The Kew Gardens Girls

by Posy Lovell

  “You can’t promise that,” Ivy said darkly.

  “Do you want me to come with you when you tell him?”

  Ivy did want Louisa there, more than anything, but she knew she had to pull her socks up and do this herself, so she shook her head. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  They had been walking to work from the bus stop—Win was starting later, as she had the morning off to meet with a group that was organizing a memorial to the Dover Patrol—and were approaching the gates.

  “Will you do it now?”

  Ivy gritted her teeth. “I s’pose.”

  “Best to get it over with.”

  She nodded and drew a sharp breath as she saw Mac up ahead, going into the break room.

  “Now?” she said.

  “Now.”

  She couldn’t walk very fast now because the baby pressed on her lungs and made her breathless, but Ivy speeded up as much as she could and, steeling herself, she pushed open the door to the break room. Mac looked up as she entered and smiled to see her.

  “Morning, Ivy.”

  “Mac, could I have a quick word in private?”

  “What’s happened? Is it Jim? Have you heard something?”

  “No,” reassured Ivy. “No, I’ve not heard anything. But it is about Jim. Sort of.”

  Mac pulled out a chair. “Tell me.”

  Ivy wanted to cry because he was being so nice. But, not looking at Mac, she forced herself to speak.

  “Before Jim went away, he and I . . .” She trailed off. Mac didn’t need to know all the details. She tried again.

  “I’m expecting,” she said in a hurry, looking down at her lap. “I’m having a baby. Jim’s baby.”

  Mac didn’t speak. Bracing herself for judgment, Ivy slowly looked up, and to her confusion, she saw tears in his eyes.

  “Are you angry?” she said, her voice wobbly. “Are you disappointed in me? I’ve let everyone down.”

  A tear fell onto her clasped hands and she wiped it away. “I’m so sorry.”

  There was a pause, and then Mac reached out a hand and took Ivy’s fingers in his.

  “Ivy, of course I’m not disappointed.” He sniffed. “I’m happy.”

  “Happy?”

  “I love Jim like he’s my own,” Mac said. “That lad’s been with me since he was a young scrap of a thing, and I’ve taught him everything he knows—and now he knows more than me. And I miss him, Ivy. I’m so frightened that he’s not coming home.”

  Ivy nodded, not trusting herself to speak in case all her pent-up emotions came flooding out.

  “Now you tell me you’re carrying his child. A little bit of him. And you think I’m disappointed?”

  He nudged her.

  “You could never disappoint me. None of you Kew Gardens Girls could ever make me less than proud.”

  Ivy wasn’t sure about that, but she was so delighted by his reaction that she pushed those misgivings aside. “Louisa told me you’d be fine.”

  “She’s a good woman.”

  Ivy grinned. “She is.”

  “Were you really worried about what I’d say?”

  “I thought you might think I was bringing shame on Kew Gardens, being pregnant out of wedlock.”

  Mac patted her hand.

  “No one needs know you’re not married,” he said. “We’ll tell everyone you and Jim tied the knot before he went.”

  Ivy blinked at him. “Really?”

  “We’ll see you right,” he said. “Don’t you worry.”

  Ivy couldn’t believe how nice everyone was being. “But what will people think?”

  Mac snorted. “I don’t care. And, let’s be honest, you’re not the first girl to be pregnant with a fella elsewhere.”

  “That’s what Louisa said.”

  “See? Good woman.”

  Ivy smiled again. “You don’t think people will talk?”

  “Well, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” He grinned suddenly. “What would you have done, if I’d thrown you out?”

  “The Suffragettes said they would campaign to get me my job back, like we campaigned for equal wages.”

  Mac’s face was a picture. “Did they indeed? Those bloody women.” But his eyes were smiling.

  “You’ve changed your tune.”

  He nodded, grimacing slightly. “Can’t say I agree with their methods, but let’s just say I’m coming round to the argument.” He paused. “Don’t tell them that, though.”

