Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2)

by Gemma Jackson

  She walked over to join the person in the crowd she knew the best. “Dear Lord, Jem, I’m still shaking.”

  “You’re not the only one!” Ivy said as she joined them.

  “I thought I told you to keep out of this, Ivy Murphy.” Jem was dealing with a few trembles himself. “Where’s Emmy?”

  “She’s fine,” Ivy said. “She’s playing cards with Seán McDonald and, knowing her, probably cheating.”

  “Some of the men are going to stay by the fires and keep an eye out for trouble. There’s nothing more we can do here.” Jem looked around the crowd of people lingering in the courtyard. “We’re going to have to do something about Declan Johnson but I don’t think anyone is up to discussing that right now.” He put an arm around each of the women and grinned down at Ivy. “I’m surprised I have to say this to you, Ivy Murphy, but I could murder a cup of tea.”

  “Honestly, you two!” Ann Marie pushed gently away from Jem. “I have to get home. I hadn’t intended to stay this long. Sadie will be wondering what has happened to me.”

  “Sadie knows what’s going on in here,” Jem said. “John telephoned her. He was afraid she might decide to put the baby in the pram and stroll over. He didn’t want her here.”

  “Very smart of him,” Ann Marie agreed, “but I really do have to leave.”

  “I’ll have one of my lads walk home with you, Ann Marie,” Jem insisted. “You don’t want to bump into any of the crowd that might still be hanging around outside.” He doubted any of the men were still hanging about but he didn’t want Ann Marie to take any risks.

  “Thank you.” Ann Marie wasn’t going to refuse. She was still feeling shaky.

  “Ginie,” Ivy called when she saw the other woman start to move, “do you have somewhere for you and Seán to stay tonight?” They couldn’t go home.

  “I’m staying with yer one in old Granny’s place,” Ginie said as she turned to go back to Ivy’s and pick up her son. “Seán’ll like that.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Ivy hurried over to accompany Ginie. She didn’t want the woman to help herself to anything that might be lying about.

  “I’ll talk to you soon, Ivy!” Ann Marie called to Ivy’s back. Having seen Ivy protect her belongings from Ginie, she had a good idea what was sending Ivy into a run although in her opinion there wasn’t a lot in Ivy’s place that was worth stealing. Still, what did she know?

  “Come on, Ann Marie.” Jem turned to go back into his livery. He’d pick Emmy up after he’d seen Ann Marie safely on her way. “I was going to suggest sending one of the lads with you but I’m sure John would like to get home to his family. You two can leave together, keep each other company.”

  “I’ll be glad of someone to talk to.” Ann Marie accompanied him into the livery.

  “Well, Ivy,” Jem stood in Ivy’s back room, Emmy held close to his chest, “that was something.”

  “What are we going to do about all of them kids of the Johnsons, Jem?” Ivy was exhausted. “They can’t go back into that basement with Declan and those women.”

  “We have no say in the matter, Ivy.” Jem wished he could do something but the Johnsons weren’t the only people in The Lane huddled into a cramped space and clinging to each other. It was the only life they knew and he feared the kids would creep back home as soon as they could in any case. “We’re all reeling from tonight’s happenings, Ivy. We’ll sleep on it and see if we can come up with a plan.”

  “Okay.” Ivy didn’t know what else they could do. She walked along at Jem’s side, patting Emmy’s back, not sure if she was giving comfort or taking it.

  “Night, Auntie Ivy.” Emmy raised her head to whisper. “I had a good time.” She lay her head back down and closed her eyes.

  “Didn’t we all?” Ivy almost sobbed.

  “Try and get some sleep.” Jem bent and pressed a kiss into her cheek. “Lock the door behind me and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 12

  “Right, Ruby, that’s two hair ribbons, four hairpins and a brooch.”

  Ivy delighted in her ability to take note of everything passed to her by the under-servants. The joy of holding her notebook and pencil, making notes she could actually read, was a constant wonder to her. The cessation of the tension headaches that had plagued her when she was forced to keep everything in her head was a blessing.

