Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2)

by Gemma Jackson

  “I want to walk slowly today, Johnjo, take in the scenery.” Doug stepped through the door Johnjo held open for him. News of his father’s death seemed to have shaken him more than he had realised. He waited in the long hotel hallway while Johnjo locked the door to their suite. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the headliner now. I don’t have to be at the theatre before everyone else.”

  “You never did have to be but that never stopped you being the first there.” Johnjo put his hat on and prepared to walk down the stairs and through the lobby.

  “Sometimes, Johnjo, the theatre was the only roof we had over our heads.” Doug had quickly learned that each theatre had a ‘hidden’ spot. He’d explored until he knew exactly where the two of them could safely hide during the dark hours of the night.

  Doug ignored or didn’t notice the intense feminine interest he received as he walked through the richly appointed hotel lobby. His tall, wide-shouldered, slim-hipped masculine appearance alone would have attracted attention but his growing fame as a singer and entertainer insured he would never pass unnoticed. He’d spent all of his spare time during his weeks in Dublin feeding the publicity machine at the theatre manager’s demand.

  “We’ll take a turn through the park.” Doug gave a brisk nod of his head to the uniformed doorman holding the hotel’s main door open for him. He ignored the man’s fulsome greeting. The same man had boxed his ears and on occasion kicked his arse for begging from the wealthy patrons of this hotel. Doug hoped he wasn’t expecting a generous tip from him.

  He stepped out to cross the road towards Stephen’s Green. He wanted to collect his thoughts now that he finally appeared to have some spare time. This trip to Dublin was far more emotionally challenging than he’d ever imagined it would be. “We have time.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Johnjo Smith matched his stride to his employer’s and, each lost in his own thoughts, the two men strolled through a park that held memories for both of them.

  “I can try to nab Ivy tomorrow,” Johnjo offered softly when the long silence became uncomfortable.

  “Not unless you’re willing to go into The Lane. Tomorrow is Thursday. Unless the sky has fallen and no one told me, Ivy’s routine is set. She stays home and checks out her takings tomorrow, getting ready for her turn around the markets on Friday.”

  “I could follow her around the markets Friday – try to nab her then.”

  “You’d be lucky.” Doug smiled. “I don’t fancy your chances of keeping up with my sister when she puts the speed on.” He elbowed his friend and employee. “You’re out of shape, old man.”

  “I’m ten years older than you,” Johnjo snapped, his vanity stung. “We can’t all be fresh-faced twenty-year-old twits.”

  “Shh!” Doug winked. “Don’t you know I’m a mature man of twenty-six?”

  “So your billboards say,” Johnjo shrugged. “You’re the only actor I know that increases his age instead of reducing his years.”

  “If I’d given my real age in the beginning I’d have been taken on as a juvenile lead. You know what a honey-trap that is.”

  “Yeah,” Johnjo said as they approached the opening in the railings that surrounded the park. “You never get taken seriously after that.”

  “I’ll have to give more thought as to how I’ll contact Ivy, Johnjo,” Doug said as the two men stepped out of the main park gates. They turned as one in the direction of Grafton Street and the theatre. “With my old man dead, well, it changes everything. I get a shiver down my spine just thinking about walking back into The Lane. I don’t imagine you want to revisit the place any more than I do.”

  “That’s a fact,” Johnjo sighed.

  The two men entered the Gaiety Theatre at the side. They exchanged greetings with the man on the stage door. As usual there were a great many private messages for Doug who was fast becoming a much sought-after social prize to the leaders of Dublin society. Johnjo took those with a sigh – there would be the usual pack of women issuing invitations to romantic rendezvous. Women seemed to go crazy over Doug’s handsome face. The two men made their way to the star’s dressing room.

  Chapter 25

  “Home sweet home,” Ivy sighed when she turned away from the Grand Canal with its covering of hungry swans. The tunnel into The Lane came into sight. She was having a great deal of difficulty getting her pram to roll along. The weight of her takings on the springs was pushing the undercarriage down onto the big wheels.

