{"product_id":"the-kew-gardens-girls-isbn-9780593328231","title":"The Kew Gardens Girls","description":"\u003cb\u003eA heart-warming novel inspired by real life events, about the brave women during WWI who worked in the historic grounds of London's Kew Gardens.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCan the women of Kew keep the gardens alive in the midst of war?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLondon, 1916. England is at war. Desperate to help in whatever way they can, Ivy and Louisa enlist as gardeners at Kew, the Royal Botanic Gardens, taking on the jobs of the men who have gone to fight. Under their care, the gardens begin to flourish and become a safe haven for those seeking solace--but not everyone wants women working at Kew. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pair begin to face challenges on the home front. When a tragedy overseas affects the people closest to them, can the women of Kew pull together to support themselves and their country through the darkest of times?“An absolutely charming story about the strength and beauty of female friendship. \u003ci\u003eThe Kew Gardens Girls\u003c\/i\u003e blossom from the pages as WWI changes their lives and they face the challenges of being the first women to work in the famous Kew Gardens. I loved the way Ivy, Louisa and Win reveled in the many adventures they encountered and supported one another through the turmoil of wartime life. Settle into the story and be swept away!” ⁠\u003cb\u003e—Natasha Lester, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Paris Secret\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Utterly charming, \u003ci\u003eThe Kew Garden Girls\u003c\/i\u003e, set in World War I London to the backdrop of the women's suffrage movement, is a tumbling bouquet of detail and dialogue that immediately transports the reader to one of the most famous city gardens in the world, a century in the past. Inspired by real events, Posy Lovell deftly explores issues of friendship, loss, class, equality, and freedom, weaving those serious topics into a beautiful story of women in wartime who find solace and meaning in tending the plants of Kew Gardens, coaxing new life from the soil even as they struggle to hold their own lives together. I'll never look at the sprawling, brilliant Kew Gardens—one of London's top tourist attractions and a World Heritage Site—the same way again.” \u003cb\u003e—Kristin Harmel, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Book of Lost Names\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Kew Gardens Girls \u003c\/i\u003eweaves an engaging, charming story of three women and their friendship while exploring the fascinating struggle for women's suffrage during World War I Britain. Lovell's story is just as layered and beautiful as the gardens she writes about. A delight!” \u003cb\u003e–Julia Kelly, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Light Over London\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[An] endearing slice of wartime life.” \u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[An] emotional, heartwarming story.” \u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eWoman’s World\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heartwarming...Even non-gardeners will be inspired to browse flower catalogues and grow a garden as a tribute to courageous characters like Ivy, Louisa, and Win.” \u003cb\u003e–\u003ci\u003eHistorical Novels Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Kew Gardens Girls\u003c\/i\u003e is a delightful story about women from very different backgrounds who end up working together at London’s Kew Gardens during WWI, taking on the jobs of the men who have gone to war. The ‘Girls’ form fast friendships and something like a surrogate family. With beautifully well-drawn characters that you root for from the beginning, and interesting historical details about both the Suffragette movement and Kew Gardens during WWI, this is a poignant, heartwarming read that I highly recommend!” \u003cb\u003e—Jane Healey, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Beantown Girls \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003ePosy Lovell \u003c\/b\u003eis a pseudonym for British author and journalist Kerry Barrett. Born in Edinburgh, she moved to London as a child with her family. She has a passion for uncovering the role of women in the past. Kerry lives in London with her family and \u003ci\u003eThe Kew Gardens Girls \u003c\/i\u003eis her American debut.