The Earl was a loud-mouthed unattractive old man, twisted with gout and losing his sight. He had been a relentless force in Ireland, hammering a Protestant will on a Catholic people; but he was old now. The king had recalled him to England only for the unscrupulous clarity of his advice, and been indebted to him for the suggestion that if towns did not send enough money for the king’s army their aldermen should be hanged in their robes to clarify the urgency of the situation. The Earl had walked past John in the gardens of Oatlands a dozen times and never wasted more than a glance on him.

The Tradescants were safe from any accusation of complicity with the king. But many royal servants slipped away and went abroad, or retired to their country estates. Others were not so quick or careful. In December, Archbishop Laud was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower to await the pleasure of the Houses of Parliament.

Hester did not pray from any prayer book at evening prayers that night but read from the King James Bible as the only text which did not define the household as for or against the king.

‘No prayers?’ John asked her quietly as the household went about its last tasks of the day and Hester counted out the bedtime candles.

‘I don’t know any more what words God would prefer,’ she said drily. ‘And no-one knows what man requires.’

Spring 1641

The day that Strafford was called to account in the great hall at Westminster there were no visitors to the Ark at all. Everyone who could get a ticket or a pass to see Strafford at bay before his accusers was in the city. Even the streets were deserted.

In the unnatural silence of the house at Lambeth there was suddenly a thunderous knock on the front door. Frances went running to open it, but Hester darted out from the rarities room and caught her in the hall.

‘Frances! Don’t answer it!’

The girl halted at once.

‘Go round to the gardens and find your father. Tell him to go to the stables, saddle a horse, and wait till I send a message.’

Frances caught the note of urgency in her stepmother’s voice, nodded, white-faced, and ran. Hester waited until she was out of sight, smoothed down her apron, straightened her cap, and opened the door.

It was a gentleman usher of the royal household. Hester showed him into the parlour. ‘My husband is not here at the moment,’ she said, deliberately vague. ‘I can send a message for him if it is urgent.’

‘The king is at Whitehall and wishes to see him.’

Hester nodded. ‘I shall have to write to him at Oatlands,’ she said. ‘He is the king’s gardener at Oatlands, you know. May I tell him why the king wants him?’