“Give over, yeh daft ha’porth! You’ll have me lungs coming out me front.” Curly pushed the younger man away. He took a soiled rag from his pocket and spat into it, then examined his spittle. “No blood, Mooch – we’re clear – no blood.” The fear of TB or ‘consumption’ as they called it struck terror into the heart of every man and woman.
“Sit yerself down, Mooch.” Ivy took a chipped enamel mug from Curly’s trembling hand. The hacking cough had frightened him, she knew. “We’re dining in fine style today.”
She unscrewed the lid from her milk can, then opened the paper parcel to reveal scones rich with raisins and thickly spread with real butter.
“Help yourselves, lads!” Ivy took two of the scones onto her own knees, leaving ten for the men to share between them. “Made by me own lily-white hands.” She grinned with delight. It did her heart good to be able to share her new-found fortune with people who had helped her when she was in need.
“B’god, them there’s delicious, Ivy,” Curly said, crumbs dropping down onto his bristle-encrusted chin.
“A rare auld treat, Ivy,” Moocher concurred, reaching for a second scone. He’d swallowed the first one whole, not bothering to introduce it to his teeth.
“So,” Curly bit into his second scone with pleasure, “about this queer fella yeh say yeh saw?”
“A strange sort.”
The two men took their job seriously. This was their patch. They wouldn’t allow any strangers to wander into their little piece of ground. The servants in these houses were their friends – they looked out for the two men and the men looked out for them. Curly and Mooch didn’t give a hoot about the wealthy owners of these houses. If some swag-man helped himself to the pretties from one of the houses the men turned a blind eye. Touch anything belonging to the servants, however, and the two men would fall on you like the wrath of God.
“Like I said, he was dressed like a gent,” Moocher reported, “but he was wandering around the back lanes where he didn’t belong.” He shrugged. “He’d be worth keeping an eye on.”
“Was he lost?” Curly passed another scone to his friend.
“Don’t think so.” Moocher accepted the scone. “He was eyeing up the entry ways. I didn’t like the smell of him.” He pressed a dirty finger to the side of his nose knowingly.
“Well, keep your eyes peeled.” Curly shrugged. They had no right to question people who wandered into their area but that didn’t stop them keeping a close eye on the comings and goings.
“Thanks for the cup of tea, lads.” Ivy put her empty mug on the bare ground the three-sided hut stood on. She emptied the rest of the milk from her can into the empty mug. “That’s set me up for the rest of the day.”
“We’ll look out for yeh next Wednesday, Ivy,” Curly said. “Thanks for the grub.”
“Keep your eyes peeled for that stranger, Ivy,” Moocher stopped eating long enough to say. “Shout out if yeh need us.”
“I will, lads, thanks.” Ivy stood up, shaking her old coat out to remove crumbs. She put the empty can into her pram, took a firm grip on the pram handle and got ready to continue on her way. “Look after yourselves.”
“See yeh!” the two men shouted together. They were more interested in the food Ivy had left with them.
Chapter 16
“Auntie Ivy, Auntie Ivy!” The little girl was almost vibrating with impatience.
“Miss Emmy, what are you doing out in the street?”
Ivy didn’t like to see any child standing near the tunnel leading into the hidden square that housed the tenement block. The men leaving the pub used the place as a toilet. The women of The Lane tried to keep the place clean but it was a constant battle. The overpowering smell of urine wafted out of the tunnel.
“There’s murder going on in The Lane!” The words shot from Emmy Ryan’s red lips. Jem’s adopted niece couldn’t wait to share what she knew. Her green eyes were wide and gleaming, her long black hair bounced around her slim shoulders and the deep red wool of her coat and matching hat echoed the bright red flush on her cheeks.
“Is that a fact?” Ivy smiled fondly and waited for Emmy to pass on her earth-shattering news. It could be something as simple as an infestation of mice or the far more regular scene of two women throwing off their shawls and getting ready to come to blows over their children.
“The Authorities are in The Lane!”
“Are they?” Ivy said faintly. She felt her heart sink. “Did you happen to see where these people were visiting?”
