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apron so that the leaves fluttered to the ground.
    “Fantastic,” she said once she recognised Margaret. “The one person I really, really want to see.”
    “You do?” Margaret sounded surprised.
    Alex sighed; sarcasm wasn’t quite as widespread in this day and age as it had been in the life she came from.
    “No, but it doesn’t seem I have a choice, does it?”
    She hadn’t met Margaret properly in the two months she’d been staying here, being far too busy with the hectic days of harvest to find the time to take her rambling walks up and down the hillsides. In all honesty she hadn’t wanted to see her, hating the fact that the sheer presence of Margaret made her feel diminished, a bad copy of a glorious original. Superficially, they were very alike, with similar features and colouring. Except that where Alex’ hair was a normal if curly brown, Margaret’s hair shone like black satin, and where Alex had a tell-tale thickening across the bridge of her nose, Margaret’s was elegant and narrow. Everything about her was perfect, from those wide blue eyes to that pointed little chin.
    Margaret returned her inspection, eyes travelling down Alex’ body and back up again. The morning light struck Margaret in the face and Alex felt a flash of satisfaction when she saw that the skin was dry and flaky, with a discernible web of shallow wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. The grooves on either side of her mouth would with time give Margaret the depressed expression of a disgruntled pike.
    “I’m glad that I have the opportunity to talk to you,” Margaret said, stepping out of the ray of sun.
    “I’m afraid the feeling isn’t mutual,” Alex bent down to retrieve some of the spilled leaves.
    “Nay, I know that.” Margaret was wearing an embroidered shawl over skirts in deep green, and from below the hem peeked what must be boots in red Moroccan leather. Alex eyed them enviously; her footwear was nowhere near as elegant.
    “I don’t like leaving Ian here, but I have no choice. You understand, no?” She looked at Alex with beseeching eyes and Alex gave her a curt nod. Margaret had no other family, Luke definitely didn’t, and so, by default, they were the only kin Ian had – them and Joan.
    “What will Luke think?” Alex asked, feeling an uncharitable spurt of glee at the discomfiture on Margaret’s face.
    “He won’t like it, but I can’t risk taking him back, not yet.”
    “You could stay a bit longer and then go. Last we heard, the number of deaths was sinking rapidly.”
    “You don’t understand, I must go. Luke is ill.”
    Alex straightened up, further irritated with Matthew for not giving her the full picture.
    “With the plague?”
    “Nay of course not! Then he’d be dead by now.”
    Too bad; the world would be a much fairer place without Luke Graham in it.
    Margaret’s lip lifted. “You needn’t worry. He won’t die, I hope, but thank you for your concern.”
    “In that case, why not take Ian with you? If there’s no risk…”
    “I didn’t say that, did I? Luke has the smallpox.” Margaret slipped her arms tight around herself and closed her eyes briefly. “It seems the worst has passed – the physician no longer fears for his life – but he’s weak, and possibly contagious. I can’t very well leave him to lie alone, can I? So…”
    Alex considered this in silence. Luke was in Oxford now that the king had retired out of London to avoid the plague, and Alex suspected that very little TLC would be wasted on a sick man who could infect the court with something as disfiguring and as potentially lethal as smallpox. She almost felt sorry for him, ‘almost’ being the key word.
    “What have you told Ian?”
    Margaret looked confused. “That his father is ill and he must remain here until we send for him.”
    “Not about that. About Matthew.”
    “Oh.” Margaret studied the bright red fringe of her shawl intently for some minutes. “He’s ours. Ian is mine and Luke’s – not