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

by Gemma Jackson

  It was Tuesday, the Easter weekend behind them. She felt as if she hadn’t had time to take a deep breath since looking at the captured image of Edward O’Connor. She’d had to hide her fear and worry. Jem was worried enough for both of them.

  ‘Granny, them books of cures and potions you left me were worth their weight in gold this weekend.’

  Jem had been called back to the street party as his men had returned to the livery. You could see some of the tension drain from him as each man brought his carriage back safely, but some of his drivers had been caught up in the trouble that exploded in the Phoenix Park in spite of all of his precautions. Ivy sighed now, thinking of the battered and bruised men sitting around the cobbled courtyard telling their tales of woe to a fascinated audience. ‘I had to brew up a big batch of those herbal remedies of yours, Granny, to relieve pain. I owe Jem a block of lanolin. I had to borrow it to make your nettle and dandelion cream. At least the men had the sense to leave the horses and their carriages at a safe distance from the trouble in the Park.’

  She blessed herself and turned to leave the church. Once out of the lane that ran alongside Grafton Street she turned in the direction of home.

  She wanted to talk to Jem. He had gone to the bank to retrieve those journals of the aunt’s. He must be back by now. They had spent Easter Monday trying to snatch a moment to discuss the urgent matter of Emmy’s future but it seemed everyone needed to have a word with one or the other of them. It had been impossible to find a moment of peace. Emmy had turned clingy and tearful. It had taken both of them to reassure the little girl.

  Then this morning Geraldine Harrington had telephoned, looking for Ivy. The Grafton Street toy shop had sold all of the Alice dolls. The baby dolls had sold out too. Ivy had packed up the few Alice dolls she had on hand and delivered them to the shop. She’d deposited the cheque she received. The longing to light a few candles had tempted her into the church off Grafton Street. She walked along now, thinking of all she needed to get done. She had to talk to Hannah and the Lawless family – more dressed dolls were needed. Ivy’s sigh almost shook her body. It seemed no matter where she went she took her worries with her.

  She walked past the Park and towards the Stephen’s Lane entrance into The Lane. With her mind busy she strolled into the tunnel, blinking at the absence of light for a moment. It was a quick walk through to the other side and into The Lane. She was surprised to hear what sounded like Liam’s dogs barking wildly – the animals were usually better behaved than that. She couldn’t see into the courtyard of The Lane from this angle so she hurried her steps, anxious to see what was going on.

  “Miss Murphy!” the postman, standing on the pavement outside Wilson’s house, shouted as soon as he saw her. He began searching in his big canvas bag.

  “Have you something for me?” Ivy called out. Her heart began to beat double time, all thoughts of the barking dogs going out of her head. She’d been expecting a letter from her brother Shay. Was this the day?

  “I have, Miss Murphy.” The door opened at the postman’s back and Old Man Wilson stood in the opening, responding to the postman’s knock.

  Ivy didn’t notice him as she hurried over to stand in front of the postman, almost dancing with impatience.

  “Miss Murphy, is it?”

  The sound of her name was accompanied by a burning pain across her back.

  “Harlot is more like! Sinner, showing her legs to the world, cutting her hair, shameless!”

  Another blinding pain pushed Ivy off her feet. She dropped her handbag, falling forward against the postman and pushing him back into Frank Wilson who was forced back a step into his own hallway.

  “I didn’t see you taking Communion in the Holy Season of Lent!”

  Another flash of pain almost brought Ivy to her knees but she was determined not to collapse. She would not kneel before her tormentor.

  “You weren’t at the Stations of the Cross either, you spawn of the devil!” Father Leary raised his walking stick to administer another blow to Ivy’s back.

  “Enough.” Frank Wilson stepped around the postman and Ivy. Strong workworn hands grabbed onto the priest’s wrist in mid-air, stopping the man from administering another of his wicked blows.

