“He told me the lads are living with my mother in London,” Ivy whispered when her face was once more safely hidden against his chest. “She has a fancy man in London, has had from the moment she left here.”
Jem remained silent, his teeth clenched. He wanted to curse the lot of them but they were her family and Ivy was funny about such things. They didn’t deserve her.
Ivy sighed after a long silence – so much emotion was exhausting. “Oh, I forgot to tell you – we’re invited to high tea at Ann Marie’s: you, me and Emmy.” She pushed away again to grin up at him, letting him see the emotional storm had passed.
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is. Ann Marie wants to use us as guinea pigs for Sadie to practise on.” She shrugged. “I didn’t get the full ins and outs but I will.”
“That’s nice,” Jem pulled her back down against his chest, fighting the temptation to devour her. She was so precious to him. She had no idea how much she meant to him. She had no idea how much he feared losing her.
“I’m going over to Ann Marie’s later.” Ivy felt her bones melt. She could stay here for the rest of her life without moving. “They want to see the outfit I put together to sell my dolls. You and Emmy can come over when she gets home from school.” She pushed away for a moment. “You have to get dressed up, Mr Ryan.”
“I’ll wear me good suit.”
They sank into a contented silence, disaster averted.
Chapter 35
“You were out early this morning, Ivy.” Maisie Reynolds, two galvanised buckets at her feet, stood in the queue of people waiting to use the outside tap.
“I went to early Mass,” Ivy said. She’d wanted to light a candle for her da and for Granny.
“Not turning into one of them Holy Marys, are yeh, Ivy?” Pete Winters grinned gummily.
“I’m thinking of becoming a nun, Mr Winters,” Ivy said.
“Oh, aye,” Marcella Wiggins grinned, her many chins wiggling. “You’d be a fine nun, Ivy Murphy. Where none are feckin’ wanted.”
“The story of me life, Mrs Wiggins.” Ivy shoved her two buckets with her feet as the line moved forward. She’d gone to Mass, hoping for divine intervention. She had a great deal of thinking to do, questions she needed answers to, but if the Good Lord had an opinion on the woes of one Ivy Murphy he was keeping them to himself.
“That new Father Flanagan is a pleasure to listen to.” Mabel O’Rourke gave one of her children a quick slap around the ears when the boy kicked one of her many buckets. “I wasn’t sure at first, what with poor Father Leary being taken bad like that and having to go away, but this fella is all right.”
Ivy kept her lips firmly locked. She could never voice aloud her joy at the news that the Parish Priest was taking a long holiday after his retreat. The recently departed Father Leary appeared to think it was his life’s mission to make Ivy’s life miserable. The man’s absence from his parish meant that Ivy could return to Westland Row, the church of her youth, to pray in peace.
“Not that I understand a word that new priest says, mind,” Mabel laughed, “but I could listen to the sound of his voice all day – it’s like music.”
“Father Flanagan is from Cork, Mabel.” Rita Harper joined the chat. “They sing to yeh down there, don’t yeh know? It sounds great and not understanding a word he says can only be a blessing.”
“PJ!” Ivy shouted when the young boy looked like kicking his mother’s buckets again.
The lad hunched his shoulders and glared sullenly in Ivy’s direction. Mabel cut all of her children’s hair herself. Boys and girls received a quick shave around the pudding bowl. It made for a very unattractive look when combined with a snotty nose and sullen glare.
“Come here, I want yeh.” Ivy pointed at the ground in front of her.
“Go on, ye were supposed to be sick yesterday, now look at yeh!” Mabel O’Rourke gave PJ another clip around the ears, just because. “He wouldn’t get out of the bed to go to school yesterday, then this morning he’s up with the bloomin’ larks. I’ll have the bloody do-gooders around if this fella doesn’t pull up his ruddy socks.”
“What do yeh want?” PJ wiped his runny nose on the frayed cuffs of his hand-me-down jumper.
