“I wanted to see how your dolls were selling.” Jem grinned, his teeth sparkling in his cleanshaven face. He replaced the hat he’d removed in greeting and bent to press a kiss into her frozen cheek. “Begob, woman, you’re fair frozen.”
Ivy forced her fears to the back of her mind and admired the view. The man was good-looking. Why should he hide it? Jem’s well-cut tweed suit was tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and slim hips. The dark cashmere overcoat he wore complimented his virile form. The soft hat that was all the fashion for the man about town was tilted to a very rakish angle. Jem Ryan was really coming out of himself, Ivy thought, staring into his handsome green eyes. He was looking very prosperous.
“Jem, I’ve hardly sold any of me dolls.” She could tell him that much at least. “It seems a lot of the quality don’t carry cash around with them.” Ivy wanted to cuddle into his warmth and just nestle. “Least, not when they get all dolled up to go out on the town. I’ve had me job stopping them from being offended when I won’t charge the ruddy dolls to their accounts. I never thought of something like that. In any case, it seems most of the children come with their nannies and none of them have any money at all.”
Ivy was wearing so many layers of clothing it was difficult to move. She’d made an effort to keep the outer layer respectable. She wore a bright red paisley shawl which Pa Landers, a contact of hers, had found for her. She’d paid more for the shawl then she’d ever spent before in her life on an article of clothing but it was class and looked it. The quality and bright colour of the shawl made her stand out from the other street sellers. She’d draped it over her head and wrapped it tightly around her front. The shawl travelled down her back before being belted over her black jumper, high-neck lace blouse, and the thick black wool skirt that reached her feet. No one could see the tweed men’s trousers she wore under her skirt. It was a very old-fashioned look for nineteen twenty-five but it served a purpose. She’d only recently learned presentation was everything. She was standing outside the Gaiety Theatre and it was important to present a refined appearance.
“I didn’t expect you to be here so late.” Jem Ryan looked around the bustling crowd. “The show’s over. Why are you still standing here?”
“I was ordered to wait here by some toff who has something to do with the Gaiety, while ‘staff’ of the families who live nearby returned with the required coin. But I’m ready to leave now.” Ivy had been tempted to ask some of the staff who’d hurried back to buy her dolls for the addresses of the houses they worked in. Chances were she’d visited their back doors in her time. “I didn’t know what to do, Jem. The children wanted the dolls and made no bones about demanding what they wanted but neither the parents nor the nannies had enough cash with them to pay. What am I going to do?”
“We can discuss this later, Ivy. It’s too bloomin’ cold to stand here worrying. Where did you park your pram?” Jem admired the attractive wooden display case that Jimmy had made for Ivy on the model of a cinema-usherette’s tray.
“There’s an old man, Peadar, who has the watchman’s gig here.” She turned to walk towards the lane at the side of the theatre. “He seems a decent sort so I left me pram with him. He says he’ll keep an eye on me pram when the pantomime season starts. I can’t let that be seen out front.” Ivy shivered – it wouldn’t be long now.
“You never stop thinking and planning, Ivy.” Jem grinned, falling in beside her. “Does this Peadar know how much you’re charging for those things?” He gave a nod towards Ivy’s presentation case. He knew there was many a one who might think of helping themselves to her profits.
“He’d have to be deaf and blind not to.”
“Come an’ get a heat!” called Peadar as they approached. He was sitting in the open front of his wooden hut – the hut looked like a snail’s shell on the old man’s back to Ivy. A galvanised bucket filled with coal sat on the bare ground between his feet. The bucket had holes punched in the sides through which bright red embers gleamed. Ivy held her hands in their fingerless gloves out to the flames.
“Is that yourself, Jem Ryan?” Peadar grinned, showing his toothless pink gums. “I would have thought you’d be picking up fares around here not walking out like a toff. Have yeh made your fortune then, Jem, and given up the taxi business? Unless Ivy here has ordered a taxi home?”
