The Kew Gardens Girls

by Posy Lovell

  They didn’t speak, but Louisa reached for Ivy’s hand, and Ivy took it gratefully, squeezing her friend’s fingers. Mac stood by them in silence, twisting his hat in his hands.

  Eventually, there was the sound of a door shutting up above. Then footsteps echoed through the quiet building. Ivy looked at Louisa, whose eyes were already filled with tears.

  Slowly, Win came down the stairs. Her head was held high, but her face was white and drawn. As she reached the bottom, she nodded at her waiting friends.

  “My neighbor, Edith, saw the post boy delivering a telegram to my flat this morning,” she said. Her voice was small and shaky. “She very kindly intercepted it and brought it here in case it was important.

  “The telegram says Archie’s boat was attacked by a U-boat two days ago. It says the men fought bravely, but despite their efforts, their boat sank. It says there are no signs of any survivors.”

  Lifting her head higher, she took a deep, shuddery breath.

  “It says Admiral Lord Archibald Ramsay is lost at sea.”

  She stumbled, and Louisa and Ivy both reached out to her at once. She clung on to them, but she didn’t cry.

  “Take her home,” Mac said to them in an undertone. He wiped his eyes, then fumbled in his pocket and handed Louisa a shilling. “Get a cab. Look after her.”

  Louisa stayed with Win, who was wide-eyed with shock, while Ivy raced back to the break room to pick up their bags and coats. Then they took a cab down to Win’s mansion block, on Wimbledon Hill.

  It was a newly built, large yellow-brick building with black window frames. The main glass front door was open and fortunately Win’s flat was on the ground floor. Ivy didn’t think her friend had the strength to climb stairs.

  Win fumbled with her key before Louisa gently took it from her and opened the front door. Inside was by far the nicest home Ivy had ever been in. The lounge had pretty pink patterned wallpaper and a huge, soft sofa. There was a big fireplace with a clock on the mantelpiece, and a photograph in a frame of a much younger Win with a handsome man in a naval uniform. Archie, Ivy presumed, feeling sick with sorrow for her friend.

  “Sit down,” Ivy urged Win. “Sit.”

  Louisa touched Ivy’s arm gently and nodded at Win—she was still wearing her damp, mud-spattered overalls. She’d ditched her dresses and hats as soon as she started working properly as a gardener, which Ivy had loved. It meant Win was really one of them. But Louisa realized that spreading dirt all over Win’s lovely home wasn’t the best idea.

  “Ivy, could you find Win’s dressing gown and slippers, perhaps?” she said. “Are they in your bedroom, Win?”

  Win nodded. She’d not spoken since they’d left Kew.

  Ivy squeezed Win’s hand and then headed off down the hall to find the bedroom, opening doors to the bathroom—how fancy—and a broom cupboard, before she got lucky and discovered the large, airy bedroom. It had a big bed with a brightly colored counterpane and a big, dark wood headboard, a matching wardrobe, and—hanging on the back of the door—Win’s dressing gown. Ivy took it, noticing with a pang of sadness that Archie’s was hanging there, too. She found slippers under the bed and took them back to Louisa.

  “Let’s get you changed,” Louisa said to Win. Like a mother with a child, she helped the older woman take off her mucky clothes, bundling them up so they didn’t shake mud onto the rug. Win didn’t object, obediently holding out her arms so Louisa could take off her overalls, and stepping out of her trousers.

  Ivy helped her into her dressing gown while Louisa found some water and a sponge and gently cleaned Win’s hands; then she curled up on the settee and to their surprise, she went to sleep.

  “My mum always says sleep is a healer,” Ivy said quietly. They were standing by the big square window at the far end of the lounge. It overlooked a park and they watched the leaves being whipped from the trees in the wind.

  “I think it’ll take more than sleep to heal this.”

