The Kew Gardens Girls

by Posy Lovell

  Louisa looked in the direction he did but saw only blue sky.

  “Really?” she said doubtfully.

  He nodded. “Not today. But tomorrow, perhaps.”

  Louisa raised an eyebrow and Jim laughed.

  “You’ll see. I’ll give you a hand with the watering cans. Be quicker if you take a couple over.”

  Together they filled four cans and heaved them across to the herbaceous border. Ivy and Bernie were both there, too, Ivy carefully explaining to Bernie why the small plants he’d just weeded had to be replanted.

  “They’re not weeds, Bernie,” she said. “I watched Mac plant them just the other day.”

  Bernie was looking aghast. “Crumbs,” he said. “I really thought I was getting better.”

  Louisa and Jim both chuckled.

  “Easy enough mistake to make, Bern,” Jim said. “Let’s get them back in before Mac spots us, eh?”

  They worked on together, with Bernie huffing and puffing and checking behind himself to make sure Mac wasn’t approaching.

  “Jim, tell us more flower language,” Ivy said.

  “Oh yes, please.” Louisa was enjoying learning what the different blooms meant.

  Jim leaned on his spade, looking more like the farmers Louisa had grown up around than the seventeen-year-old lad he was. “What do you want to know?”

  “What’s courage?” asked Bernie.

  Jim shot him an amused glance.

  “Mac’s really not so bad,” he said. “He’s ever so pleased with you lot, you know. He calls you his girls.”

  “Even me?” Bernie said wryly. Jim laughed.

  “He’s a grumpy old thing, but he’s sweet as anything,” Ivy agreed. “He used to look out for me when I came with Dad. There weren’t many that did that.”

  Louisa found she was absurdly proud that Mac was pleased with their work.

  “What did he say exactly?” she asked Jim, but he only shrugged.

  “Just that.”

  “But we’re doing all right?”

  He grinned at her. “Better than all right,” he said. “I can’t hardly remember what it was like without you.”

  Ivy nudged him roughly. “Courage,” she said.

  “Oh right. Come with me.”

  Obediently, they all downed their tools and traipsed obediently after Jim as he led down the path beside the border and over toward the rock garden.

  Carefully, he clambered over the stones until he found a large patch of tiny white flowers, shaped like the most beautiful stars.

  “Edelweiss,” he said. “For courage.”

  Bernie peered down at the pretty stellar display. “They’re so delicate.”

  “But strong,” Jim said. “They grow in the Alps.”

  “German?” Louisa said with distaste. Jim gave her a look that was heavy with disappointment, and immediately she felt ashamed. What did it matter? These pretty little flowers weren’t part of the war.

  “They grow all over,” Jim said carefully. “Austria, Germany, Switzerland.”

  He bent down and touched one of the flowers with a gentle finger.

  “They flourish in rocky ground in pretty tough conditions. They’re sturdy little plants. I reckon we could all learn a thing or two from them about hanging on when things are difficult.”

  “Indeed,” said Louisa, wanting to make up for her misguided comment about Germany.

  “Thinking of the war, Bernie?” Ivy asked. Bernie nodded but didn’t speak.

  “There are a few plants that could hold messages about the war,” Jim said thoughtfully. “How about this one?”

  He led them back to the border, farther down than where they’d been working earlier, to a small purple plant that bore a passing resemblance to lavender.

  Ivy frowned. “Hyssop,” she said. “Good for coughs, ain’t it?”

  Jim nodded. “It’s good for all sorts of things, tummy ache and that. But it also means sacrifice.”

  “That’s a message for the war, all right,” said Bernie. “Sacrifice.”

  Louisa wondered if he was thinking about his former pupils who’d gone to fight and been lost. Men he’d known as boys just a few years before.

  Jim, sensing the mood had dropped, bounded over to another patch and pointed. “These,” he said.

  “Nasturtiums?” Louisa said. She was fond of the bright orange flowers and had several in her pots at home.

  “Patriotism,” Jim said. “That’s what they mean.”

  Louisa was delighted and immediately decided to tell the women at her next meeting about the meaning of the bright plants. Believing in Great Britain was such an important message during times like these.

  “Lovely,” she said.

  Ivy frowned again. She looked unsure, but Louisa wasn’t sure why.

  “You should draw them,” she said hurriedly, wanting to cheer up the younger woman, whose earlier happiness seemed to have deserted her.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Bernie said. “You’ve got a lovely eye for flowers and plants and your drawings are beautifully delicate.”

  Ivy flushed with pride.

  “I agree,” Jim said. “You could keep cuttings, too, and press flowers. I’ve seen you do that at home anyway. But you could make it like a real journal of the year at Kew. It’s a good time to start with everything in full bloom.”

  “And you can add the meanings of the plants in your notes,” Louisa said. “It’ll be good writing practice, too.”

  Ivy shrugged. “I’ve not got the stuff I’d need,” she said.

  Bernie had been gazing at the nasturtiums, but now he stood up and raised his chin.

  “I shall get you a pad,” he declared. “And pencils. Talent like yours should be nurtured, Ivy.”