  Ivy laughed properly, so thrilled that Mac was on her side and things were looking up—if only Jim was there to see how pleased Mac was about the baby. Did he even know about the baby? Had he ever got the letter with the baby’s breath? She might never know.

  “When are you due?”

  “Spring.”

  “Not long. I can’t believe you’ve kept it from me this whole time.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “Next time, you come to me earlier.”

  Ivy hooted at the idea of there being a next time, and Mac smiled, too. Then he looked serious again for a moment.

  “We need to make sure you’re not working too hard. What were you thinking, keeping going like that?”

  “I need the money.”

  “You still at Win’s?”

  She nodded. “The Suffragettes are helping, too. They brought me clothes and a crib. You should see it, Mac.”

  “Bloody women,” he said with a smile.

  * * *

  With another weight lifted off her shoulders, Ivy spent the morning happily tidying up in the temperate house, not working too hard, taking rest breaks when she needed, and enjoying the warmth inside instead of the bitterly cold winter’s day outside. She felt so much better now that the Suffragettes were helping and Mac was on her side. Just two things continued to bother her: She was still desperately hoping that Jim would get in touch, obviously, and she had a confession to make to Win and Louisa.

  So, that evening, she gathered them together in Win’s lounge.

  “I want to tell you how grateful I am, how lucky I feel, and how I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said.

  Win took her hand. “Darling, I would have been lost without you when I got the news about Archie. This isn’t all one-way.”

  Louisa nodded. “And you stuck by me when I made that awful mistake about Bernie. And you didn’t blame me when Reg turned up and Jim enlisted. You’re a wonderful friend, Ivy. Like Win says, this goes both ways.”

  Ivy made a face. “You might not agree when I tell you this.”

  Louisa and Win looked at each other and Ivy almost changed her mind. Almost.

  She took a breath.

  “A few years ago, things were really bad at home. Dad was off on one of his disappearing acts, Mum had not long had Elsie and was up to her elbows in washing and nappies, and the boys were under her feet . . . You know how it is? I wasn’t going to school but no one cared. I was wild, really. And I met this woman called Olive one day. She was speaking in the street about how women were just as clever as men, but no one gave them a chance to prove it. And I thought about Mum working her fingers to the bone, and Dad swanning off when he felt like it. We got chatting and she was so kind to me, girls. So kind.”

  Louisa looked like this was a familiar tale. “Suffragette?” she asked.

  “Suffragette.”

  “But . . . ?” Win was frowning. “It sounds like there’s more to this story.”

  Ivy nodded. “This was back in 1913. Things were really hotting up with the WSPU. All sorts of things happening—women being arrested left, right and center, windows broken, stones being thrown. You remember.”

  Louisa nodded, a spark of something gleaming in her eye. “I remember.”

  “Olive wante
d to really make people pay attention. I was hanging round Kew by then. I knew Mac and Jim, and I was always there, badgering them to teach me about the plants and let me help out. When Olive found out, it gave her an idea.”

  Louisa was staring at Ivy, obviously beginning to put two and two together. “The orchid house?”

  “No,” Ivy almost shouted. “No, never. I’d never destroy plants like that. I’m still not sure who did that, to be honest. I think someone overheard Olive’s plan and thought they’d get in there first.”

  “Then the tea pavilion?”

  Ivy felt hot shame flood her. “The tea pavilion.”

  “Oh, Ivy.”

  Win was looking baffled.

  “What? You need to explain, darlings. Don’t forget, I was down in Dover back then, happily bumbling along with Archie—no clue about the Suffragettes or any of this business.”

  “We hid some paraffin in the crypt at St. Anne’s,” Ivy said. “And when it got dark, we sneaked in and got it—we used it to soak pads of fabric. Apparently that’s the best way to make sure a fire catches. It was bell-ringing practice and one of the ringers was a Suffragette. She rang the bells extra loud to make sure no one heard us. I took Olive and another woman, Lilian, into the Gardens and I led them through to the pavilion. They scattered the pads around and then set the pavilion alight. I was horrified, you have to believe me. I didn’t realize how brutal it was going to be, that it would burn so fast or so hot.”