  * * *

  Win woke just as the afternoon was darkening into evening. Ivy and Louisa were sitting quietly in the lounge. Ivy was putting together a letter for Jim, enclosing a sketch of the garden as it had been in full glory just a few weeks ago before autumn descended, and Louisa had found an old Robert Louis Stevenson book on Win’s brimming shelves and was engrossed in tales of pirates.

  “Darlings,” she said, as she opened her eyes and saw them there. “You’re here.”

  She sat up, blinking. Her hair was all tangled on one side, where it had been against the cushion and the kohl round her eyes was smudged. Ivy found that seeing Win looking less than perfect made her heart hurt.

  “We didn’t want you to be alone,” Ivy said, tucking the letter into her sketchbook. “We didn’t want you to wake up and have no one here.”

  Win gave them both a weak smile. “You’re so thoughtful.”

  “Are you hungry?” Louisa said, putting down Treasure Island. “I can make you a sandwich?”

  Win shook her head. “A cup of tea, perhaps?”

  “I’ll boil the kettle.” Louisa got up and headed for the kitchen, stopping on the way to put a comforting hand on Win’s shoulder. Win reached up and patted her hand, showing her she was glad she was there.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Ivy asked. “Anyone else you need to tell? Does Archie have brothers and sisters?”

  “A brother. I should write to him.”

  “Louisa could do it.” For the hundredth time, Ivy wished she could write.

  “That would be good. I don’t think I could find the words.” Win’s eyes filled with tears and Ivy was glad. Win hadn’t cried yet and Ivy was worried she was bottling it all up.

  “I’ll tell Lou. Anyone else?”

  Win took a breath, blinking away the tears. “Hundreds of people, darling.”

  “Are there a few people we could contact, and get them to spread the word, perhaps? A couple of friends who could let others know? It will be too difficult for you to tell people over and over.”

  Win looked weary but she nodded.

  “I’ll give you my address book and mark a few names,” she said. “Thank you, darling.”

  There was a knock on the door of the flat and Win looked startled. “Who’s that?”

  “I’ll go and see.”

  Ivy found a small woman with jet-black hair standing at the door.

  “I’m Edith,” she said. “I took Win’s telegram to Kew.”

  “Thank you,” Ivy said. “It was kind of you to realize what it was.”

  The woman bit her lip. “Is she all right?”

  Win appeared in the door of the lounge. She’d straightened her hair and rubbed the makeup from under her eyes.

  “Edith, darling,” she said. She took her neighbor’s two hands in her own. “Thank you for caring.”

  “I’m so sorry about Archie,” Edith said.

  “I will miss him dreadfully.”

  “Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

  “I will, my darling. But for now I have my Kew Gardens Girls with me and I need to be getting on.”

  She kissed Edith on the cheek, bustled her out of the flat and shut the door firmly. Then she leaned against the back of the door and closed her eyes briefly. Ivy watched, concerned.

  “Win?” she said.

  Win opened her eyes and stood up again. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t have to be fine,” Ivy said, thinking of how she’d fallen apart when Jim went. “You don’t have to put a brave face on for us.”

  “Where’s Louisa with that tea?” Win said.

  Louisa and Ivy stayed with Win for the rest of the day, not wanting her to be alone. And as the evening became night, they had a huddled conversation in the kitchen.

  “We can’t leave her by herself,” Ivy said.

  “I ag
ree. She’s being very stiff upper lip, but I’m waiting for her to fall apart.”

  “I’ll stay.” Ivy made the decision without thinking twice.

  “Sure?”

  She nodded. “It’s only one night.”

  Louisa made sure Win was settled into bed before she left and then she kissed Ivy good-bye.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Louisa said. “Try to get her to eat something.”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  Win, who’d seemed relieved that someone was staying, lent Ivy a nightgown, which was far nicer than any of Ivy’s best dresses, and told her to make herself comfortable in the spare room. Then she’d gone into her own bedroom and closed the door quietly.

  Now, with Louisa gone, Ivy hovered outside Win’s door, wondering if she should knock.

