by Posy Lovell
“The new gardener, Lady Ramsay?”
“What about her?”
“She’s not being paid.”
“What do you mean?”
Louisa looked cross. “She means, Lady Ramsay is only here for fun. She’s doing the work because she wants to. And we’re worried that if she’s working for free, they’re going to end up expecting us to work for free, too. Or replace us with other ladies who’ll do it instead.”
Dennis looked uncharacteristically rattled. “Really?” he said. “Do you think that could happen?”
Ivy shrugged. “Dunno. But why would you pay for something you can get for free?”
“Sod.” Dennis chewed his lip. “I can’t afford to work for nothing. My dad’s off driving ambulances and I’m the only one earning because my sister’s too little and my mum’s not well. There’s little enough of my twenty-eight shillings left after we’ve paid the rent and bought food for the week.”
Ivy looked at Louisa, her shocked face showing that Ivy hadn’t misheard what Dennis just said. But she checked anyway.
“Little enough of your . . . ?”
“My twenty-eight shillings.” Dennis looked at Ivy as if she were simple. “My wages, I mean.”
“You get twenty-eight shillings?” Louisa said. “Every week?”
“Yeeeees.”
Ivy and Louisa stared at him, and he stared back.
“What?” he said defensively. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because we don’t earn twenty-eight shillings every week,” Ivy said. “We only earn twenty-one shillings.”
“You do?”
Louisa looked stern. “Yes, we do. And that’s not bloody good enough. We do the same work as you, we should get paid the same.”
“Well,” said Dennis, “you’re women. You don’t need to earn the same. It’s not like you’re supporting a family or nothing.”
He let out a little shriek as Ivy grabbed his shoulder and pushed him against the wall.
“Say that again,” she hissed.
“I just mean that men have responsibilities, that’s all,” he stammered.
“My dad goes off for weeks at a time,” said Ivy. “My mum works, but her wage on its own doesn’t go far with my brothers and sisters. They eat like horses, the lot of them. My wage covers the rent so they keep a roof over their head.”
Dennis nodded. “I didn’t know that,” he muttered.
But Ivy wasn’t finished.
“And Louisa here. She’s totally independent. She owes nothing to no one. Earns her own money, puts food on her own table. Why shouldn’t she be paid the same as a man?”
“You’re right,” Dennis said. “I’m sorry.”
Ivy let go of his shoulder. “Course I’m right. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Poor Dennis looked totally taken aback by Ivy’s lecture. “Are you going to ask Mac to pay you more? He won’t pay me less, will he?”
“Too right we’re going to speak to Mac.” Ivy’s temper was flaring again. “We need to get this sorted out.”
But Louisa put a calming hand on her arm.
“Hold on,” she said. “We need to work out the best way to approach this. If we go in all guns blazing, he’s bound to go on the defensive and before we know it, we’ll be out on our ears. We need to present him—and the bigwigs—with reasons for us being paid the same as the men that they can’t argue with. And we need to get the other gardeners involved, too. Let them know we’re all being paid less just because we’re women.”
“What about Lady Whatsit?” said Dennis. “Should she be paid the same, too?”
Louisa made a face, but Ivy jumped in.
“Course.” She thought for a minute. “It shouldn’t be about whether we’re men or women, should it? It should be about how long we’ve worked here and what jobs we do. So perhaps Win—Lady Ramsay—shouldn’t get as much as us at the moment, because she’s just learning. But once she’s got the hang of it, then yes, she definitely should.”
Louisa gave Ivy an admiring glance and she preened a bit, pleased to have impressed her friend.
“I reckon you’ve got a point there, Ivy Adams,” Dennis said. “And I’m on board. I’ll support you and the other women all the way. But I have to tell you—you’ve got a fight on your hands.”
Chapter 19
It was like someone had lit a fire under Louisa, forcing her to act. Having Bernie to focus on was already helping her put the business with Reg behind her, and now she had the wages to think about, too.
With some help from Ivy, she’d spoken to all the female gardeners and found out they were all being paid the same as she and Ivy were. Dennis, bless him, had been as good as his word and had been very helpful, too. With Jim and Bernie gone, there were only a couple of younger male gardeners left, along with Mac. He’d had a word with them and found out that they, too, were being paid far more than the women. And when Ivy asked Bernie what he’d been paid before Mac sacked him, she was horrified to discover he had also been on the higher salary.
“He knew nothing when he started,” she told Louisa as they left the Gardens one day after work. “We had to teach him everything we knew. How can it possibly be fair that he was being paid more money than we were?”
Louisa knew Ivy had been quick to anger since Jim had gone to the Front, and generally she tried to keep her friend calm when she saw her temper start to flare. But this time she wanted her to be angry.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “And it’s just the latest in a long line of things that aren’t fair for women.”
Dennis, who was walking behind the women, listening in to their conversation, chimed in.
“Well,” he said, “you don’t have to go and fight. You’re safe in your beds at night, not in a trench.”
