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can send a message for him if it is urgent.’

      ‘The king is at Whitehall and wishes to see him.’

      Hester nodded. ‘I shall have to write to him at Oatlands,’ she said. ‘He is the king’s gardener at Oatlands, you know. May I tell him why the king wants him?’

      The gentleman usher raised his eyebrows. ‘I should have thought it would be enough to tell him that he is wanted,’ he said rudely.

      Hester bowed slightly. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But if the king requires some plants or seeds then we need to know at once, so that we can prepare them. Or if he wants some rarities delivered …’

      ‘Oh,’ the man said. ‘I see. The king is buying a hunting lodge at Wimbledon for the queen. They want Mr Tradescant to design a garden.’

      No trace of her relief appeared on Hester’s face. ‘I will send for him at once,’ she said. ‘He may not even have arrived at Oatlands yet. He left only this morning. I may catch him on the road, and tell him to come back.’

      The gentleman usher nodded.

      ‘Can I offer you some refreshment?’ Hester asked. ‘A glass of wine?’

      The gentleman usher shook his head. ‘I shall return to Whitehall,’ he said. ‘These are difficult times.’

      ‘Very difficult,’ Hester agreed with feeling. She showed him to the door and then went to the stables to find John. He was leaning against the pump in the stable yard, enjoying the early warm sunshine on his face.

      ‘Frances came flying out as if all the devils in hell were at the door,’ he said carelessly. ‘Why are you so fearful?’

      ‘I thought it might have been the press gang or the tax collectors, or a message from the court that you would be safer to miss,’ she explained. ‘I don’t know what I fear except I am uneasy, I am afraid for us. If the king’s own advisor can be on trial for his life then the king can protect no-one. Indeed, it’s the loyal servants of the king who are the most endangered. And we have been known as royal servants for two generations. I don’t want this family suddenly named as enemies of the people of England because we have taken royal gold. We all have to make our own safety in these days.’

      John put his hand on her shoulder. It was his first ever gesture of affection. Hester stood very still, as if she had been approached by a wary wild animal and did not want to scare it away. She felt herself lean, very slightly, towards his caress.

      ‘You’re very careful for me,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

      She could have stood like that, in the warm sunny yard with his hand on her shoulder, forever. But John dropped his hand. ‘So who was it?’

      ‘It was a message from the court. The king is buying a manor at Wimbledon for the queen and they want you to design a garden.’ She paused for a moment. ‘The king’s advisor and chief minister is at bay before his enemies and on trial for his life, and yet the king has time to send to you to tell you to make a new garden.’

      ‘Well, at least that solves the problem of selling seeds and plants,’ he said. ‘If I am making a new royal garden we will need all our stocks. We’re back in profit, Hester. Am I to go at once?’

      ‘I said you were on the road to Oatlands, before I knew what the message was. So you can go today or tomorrow.’

      ‘So our troubles are over!’ John exclaimed happily. ‘A new garden to design, and all our seedlings and plants bought by the king.’

      ‘I don’t think our troubles will be over that quickly,’ Hester said cautiously. ‘Take great care, John, when you meet the king and queen.’

      

      When John got to Wimbledon the king and queen were not to be found.

      ‘Their Majesties are walking privately in the garden,’ one of the courtiers told him. ‘They said you were to go and meet them there. You may approach Their Majesties.’

      John, accustomed to the ways of the court, expected to find twenty to thirty people with the king and queen walking privately, but for once they were indeed alone, just the two of them, with her hand in the crook of his arm and her embroidered silk skirts brushing against his legs as they walked together.

      John hesitated, thinking that for once they might have chosen to be alone and might be enjoying their privacy. But when they turned at the edge of the grass court and saw him the queen smiled and the king beckoned him forward with one of his little gestures. Although they wished it to be always understood that they were very much in love, they preferred each other’s company before an audience. The queen liked to be seen publicly basking in the king’s adoration, even more than she enjoyed a private moment.

      ‘Ah, Gardener Tradescant!’ the queen said. John bowed low and dropped to one knee. The king flicked his finger to permit John to rise and John got up. At once he saw that they were not having a carefree stroll in the garden. The queen was flushed and her eyelids were red, the king looked pale and strained.

      ‘Your Majesties,’ John said warily.

      ‘The king has bought me this pretty house to take our minds off our troubles,’ the queen said in her lilting accent. ‘We are much troubled, Gardener Tradescant. We want to be diverted.’

      John bowed. ‘It could be a fine garden,’ he said. ‘The soil is good.’

      ‘I want it done all new,’ the queen said eagerly. ‘A pretty style to match the house.’ She gestured back at the manor house. It was a handsome place new-built of red brick, with two arching flights of steps down from the terrace and gardens terraced down the slope. ‘I want many fruit trees. The king and I will come here in midsummer to escape from the noise and fuss of the court and we will eat fruit off the trees and grapes off the vine and melons off the …’ She broke off.

      ‘Off the ground,’ the king suggested. ‘They g … grow on the g … ground, do they not, Tradescant?’

      ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ John said. ‘My father learned the way of making them grow rich and ripe when he was with Sir Henry Wootton at Canterbury, and he taught me the way. I can grow you melons here and all sorts of fruit.’

      ‘And pretty flowers,’ the queen added. ‘White and blue flowers in the knot garden.’

      John bowed his assent, keeping his face hidden. White and blue were the flowers of the Virgin Mary. The queen was asking for a Papist knot garden on the very edge of a London on the brink of revolt.

      ‘We need somewhere to retire in these troubled times,’ the king said. ‘A little hidden garden, Tradescant. Somewhere that we can b … be ourselves.’

      The queen stepped to one side to look at a neglected watercourse, lifting her silk dress carefully away from the wet ground.

      ‘I understand,’ John said. ‘Will you be here only in summer, Your Majesty? It helps me if I know. If you are not to be here in autumn then I do not need to plant for that season.’

      ‘Yes,’ the king said. ‘A summertime p … place.’

      John nodded and waited for further orders.

      ‘It pleases me to give her a p … pretty little h … house of her own,’ the king said, watching the queen at the end of the little terrace. ‘I have great work to do – I have to d … d … defend my crown against wild and wicked men who w … would pull me down, I have to d … defend the church against levellers and s … and s … and sectaries and Independents who would unstitch the very fabric of the country. It is all for m … me to do. Only I can preserve the country from the m … madness of a few wicked men. Whatever it costs me, I have t … to do it.’

      John knew he should say nothing; but there was such a strange mixture of certainty and self-dramatisation in the king’s voice that he could not remain silent. ‘Are you sure that you have to do it all?’ he asked quietly. ‘I know some

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