  Ivy giggled at his determination and then squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Bernie,” she said. “I’d like that a lot. Will you help me with the writing?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Wherever will you start?” Louisa said, gazing round at the riches on offer.

  “With whatever is easiest to spell,” Ivy joked. Bernie laughed loudly and Louisa’s spirits lifted at the sound. He didn’t laugh often, Bernie. He seemed to be worried most of the time, fretting about something he didn’t want to share. So she was pleased he seemed happier now—if only for a moment.

  “Having fun?” Mac’s voice boomed out over the flowers and they all jumped. But he was smiling, much to Louisa’s relief.

  “I heard what you were saying,” he told them. “Ivy, I didn’t know you were an artist?”

  Ivy waved her hand at him, as if to say he’d got it all wrong. “I’m no artist, but I like messing around and drawing plants.”

  “And you’re planning a diary of the year at Kew?”

  She nodded. “Can I?”

  He smiled again. Louisa wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him looking so happy. It seemed Jim was right and he was pleased with their work.

  As if he’d read her mind, Mac turned to her. “You’re doing well, Miss Taylor,” he said.

  “Louisa, please.”

  “Louisa.” He nodded. “Glad to have you all here.”

  There was a pause as they all smiled at one another, pleased with themselves. And then Mac coughed.

  “But there’s too much lazing about going on here for my liking,” he said, clapping his hands. “Bernie, Ivy, I need you digging out the border at the end, separating those delphiniums and making room for the asters.”

  He nudged Ivy. “Take some of the delphs if you like, to press for your diary.”

  Ivy looked pleased as she and Bernie picked up the spades and headed toward the end of the border, and Mac wandered back over to where he’d been working on the lawn.

  “What do delphiniums symbolize?” Louisa asked Jim with in
terest. She was intrigued by the language of flowers and eager to learn more. “Is it something awful? They’re terribly poisonous, aren’t they?”

  Jim looked over at the blue blooms and thought. “I can’t remember exactly, but I don’t think it’s horrible. I’ll have to look it up, but I think it’s having an open heart, being cheerful.”

  Bernie paused as they were talking.

  “I know this one,” he said, chuffed with himself. “I believe the name comes from delphis, which means dolphin.”

  Louisa smiled, pleased with the explanation.

  “I suppose you could say the buds look a bit like dolphins,” she said, with the confident knowledge of one who’d only ever seen a picture of the exotic mammal in a book. “But it’s a bit of a stretch. Though the blue is like the sea.”

  But Bernie wasn’t finished.

  “Legend has it, the flowers bloomed in the blood of the mighty warrior Ajax, who fought in the Trojan War,” he said. Louisa watched in pleasure as his face lit up while he talked of his favorite subject. “He went mad after Achilles died, and killed himself. And the blue flowers sprung up where his blood spilled.”

  Louisa made a face. “That’s a bit gruesome,” she said.

  Bernie spread his arms out wide. “No, it’s wonderful,” he said. “Wonderful storytellers, the ancient Greeks. Each delphinium petal bears the letters ai. It means alas in Greek.”

  Jim screwed his face up. “No they don’t,” he said. “At least, not that I’ve noticed.”

  Louisa and Bernie both laughed.

  “Maybe you just need to look more carefully,” Bernie said, and Jim laughed, too.

  Ivy was bored of waiting.

  “Come on, Bern,” she grumbled. “I can’t do this on my own.”

  She glanced over to the others and flashed them her infectious smile.

  “I’ll take a cutting to press, and I’ll draw the petals,” she said. “We’ll see who’s right about these letters.”

  The sound of their chuckles echoed across the Gardens as they all got back to work.

  Chapter 7

  Ivy was so thrilled with the sketchbook and pencils Bernie gave her that she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Oh, Bern,” she said eventually, putting her hand to her chest. “Oh, Bernie.”

  “I chose it because the paper is quite thick and I thought it would work for drawings and pressed flowers,” he explained, pleased with her reaction. He always worried about not getting things right, not judging a situation correctly—heaven knows he’d made a big enough mistake with Vivienne—but this time, it seemed, he’d done well.

  “This is honestly the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me,” Ivy said, her eyes filled with tears. She squeezed his arm tightly, which in Ivy’s world showed enormous affection, and Bernie felt quite tearful himself.

  “Pleasure,” he muttered. “I think you’ve really got something here, Ivy.”

  She gazed at her haul for a moment, stroking the pages of the book, and then a thought struck her and her expression darkened.

  “This will be ruined if I take it home. I can’t trust the littl’uns with anything nice. They’ll be scribbling all over it. Can I leave it here, Lou?”

  As always they were in Louisa’s basement flat for the lesson. Louisa was sitting on the sofa reading, as she usually did while Bernie was teaching. Today, though, she was reading the newspaper instead of her customary novels and huffing and puffing, tutting and exclaiming, as she turned the pages. Bernie had carefully ignored her. He had a feeling he and Louisa wouldn’t see eye to eye when it came to current affairs and the war especially, and he didn’t want to ruin a blossoming friendship.

  Now Louisa looked up. “What’s that?”

  “Can I leave my sketchbook here? I’m worried if I take it home it’ll be spoiled by my stupid siblings.”