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e Kew\u003cbr\u003e June 1915\u003cbr\u003e “I’m really not sure about this,” said Douglas MacMillan as he slowly walked down the line of potential new recruits. “Not sure about this at all.”\u003cbr\u003e He shook his head, pausing in his pacing.\u003cbr\u003e “What do you think, Jim?”\u003cbr\u003e His assistant, a younger man with a mop of dark hair and kind eyes, gave his boss an amused glance.\u003cbr\u003e “I think you should give them a chance, Mac,” he said. “We’ve lost more than half our gardeners already, and there are bound to be more that join up. We need them.”\u003cbr\u003e He sighed.\u003cbr\u003e “We had this conversation when we put the ad in the Times, Mac. You agreed. We’re lucky so many have turned up.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac huffed in disapproval.\u003cbr\u003e “I’m just not sure they’re up to the job,” he muttered. “Bunch of namby-pamby lady poets and maiden aunts.”\u003cbr\u003e In the line, two of the recruits exchanged a look of solidarity—they were used to being underestimated by men—before standing to attention again as Mac continued his inspection. He paused by one of the women—tall and elegant, though a closer look would reveal her skirt had been mended many times and her coat was faded.\u003cbr\u003e “What’s your name?” he barked.\u003cbr\u003e The woman winced, just a little, at his sharp tone, then straightened up and looked him straight in the eye.\u003cbr\u003e “Louisa Taylor,” she said.\u003cbr\u003e “And you want to be a horticulturalist, do you? Fancy yourself as a gardener?”\u003cbr\u003e “I’m already a gardener. But I’d like to work here, yes.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac huffed again. “Gardener, eh? What do you grow?”\u003cbr\u003e “Vegetables, mostly, at the moment. But flowers, too. I only have window boxes because my flat is very small.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac nodded and the woman continued.\u003cbr\u003e “I grew up in Kent,” she said. “On a hops farm. I understand plants.”\u003cbr\u003e “Hops?” Mac’s gruff Scottish voice sounded grudgingly impressed. “Not easy.”\u003cbr\u003e “No, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e Behind him, Jim grinned again.\u003cbr\u003e “He’ll come round eventually,” he said in a low voice to the youngest woman in the line. “Don’t worry.”\u003cbr\u003e She smiled at him. “Promise?” she said quietly.\u003cbr\u003e “Promise.”\u003cbr\u003e A kerfuffle at the other end of the line made them both look up. A disheveled young man joined the group. His cap was askew, one trouser leg was half-tucked into his sock and he was breathing heavily.\u003cbr\u003e “Sorry I’m late,” he panted. “Went to the wrong gate, and then it was difficult finding somewhere to lock up my bicycle.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac, looking relieved to see another male face, left his interrogation of Louisa Taylor and turned his attention to the man.\u003cbr\u003e “What’s your name?”\u003cbr\u003e “Bernard,” he said, still out of breath. “Bernie. Bernie Yorke.”\u003cbr\u003e “Well, Bernard Bernie Yorke,” said Mac. “Do you have any horticulture experience?”\u003cbr\u003e Bernie chuckled. “Good heavens, no,” he said. “None whatsoever. But I’m a fast learner, and I’m not frightened of hard work.”\u003cbr\u003e “Good,” said Mac. “You’re in. Go and give Jim your details.”\u003cbr\u003e The two women exchanged another glance and the younger woman, the one who’d been talking to Jim, raised an eyebrow. “Should have said your name was Louis, not Louisa,” she said quietly. \u003cbr\u003e Louisa stifled a laugh. She already liked this rather wild-looking girl beside her and hoped they’d both be chosen to work at Kew.\u003cbr\u003e “Louisa?” Mac said, making her jump.\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir?”\u003cbr\u003e “Not one of those Suffragettes, are you?”\u003cbr\u003e Louise looked straight at him. “Absolutely not, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e “Good,” said Mac. “They burned the tea pavilion, you know. And destroyed the orchid house. Terrible business.”\u003cbr\u003e “I heard,” Louise said.\u003cbr\u003e Behind her back, she curled her fingers round the little silver hammer brooch she wore and which she’d removed just before Mac had reached her.