On the fourth day Jane found swollen lumps under her arms, and she could not remember where she was. She had a lucid interval at midday and when John came to speak to her from the doorway, behind the wall of candleflame, she told him to put a lock on the door so that she could not come out looking for Baby John, when she was out of her mind with the fever.

On the fifth day a message came from her mother to say that one of the apprentices had taken the plague and that Jane should burn everything she had worn or brought from her visit. They sent back the messenger with the news that the warning came too late, that already there was a white cross on the front door, and a warden standing outside to make sure that no-one left the house to spread the plague in Lambeth. All the goods and groceries, and even the new rarities, were left on the little bridge which led from the road to the house, and all the money was left in a bowl of vinegar, to wash the coins clean. No-one would go near the Tradescants’ door until they were all recovered or dead. The parish wardens were legally bound to make sure that any plague victims were isolated in their houses until they were proven to be dead or proven to be clean, and no-one – not even the Tradescants with their fine business and their royal connections – could escape the ruling.

On the sixth day of her illness Jane did not tap on the door to have it unlocked in the morning. When John opened it and looked in, she was lying on the bed, her hair tumbled all over her pillow, her face thin and ghastly. When she saw him peering in she tried to smile, but her lips were too cracked and sore from fever.

‘Pray for me,’ she said. ‘And don’t take the plague, John. Keep Baby John safe. Is he still well?’

‘He’s well,’ John said. He did not tell her that her little son was crying and crying for her.

‘And Frances?’

‘No signs of it.’

‘And you, and Father?’

‘No-one in the house seems to have it. But they have it in Lambeth. We’re not the only house with a white cross on the door. It’s going to be a bad year, this year.’

‘Did I bring it?’ she asked painfully. ‘Did I bring the plague to Lambeth? Did it follow me over the river?’

‘It was here before you came home,’ he reassured her. ‘Don’t blame yourself for it. Someone had it and tried to conceal it. It has been here for weeks and no-one knew.’

‘God help them,’ she whispered. ‘God help me. Bury me deep, John. And pray for my soul.’