“Okay,” Ivy said slowly. “What else?”
“You need to trim your eyebrows, use a dusting of make-up.”
“Make-up?” Ivy roared. “I don’t want to look like a trollop.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Betty snapped. “Do you think all those society ladies have natural black eyelashes and pencil brows? Why should they have naturally perfect pink cheeks and ruby-red lips? Think, Ivy!”
“They wear make-up?” Ivy couldn’t believe it.
“Of course they do.” Betty grinned, delighted with Ivy’s response. “I can teach you how to make the best of yourself.”
“I don’t have any make-up,” Ivy muttered.
“I do,” Betty tempted her. “We have time to sort ourselves out but we need to start now. I suggest a nice long soak in a perfumed bath.”
“My brother,” Ivy loved just saying that, “gave me a suitcase full of clothes – see!” She walked over to the bed and pulled the first dress she touched out of the case.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something to wear.” Betty could always loan her one of her own outfits. They were of a size. She walked over and looked at the designer label inside the flapper dress Ivy held and almost gasped. Someone had money. “You take care of bathing yourself. I’ll go next door and get the items I’ll need.”
Ivy sat in the warm water of her tub and tried to plan out her evening. She had her legs bent, her knees pulled up against her chest. She wanted to loll in the bath and dream of the evening ahead. Having a deep bath in a warm room – she wanted to revel in the luxury. She sighed deeply – she hadn’t the time. She reached over the rim of the tub for the shavings of soap sitting on a plate on the floor. She used the soap to scour every inch of her skin. She didn’t miss a spot.
She stepped out of the tub onto the bare floor. Her skin was tingling and rosy-red. She’d left a length of linen at hand to dry herself off. She scrubbed her skin dry with the length of rough cloth. She pulled a black skirt and a loose jumper over her damp body for decency and simply stood looking around. What was she supposed to do next?
“Your one from next door said to knock on the wall when I’d finished me bath.” She used a bucket to empty the water from the bath, simply opening the back door and throwing the bath water into the yard. She thought it was a sheer waste – she could have used the water for soaking something – but she’d no time. She wrestled the bath onto the hook outside the back door and went back in. Feeling nervous, she left the back door unlocked for Betty. She picked up a block of wood sitting by the range and rapped the block on the wall that separated her room from the one next door.
Ivy prepared to wash her hair. The temperature of the water in the reservoir was just right. She filled her enamel bowl with water and grabbed her bar of old faithful Ivory soap. She’d give her hair a couple of washes. She put a clean linen rag and a chipped enamel mug on the table beside the bowl. Then she bent and dipped the enamel mug into the water. She let the water run over her head and drip down into the basin. That done she reached for her bar of Ivory.
“Don’t use that!” Betty Armstrong screamed from the door she’d pushed open after a brisk knock. “Are you mad, woman? Kitchen soap? That will ruin your hair.”
“Come in, why don’t yeh, missus?” Ivy stood with her hair dripping into her eyes. She glared at the woman who’d just frightened the life out of her.
“It seems I have a great deal more to do than I first thought.”
Betty put a large case and a mug of boiling water she was using to warm the oil for Ivy’s hair onto the kitchen table. Betty sighed and shook her head. It was bloody primitive but she could handle it.
“Right.” She snapped open the case, revealing bottles, lotions and potions such as Ivy had never seen before.
“All that!” Ivy poked one long finger into the case and got a slapped wrist for her trouble.
“I’ll wash your hair.” Betty took a special blend of hair soap from her case. “Bend down.”
Ivy yelped when Betty’s nails scraped her delicate scalp. She couldn’t remember anyone ever washing her hair before. “Would yeh go easy, missus?”
“You have to suffer for beauty,” Betty snapped. She rinsed the hair using the enamel mug. She picked up the basin and threw the soapy water out the door, then refilled the basin and brought it back to where Ivy hunched over the table.