\u003cbr\u003e “Terrible.”\u003cbr\u003e “You’re in,” Mac said with a definite tinge of reluctance. “Give your details to Jim.”\u003cbr\u003e As Louisa went to leave the line, the younger woman next to her caught her hand and pushed something into it. It was another tiny hammer brooch.\u003cbr\u003e Louisa looked at her and the younger woman pushed a strand of red hair out of her face and smiled. Giving her the tiniest of nods, Louisa headed over to where Jim sat on a tree trunk, meticulously writing down the names and addresses of all the new recruits. Bernie stood to one side, biting his lip nervously.\u003cbr\u003e While she waited her turn to give Jim her information, she watched Mac interrogate the other women.\u003cbr\u003e “He’s not as bad as he seems,” Jim said, watching her watching. “He’s got a good heart.”\u003cbr\u003e Louisa raised an eyebrow and Jim chuckled.\u003cbr\u003e “You’ll see,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e Over in the line, Mac had reached the redheaded girl.\u003cbr\u003e “Name,” he barked.\u003cbr\u003e “Ivy Adams,” she said.\u003cbr\u003e Beside Louisa, Jim raised his head, his kind eyes fixed on Ivy.\u003cbr\u003e “Do you know her?” Louisa was intrigued by his interest.\u003cbr\u003e “She’s some girl,” he said. “Some girl.”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy was small and wiry, with that unkempt red hair that kept whipping across her face as the breeze took it.\u003cbr\u003e With an exasperated sigh, she gathered her locks up in her tiny hands, twisted, and tucked it into itself.\u003cbr\u003e “Sorry,” she said. “It’s so annoying. I’d like to cut it all off one day. What was you saying?”\u003cbr\u003e Louisa thought Mac would react badly to Ivy’s inattention but, to her surprise, he smiled indulgently.\u003cbr\u003e “You’re Paddy Adams’s oldest,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e Ivy smiled. “S’right.”\u003cbr\u003e “How’s your dad?”\u003cbr\u003e She shrugged. “Times are tough.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac looked sad. “He didn’t want to come here? I’d give him a job any day of the week. Knowledge he has of flowers is second to none.”\u003cbr\u003e “Her dad worked at Columbia Road,” Jim told Louisa. She looked at him, curiously. How did he know that? “One of the best flower sellers down there, until . . .”\u003cbr\u003e “He’s drinking,” Ivy said, abruptly. “Too much. And we ain’t seen him properly for weeks. You know what he’s like. You don’t want him here, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e “Shame,” said Mac.\u003cbr\u003e “He taught me everything.”\u003cbr\u003e Mac looked her up and down. “You might have the knowledge, but you’re tiny. You’re not built for physical work.”\u003cbr\u003e “I’m small, but I’m strong as an ox,” she said. “Give me a chance and I’ll prove it.”\u003cbr\u003e “I don’t know, Ivy.”\u003cbr\u003e “Please,” she said. “For my dad?”\u003cbr\u003e There was a pause. Louisa silently urged Mac to give Ivy the chance she obviously wanted so desperately.\u003cbr\u003e “Fine,” he said eventually. “But if it’s too much, you tell me?”\u003cbr\u003e “I will,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e “That’s my girl,” breathed Jim next to Louisa. Ahh, so they did know each other? Interesting.\u003cbr\u003e Ivy appeared at Bernie’s elbow.\u003cbr\u003e “I’m in,” she said happily. “One of the team.”\u003cbr\u003e Jim gave her a beaming smile. “You did well.”\u003cbr\u003e “Do you want my details?”\u003cbr\u003e He showed her the form he was filling in with a stubby pencil. “Already wrote them down. See?”\u003cbr\u003e A shadow drifted across Ivy’s face, just for a second, and then vanished. She gazed at Jim and the pair seemed to lose sight of everyone else for a moment. Louisa felt a tiny stab of envy remembering how lovely it once was to have someone look at her that way. Before things changed, of course. She pushed her shoulders back. She was far better off alone.\u003cbr\u003e “Ahem,” Bernie said, clearing his throat and interrupting Ivy and Jim’s moment. “I was just wondering what will happen now?”\u003cbr\u003e Jim blinked, as though he’d forgotten where he was for a second.\u003cbr\u003e “Mac,” he called. “What now?”\u003cbr\u003e Mac looked over. “Give them a tour,” he said. “Show them the palm house, and the temperate house first, I reckon. Then maybe take them over to the magnolias.”