Ivy pushed the paper and pencil away from her. It was obvious neither of them was in the mood to write such an important letter tonight. She pushed her chair back from the kitchen table slightly, opened the drawer underneath the rim of the table and removed the big brown envelope from Shay.
Jem returned. “I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t take out my frustrations on you.” He was trying to keep his eyes away from Ivy’s top half covered only by a man’s shirt. What kind of man was he that he had to fight the urges of his own body at a time like this? When he knew the poor woman was injured? He gritted his teeth and removed his eyes from temptation.
“This is hard for everyone.” Ivy’s head was reeling from the shocks of the day and her body ached. They both needed something to distract them and she had the very thing. The photographs and letter in the envelope – photographs of her Shay standing beside the likes of Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford – women she’d only ever seen at the fillums. She’d come over all funny when she’d seen them.
Jem joined her at the table.
“I got a letter from Shay today,” she told him. She pushed one of the large black-and-white photographs across the table.
“Are me eyes deceiving me?” Jem lifted his eyes from the photograph to stare across the table at Ivy. “Is that who I think it is?” He returned his eyes to the photograph.
“Me baby brother consorting with fillum stars.” Ivy was glad to see the shadows leave Jem’s face. “Would you credit it?”
“It looks like he landed in the gravy.”
“He says in his letter that the place, Hollywood, is a wonder to behold. Everyone has their own private swimming pool if you wouldn’t be minding.”
“Go ’way!” Jem took the second photograph she passed him – right enough Shay was standing grinning by the side of a pool. “Them women aren’t wearing very much, are they?”
“Them’s the latest in swimwear, I’ll have you know.” Ivy was delighted with Jem’s reaction. She’d almost had to pick her own chin up from the floor. “Shay says the whole place is in an uproar because of these new talking pictures. He says some of those famous people we’ve looked at over the years have voices that would peel paint.”
“Go ’way!” Jem took the next picture – it showed Shay on the ship that had carried him to America. “What’s the world coming to?” He accepted another photograph. The glamour of Shay’s surroundings aboard ship was breathtaking. “You and me, Ivy, we’re only in the ha’penny place.”
“I don’t know, Jem,” Ivy said slowly. “Them photographs are lovely. I was thrilled to get them – see what me baby brother is up to – but in his letter Shay says his nerves are shot because he’s afraid to say a word out of place. I wouldn’t like to live like that.”
“Still and all, Ivy, it’s far from it we were raised.” Jem was still looking at the photographs on the table in front of him, wondering if he should have encouraged her to go with her brother. Lord knew what was going to happen after he met with O’Connor.
“That’s the truth.” Ivy picked up the photographs and put them back in the envelope. “I’ll put the kettle on.” She was looking down at the drawer she’d opened.
“Do you have a jumper or something you can put on over that shirt, Ivy?” He couldn’t take Ivy walking around the place like that.
Ivy looked down at her chest. Merciful Jesus, she’d been sitting here half naked. You could nearly see through the old shirt she was wearing. “Close your eyes, Jem Ryan.” She jumped away from the table like a scalded cat, ignoring the pain that stabbed through her back and upper arms.
She went and dropped to her knees beside her bed. She pulled the first jumper she felt out from underneath. Without checking she pushed her head and arms into the garment. She looked down at her chest – wonderful – it was one of the jumpers she used for sleeping in. It would have to do. She was covered at least. “I’m decent,” she said.
“Ivy,” Jem turned to watch her put the kettle on, “you know we talked about turning the end of the livery into something like the carriage house?”
“Yes.” She filled her black kettle from the reservoir in her range. She gritted her teeth at the stab of pain at her movements. She’d need to brew up another batch of that tisane.
“I don’t think we can do it,” Jem said very softly. It broke his heart that he couldn’t offer her the best of everything. Look what she would have had if she’d gone with her brother.
“Why not?” Ivy stood with her hand on the tall handle of the black kettle. She was feeling too hot and bothered to walk over and join him at the table. Besides, sitting hurt a lot more than standing at the moment.
“Well, with the sudden appearance of Emmy’s father,” Jem struggled to explain the fears that kept him awake at night, “I’ve been doing me sums. I’ve paid back a lot of the money I spent and with the way the business is going I’ll be able to pay the rest back. But I’d have to use O’Connor’s money to pay for the work on the livery. I don’t want to spend any more of that money, Ivy.”
“That makes sense to me.” The idea of living in a fancy place had never seemed real to Ivy. But it would have been lovely to have indoor plumbing. “It won’t kill us to start our married life in these two rooms. It’s more than a lot of people have to start off.” She didn’t turn to face him. She didn’t want him to see the disappointment on her face. He was a good man and she certainly had more than most.
“I bought the marriage licence this morning,” Jem said softly.
“You what!” She did turn to look at him then.
“I bought the licence,” Jem repeated. “With everything that went on today I wasn’t going to tell you. Do you still want to marry me?”
“Of –” she started to answer just as a frantic rapping sounded on her back door.
