Charles Stuart, who was to be known as Charles the Second, came home to a country mad with joy. People wanted to get back to a system that everyone knew, many of them hoped to gain from a change of government: a chance to settle old scores and regain old ground. Quakers, sectaries, Roman Catholics and a number of old women who could be named as witches by spiteful neighbours felt the brunt of popular confidence which expected the new king to restore the old persecutions as well as freedoms. Commoners all round the country helped themselves to firewood, poached from the royal forests and the derelict parks, and there was a great rush of burglary from the empty palaces before the new royal servants came to stock-take.

The new king set up a new Privy Council and the great English cake of rewards and places was sliced up between royalists and their friends; but Charles took some care to see that experienced men and those from wealthy or noble families were recruited to office whatever they had done in the wars against his father. Those who had been party to the trial and execution of his father only lost their places of power and were fined, if they fled England.

‘I think he’ll release John Lambert,’ Frances said, bent over a newspaper spread out on the kitchen table. ‘It says here that the House of Lords seeks his death but the House of Commons wants him reprieved.’

‘Will he be free?’ Hester asked, looking up from shelling peas.

Frances shook her head. ‘It doesn’t say. But if I was Charles Stuart I don’t think I’d want Lord Lambert at the head of a regiment again.’

A month after the king was restored to the throne Elias Ashmole asked and got the place of a Windsor Herald. He came to visit the Ark wearing his new regalia, to suggest that John should publish a new edition of the catalogue.

‘It should be dedicated to His Majesty,’ Elias urged John as they sat on the terrace in the sunshine and looked over the garden which was in full summer bloom. ‘Think, if he were to come to visit! His father did, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ John said. ‘With the queen.’

‘I hear she’s coming from France in the autumn,’ Ashmole said enthusiastically. ‘We should have a new edition published by then. I’ll pay for it, if you wish. I have some money put by.’

‘I can pay!’ John said, nettled. ‘I’ll compose a dedication.’

‘I have one already,’ Elias said and produced from the deep pocket of his coat a folded manuscript. ‘Here.’

John spread the paper on the table.

To the sacred majesty of Charles the II

John Tradescant, His Majesties most obedient and most loyal

subject in all humility offereth these collections.