\u003cbr\u003e Jim grinned. “Right then,” he said. “Follow me.”\u003cbr\u003e Obediently, Bernie, Louisa and Ivy fell into line behind him. Bernie began quizzing Jim about the plants they were passing, and Jim answered even the silliest questions good-naturedly.\u003cbr\u003e “I’m glad we’re going to get to work together,” said Ivy to Louisa as they walked. “I think we’ve got a lot in common.”\u003cbr\u003e Realizing what she meant, Louisa dug around in the pocket of her coat for her brooch and held it out to her.\u003cbr\u003e “Here,” she said.\u003cbr\u003e Ivy took it and pinned it on the underside of her lapel. Louisa followed her lead and the two women nodded to each other.\u003cbr\u003e “I’ve never seen you before,” Louisa said.\u003cbr\u003e Ivy shook her head. “Nor me, you. Do you live nearby?”\u003cbr\u003e “Wandsworth. You?”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy rolled her eyes. “Hackney,” she said.\u003cbr\u003e “That’s quite a journey.”\u003cbr\u003e The young woman nodded. “Worth it, though. I spend a lot of time round the Gardens. Always have done, since I was little. ’Cause of my dad and that.”\u003cbr\u003e “That how you know Jim?” Louisa asked.\u003cbr\u003e Ivy flushed. “S’pose,” she said. “Are you still going to meetings?”\u003cbr\u003e With the change of subject, it was clear Ivy wasn’t going to give anything else away about her and Jim. Amused at her reaction, Louisa decided to let it lie for now.\u003cbr\u003e “Not really,” she said. “We’ve all but stopped over in Wandsworth. Mrs. Pankhurst doesn’t want anything interfering with the war effort.”\u003cbr\u003e “Us, too,” Ivy agreed. “Nothing going on.”\u003cbr\u003e She paused.\u003cbr\u003e “I miss it.”\u003cbr\u003e Louisa grinned at her, thrilled that someone understood.\u003cbr\u003e “Me, too,” she admitted. “So much. I miss the meetings and the women and the friendships. And I have to confess, I miss the thrill of the action, too.”\u003cbr\u003e The shadow crossed Ivy’s face again and was gone in a flash.\u003cbr\u003e “Mostly why I wanted to come and work here,” she said. “So I could make some friends and feel useful again. Useful on my own terms, I mean. Not just doing what my dad tells me to do.”\u003cbr\u003e They were approaching the palm house. Its huge windows sparkled in the weak sunlight and Louisa felt a rush of excitement. Oh, to be given the chance to work here, in the most wonderful gardens in the world. She was lucky.\u003cbr\u003e Impulsively, she looped her arm through Ivy’s. The younger woman froze at first, then relaxed.\u003cbr\u003e “Are you nervous?” Ivy said.\u003cbr\u003e Louisa shrugged. “Nervous and excited, I suppose.” She paused. “I’ve had a few ups and downs these last couple of years. More downs than ups, really. This feels like a new beginning for me.”\u003cbr\u003e “‘New beginning,’” Ivy echoed. “I like that. Maybe it could be one for me, too.”\u003cbr\u003e “Tsk, you’re a baby. Why would you need a new beginning?” Louisa chuckled. But that shadow wafted over Ivy’s eyes once more and the younger woman shuddered.\u003cbr\u003e “I reckon everyone could do with starting over, once in a while,” she said mildly, gazing up at the palm house. “Shall we go in?”\u003cbr\u003e Louisa nodded, and arm in arm, the two women followed Bernie and Jim into the palm house.\u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2\u003cbr\u003e Louisa was exhausted when she finally made it home to her tiny basement flat in Wandsworth after her first day at Kew. Exhausted, but happy. She hadn’t realized quite how much she had missed being outdoors.\u003cbr\u003e As she crossed the threshold, though, her good mood wavered for a second as she saw the letter lying on the mat.\u003cbr\u003e “Oh, Ma,” she whispered as she bent down to pick it up. She looked at the envelope for a second or two. Her mother had written every week since Louisa left Kent, half a year ago. Louisa hadn’t opened any of the letters. She didn’t want to know what her mother had to say, because she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive her for not supporting Louisa when she needed her most.