  “Are yeh sure about the brooch, Ruby?”

  “Ivy, the young mistress threw that brooch at me head and told me to get rid of it.” Ruby, a black knitted shawl pulled tight around her rough grey under-servant’s uniform, looked over her shoulder. “I was on me hands and knees tending the fire in her room when the bloody brooch came at me like a bullet. I think she was aiming for the fire but she got me.” She touched one grubby hand to the red scratch on her pale face. “It seems the pin on the brooch tore a hole in the young lady’s new dress. The very dress she bought on her latest trip to Paris.”

  “Pity about her,” Ivy grinned. “This brooch will fetch a pretty penny, Ruby, but it may take me a little time to sell it on. Can yeh wait or do you want me to take the first price I’m offered?”

  “Get the best price yeh can, Ivy.” Ruby shrugged. “I’ll send the money home to me mammy so anything yeh get will be welcome.”

  “That it?” Ivy closed her notebook. She touched her pram lightly, checking the weight. It was about time to return to The Lane. She wanted a cup of tea and a bite to eat. The day was dark and cold but the rain had stopped for the moment.

  “Mrs Simpson – the young ladies’ seamstress – said this lot was beyond mending.” Ruby turned and picked up the bundle she’d dropped while she conducted her own business with Ivy. She passed the tied bundle of what looked like old sheets and curtains to Ivy. “I have to get back to work now. I’ll see yeh next week, Ivy.”

  Ruby opened the back door of the house she worked in and disappeared without another word.

  “Bless you, Mrs Simpson.” Ivy could grin openly with delight now.

  It seemed every house on the square was getting a deep-cleaning and revamp before the Christmas holidays.

  Ivy was delighted with the torn and soiled fabric she’d received on her round this morning. She would put the fabric to soak in her tin bathtub, with a shaving of soap and a packet of bluing. Ivy couldn’t wait to see what she had to sell. One more house and she’d call it a day.

  “Hello, I’m Chrissy.” A pretty, smiling dark-haired plump girl stood in the portico of the last house on her round. The girl was wearing the grey dress and rough apron of an under-housemaid. “Are you the one who will pay me a few pence for this lot?” The girl held up one hand. She had a rainbow of silk ribbons clutched in her dimpled fist.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Ivy felt her heart sink. Another one. Where did they find these innocent young girls to be served up on the altar of the chinless wonder that called this house home?

  “I arrived in Dublin yesterday.” Chrissy McAuliffe couldn’t believe she was in the capital city of her nation. It was so exciting.

  “How long have you been standing out here waiting for me to come by?” Ivy spoke slowly, her brain ticking over. “Why aren’t you inside going about your duties, Chrissy?” The under-housemaids were worked till they dropped. They didn’t have time to be standing around. Chrissy should be inside the scullery right now standing over a sink of hot water, getting ready to scrub the breakfast pots, pans and dishes.

  “The dishes aren’t going anywhere.” Chrissy shrugged with marked indifference. At home she could leave the dishes until her mammy lost her rag and did them herself. Chrissy hated hot greasy water.

  “Where did you get the ribbons, Chrissy?” Ivy wanted to kick herself. Why could she never keep her nose out of other people’s business? It wasn’t her place to explain anything to this young girl. The housekeeper should be the one boxing the girl’s ears and putting her in her place.

  “Young Master Lawrence passed them to me.” Chrissy beamed with
delight. “He was ever so nice to me. Master Lawrence said as how his sister would never miss them she had so many. Can you imagine having all the ribbons in the world?” Chrissy admired the rainbow of silk in her hand.

  “How old are you, Chrissy?” Ivy felt tired just looking at this freshfaced young innocent.

  “I’m twelve,” Chrissy supplied with a pleased grin.

  “What did Master Lawrence want for the ribbons, Chrissy?” Ivy wanted to throw up.

  “He didn’t want nothing!” Chrissy blushed. “Master Lawrence gave me a sweet kiss to bring me luck on my first day in the big city.” She glared at the ragged auld hag trying to turn her good fortune into something ugly.