“I’ve come to walk my best girl home,” Jem said.
“It’s shank’s mare all the way for me, Peadar,” said Ivy.
She went and quickly counted the dolls in her pram parked nearby. Everything was as she’d left it. She put the display case and its remaining dolls into the pram. She’d been glad of Peadar’s offer to keep an eye on it and understood the old man expected to be passed a few coins for his trouble. She didn’t mind – it was the way of the world.
She then took a thick leather bag from the bottom of her pram. It never failed to give her a thrill to realise she had a bank account. She, Ivy Murphy, the beggar that people looked down on, had a bank account like the toffs. She’d had Ann Marie teach her how to fill out a deposit slip but it wasn’t necessary for this money. Ivy planned to put her takings in the security bag and drop it into the night safe at the Bank of Ireland. It would be a trial run before she started selling her dolls nightly outside the theatre. She needed to know how the system worked.
“Did yeh make a fortune then, Ivy?” Peadar was watching every move Ivy made. There were a lot of people interested in young Ivy Murphy lately.
“Not so I noticed.” Ivy shivered. “I’m glad to be going home. I’m blue with the cold. I want a pot of tea and something to eat.”
“Yeh should have said, Ivy.” Peadar showed his gums again. “I’d have kept yeh a sup of tea from me last pot.”
“Thanks, another time.” Ivy had her pram packed carefully. “I’ve got a handsome escort this evening.” She grinned at Jem. The money she’d made was locked away in the leather bank bag and tucked under her clothes. She passed the old man a threepenny piece, grabbed the handle of her pram and, with Jem keeping step with her, turned it to walk in the direction of the street. “I’ll see yeh!” she called over her shoulder as they hurried away.
“You need to think about your own safety, Ivy,” Jem said softly. “I can’t walk with you every evening.” Having recently started up his own business, he was beginning to understand that having money was more of a headache than they’d ever realised.
“I’ll think better with me feet in front of the fire and a cup of tea in me hand. I’m fair frozen, Jem. I’m nearly done for the night but I want to leave me takings in the night safe. Get a feel for the thing.” Ivy pushed her pram towards Grafton Street. She wasn’t comfortable walking out boldly on one of Dublin’s main thoroughfares. She normally used the back alleys. She was one of many struggling to survive in Dublin’s inner city and had been invisible for most of her life. She knew every back street and lane in the sprawling city but she didn’t dare travel her normal route, not with cash on her person.
“You need to see if yeh can use that bank on the corner, Ivy.” Jem nodded his head towards the branch of the bank sitting nearby.
“Do you think you can do that, Jem?” Ivy asked. “Use another bank, I mean. Don’t you have to put your money in the same one every time?”
“I don’t think so, Ivy,” Jem shrugged, “but I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask.”
“Thanks for coming down to pick me up, Jem.” Ivy was aware of the people walking past. The elegantly dressed crowd were glaring daggers at her. She couldn’t bring herself to care. She had as much right to walk these streets as they did.
“I thought we could enjoy an evening stroll.” Jem pushed his shoulder gently against Ivy’s.
She rolled her eyes ironically at him.
“The lads have picked up some whispers on the street,” Jem said while passing Trinity College.
“What kind of whispers?” Ivy stared at him, worry in her big violet eyes.
“Your da was fond of entertaini
ng his pub mates – boasting about the good life he lived on his daughter’s earnings.” Jem, not for the first time, mentally cursed Éamonn Murphy. The very least the man could have done was have the decency to keep his big trap shut. He bit back the words of abuse he wanted to heap onto the dead man’s head while they crossed the main road, heading towards the bank. He returned the waves from several of the jarveys passing on the busy street. “There has been a lot of talk in the pubs about ‘Éamonn’s money’ and who is going to spend that money now!” He looked down at the woman at his side, his mind wrestling with the problem of protecting her. He couldn’t be with her all the time. She had to be made see that talking to Billy Flint was the safest option.