“I want to know if yer strong enough to carry two full buckets of water.” Ivy looked down at the boy, wondering why she’d never thought of paying to have her water delivered. It would save her a lot of time and energy.
“Course I am!” PJ pushed out his little chest in indignation. “I carry four for me mam.”
“Oh, aye, when?” Mabel O’Rourke shouted from her place at the front of the line. “If I had a camera I’d have taken a picture of that.”
“Ah, Mam, you know I’m strong as an ox.” PJ squirmed. “Me da says so.”
“I’ll pay yeh to haul water for me,” Ivy said softly. She should have shouted. A whisper made everyone in the line pick up their ears. “I want four buckets – full ones, mind – delivered to me back door. Can yeh do it?”
“How much?” PJ couldn’t believe his luck. He’d have to come out to the water line with his ma more often.
“A farthing a full bucket delivered to me door,” Ivy offered.
“Done.” PJ spat in his skinny little hand like he’d seen the men do and held it out.
“Throwing yer money around, Ivy Murphy, aren’t yeh?” Mabel O’Rourke felt faint. An extra penny on a Saturday morning – she wouldn’t know herself.
“She’d have a few extra pence now,” the Widow Casey muttered to no one in particular. “What with no man waiting for her with his hand out for every penny she earns. That da of hers must have been an expensive bugger to keep.”
“Now, now, ladies, do yeh mind?” Ivy ignored the slander of her da. It was only the truth they were speaking. “I’m conducting business here.” She spat in her own hand and shook the little white paw offered. “Right, PJ,” she stepped away from her two empty buckets, “you take my place in the queue.”
“You can count on me, missus.” PJ puffed out his eight-year-old chest. He was going to earn money, real money. He couldn’t wait to tell his da.
“I’ll be waiting.” Ivy stepped out from the long line of neighbours. She was acutely aware of the storm of whispering that followed her. She didn’t care. She hadn’t the time to stand in line waiting for her turn at the tap.
“Miss Murphy, do you have a moment?” Betty Armstrong’s voice froze Ivy in place as she reached to take her galvanised bathtub from its peg outside the backdoor. She almost closed her eyes and dropped her head onto the bottom of the bathtub.
“Let me give you a hand.” Betty hurried forward to lend a hand in getting the heavy bathtub from its high hook.
“Thanks,” Ivy sighed. There went her bath. She’d have to get rid of this woman before she could get started on the work that was piling up around her. She’d been spending every minute she could with her brother, moments snatched from both their busy lives. They had years of catching up to do. The change in her schedule meant she wasn’t keeping up with her own chores.
“What can I do for yeh, Miss Armstrong,” Ivy asked while the two women dragged the tub into Ivy’s back room.
“Betty, please.” Betty Armstrong knew she was as welcome as the plague. She sighed deeply. It couldn’t be helped.
“Betty then.” Ivy stood and brushed her hands off. “What can I do for yeh?”
“I’m sure you’re aware I’m sharing in the care of young Seán. He’s staying with the Connelly family.” Betty dropped into one of the wooden chairs she pulled from its place tucked under the table. “The little lad is fretting about his mother.” The poor child was so unhappy, Betty didn’t know what to do for him. “I’m keeping you from your bath, it looks like.” But Betty didn’t make any attempt to move. She needed answers and Ivy Murphy might be able to help her. She’d exhausted her own contacts. “I was wondering if you heard anything about Seán’s mother?”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” I
vy suited action to words. “I talked to someone a few weeks ago about Ginie.” Ivy had put the kettle on and was now wriggling underneath the big bed that took up so much of the space in her back room. She found the packet she was looking for and began to wriggle backwards, trying to clear the bed frame.
Betty wondered what on earth Ivy was up to but didn’t like to ask. She was on shaky enough ground as it was.
