by Posy Lovell
“This is wonderful. Can I look round?”
“Help yourself.”
It wasn’t big, and the flowers were higgledy-piggledy, presumably because Ivy wouldn’t always know what they were before she planted them, but the garden was beautiful.
“Did Win like it?” Louisa called, admiring some carnations.
“She did. I think she’s lonely, Lou. She told me she’d wanted to have children, but it never happened. I felt sorry for her.”
Louisa felt the rush of sadness and helplessness she always experienced when something reminded her of her own failure to have a baby. She felt an ache inside for her lost baby and for Win’s struggle.
“There’s a WSPU meeting later, in Wandsworth,” she said suddenly. “Shall we see if Win wants to come along?”
Ivy grinned. “Great idea.”
And so, later on the three women got on the bus heading east.
“What a thrill,” Win said, looking round at all the other passengers. “I’ve never been on an omnibus before. Don’t we have to tell the driver where you want to go like when I get a cab to work?”
Ivy and Louisa both laughed.
“It just stops at certain places and you get off at the one nearest to where you’re going,” Louisa explained.
“How do you not know this?” teased Ivy, the affection she felt for the older woman plain to see. “I know you’re all lah-di-dah, but even ladies need to get places.”
“Archie normally drives me where I want to go.”
“He has a car?” Louisa was impressed.
“Oh yes, he loves all that sort of thing—motorcars, trains, ships. Never ask him a question about a boat, Louisa, for your own sanity. He’ll talk your ears off.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Louisa said.
“Oh, he’ll love you. I’ve told him all about you in my letters. We’re hoping he’ll get leave in the autumn, so perhaps you’ll meet him then.”
“I hope so,” said Ivy, squinting out of the dirty bus window. “We’re almost there, Win.”
They gathered their bags and Louisa rang the bell, which Win thought was “wonderfully clever, darling,” and they jumped off the back of the bus at the next stop.
The meeting was in the town hall on the crossroads by the shops. Louisa led the way, as it was her local group, and showed them into a medium-sized room on the first floor.
Inside were about fifteen or twenty women of various ages. Louisa waved to Caro, from the League of Peace meetings and she came over to say hello.
“These are my friends, Ivy Adams and Lady Ramsay.”
“Call me Win, darling,” Win said, shaking Caro’s hand.
Caro hugged Louisa. “I hear you’ve made quite an impression on Teddy.”
Louisa’s face flamed, as always.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said airily. “Who said so?”
Caro grinned. “Teddy.”
Louisa tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. “He’s a lovely man. I’m enjoying spending time with him.”
“Well, he definitely thinks the same about you,” Caro said. “He was quite giddy when I saw him last.”
Giddy? Louisa couldn’t imagine Teddy being giddy, but she was pleased to hear it. She did enjoy spending time with him and though she was nervous about the prospect of a new romance after everything that had happened with Reg over the years, she found when she was with Teddy all those fears simply vanished. She’d even told him what happened with Reg, and the baby, and her mother—things she’d not spoken about with many people—and he’d been so understanding and kind that she liked him even more for it.
“Louisa, are you daydreaming? The meeting’s about to start,” Ivy said, prodding her and shaking her out of her reverie. “Let’s sit down.”
They all sat and Louisa was amused to see how excited Win was, simply about being at a meeting.
“Don’t expect too much,” she whispered. “Things are so quiet. We’re not taking any action, not campaigning, not doing anything, really. Just keeping it all ticking while the war’s on.”
Win shrugged. “It’s just heavenly to be among all these clever women,” she whispered back. “All these bright minds, working together for a greater good. Isn’t it charming?”
Louisa laughed. “It most certainly is.”
The meeting was about how to keep the Suffragettes’ cause in the minds of people on the street, while things were so hard and everyone was focused on the war.
“It’s a balancing act,” the woman who was leading the meeting said. “We want people to remember us and what we stand for, but we don’t want to be accused of taking focus off the soldiers and the people doing war work.”
She looked round at the women. “Any ideas?”
Next to Louisa, Win raised her hand. “I have an idea.”
Lou and Ivy looked at each other. Ivy widened her eyes and Louisa shrugged. It was, she thought, possible for Win’s idea to be absolutely perfect—or completely wrong.
“Could you stand up so everyone can see you? And would you mind sharing your name? I don’t think we’ve seen you here before, have we?”
Win stood up and did a funny little bow to the women looking at her. Louisa stifled a laugh.
“Hello,” she said gaily. “I’m Lady Winifred Ramsay, though I’d much rather you all called me Win.”
A murmur spread round the room. The Suffragettes prided themselves on welcoming anyone from shopgirls to princesses, but they were still impressed by a title. And who could blame them? Louisa thought. It was a sad fact that the upper classes still had more clout than working-class people. If they chose to use that clout to further the cause of votes for women, then so much the better.
Win cleared her throat.