“The Johnsons! Biddie Milligan was with me and she said it was the Johnsons’ place,” Emmy supplied importantly. “Jimmy Johnson came charging over to the livery. He was white as snow, Auntie Ivy, shaking and shivering. He’s hiding in one of the horse stalls.”
“That’s all we need around here – do-gooders.” Ivy closed her eyes tiredly. The Johnsons were a disgrace, everyone knew that, but bringing in the authorities to sort them out only made headaches for everyone else.
“You run on ahead, Emmy.” Ivy wanted time to pull herself together.
“I want to stay with you, Auntie Ivy.”
Emmy Ryan, the child born Miss Emerald O’Connor of Galway, was loving her life running wild around the streets of Dublin. Halloween had been a revelation to the gently raised child. She’d had the time of her life dressed as a witch and begging around the streets of Dublin. Emmy loved everything about her new life. She had a new family, and no more shouting, beatings and pinches.
“All right, I’ll come with you.” Ivy couldn’t resist that pleading look.
Conn was standing in the open door of the livery. “Ivy, I suppose the ‘News of the World’,” he nodded towards Emmy, “has told yeh what’s going on?”
“Some of it,” Ivy admitted. “Give us a hand getting me pram down me basement steps, will yeh?”
“Don’t want to walk past the do-gooders, do yeh?” Conn grinned. “I can’t say I blame yeh. Your uncle is looking for you, Emmy,” he told the little girl when she seemed all set to accompany them. “You’d better run on inside now.”
They watched the little girl run into the livery.
“I want to change me clothes.” Ivy with Conn at her side pushed her pram across the cobbles. “If I have to face a bunch of auld biddies I want to be dressed to impress.” She giggled at the very thought of her impressing the quality.
“Can’t see why yeh’d bother.” Conn grabbed one end of the huge pram. He backed down the steps, taking most of the pram’s weight while Ivy carried the handle end. “Those auld biddies don’t have a patch on yeh, Ivy Murphy. Yer feckin’ gorgeous.”
Conn, four years younger than Ivy’s twenty-two, considered Ivy Murphy, with her pale cream skin, big violet-blue eyes and mop of blue-black curls, one of the most beautiful women in the world. Not that he’d seen all the women in the world, mind, but still. Ivy was tall for a woman but Conn liked that. Ivy’s long, slim, elegant figure was kept well hidden but Conn knew it was there. If Ivy ever had the chance to glam herself up in powder and paint like the society women he’d seen around the town, there’d be no stopping her. She’d take over the world, and he’d help her.
“Thank yeh, kind sir.” Ivy smiled gently at the compliment. Then she whispered, “What’s going on, Conn?”
“Someone reported young Seán wasn’t attending school.” Conn grimaced. “One of the nuns and a school official came to check into the matter. You’d think the sky had fallen with all the noise around here after that. People have been pouring in here ever since. They took Ginie and anyone else they found in the Johnsons’ place away by force, Ivy. I didn’t see Seán but he must have been there. The other little ones walked out of that basement like lambs to the slaughter.”
“That will soften the bold Declan’s cough.” Ivy grimaced.
“Declan wasn’t there.”
“That just puts a top hat on the whole thing, Conn.”
Ivy was disgusted. Why did people like Declan Johnson seem to escape whatever
trouble came their way?
“Do we know where they took them?” Ivy asked with a sinking heart. This wasn’t the first time people of The Lane had been taken never to be seen again. The first thing the do-gooders would do was separate mother and child. Ginie Johnson would do her nut.
“Ginie was screaming fit to burst your eardrum when they dragged her out of that basement,” Conn said. “It’s a hell of a thing, Ivy.”
Ivy pulled her keys from the pocket of her ancient army coat. She needed to get inside, give herself a quick lick and get changed. She wasn’t going to sit shivering in her rooms waiting for a knock on the door.
