He nodded. ‘I know. I’m forsworn. That’s what I promised you. But I can’t bear it here without him, Elizabeth. I have tried and I cannot. Can you release me from my promise that we should stay here, and let us make another home? Back in Kent?’

‘Kent? What d’you mean? Where?’

‘Lord Wootton wants a gardener at Canterbury and asked me if I would go. He has the secret of growing melons which I should be glad to learn, his gardener has always teased me that only Lord Wootton in all of England can grow melons.’

Elizabeth tutted with irritation. ‘Forget the melons for a moment if you please. What about a house? What about your wages?’

‘He’ll pay me well,’ John said. ‘Sixty pounds where my lord paid me fifty. And we will have a house, the head gardener’s house. J can go to the King’s School in Canterbury. That’ll be a fine thing for him.’

‘Canterbury,’ Elizabeth said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never lived in a market town. There’d be much society.’

‘We could start there at once. He asked me on the death of my lord and I said I would tell him within the quarter.’

‘And will you not love Lord Wootton as you loved the earl?’ Elizabeth asked, thinking it would be an advantage.

John shook his head. ‘There will never be another lord for me like that one.’

‘Let’s go, then,’ she said with her typical sudden decisiveness. ‘And we can plant the chestnut sapling in Canterbury instead of Hatfield.’

November 1612

John was working in Lord Wootton’s garden, hands among cold clods of earth, when he heard the bell tolling. On and on it went, a funeral bell. Then he heard the rumble of cannon fire. He stood up, brushed the mud on his breeches, and reached for his coat where it was hooked over his spade.

‘Something’s happened,’ he said shortly to the garden lad who was working beside him.

‘Shall I run into town and bring you the news?’ the boy asked eagerly.

‘No,’ John said firmly. ‘You shall stay and work here while I run into town and find out the news. And if you are not here when I get back it will be the worst for you.’

‘Yes, Mr Tradescant,’ the boy said sulkily.

The bell was ever more insistent.

‘What does it mean?’

‘I’ll find out,’ John said and strode out of the garden towards the cathedral.

People were gathered in gossiping circles all the way down the road but John went on until he reached the cathedral steps and saw a face he recognised – the headmaster of the school.

‘Doctor Phillips,’ he exclaimed. ‘What are they ringing for?’

The man turned at the sound of his name and John saw, with a shock, that the man’s face was wet with tears.

‘Good God! What is it? It’s not an invasion? Not Spain?’