\u003cbr\u003e Louisa breathed in deeply, a long, shuddery breath. More importantly, if she wrote back, then that would confirm to everyone where she was. She’d given her address to her brother, Matthew, but she’d never expected him to share it with their parents—and if he’d told them where she was, who knew if he’d told anyone else? If he’d let it slip to Reg that she was in Wandsworth . . . She shivered at the idea of her husband finding her, remembering the hatred she’d seen in his eyes when he told her she was his forever.\u003cbr\u003e Shaking her head to get rid of the unwelcome memory she dropped her mother’s letter, unopened, into the wastepaper basket, feeling a wave of exhaustion. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed with a book, but she was completely filthy, she realized. So, instead, she peeled off her dirty skirt and stockings and banged her muddy boots together outside the door. Then, while she heated up water for a bath, she put on her dressing gown and wandered out into her little yard to look at her plants.\u003cbr\u003e Her flat had its own entrance, with cast-iron stairs leading down from the street. And on either side of the steps, and outside her front window, was a small paved area. Some people in the other basement flats hung washing out in their little outdoor yard, but Louisa’s was full of plants.\u003cbr\u003e She’d been telling the truth to Mac. She did grow a lot of fruit and vegetables. She had lettuces in a window box, and peas growing up a pole. She had a pot where the tomatoes jostled for space, their sharp scent filling the evening air. She touched the leaves gently and admired the little green spheres that would soon turn red in the sunshine. She would get a good crop and she was pleased that she’d managed to grow so much so soon.\u003cbr\u003e Next to the tomatoes he had strawberries in another pot, which were flourishing too. \u003cbr\u003e There were a few sunflowers that were growing tall and strong, reaching up to the iron railings that edged the street. She hoped they would grow so tall that she would eventually be able to see them as she walked home, their large sunny faces welcoming her back to her house. And there were pots full of color—begonias and petunias and geraniums all blooming in the June sunshine.\u003cbr\u003e Growing the plants had made Louisa feel at home when she’d first arrived in gray, wintery London all those months ago. She loved the anonymity of the big city and how she blended in with crowds of people—it made her feel safe from Reg to be among so many others—but she missed the outdoors and the feeling of the earth between her fingers. Growing her plants gave her a taste of Kent while still keeping her away. It was the best of both worlds, she thought. Or rather, a way of making the best of a situation that she’d never imagined she’d find herself in.\u003cbr\u003e She pottered about happily for a few minutes, watering the pots that were dry, and picking a few of the strawberries, warm from the sun, and popping them into her mouth. Then she went back inside and filled the bath and sank gratefully into the water.\u003cbr\u003e Her legs ached from the physical work—she was out of practice after spending the last few months working behind the counter in a shop—and she was more tired than she’d been since she’d come to London, but she was content. Possibly the most content she’d felt since, well, since all the trouble.\u003cbr\u003e She closed her eyes as the memories flooded back. Of the fear she felt when Reg would come home. Would he be in a good mood or a bad one? Would he want to kiss and cuddle her, or would one wrong word from her send her sprawling to the floor as he took out his anger on her?\u003cbr\u003e Under the water, she let her hand drift down to her flat stomach. Her belly would never swell with pregnancy, thanks to Reg’s punches. She still felt vaguely unsettled after receiving her mother’s letter, but for the first time she found she could think about her past without feeling so utterly wretched.\u003cbr\u003e “I’ve done it,” she murmured to herself. “I’ve built myself a new life just as I dreamed.”\u003cbr\u003e She smiled as she started to scrub the mud from under her fingernails. It hadn’t been easy—a nighttime flit from Kent, and the first train into London in the morning with the milk. Hiding out in one of the luggage compartments in case she was spotted and word got back to Reg. And then the sheer, terrifying size of London. And the noise. And the people.\u003cbr\u003e But she’d found first this little flat, and then her job in a hat shop. Her Suffragette friends in Kent—a whole bunch of women who felt the same helplessness and frustration that she did and who’d helped her more than they could ever know—had put her in touch with like-minded women nearby.