  “Far be it from me to complain about the amount of stuff I got on me round today,” Ivy said aloud to herself. “I won’t half be glad to get indoors and put the kettle on. Me mouth feels like I’ve been eating feathers.” She put all of her weight behind the handles of her pram and pushed.

  “Need a hand, Ivy?” Jem Ryan stood in the open door of his livery, keeping an eye on two of his lads walking one of his new horses. The horse was being trained to ignore noise and sudden movements.

  “Please, Jem.” Ivy tried to avoid going around the tenement block these days. She didn’t want to bump into any of the do-gooders that still swarmed in The Lane, sticking their noses in where they weren’t wanted.

  “Auntie Ivy!” Emmy Ryan, her black hair bouncing on her little shoulders, keeping well away from the young horse ran over to greet Ivy. Emmy’s cheeks were apple-red, almost matching her coat and hat. “I’m having a game of balls with my friends.”

  “Fair enough but I’ll be calling you in soon.” Ivy grinned down at the little girl. It had been arranged that Ivy would keep the little girl with her this evening. Jem wanted time to settle some horses that had just arrived. “It will soon be too dark to see the blinkin’ balls anyway.”

  Ivy had purchased the rubber balls from Harry Green. They were a great success – the children of The Lane weren’t accustomed to store-bought toys. Newspaper rolled tightly and tied with string were the balls usually used in games.

  “Come on – I’ll help you get settled.” Jem grabbed the handle of Ivy’s pram. “Begob, this thing is heavy, woman!”

  “I know.” She’d spend the evening sorting through the pram. Tomorrow she’d separate, wash and fix up anything that needed doing. If she had the time to spare for a visit to the markets, she’d have a lot to sell. If not she’d store the stuff in one of her tea chests for later.

  “You’ll not be lifting this thing down those steps, Ivy Murphy.” Jem put two fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. He was pleased to note that the new horse put her ears back but didn’t react in any other way. “Take her in, lads,” he shouted to the two young men with the horse. “Brush her down carefully before you put her in her stall. I’ll be in to check on your work shortly. In the meantime, tell John I’ll be in with Ivy if he wants me. I need a hand here, send someone out when you go in.”

  “Who needs a telephone?” Ivy remarked. “The bush telegraph will have that news around The Lane in seconds, Jem Ryan.”

  “Never mind,” Jem grinned, totally unrepentant. He’d watched Ivy struggle alone for years. He’d never again stand back while she tried to kill herself doing everything alone. “You go on down and get the place opened up. I know you’ll want to get the kettle on. I’ll mind your stuff.”

  “Have you time to have a cup of tea with me, Jem?” Ivy could feel the blush travelling from her toes to her ears. The snatched moments she and Jem managed were becoming a mite too tempting. Just the thought of his kiss was enough to put her to the blush. “I’ve something I want to discuss with you.”

  “No problem – put the kettle on, Ivy.” Jem could afford to take a little time out now and again.

  Ivy hurried down the steps to her basement. It felt odd to be able to walk down without anything in her hands. She unlocked the door and, leaving it standing open behind her, hurried inside. She had the gas lamps in both rooms lit and the kettle sitting on the black range top by the time Jem and his helper wrestled the heavy pram into the front room. Jem’s young helper left without a word, closing the door behind
him. They listened to the sound of his boots tramping up the outside steps.

  “This pram is on its last legs, Ivy.” Jem knelt by the side of it, examining the thick leather straps that held it to the heavy-duty springs. “I don’t think it will get you much further.” He knew how important this pram was to her. “If you’ll empty it now I’ll take it away with me when I go. I’ll see if I can fix it up for you. You don’t want the thing to collapse in some back street when you’re out and about.”

  “Is it really bad, Jem?” Ivy stood in the doorway separating the two rooms. She’d removed her heavy coat and shawl. The two items of outer wear were draped over her bed. They served double duty by keeping Ivy warm at night. “Curly, one of the old men I meet on me round, has mentioned several times that the pram was in a bad way but I didn’t pay much mind to him.”

