John pulled on his best coat, which he had laid aside in the heat of the kitchen, and rolled, with his limping gait, to the front door to hold it open as the king and queen visited the Ark.

Their Majesties did not see Frances as the coach drew up, though she stood up on the wall and did her best curtsey, perched on top. When they walked past her without even a glance in her direction, Frances, who had hoped to be appointed as the king’s gardener on that very day, scrambled down from the wall, tore round to the back door, and stationed herself by the door of the rarities room where they could not possibly miss her as they entered.

‘Your Majesties.’ John bowed low as the queen stepped over the threshold. J, behind him, matched his bow.

‘Ah, Tradescant!’ the queen said. ‘Here we are to see your rarities, and the king has brought you some things for your collection.’

The king waved at an usher, who unfolded a bolt of cloth. Inside was a handsome pair of light suede gloves.

‘King Henry’s hunting gloves,’ the king said. ‘And some other goods you can see at your leisure. Now show me your treasures.’

John led the way around the room. The king wanted to see everything: the carved ivories, the monstrous egg, the beautifully carved cup of rhinoceros horn, the Benin drum, the worked Senego leather, the letter case a woman on the Ile de Rhé had tried to smuggle out of the fort by swallowing it, the curious crystals and stones, the body of the mermaid from Hull, the skull of the unicorn and the animal and bird skins, including that of a strange and ugly flightless bird.

‘This is remarkable,’ the king said. ‘And what is in these drawers?’

‘Small and large eggs, Your Majesty,’ John said. ‘I had the drawers especially made to house them.’

The king drew open one drawer and then another. John had arranged the eggs in size from the smallest in shallow drawers at the top, to the largest in deep wide drawers at the bottom. The eggs, all colours from speckled black to purest shining white, sat on their little beds of sheep’s wool like precious jewels.

‘What a flock of birds you would have if they hatched!’ the king exclaimed.

‘They are all blown, and light as air, Your Majesty,’ Tradescant explained, giving him a tiny blue eggshell, no larger than his fingertip.

‘And what is this?’ the king said, returning the egg and moving on.

‘These are dried flower blossoms of many rarities from my garden,’ John said, pulling out tray after tray of flower heads. ‘My wife used to dry them in sugar for me, so that men might come and see the blossoms at any time of year. Often an artist will come and draw them.’

‘Pretty,’ the queen said approvingly, looking at the tray with the flowers laid out.