“I’m here today with my friends Ivy and Louisa. We all work at Kew Gardens. Most of the male gardeners have gone to the Front now, and we’re doing their jobs. It’s important work, anyway, because the Gardens really are a jewel in the nation’s crown, but it’s also vital with regards to the war, as we are growing more and more food. But recently, my friend Louisa here discovered the female gardeners are being paid far less than the men for doing the same work.”
Again, a murmur spread across the hall. This time tinged with disapproval. Win nodded.
“It’s awful, darlings. These women are working all hours, keeping things going at the Gardens while the men are away and they are not being valued.”
She smiled.
“So we’re campaigning for equal pay. And we’re doing it by only working the hours the women are paid for. We get three-quarters of their salary so we’re only doing three-quarters of the work.”
The room was silent; everyone looked at Win and she wobbled, slightly.
“That’s right, isn’t it, darlings?” She looked down at Louisa and Ivy, who were both gazing up at her in awe. “That’s what we’re doing.”
“It is,” Louisa said. “That’s exactly it.”
Onstage, the chairwoman clapped her hands. “That’s absolutely wonderful,” she said.
Wobble over, Win smiled again.
“So, I thought, we should make sure women doing men’s jobs are all paid the correct amount,” she said. “Bus drivers, conductors, factory workers, railway guards, firefighters—all of them. If we fight for equal rights here, then surely votes will follow?”
The room erupted into cheers as everyone gave Win’s idea their approval. Win sat down in her seat and Ivy and Louisa both gave her well-done pats.
“So clever,” Louisa whispered. “You’re amazing.”
When the noise died down the chairwoman looked directly at the three Kew Gardens Girls. “What can we do to help?” she said.
Win grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
* * *
What
Win wanted was the support—the loudest, most visible support—of the Suffragettes.
“Things are being affected already,” she explained. “But the men in charge are digging their heels in. They’re not budging. I thought a bit of protesting from you, and they might be shamed into giving the women equal pay.”
When the Suffragettes agreed to get involved, Louisa and Ivy had organized things, arranging for the women to protest outside the main building at Kew, where the bosses worked. They sorted out placards and banners and worked hard all weekend, getting everything ready.
When Monday dawned, they arrived at work—slightly bleary-eyed after their late nights—and were heartened to see women already gathering outside.
“I’ve arranged to go and speak to the bosses,” Louisa told the women, who were clutching their placards and looking eager to get started. “It will really help our cause if you can be causing a bit of a commotion while I’m there.”
“Righto,” said Caro. “Let’s go, troops.”
The women began marching up and down next to the entrance to the Gardens, shouting, “Equal pay for equal work!” and waving their placards. As the gardeners arrived for work, they were all thrilled to bits to see such support, thanking the Suffragettes as they passed.
“Isn’t this marvelous,” commented Harriet as she entered. “How lovely to know we’re not alone.”
“We can return the favor if women in other jobs need us to,” Louisa pointed out. “We can fight for equal pay for everyone.”
“We most certainly will.”
Louisa watched the Suffragettes for a little while, then she headed into the main building and up the sweeping wooden staircase to the offices. Mac was waiting at the top, looking frazzled.
“Morning,” he said.
She smiled. “Morning.”
“Before we go in, I just want to say you’re right,” Mac said gruffly, not looking at her. “You girls should absolutely be paid the same as the men and it’s wrong that you’re not. You’ve got my support.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Louisa threw her arms round him and hugged him. He peeled her off, looking embarrassed.
“That’s enough of that. Shall we go in?”
Together, they knocked on the office door and went inside. The director of Kew was a man called Sir David Prain. He wasn’t there that day, nor had Louisa been expecting him to be. But she found she was facing two rather high-up men, which made her stomach lurch with nerves.
“Ah, Mrs. Taylor?” one of the men said. He had gray hair and fluffy sideburns. “What’s all this kerfuffle outside?”
“It’s the women from the WSPU, sir,” Louisa said. “They’re supporting us in our campaign for equal pay.”
The men looked at each other and frowned. “Word has spread?”
“Indeed. I believe women in other jobs are considering campaigning in a similar fashion.”
Mac cleared his throat. “If I may speak?”
“Go ahead, Mr. MacMillan.”
“I was unsure about employing female gardeners initially,” Mac said. He sounded as though he’d practiced and Louisa loved him for it. “But my girls have more than proved themselves to be up to the job. They’re fast, strong, creative, talented. They’re just as good as the men—better in some instances. For the last week, the women have been working three-quarters of their usual day to make the point that they’re only paid three-quarters of the men’s salary, and let me tell you, we are missing their efforts enormously. It makes no sense to me that they’re paid less. No sense at all.”
There was a pause and the bigwigs looked at each other again.
“But men are breadwinners. They have families to support.”
Mac shrugged.
“There’s a war on,” he reminded them. “Most of our women are the breadwinners now, while their husbands are away.”
“Could you excuse us for a moment?” the other man said. He was younger, with swept-back hair.
“Of course.”
The two men huddled together, angling their chairs away and speaking in an undertone, as Louisa strained to hear. She looked at Mac and he held his hands out as if to say “No idea” and she smiled. This was excruciating.
