The Tradescants arrived, as the king himself would arrive on his frequent visits, up the great drive which turned in a full circle before the house. The house fronted the drive full-square, with great turrets on either side and a huge wooden doorway, wide and high enough for two coaches to be driven abreast into the inner courtyard. It was built of handsome stone, every inch carved and crenellated like marchpane on a cake, with three stories of bay windows bulging from the encrusted walls. At each corner stood great towers with bulbous cupolas and flags flying from the poles at the top. In the inner courtyard was a huge cobbled area, as big as a tiltyard, with the great hall on the east side and a handsome oriel window looking out over the quadrangle. On the west side was the chapel for the house, and a bell tolling at the tower end.
Elizabeth looked askance at the stained glass in the huge chapel windows as the wagon halted in the yard. A maidservant came out with a tray of drinks for the travelers, and a groom from the stables emerged and said he would direct the wagon on to the Tradescants own cottage.
His Grace said that you should live in the great house if you please, but he thought you might prefer your own cottage so that you can nurse up plants in your own garden.
Yes, Elizabeth said before John could reply. We dont want to live in the hall.
John shot her a reproving look. The duke is gracious, he said carefully. I will need a garden under my eye. A cottage sounds a very good solution. Please show us the way.
He drained his mug of small ale, setting it back on the tray with a smile at the girl. J, still seated in the back, one arm around the precious chestnut tree, one hand on the tailgate of the wagon, did not even glance at the pretty serving maid but kept his eyes on his boots.
John sighed. He had not imagined the move would be easy but with Elizabeth suspecting papistry and luxury around every corner and with J sinking into the manners of a country bumpkin, he thought that returning to court life would be hard indeed, and that no master, however graceful or powerful, would make up for the differences in the little Tradescant family.
The cottage was some compensation. It had been built as a farmhouse and taken into the demesne of New Hall by the ever-widening wall and ambition of each successive owner. It was as good as Elizabeths girlhood home at Meopham, a two-storied, four-bedroomed house with an orchard at the back and a stable yard with room for a dozen horses at the side.
Elizabeth might put up with the disruption of the move for the benefit of the house, John thought, and held that hope in his mind until they had unpacked their goods and penned up the cat so that she should not stray, when a liveried manservant from the house tapped on the open front door and ordered John to wait on His Grace in the garden.
John pulled on his jacket and followed the man back up the drive toward the house.
Hes in the yew-tree allée, the man said, gesturing to the right of the house. He said you were to go and find him.
How shall I know him? John asked, hanging back.
The man looked at him with open surprise. Youll recognize him the moment you see him. Without error.
How?
Because hes the most beautiful man in the kingdom, the man said frankly. Go toward the yew-tree allée and when you see a man as lovely as an angel, thats my lord Buckingham. You cant miss him, and when youve seen him, youll never forget him.
John puffed a little at the courtier hyperbole and turned toward the colonnade of yew. He had time to note that the allée was overgrown and needed pruning at the head of the trees to make them thicken out at the bottom, before he stepped into the shade. He blinked against the sudden darkness of the thickly interleaved boughs. It was as dark as nighttime beneath the arching branches. The ground beneath his feet was soft with years of fallen brown yew needles. It was eerie and silent in the darkness; no birds sang in the still boughs of the trees, no sun shone into their shade. Then Johns eyes adjusted to the dimness after the dazzle of the sun and he saw George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.
At first he could see only a silhouette of a slim solitary man, of about thirty. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, dressed like a prince, laden with diamonds. He had a bright mobile face above the wide lace-trimmed ruff with eyes that were smiling and wicked, and a mouth as changeable and as provocative as any pretty womans. The pallor of his skin gleamed in the darkness as if he were lit from within, like a paper lantern, and his smile, when he saw John coming toward him, was as engaging as a childs, with the confidence and innocence of a child who has never known anything but love. He wore a doublet and cape of dark green, as green as the yew, and for a moment John, looking from trees to man, thought he was in the presence of a dryad some wild beautiful spirit of the wood and that some miracle had been granted him, to see a tree dancing toward him and smiling.
