The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3)

by Gemma Jackson

  “Would you let the woman breathe, Miss News of the World?”

  Jem stood in the open doorway of the tea room, a huge grin on his handsome face. His green eyes, so like those of his adopted niece, sparkled, his white teeth gleamed.

  “John!” he shouted, stepping forward to take Ivy by the arm. “I’ll be upstairs if I’m needed.”

  “Fair enough.” John Lawless shoved his wheelchair away from the large central telephone-exchange board to push his head with the attached earphones and mouthpiece into view.

  “Evening, Ivy!” he called cheerfully before disappearing back into the office. John was working hard to get back on his own two feet after a work accident but for the long hours he spent in the office he found his wheelchair handy for getting himself around the place.

  “Evening, John.” Ivy put Emmy down and the little girl scampered away.

  Emmy went up the heavy wooden ladder leading to the loft like a monkey, skimming up the steps at speed. Ivy followed more carefully, with Jem bringing up the rear.

  “Are you coming?” Jem turned and looked back over his shoulder to where Ivy stood on the lip of the loft, staring down into the main body of the livery building.

  “So many changes, Jem.” Ivy liked standing here – it gave her a bird’s-eye view out over all the changes Jem and his lads had made to the main floor of the building, “In such a short space of time.” She sometimes wished she could just stop the world and take note of everything that had happened or was being planned. She couldn’t of course and it never did to stand still. She had to keep pushing forward and it seemed to her Jem Ryan was a man on the road to success. Who knew where the pair of them were going to end up?

  “Are the two of you coming?” Emmy Ryan stood in the open doorway of Jem’s room, glaring crossly out at the two adults standing there like statues. “Your dinner will be burned dry, Auntie Ivy.”

  “Coming,” the two said together and turned to join her in the large room Jem called home.

  “Sit yourself down, Ivy.” Jem gestured to the small table and two chairs sitting close to the wall of his room. A lone place setting sat waiting on the small table. “I’ll put the kettle on while you have a bite to eat. Emmy, get the cups out.”

  He grabbed the linen cloth hanging on the door of the closed cast-iron fire that warmed his room and served as a stove. With the cloth to protect his hands, he carefully lifted the covered plate sitting over a pot of gently boiling water.

  “Get that inta yeh.” He dropped the hot plate on top of the cold plate on the table before Ivy. With careful fingers he removed the lid from Ivy’s meal.

  “Jem, your blood should be bottled.” Ivy expressed her gratitude while her mouth watered. “I’ll be getting spoiled with this kind of service – one of me favourite dinners.” She almost smacked her lips as the aroma of the smoked fish cooked in milk and onions assaulted her senses. She’d make short work of the mashed potatoes sitting under the fish.

  “It’s as easy to cook for three as for two.”

  Ivy concentrated on her meal and didn’t speak again until she had made serious inroads into it. “Have you talked to the Widow Rattigan?” she asked then.

  Jem carried the teapot over to the table. He poured tea into the cups Emmy had set on the table, before dropping into the chair across from Ivy. Emmy carried a handy orange crate over to use as a seat.

  “I –” Jem began to answer.

  “Do we have any biscuits, Uncle Jem?” Emmy searched the table top for her favourite treat.

  “There’s a few mixed biscuits in the cupboard,” Jem remarked absently. “Get yourself two.”

  Emmy jumped from her perch and hurried towards the free-standing cupboard. She’d seen the brown-paper bag of biscuits earlier but it was polite to ask.

  “Well, Jem – the Widow Rattigan,” Ivy prompted.

  The Rattigans rented the back rooms in Mr Wilson’s house. Ivy had the widow knitting for her. The money the woman made wasn’t much but every little helped. The rent on their rooms was high. The rooms had a private toilet out back and a garden where they kept chickens, a few geese, a pig and even a nanny goat. One of the rooms held a big black range and the unheard-of luxury – for The Lane anyway – of a water pipe right inside the room. The woman worked wonders with that range. When she could get the ingredients she produced food that Ivy thought would shame a French chef. Sadly she also had five young sons to look after and was in real danger of being evicted.