\u003cbr\u003e She stood up, water dripping, and reached for a towel. Thinking of her friends in the Suffragettes made her think of Ivy. Ivy, with her wild hair, the glint in her eye, and her hammer brooch hidden in her fist. Ivy who seemed tough but whose voice had shaken when she talked about her father, and who looked so desperately hopeful when Mac was questioning her.\u003cbr\u003e Louisa nodded to herself as she dried her legs and put on her nightgown. She felt a pull toward the unkempt teenager and she thought Ivy had felt it too. As though they were two lost souls who’d found each other. Perhaps, she thought, there was more than one way to be a mother.\u003cbr\u003e Across London, in Hackney, Ivy was thinking about Louisa, too, as she dragged a comb through her straggly hair and tried to tame it into some sort of twist.\u003cbr\u003e “Why do you need to go?”\u003cbr\u003e She turned and grinned at Jim, who was sitting on the single bed in the room she shared with her younger sister.\u003cbr\u003e “I need to go to a meeting and you just need to go,” she said “Ma will be back soon, with the littl’uns. She can’t see you here.”\u003cbr\u003e Jim looked sulky. “We’ve not done anything wrong.”\u003cbr\u003e “I know that, and you know that, but what do you reckon she’ll think if she sees you in my bedroom, eh? She’s not going to think you’ve been teaching me about plants. It’ll be straight to birds and bees, for her filthy mind.”\u003cbr\u003e Jim chuckled. “Fair enough.”\u003cbr\u003e He slid off the bed and stood up, stretching his arms above his head like a cat. “Where’s your dad?”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy shrugged. “Not seen hide nor hair of him for weeks. Might turn up, might not.”\u003cbr\u003e Not wanting to think about her father, or the tiredness that was obvious on her mother’s skinny face, Ivy turned her attention to her hair again, groaning as she tried in vain to make it look neat, and then pinned on her hammer brooch.\u003cbr\u003e “She was nice, weren’t she? Louisa?”\u003cbr\u003e Jim had finished his stretching. “They were all nice, I reckoned.”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy thought for a minute. “What about Mac?”\u003cbr\u003e “Told you, his bark’s worse than his bite. Once he sees you all getting on with it, he’ll come round. We need you, Ivy.”\u003cbr\u003e He came over to where she stood, looking in the blotchy mirror, and wrapped his strong arms round her.\u003cbr\u003e “I need you,” he said. He kissed her neck and she shivered with pleasure as he ran a hand down her back. But she pulled away as he tried to stroke her bare arm.\u003cbr\u003e “Jim, give it a rest,” she said affectionately, reaching for her jacket and pulling it on over the arm he’d touched. “You need to go.”\u003cbr\u003e “Oh, all right, I know when I’m not wanted,” he teased. “Maybe I’ll join up. Would you miss me.”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy felt a lurch of fear at his jokes.\u003cbr\u003e “Please don’t,” she said, serious all of a sudden. “Please don’t. Not even when you’re eighteen. I couldn’t bear it. You’re all I have.”\u003cbr\u003e Jim kissed her very gently on her lips. “Let’s see what happens, shall we? No point worrying about it now.”\u003cbr\u003e Ivy bit her lip, still fretting, then caught a glimpse of the time on the clock on the mantelpiece.\u003cbr\u003e “It’s after seven,” she said in horror. “Go, Jim!”\u003cbr\u003e “Come with me.”\u003cbr\u003e “I can’t, you know that. I’ve got to go to the meeting.”\u003cbr\u003e “I think you love those women more than me.”\u003cbr\u003e She grinned at him, and shoved him in the direction of the window.\u003cbr\u003e “They’re my family,” she said. “Go.”\u003cbr\u003e With a cheeky wink, Jim threw one long leg over the window ledge.\u003cbr\u003e “See you tomorrow,” he said. “At work.”\u003cbr\u003e Then he clambered down the trellis on the side of the house and disappeared, just in the nick of time, because downstairs Ivy heard the sound of her mother and younger siblings arriving home.