“Get up there and see what’s going on, Conn.” Ivy didn’t wait to see him leave. She shoved the heavy pram into the front of her two rooms, her workroom. She dropped her keys on the workbench and then with swift fingers she snatched up the black wool skirt sitting there. She shimmed out of the worn outfit she’d been wearing. She let everything fall to the floor of her workroom and kicked the worn outfit out of her way with an impatient foot. She decided that this was the last time she would ever wear that outfit. She had the money now to buy herself decent clothes. She needed to realise that. But she didn’t remove the tweed boy’s trousers she’d bought to wear under her work skirt. She’d need the warmth if she was to stand in the open air for very long. She was pleased with the fit of the black skirt she’d made from two torn skirts she’d scored on her round. The skirt reached from her waist to the top of her work boots. Ivy looked at her feet. She couldn’t go out there wearing these boots. Not with God only knew who about. Ivy sighed deeply – this getting-dolled-up lark was time-consuming.
Ivy dropped to the floor and began tearing at the laces of her boots. The noise from the street continued to echo around her room. Ivy shivered, remembering the visits paid to The Lane by the Black and Tans.
Éamonn Murphy, Ivy’s Da, had been terrified of the Black and Tans. Her da’s fear had only deepened Ivy’s dread of the lawless men. Her big strong da feared nothing and no one else. He hadn’t been alone in his fear. Ivy remembered her da barricading his children behind a hastily erected defensive wall of objects whenever the warning of the Black and Tans’ approach echoed through The Lane.
Ivy shook off the memories of those terror-soaked hours crouched on the floor surrounded by her brothers, her da standing like a tall oak tree waiting for whatever trouble was coming.
She kicked off the boots and ran swiftly into the back room. She gave the black range her attention, raking out the ashes and adding coal she had wet to make it last longer. Who knew how long she’d be away?
She dropped to her knees at the side of the giant iron bed. With her fingers she felt around and pulled out a pair of beige calfskin boots and a brown-paper bag holding her best blouse and cardigan.
She used water from the range reservoir to fill one of her enamel bowls. With a bit of soaped damp flannel she gave her face, neck and arms a quick swill.
“Can yeh see me, Da?” She pulled her best clothes on over her damp flesh. “I’m using yer big mirror.” She watched the woman in the mirror grin. “Yeh might have been concerned about my vanity, Da, but yeh weren’t that fussy about yer own, were yeh?” Éamonn Murphy had forbidden Ivy the use of a mirror, claiming it would lead to the sin of vanity. “You always liked to look your best, Da.” She smoothed out the lines of her clothes. “I watched yeh get ready many’s a time. I never realised how much feckin’ work was involved. Hat’s off to yeh, Da!”
She ran her fingers through her short crop of blue-black curls, then licked and bit at her lips before patting her cheeks to add colour to her pale cream skin.
She grabbed her relatively new black wool shawl. With a practised swirl she covered her head and shoulders, hiding her white figure-hugging blouse and pale peach-coloured hand-knit cardigan. The shawl covered her body to her knees. “Right. I’m decent.”
Ivy turned away from the mirror and checked that her back door was locked. She grabbed her keys on her way out. It was time to see what was going on in the world.
“Ivy, I was coming to get you.” Jem Ryan was waiting at the gate that stood guard to the iron steps that led down to Ivy’s rooms. His green eyes were glistening, his face was chalk-white, his clean-shaven jaw tightly clenched. “Make sure your place is locked up tight. Then come up quick.” He glanced back over his shoulder, checking to see who might be paying any attention to him.
“What’s going on, Jem?” Ivy shook the door at her back to check it was locked. She ran swiftly up the steps.
“Health visitors.” Jem uttered the words that struck terror into every woman in The Lane. He pulled Ivy under his arm and, with her body tucked tightly against his, hurried across the open ground that led to his livery building.
“Where?” Ivy had to fight to free her head. She needed to see what was going on.
The open ground was covered with people Ivy had never seen before. Garda in their blue uniforms, men and a few women in white coats littered the place. A truck they must have greased to get through the opening into this hidden enclave of poverty and despair was parked in the middle of the courtyard.
