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made her way up the Drapery, past the stalls where desperate vendors tried to sell their fabric, aware that hardly anybody had money for anything except food these days. She herself hadn’t opened the shop for nearly a week now, as it just wasn’t worth it: nobody came in, and it meant leaving the front door open onto the street all the time.
    She started as a hand touched her lightly on the arm, stifling a scream. But it was just Ralf.
    ‘Miss Alys – I thought that was you. Are you all right?’ His face was kind, and she felt a pang of guilt that he’d had to be laid off once it became clear that there wasn’t enough weaving to be done until more supplies of wool could be brought into the city. He looked gaunt, but his concern was all for her as he peered at her in that slightly squinting way he had, which came from too many years spent looking at fine patterns.
    She mustered a smile. ‘Yes, Ralf, I’m fine, thank you. I’m just off to …’ she tailed off, aware that it might be tactless to say she was going to buy food, when he’d been deprived of the means of purchasing any. She stood with her mouth open, feeling foolish, waiting until she could think of something to say, but she was saved by the sight of the elderly mayor waving to her from the other side of the street. ‘Oh look, Ralf – over there.’
    Ralf blinked and peered across the street, but his face didn’t register any recognition until Master William was almost upon them.
    The mayor nodded at them both benignly. ‘Alys, how nice to see you. And it is good to see your father’s workers taking care of you in these dangerous times.’ He beamed at Ralf before continuing. ‘And how is your father?’
    This time Alys couldn’t stop the tears, and she felt the sting as they poured from her eyes and down her face. She couldn’t speak, shaking her head silently in misery. William nodded and gripped her hand. ‘And your brothers?’ She shook her head again, trying to take control of the weeping before she embarrassed herself in front of the whole street.
    All at once a beautiful scent enveloped her, and a soft hand touched her arm. A gentle voice spoke, shushing and comforting her, and admonishing William gently for being so thoughtless. Through her tears Alys looked into a small, delicate face, topped by a widow’s cap with a few blonde hairs peeking out from underneath it. She stared in bemusement, immediately aware of how her own face must look blotched and swollen. She had seen the woman about town a few times – thinking how young she was to be a widow and wondering what tragedy might have befallen her – but they had never spoken, so why should she care? She looked to William, who hastened to introduce them. ‘My dear, perhaps you don’t know Mistress Gunnilda? She lives up in the northern part of the town.’
    Alys recollected herself enough to give a small curtsey, trying to brush the tears from her face as she did so. The widow Gunnilda put up one delicate hand to help smooth them away, and brushed back Alys’s hair. ‘There. It must be a very difficult time for you, even without being reminded of it in the street. I heard what happened to your father and I’m truly sorry for it.’ Her voice was soft and comforting. ‘Now, could someone not take you back home?’
    Alys glanced round at Ralf, but for some reason he looked tremendously awkward, and was backing away while he struggled to get any words out. He stuttered once or twice, turned red, and eventually span on his heel and fled, without having said a word.
    There was a surprised silence for a moment before William gallantly stepped into the breach, proposing to escort her home, and Alys wanted nothing more than to take him up on the offer and return to the familiar haven. But she just couldn’t. She had responsibilities, two little brothers and a sister to feed, and must keep going no matter what the circumstances. She drew herself up, mustered as much dignity as she