“You know, Jem, sometimes I get to wondering – how come other people have an inheritance – something precious when their relatives drop dead? What do I get? Bloody headaches.” Ivy wasn’t unaware of the danger she was in while out and about the streets of Dublin. It stuck in her craw to have to consider paying protection money to some man she’d never met. She didn’t want to admit she’d been stiff with fear standing out in front of the Gaiety shouting out the price of her dolls. She had been very aware of the interest some of the men hanging around the streets were taking in her activities.
“That’s the way of the world, Ivy.” They’d reached the tall imposing building that housed the bank.
“Easy for you to say, Jem.” Ivy wanted to bite the words back. It wasn’t his fault that his uncle had left him the livery. She wouldn’t let it make her bitter that Jem had inherited a roof over his head that belonged to him and a way to make a living. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bite your head off.” She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss of apology into his freshly shaved cheek.
“You’ll be the death of me, Ivy Murphy.” Jem gave her a one-arm hug before releasing her. He thought she had more reason to complain and moan than a lot of people. “It’s all right – today has been difficult for you. But, Ivy, we need to do something about keeping you safe.” Jem stood with his back to the wall safe while Ivy used her key to open it before removing the leather bag from under her clothes. “If you don’t go talk to Billy Flint soon, I will.”
Jem didn’t like the open position of the wall safe. Too many streets led away from this place. Trinity College across the way would give a watcher somewhere to hide. It would be easy for someone to grab Ivy’s takings and disappear into the night. Jem’s eyes checked the street constantly. He wanted to know if anyone else was keeping an eye on Ivy.
“That’s it.” Ivy sighed with relief. Her takings were safely behind locked doors.
“Come on then.” Jem waited to see which street Ivy would take. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Thanks,” Ivy understated. It gave her a thrill to walk along with the tall handsome Jem at her side.
Jem took Ivy’s elbow in his hand. “Ivy, you need to carefully plan what you’re going to do over the pantomime season.”
“Jem, I’m sorry I’ve been such a worry to you. You were right all along. I’ll go see this Billy Flint.” She crossed the road towards Trinity College and Nassau Street. “I don’t want to, but I could feel the eyes on me tonight. If I’d taken as much money as I was hoping to I’d have been nabbed.”
Jem let the subject of Ivy’s safety drop for the moment. They could discuss this further in private. You never knew who was listening. The dark early nights made living easy for the resident fly boys that flourished in the inner city. The nights, lit only by the soft gas streetlamps, made it easy to snatch and run.
“Today was a learning experience, Jem. I’m glad I got this chance to check out how the business could be done.” Ivy was fighting the feeling of despair that threatened to cripple her. She needed to think – plan. “I thought I had a fair idea of how it would be. You know, selling the dolls and all.”
“And?” Jem was listening for the sound of footsteps behind them. One good thing was that it was almost impossible to walk across the cobbled streets silently.
“Me dolls are so expensive.” She felt guilty about the price she was asking. However, she’d seen how the other half lived now, and she knew that what to her was a small fortune was a mere pittance to them. “Well, that nanny you saw, well, that was typical of what happened. The childer see the dolls but the nanny doesn’t have enough money to pay. I never thought of that.” Ivy fought the feeling of failure that had begun to sink into her very marrow as she stood trying to sell her dolls. She had to figure something out. She had too much depending on this venture.
“I’ve every faith you’ll come up with a plan.” Jem nudged her gently with his shoulder. “If we put our heads together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”
Chapter 27
Johnjo Smith sat in the rear pew of Westland Row Church, wondering what in the name of heaven he was doing there. What had possessed him to crawl out of his warm comfortable hotel bed? What version of Irish melancholy had made him take that ghostly walk through the back streets of Dublin first thing this morning? Why did he feel compelled to catch the first Mass of the morning at a church that featured heavily in his waking nightmares? He stared at the backs of people’s heads, wondering if he’d know any of them. The faithful – people who wouldn’t dream of missing the six o’clock Mass every morning of their lives – packed the front pews.
