I said to Florence.
“It’s boiling!” she said. “I can feel my foundation slipping down my cheeks. And if that’s happening to me, think about what it’s going to do to our icing.”
“Oh, man,” I said. “You’re right. We’re going to have to work super fast if they’re going to set.”
With my sponge cool, it was time to stack my tiers. I’d have to abandon the idea of making more sugar flowers. I put them to the side and then piped a round of buttercream onto my board and placed the first sponge on top. I spooned a thin layer of buttercream on top of the sponge and spread it evenly to the edges and then did the same with the other tiers.
Now for the bit I had most trouble with. I piped buttercream around the cake, starting on the top and working my way down the sides, using a palette knife to smooth it out as I went. I wanted each inch to be covered, but the heat in the tent was making things difficult. To my horror, the buttercream started to slide. I worked double-quick and then took the cake to chill in the fridge and firm up before I added another layer of buttercream.
I still had to pipe the flowers that would mix with my spun-sugar blooms. I began to think I’d been too ambitious.
“Twenty minutes to go, bakers,” Jilly called out.
I gulped. Would I have enough time to set my second layer of buttercream? Well, I had no choice—I’d have to make it work.
I administered the second layer of buttercream, put it back in the chiller, and sprayed my sugar flowers gold. With five minutes to go, I assembled the lot, trying to create a wild garden effect with my sugar blooms mixed with my piped roses and daisies. But I’d underestimated how many flowers I’d have time for. The five-tiered cake was enormous and a bit lacking in blooms. It was more community garden than Chelsea Flower Show.
But there was no time to make any more. Arty announced that our time was up. I took my cake over to the judging table, hoping that its taste would make up for its lack of showstopper appeal.
First up was Daniel. He looked hot and worried, and his cake did, too.
“This cake is all over the place,” Jonathon said. “The décor’s not great.” He sliced into it and shook his head. “It’s soggy.” He prodded at the slice.
“I’m afraid, Daniel, that your cake isn’t quite cooked through.” Elspeth turned the tray to the side so that the camera could zoom in on Daniel’s mistake. Inwardly, I cringed for him. An underdone cake was an easy thing to slip up on—I’d done the same countless times during practice runs.
Daniel wiped at a bead of sweat. “It needed longer, I know. I ran out of time.”
Next up was Maggie. We all knew that Elspeth wasn’t a great admirer of rose as an ingredient. “To grow and admire, not to taste” was her catchphrase. So Maggie had taken a big risk with her strawberry, vanilla, and rose number. But there was no denying it—the three-tiered cake was an out and out beauty. The sponge itself was simple enough, vanilla filled with fresh strawberry buttercream that also generously coated the outside of the cake. But it was the piped roses that stole the show. Each layer of the cake was crowned by a ring of rose-flavored blooms, red for the bottom, pink for the middle, and white at the top. It was breathtaking.
“Now this is a beauty,” Jonathon said, gazing at the cake. “How you managed to do all this fine piping work in the time is a marvel.”
“I have to agree,” Elspeth said. “This is something quite special. But as always, it has to taste as good as it looks.”
We watched as they cut into the top tier and removed a slice of cake. It looked perfect. A lovely crumb, smooth-looking buttercream, a wedge of delicate rose. I patted Maggie on the shoulder. “Amazing,” I mouthed. She glowed with pleasure.
And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. “This is wonderful. Truly, Maggie. What a marvel. I was worried about that rose flavor—you know it’s not my favorite—but here it really works with the creamy v
anilla. A triumph.”
Next up was Amara, who was looking very worried indeed. As well she might—who’d want to follow Maggie after that kind of praise?
I knew Amara had been struggling this weekend. Her four tiers were decorated with hydrangeas and roses piped in buttercream, but haste and heat had worked against her.
“Your flowers are wilted, Amara,” Jonathon said, stating the obvious.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” Elspeth agreed.
Amara nodded, looking frazzled. The judging never got any easier. My heart went out to her. As they tried her cake, I realized I was nervously fiddling with my earrings and dropped my hands back to my sides, again.
