“I can’t believe that your presence in Number 8,” Ivy always referred to the houses on the Square by their number, “increased the number of staff needed to keep the house running.”
“It would appear my aunt disagrees.” Ann Marie had made a monthly financial contribution to her uncle’s accounts while she’d lived in his home.
“Has your aunt mentioned which members of staff she’s thinking of laying off?” Ivy knew all of the people employed in and around the Square. It was a tragedy for a house servant to be let go. The person lost not only their post but the roof over their head, the clothes on their back, and the food that formed part of their wages.
“I haven’t dared to ask her.”
“She’d hardly let auld Foster,” Ivy was referring to the Gannon butler, “or Mrs Reilly go. Mrs Reilly is one of the best housekeepers on the Square. She could walk into another job tomorrow.”
“I doubt my aunt would dismiss the top members of her staff.” Ann Marie was more aware of the hardship people faced, thanks to Ivy. “Oh, Ivy,” she almost sobbed, “what if I’ve caused Mary Coates to lose her position? She is such a pleasant, obliging young woman.” Mary Coates was one of the upstairs maids working in the Gannon household.
“Why don’t you employ Mary Coates yourself?” Ivy suggested. “The woman has been taking care of you for the last couple of years.” Ann Marie had moved into her uncle’s home upon the death of both her parents in a flu epidemic.
“Ivy,” Ann Marie shook her head, “I don’t wish to be surrounded by servants any longer. I want to be able to sit down in my own home without having someone appearing at my elbow to ask if they can serve me. Surely that is not unusual.”
“Never having been surrounded by servants I wouldn’t know.” Ivy grinned, knowing her answer would annoy Ann Marie.
“Ivy, I’m serious.” Ann Marie grimaced. “I hate to think I’m responsible for someone losing their position.” She sipped the unwanted tea.
“What about your family estate in Dalkey?” Ivy had been taken to see the estate by Ann Marie. The house looked like a castle to Ivy’s eyes. The house was huge, sitting high on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The house had stood empty while Ann Marie rented rooms from her uncle.
“What about it?” Ann Marie didn’t want to admit aloud that she wished to remain in the centre of Dublin because of Ivy and the motley crew of interesting people she’d introduced her to. She didn’t want to be sequestered on her own in the country. She wanted to be a part of the life Ivy was building. She found the whole experience fascinating. She was observing life in a way the people of her social set could never conceive of.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ivy almost whispered. Sitting alone almost every night doing handwork left her with a lot of time to think.
“As Jem Ryan would say, ‘Look out!’” Ann Marie laughed aloud.
“That estate of yours in Dalkey is something else.” Ivy’s eyes had almost fallen out of her head when Ann Marie turned her motor vehicle in through the enormous iron gates that guarded the entrance to the estate and she’d bit her lips until they almost bled trying to keep her opinion to herself. “You can’t let it fall into disrepair, Ann Marie. What would your parents think?”
“I have a team of grounds men who look after the place,” Ann Marie said. The estate had been in Ann Marie’s mother’s family for generations. She was the last of that line and very conscious of her responsibilities.
“It’s not the same thing, Ann Marie, and you know it.” Ivy couldn’t imagine paying people to look after an empty house.
“You think I should visit the estate more?” Ann Marie took her beige leather clutch-purse from one of the deep pockets of her skirt, opened it and removed her solid-gold cigarette case. “Will you have a cigarette, Ivy?” She took out and assembled the pieces of her long ivory, gold and ebony cigarette-holder. She took a cigarette from her gold case and inserted it into the holder before looking up at Ivy who’d stood to fetch yet another cup of tea.
“No, thanks.” Ivy had never taken up smoking. Cigarettes cost money she didn’t have.
“Do you have something I can use as an ashtray?” Ann Marie looked around as if expecting the ashtray to appear from thin air.
“Here.” Ivy put a chipped saucer on the table. “Ann Marie, I understand that the estate is too far outside the city for you.” She knew just how awful it was to live alone. She was surrounded by people and knew she could knock on any of the neighbours’ doors and be invited inside to visit. The regular story nights too helped keep loneliness at bay. She couldn’t imagine living in the country with only the wind and the sound of the ocean for company.