  “Of course you can,” Louisa said. She turned her attention back to the newspaper and tapped the page she’d been reading.

  “Things happening in Greece,” she said to Bernie. She often did this, speaking to him of the war. He thought she assumed he’d share her interest in what was going on, when in reality the mention of the conflict sent him into a deep spiraling gloom. He’d heard rumors the British troops were planning to use poison gas and felt sick even thinking about it. What an awful thing to do. How could something so brutal ever be right?

  He shook his head to dislodge the worries and spoke up. “I have to go, I’m afraid,” he said, interrupting Louisa before she could fill him in on this week’s casualties in France. “Ivy, shall I walk you to the bus stop?”

  “That would be great, Bernie,” she said.

  “Not seeing Jim this evening?” Louisa asked.

  Ivy shrugged. “Got something on.” She looked a bit shifty, like she was hiding something, so Bernie was glad Louisa was absorbed in her newspaper.

  When they were out in the street, he looked at Ivy. “What are you up to?”

  She pulled her shawl round her shoulders. Summer was definitely on its way out and the evenings had a chill now.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Bernie chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar, Ivy Adams,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  She sighed and tugged his hand to get him to sit down on a wooden bench close to the bus stop.

  “Promise you won’t tell?”

  “Depends what it is,” said Bernie honestly. He hated being asked to keep secrets before he knew what those secrets were.

  Ivy gave him an exasperated look, but she took a breath and spoke quickly. “I’m not sure how I feel about the war, is all,” she said in a hurry.

  Bernie realized he’d been holding his breath. “Me neither,” he admitted.

  They both looked at each other in slight shock about what they’d admitted.

  “I’m so frightened that Jim will enlist,” Ivy went on. “I lie in bed at night, just trembling at the thought. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Bernie managed a small smile. “I thought that was the sketchbook,” he said.

  Ivy thumped him on his arm with a grin. “You know what I mean,” she said. Suddenly serious again, she added: “I know boys from school, or from the market, that have gone to France and not come back and it’s awful, Bernie. I see their mums round our way, and they’re changed, you know? They’re kind of folded in on themselves because they’re so sad. I don’t want that. Not for me, not for my mum. Not for anyone.”

  Bernie nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I’ve got pupils—former pupils—who have gone. I think about them as small boys because that’s what they were when I was teaching them. I simply can’t imagine their eager little faces, covered in mud and blood and Christ knows what else.” He shuddered. “It’s unbearable.”

  He pushed his shoulders back, getting the courage up to speak more. If they were sharing confidences, perhaps now was the time to share his deepest thoughts?

  “I am a Quaker, as you know,” he said. “And Quakers are pacifists.”

  Ivy looked blank. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “We don’t believe that war is ever the right course of action.”

  She looked up to the sky, her lips pinched together, thinking. “Seems a sensible way of thinking.”

  “Not everyone agrees.”

  “Well, lots of people are getting their knickers in a twist about it, ain’t they?” Ivy said. Bernie chuckled at the supreme understatement. “Louisa and I . . .” She stopped talking for a second, then gathered herself and started again. “We’ve got some friends who are all over it. Going on about fighting for the king, and how all we women should be doing our bit.”

  She paused again. “There’s a woman round our way, you might know her name? Sylvia Pankhurst?”

  Bernie was surprised but tried to hide it. To hear Ivy tal
k of herself you’d think she was just another urchin running wild on the London streets, but then you’d catch a glimpse of her incredible knowledge of plants and flowers, her talent for drawing, her passion for nature, her deep thinking about the war, and now her casually dropping the name of one of—in Bernie’s opinion—the most interesting social reformers of their time. He blinked.

  “I do know her name, indeed I do.”

  “She’s got this group going, the East London Federation of Suffragettes.”

  Bernie nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Suffragettes generally, but he adored Ivy and Louisa, and he’d heard many good things about Sylvia Pankhurst and her breakaway group.

  Ivy went on: “When the war started, it got really rough round our way, really quick. Lots of the factories closed, almost straightaway. Men lost their jobs, or the ones on the reserves list just got called up and had to go. There were families with little kids, starving, Bernie. I saw it.”

  “Terrible business.”

  “And Sylvia got her women together and started giving out milk to the littl’uns. And food and that. And now they’ve got a factory making toys—I know a few people who have got themselves jobs there. My mum’s even talking about giving it a go and I reckon she should, because it’s got to be better than doing munitions.”

  She was looking animated now, waving her hands in the air as she talked.

  “It just seems more . . .” She searched for the word. “More real.”

  “More real than . . . ?”

  She paused again.

  “More real than talking about the glory of the war,” she said eventually.

  Bernie was astonished. He looked at Ivy and nodded. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “Absolutely. But as I said, not everyone sees it that way and we must respect the beliefs of others.”

  Ivy tutted but she smiled, too.

  “I’m going to a meeting,” she said. “This evening. A Federation meeting.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I want to see what it’s all about. See if I can help, when I’m not at Kew.”

  “You are really something, Ivy,” Bernie said. “A force of nature.”

  She thumped him on the arm again. “Shut up.”