Jonathon looked to Elspeth, who said, “The flavors are so subtle, I can’t distinguish them at all.”
Amara hung her head.
“Elderflower is always a tricky ingredient,” Jonathon added, looking to Elspeth as if for approval.
Elspeth nodded. “It likes to play hide and seek with other ingredients. Very good at hiding, not so good at seeking.”
They moved onto Gaurav’s creation. It was a work of art. He’d gone with a Garden of Eden theme, and there was an apple tree with a green snake coiled along the bottom.
“Ten out of ten for creative flair,” Jonathon announced, turning the board to see the cake from all angles. “You’ve told a story with your decorations. It’s certainly not easy to do that within your allotted time, so I’m impressed with this.”
“It’s cinnamon and apple, is that right?” Elspeth asked.
Gaurav said yes, explaining that he’d also added some succulent sultanas on a last-minute whim.
“Well, it works!” Elspeth said. “This is a sumptuous, moist cake with delightful flavors. Just goes to show that the briefs can be interpreted in many ways. It can pay to think outside the box.”
Go, Gaurav, I thought. He was really bringing it to the competition this week.
Florence came next, and the judges praised her creation, too. To go along with her fresh flowers, she’d created some gorgeous foliage out of fondant. When Elspeth said the cake had a professional finish, Florence beamed.
And then it was my turn. It seemed cruel to judge Florence and me side by side again, but there you go. I tried not to wince as Jonathon and Elspeth appraised my bake.
“The golden sugar flowers are a delight,” Elspeth said, “but your piped flowers are a little clumsy.”
I nodded my head in agreement. She was right.
Jonathon sliced the cake, and they each tried a forkful from the lemon buttercream tier and the raspberry one.
“The flavors are great,” Jonathon said. “Raspberry and lemon are a good combination; the poppy seed adds an interesting texture to the sponge. I just would have liked a bit more ambition with this. It’s not as much of a showstopper as you’ve shown yourself to be capable of.”
Elspeth nodded. “This is a good bake. The crumb is perfect, the filling rich and satisfying. But perhaps something like a lemon curd sandwiched between the layers might have added some oomph. Having the same buttercream as the outside might have been a mistake. But overall, this is a good cake and very tasty.”
I let out my breath. Okay. That could have been worse. But it wasn’t the glowing review I’d hoped for.
The judges left to confer, and when they returned, it was no surprise that they named Maggie the winner of this round. Florence was second and Gaurav third, which meant I was in the middle of the pack again with Hamish this time. Amara and Daniel were at the bottom.
It was time for the star baker to be announced. As well as the name of the person going home today. I held my breath. I knew that my name definitely wouldn’t be called out for star baker. But would this be the day I said goodbye to the show?
No surprises, the judges chose Florence as this week’s star baker. She’d had a blinding weekend, and I was proud of her.
“Sadly, it falls to me to bid farewell to one of our contestants,” Jilly said.
The mood changed instantly. Everyone stiffened, bracing themselves for bad news.
“This has been a really tough weekend.”
Amara nodded. She looked so anxious, my heart went out to her.
“The contestant going home today is a brilliant baker. We’ve really enjoyed having them on the show. But I’m afraid that, Daniel, this is the end of the road for you. We’ll miss you, our dentist with the sweet tooth.”
Oh, poor Daniel. He’d really struggled this week, but I was also surprised that Amara had made it through. I had a feeling it could have gone either way. And then there I was, Average Poppy, not too shabby but not shining, either.
Daniel hugged us all and accepted the usual compliments and backslappings.
When Elspeth and Jonathon said nice things to him, he replied, “This has been an amazing roller coaster,” he said. “I’ve learned so much about myself being on this show. I know now that although dentistry is my practice and also my passion, baking is giving it a run for its money. I’m going to leave the show with more ambition than I started with. I know now how to be more accurate in my measurements, how to balance ingredients using the science behind how they interact. I’m going to keep going. And hopefully become a better baker.”