“Yes,” Louisa conceded. “But I bet there are women who would if they could, though.”
Dennis shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Anyway, we’re not talking about men, we’re talking about women. Society is weighted against us and though we can fight for votes for women and other equal rights, I feel helpless when it comes to the big things.”
Ivy nodded.
Encouraged, Louisa went on. “This is something we can change,” she said. “This is somewhere we can really make a difference.”
“So what shall we do?”
“I’m going to arrange a meeting of all the gardeners. We need to do this together.”
Ivy nodded. “Good.”
They’d reached the gates.
“Are you going home? I’ll walk with you to the bus stop.”
Louisa felt slightly embarrassed.
“I’m meeting Teddy,” she said, feeling her cheeks redden as they did every time she spoke about her new friend. And whenever she thought about him, which was surprisingly frequently. “He’s got some news about Bernie.”
Ivy gave Louisa a mischievous grin, which she pretended not to see.
“Seeing a lot of Teddy, aren’t you?”
“He’s being very helpful.”
Teddy was being helpful, that was true, but Louisa enjoyed spending time with him. He was gentle and sad, but kind and had moments of humor or levity that made Lou’s heart sing.
“I know how short life can be,” he had told her once. “And so I try to find the joy in everyday things. The sparkle of the sun on puddles after a shower of rain. The smell of bread in the morning.”
He gave her a quick, sudden smile.
“I even try to find the positives in the sound of the children kicking their football against my wall.”
Louisa had tried to take a leaf out of Teddy’s book and every night before she went to sleep she would mentally list the good things that had happened that day. Praise from Mac, laughing with Ivy, eating for lunch tomatoes she’d grow
n herself, which tasted of the sun. It was a good way to end each day. She was sure that as she drifted off tonight, she’d add “spending time with Teddy” to her list.
He met her at the St. James’s Park tube station and they wandered off toward the park together. They always headed for green spaces when they met. Partly, Louisa thought, because it made their conversation harder to overhear, and partly just because walking in the park had become something they did. She liked it.
“Tell me everything,” she said as they walked. “What’s new?”
Teddy looked pleased with himself. “It’s all in place. As good as signed off.”
Louisa felt light-headed with relief. “Really?”
“As long as you’ve got what we need?”
She went over to a nearby bench and sat down so she could riffle through her bag more easily.
“I do.”
She found what she was looking for and brandished it triumphantly. “Here.”
What she was gripping in her hand was a letter from her brother, Matthew. In it, he’d outlined how hard things were on the farm now that all their staff had enlisted. He wrote that their hops were ready and their apples would need picking very soon and how with so few farmhands to help, the fruit was in danger of rotting on the branches. He added that they had expanded their vegetable gardens and had recently bought three dairy cows, who were providing enough milk for all the children in Cassingham. But he was worried about how to keep things going. Matthew wrote:
My father does what he can, but he is not as fit as he was, and my children are too small to do much. Our farm is well-established and can easily provide food for our village, as well as providing a good harvest of apples for the wider community. But only if we have some help. I firmly feel that employment as a farmhand with us would be work of national importance and Bernard Yorke’s particular skills will be extremely valuable.
In a separate letter to Louisa, Matthew wrote:
Reg has gone to Folkestone to stay with his sister, who he says will look after him better than we do. He says he will be back, but frankly he is no use anyway and I’d rather he stayed away. Do not worry about him coming to London. Me and the lads from the pub had a word and he’ll think twice before he bothers you again. Hope the enclosed letter does enough to ensure we can give your friend a job. We need his help desperately.
Teddy read the official letter Matthew had written, nodding as he did.
“Perfect,” he declared. “I’ll take this tomorrow and register him. But it’s stronger than the argument I made for another lad a few weeks ago and they approved that.”
Louisa let out a gasp of air and leaned back against the bench.
“Oh my,” she said. “I never thought we would do it. Can I come with you tomorrow?”
“What about work?”
“Mac will understand. He feels as bad about Bernie as I do.”
Teddy smiled at her, and Louisa felt like the sun had come out on a rainy day. “I’d like you to come.”
And so, the next day, she and Teddy made their way to the building that housed the tribunals for conscientious objectors. It was an imposing government office, close to the Houses of Parliament, but Louisa didn’t let herself feel intimidated. She had to make this work. For Bernie’s sake.
They had to wait rather a long time, in a long, quiet corridor lined with a horrible tiled floor. There were others waiting, too, and every time one of the dark wooden doors opened, everyone looked up hopefully, only to look down again when their name wasn’t called. Eventually, a small mousy woman scurried through one of the doors, clutching a folder.
“Bernard Yorke,” she said.
“That’s us.” Teddy stood up. “Are you coming in?”
Louisa nodded and stood up, too. “Of course.”
In the end, it was quite straightforward. Frightening and rather too much like a courtroom for Louisa’s liking but straightforward. There were two men at a table at the front of the room, and the mousy woman sitting to one side, taking notes.
