Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1)

by Gemma Jackson

  “I don’t think you were much of a parent to the young woman who just left here.”

  Éamonn Murphy had been the kind of man any woman would be proud to call her own. With all signs of social status stripped from him, naked in all his glory, he was a truly superior example of a human male. Ann Marie intended to see that Ivy, for perhaps the first time in her life, profited from her parent’s superior breeding.

  “I’m going to help your daughter in all the ways that I can,” Ann Marie said as she pulled up the cover until it reached his chin. “If she’ll let me I’ll be there for her from this moment on. I make you this promise, Éamonn Murphy. I’ll watch over your daughter. If she’ll allow me. I’m going home now – I have a lot to think about.”

  Ann Marie removed her white lab coat and gave the office space a quick visual check before taking her coat from the tall coat stand. Then she collected her belongings from her desk, locked the office door and left the building. The morgue would remain unstaffed until the morning. The people in here were going nowhere.

  Chapter 4

  While Ann Marie talked to the dead Ivy struggled to remember the way out of the twisting hallways. She was panting by the time she finally reached a door that opened to the outside world. With a glad cry she pushed the door and almost fell into the cold wet evening air. She stood for a moment trying to figure out exactly where she was, then with a nod of her head started to walk in the direction she knew would take her to the canal.

  Ivy was empty of emotion. Like an animal seeking its cave, she just wanted to get home and lock the door behind her. She put one foot in front of the other, heading in the direction of home. She wanted to curl up in a ball and die, but she’d do it in the privacy of her own home. She was all alone now. Everyone she loved had left her, gone away.

  A hearty shove in the middle of her shoulders almost sent her to her knees. Ivy turned, fists raised, ready to protect herself from her attacker. A big black head shook up and down – the horse tossed her mane and her neigh sounded a lot like laughter.

  “Rosie, you frightened the life outa me!” Ivy approached the horse slowly, her hand out in front of her, just like her da had taught her.

  “I’m so sorry, lady!” Jem Ryan jumped down from his perch on the driver’s seat of his carriage. He didn’t know what was going on. Rosie had attacked someone – what was he going to do?

  “It’s all right, Jem,” Ivy said into the evening gloom. “It’s only me – Ivy.”

  “Ivy, I didn’t see you there.” Jem felt weak with relief. His horse, his livelihood, hadn’t gone crazy. “Rosie knew you right enough. What are you doing around here? It’s a damp, dark, cold aul’ evening to be out taking a stroll.”

  “I’m heading home.” Ivy raised her head from Rosie’s neck and smiled at a man she’d known since she was eight years old and he was fifteen. “Did you have a fare over here?”

  “There’s nothing much doing today.” Jem Ryan had the livery across The Lane from Ivy’s block of tenements. Rosie the dray horse was a favourite of Ivy’s. “Hop in and I’ll take you home.”

  “I will not.” Ivy was sincerely shocked. In all the years she’d known Jem Ryan he’d never allowed anyone from The Lane into his pristine carriage. The carriage was his bread and butter. He went out in all weathers, picking up fares around Dublin. Jem was very particular about the kind of people he allowed into his carriage. “I’ve never been in a horse-drawn carriage in me life. That’s for the quality,” Ivy stated a fact of her life, “not the likes of me.”

  “Well, climb up on the seat with me then. If you’re not ashamed to be seen with me, that is.”

  “Really? You’d let me come up there with you?” Ivy was amazed. She’d never had a carriage ride.

  “Come on! I know I don’t have to show you how to get up on the seat.” Jem laughed. “How many times did I have to lift you and your brothers off me driver’s seat?”

  “Rosie was never in her traces then.” Ivy hadn’t waited for Jem to change his mind. She was sitting up, proud and excited, before Jem had walked around the back of the brougham.

  When Jem took the reins in his hands and shouted his familiar “Walk on!” Ivy wanted to scream with delight. She wished her da could see her riding high like this – but the thought of her da brought her crashing down to earth.

  “Isn’t this a bit early for you to be going home?” Ivy didn’t want to think about her da. Not now.

