She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. ‘I think I may be sick for a good reason,’ she said. ‘A very good reason. I’ve not told John yet, so mind you hush.’

It took him a moment to realise what she meant and then he stepped back and beamed up at her. ‘Sir John Tradescant of Lambeth?’

‘Sir John Tradescant himself,’ she said.

Summer 1633

It was an easy pregnancy for Jane this time, and the work at the palace was easy for her husband since in May the king left England on a grand progress north.

‘He has sucked all the praise he can from the English,’ J said sourly to his wife. ‘He has to go to the poor Scots to see them dance to his tune.’

She nodded but did not reply. She was sewing baby clothes on the terrace in the warm June night and John was within earshot.

‘Have you heard how the king’s progress is going?’ she asked.

J nodded. ‘He went riding and hunting as he travelled up the north road. And everywhere he goes there are feasts and knighthoods and processions. He sees the country turn out to greet him and he thinks that all is well.’

‘And is it not?’ Jane asked. Her hand went gently to the soft curve of her belly. ‘With Parliament dissolved and the country at peace? Is it perhaps only a few men like you, J, who are not content with this king?’

J shrugged. ‘How can I say? When I meet a lecturer or a travelling preacher they tell me of men arrested for talking out of turn and for complaining about unjust taxes. I know that there are more Papists in the city than I have ever seen before and that they are allowed to hear Mass in the very heart of the kingdom. I know that the king’s best friends are Papists and his wife is a Papist and the godparents of his child are Papists. And I know that our own vicar at Lambeth is at odds with the new Archbishop of Canterbury, William Laud, who is bishop of everywhere it seems, and now archbishop overall. But you are right – there are no voices raised against it – maybe it is just me.’

Jane leaned forward and touched his brown cheek. ‘And me,’ she said. ‘I don’t thank the archbishop for ordering how I should pray. And Father is furious about the taxes. But there is nothing anyone can do. There’s no Parliament – who can tell the king that he is doing wrong?’

‘Especially not when the fools troop out and throw roses down in the road before his horse,’ J growled crossly. ‘And when he touches a bunch of poxed fools for the king’s evil and convinces them they are cured by his hand.’

Jane was silent for a moment. ‘I want to believe that better times are coming,’ she said.