  “Unhand me!” Father Leary couldn’t believe that anyone dared to lay hands on him. He was a man of God. “I will beat the devil out of that sinner. She should not be allowed to go about in the company of God’s children.”

  “If there is a sinner here,” Frank Wilson whispered into the priest’s sweating face, “I know who it is and it’s not that poor innocent woman.” He gave the hand he was holding a shake before forcing it down to the parish priest’s side. “You had better be on your way now before I parade a few of your sins to the fascinated listeners.”

  The people of The Lane had disappeared at the first shout from their parish priest, none of them wishing to run afoul of the man. They were watching and listening though. Ivy had one hand on the lintel of Wilson’s front door, determined to remain on her feet and appear unaffected by the pain burning her back. Tim Allen the postman was leaning on the opposite lintel in a state of shock.

  “How dare you – you a failed Catholic dare to lay hands on me – a man of God?”

  “I don’t know what God would choose you to represent him.” Frank Wilson was walking the priest out of The Lane by the powerful grip he had on the man’s elbow. “You think no-one noticed the way you looked at that little girl’s mother – brushing up against the woman – panting after her like a dirty dog.” Frank shook the priest’s obese body. “It wasn’t as a man of God you looked and lusted after her.” He squeezed the elbow he held with enough force to cause pain. “It’s your own sin you see when you look at Ivy Murphy. You lusted after Violet Burton – everyone knew it except her poor fool of a husband. Well, you won’t abuse her daughter – not in front of me.”

  They had reached the tunnel exit leading onto the Grand Canal. Frank snapped his mouth closed. He didn’t want his words echoing around the place. He marched Father Leary out of The Lane and barely resisted putting the toe of his boot to the man’s arse.

  Ivy was having a hard time believing her eyes. Frank Wilson was marching Father Leary out of The Lane and there wasn’t a one objecting. She was shivering with delayed shock. The priest would not take this insult lying down. He’d find a way of making Ivy pay.

  “I’d think twice about spreading any of your poison in here again,” Frank shook his finger in the priest’s face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the heavy wooden walking stick being raised. “I dare yeh,” he spat and waited. He wasn’t a girl standing with her back to him.

  “You are going straight to Hell, Frank Wilson, for daring to lay hands on a man of God.” Father Leary was shaking. It was that harlot’s fault. Ivy Murphy, she was the cause of this trouble.

  “I’ll be sure to save you a seat if I get there before you.” Frank Wilson turned his back on the other man half hoping he’d try and hit him. He’d like an excuse to punch him in his sanctimonious face. When nothing happened he sighed and continued walking back to his own home.

  “Are you alright?” Tim Allen, the postman, asked Ivy. He was still shaking. He had never seen anything like it in his life. That priest had appeared out of nowhere and attacked without warning. He hadn’t known what to do.

  “I’m fine,” Ivy replied as she picked up her handbag, still watching her neighbour. She’d never expected help from that quarter. Her back and shoulders were burning. “You called my name, Tim?” She had no wish to discuss the priest’s actions. “Do you have post for me?”

  “My Lord!” The postman hit his own forehead and returned to rooting in his large sack. “I’ve a big envelope for you, Miss Murphy.” He pulled a large well-stuffed brown envelope from his sack with a grin. “This here has come all the way from America.”

  At the word ‘America’ Ivy turned her full attention to the postman. “Oh!” She grabbed at the envelope but the postman pulled i
t back.

  “You have to sign for it,” Tim Allen said. “I can’t give it to you until you sign for it.”

  “You had better come inside and do that very thing.” Frank Wilson had come to stand behind them. “You knocked on my door, postman. I’m assuming you have something in your sack for my attention?” He didn’t want to think about the trouble that was going to fall on his head for manhandling a priest. He’d do it again. He wouldn’t stand by and see a man abuse a woman no matter what kind of collar he wore.