  “Did you burn your arm?” Louisa said. “Is that what the scar’s from?”

  Ivy pushed up her sleeve to show the burn that she kept hidden. Louisa must have noticed it one day when they were getting dressed in the break room. It had faded to pink now, rather than the livid red it once was, but the skin was puckered and shiny, and it would never go away. Ivy thought of it as a mark of her shame for being involved in such a terrible deed.

  “I deserved it,” she said.

  Win was looking at her, eyes narrowed. “No,” she said. “No you didn’t, darling.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Probably not, but you were young. And you thought you were doing the right thing for women you respected.”

  “And remember how it was back then, Ivy?” Louisa put in. “Things were hot, fevered, almost out of control. Emily Davison died just a few weeks later, remember? It was so shocking.”

  Win nodded. “Oh, I remember how awful that was. That poor woman falling under the horse like that.”

  “It was dreadful,” Louisa agreed. “We were fighting so hard and getting nowhere and people were becoming more and more desperate.” She shook her head and looked at Ivy. “Burning the tea pavilion was wrong, there’s no doubt about it. But I understand why it happened and it wasn’t your fault.”

  Ivy breathed out slowly. Off the hook again. “Should I tell Mac?”

  “No!” Louisa and Win shouted together.

  “I don’t think so, Ivy. Not this time,” Louisa added.

  “But I feel so awful.”

  “He was dreadfully upset about the orchids and the tea pavilion. Remember we had to hide our badges, that first day? It’s taken him all this time to accept us, and to accept our involvement with the Suffragettes, Ivy. Don’t put this on him.”

  “I should be punished, though. I should make amends for what I did.”

  “Not by telling Mac.”

  Win looked thoughtful. “I agree with Louisa,” she said. “Darling, I see why you want to confess, but I really feel, in this instance, it wouldn’t be helpful. It might make you feel better, but I’m not sure it would make Mac feel better.”

  “What can I do?”

  “My Archie always used to say that when you did something wrong, you had to make it right.”

  “I can’t rebuild the pavilion,” Ivy said.

  “No. But I’m sure there’s another way to make amends. Heavens above, you’ve been working in Kew long enough—your efforts in the Gardens should be enough.”

  “It’s not enough,” Ivy muttered.

  “Then we’ll come up with something else.”

  “Really?”

  Louisa nodded, agreeing with Win. “Really. For now at least, let’s keep this secret between the three of us Kew Gardens Girls. No one else needs to know.”

  Ivy nodded. “All right,” she said. “I’ll keep it secret. For now.”

  Chapter 31

  March 1917

  Ivy was feeling glum. There was still no news of Jim, and as her baby’s arrival grew closer, she became sadder, feeling sure that her little one would never meet his or her daddy. She was being well looked after, with Win and Louisa caring for her at home, Mac fussing over her at work, and the Suffragettes arriving with food for her, or bootees for the baby, or just funny chatter to keep her mind off where Jim could be.

  Mac had stopped her doing anything too physical, which had annoyed Ivy at first, until she realized how much better she felt after a day doing less rigorous tasks. And with the weather still freezing, there wasn’t much to do anyway. Today, Louisa and the others were preparing the vegetable beds—they’d expanded again—while Win divided the tulips that were coming up in big clumps and Mac pruned the wisteria. Ivy had been in the greenhouse, preparing some seedlings, but there wasn’t much for her to do, so now she’d come to her letter garden. It had been looking a bit sad over winter, but to Ivy’s delight, things were beginning to grow again. She had some daffodils coming through, there were hyacinths that had flowered at Christmas, and more were coming into bloom now—blue as she’d hoped, meaning constancy of love. She’d prepared a patch for Louisa’s lilies to grow when the frost had passed, and in the corner, the poppies that she’d grown from the tiny black seeds Jim had sent the last time she’d heard from him were beginning to flower—earlier than Ivy had expected. Their bright colors filled her with joy and she understood how the flowers popping up across the bleak battlefields gave the soldiers hope. Where there had been nothing, soon there would be color. She stroked her belly as the baby turned somersaults inside. It was just as where there had been nothing but grief, now there was new life.

