In the melon beds John grew half a dozen varieties of melon. He always kept one fruit to the side, he called it the royal melon, descendant of the seeds which Johnnie had planted at Wimbledon House. When it fruited in midsummer John sent a great sweet-smelling globe to the king, who was hunting at Richmond, with compliments of John Tradescant. He wondered if this was the second melon that Charles Stuart had received, and if he would ever understand the devotion which had been poured into growing the first fruit.

Autumn 1660

Castle Cornet, Guernsey.

Dear Mr Tradescant,

Please would you send me, as soon as you lift them, six Iris Daley tulip, six Tricolor Crownes tulip, and two or three tulip which you think I might like that are new to your collection.

If the new tenants of the house at Wimbledon have no objection, I should like you to collect from my garden any specimens which you would like to have as your own. I think the acacia tree was promised to you – all that long time ago. I particularly would like to see my own Violetten tulip again, I had one in particular which I thought might be so dark a purple as to be almost black.

If you can be admitted to the garden I would be very pleased to have some of my lily bulbs returned to me, especially those from my orange garden. I have high hopes of breeding a new variety of lily here and I will send you some bulbs in the spring. I shall call it the Lambert lily and my claim to fame shall not be for the battle for freedom but for one sweet-smelling, exquisitely shaped blossom.

Lady Lambert has joined me here with our children and the castle has become less like a prison and more like a home. All I am in need of, is tulips!

With best wishes to Mrs Tradescant and Mrs Norman – John Lambert.

John passed the letter to Hester without comment and she read it in silence.

‘We’ll get him his Violetten back,’ she said determinedly. ‘If I have to go over the Wimbledon garden wall at midnight.’

Winter 1660

Elias Ashmole came to visit the Ark in midwinter, wearing a new furlined cape and very conscious of his new status. He came by carriage with some friends and brought a case of Canary wine to share with John. Hester lit the candles in the rarities room, and ordered dinner for them all, served it and ate her own dinner in the quieter company of Cook in the kitchen.

John put his head around the kitchen door. ‘We’re taking a stroll down to Lambeth,’ he said. ‘For a glass of ale.’

Hester nodded. ‘I shall be in bed by the time you return,’ she said. ‘If Mr Ashmole wishes to stay the bed is made up in his usual room, and there are truckle beds for his friends.’