The Kew Gardens Girls

by Posy Lovell

  Louisa realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out in a puff and beamed at Teddy. “Really?”

  “I’m not promising anything, but there are ways round this.”

  They walked on for a few steps, even though he’d answered Louisa’s questions and really she could go home now. She found she didn’t want to leave, though. She wasn’t sure why.

  “How do you know so much about conscientious objectors?” she asked.

  Teddy paused. “Shall we sit?”

  He gestured to a bench and Louisa sat down, waiting patiently as Teddy gathered his thoughts.

  “My wife died when our son, Philip, was born,” he said. “So it was just him and me.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Louisa.

  “We had our ups and downs when he was young, but we rubbed along quite nicely. When the war started, he was nineteen.”

  Louisa could see where this was going. She looked at Teddy’s sad face, and without thinking, she put her hand on his.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t tell me if it’s too difficult.”

  Teddy looked down at her fingers and then up at her face, but he didn’t move his hand away.

  “I’d like to,” he said. “It’s important.

  “Philip said he wanted to enlist and I . . .” He took a breath. “I encouraged him. I said he should do his duty.”

  Louisa nodded. “I thought the same.”

  “He’d not been in France for six months when I got the telegram. They sent back his things. His uniform had a bullet hole in it. Can you imagine?”

  Louisa couldn’t. She squeezed his fingers but she didn’t speak.

  Teddy took a deep breath. “And all I could think was that I’d encouraged him to go. And for what end? What’s it all for?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “Now I help young men who want to avoid being called up. I hate this ridiculous waste of lives. I don’t want more men to die like Philip died.”

  He looked at her, like he’d forgotten she was there. Then he took his hand from under hers and put it gently in his lap.

  “There are legal ways to register as a conscientious objector,” he said. “Proper channels we can go through. If he’s willing to do work elsewhere that could be considered contributing to the war effort?”

  “What sort of work?” Louisa wasn’t sure. “Nothing military?”

  “No, no. They call it ‘work of national importance.’ Could be building roads or laboring on the railways. Some choose to work on the battlefields, driving ambulances.”

  Louisa tried to picture Bernie driving an ambulance or working on a road, and found she couldn’t.

  “You said he’s a gardener?”

  “Yes. That’s how I know him. We worked together at Kew.”

  Teddy looked impressed. “You’re a gardener, too?”

  “They advertised for women to work there when their men signed up.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “I love it.”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes warm suddenly. She felt tingly under the weight of his gaze and, embarrassed, she looked away. What was this?

  “Farmwork is considered work of national importance,” Teddy said. “Growing food. Perhaps that would suit your friend better?”

  Louisa stared at him. “Farmwork?”

  “Yes?”

  “Farmwork,” she said, delighted. “Of course. Farmwork.”

  Teddy looked confused but pleased with her reaction. “Is that helpful?”

  “It may well be,” she said. “I might be able to find somewhere for him to work. If I can, could you sort out the official bits?”

  “I could.”

  Louisa stood up, eager to get home and get started on the next part of her plan to help Bernie. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Teddy’s eyes met hers and again she felt that tingle as he looked at her. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Chapter 18

  Ivy was watching the new gardener as she wandered round the rose garden. Humming. She had her hair neatly pinned up and she was wearing a long dress and a sunbonnet and holding a basket. Ivy glanced down at her own muddy overalls and boots. It looked to her as though this new gardener wasn’t planning on getting dirty.

  Annoyed, Ivy took a step toward her. She’d found that her temper, never far beneath the surface, was even quicker to flare up since Jim had been gone. She was missing him desperately and even receiving her first letter—of sorts—from him, which he’d sent to her at the Gardens, hadn’t eased her pain.

  She had tucked the envelope in her pocket so as to have it close and now she took it out and held it in her hands, gazing at his handwriting on the front. Louisa had read it to her, and she’d asked her to repeat it over and over, until Ivy knew it by heart. Jim had written:

  My Ivy,

  We have arrived in France and things aren’t as bad as I feared. I have met some nice lads and would you believe, Ernie my old mate from school is here, too? It was good to see a familiar face. The men who have been here awhile say it’s best in summer because the mud ain’t so bad and the nights are warm. I miss you, Ivy. When we settle down to sleep, I look up at the stars and think about you doing the same. I am sending you something special—you’ll know what it means.

  Your Jim

  She hugged herself, remembering his words—even if she wasn’t sure she believed him when he said it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared—and then she opened the flap of the envelope, ever so carefully, and peered inside, smiling. She had a plan about what to do with the tiny gift of love Jim had sent. She just needed to check with Mac first. But at the moment, he was fawning all over this new gardener. Ivy scowled. New gardeners were fine—great, in fact, because heaven knew they were all working as hard as they could now that Bernie and Jim were gone. But she really wasn’t sure that this woman in her expensive dress was the right type for Kew.

  “Ivy.” Mac’s voice behind her made her jump. “Come and meet our new recruit.”

  “I was just on my way to the palm house, Mac,” she said. The female gardeners were allowed to work in every part of the Gardens now and Ivy adored the tropical greenhouse with its huge, foreign plants. Even if her hair did become even wilder as soon as she stepped through the doors.