  “Chrissy,” Ivy knew she was beating her head off a brick wall but she had to try, “did your mother not warn you about the dangers of the big city before you left home?”

  “Of course she did,” Chrissy huffed. Hadn’t her ears been ringing from the lectures her widowed mother had poured over her head, morning, noon and night?

  “And . . .?” Ivy stared down at the ribbons Chrissy was mashing in her hand.

  “But – but – it was not a real kiss or anything like that. Master Lawrence didn’t try to take advantage,” Chrissy blustered. “It was for luck.”

  “I’m sure.” Ivy shook her head before stepping up to join the young maidservant on the covered portico. She moved the girl gently out of her way and opened the door at Chrissy’s back.

  “Mrs Ivors! It’s Ivy Murphy!” Ivy roared down the long hallway that led into the kitchen. “Anything for me today?”

  She hoped the cook would come to the door. She was a decent sort, Mrs Ivors. Maybe she could explain the danger of getting too close to Master Lawrence, the chinless lecher, to the young maid staring at her with tearwashed brown eyes.

  “You need to take those ribbons back inside, Chrissy.” Ivy knew the servants in these houses knew what was going on. They might cover for the young girl . . . this time. She closed the back door but remained standing on the step. “If you throw yerself on her mercy and ask her politely, Miss Olivia’s lady’s maid Gladey might wash and iron them ribbons for you before they’re missed.” Ivy waited to see if anyone would come out to join them on the step. “Don’t try and wash them yourself. You haven’t the skill.” Gladey would probably have the young fool dancing on her hand and foot for the service but it was better than the alternative. Although, a clip around the ear now and being sent home to her mammy might be the best thing that could happen to this young madam.

  The inner door remained firmly closed. The servants in these houses could smell problems and did everything they could to keep well out of them. Who could blame them? The house was not only their place of work but provided the roof over their heads, the clothes on their backs and the food in their mouths. They preferred not to interfere in the young master’s pleasures. Chrissy would not be the first young country girl to find herself in trouble in this house. It had cost the last young girl her life – backstreet abortions could be deadly.

  “But . . .” Chrissy started to protest. She stopped at the look of complete disgust the raggedly dressed woman sent her.

  “First lesson is free, Chrissy,” Ivy sighed. “The ribbons in your hand belong to the daughter of this house, Miss Olivia, a young woman who would have you dismissed from service for making use of her fingernail clippings never mind her silk ribbons. You’re on a slippery slope. Learn from it and perhaps you’ll live longer than the last young girl Master Lawrence treated to a welcome kiss.”

  Ivy grabbed the handle of her pram and turned to leave. She’d done everything she could. Now it was up to young Chrissy how this turned out.

  “I’d check to see if there is a key to the lock on the maidservants’ bedroom door if I were you, Chrissy!” Ivy shouted over her shoulder as she made her way down the long back yard. “Ask Gladey or one of the others about the girl who worked here before you.”

  Ivy turned her pram in the direction of home.

  “I want a cup of tea and something to eat,” she muttered to herself. “Who the feck do I think I am – the patron saint of stupid girls up from the country? It’s none of my bloody business what goes on in those big houses. Fit me better to tend to me own business and let everyone else tend to theirs.” Ivy knew the young maid wouldn’t pay her warning a blind bit of notice. “I hope to God that young girl catches on to the ways of the bold Master Lawrence before it’s too late.” She tried to put the young maid out of her mind. There was nothing else she could do. The city of Dublin was littered with girls like Chrissy.

  Ivy rushed along the streets, planning her next step. She couldn’t solve the problems of the world. She’d enough problems of her own, what with Declan Johnson skulking around The Lane with his two bruisers always at his side. The women might have put a halt to his gallop but they hadn’t stopped him, not by a long shot.

  In her mind she planned her actions. She’d take the tin bathtub from its hook outside her back door. Using the hot water from the reservoir on her marvellous black range she’d put the whites in to soak. She’d need to haul more water to refill the reservoir but that shouldn’t be a problem. She could walk on the well-soaked items later – after she’d organised everything else she needed to get done.

