‘Yes, I can see that. If you are dizzy perhaps you should eat something. In your condition a little and often is the best way.’ The bony feel of her arm had shocked me.

Curiosity flickered in her inflamed grey eyes. ‘How do you know that? Are you a midwife?’

‘No but in recent years I have helped my stepmother through three pregnancies so I do know something about it.’ I caught sight of a tray of wafers and sweetmeats on a table nearby and picked it up. ‘Why do you not nibble at one of these? I am sure you would feel better.’

She looked at the titbits as if she thought they might poison her. ‘Oh, do you think so? I am not very hungry.’

‘Perhaps not but I expect your baby is.’ I smiled again and pushed the tray nearer. ‘You must eat to nourish him.’

She frowned and a look of irritation crossed her face. ‘How do you know it is a boy? I am sorry, I have forgotten your name.’

‘Jane,’ I said, deferentially providing the English version. ‘It is Jane. And I do not know that your baby is a boy, my lady. I just do not like to refer to a human soul as “it”.’

Almost without appearing to realize she had done so Lady Margaret took a wafer and nibbled at it, nodding. ‘I agree with you. It does not seem right. But the priests say that a child is not a Christian until after baptism. If not a Christian how can it have a soul?’

I hesitated. Arguing Christian doctrine was not something I cared to do. Although only a girl, this highly educated aristocrat probably knew much more about it than I did. I glanced at Jasper for help but he too appeared nonplussed. ‘I think that is a question you should ask your confessor, Margaret,’ he suggested at last.

‘But I do not have a confessor,’ she said sadly. ‘Lord Edmund said he was applying to the pope for permission to appoint one but I do not know if permission came because he …’ Fresh tears rushed from her eyes and she covered her face with her hands. ‘I am sorry, I do not mean to weep.’ Her words were muffled and her shoulders shook. Alice hurriedly supplied her with a kerchief.

To give Lady Margaret time to recover I took the opportunity to scan the room. It was spacious and elegantly furnished, hung with colourful tapestries and scattered with bright silk cushions that caught the rays of the setting sun shining through the oriel window. A large tester bed stood at one end, heaped with quilts and pillows. Jasper was hovering behind Margaret’s chair, regarding me helplessly. Judging by his distraught expression he was close to tears himself.

‘I think it might be better if Lady Margaret were in bed,’ I suggested when her sobs eased a little. ‘She is obviously exhausted.’