Earthly Joys Read online

  ‘Theft?’ John asked.

  ‘That’s principle,’ Cecil said swiftly. ‘I’m advising you to look to practice. Think what you want, my John, and make sure that you get it, for be very certain that no-one will give it to you.’

  John could not help but glance up at the great palace of Theobalds, a place so grand that a king could envy it and insist on owning it, knowing that he could never build better.

  ‘Aye,’ said the earl, following his gaze. ‘And if a more powerful man can do it, he will take it from you. He will be guided by practice and not principles too. Buy land and take risks is my advice. Steal if you need to and if you will not be detected. When your master dies – even if it is me – have your next place secure. And also – marry your woman with a dowry, she sounds the very one for a rising man like you. And bid her be careful with her housekeeping.’

  John Tradescant rode down the Kentish lanes to his old village of Meopham, where he had been expected every day for the last six years. The hedges were white with hawthorn and may blossoms, the air warm and sweet-scented. The rich green pastureland of Kent glowed lush where cattle were knee-deep in water meadows. These were prosperous times and rich fields. John rode in a daze of pleasure, the lushness of the fields and the greening of the trees and the hedges acting on him as strong wine might turn another man’s head. In the hedgerows were the white floss of gypsy lace and the little white stars of meadowsweet. Through gaps in the hedge where trees had been coppiced was a sea of blue where bluebells had sprung up to carpet the floor of the forest. Ahead of him the road was drifted with the tiny petals of the hawthorn flower like spring snow, and at every verge the lemon-yellow flowers of primroses were stuffed into roots and nooks like nosegays in a belt. When the road wound through meadowlands, John could see the light yellow of cowslips nodding as the breeze ran across the grasses; they put a veil of gold over the green as a woman might toss a shawl of gold net over a green silk gown.

  The oak trees were clench-fisted with flowers, the small delicate catkins which looked like lumpy little buds at the end of the tough contorted branches. The silver birches shivered with new pale leaves amid the dancing catkins, and the beeches on the uplands were wet with spring leaves, vibrant with growth.

  John was not deliberately plant-collecting but his awareness of every small budding orchid, every flowering nettle, every thick clump of violets in purple, white and even pale blue, was not something that he could ever ignore. By the time he had ridden into Kent his hat band and his pockets were stuffed with shoots and soft damp trailing roots, and he felt himself wealthier than his own lord because he had ridden for days through a treasure chest of colour and freshness and life, and come home with his pockets stuffed with booty.

  Meopham High Street wound up the little hill to the grey-stoned church set like a cherry on the top of a bun. To the right of it was the small farmhouse of the Day family, built near the church where Elizabeth’s father had been vicar. There were fat hens in the yard, and the pleasing smell of roasted hops which always hung around the storeyards and the little oast house.

  Elizabeth Day came out of the front door. ‘I thought I heard a horse,’ she said. She was dressed in sober grey and white, and had a plain cap on her head. ‘Mr Tradescant, you are very welcome.’

  John dismounted and led his horse to a stall.

  ‘William will take his tack off if you wish,’ she offered calmly.

  It was a loaded question. ‘If I may, I’ll stay the night,’ John said. ‘William can take his saddle and bridle and turn him out to graze.’

  She looked away to hide her pleasure. ‘I’ll tell William,’ she said simply. ‘Will you take a glass of ale? Were the roads bad?’

  She led the way into the house. The wainscoted parlour was dark and cool after the bright sunshine. She left him for a moment while she fetched a tankard from the brew house. John looked out of the tiny thickly leaded window at the orchard.

  The pink and white blossoms of the apple trees were bobbing above the white and pink daisies starring the cropped grass of the orchard. The family had neither the time nor the inclination to make a good garden before the house, though Elizabeth had the care of the kitchen and herb garden in the walled area outside the back door. Six years ago, when John had visited and confirmed his engagement, he had planted a little square of lavender with a bush of rue at each corner in the area before the window; but this was a working farm and no-one had the time to plan or weed an elaborate knot garden. He saw that the rue had gone straggly as if remembrance itself was wearing thin; but the lavender was looking well.

  The door behind him opened and George Lance, her stepfather, came in.

  ‘Good to see you, Tradescant,’ he said.

  Elizabeth brought them two mugs of ale and went quietly out of the room.

  ‘I’m come to ask for the marriage to take place,’ John announced abruptly. ‘I’ve delayed too long.’

  ‘You’ve not delayed too long for her,’ George said defensively. ‘She’s a virgin still.’

  ‘Too long for me,’ John said. ‘I’m impatient to start a family. I’ve waited long enough.’

  ‘Still working for Sir Robert?’

  John nodded. ‘He’s an earl now.’

  ‘Still in favour?’

  John nodded again. ‘Never better.’

  ‘Have you seen the new king?’ George demanded. ‘Is he a great man? I had heard that he is a fine man – a huntsman and a man of God, an educated man and a father of fine children. Just what the kingdom needs!’

  John thought for a moment of the slack-mouthed lecher and the parade of pretty men who had come to Theobalds Palace a dozen times, the loud tempestuous Scots followers and the wanton drunken lechery of the new court.

  ‘He is all kingly virtues, thank God,’ he said carefully. ‘And now the earl is secure in his place, and I in mine. There’s a chance that the earl will have a new house, and I will have the ordering of the garden. I will be paid more, and I will be head gardener in a new garden to make all my own. At last I can offer Elizabeth a proper home.’

  ‘Your pay?’ George asked directly.

  ‘Forty pounds a year, and a cottage to live in.’

  ‘Well, she’s been ready and waiting for six years,’ George said. ‘And she’ll have what her father promised. A dowry of a fifty pounds, and her clothes and some household goods. She’ll be glad to go, I don’t doubt. She and her mother don’t always agree.’

  ‘They quarrel?’

  ‘Oh, no! Nothing to disturb a man’s quiet,’ George replied hastily. ‘She’ll make an obedient wife, I don’t doubt. But two grown women and only one kitchen to order …’ He broke off. ‘It’s sometimes hard to keep the peace. Shall you call the banns at the church here?’

  John nodded. ‘And I’ll take a cottage for us in the village. I shall be between Theobalds and my lord’s new house for some time. Elizabeth will like to be near her family when I am away. I shall have to travel abroad to seek trees and plants, as soon as Hatfield is ready. I am to go to the Low Countries and buy their bulbs, I am to go to France and buy their trees. I am planning an orangery where the tender trees can be reared in winter.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Well, Elizabeth will want to know all about it.’

  John was reminded that his new kindred had little interest in gardening. ‘And I shall be paid a good wage,’ he repeated.

  George hesitated for a moment, looking at his future son-in-law. ‘By God, you’re a cool fish, Tradescant,’ he said critically. ‘Or have you been banging the ladies of the court all this time and only now thought of Elizabeth?’

  John found himself flushing. ‘No. You misunderstand me. I have always been intending to come for Elizabeth. It was always agreed that when I had enough money to buy a house, and a little land, then we would marry; and not before. I was not able to offer her a house before now.’

  ‘Didn’t you think you might chance it?’ George asked curiously.

  ‘And you and your wife?’