‘Let’s open the doors!’ someone exclaimed. ‘Open the doors and see this queen, this Papist queen. Let’s hear her prayers, that they’re so keen that we should learn!’

‘Look!’ John yelled as loud as he could. ‘An Irishman!’ He pointed back the way they had come. ‘Going into the palace! An Irish priest!’

With a howl the mob turned back and ran, slipping and sliding over the cobbles back towards the palace, chasing their own nightmares.

‘Now drive on!’ John yelled at the driver. ‘Let them go!’

The carriage gave a great lurch as the driver whipped the horses and they leaped forward, bumping on the cobbles. John clung like a barnacle on the back of the great coach, swaying on the leather straps, and ducked his head down as the wind blowing down the street whisked his hat away.

When they reached the outskirts of London the streets were quiet, the people either boarded inside their houses and praying for peace, or roaming in the city. John felt the slackening of tension around his throat and he loosened his grip on the footman’s strap and rocked with the sway of the coach all the way to Hampton Court.

The king was not expected at Hampton Court. There was nothing ready for the royal family. The royal beds and furniture, rugs and pictures were all left at Whitehall. The family stepped down before the solidly closed great doors of the palace and there was not even a servant to open up for them.

John had a sense that the whole world was collapsing around him. He hesitated and looked towards his monarch. The king leaned back against the dirty wheel of the coach, as if he were exhausted.

‘I did not expect this sort of welcome!’ Charles said mournfully. ‘The doors of my own palace closed to me!’

The queen looked pleadingly at Tradescant. ‘What shall we do?’

John felt an irritable sense of responsibility. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll find someone.’

He left the royal coach before the imposing grand front doors and went around to the back. The kitchens were in their usual careless state; the whole household always took a holiday during the king’s absence.

‘Wake up,’ John said, putting his head around the door. ‘The king, queen and royal family are outside waiting to be let in.’

It was as if he had set off a fire-ship among the cockle boats at Whitby. There was a stunned silence and then instantaneous uproar.

‘For God’s sake get the front door open and let him in,’ John said, and went back to the courtyard.

The king was leaning back against the coach surveying the high, imposing roofs of the palace as if he had never seen them before. The queen was still seated in the carriage. Neither of them had moved since John had left them, although the children were whimpering inside the coach and one of the nursemaids was praying.