“Jaysus, Jem, it’s an invasion,” Ivy gasped.
“I want you to get upstairs, Ivy.” Jem almost pushed Ivy in through the door being held open by Conn. “You don’t want this lot getting ahold of you. I’ve told Emmy to stay upstairs and wait for you. There’s a window up there you can open. You’ll see and hear everything that goes on out here.” He feared Ivy would never be willing to hide away while her friends and neighbours were in trouble.
“What’s the story, Jem?” Ivy dug her heels in, resisting being pushed around the place.
“Ivy, them women of Declan’s . . .” He took Ivy by the shoulders. He held her in front of him, staring into her eyes. “The poor mares are diseased.” He watched the colour leach from Ivy’s cheeks. “I need you to stay upstairs out of sight and keep Emmy with you.” He shook her shoulders gently to underline his seriousness. “I want you to hide up there until I give you the all clear. Can you do that, Ivy?” Jem was working hard to improve his manner of speech. Not that Ivy noticed that at the moment.
“Okay.” Ivy was incapable of saying anything more. She understood Jem’s warning. The two women that Declan brought to the Johnsons’ place were diseased – probably with syphilis, a communicable venereal disease. The authorities would now have the power to examine every man, woman and child in The Lane and they wouldn’t be gentle about it. No wonder the place was being overrun by official figures.
“I’ll take care of Emmy,” Ivy almost whispered. This could well prove to be one shock too many for the little one.
Besides, Jem didn’t have to state aloud the desperate need to keep Miss Emmy Ryan hidden away from all official eyes.
“Right, I’ll go up.”
Jem released her shoulders and watched her walk away in the direction of the ladder that led up to the room built under the rafters of the livery. The large comfortable room set well back in the eaves was Jem’s home.
“Conn,” Jem snapped as soon as Ivy disappeared from view, “give me a hand.” He marched over to the heavy ladder and with swift experienced hands pulled it away from the rim of the hayloft that surrounded the livery. If you didn’t know a room existed under the roof, a casual glance would see only the hay, oats and bits of discarded tack.
“We’ll hide this ladder behind the stalls for the moment.” Jem grunted with the sudden weight of the free-falling ladder. Conn grabbed one end and the two men wrestled it into a corner of the stable, well hidden behind occupied stalls. The horses stamped restless feet and their steel-shod hooves rattled, but they made no other sound. They knew these men.
“We’d better do this then, Conn.” Jem brushed Conn down, checking for anything that might attract attention – then Conn did the same for him.
“Those feckin’ Johnsons –” Conn started to say before remembering that one of those Johnsons was hiding in the livery office. �
�What are we going to do about Jimmy?” He looked at Jem, expecting him to know the answer.
“I’ll handle it.” Jem sighed. It was always one step forward two steps back around here. “I’m afraid you need to get out there,” he nodded towards The Lane, “and let them examine you.”
“Ah Jaysus, Jem!” Conn’s head almost disappeared into his wide shoulders.
“We have no choice now – you know that as well as I do.” Jem didn’t want to expose his manhood to questing hands any more than Conn did but they had no choice. No one would take their word that they had never visited the whores in Johnsons’ place. “Now go on, best get out and get it over with.” He pushed gently at Conn’s shoulders.
“Can’t I wait for you?” Conn felt sick to his stomach. He’d never had to expose his private parts to anyone before.
“Stand in the doorway then – it will take them some time to get the canvas set up.” Jem had been through something similar before. He knew exactly how the younger man was feeling. He dreaded the upcoming examination himself. He had nothing to hide but the blow to his dignity would be mighty.
Chapter 17
Jem left Conn staring after him while he made his way slowly to the section of the livery that held the telephone exchange and office. He wanted to punch something but that would only lead to more trouble.
He stopped to pet his old horse Rosie, burying his burning face in her mane. She was retired now but Jem hadn’t the heart to put her out to pasture. He thought the old mare would fret away from familiar surroundings. He heaved a sigh, knowing he was the one who couldn’t bear to part with his old friend.
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 14