“Aunty Ivy!” Emmy’s voice carried into the room. “Uncle Jem! I’m hungry!”
“Of course I want to marry you,” Ivy snapped while walking carefully over to let the little girl in.
“I could be in a lot of trouble, love. And I won’t be able to offer you the kind of home I hoped for. It’s not exactly high romance.”
Emmy ran towards him and crawled up onto his lap.
“It’s us,” Ivy closed her back door and looked down at the man and child, “in me kitchen with the kettle on and a hungry child to feed. It suits us, Jem. We don’t need swimming pools.”
“Can you feed a hungry man as well?” He looked into her pale face and changed his mind. She didn’t need to be feeding other people right now. She was in pain and it showed.
“Well . . .” Ivy looked around, frantically trying to think what she had on hand. She hadn’t planned on feeding anyone this evening.
“I’ll tell you what,” Jem jumped up with Emmy in his arms, “I’ll pull the kettle off the fire. You might want to change out of that jumper. We’ll all go for an evening stroll and buy thruppence worth of fish and chips.” He didn’t care what jumper Ivy wore but he knew she would. “Do you feel up to doing that, love?”
“Yeah!” Emmy clapped.
“I’ll change me jumper and get me coat,” Ivy said. She’d be glad of the chance to walk out in the evening air. Maybe that would relieve some of the pain in her back and arms. She’d drink the tisane before she went to bed. “See, Jem, this is us – fish and chips in newspaper and back here for a pot of tea. Yeh can’t beat it.”
Chapter 35
“Mr O’Connor.” Jem shook the hand of the man standing in front of him. He could see Emmy in the man’s face. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” There was a slight resemblance between the two men. They were both tall with green eyes. O’Connor had the blue-black hair of the Irish while Jem’s hair was burnished with mahogany fire. They were both dressed in dark-grey suits and brilliantly white shirts. Jem wore the green silk tie Ann Marie had given him while O’Connor’s tie was blue with a diamond pin embedded into the silk. Jem had passed his overcoat, hat and gloves to the valet manning the cl
oakroom. He’d held on to his leather briefcase.
“I’m always ready to discuss financial opportunities.” Edward O’Connor examined the man in front of him. His letter had aroused his curiosity but it was the mention of Miss Ann Marie Gannon that had secured this interview. The woman intrigued him. “Come, we can discuss business over a whiskey.” Edward led the way into the lounge of his club.
Jem followed, knowing Ivy and Ann Marie would want a description of everything about this elite men’s club. The Hibernian Club was a well-known Dublin landmark. O’Connor was staying at his family suite. Jem was going to disappoint the ladies. He couldn’t describe his surroundings to save his life. All he could see was O’Connor, the man with the power to destroy his life. He sank into the deep button-back dark-green leather Chesterfield chair across a table from O’Connor, glad to get his weight off his shaking knees. He put his briefcase on the floor by his chair and watched while the man ordered whiskey from the uniformed servant who’d rushed to his side.
“That is not a Dublin accent,” Edward said while they waited for their drinks to be served.
“I’m from Sligo.” Jem felt sweat trickle down his back when they started to chit-chat about the prominent families of Galway and Sligo. They knew some of the same people. He didn’t mention he knew them from pulling his forelock when the gentry passed his family farm in their carriages. He could keep up his end of the conversation, remembering the gossip his mother loved to share about the local gentry.
“I haven’t been back home in so long.” Edward stared around the woodlined room, his thoughts miles away. “I hadn’t intended to stay away this long,” he muttered practically under his breath.
The arrival of the servant with a silver salver bearing a whiskey decanter and glasses broke the silence that had fallen.
“We will serve ourselves.”
The servant withdrew.
“Right, to business,” Edward said when both men had glasses of fine Irish whiskey in hand. “What was it you wanted to discuss with me?”
Jem gulped the whiskey, trying to find his courage. He had tried to plan what he would say to the man. Sitting here in the lounge of a club he’d never dreamed to enter, with the man himself examining him with cool green eyes, his mouth dried up. The man across from him waited patiently, seeming to have all the time in the world.
“Mr O’Connor . . .”
“Edward, please.”
Jesus, could it get any worse, Jem thought. “Edward, I’m afraid I asked to see you under false pretences.” That sounded about right to his ears.
Edward said nothing while he watched the man across from him place his glass on the table with shaking hands. There was a bloom of sweat on his face. It wasn’t that warm in this room.
“Mr O’Connor . . .” Jem tried again.
“What is it you want from me, Ryan?” Edward didn’t have all day to wait for this man to make his appeal. It wasn’t the first time he’d been approached for money. He was surprised and disappointed that Ann Marie Gannon would have a part in this situation.
“I want to talk about your daughter Emerald,” Jem managed to blurt out.
“How dare you, sir!” Edward slammed his glass down. He stood to lean over the table, glaring at the man who dared to mention his beloved Emerald. “My daughter is dead and no concern of yours.”
“Wait!” Jem stood and faced the man. “Please, sit down, please.” He was shaking. Dear Sweet Jesus, the man believed his child had died.