  “It’s a miserable aul’ day with not a sinner out and about.” Jem clicked his tongue at the horse. “Poor old Rosie is getting a bit long in the tooth for this work.” He sighed.

  “It’s the New Year has yeh down in the dumps, Jem. The first bright day you’ll feel better.” Ivy automatically slipped into her role of lifting a man’s spirit.

  “It’s not just the New Year, Ivy. Times are changing. Look around you,” Jem waved one of his hands at the world at large. “This country and everything Irish is changing and fast. We’ll soon have our own government and how is that going to affect us? The likes of you and me, Ivy, how will all the changes affect our lives? We have to be ready or we’ll be left behind.”

  “I’ve never heard you speak like this before, Jem.” Ivy said.

  “We’ve never had what I’d call a real conversation, Ivy.” Jem nudged Ivy gently with his shoulder. His teeth showed white against the bush-like flaming-red beard that covered most of his face. Wisps of his chestnut-brown hair escaped from the sacking he used to protect his head and shoulders.

  “I pulled you and those three holy terrors you called brothers out of danger more times than I can count.” Jem didn’t mention the number of times he’d kicked her father out of his livery. Éamonn Murphy saw the stables, empty through the day, as a prime site for setting up his roving gambling club.

  “There’s a shop up here I need to stop at, Ivy.” Jem pulled gently on the reins. Rosie knew the way as soon as she felt the signal. “There’s not a thing to eat in my place.”

  “Don’t you shop in Brennan’s?” Ivy had never given any thought to Jem Ryan’s life before.

  “No, I don’t.” Jem left it at that. It wasn’t his place to tell people that Brennan’s charged over the odds for their goods, a lot of which was old, fit only for animals.

  “I need a few things meself,” Ivy said. “I won’t shame you by coming in with yeh – yeh can drop me off by Brennan’s if you would.”

  “In the name of God, Ivy,” Jem turned to her as soon as Rosie had come to a stop. He tied the reins around the side hand-bar of the driver’s seat, making sure the brake was firmly in place. “Why would you think I’d be ashamed to be seen with you?”

  “Look at the state of me,” Ivy said simply.

  “Have you looked at me with me sacks wrapped around me head, shoulders and lap?” Jem laughed. “I’m not exactly a figure of fashion meself. Anyway, old Hobbs is glad of the custom. Come away in and get what you need. It’ll save you a trip later.” Without waiting for permission Jem reached up and with his hands around Ivy’s waist pulled her from her perch. “By God, girl, yeh don’t weight much more than yeh did as a tiddler!”

  Ivy brushed down the old coat she wore and made sure the shawl covered her head decently. Her da would never allow her to accompany him into a shop. He said she’d make a show of him. Ivy sucked in her breath. Her da wasn’t around any more. She would have to do everything for herself now. This could be her first big step on her own. She straightened her shoulders and walked over to where Jem held the door open for her. This unaccustomed gallantry almost caused her to trip over her own feet.

  At the sound of the bell hanging over the shop door, a voice shouted from the back of the shop. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

  “Take your time, Hobbs. It’s only me, Jem Ryan.” Jem began to gather the items he’d need for a meal.

  Ivy stood frozen inside the doorway. She’d never been inside a fancy shop like this before. She did all her shopping at market stalls and Brennan’s, the only
shop inside The Lane. This place was spotless, with sawdust spread over the floor thick and evenly. Glass-fronted boxes stood on the floor, openly displaying their goods. The articles for sale on the counter were under glass domes, for goodness’ sake! Ivy wanted to slink back out through the door. She watched Jem examine items, impressed by his ease in these circumstances.

  “What did you need, Ivy?” Jem turned to look at her. “Living on me own as I do, a fry-up is the easiest thing for me to make of an evening.”

  “A man needs more than a fry-up to eat after a day’s work.” Ivy was afraid to touch anything.

  “I have a hot meal during the day in one of the working men’s clubs down by the docks.”