  “The man knows what he’s talking about.” Jem stood up, brushing his knees to remove any dust. “I’ll give it a good going-over but you might want to start looking around for a replacement.”

  “Well,” Ivy sighed deeply – yet one more thing to worry about, “the old thing doesn’t owe me anything. It’s older than me after all.” Her da had bought the pram second or third hand.

  “I’ll use some of the old horse-harnesses to replace the leather straps,” Jem promised. “That will hold you for a while I’ve no doubt but it wouldn’t hurt to keep your eyes open for a replacement or something that could be used for parts to fix this one up.”

  “I’ll do that. The good Lord knows I can’t be without me pram.” Ivy hurried to take the boiling kettle off the hob and pour the steaming water into the warmed teapot. She had the tea leaves already in the pot. “Sit down a minute, Jem. I want to talk to you.”

  “Is this something Emmy shouldn’t hear?” Jem needed to have someone look after the child if Ivy wanted to speak privately.

  “I don’t think so.” Ivy smiled. He was such a conscientious stand-in parent. “I want to pick your brain about some things but nothing earth-shattering.”

  “Fair enough.” Jem sat down on one of Ivy’s two wooden chairs. He knew she and Emmy would be doing their homework together at the kitchen table. He’d move to one of Ivy’s orange crates if needed.

  “I’ve had a strange day.” Ivy brought two cups of tea to the table. She sat down and stared at Jem. “Dublin is in a state of chassis, Jem.”

  Jem sipped at his cup of tea. This wasn’t news to him. The whole country was in an uproar: times were definitely changing.

  “Let me tell you about my day.” Ivy began to describe her day to Jem in detail. She wanted him to understand what Nanny Grace meant to her. The old woman had been adamant that first Ivy’s mother and then Ivy herself received the torn and stained garments and discards from the nursery. Nanny had often made up the packages herself. On many occasions Ivy had found items of food wrapped carefully within a package from Nanny. The old woman deserved better than she was receiving.

  “Poor old woman,” Jem said. “She’s to be left behind in a country not her own, along with the rest of the outdated rubbish. That must be hard for her to understand.”

  “Nanny Grace – and I don’t know her real name – no one calls her anything but Nanny Grace – she served as under-nanny to the present Earl’s grandfather when he was a toddler for heaven’s sake!” Ivy couldn’t imagine surrendering your entire private life to someone else. “She has been responsible for the upbringing of four generations of the same family.”

  “Makes you glad you weren’t forced into service, doesn’t it?” Jem shook his head. The quality were different, everyone knew that.

  “It’s not only her, Jem.” Ivy tried to explain what she’d felt walking around the elegant houses of Fitzwilliam Square that day. “I don’t go into the houses on my round, Jem, you know that. I stand at the back door and wait to see who comes out to talk to me or pass along the discards.” Ivy shrugged. “But, today, I can’t explain it, Jem, but it felt as if every house was in an uproar. The staff were gossiping about the changes taking place. I got a lot more big items from every house than I ever have before and almost every house promised more next week. That’s not normal, Jem.”

  Ivy was aware of the political change in the country. You would have to be dead not to notice. The streets were free of gangs of soldiers in their red coats for the first time in Ivy’s memory. The Black and Tans no longer terrified people. Ireland was free – but free to do what, that was the question.

  “Well, Ivy, I’ve said it to you before,” Jem said. “Ireland is changing and we have to change with it.”

  “Jem, are yeh saying you think I’ll lose me round?” Ivy was horrified. The round she’d built up over the years was her bread and butter. She needed it to survive. Even if she married Jem, although that was becoming when she married Jem, she would still want to have her own income. They needed to discuss this. The income she made from her round allowed her to gamble on other things.

  “I don’t think you’re in danger of losing anything, Ivy,” Jem quickly reassured her. “There will always be rich people. The round will just change, that’s all.”