  Jem Ryan turned his automobile onto Kildare Street. It was a beautiful bright spring day. He’d been to the bank and removed the journals from the safe-deposit box. He hadn’t bothered rereading any of the vitriol written within the pages. He remembered well the words written in those books. While he was out and about he’d taken the time to visit the registry office. He had a crisp new marriage licence in his pocket. He was going to carry that licence next to his heart like a good luck charm.

  He’d take his vehicle to the carriage house and leave it there. He could walk back over to The Lane. He planned to tell Ann Marie the truth about Emmy. He needed to know where O’Connor was staying. He was sure Ann Marie’s aunt would know the whereabouts of an eligible gentleman. The Dublin social scene was a small closed club. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out the man’s whereabouts. His mind was spinning with worry and doubts while his eyes kept close watch on the wide road. The stretch of road always seemed to be full of school children and college students visiting the museums.

  “In the name of God, what now?” Jem moved the car carefully towards the pavement. He opened the driver’s door and stepped out into the street without looking. He ignored the angry bleats of horns and the shouted abuse from carriage drivers. All of his attention was focused on the bike-rider peddling frantically along the pavement in his direction. A little dark-haired girl clung to the bike-rider’s back, screaming madly.

  He stepped up onto the pavement and stood with his hands in the air, shouting, “Stop!”

  The pair on the bike almost tumbled to the ground, their shock was so great. Jem caught the bike in one hand and with the other removed his white-faced, sweating niece from the pillion seat. Emmy almost climbed up his body. She got such a tight hold around his neck he was in danger of suffocating.

  “What in the name of God do you think you are up to, Conn Connelly?” Jem barked while trying to loosen Emmy’s grip. How dare this young man endanger his niece – what was he doing taking Emmy out with him anyway?

  “Ivy . . .” Conn couldn’t believe they had actually found Jem. He hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d grabbed the bike from its stand outside the livery. What he’d witnessed the priest do to Ivy had panicked him completely. All he could think about was getting to Jem. Ivy needed him. Emmy had seen him take the bike – she’d demanded to come with him. He had pulled her up on the bike without really thinking about it. He couldn’t believe they had bumped into Jem minutes away from The Lane.

  “He was hitting her with a big walking stick, Uncle Jem!” Emmy pushed her head away from Jem’s chest to say.

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Father Leary.” Conn watched Jem turn back to his car at the mention of the priest’s name. “Wait! He’s gone.” He grabbed at Jem’s arm. The man could have an accident if he drove off in a fury.

  “Where is Ivy now?”

  “In Old Man Wilson’s place,” Conn said.

  “She’s where?” Jem couldn’t get his mind around this. “Never mind. Conn, take the bike back. I’ll take Emmy with me. No doubt she can fill me in on what’s been happening.”

  Jem put Emmy in the passenger seat and hurried to get behind the wheel. He had to get back to The Lane and see Ivy with his own eyes. They drove off.

  “Tell me what happened, love,” said Jem.

  “The priest was shouting at the sad boy.” Emmy never called Liam Connelly by name. He was always ‘the sad boy’ to her. “I heard him, Uncle Jem – everyone could hear him shouting. The sad boy just stood there with his head down.” Emmy hadn’t liked to see that. “Conn let the dogs out.” She hunched down in the seat. It was important to get the story just right. She had to tell her Uncle Jem what had happened. The dogs appeared on the stage with Liam. They were part of his act and they loved him. They hadn’t liked the priest and started to bark and yap at him, running around his legs. “The priest tried to hit the dogs with his stick but they ran away.”

  “Yes . . . and then what happened?” Jem urged her.

  “Then Aunty Ivy came home,” Emmy whispered, her voice shaking.

  “What happened?” Jem had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

  “The priest heard the postman calling to Aunty Ivy. He held up his stick and ran up behind her.” She had thought it was funny watching the fat man run at first. “He hit Aunty Ivy, Uncle Jem, real hard, with his big stick.”

