Lord Lambert was stunned for a moment. “Johnnie? I did not know! What happened?”

“He drowned in our little lake,” John said, speaking the words for what seemed like the thousandth time. “It was the night you came to dinner.”

Lambert checked. “When he was so distressed that I had bought Wimbledon?”

John nodded. “It was that night.”

John Lambert looked stricken. “Not because of what he said! He didn’t drown because of that?”

John shook his head. “Because he knew his cause was lost. If it had not been that night it would have been another. He couldn’t see a way to live in the world that Cromwell and you and I have made. He wanted to be a king’s gardener, he could not hear that kings are no good. Johnnie couldn’t see it. And I failed to teach him.” John paused for a moment at the pointlessness of regrets. “I have always been a man of few certainties. So when my son was convinced of a mistake I couldn’t correct him. He put his faith in the most foolish prince, the son of a most foolish king. And I couldn’t tell him that when you are in the service of a king one of the first things you learn is to not take him too seriously, not to love him too dearly. Johnnie was too close to the king’s service, and yet not close enough to see it for what it was.”

He glanced at Lambert. The general was listening intently. He managed a little smile. “These are private griefs,” he said. “I don’t mean to burden you with them, my lord. Do look around the garden, and anything you desire you can order. Joseph will take the order, my wife is not in the house today.”

“Will you tell her how sorry I am?” Lambert asked, going toward the door to the garden. “Tell her I am deeply, deeply sorry for your loss. He was a fine young man. He deserved a better cause.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” John said, his expression lightening for a moment.

Lambert nodded and went quietly out to the garden to look around at the avenue of horse chestnuts and the beds of exquisite tulips and wondered if they would ever give John any joy ever again, now there was no Tradescant to follow him in the garden.

Winter 1654

The new Parliament was short-lived. Its program of social justice was too radical for the temper of many of the men of influence whose chief hopes of reform had been for a fat slice of the king’s wealth and power, and had never gone as far as the soldiers of the army who had fought for an end to greed and tyranny and who truly thought that a new world could be born out of their battles.

When Cromwell saw that he had tried a parliament of selected good men who would have imposed justice on a country too sluggish to become saintly, and then tried a parliament chosen by the voters which could not rise above self-interest, something of the joy went out of him. He took the title of Lord Protector and took the burden of power in a mood of frustration and disappointment and never again thought that he might see the new Jerusalem in London.

“I don’t know what the fighting was for if we merely exchanged a king for a Lord Protector,” John said wearily to Hester as they sat at dinner.

“No,” she said quietly.

They sat in the silence which was a constant presence at their table now; it was as if without Johnnie to plan for, there was no business to discuss. The takings at the door were good, the order books were filled. But Hester had withdrawn from much of the business and had lost interest in the garden. She never complained, but she felt as if she had been struggling too hard for too long and that, as it turned out, it had all been for nothing.

“I have been thinking about Virginia,” John said tentatively. “Bertram Hobert, my old friend from over there, came to see me today.”

Hester raised her head. “Hobert who nearly died there?”

John nodded. “He finally brought off a good crop of tobacco and came home to sell it. By making the voyage with his wife he gets another two headrights for free and he wants to make his plantation bigger. He’s hired some laborers to take with him and he gets their headrights too. He’s full of confidence. He is going back again with the Austin family and they have spare places on their ship.”

John paused. “I wondered if you would like to come with me, to Virginia. You could see our land, you might be interested in that, and by traveling together we would claim another two headrights. We could sell them, or find someone to farm them for us, or you might like to build a house and settle there, Jamestown is bound to be much improved since my first visit and now-” He broke off.

He had been about to say “Now there is nothing to keep us here,” but he did not need to say it. Hester, of all people, knew that there was nothing left in Lambeth but the rarities and the plants.

“What about that woman, the woman you left there?” she asked flatly.

He bowed his head. “I will never see her again,” he said. It did not have the ring of a promise of a reformed man, his voice had the finality of a man who knows when something is over. “She will be with her people, and I will be with mine. The time of the Powhatan dealing kindly with the planters is long gone.”

Hester thought for a moment. “Who would keep this place safe while we are gone?”

“Elias Ashmole would be glad enough to live here for a while,” John pointed out. “He has promised to help make a catalogue of the rarities collection and he has a great interest in the garden.”

Hester made a little face. “What if something happens?” she asked.

“He could manage. He’s a worldly man, he’s managed bigger estates than this little place.”

“Why would he be so helpful?” she asked baldly. “Why serve us in such a way?”

“He likes the rarities, he likes the garden,” John said. “He can do his studies here in alchemy and astronomy. He can use my herbs for his medicines.”

“I like his wife, Mary, better than I like him,” Hester said irrelevantly. “And she has been very badly treated by him. She told me that he abused her and now they are separated he won’t give her any money for her keep. And it was all her money in the first place. He had nothing when he came to advise her, and now her fortune is his.”

John shook his head. “He’s a lawyer by training,” he said. “I’m not surprised he gives nothing away. He’d make a bad enemy but he’s a good friend to us. He would guard this place for us while we were gone.”

She thought for a moment. “No,” she said reluctantly. “He would manage well enough if nothing happened. But if there was a fire or another war or an uprising he would never care for the things as we would. Mr. Ashmole would think of his own safety before the collection.”

“We could box it all up and store it,” John objected.

“Not again,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it. And even if we did, what about the garden?”

“I do really want to go,” John said. “I am so weary of this house without our boy, and I miss him in the garden. I hate the lake, I can’t go down to that end of the orchard at all, and I can’t find the energy to weed and plant and prune and pot on. In every part of the garden I come across tasks which I would give to him to do, or where he was especially skilled. Half of the plants are his plants, nursed up by him while I was away. It’s as if I meet him everywhere.”

Hester nodded. “That’s why I’ll stay,” she said quietly. “Because I too feel that I meet him everywhere, and here I can guard the things he loved and watch the things he planted grow tall and beautiful, and it’s as if he is still here.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Shall I go alone? Would you want that?”

She met the little challenge. “Will you come back again?”

“Yes. There’s no life for me there. But I could bring back some new rarities, there is so much more to discover.”

“I will wait for you,” she promised. “And keep the rarities and the garden safe for you.”