  “I talked to her.” Jem watched Emmy while sipping his tea. “I have Conn doing a cost analysis for me.”

  “Cheeky devil – I suppose Conn will be using that for his homework for Mr Clancy.”

  “Two birds with one stone.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Emmy returned to the table, a biscuit clutched in each fist.

  “Your uncle is thinking of having the Widow Rattigan cook for the lads.” Ivy sighed with pleasure – why did food prepared by someone else taste so much better than anything you made yourself?

  “Why?” Emmy’s big green eyes examined the two adults.

  “None of your business, Miss.” Jem removed the empty plate from in front of Ivy.

  “Why?” Emmy waited, knowing if they didn’t answer she’d still learn something if she listened carefully.

  “Mrs Rattigan,” Jem ignored one of Emmy’s many whys as he returned to the table with the teapot, “reckons if we send one of the lads down to the Smithfield market first thing every morning we can buy bruised vegetables and cracked eggs cheap. She reckons we can get bones from the butchering at the same time. The woman had all kinds of plans when I mentioned what we needed.” He emptied the slops and refilled the teacups.

  “The Widow Rattigan is in need.” Ivy nudged Jem’s leg with her toe when he rejoined her at the table. “You’re a big softie, Jem Ryan.”

  “Ivy, I’m spending money on the Penny Dinners every day. With the number of lads in and out of this place that soon mounts up. If I can help a neighbour by putting a bit of work in front of her all the better. The nuns don’t need the money and we’ll maybe have something besides stew for the lads now and again.”

  “Do you want me to keep me eye open for big pots going cheap?” The lads had been taking their food directly from the buckets of dinners Jem kept over the fire in the ‘tea room’. That would have to change if the Widow Rattigan was going to take over keeping the lads fed.

  “It couldn’t hurt.” Jem shrugged.

  “So Conn is going to work out the logistics of the thing, is he?”

  “My God we’re certainly learning big words these days.” Jem laughed and nudged Emmy. “We won’t be able to keep up with your woman if she gets any smarter.”

  “I will, Uncle Jem. I’m very smart,” Emmy said in all seriousness. “I’ll explain things to you, promise.”

  “That’s a comfort to me.” Jem grinned. “Ginie MacDonald is paying Mrs Rattigan a few coppers to teach her how to keep house and cook.” He was referring to a young woman from the tenements who had recently rented a room for herself and her son.

  “That can only do the girl good.” Ivy thought of the young woman sold into prostitution by her own brother. “I haven’t seen much of her since she and Seán moved into their own place.”

  “She should be doing alright, what with Seán earning a few bob from his work on the stage and the money her brother Johnjo promised to send her from America. I haven’t seen much of Ginie myself but you know how The Lane is – everybody knows everyone else’s business.” Jem could feel his face flush scarlet. He didn’t even want to think about what John Lawless had told him about Ginie’s job. He found it hard to believe that men actually paid to be spanked. According to John, Ginie was getting paid good money to slap sense into the idle rich. “About your aunt . . .” Jem knew Ivy’s aunt, Betty Armstrong, had been the one to get Ginie her job in a ‘fancy’ house.

  “I would prefer it if we didn’t refer to the woman as my aunt.” Ivy didn’t want
to think about what she was calling ‘the Christmas revelations’. It had been a shock to find out that Betty Armstrong was her da’s sister. “I admit the woman has been a help to me and the other women of The Lane but that does not give her the right to call herself my aunt.” The woman seemed to be trying to make a place for herself in Ivy’s life. Well, it was too little too late as far as she was concerned. Ivy had never known the woman when she was growing up. It was a bit late in the day now for them to play at happy families.

  “Ivy –”

  “No, Jem, I mean it. I got along fine with no relatives. They didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Well, I’m doing fine on my own, thank you.”

  “If that’s the way you want it.” Jem was conscious of Emmy taking in everything said. Now wasn’t the time to discuss Ivy’s family.