“I brought hot oil to rub into your hair.” Betty didn’t wait for Ivy’s response but took the container of oil she’d put in the mug of hot water before leaving her own place. She was determined to show Ivy how to make the best of her blue-black hair. She massaged the hot oil into Ivy’s hair.
“We’ll leave the oil on for a while.” Betty picked up the piece of clean linen Ivy had put by the bowl on the table. She wrapped the linen around Ivy’s head before pushing her into one of the wooden kitchen chairs.
Ivy sat like a statue and received an expert education in grooming. The things the woman, Betty Armstrong, did to her person took Ivy’s breath away. The woman showed Ivy how to make a paste from goose fat and ash from the fireplace. She scrubbed Ivy’s face with the mixture. She almost drowned her when she dunked her face into the basin of clean water. Ivy thought she’d breathed her last.
Then your one slathered her face in goose fat. She used a small spoon she took from her case to coat Ivy’s eyelashes with more of the goose fat and ash. She used her thumb to curl the lashes. Who knew you had to curl your lashes? Then Betty wet more ash and used the mixture on Ivy’s eyelashes, to thicken and darken them, she said. Ivy was terrified she was going to look like a streetwalker by the time the woman was finished with her.
“Sit with your head back and your eyes closed for a minute,” Betty snapped while rinsing her own hands. The dampened ash could seep into your pores if you left it. She didn’t wait for Ivy to react to her order but pushed her head back herself.
“I’m going to pluck your eyebrows then give you a manicure.” Betty placed both Ivy’s hands on the tabletop. “Thankfully, here we don’t have that much to do. Someone taught you excellent hand care.”
“Granny Grunt,” Ivy whispered through clenched teeth. “The old woman who lived in the room you rent now. Ouch!” Ivy couldn’t believe the sharp stab of pain.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Betty snapped without a sprig of sympathy. She got a stronger hold on Ivy’s head. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You have naturally well-shaped brows. You’d know all about it if I had to pluck a small forest from your face.”
“Are yeh sure yeh know what yer doing, missus?” Ivy gasped.
“It’s a little late to be asking now.” Betty laughed when Ivy stiffened. “Relax – I’m an expert in making the best of a woman’s features. I want to get this done then we need to do something about the outfit you’ll need for this evening.”
Ivy settled back to suffer in silence. She’d no idea what the woman was doing but she’d hold her whist. She’d asked for help after all. The pinches and pulls on her face hurt but she remained still.
“Do those society women really go through all this?” she asked when she thought she’d run screaming from the room.
“They spend part of every day being pampered and petted,” Betty said absently. “I need to rinse the oil from your hair.” She emptied the water once more and refilled the enamel bowl. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put the last bucket of water into this reservoir.” The hot water had sputtered from the tap.
“Go ahead,” Ivy sighed. She’d try and catch young PJ and have him carry more water for her.
“Right, let us get on,” Betty said when she’d emptied the galvanised bucket into the reservoir. “I need you to bend over the bowl again.” She applied herself to removing every vestige of oil from Ivy’s thick hair. When she was satisfied, she roughly dried the hair with a cloth which she then put around Ivy’s neck. “Sit back in the chair.”
“What are you going to do?” Ivy felt like a rag doll being tossed an
d pushed around the place.
“I’m going to trim your hair.” Betty picked up a pair of sharp scissors and began to snip away before Ivy could comment further.
Betty knew exactly how she wanted to cut the hair. She’d been dreaming about getting her hands on it for what felt like ages. By the time she finished Ivy’s hair would be trimmed into the latest fashion – a bob, they called it.
“Can I look?” Ivy asked when she felt the other woman take a step back.
Betty removed the cloth holding the clipped hair from around Ivy’s shoulders. “Go ahead, have a look.” She carried the cloth over to the range and shook the hair into the nuggets of coal sitting there in a box.
Ivy stood in front of her mirror, staring at her own reflection. She was still wearing her skirt and blouse. Betty walked over to join her.
