‘Let him be,’ she counselled John, as she plaited her hair ready for bed that night. ‘He is doing nothing more than putting flowers on the grave. Let him do this one thing for the king and perhaps he will feel that he has done everything that should be done. Then he will feel that his defence of the king is over, and he can be happy and enjoy the peace.’

Summer 1650

Hester might have predicted Johnnie’s feelings as accurately as one of Elias Ashmole’s astrological projections except for one thing which she had not taken into account: the endless determination of the Stuarts to regain the crown they had lost.

In July Charles Stuart arrived in Edinburgh and forged a new alliance with the Scots, who were always drawn by the temptation of one of their own Stuart kings, and the rich plums that a grateful English monarch might bring them. He promised them anything they asked, and they promised him an army to conquer England, and crowned him king.

Joseph brought the news from Lambeth and came into the dining room to tell it. The family were at breakfast, Frances and Alexander Norman were either side of the table, Philip Harding, a mathematician, and Paul Quigley, an artist, were dining too. A stunned silence at the news was broken by Johnnie dropping his spoon, and the scrape of his chair as he rose to his feet.

‘Not again,’ John exclaimed. ‘When will this stop? Does he not see that he is defeated and his cause defeated and that he owes it to this country, if he owes us any loyalty or love, to let us get on with our lives without another war?’

‘I’m going,’ Johnnie said determinedly. ‘He’s certain to march on England and I must be there.’

‘Hush,’ Hester said, sharply, uncertain of the safety of such an announcement.

The two guests tactfully rose to their feet. ‘I’ll take a stroll around the garden,’ Philip Harding said.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Dr Quigley.

The door closed behind them. ‘That was unwise,’ Alexander Norman said gently to Johnnie. ‘Whatever your opinions are, you should not let it ever be said that your father is harbouring royalist sentiments and allowing them to be spoken at his table.’

Johnnie flushed. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said to his father and to Hester. ‘I won’t do it again. It was the shock of the news.’

‘Joseph had no business blurting it out like that,’ Frances said crossly. ‘And you can’t go, Johnnie. It’s too far. And it’s bound to fail.’

‘Why should it?’ he demanded passionately. ‘Why should it fail? The Scots army was stronger than the English last time it was out. And Parliament would never have defeated the king in the first place if it hadn’t cobbled together an alliance with the Scots. They could march on London and bring the king with them.’