“I –”
“I’m begging you, sir, sit down.” Jem became aware of the glances they were attracting. What in the name of God was he going to do now?
“You have two minutes.” Edward also was aware of the attention they were attracting. He took his seat again.
“You have no reason in the world to trust me.” Jem refilled their whiskey glasses. They were going to need another drink. “I’m asking you as Emerald’s father to listen. I swear to you that I am not trying to deceive or con you.”
“Speak.”
“Your daughter, Emerald, is not dead.”
Jem had been expecting the punch in the face. He’d allow the man one free shot. He pushed O’Connor back into his seat with one hand while struggling to open his briefcase with the other. He was aware of the outraged gasps around the room but didn’t care. The servant hurried over to their table, calming agitated club members along the way.
“We really cannot allow fisticuffs in this club,” the servant stated when he reached their table.
“Leave us!” O’Connor waved the man away.
Jem slapped the photograph of Emmy he’d taken from his briefcase down on the table. He was glad he’d asked Ann Marie for copies. The photograph showed Emmy on a flower-bedecked swing, a smile almost splitting her face. “We need to talk.”
“How . . .?” Edward caressed the face in the photograph with shaking fingers.
“If Mary Rose Donnelly were not dead I’d kill her myself,” Edward O’Connor bit out.
“I didn’t kill her.” Jem wanted to get that very important point across. He’d talked till he was hoarse.
“I received a letter from a Bishop Troy informing me of my daughter’s sudden tragic death from meningitis –” He had to stop. He couldn’t believe what this man was telling him. “My father, the letter continued, had a seizure at the news.” He bit back the rest of the words. No need to tell this man of his family’s problems. “It was too late for me to do anything. My daughter was gone.” He’d accepted the news, feeling it was God’s judgement on him.
“You have no reason to take the word of a stranger.” Jem took the journal he’d marked from his briefcase. He pushed it across the table in O’Connor’s direction. He might be the one who had taken a punch to the jaw but O’Connor looked like a man reeling from one too many punches at the moment. “I’ve marked the passages that mention Emerald and yourself.” He held the book open at the place he’d marked. “I believe you need to read this for yourself.”
O’Connor leaned over the table, reading from the open page. “My God, the woman hated me and mine.”
“No,” Jem too leaned in, “she wanted what you had offered her younger sister.” He’d read all of the journal.
“How did she think to get away with this?” Edward waved a hand at the page that described her plans for Emerald.
“It would appear she did get away with it.”
“I returned home. I closed up my house, put a black ribbon on the door and haven’t been back since. I visit my family estate of course.” He rarely made the time to visit his family. Seeing his father so reduced and his eldest brother happy in his life of the landed gentry with his young family around him hurt too much.
Edward continued to read the vitriol that bled over the pages.
“I have a great deal of precious jewels and metal that belong to you,” Jem said when O’Connor finally slammed the journal shut. He went on to describe the goods they had removed from the aunt’s luggage.
“Dear God above!” Edward recognised the goods being mentioned. He’d inherited the snuff boxes from his maternal grandfather. “The woman cleaned out my vault. How on earth did she get the combination to the safe?”
“The items are in a safe-deposit box at the bank.” Jem took a deep breath. “The cash money, however . . .” His mouth dried as he thought of the amount of this man’s money he’d spent.
“I don’t care.” Edward couldn’t talk about money right now. “I want to know about my daughter, my Emerald. Where is she?”
“At school at the moment.”
“You have had her all of this time?”
“Yes, I couldn’t allow her to be placed in a home.” Jem stared at the other man. He knew everything now. Jem’s fate was in his hands. “I didn’t know what to do for the best. I’m sorry. I never thought you might be told that she had died.” He didn’t mention how many times he’d cursed the man for his neglect of his child.
“Who could think something
so monstrous?” Edward wanted to run to this school and snatch his child up. But what could he do with her? “I need to find a nanny and rooms to rent.” He looked around with unseeing eyes. “This is a gentlemen’s establishment. There is no place for a child here.”
Jem felt his heart break. This man had found his child but Jem was about to lose his.
“Let us go to this school and get my daughter.” Edward was consumed with the need to see his child, touch her, watch her breathe. He was a man released from a living nightmare.
“Emmy won’t thank you for removing her early from class,” Jem said sadly. “She takes her education very seriously.”
“Emmy?” Edward queried.
“Miss Emmy Ryan.” Jem packed the items he’d removed back into his briefcase. “I let it be known she was my niece. I had to call her something.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Edward stood. “Come, man. I want to see my child.”
The two men, dressed in their overcoats, hats and gloves, stepped out of the club. They walked in the direction of Stephen’s Green.
Jem felt his heart was bleeding with every step. “I haven’t been able to offer Emmy luxury,” he said as they walked, long strides matching. “I appreciate I have no rights where the child is concerned but would you consider leaving her in my care until you have settled the matter of her future?” He prayed the man would at least consider leaving Emmy with him for a while longer. After all, he couldn’t take the child to his club – he’d said so himself.
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 18