“Ginie is with the Maggies.” Ivy unwrapped the bleached flour sacks to reveal her white summer suit. She took time to spread the long skirt and lace jacket on top of the bed. She’d have to give them a belt of an iron. She wanted to see if she could wear the outfit in this weather or perhaps dye it. It was one of the things she’d planned to do today. She’d have to ask Sadie to take pity on her and let her have her bath at their house. It would save her a lot of time and work.
“The Maggies,” Betty gasped. “Do you know which one? We have to get her out of there.”
“I’d be glad to hear any idea you might have.”
Ivy made a pot of tea, then carried the dishes she needed over to the table and set them out. “Ginie could walk out of the place. It’s not a prison, so they say.” Ivy, like most people in Dublin, knew once girls went through those doors the nuns didn’t like to let their unpaid workers go. It sounded good to say the women were free to leave but it was only lip service to anyone nosy enough to ask. “But Ginie would need somewhere to live and a way of earning a few bob.” The women of The Lane had been racking their brains trying to come up with a way to help Ginie.
“Billy Flint,” Betty offered. “He’d be able to get her out of there, no problem.”
“Everything in my life lately seems to come back to Billy Flint.” Ivy closed her eyes in despair. She still hadn’t been to see the man. She’d been putting it off, praying that the need to consult him would be needless but, so far, no miracles.
“I’ll go see Billy Flint today.” Betty slapped the table with her hands, causing the china to jump. “I won’t leave his office until I know that Ginie is on her way back to her son.”
“Wait a minute –” Ivy put out her hand to stop the woman from leaving as she obviously intended. “Are you telling me you know where Billy Flint’s office is?” That was shocking. She’d known this woman had telephoned Billy Flint about the situation in The Lane but the man was fiercely private. He didn’t exactly advertise his services as far as Ivy knew.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t time for tea. I have to go.” Betty stood abruptly, determination written all over her.
“I need to talk to Billy Flint,” Ivy almost whispered. “Could you give me his address?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t do that.” Betty shrugged. “Billy is a very private person – only a few people know how to contact him directly.” She couldn’t tell this woman that Billy was a phantom, a figment of his own imagination. He’d built up a fearsome reputation and was making money off it but he was nothing like the gangster that Dubliners believed him to be.
“I really need to talk to him,” Ivy said. Now that she was being denied the chance to talk to the man, she became determined to see him.
“Perhaps I could put in a word for you,” Betty offered. “Pour out that tea and you can tell me what you want to see Billy about. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”
“Right.” Ivy quickly poured the tea. “It’s like this . . .” She began to talk and by the time she’d explained her problem they had drunk the teapot dry.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” said Betty.
“And then there’s Declan Johnson,” Ivy went on. “He told everyone in The Lane that he had Billy’s protection. I think I’ve seen him around. I’m not completely sure it is him. I haven’t told anyone but he scares me.”
“There is no way on this earth that Billy would have anything to do with Declan Johnson,” Betty said. “I can state that without fear of contradiction.”
“I don’t know anything about paying for protection.” Ivy wondered if the woman facing her knew that her accent and body language had changed almost completely. It was as if she’d sat down at the table with one woman and was now talking with a completely different person. It was unsettling to say the least.
“I’m going to see about getting Ginie away from the Maggies.” Betty stood. “I’m sorry but right now that is the most important thing to me. There is a little boy fretting himself to skin and bone. I can’t let that continue. I’ll talk to Billy about your situation and I’ll let you know what he says but, understand me, Billy would never do business with someone like Declan Johnson.”
Ivy sat at the table, staring after the woman as she hurried out of her place without another word. Well, now, what was all that about?
A knock on the door surprised her for a moment.
“That will be PJ with me water.” She jumped to her feet, hurrying to open the door.
“Here yeh go, missus!” PJ grinned with pride.
Ivy had never seen the lad with shining eyes and a smile before. He wasn’t a bad-looking lad.
“I’ll have the other two for yeh in no time.”