Johnjo sighed and tried mightily to ignore the familiar Latin refrain running through the church. The smell from the incense burner the altar boy swung with such diligence turned his stomach. He’d come such a long way since his days as a battered and bruised altar boy. What had dragged him back to this place this morning?
Ivy Murphy sat in the pew nearest the rear door of the church. She’d come to Mass this morning because she needed the connection with her past. It had been a long time since she’d attended Mass at this church. She usually preferred the tranquillity of an empty church but this morning she needed the soft familiar Latin chants, the comforting smell of wafting incense. She’d been dragging herself around the place. She felt bruised and disheartened after the fiasco with her dolls. She was also hoping for inspiration.
Ivy reacted to the ebb and flow of the attentive congregation, standing, sitting, bowing with them but not a part of them. She refused to beat her chest and chant ‘Mea culpa’. Brother Theo had insisted on teaching Ivy the language of the Mass. He’d explained that ‘Mea culpa’ meant ‘My fault’. Well, she might have a lot of her own sins to account for but she wasn’t taking the sins of the world on her shoulders.
Ivy knew the rhythm of the Mass. It was almost over. People were shuffling, getting ready to stand and receive Communion. She’d be able to slip out. Every devout person here would want to be sure the priest noticed their attendance. They’d kneel along the altar rails to receive Communion, with lowered eyelids, presenting an image of holy purity.
A large percentage of them were probably mentally calling down the fires of hell on their neighbours. Those waiting in line to kneel would be examining the feet of the communicants, mentally making notes of who had holes in the soles of their shoes. That shame would be discussed at length throughout the day.
Johnjo was pulled from his own thoughts by the sudden movement of the kneeling figure along the pew from where he sat lost in his memories. It was her, Ivy Murphy. Talk about divine intervention! Doug had been frantically busy, rehearsing for a pantomime preview the theatre bosses had insisted upon. The man had been stretched to the limit. He hadn’t been able to arrange to meet Ivy and now here she was in front of him. It must be a sign. He could nab her today, now, and give Doug a welcome surprise. None of this lot would take notice of a woman in distress. They were too busy trying to impress the priest and ensure their reserved place in Heaven.
Ivy moved stealthily along the wooden bench in the direction of the marble font nearest the door. She wanted to bless herself in the holy water on offer there. She hadn’t managed to have a chat with her da this morning. Although why she’d expected her da to have any words
of wisdom, even in death, about making money was a mystery to her. Éamonn had been a dab hand at spending the ready but he’d never been much cop at making money. Still she did love to light a candle and kneel while chatting away to her da.
Ivy dipped her fingers into the font and blessed herself – then, with a quick glance over her shoulder to check that none of the congregation had seen her, slipped from the church. The misty morning was cold and damp. The miserable weather suited her mood this morning.
“Ivy Murphy, I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.” Brother Theo, the hood of his brown woollen habit pulled up over his head, his hands shoved into the wide sleeves, stood on the church steps.
“Good morning, Brother Theo. I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you here at this hour of the morning. Do you not get enough preaching and praying at your own church?”
“You, Ivy Murphy, are a cheeky article.” Brother Theo found this young woman fascinating. He’d written well-received papers about the world of struggle and sheer human determination that this young woman had introduced him to. The papers had been published in prestigious religious journals. Ivy and her circle of friends supplied a source of constant conversation around the friary table.
“I’m here to visit with Father Flanagan as a matter of fact.” Theo was in fact here to go through the papers of Father Leary, the previous parish priest. He needed information about that man’s activities. Father Flanagan was very willing to assist him in his search for proof to use against the man. Theo did not want that man to be returned to his parish. He could not be allowed to continue to hound Ivy Murphy.
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 23