  “There’s no hurry,” Mac said. “Come and say hello.”

  Reluctantly, Ivy followed him across the rose garden to where the new woman was crouching down, smelling one of the blooms.

  “Isn’t this just wonderful?” the woman said. She had a clipped, cut-glass voice most unlike Ivy’s London accent. “A beautiful, deep-red rose, meaning love.”

  “Actually, the dark crimson roses symbolize mourning,” Ivy said.

  The woman looked startled and stood up in a hurry. “Good heavens.”

  Mac sighed. “Ivy, this is Lady Winifred Ramsay, our newest recruit.”

  Ivy stuck out her hand, aware her fingernails were engrained with dirt. But if Lady Ramsay noticed, she didn’t mind because she shook Ivy’s hand with genuine enthusiasm.

  “Hello, Ivy.”

  Ivy muttered her greetings.

  “You two get acquainted,” Mac said. “Can you show Lady Ramsay the borders, please? And I’ll go and track Louisa down.”

  “She’s in the veg garden with Dennis, I think,” Ivy said. They’d expanded the vegetable garden yet again. That was good for Bernie, who was never in danger of going hungry across the green in his St. Anne’s hideaway, but it was adding to their increased workload, too.

  Mac nodded his thanks and headed off toward the vegetable patches. Ivy smiled awkwardly at Lady Ramsay, feeling grubby and unkempt.

  “I’ll show you the borders, Lady Ramsay,” she said.

  “Oh, call me Win.”

  Ivy blinked. “Really?”

&nb
sp; “Absolutely. Lady Ramsay sounds like a stuffy old bag, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Despite herself, Ivy smiled, finding herself warming to the woman.

  “Win,” she said.

  She led her down the broad path toward the herbaceous borders, telling Lady Ramsay—Win—some facts about the Gardens as they went.

  “It’s one of the longest borders in the world, so Mac says.”

  Win looked impressed. “All tended to by you girls?”

  Ivy puffed up her chest. “Every bit.”

  “Wonderful,” said Win. She looked round at the glorious display of flowers stretching in every direction. The Gardens really were at their best during summer and Ivy felt a flush of pride as she saw them through a stranger’s eyes. The colors and scents, and the bees and butterflies darting among the plants all made Kew seem like a haven, a sanctuary, somewhere the poisonous tendrils of the war didn’t reach.

  As though she’d read her mind, Win glanced at Ivy.

  “I saw you with a letter,” she said. “Sweetheart off at the Front?”

  Ivy pinched her lips together and nodded. “Just gone.” She took a deep breath so as not to cry. “First letter.”

  Win squeezed her arm. “Then we shall keep each other’s spirits up, because I know just how you’re feeling.”

  “Really?” Ivy didn’t want to be rude, but Lady Ramsay had to be well into her fifties and unless her husband was far younger than she, it seemed unlikely that he had enlisted.

  “My husband, Archie, is serving in the Dover Patrol,” Win said. “That’s where we live, you see. I’ve just come up to our London house so I can help out here.”

  Two houses? Imagine. Ivy thought about her brothers and sisters spilling out of the terrace in Hackney and felt that rush of annoyance again. Fortunately, Louisa arrived before Ivy said anything she might regret.

  “Mac said I had to come and meet our new gardener,” Louisa said, striding over. Ivy saw, with amusement, that she reacted to Win in exactly the same way as Ivy had, running a disapproving eye over her hair, her dress, her basket.

  “This is Lady Ramsay,” Ivy said. Louisa looked surprised and unsure how to react. She paused and Win chuckled.

  “Call me Win,” she said. She held out her hand and Louisa shook it.

  “Win’s from Kent,” Ivy told Louisa. She turned to Win. “So is Louisa.”

  “Marvelous, a local girl,” Win said, delighted. “Whereabouts?”

  “Tiny village called Cassingham, quite near Maidstone.”

  “I was just telling Ivy that I’m from Dover.”

  Louisa nodded politely, not overly interested.

  “My husband’s serving in the Dover Patrol. He’s too old, really, but he’s been in the Navy for donkeys’ years so they snapped him up.”

  Win’s smile wavered, just a bit. “But I miss him terribly.”

  Ivy and Louisa exchanged a glance. Ivy felt a sudden connection to this woman, realizing that however many houses she had, or how many pretty dresses she wore, the feeling of missing a loved one was the same.

  “I find keeping busy in the Gardens really helps me,” Ivy said. “You almost see time passing because the plants change every day. And I think every day that goes by brings me closer to seeing Jim again.”

  Win nodded.

  “That’s exactly what I hoped,” she said. “I was rattling round in that big house down in Dover. And I kept looking out of the window, watching the sea, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Archie’s boat, and then worrying I’d see it attacked or sinking and not be able to do anything about it.”

  She swallowed a sob, and again Ivy felt sorry for her.

  “And I thought to myself, ‘Win, you’re driving yourself mad here; get up to London and help with the war effort.’ The only thing I’m really any good at is gardening so I popped in here and that charming Douglas said he’d find something for me to do. I was thrilled, darlings, because it’s just what I need.”