  “Win?” she whispered. There was no reply. “Win? I’m going to bed now, but just shout if you need me. I’m right next door.”

  Again there was no reply. Hoping that meant Win was asleep, Ivy went into the guest room, took off her clothes and pulled on the soft nightgown, enjoying the feeling of the fabric on her skin. She couldn’t resist swishing around the room for a second before she climbed into bed.

  “It’s like a wedding dress,” she murmured to herself, then felt bad because Win had a wedding dress once and a wedding and a husband, and now he was gone.

  She got into bed and wriggled down under the covers, feeling bone tired suddenly and desperately sad for her friend. And as she drifted off to sleep she heard sobbing from the room next door.

  Chapter 24

  Ivy woke early the next morning, after a restful night’s sleep—how luxurious to have a bed all to herself—which she felt guilty about. She couldn’t hear any sounds in the flat so, hoping that meant Win had finally cried herself to sleep at some point during the night, she went in search of tea and toast. She found tea in the cupboard and a loaf of bread in the bread bin and was cutting thick, uneven slices just as Win walked in. Once again, Ivy’s heart ached to see her friend look so different from her usual self. Her hair was loose and messy, falling over her shoulders in a tangle. Her face was bare and blotchy, and her eyes were swollen—from crying, Ivy assumed. She looked old and tired and so, so sad.

  “I thought you might be hungry?” Ivy said. “Do you think you could manage some toast?”

  Win made a face. “Maybe one slice?”

  “Go and sit down and I’ll bring it to you. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m making a pot.”

  “That would be lovely, darling.”

  Win sat down at the little table by the window in the kitchen and gazed out at the park. Ivy didn’t like to think about how many breakfasts she’d shared with Archie, sitting there.

  Obviously thinking along similar lines, Win said: “In Dover, Archie always has breakfast in the orangerie. Even when it’s raining cats and dogs. You can imagine how noisy that is.”

  “I can,” she said, though she’d only ever worked in an orangerie, not sat down to enjoy breakfast.

  On the stove, the kettle whistled and she picked it up with a tea towel and poured some boiling water into the teapot, swirled it round and poured it away again before she added the tea and filled it up.

  “Warming the pot,” Win said approvingly.

  Ivy smiled. “My mum would have my guts for garters if I made tea in a cold pot.”

  “There’s a toast rack in the cupboard,” Win said. Ivy found it and stacked the hot toast from the grill in it.

  “And the marmalade and butter are in the pantry. I should help you, really, but I don’t have the energy.”

  “Don’t you worry, it’s nice to be able to help.”

  Ivy put the teapot on the table and as she did, Win grabbed her hand.

  “Will you stay?” she said.

  “Course. Mac won’t mind one day.”

  Win shook her head. “I don’t mean today. I mean, will you move in? I can’t bear the thought of being here by myself. And you understand, Ivy. You know what it’s like because of Jim being away. I thought perhaps we could keep each other company?”

  Ivy stared at her. “You want me to live here?”

  “Do you think your mother would mind?”

  “I think she’d dance with joy. And my sister would be so happy, she’d probably pack my bags for me.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Win looked up at Ivy hopefully. “Isn’t it?”

  Spontaneously, Ivy leaned down and hugged her friend. “It’s settled.”

  She sat down at the table and spread marmalade on toast for Win.

  “Try to eat that,” she said. “Might give you some more energy.”

  Obediently, Win nibbled at the crust of her toast.

  “What do you want to do today?” Ivy asked. “Is there anything you need to do?”

  “I want to go to work.”

  “Oh, Win. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s better that way. I’ll keep busy. I’m not the only woman to have lost her husband and there’s a lot to do at the Gardens before the frosts come.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She swallowed a piece of toast and stood up. “I’ll go and get ready.”