“Ah, Mr. Armitage,” said one of the men, not unkindly. “Here again, I see.”
“I’m like a bad penny,” Teddy said. “Sirs, I come to you today on behalf of Bernard Yorke, a former teacher who has found a hitherto undiscovered talent for growing plants. He wishes to register as a conscientious objector and instead work on a farm in Kent, growing food for the local area.”
He stepped forward and handed Matthew’s letter, along with some other paperwork, to the man who’d spoken. The man read it carefully and excruciatingly slowly and then handed it over to the other man, who did the same. Louisa felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine and gather in the small of her back.
Finally, the first man looked up.
“This all seems to be in order,” he said. “We will need confirmation of Yorke’s wages.”
“Of course. I’ll arrange that,” said Teddy. Louisa knew the conscientious objectors had to be paid the same as they would earn as a soldier—which wasn’t much. But she also knew Matthew would give Bernie somewhere to stay and feed him and generally see him right.
The second man scribbled something on a form and handed it to the mousy woman, who took out a large stamp and thumped it onto the paper. Then she held it out to Teddy.
“All done,” she said. “He should report to the farm before Friday or he will be arrested.”
And that was it.
“I can’t believe we’ve all been worrying for so long and that took less than quarter of an hour,” Louisa said as they made their way back to Kew. Teddy hadn’t wanted to come with her, but she’d talked him into it.
“I want you to tell Bernie what you’ve done for him,” she said.
“You did all the organization with your family. I just helped with the paperwork.”
Louisa patted his arm. “That’s nonsense and you know it.”
Ivy was waiting by the entrance to the tube station.
“You’ve been so long,” she said, always one for a drama. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“It’s only three o’clock,” Louisa said mildly. “Ivy, this is Teddy Armitage.”
Ivy gave Teddy an approving look and shook his hand with gusto.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Together, they raced across the green to St. Anne’s and, to their utter astonishment, found Bernie sitting on the grass at the back of the church, chatting with the vicar.
Ivy, who was leading the way, stopped abruptly, and Louisa charged into her, followed by Teddy, like they were clowns at a circus.
Bernie and the vicar looked round at the kerfuffle and Bernie stood up.
“Good heavens,” he said. “Hello.”
He came to Louisa and threw his arms round her, squeezing her tightly. “It’s so nice to see you.”
Louisa wasn’t sure what to say.
“And you,” she managed to stutter. “We weren’t expecting to see you . . .” She lowered her voice. “Out here.”
Bernie looked sheepish. “Ah, well, I’ve been keeping my hand in, as it were.”
He stepped back and showed them a row of beautifully tended graves, each with its own little patch of garden blooming with flowers.
Ivy’s and Louisa’s jaws dropped. Teddy just looked confused. And the vicar didn’t look surprised in the slightest. Louisa glanced from him to Bernie and back again.
“We’ve reached an understanding,” Bernie said. “Reverend Miller and I.”
Louisa blinked. “Goodness.”
“Bernard has been most helpful around the churchyard, tending plots, planting flowers, cutting the grass,” the vicar said. “Most helpful. Especially as I am getting rather forgetful in my old age.”
He gave the women a very definite, rather cheeky wink.
“I sometimes forget t
hings I’ve seen, or people’s names, or whether I’ve left doors unlocked. I even leave books lying around where anyone could pick them up and sometimes I’ve even been known to forget where I’ve put a plate of food,” he said.
Louisa looked at him. He seemed perfectly fine to her. He winked again and she let out a bubble of laughter. This nice man had been helping Bernie, too.
Unable to hide her glee any longer, she turned to Teddy.
“Bernie, this is a friend of mine, Teddy Armitage. He helps men who want to register officially as conscientious objectors. And he’s done it for you.”
Bernie looked like he might fall over.
“What?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve arranged for you to work with my brother, Matthew, on our family’s farm. It’s all sorted out. Matt will give you somewhere to live. And as long as you get there by Friday, you’re off the hook. You’ll be doing work of national importance, and you won’t be called up.”
Bernie’s face went red, then white, then red again. Teddy held out the official form and he took it, gazing at it in wonder.
“I don’t need to fight?” he breathed.
“No.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
“Because it was my fault you lost your job,” Louisa said. “It was my fault Mac reported you, and it was my fault your landlady kicked you out. And I was wrong, Bernie.”
Bernie shrugged as though the awful things Louisa had done were of no consequence to him. “You were just doing what you thought was right.”
Louisa nodded. “Yes, but I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
Bernie waved the form at her. “You’ve more than made up for it.”
“Teddy did all the official bits,” Louisa said, not wanting to take all the credit.
Bernie turned his gaze on to Teddy. “I’m a stranger to you. Why would you work so hard for someone you’ve never met?”
Teddy shifted from one foot to the other.
“I lost my son, early in the war,” he said awkwardly. “Don’t like to think about those who don’t want to go being forced to fight.”