  “Jem,” Ivy dared to bring one of the subjects she feared into the open, “if we were to marry, would you expect me to give up me round and be like the other women around The Lane?” She meant stay home, look after their rooms and children.

  “Why would I want you to change?” Jem shrugged, not understanding the importance of the subject. “I understand that your round, your independence is important to you. I’d never expect you to wait on me hand and foot. I don’t want to take over your life, Ivy. I want to share it. I want to marry Ivy Rose Murphy, big ideas, ever-thinking head and all.” He grinned, having no idea of the magnitude of her relief.

  “Jem Ryan, you are the only man in Ireland that I would ever want to marry.” She grinned widely, almost faint with relief. He didn’t expect her to turn into one of the grey women who crept around the place after their man. Thank God. Now if only she could work up the courage to question Ann Marie about the quality’s ability to control the number of children they had. Whatever secret they possessed, she needed to know it.

  She stood suddenly – the tea could wait. She walked around the table and took his hand in hers. With very little effort she pulled him from his chair and gently pointed him in the direction of the soft chairs by the range. When she had him situated to her satisfaction, she dropped onto his knees and laid her head on his chest.

  “I’ve been that worried,” she whispered into his chest.

  “I really don’t think you’re in any danger of losing your round, Ivy.” Jem pressed his lips into her hair. He relaxed back into the chair, pulling her with him.

  “No,” her head shook back and forth on his chest, giving Jem a thrill, “I don’t mean that.” She pushed away to stare into his face. “At least, not just that. I’ve been afraid you wanted me to change, Jem. Be something and someone I could never be.”

  “I told you: I don’t want you to change.” Jem smiled down at the woman he’d watched grow from an adorable child into a force to be reckoned with. He would never be fool enough to think he could change Ivy Murphy. “Get that into your head.” He lowered his head, unable to resist the temptation any longer. His lips brushed hers, inviting her to relax, invite him in. When Ivy’s lips trembled open he took full advantage and sank into a deep intimate kiss that had both of them shivering and shaking.

  “Enough.” Jem pulled his head away from the temptation of her lips. He was panting like one of his own horses. He pushed her gently off his lap and, with his hands on her waist, waited until she was standing steady on her own two feet. “I’m only human, Ivy. I can only take so much.” Did she have any idea what he wanted to do to her, with her?

  “Jem . . .” Ivy’s lips were throbbing, her head spinning. She wanted to crawl back into his lap and have more of those kisses.

  “Pour yourself a cup of tea, Ivy.” Jem let his head drop onto the back of the chair. He closed
his eyes to lock out temptation. “I need a minute to catch me breath.” He needed to dump his overheated body into one of his horse troughs.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the stuff Nanny Grace wants to sell on, Jem.”

  “Give me a minute.” Jem held his hands up in the air without opening his eyes. “Sit down at the kitchen table, have a cup of tea. I’ll join you in a minute.” He needed to wrestle his body back under control.

  Ivy did as he asked. She could see Jem was fighting some kind of internal battle. If the truth be told she needed to get her own breath back too. She poured a fresh cup of tea and carried it over to the table.

  She took a chair . . . and waited.

  “Right.” Jem opened his eyes and stared across the room at Ivy sitting waiting at the table, her big violet eyes fixed firmly on him. He almost groaned aloud. Did she have no idea how bloody tempting she was? He was no saint, for God’s sake! “Tell me about this stuff.” He put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Maybe thinking and talking about something else would calm him down.

  “There’s a lot of stuff, Jem,” Ivy began, wanting to fill the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. “Nanny Grace has been given the entire contents of what I suppose you’d call the children’s floor, including a load of furniture and fittings. I tell yeh, Jem, some of the stuff is things I’ve never seen before.” She had tried to make a mental note of everything she’d seen. “The stuff will sell, eventually, but I don’t know anyone who would give her a decent price for it. They’ll know she’s desperate and things are worth only what someone is willing to pay for them. She’s going to get gypped, Jem.”