That night they made love again in the warmth and comfort of the big bed. Elizabeth, free from her fear that he did not love her, and discovering a sensuality which she had not imagined, clung to him and wrapped her arms and legs around him and sobbed for pleasure. Then they wrapped their blankets around their shoulders and sat side by side on the bed and looked out at the deep blue of the night sky and the sharp whiteness of the thousands of stars.

The village was all quiet, not one light showed. The road away from the village, north to Gravesend and London, was empty and silent, ghostly in the starlight. An owl hooted, quartering the fields on silent wings. John reached for his waistcoat folded on the chest at the foot of the bed.

‘I have something I should like to give you,’ he said quietly. ‘I think it is perhaps the most valuable thing I own. Perhaps you will think it foolish; but if you would like it, I should like to give it to you.’

His hand closed over one of the precious chestnuts. ‘If you do not like it I will keep it, by your leave,’ he said. ‘It is not really mine to give away, it is entrusted to me.’

Elizabeth lay back on the pillow, her hair spread as brown and as glossy as his chestnut. ‘What is it?’ she asked, smiling. ‘You sound like a child in the schoolyard.’

‘It is precious to me …’

‘Then it is precious to me too, whatever it may be,’ she said.

He brought his clenched fist out of his waistcoat pocket and she put her hand out flat, waiting for him to open his fingers.

‘There are only six of these in the country,’ he said. ‘Perhaps only six in the whole of Europe. I have five in my keeping and, if you like, you may have the sixth.’

He dropped the heavy nut like a round smooth marble into her hand.

‘What is it?’

‘It is a chestnut.’

‘It is too big and too round!’

‘A new chestnut. The man who sold it to me told me that it grows into a great tree, like our chestnut tree, but it flowers like a rose, the colour of apple blossom. And this great nut comes only one to a pod, not two nuts to a pod like ours, and the pod is not prickly like our chestnuts but waxy and green with a few sharp spines. He sold it to my lord for nine pounds down, and another eighteen pounds if it grows. And I shall give this one to you.’

Elizabeth turned the nut over in her hand. It nestled heavily in her palm, its brown glossy colour dark against her callused hand.

‘Shall I plant it in the garden?’