  Jem was concentrating on driving his car through the tunnel leading from Stephen’s Lane. The tunnel opened up onto a wild area of green growth that led to the gable end of his livery and Old Man Wilson’s house. He pulled the car to a stop before Wilson’s door, jumped out of the vehicle and began banging with his fist against the closed wooden door.

  “That will be your knight in shining armour,” Frank Wilson remarked.

  Ivy hadn’t yet recovered from the parish priest’s vicious attack. Mr Wilson had made her a pot of tea to help settle her nerves. She was sitting in a deep wooden chair clutching the unopened envelope from Shay to her chest. The soft cushion of the chair at her back was a blessing. The area Father Leary had beaten was throbbing and had begun to sting something awful.

  “You drink your tea.” Frank Wilson wanted a word with Jem Ryan. “I’ll open the door to him.”

  Ivy was glad the old man had left the room. She needed to stand up. Her back and the tops of her arms were on fire. She slid her precious envelope in beside her and then used the wooden arms of the chair to push herself painfully to her feet. The furniture in this room was beautiful and all hand-carved. The walls were covered in cupboards from floor to ceiling. Each cupboard had a carved double door over it. There were fairies and unicorns in magical landscapes carved into each door. Stifling groans of pain, she admired the room.

  On one side of the chimney breast there was a sink with taps and running water. On the other side there was a freestanding gas cooker. She’d never seen one before. She’d watched carefully as Mr Wilson put the kettle on over the blue flames to boil. The water seemed to come to the boil with a speed that left her gasping. She’d been able to use the indoor toilet when Mr Wilson pointed it out to her. She could never have imagined wonders like this behind Old Man Wilson’s door.

  “You need to get that woman of yours before the altar of God,” Frank Wilson was telling Jem. “That priest needs to have his horns pulled in – I can’t think of anything that would work as well as having a man at her back to protect her.”

  “I want to see Ivy.” Jem’s big hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. He wanted to punch something.

  “You can leave your automobile there for a minute.” Frank was looking around the courtyard. The neighbours had come back out. There were groups of women standing around the courtyard gossiping. “Send the little one away to play with the dogs,” he suggested. The dogs were running wild with excited children chasing them. “Give Ivy a few more minutes to recover.” He turned back into his home, leaving the door open at his back. He expected to be obeyed.

  Jem went around to the passenger side of his vehicle. “Emmy, I want you to run into the livery.”

  “No, I’m staying with you.”

  “Emmy, listen to me.” Jem bent at the knee. “I need your help now.” He stared into her eyes, willing her to agree. He did not want her around while he questioned Ivy.

  “What do you want me to do?” Emmy could tell she wasn’t going to win this argument.

  “I want you to run into the livery and g
et one of the lads to watch my automobile. I don’t want anyone putting their fingers all over it. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think you should help Conn gather up all of those dogs before someone gets hurt. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” Jem ignored the shouts of his name from the women gathered around. “Go on now. I’m going to have a cup of tea and I’ll see you in a little while.” He stood and waited while Emmy ran off before making his way to Wilson’s door. He stepped inside, closing the door at his back.

  “We’re in here,” Frank Wilson came to stand in the door of his living room. He kept two rooms in the house for his own use. The rest of the house he’d set up into rental units.

  “Ivy!” Jem dropped to his knees by the side of the chair Ivy was sitting in. She leaned forward slowly and without saying a word dropped her head onto his shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. He moved to pat her back.

  “Don’t.” Frank Wilson had seen what Jem was about to do. He grabbed hold of Jem’s wrist and stopped him. “I would imagine her back is burning like the fires of Hell for all she keeps telling me she’s fine.” Frank let go and turned away to make tea.

  “Ivy, is it true? Emmy says Father Leary hit you with his walking stick – did he?”

  “It’s true right enough,” Frank Wilson answered when Ivy made no attempt to answer, “and more than once.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” Jem stood upright when Ivy leaned away from him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was afraid to touch her in case he hurt her. “He can’t be allowed to get away with something like this.”