  Jem could see the sheer terror on Ivy’s face. He felt his fists bunching, longing to punch Éamonn Murphy in his handsome face. Did the man never take his daughter, the one who made his style of living possible, anywhere?

  “What do you need?” he asked again, deliberately looking away from Ivy.

  “I just need a bread cob, a few strips of fatty bacon and milk for a cup of tea.” Ivy was still staring around at the attractively arranged items in the shop. She wanted to examine everything in the place. “I’ve nothing with me for the milk.” Ivy had a tall tin mug with a handle that Brennan’s filled with fresh milk when she could afford the luxury item.

  “Hobbs will give yeh a glass bottle.” Jem watched as the door from the back room into the shop opened. Hobbs struggled through, carrying a large cheese in front of him.

  “There yeh are, Jem – not much business around today for man nor beast, ay,” Hobbs greeted one of his regular customers cheerfully. He ignored the well-shrouded figure standing inside the door. He’d soon deal with the likes of her when Jem Ryan left.

  “I have what I need on the counter.” Jem noticed the man’s reaction to Ivy. Did the poor soul have to put up with this kind of attitude regularly? No wonder she hadn’t wanted to come inside. He was sorry now he’d insisted. “What did you say you needed, Ivy? Bread, bacon and milk, wasn’t it?”

  Ivy nodded.

  Jem turned and gave the order to Hobbs.

  The man took the hint and quickly filled the order. The man was a well-known soft touch – but if Hobbs got on his bad side he’d lose his custom.

  “Here,” Ivy tried to pass her half crown over to Jem.

  “We can settle up later.” Jem wanted to get Ivy out of the shop. Slapping a florin onto the well-polished wood of the counter, he waited while Hobbs took care of his order. He snatched the change from Hobbs hand, took the two brown-paper-and-twine-wrapped packages Hobbs passed to him and without a word led Ivy from the shop.

  “I told yeh I’d make a holy show of yeh,” Ivy whispered, her cheeks red.

  “You didn’t embarrass me, Ivy.” Jem almost threw her up onto the high seat of the brougham. “I’m angry that you should be subjected to that kind of attitude. Your money is as good as anyone’s.”

  “That’s not how everyone sees it.” Ivy shrugged, well used to being insulted.

  Jem wanted to curse at her for her acceptance of her lot in life. Ivy Murphy was a paragon as far as Jem was concerned. He’d watched through the years as she’d pushed that pig-ugly old heavy pram through the streets.

  Her father and brothers should have hung their heads in shame. They’d allowed her to keep them all comfortably situated while she worked herself to skin and bone. The lot of them needed a good kick up the arse and Jem would love to be the one to deliver the kick. He wasn’t the only one who felt this way either.

  “I want to get old Rosie home and give her some hot mash.” Jem picked up the reins and clicked to the patient animal.

  “Why do you keep calling Rosie ‘old’?” Ivy asked, oblivious to Jem’s fury.

  “She is old, Ivy. She’s earned a bit of rest. I don’t know what I’ll do without old Rosie.” Jem sighed deeply. “The day of the horse is going, Ivy. The motor car is going to replace the old horse.”

  “Never!” Ivy loved watching the horses working around the city.

  “I’m afraid you can’t stop progress, Ivy.” Jem wanted to ask her what she’d been doing out in this area but was afraid she’d be offended.

  “You really think change is coming, Jem? Really?”

  “Bound to, Ivy.” Jem shrugged. “We fought for our freedom. The end of all of that is in sight. That’s going to change everything. If we don’t buck ourselves up we’ll be pulling our forelocks for the rest of our days. I’m not willing to do that.”

  “Nothing changes for the likes of me.” Ivy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who is ordering yeh around or kicking yeh. There’s always someone at the bottom of the pile. That’s my place and I’m reminded of it every day of me life.”

  “Don’t be so bloody defeatist, Ivy.” Jem could hear all the people through his life telling him to know his place. Well, he was going to make a place for himself and the devil take the hindmost.

  “I don’t even know what that means, Jem.” Ivy wanted to cry. “I’m stupid.”