  She turned into The Lane, her mind ablaze with plans.

  “Ivy!” Jem Ryan shouted after Ivy’s fleeing back. He’d been trying to keep an eye on her. Declan Johnson was keeping quiet but it was the calm before the storm.

  “Give me a few minutes, Jem!” Ivy waved over her shoulder without stopping. “I’ve a few things to do and then I’ll be over.” She grinned broadly to herself. She could get accustomed to having a man put the kettle on for her.

  She almost turned around and went back the other way when she saw the long line in front of the outdoor tap. She didn’t have the time to catch up on the latest happenings around The Lane. If there was something she absolutely had to know someone was sure to let her know. She sighed deeply and pushed her pram forward.

  “Any sign of them nappies, Ivy?” Bitsy Martin shouted as soon as she caught sight of Ivy.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Your pram looks loaded.” Jenny Black added her opinion.

  “Miss Murphy, do you have a moment?” Betty Armstrong was standing in her open doorway. “It’s rather important.”

  Betty had been devastated when Seán and his mother returned to their own home. She had need of advice. She wanted to help.

  “I’m sorry.” Ivy didn’t even glance over at the tall thin woman dressed all in black. “I have to rush, perhaps later.” Well, that put the tall hat on that idea, she thought. I’ll never be able to fill me water buckets in peace. I’ll be there for the bloody day.

  Ivy pushed her laden pram through the back door, feeling the women’s eyes on her back. She pushed it through into her workroom. She allowed the black knit shawl to drop down around her shoulders and pushed her hands through her tousled head of curls. Since selling her long, long hair, Ivy had been keeping to the convenient shorter length. She refused to even think that the short style suited her. That would be vanity and everyone knew vanity was a sin. She sighed loudly, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to soak the items she’d collected as she’d planned.

  “I’m going to have to get the water I need in the middle of the night if this keeps up. I can’t tell the women that I’ve no time to stop and chat.” She pulled the items she’d amassed and, without checking to see what she’d scavenged, laid the bundles on her work table. She ran her hand inside the pram to ensure there was nothing she’d overlooked.

  She hurried around her two rooms, checking that everything was in order. The range held glowing embers but, not knowing how long she’d be away, Ivy decided to add more nuggets of wet coal to the fire. When she knew Emmy Ryan was coming to her she normally remembered to leave some kind of stew simmering on the range. When it was just herself she couldn’t be bothered. She’d have to pull up h
er socks or accept Jem’s invitation to eat regularly with him.

  Ivy checked the back door was locked firmly, then with her head held high she made her way out of her own little nest.

  She walked up the metal steps that led from her basement front door to the cobbled square above. She brushed absently at her old army coat, wishing she had something a bit more attractive to wear for Jem. She checked that her shawl decently covered her head and shoulders.

  “You’re getting above your station, my girl, thinking about primping yerself up for a man,” she whispered to herself when she stood with her hand on the iron gate that guarded the front entrance to her two rooms. She closed the gate with a half smile, proud of the fact that she had the only rooms in the tenements that boasted two locked entrances. Her da had known what he was about when he’d insisted on renting the basement of the second house from the tunnel.

  “There yeh are, Maisie!” Ivy shouted to the woman who rented the two rooms above her head. “Your turn to scrub the steps, I see.”

  Maisie was on her hands and knees, using a donkey stone to scrub the wide stone steps leading up to the open tenement door.

  “You don’t know yer born, Ivy Murphy, not having to take a turn at scrubbing these steps.” Maisie leaned back on her heels, checking that her shawl was still wrapped securely around her head.

  “I have to keep me own entrance steps clean, Maisie,” Ivy objected.

  “I’ve seen yeh, Ivy Murphy.” Maisie used the end of her apron, a flour sack split and hemmed, to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Yeh throw a bucket of water over the feckin’ things and leave it at that. It’s no work at all.”