John watched them till the dust from the last of the train was gone, till the dust had blown across the grey sky, until the sound of the harness bells and the beat of the hooves was silent.

That night they rocked at anchor, and on the next tide they loaded the last of their goods and cast off with Tradescant’s cuttings in boxes on the deck and his trees loosely lashed to the mast, and his heart in his seaboots.

Elizabeth was watering the chestnut tree in its great box on the morning that John returned. The earth in the rest of the garden was dry and parched. It had been a bad year for the harvest, wet in the early months and scorching in July. The wheat crop had failed and the barley was little better. There would be hunger in the cities and in the poorer villages the price of flour would rise beyond the pockets of the poor. But through sun or rain the little chestnut sapling had thrived. Elizabeth had made it a little shelter of thatched straw to keep off the strongest sun, and watered it without fail on the dry days.

‘Now there’s a pretty sight!’ John said, coming up behind her.

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to see him. ‘Praise God,’ she said steadily, and paused for a moment, her eyes closed, to give thanks.

John, impatient with her piety, pulled her close to him and held her tight.

‘Are you safe?’ she asked. ‘Was it a good voyage? Are you well?’

‘Safe and well and with boxes full of treasures.’

Elizabeth knew her husband too well to imagine that he was talking of Russian gold. ‘What did you find?’

‘A Muscovy rose – bigger and sweeter than any I have seen before. A cherry tree with wood you can weave like a willow, which roots by bending its twigs into the ground, like a willow. Some new pinks with jagged leaves. I could have loaded the whole boat with white hellebores which grew so thick on one island that you could see nothing else, a new purple cranesbill, a great sorrel plant –’ He broke off. ‘A cart is following me. And I bought some rarities too for Lord Wootton’s collection: Russian boots and strange shoes for walking on the snow and rare stockings.’

‘And you are safe, and you were well?’

John sat down on the garden bench and drew Elizabeth on to his lap. ‘Safe as a summer garden, and I was well all the time, not even seasick. And now tell me your news,’ he said. ‘Is J well?’

‘Praise the Lord, yes.’

‘And all your family? No plague in Kent?’

Elizabeth dipped her head in that familiar gesture which meant that she was swiftly praying. ‘None, thank God. Is there sickness in London?’

‘I passed swiftly through to avoid the risk.’

‘And are you home now, John? Home for good?’