  Mac had brought a bench into her little garden and she sat now, taking a rest and thinking about what was to come. She thought she was ready for the baby’s arrival. She’d now told everyone who needed to know. Jim’s mother had been first shocked, then emotional and pleased, grasping Ivy to her chest and promising to help in any way she could. She’d even asked her to move in, but Ivy was happy at Win’s and couldn’t imagine living with parents who weren’t hers and brothers she hadn’t grown up with. Her own mother had been trickier. She’d broken the news while they walked to a Federation meeting together, hoping that being out in public would temper her mother’s reaction.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” she’d said.

  Her mother had stopped walking and looked at her, resignation in her face. “Oh, Ivy. Will you get wed?”

  Ivy bit her lip. “It’s Jim’s baby, Mum. Of course it’s Jim’s baby.”

  “But Jim is in France. Or . . .”

  Ivy had swallowed a sob. “I know that.”

  “So no wedding?”

  “No wedding.”

  “What about the money? It ain’t cheap bringing up kids on your own, and Lord knows I know it’s not easy.”

  “Mum, it’s going to be all right. I’ve got people helping. Win’s said I can stay as long as I want, and Lou’s stepping in—she’s already calling herself Aunt Louisa—and Mac’s been wonderful.”

  Her mother had eyed her doubtfully. “Really?”

  “It’s not what I’d have chosen, but it’s what’s happening and I’m going to have to make the best of it.”

  Just at that moment, the baby had decided to do some twirls and Ivy put her hand on her belly.

  “Is it kicking?”

  She too
k her mum’s hand and put it on the spot where the baby was wriggling. “Feel it?”

  Her mother’s face broke into a wide smile. “A baby is always a gift.”

  “Especially now,” Ivy said. “When Jim could be . . .”

  Her mum nodded. “Especially now.”

  They carried on walking, Ivy feeling grateful that her mother had taken things so well.

  “Been sick?” her mum asked.

  “As a dog.”

  “Thought so. You’ve got that gray look about you. You’re having a girl.”

  “A girl?” Ivy said. “I keep imagining a little boy, like Jim.”

  Her mum screwed her nose up, looking Ivy up and down. “Nope. That’s a girl, mark my words. Your hair’s flat, you’re covered in spots and you look worn out. Girls steal their mother’s looks.”

  Ivy had rolled her eyes. No one knew how to insult her like her mother. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll see.”

  She couldn’t say her mother was enthusiastic, but she had accepted she was going to be a grandmother and she was being fairly helpful, offering tips for the birth, and how to feed, and when to put the baby to sleep and when to wake it up. Mostly her advice was accompanied with thinly veiled insults, but it was fairly helpful all the same.

  So she was all set. The crib was in her bedroom at Win’s, the clothes were in her wardrobe, and she’d seen a doctor. She just had a few weeks to go until she met her son or daughter.

  “Boy or girl?” she whispered as she rubbed her belly. “Boy or girl?”

  “I think it’s a boy,” a voice said.

  Ivy froze, her hand still on her stomach, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Not wanting to ruin the illusion, she looked up slowly, and there, peering at her through the poppies, was Jim.

  Jim. Her Jim.

  She blinked. She must be tired if she was seeing things.

  But no, the man was still there. He was wearing a uniform and he was holding a walking stick. He had his hair shorter than she’d ever seen it, and he had a big scar down one side of his head and across his cheek. But he was smiling.

  “Ivy,” he said.