“I’m not sure what you did to me, missus,” Ivy said to Betty’s image in the mirror, “but I can tell yeh this much. I look a step above buttermilk.”
“I only touched up what nature provided.” Betty was pleased with what they’d done so far.
“By Jesus, the state of me and the price of best butter!” Ivy touched the mop of damp curls that seemed to flatter her face. Her skin was gleaming and, to her eyes anyway, it somehow looked rich, creamy. The skin around her eyebrows was slightly red but your woman said that would fade. Her eyelashes looked like sooty brooms and her lips were wet and gleaming.
“We need to check out the clothes in that suitcase.” Betty needed to wrap up her bag of tricks. She’d excelled herself cutting Ivy’s hair if she did say so herself. It was time to sort out an outfit for the evening.
Ivy began to pull items from the case and lay them on the bed – items that had both women gasping.
“That, young lady,” Betty was stunned by the articles displayed on the bed, “is what they call quality.” She picked up a rich royal-blue-satin, heavily beaded dress from the bed and, with a deep sigh of pleasure, simply said: “This one!” She’d already noticed the matching shoes.
“Do you think so?” Ivy hadn’t a clue.
“Yes, it’s perfect.” Betty examined the long-waisted dress with satisfaction. Ivy wouldn’t need a corset – she could wear the tight long cotton petticoat sitting on the bed. That would hold her figure steady under the glamorous dress.
“I don’t even know how to wear half these feckin’ things!” Ivy eyed the smaller items the woman had separated into a pile.
“Not to worry, I can show you,” said Betty. “You need to strip down, Ivy. We have to get a move on.”
“I’m not stripping down to me skin in front of anyone!” Ivy gasped. “I’d like me job.”
“For goodness sake, Ivy Murphy, you haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.” Betty could see the stubborn expression on Ivy’s face. She began to pull articles of intimate apparel from the bed, holding them up and explaining their use to a gaping Ivy. “I’ll close my eyes tight until you tell me you’re decent – how’s that?”
“Fair enough.” Living in such close quarters, a promise to close the eyes was often the most privacy you could hope for in the tenements.
“When you’ve removed your clothes, I want you to rub this cream all over your body, Ivy.” Betty turned to take a jar of cream she’d left sitting on the table for this moment. “Only from your neck down, mind. Then put your new underwear on.” She passed the large jar of scented body lotion to Ivy. “I’ll turn my back to you and put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea – give your hair a little more time to dry.”
“Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus, I’m gummin’.”
Betty busied herself preparing a pot of tea.
“I’m decent.” Ivy had pulled a petticoat, panties and stockings on over her soft, smooth, scented flesh. She’d put her skirt and jumper back on. She had a pair of old socks on her feet to protect her new stockings.
“Come have your cup of tea,” said Betty. The girl had a fabulous figure. It was a shame she was too shy to wear the flapper dress they’d found in the suitcase. It would suit her better than most who sported the fashion. “Drink that tea quickly, Ivy. I want to touch up your face after you’re dressed. And you don’t want to keep Jem standing around waiting.”
Ivy gulped her tea, delighted with everything.
“Now we must get you dressed.” Betty put her teacup down and stood. She walked over and picked up the dress. It would leave Ivy’s arms bare but the strings of beads on it would drape over her shoulders and the tops of her arms.
“I can dress myself.” Ivy walked over to the bed eagerly. She couldn’t wait to step into that dress.
“I’ll close my eyes.” Betty couldn’t wait. Ivy Murphy was going to give the young men and women of this town something to talk about when she walked into the theatre in the outfit they’d selected. She stood with her eyes tight closed.
“I’m dressed.” Ivy was shaking.
Betty opened her eyes. The dress looked wonderful on Ivy.
“Let me just fix that beading over your shoulders – it should drape, see?” Betty turned her towards the mirror. The matching fabric shoes with a slight heel fit Ivy perfectly. “Have a look.”
