George Monck was not a man to be cast down by unpopularity. He put his troops throughout the streets of London, and they were accustomed to doing their duty among a resentful population. London was an easier billet than Edinburgh, and within days there was no-one shouting for a free parliament and John Lambert left on the streets. With a large free feast to celebrate the expulsion of Lambert’s Committee of Safety it was possible to generate an enthusiasm for Monck’s new council of state, run by himself.

By the time John Lambert brought his exhausted army home it was all over. He was ordered to go to his house at Wimbledon and not approach Parliament.

He wrote to John Tradescant from Wimbledon. The note arrived as the family and guests were eating dinner.

Please send me, in pots, your finest specimen tulips of this season to the value of £300.

‘What does he say?’ Hester asked John, hovering over his shoulder to read the note.

‘He says that he wants my best tulips,’ John said. ‘What that means is something different.’

‘It means that he will have to confine himself to gardening and painting,’ Elias Ashmole said cheerfully. He helped himself to another slice of baked ham. ‘It means that the balance of power has swung to George Monck and he will decide who rules the country from now on. And if I read the predictions of the planets aright then he will want a king, or at the very least another Lord Protector.’

Hester looked at Ashmole with dislike. ‘Then God help us,’ she said sharply. ‘For since of all the women in England he chose a foul-mouthed washerwoman to take as his wife, what on earth will he choose for a king?’

Elias Ashmole was not in the least downcast. ‘I should think it a very good chance that he would choose the rightful heir,’ he said. ‘And then we shall see some changes.’

‘Then we shall see the same thing again,’ Hester said bitterly. ‘Only this time the battles will have to be fought without anyone’s heart in them.’

‘Peace, my wife,’ John said quietly from the end of the table. ‘Mr Ashmole is our guest.’

‘A most frequent guest,’ Frances observed sweetly, her head bowed demurely over her plate.