  Ivy cleared up the plates, not sure what to think. She was definitely pleased to move in with Win—even for a short time—and help out where she could. Especially now, with Archie gone and . . . She shook her head. This was no time to be thinking of her own troubles. She had to focus on Win for now.

  “Ready?” Win appeared in the doorway, looking like her old self. Her hair was brushed and neatly tied up, she was wearing one of her dresses, and she had rouge on her cheeks and a slick of lipstick on her mouth.

  “You look lovely,” Ivy said, surprised.

  “‘Chin up, back straight, smile on,’ Archie says.”

  Ivy smiled. “And you’re sure you’re going to be all right?”

  For a second, Win’s determined look vanished and Ivy saw a glimpse of the broken woman beneath.

  “Oh, darling, I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right again,” she said. Then it was back. “But I’m Lady Winifred Ramsay and I’m not going to let my Archie down.”

  Ivy offered her an arm and Win took it. “Then let’s go to work.”

  * * *

  Their days fell into an easy pattern. Each morning, Ivy would make toast and tea and cajole Win into eating. They’d travel to Kew together—on the bus now that Ivy was there. She couldn’t bear to think of the indulgence of taking a cab when there was a perfectly good bus route. They would work hard all day—at least, Ivy would. Win had rather gone back to her old habits of drifting round the rose garden or wandering in the palm house but Mac didn’t mind. He liked having her around—they all did—and he was happy to give her easy jobs for now. Ivy, thinking of what helped her when Jim was away, gave Win some seeds he’d sent in his last letter. Which had been days and days ago now, though she tried not to count up how long it had been precisely because she’d only panic.

  It was the tiny black specks Jim had sent that had given her the idea. Ivy had discovered they were poppy seeds, though the meaning of poppies—consolation or imagination or even wealth, if they were yellow—didn’t seem relevant. But then one day, a few weeks before, Mac had come to visit her letter garden with something to tell her.

  “I got chatting to a lad in the pub last night,” he’d said. “He was on leave, from France.”

  Ivy had stiffened, scared it was bad news, and Mac put his hand on her arm comfortingly.

  “He told me the battlefields are covered in poppies. Apparently, they grow in the churned-up earth. He said the soldiers think of them as a sign of hope—that something so pretty can grow in such a hellish place.”

  “Hope,” Ivy said. “That’s what he meant.”

  “I
reckon so.”

  “Is it too late to plant them?” she’d asked, looking at the leaden sky that threatened yet more rain.

  To her delight, Mac had shrugged.

  “No, not if you get them in before the end of the month. Plant them now and you’ll have a great display come spring.”

  Ivy had planted most of them, but there were so many of the tiny seeds, she’d saved some and now she was glad. She gave them in a twist of paper to Win.

  “Take a patch of my letter garden and scatter the poppy seeds there in memory of Archie,” she said. “In hope of happier times to come.”

  Win had nodded gratefully, and now she was often found pottering round the letter garden, keeping an eye on things. Ivy had worried she would find Win intrusive, but she didn’t—their shared feelings of loss united them.

  After work, they would go home. Often Louisa would visit, on evenings when she wasn’t busy with her League of Peace work or seeing Teddy. And Win had found a whole new group of friends in the Suffragettes. She’d thrown herself into the organization, desperate for some way to fill her days.

  “Janet thinks we’ll start direct action as soon as the war’s over,” she told Ivy after one meeting. “Wouldn’t that be thrilling, darling?”

  Ivy had shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Depends what it is,” she muttered.

  “And we’re protesting at the bus depot on Friday, campaigning for equal pay for their female drivers and conductors,” Win went on. “Our fight at Kew has inspired others to take up arms. Metaphorically speaking.”

  But while Win kept her chin up, Ivy heard her crying alone in her bedroom every night. And every morning her eyes were red and her face blotchy with tears.

  “She’s dealing with it in her own way,” Louisa said, when Ivy told her about her worries for Win. “It’s the way some women are—strong as an ox on the face of it. She won’t want us to think she’s not coping.”