“I look good,” Ivy nodded at her reflection, wondering who the stranger was staring back at her. She’d never looked like this before in her life. She could hardly tell she was wearing make-up. Whatever your one had done to her seemed to accentuate her features. She nodded her head at the image in the mirror. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe your brother picked out all of these things.” Betty was rooting in the suitcase for an item she knew she’d seen. Ivy’s brother certainly knew women. He seemed to have an intimate knowledge of their requirements. “Ah ha,” she cried, diving on something in the case. “I knew I’d seen one of these!”
Ivy stared at what looked like a diamond-encrusted cobweb draped over Betty’s fist.
“This must have come from Paris. It’s the latest thing. I’ve seen them in magazines – they’re worn to replace hats in the evening – they’re designed to be worn with the new short hair styles.” Betty touched her own dark hair which was pulled away from her face into a low bun.
“Gi’s a look.” Ivy decided she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
“I’ll put it on for you.” Betty took the silver-and-white jewelled hat-shaped mesh and settled it carefully over Ivy’s dark hair, pulling several curls out and brushing them back over the outer edge of the rimless hat. She examined Ivy’s face. A quick touch-up and she was ready.
“Oh, Ivy,” Betty breathed, “you look like you have diamond raindrops in your hair. I want you to walk slowly over to the far side of the room. Then turn around and walk back towards the mirror, examining your image in the mirror with every step you take. See what you think of the new you.” Betty stood fighting tears as she watched Ivy walk slowly away and then back towards the mirror.
“I look like a nob,” Ivy whispered in wonder, unable to believe she was staring at her own image.
“Here.” Betty held Ivy’s new cashmere coat open for her to slip her arms inside. “You can’t wear a hat over that web. Lift the wide collar of your coat up to frame your face. Oh! We forgot your gloves.” Betty wanted to hit her own head. “Take your coat off again.” She held the back of the coat while Ivy removed her arms. Then she passed the long evening gloves to Ivy and waited.
Ivy pulled the gloves on over her long delicate fingers. She admired how the black lace made her skin glow before putting her coat back on.
“I’ll be getting along, Ivy.” Betty was standing at the back door, admiring her work. “Have a great time this evening. I’ll be in tomorrow and you can tell me all about it.”
“Thank you for all your help.” Ivy walked slowly over to the door. She waited till Betty stepped out onto the cobbles. “I’d never have been able to do all of this,” she waved a black-gloved hand at her body, “without your help.”
“You’re welcome.” Betty heard the door loc
k behind her as she turned away to return to her own room.
Chapter 40
“Oooh, you two look wonderful!” Emmy Ryan clapped her hands and stared with wide green eyes at the two adults standing surrounded by a crowd of onlookers on the cobbled courtyard.
Ann Marie stood with Emmy who was going to spend the night at her house but neither had wanted to leave without first seeing Ivy and Jem in all their finery.
Marcella Wiggins had tears in her eyes, looking at the young couple stepping out for a big night together. “Ivy Murphy, Granny would be that proud of yeh. Yeh look a proper toff. You too, Jem.”
The courtyard was filling up with people curious to see what was going on.
“Conn,” Lily Connelly had to nudge her son to get his attention away from the couple.
“Huh?” Conn had been dreaming of the day he might stand here wearing a fancy new suit and a toff’s hat with a woman like Ivy on his arm.
“Run down to the end,” Lily said, referring to the row of houses at the end of the square. “Get that fella that takes photographs on O’Connell Bridge out here. Tell him we want some pictures taken.”
“Oh, you’re thinking, girl!” Marcella grinned.
“What do you think?” Jem smiled down at the glowing beauty on his arm, thrilled with his life.
“I’ve never had me picture took,” Ivy whispered. “I wouldn’t mind a photograph of the two of us all dolled up like the dog’s dinner.” Ivy couldn’t believe all of this. She was floating away in the clouds. She’d never felt anything like this before.
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 33