  “I’ll put little Miss Big Ears to bed while you finish up here, Ivy.” Jem stood to begin the nightly preparations. He needed to put his place in order and get Emmy into bed before he went downstairs to his lesson with Mr Clancy.

  “We’ll need to move my bed over to Ivy’s place when you get married, Uncle Jem.” Emmy loved the tall wide cupboard bed her Uncle Jem had made for her. She felt safe and secure tucked up in her soft bed knowing her Uncle Jem was snoring softly a few paces away from where she slept.

  “All in good time, Missy.” Jem couldn’t wait to move into Ivy’s place himself.

  Chapter 29

  Ivy rolled over in her bed, slowly awakening to a bright new day – it was the 4th of April, Easter Sunday. This time last year she’d been alone, confused and hurting from too many shocks and upsets. What a difference a year made. She snuggled beneath her bed covering, her fingers pulling the luxury of a sheet and blankets up around her ears. The fire in the black range was nearly out but she didn’t care. Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest. She was darn well going to learn how to rest.

  Unlike many of her neighbours she didn’t have to jump out of bed to get a large family ready for Mass. She had no need of the services of Eddie Baldwin, the knocker-upper. She had her very own chiming mantel clock. She smiled, thinking of the old woman who had been waking The Lane up for decades. She’d earn herself a few farthings this morning, using her long stick to knock on windows and shift the lazy. Eddie had bought brightly coloured material from Ivy to make a blouse for herself. The priest would be blinded this morning if everyone turned up in the clothes they’d made from all of the material she’d shifted.

  The women of The Lane would have a bit of a rest this morning as no breakfast would be served – the entire family would fast before going to receive Holy Communion.

  The children would have nice outfits to wear to Mass today. Ivy couldn’t wait to see what the women of The Lane had managed to create from the wool and fabric they’d bought from her. She’d have a chance to see everything when people gathered in the courtyard before Mass. Some of the outfits would be passed down from older children but a lucky few would have new clothes from the skin out. The new outfits might well end up in the pawnshop on Tuesday but Easter Sunday and Monday the little ones could step out proudly.

  The state of the Johnson lads had her tossing and turning in the bed, trying to force the image of the seven poor souls out of her mind’s eye. They seemed so happy to be allowed visit The Lane over the Easter holidays. Not a one of them said a word against the Artane Boys’ Home. They were in a terrible condition – broken was the only word she could think of to describe the change in the lads. “I don’t want to think about this right now, God. I can do nothing about it. I’m sorry for them. Of course I am and I’ll help where I can but I am only human, God. Can I please be allowed think about myself for once?”

  The words echoed around the dark room.

  “I can’t do it.” Ivy jumped out of bed. “I’ll drive meself mad thinking about things I don’t want to think about. I’m obviously not cut out to be a lady of leisure.” She simply could not remain in bed and do nothing.

  She took care of her bodily needs before raking the barely glowing embers of the range and adding fresh fuel. She included a stub of candle to make the fire burn quicker. She needed the first pot of tea of the day.

  She removed her poor man’s pajamas, and replaced them with a black skirt and green jumper. She’d set out her new dress outfit last night. Mr Solomon had made a very fashionable hip-length blouse from the yellow cotton material. Ivy loved the long-waist fashions and had knit a white jacket to cover the blouse. She’d closed her eyes, taken a deep breath and dared to spend money on a brand-new fashionably narrow black skirt in the shorter style for herself. The outfit was draped over one of her kitchen chairs, ready for her to step into. She’d cleaned the black T-strap leather pumps with the two-inch heel to wear with the outfit. The shoes had been in the suitcase her brother Shay left with her. She hoped to God she could manage to walk around in them for the day. She’d wait to put her good clothes on until it was nearer the time to meet Jem and Emmy. They were going to Mass in St. John’s Lane. Now that Father Leary was back at Westland Row she had no intention of darkening that doorstep. She wouldn’t be going up to Communion so she could have a cup of tea and something to eat before leaving the house.