\u003cbr\u003e She thought for a second about going down, greeting them, helping Ma with bedtime and telling her about her new job. Then she thought of the endless questions from the littl’uns, the haunted look in Ma’s eyes as she slumped on a chair, aching with fatigue, and changed her mind. Today had been perfect, she thought. Getting the chance to work with Jim at her most favorite place in London and having the opportunity to make amends for what she had done. Meeting Louisa, too, had been fun—and funny Bernie with the glasses and his mop of hair. She didn’t want anything to spoil that now.\u003cbr\u003e She hitched her skirt up, and clambered over the windowsill and out into the street, just as Jim had done.\u003cbr\u003e Bernie took his glasses off and laid them on his bedside table. He wasn’t shortsighted. In fact, he didn’t need spectacles at all—the ones he wore had clear glass lenses. He had picked them up at a gentleman’s outfitters store when he bought a new hat, in the hope that people who saw he wore glasses wouldn’t question why he hadn’t yet joined up.\u003cbr\u003e He heard his landlady, Mrs. Spencer, moving around downstairs, cooking dinner, and nodded. She’d never asked why he was still in England when hundreds of men were fighting in the trenches in France and Belgium, so it was obviously working.\u003cbr\u003e But for how long? he wondered, picking up today’s newspaper. There was talk of the government introducing a new law to force all men to join up and Bernie did not want to go to war.\u003cbr\u003e It wasn’t that he was a coward, though of course the very thought of the brutality of war made his blood run cold. But rather, he was a Quaker. A pacifist. He firmly believed that nothing good would come from this war and he didn’t want to be a part of it. He sighed, looking at the newspaper once more. But what would he do if the law was passed and he was forced to enlist? He had no idea.\u003cbr\u003e “Dinner will be in ten minutes,” Mrs. Spencer called up the stairs. She was a rather fearsome woman whose husband had enlisted almost as soon as war had been declared. She was passionate about supporting the troops and spent her time knitting socks for soldiers and raising money for war bonds. Her two sullen children were dragged along to her efforts collecting tinned food for refugees, or gifts for the troops on a weekly basis.\u003cbr\u003e “I’ll be right there,” he called back. He picked up his glasses and put them back on.\u003cbr\u003e He was hoping his work at Kew would be considered essential, should the conscription bill be passed. That was largely why he’d applied. He’d thought, briefly, about going back to teaching but just the thought broke him out in a cold sweat. He’d found peace within himself, after the torment of everything that had happened with Vivienne—a music teacher at his old school—though it had taken a long time for him to get over the humiliation he’d suffered when she’d turned down his proposal so cruelly. And so publicly.\u003cbr\u003e He felt his shoulders hunching as he remembered the cold realization that Vivienne had merely been playing with his feelings, as a cat played with a mouse. Using him as a source of help with lesson planning, of paying for theater tickets, drinks and dinners, and more often than not of hard cash. And all the while laughing at him behind his back—and, as it turned out, to his face. It had been a dark time for him.\u003cbr\u003e No, he wasn’t sure his mind would recover if he had to go back to the classroom. But he didn’t have the skills or knowledge to take up any other work that could help him avoid conscription. Then he’d seen the advert in the back of the Times for Kew and thought it could be the answer to his prayers.\u003cbr\u003e Today, though, had been hard work for a man like him, unaccustomed as he was to physical labor. He looked at the blisters on his palm in mild disgust, hoping he’d toughen up before too long. He’d felt out of his depth and—unusual for him—a bit stupid, listening to the apprentice gardener, Jim, explain what they should be doing in the herbaceous border.\u003cbr\u003e Still, if there was one thing Bernie was good at, it was learning. He scanned the bookshelves lining his room and found what he was looking for—a copy of a book called A Year in My Garden. His mother, who’d been a keen gardener before arthritis twisted her hands, had passed it to him but he’d never had much cause to read it before now.\u003cbr\u003e Nodding in satisfaction, he laid it on his chair to read after dinner. He wasn’t beaten yet.","brand":"G.P. 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