  “‘Defeatist’ means someone who lies down without a fight!” Jem snapped. “We’ve fought for the freedom of our country. Now those of us left have to fight for our rights.”

  “That sounds good – impossible, but good.” Ivy was aware of The Lane coming closer by the minute. She wasn’t really paying attention to Jem and his words. She was wondering if she should ask to be let down before they went into the tunnel.

  “Ivy, will yer da be waiting for yeh?” Jem couldn’t imagine Éamonn Murphy having a warm home waiting for the shivering woman on the high seat beside him.

  “No,” Ivy answered simply. She wasn’t ready to make the announcement of her da’s death. She wanted time alone to think about everything that had happened since this morning. She’d tell people her da was dead – just, not yet. She’d keep that information close to her heart until she figured out what the heck she was going to do.

  “Let me down here, Jem,” she said when Rosie slowed to turn into the tunnel leading into The Lane.

  “I will like heck, Ivy Murphy.” Jem loosened the reins. Rosie knew her own way home. “You just sit there like . . . what did you call it when you climbed up on this seat when you were little? Queen of the World, wasn’t that it?”

  “Yes,” Ivy whispered. “I always loved sitting up so high. The world is a different place from up here.”

  “Well then, Ivy . . .” Jem pulled on the reins as Rosie cleared the tunnel – he was aware of the street kids shouting and pointing at his companion sitting up proud and tall now. “It’s the first day of the New Year. Maybe it’s the first day of your new life?”

  Jem jumped down and turned to help Ivy down from her perch. Ivy allowed him to put his hands around her waist, well-padded as it was with her coat and shawl. The man was more right than he knew. Ivy just had to think and study her new position. Who knew what the future held for her now? She was a woman alone with responsibility to no-one but herself. Why did that make her feel like crying?

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t forget the bottle of milk and your messages!” Jem shouted when Ivy turned to hurry away.

  “Thank you.” Ivy blushed brightly, accepting the package and the glass bottle of milk she hadn’t even noticed Jem pack away safely at the side of his seat. “I’ll bring the money I owe you over later,” she whispered. “Unless you have the change for a half crown on you right now, do you?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.” Jem didn’t want to let Ivy go but Rosie needed to be put into her stall, brushed and fed. The animal was his livelihood. Rosie came before Jem’s own wants and needs.

  “Thank you.” Ivy was aware of the many interested glances they were attracting. She moved her body to hide the coins being exchanged. She had no intention of being hit up for a loan by anyone. She’d enough problems without visits from neighbours on the cadge. She didn’t check to see what money was in her hand but, with a nod, left Jem and hurried to her own home.

 
As soon as the door closed at her back Ivy put the package and milk on the table under the window. The room was completely black. She lit the gas lamps and stood with her back to the cold fireplace, checking around the generously sized square room with her eyes, trying to remember where she’d thrown the rent book. She clearly remembered flinging it away from her when she’d discovered her da had done a runner with the rent money.

  She was desperate to check the tenant named on it. She couldn’t think or do anything until she’d seen if she’d still have a roof over her head.

  The little book was on the floor just outside her da’s room. Ivy bit back a cry and hurried over to pick up the precious document. She hurried back to the light and ran her finger slowly over the written name. Ivy could recognise and write her own name. She’d insisted her brothers teach her to do that at least.

  Ivy collapsed to the floor, all the strength leaving her body. Her name, Ivy Rose Murphy, was clearly written on the front of the little book. She was safe, for the moment anyway, she was safe.

  Ivy shook the big black kettle – there was barely enough water to make a pot of tea. Ivy dropped to her knees to check under the table for the fresh water bucket. She couldn’t remember filling the thing before she left the house. Ivy groaned aloud in relief when her fingers dipped into water close to the rim of the galvanised steel bucket. Keeping that bucket full was so much part of her routine she must have done it automatically. With a grateful sigh Ivy filled the kettle. Outside of an emergency the neighbours wouldn’t knock on her door but if she was out in the yard she was fair game.