‘Not all wives are as fortunate as you, Your Majesty,’ the courtier swiftly interposed. ‘There can be few wives who have a husband who adores them as the king adores you. You are a goddess to His Majesty. You are a goddess to us all.’

Henrietta Maria blushed a little and smiled. ‘Ah, that is true; but all the same, you must be kind to your little wife, Tradescant. I would have every woman in the kingdom as blessed as me.’

J bowed to avoid answering.

‘And she must be obedient to you,’ the queen went on. ‘And you must bring up your children to obey you both, just as the king and I are like kind parents to the country. Then both the country and your household will be at peace.’

J pressed his tongue to his teeth to stop himself arguing and bowed again.

‘And everyone will be happy,’ the queen said. She turned to the courtier. ‘Isn’t that right?’

‘Of course,’ he said simply. ‘As long as people remember that they must love and obey you and the king as if you were their parents everyone will be happy.’

J bore the brunt of the queen’s interest because he was more often at Oatlands than his father in the autumn days. Elizabeth was sick in October with pains in her chest and a nagging cough which would not be eased, and John did not want to leave her.

She got up from her bed to see Baby John baptised at their church in November, but she left the baptismal feast early and John found her lying on their bed shivering, though the maid had lit a fire in the bedroom.

‘My dear,’ he said. ‘I did not know you were so ill.’

‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘Cold in my bones.’

John heaped more logs on the fire and took another quilt from the press at the foot of the bed. Still her face was white and her fingertips were icy.

‘You’ll mend in the spring,’ he said cheerfully. ‘When the ground warms up and the daffodils come out.’

‘I’m not a plant, shedding my leaves,’ she protested through her pale lips. ‘I won’t bloom like a tree.’

‘But you will bloom,’ John said, suddenly anxious. ‘You will get better, Lizzie.’

She shook her head so slightly that he could hardly see the movement on the pillow.

‘Don’t say so!’ he cried. ‘I had always thought I would go first. You’re years younger than me, this is just a chill!’

Again she made that small movement. ‘It is more than a chill,’ she said. ‘There is a bone growing in me, pressing on me. I can feel it pressing against my breath.’

‘Have you seen a physician?’ John demanded.

She nodded. ‘He could not find anything wrong, but I can feel it inside, John. I don’t think I will see your daffodils next spring.’