It was a beautiful speech, and when it was my turn to hug him and wish him well, he said, “I’m gutted, obviously, but I can’t wait to spend the weekends with my wife and kids again. A kitchen isn’t a kitchen without my family in it.”
And now that I was safe for another week, I could get back on the trail of finding out who my birth dad was. I’d also like to help get justice for Marlene. And I was going to need all the help that I could get. Starting with Mitty, the gamekeeper’s father.
Chapter 18
After a long, hot day of baking, we arrived back at the pub a giggly, exhausted, relieved group. I tried to be patient with Florence as she told stories, holding court as the cake queen for the weekend. But as I listened, getting hold of the old gamekeeper was the only thing on my mind. Mitty was my best chance of getting some answers about Marlene and maybe even my dad. I was champing at the bit to get on the trail and see where it led me.
Hamish grabbed our usual table, and everyone half-collapsed into the seats, exhausted. Everyone, that is, but me. After I’d secured a place in the competition next week, a sudden wave of energy had engulfed me. Maybe it was Daniel’s heartfelt speech, or perhaps something more mysterious was at play. Either way, my vigor was renewed, and I felt compelled to get on the case of Marlene’s murder. And solve it—no matter what, or who, I might come up against in the process. Justice had to be served.
“First round’s on me,” Daniel said.
I asked for lemonade, as I needed my wits about me. After chatting with the group for a few minutes, I slipped away to the bar, where Eve was polishing glasses.
“Any luck?” I asked. But her expression said it all.
“Sorry, Poppy. After you asked this morning, I called every single care home between here and Chippenham. Mitty isn’t registered at any of them. Maybe you got the name of the town wrong? Is it important?”
I wondered if Katie had mixed up the town names, or could she have purposely told me the wrong place? Was there something she didn’t want me to find out? Katie had certainly proved herself to be slippery before. I didn’t want to waste time on a dead lead.
“I don’t know. Marlene said she was going to visit Mitty the day she was killed. She was such an energetic woman, I thought she might have seen him that very day. I want to speak to him, see if she was acting strangely or confided anything in him. Any small clue could help.” I also wanted to ask about my father, but I didn’t share that with Eve. I didn’t want another warning to forget the past.
Eve gave me a serious look. “It’s an honorable thing to go after Marlene’s murderer, but please be careful, Poppy. Arthur isn’t exactly a prince among men. He’s not going to like you poking around in his family business. Tell the police what you know.”
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br /> I lowered my voice. “I feel like maybe it’s my fault she died.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” Eve looked shocked.
“Because we willed protection for the wild birds without thinking how it would be accomplished. What if it’s our spell that drew Marlene and her group here to protest?”
“Even so, our magic doesn’t harm.”
“No. But our magic could have put that woman in harm’s path.”
She shook her head. “You’ve much to learn yet, my dear.” She might have said more, but Florence came up to ask for water. “Have to stay hydrated,” she reminded me. “You want your skin to look fresh on camera.”
I looked over at where the rest of the bakers were popping a bottle of prosecco. They were so merry, flushed with happiness—even Daniel, who was excited to go home and see his family. I wanted to join them, to let myself revel in the relief of another weekend over, my position in the competition secure. But I didn’t feel like I had the luxury of resting—not yet. I knew of two people who would definitely know where Mitty lived. The earl and Arthur. Of the two of them, I’d rather confront the gamekeeper than the gun-happy earl.
When Florence took the water to the table, I told Eve that I’d be back soon and then slipped away. With any luck, I’d be back before the rest of the bakers left.
I raced up the stairs for a quick shower and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, then rushed out through the back door and onto the path that would take me to the gamekeeper’s cottage. I wasn’t going to be a welcome visitor, that was for sure, but I needed Arthur to tell me where his father was.
I could tell Arthur the truth, that I was hoping his father might remember mine. If I asked a few questions about Marlene, that was between me and Mitty.