Buckingham turned on his heel and John dived before him to open the door so his smooth disdainful stride from the courtyard was not checked. They arrived out in the street by a side door and hesitated.

‘What now?’ Tradescant asked.

‘We try another,’ Buckingham said. ‘And then another. And then we go and buy some bulbs, for I think that is all we’re going to get out of this damned damned city.’

Buckingham was right. John was back at New Hall by the end of May, preceded by wagon-loads of plants, sacks of tulip bulbs and with six of the most precious bulbs – each costing a purse of gold – hidden deep inside his waistcoat.

His first act was to go to the rarities room of New Hall and to summon J to meet him there with six large porcelain pots and a basket of soil.

J came into the room and found the six bulbs laid out on a table. His father was, with infinite care, cutting slightly into the base of each bulb in the hope that it would encourage them to divide, and make new bulbs.

‘What are they?’ J asked reverently, holding a wicker basket of sieved warm weed-free earth, watching his father’s meticulous care. ‘Are they the Semper Augustus?’

His father shook his head. ‘I had a king’s ransom to spend and yet I could not afford it,’ he said. ‘No-one bought the Semper. I was at the Bourse every day and the price was so high that no-one would buy, and the merchant kept his nerve and would not drop the price. Next season he will offer them again at double the price, and all the year he will be praying that no-one has grown a new tulip which supplants the Semper and leaves him with a pair of fine flowers which are out of fashion.’

‘Could that happen?’ J was horrified.

John nodded. ‘It is not gardening, it is speculation,’ he said with distaste. ‘There are people dealing in tulips who have never so much as pulled a weed. And making fortunes from their work.’

J extended a respectful finger and stroked the dry firm surface of the nearest bulb. ‘The skin is solid, and the shape is good. They are even lovely in the bulb, aren’t they?’ He bent and sniffed the firm warm skin.

‘Is it clean?’ John asked anxiously. ‘No hint of taint?’

J shook his head. ‘None. What sort is it?’

‘This is the Duck tulip – yellow with crimson blush at the base of the petals.’ John pointed to the next bulb. ‘This is a Lack tulip, white and thin-petalled with thin red stripes through white, and this is a Tulipa australis, very strong-stemmed and scarlet petals with a white border. Pray God they grow for us, I have spent nearly a thousand pounds on the six of them.’