“Wait while I empty these.” Ivy took the buckets one at a time with great care. She emptied each bucket into the water reservoir on her black range and gave PJ the empty buckets to refill. The boy grabbed the buckets and ran away to rejoin the line.
Chapter 36
Twenty minutes before that, Doug Joyce had stood on the canal side of the road, completely absorbed in staring across the wide road at an opening into his old home he’d never seen before. He’d dressed down for this return visit to The Lane. His tweed suit was old and well worn. The brown brogues on his feet were scuffed. His blond hair was covered by a flat cap. He shouldn’t stand out too much. However, nothing could disguise the shine of money he’d worked so hard to acquire.
Johnjo Smith stood at his side. A large brown-leather suitcase sat at their feet on the cobbled walkway.
“I can’t believe we didn’t know this entrance was here,” Doug said.
“Ivy said it had been bricked up by the British,” Johnjo reminded him. “Look at the way the thing is built. With the overhanging rooms from those houses on either side covering the top and the brick blocks, it was just part of the scenery around here.”
“I suppose.” Doug picked up the leather suitcase and started across the road. “Come on, Ivy said there’s another tunnel directly across from this, I want a look at that too. Then you can get about your business.”
They had decided to take a cab to this entrance, not being absolutely sure they could find the place on their own. Doug was eager to spend a little time alone with his sister. He wanted to sit at the table under the window while she did whatever it was she needed to do.
“I can’t believe your sister would rather stay here than come to America with us.” Johnjo looked around, shaking his head.
“She’s making a life for herself here.” Doug sighed. “I have to respect that.”
“Well, she can always change her mind, I suppose.” The two men entered the tunnel. “You will remember you have a matinée performance this afternoon?”
“I’m not likely to forget.”
“Ay up!” Johnjo snorted as the tunnel opened onto the rear of the tenement block. “You better use the front entrance. You’ll never get past that crowd of nosy biddies hanging around the outdoor tap.”
“That takes me back.” Doug grinned at the sight of the crowd around the tap. “Ivy used to make us stand in line for the water. She’d box our ears if we spilled any on our walk around the tenement block. My father insisted we use the front door – the back door led into his room and we weren’t allowed into that.”
“I don’t know why you wanted me to come with you. I can’t say I have one pleasant memory about this place.” Johnjo could feel his head trying to shrink into his shoulders. The place gave him the willies.
“To be honest, Johnjo, I thought you’d want to see if you could get some news about your fa
mily,” Doug admitted. “We’re going a long way away in the New Year. Who knows if we’ll ever get back this way again?”
“I ran away from here when I was ten years old.” Johnjo breathed a sigh of relief when they came to the two-storey houses opening onto the square courtyard. The tenement at their back blocked them from the view of the gathered women. He didn’t need any of those old biddies to recognise him. “It was a miracle I’d no broken bones to go with my cuts and bruises.”
“I don’t know if I’d have had the nerve to stow away on one of those ships that come and go to the city dock,” Doug said.
“Believe me, being dumped in the sea seemed like the lesser of two evils to me.” Johnjo had put this place behind him and there he was determined it would stay. “I never thought I’d be back here,” he added as they walked across the width of the courtyard towards the second newly opened tunnel. “I should never have picked you up from the London streets.”
“What are you talking about with your ‘picked me up’? You tried to pick my pockets, you bloody thief!”
“Hey, Lord Muck, kick the ball back, will yeh?” one of the raggedly dressed barefoot kids yelled.
Doug had no doubt he was the Lord Muck the lad was referring to. A well-placed kick sent the ball of tightly packed newspaper tied up with string flying back down to the children who returned to their game without a second glance.
“I wish to God I’d known about these tunnels.” Johnjo pushed his trilby back on his head. He’d refused to dress down for this quick visit to The Lane. If he saw anyone he knew he wanted them to be aware he’d come up in the world. He was no longer one of those useless, feckless Johnsons. “This would have been a great place to hide until my bruises healed up.”
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 30