Eventually, the men turned back to Louisa and Mac.
“We have agreed,” Sideburns said. “Your female gardeners will be paid the same as the men.”
Louisa wanted to throw her hands in the air and whoop with joy, but instead she nodded politely.
“That’s good to hear, sir,” she said. “Thank you.”
The younger man bent his head to the ledger in front of him, picked up his pen and started to write. The older one pushed his chair back and rose to go. The meeting was obviously finished. But not as far as Louisa was concerned.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
The younger man sighed and put down his pen. “Yes?”
“One of our gardeners isn’t being paid at all. I trust that she will be included in this equal-pay decision?”
The man tutted. “Sounds as though she is a volunteer. Paying her could be awkward . . .”
“Her name is Lady Winifred Ramsay,” Louisa said.
He and the older man looked at each other. The older man gave a small nod.
“Fine,” he said. “Lady Ramsay will be added to the payroll.”
Louisa gave him her best, broadest smile. “Thank you.”
Outside the office she and Mac hugged and jumped up and down like excited schoolchildren.
“We did it, Mac,” she squealed, thrilled to bits at the result.
“You did it,” he pointed out. “You, Ivy, Win and that bunch of reprobates out there.” He gestured through the large window at the top of the stairs, through which the tops of the Suffragettes placards could be seen, bobbing up and down as they marched.
Louisa nodded.
“It’s amazing what you can achieve when you put your heads together,” she said.
Mac raised an eyebrow. “Does that include sorting out those lawns and deadheading the petunias?”
Chuckling, Louisa started down the stairs.
“I’ll get right to it,” she said. “Once I’ve told the girls what they’re really worth.”
Chapter 23
Win was a heroine for a few weeks, her popularity among the gardeners well and truly cemented. As a mild September became a rainy October, the Kew Gardens Girls worked harder and with more dedication than ever before, preparing the land for winter; picking fruit and vegetables and taking it to the Kew Women’s Institute for bottling, pickling, and preserving; digging up potatoes; and starting to plant the bulbs that would bring color in spring.
Things were good, as far as Ivy was concerned, except for the hollow in her heart where she missed Jim. He’d sent her more seeds, tiny little black specks that she’d scattered across every spare bit of earth in her letter garden. She hoped they’d survive the winter. She concentrated on tending the garden, trying to ignore the niggle in her brain that told her she had something else to worry about, too. Maybe if she didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be true. Because if it was true and she was . . . Well, she wasn’t going to think about that now. Not yet.
She was pleased that Win was so settled, too. She and the older woman spent a lot of time together, bringing each other comfort while Jim and Archie were away. And Louisa spent a lot of time with Teddy, who had brought a light to her eyes that Ivy was thrilled to bits to see.
But then everything changed.
On a blustery day in early October, the three women were wandering toward the break room in search of a cup of tea after spending the morning in the soggy herbaceous border. Louisa was telling them about her plans to visit Bernie.
“I know they’ve been rushed off their feet with the apple harvest and the cid
er making,” she was explaining. “But now things have calmed down, I thought I might go down and visit for a weekend.” She took a breath. “And I thought I might take Teddy.”
“You’re introducing him to your parents,” Ivy teased. “That’s a big step.”
Louisa giggled like a schoolgirl. “I just want to show him the farm. Nothing more.”
“I think it’s wonderful. He’s a charming man,” Win said.
“He really is.”
“Reg won’t be there, will he?” Ivy didn’t want to think about what could happen if Louisa’s fist-happy husband came face-to-face with her new beau. But her friend shook her head.
“He’s still in Folkestone, according to my brother. I think his sister’s keeping him on a short rein for now.”
“No more than he deserves,” muttered Win, who’d never even met Reg but was firmly on Louisa’s side.
“Bernie sounds really happy,” Ivy said. “That last letter he sent, the one you read out loud the other day, was lovely.”
“It really was. He’s working hard, but he and Matthew seem to get along quite nicely. And he said he’s not had any trouble. People either don’t know he’s a conscientious objector, or they know but they don’t care.”
They carried on chatting for a moment, but as they passed the entrance to the admin building, Mac appeared.
“Win,” he said. He had an odd expression on his face that Ivy couldn’t quite read. “Percy in the office needs a word.”
“With me?” Win was squinting through the drizzle at him. “Are you sure?”
Mac swallowed. “I’m sure.”
Win shrugged.
“I’ll catch you up, darlings,” she said to Ivy and Louisa, as she headed into the building. But Mac caught Ivy’s arm as they went to continue on to the break room.
“Stay here,” he said. “She’s going to need you.”
Ivy’s stomach plummeted into her boots and she felt an icy chill that wasn’t just the rain.
“Mac?” she said, scared.
But he shook his head. “Not my place to say.”
Louisa and Ivy stood at the bottom of the sweeping wooden staircase, where just a few weeks earlier, Louisa had bounced with joy after winning their fight for equal pay. Now the stairs seemed too big and too imposing for joy.