  Ivy thought back to their first day at Kew, with Mac pacing along the line of recruits, quizzing them on their skills.

  “He didn’t interview you?”

  Win shook her head. “Nothing as formal as that. I just said I’d help out where I could.” She looked round at the flowers. “It’s so delightful here, I thought it would keep my mind off whatever Archie is doing.”

  “Wait, you’re just helping out?” Louisa said, frowning. “You’re not working here officially?”

  “Heavens, no. I’ve never had a job in my life.”

  Again, Ivy exchanged a look with Lou. “You’re not being paid?”

  Win let out a peal of laughter that send a couple of starlings whirling up from a nearby tree.

  “Paid? No.”

  There was a pause.

  “Let me take you to the borders and perhaps you can do some deadheading,” Ivy said. She let Win go ahead and then pulled Louisa’s hand to slow her down.

  “She’s not being paid,” she hissed. “We need to talk about this.”

  “Veg patch at lunch,” Louisa said.

  And so, after a tiring morning spent discovering that when Win said she was good at gardening, what she really meant was she was good at telling gardeners what to do, Ivy found Louisa checking that the slugs hadn’t eaten all the lettuces.

  “She’s not being paid,” Louisa said, looking up as Ivy approached. “What’s going on?”

  Ivy crouched down next to her and examined a lettuce. “No idea. Sounds like she just decided it might be fun to wander round the Gardens every now and then, and Mac went for it.”

  Louisa snorted. “Mac’s a sucker for a title and a nice accent.”

  “Apparently so.” Ivy decided the lettuces were fine and moved over to have a look at the cauliflowers.

  “Do you know what I’m worried about most of all?”

  “That we’ll have to start wearing dresses to work again?”

  Louisa chuckled. They’d all worn dresses with aprons over them at first but, as time had gone on, most of the women had ditched their unwieldy skirts and opted for the same overalls the men wore.

  “No,” Louisa said, her expression suddenly serious. “No, I’m worried about what will happen if the chaps in the offices decide we shouldn’t be paid, either. What will we do then?”

  “That can’t happen,” Ivy said. “Can it?”

  Louisa stood up and brushed down her overalls. “No idea. But why pay us if they can get posh women to do our jobs for nothing?”

  “You can’t compare us to Win, though. We’ve got knowledge and experience and expertise.”

  Louisa shrugged. “I know that, and you know that, and Mac knows that. But what about the people who are in charge? Times are tough, Ivy, and people are tightening their belts everywhere. All those men in the offices will see is numbers on a page in an accounts book—that’s all we are to them.”

  Ivy let out a breath.

  “Lord,” she said. “What if you’re right? What if they ask us to work for nothing?”

  “I need a job,” Louisa said. There was urgency in her voice—almost panic. “If I don’t have a job, I can’t pay my rent. And if I can’t pay my rent, then I’ll end up back on the farm with Reg. I can’t have that, Ivy.”

  She looked like she might cry so Ivy stood up, too, and took her hands.

  “I won’t let that happen, Lou. Don’t worry.”

  “What can we do about it, though?”

  “I guess the first thing we need to do is speak to Mac.”

  Louisa nodded. “Yes, that’s the best thing. Find out what’s really happening and we can go from there.”

  “Do you know where he is? We could find him now.”

  “I saw him heading for the break room with Win.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Together they wandered over
toward the building, chatting quietly about which veg they could pick to take to Bernie.

  “It’s easy now, but Lord knows what we’ll do in autumn,” said Ivy. “We’ll have to start pickling cabbage for him.” She was only half joking. She’d been having sleepless nights wondering how much longer Bernie could stay hidden away in the crypt.

  But Louisa smiled.

  “Don’t fret,” she said. “I have something up my sleeve.”

  “Did you go to the Peace meeting?” Ivy had forgotten all about it, so absorbed was she in her grief and worry about Jim.

  “I did.” Louisa’s cheeks flushed pink.

  “And?”

  “There was a chap there who knows everything there is to know about registering officially as a conscientious objector.”

  Ivy watched Louisa curiously as she explained about jobs of national importance. Her cheeks reddened every time she mentioned this Teddy who was helping her.

  “He’s nice, is he, Teddy?” she asked.

  “Very nice.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does ‘hmm’ mean?” Louisa looked flustered.

  Ivy grinned. “Nothing,” she said. “Carry on.”

  Still flushed, Louisa explained that she and Teddy were working on a plan.

  “I don’t want to say too much at the moment in case it doesn’t work,” she said.

  “All right,” said Ivy, more intrigued about Teddy than Louisa’s plans for Bernie. “Just tell me if you need me to do anything.”

  They’d reached the building now. There was no sign of Mac, but Dennis was outside, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.

  “Mac about?” Ivy called.

  He shook his head. “He’s gone off with that posh woman. He’s taken her to meet the bigwigs in the office.”

  “No,” said Louisa, her eyes widening. “Well, that’s that, then.”

  “Don’t panic.” Ivy’s brain was whirring, as she tried to work out what they should do next.

  “What?” said Dennis, who’d never panicked over anything in his life. Slowly, he pushed himself upright off the wall and ground out his cigarette. “Don’t panic about what?”