  “Well, well, well, Ivy Murphy, would you say you’re indulging in the sin of vanity?” She addressed her own image in the tall mirror propped against one wall of her room. She was wearing her new outfit – silk stockings and all. “I’m really losing the run of meself but I don’t care. I like looking nice. I love being able to walk out with me head held high.”

  She’d scrubbed herself to within an inch of her life before getting dressed although she’d taken a bath at Ann Marie’s house the evening before. They all had – Jem, Emmy and Ivy. It was so much easier than having to haul water. Jem had examined the plumbing with great satisfaction, promising Ivy that they would have the self-same luxury some day.

  She walked closer to the mirror and examined her face. She’d followed all of the instructions Betty Armstrong had given her about the care of her skin and such. She looked good if she did say so herself.

  “Aunty Ivy!” A sharp rap of knuckles on the outside front door sounded. Emmy had become impatient.

  “Miss Emmy, good morning.” Ivy opened her door and smiled down at the little girl dancing in place. “Where is your new coat?”

  Emmy was wearing a green dress that Ivy had run up on the machine, the colour exactly matching her eyes. Ivy had knit the white cardigan the little girl was wearing and embroidered it with a border of forget-me-not flowers and green vines.

  “My friend Biddy says I can’t wear blue and green together.” Emmy stared up at Ivy, worry in her eyes. “Biddy says it’s wrong.”

  “Come in a minute while I finish getting ready.” Ivy was heartily sick of hearing ‘Biddy says’.

  “Why is it wrong, Aunty Ivy?” Emmy followed at Ivy’s heels, sure her aunt would have the answer to her problem. She loved her new velvet coat and hat and wanted to wear them today.

  “It’s not wrong.” Ivy was standing at her kitchen table checking that she had a clean handkerchief in her black leather handbag. She was more accustomed to shoving everything she might need into her coat pockets. It was a worry to make sure the darn handbag was packed with everything she might need through the day but Ann Marie insisted she carry one. “Biddy is probably thinking of the rhyme ‘Blue and green should never be seen except on a gypsy or a fairy queen’.” Ivy chanted the old rhyme. She dropped the bag on the table, took Emmy by the shoulders and smiled into her eyes. “If Biddy isn’t happy with your green dress and blue coat you can tell her I said you, Miss Emmy Ryan, are a fairy queen.”

  “I think I might like being a fairy queen.” The young girl had known her Aunty Ivy would have the answer to her problem. Then she whispered, “But, Aunty Ivy, Uncle Jem is worried about something I don’t understand.”

  “Today is a holiday, Emmy. We’re going to have a lovely day and leave all our troubles behind us – your Uncle
Jem will too.” Ivy knew Jem was worried – so was she but there was nothing anyone could do at the moment.

  It was Easter Sunday, a very important day in the Irish calendar. There was to be a march and gathering in the Phoenix Park that afternoon. Jem had orders for every carriage he could find to carry people to the Park. Tempers were still running high since the rebellion of 1916 – today was the ten-year anniversary. Jem thought there was going to be trouble. He was worried for the safety of his drivers and horses. He’d ordered the men to drop their fares at the Phoenix Park and retreat to the nearby Kingsbridge railway station. He was leaving it up to each man to judge for himself how safe it was to wait around to pick up fares. At the first sign of trouble all of the men were ordered to return to the livery.

  Ivy kissed Emmy on the nose and stood to fetch her good beige cashmere coat from the nail on the wall. She pushed her arms into the coat sleeves, picked her beige cloche hat from another nail and walked over to the mirror to finish dressing. She hated to cover her new outfit completely but it was too early in the year to walk out in her figure.

  “Right.” She stood for a moment, checking to make sure she’d remembered everything she needed to do before leaving the house. She’d banked the fire, emptied the slop from the po and basin, locked the back door and given the room a quick clean. If she’d forgotten anything she couldn’t think of it right now. “Let’s be about our business, Miss Ryan.” She took Emmy’s hand and with a spring in her step prepared to enjoy her day off.