Ah! my John Tradescant! exclaimed Buckingham, and at that moment John suffered a strange falling feeling which made him think that he had taken the sun, riding all day on the open wagon. The man smiled at him as if he were a brother, as if he were a living angel come to give him tidings of great joy. John did not smile in greeting years later he would remember that he had not felt any sense of meeting a new master but rather a grave sense of deep familiarity. He did not feel that they were well-met, new-met. He felt as if they had been together for all their lives and just accidentally parted until now. If he had spoken the words in his heart he would have said: Oh, it is you at last.
Are you my John Tradescant? the man asked.
John bowed low and when he looked up the sheer beauty of the young man made him catch his breath again. Even standing still, he was as graceful as a dancer.
I am, John said simply. You sent for me and I have come to serve you.
Forgive me! the duke said swiftly. I dont doubt you were snatched away from your work. But I need you, Mr. Tradescant. I need you very badly.
John found he was smiling into the quick bright face of the young man. Ill do what I can.
It is here, at these gardens, the young duke said. He led the way down the allée, talking as he went, throwing a smile over his shoulder as John followed. The house is a thing of rare beauty, King Henrys summer house. But the gardens have been sorely neglected. I love my gardens, Mr. Tradescant. I want you to make these rich and lovely with your rare trees and flowers. I have seen Hatfield and I envy you the planting of such a place! Can you work the same magic for me here?
Hatfield was many years in the making, John said slowly. And the earl spent a fortune on buying in new plants.
I shall spend a fortune! the young man said carelessly. Or rather, you shall spend my fortune for me. Will you do that for me, John Tradescant? Shall I earn a fortune and you spend it? Is that a fair agreement?
Despite his sense of caution, John chuckled. Very fair on me, my lord. But perhaps you had better take a care. A garden can gobble up wealth as it can gobble up manure.
Theres always plenty of both, Buckingham said quickly. You just have to go to the right place.
John was tempted to laugh, but then thought better of it.
So will you do it? Buckingham paused at the end of the allée and looked back toward his house. It looked like a fairy-tale palace in the afternoon sunshine, a crenellated turreted palace set in the simple loveliness of the fertile green countryside of England. Will you make me a fine garden here, and another at my other house in Rutland?
John looked around. The ground was fine, the aspect of the house was open and facing south. The ground had been terraced in wide beautiful steps down the hillside; at the bottom was a marshy pond that he could do all sorts of things with: a lake with an island, or a fountain feature, or a man-made river for boating.
I can make you a fine garden, he said slowly. There will be no difficulty in growing what you will.
Buckingham slipped his hand in Johns arm. Dream with me, he urged him persuasively. Walk with me and tell me what you would grow here.
John looked back at the long allée. Theres little that will grow under yew, he said. But I have had some success with a plant that came from Turkey to France: lily of the valley. A small white flower, the daintiest thing you have ever seen. Like a snowdrop only smaller, a frilled bell, like a little model of a flower made in porcelain. It is scented, they tell me, as sweet as a rose, only sharp like lemons. A true lily scent. It will grow in great thick clumps and the white flowers are like stars against broad green leaves.
What dyou mean, they tell you it is scented? Cant you smell them? Buckingham asked.
I have no nose for smell, John admitted. It is a great disadvantage for a gardener. My son tells me when the earth smells sour or when we have some putrid rot. Without him I have to go by my eyes and touch.
Buckingham stopped and looked at his gardener. What a tragedy, he said simply. One of the greatest pleasures for me is the scent of flowers, what a tragedy that you cannot sense this! Oh! And so many other things! Good cheeses, and wine, and smell of a clean stable of straw! Oh! and perfume when it is warm on a womans skin, or the smell of her sweat when shes hot! And tobacco smoke! Oh, John! What a loss!
John smiled a little at his enthusiasm. Having never known it I do not feel the lack, he said. But I should like to smell a rose.
Buckingham shook his head. I should like you to smell a rose, John. I feel for you.
They walked on a few steps more. Now, Buckingham said. What would you do here?
The ground below them fell away to the marshy dip at the bottom of the field. As they watched, a herd of cows trudged through the mud and water, churning it up.
Get rid of the cows, John said definitely.
Buckingham laughed. I could have thought of that on my own! Do I need to hire you to tell me to mend the fences?