“What were you thinking about?” Ann Marie allowed Ivy to top up her tea. She knew Ivy had a plan of some kind. The woman seemed to be constantly dreaming up new ways of doing things. Ivy had been left alone and responsible for her family at a young age. Ann Marie believed the lack of ground rules had liberated Ivy in a way that was difficult to understand.
“Your estate in Dalkey is the most magical place I’ve ever seen,” Ivy said. “It’s like something out of a story. The grounds look like a park, the fruit trees and gardens are out of this world.”
“And?” Ann Marie knew there was more to come.
“Well . . .” Ivy sipped her tea, trying to organise her thoughts. The ghost of an idea was beginning to nibble on the corners of her mind. She needed more time to think about the situation. Ann Marie dropping in to visit plus seeing young Seán the other day had put an idea into Ivy’s head but she hadn’t had time to work it all out yet.
“Spit it out, Ivy.” Ann Marie sat with a gold lighter in her hand. She hadn’t yet put a flame to her cigarette. “Whatever it is you’ve got brewing in that head of yours.”
“Well,” Ivy could give her friend a hint, “the charabanc goes from the city centre to Dalkey now, you know. I was just thinking some of the women and childer of The Lane would enjoy seeing those grounds of yours and playing on your strand.” She watched Ann Marie play with the idea. She knew her friend would want to think about her suggestion. They had time: it was too cold and wet for day trips at this time of year.
“I’d have to look into matters before I could comment.” Ann Marie imagined the ragged children she’d seen in The Lane running around her family estate. The image gave her a warm glow of satisfaction.
“Are yeh waiting for someone to light that feckin’ cigarette, Ann Marie?” Ivy remarked.
“Oh.” Ann Marie looked at the lighter in surprise. She had been sitting there expecting someone to light the cigarette. “I forgot it.” She lit the cigarette. She wasn’t going to admit to Ivy she’d been sitting here like a lump on a log waiting for someone else to perform the chore. She’d never hear the end of it. Then she thought of something she needed to let Ivy know. “Before you start lecturing me again, Ivy Murphy,” she said, blowing a plume of smoke into the room, “I should mention I asked Mrs Jones, my aunt’s cook, to stock up on fruit and nuts for Halloween but I’m sorry to say that Foster plans to remove the front-door knocker that evening.”
“That’s just like that miserable auld geezer.” Ivy wasn’t surprised. It was something a lot of the houses on the Square did. “You’d think he was paying for the stuff himself. Halloween is one of the best street parties we have here in The Lane. You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”
Ivy was sure Ann Marie had invitations to fancy parties around the city but for some unknown reason the woman preferred the company of the people of The Lane. She’d always known the rich were different but to Ivy’s mind Ann Marie was in a class all of her own.
“Will I have to brush up on my party piece?” Ann Marie had been to several impromptu street parties this past summer in The Lane. She’d been astonished at the level of talent for entertainment displayed by the entire population of The Lane. She’d even been forced to perform a little ditty of her own.
“Depends on how long you plan on staying.” Ivy shru
gged. “The early evening is for the childer. We have bobbing for apples, games, scary stories and apples on a string. Old Man Solomon brings down his gramophone and some of his records. He plays them while the childer dance and sing.”
Later in the evening the older children would gather in one of the tenement hallways and amuse themselves telling banshee stories and trying to crack the shells on the nuts and coconuts they’d gathered.
“That sounds like fun,” Ann Marie said – far more fun than she’d experience at her aunt’s formal evening of entertainment. “I’ll send some fruit and nuts to you as my contribution but this year I’m afraid I feel obliged to show my face at my aunt’s elegant soirée.”
“That’s a shame.” Ivy shrugged. “You would have enjoyed yourself. It’s a great party. Right, while you’re puffing on that cigarette I’m going to go out and get water. I was on my way out when you knocked. I shouldn’t be too long, but I’m going to lock the back door behind me. I want you to push over the bolt inside the door when I go out. ”
“What’s going on, Ivy?” Ann Marie stood. “Jem almost shoved me down your outside steps and ordered me to stay put. Now, you’re going to lock the door when you’re only stepping out to the tap. What’s wrong?”
“I won’t be long.” Ivy ignored Ann Marie’s question, grabbed her two buckets and stepped outside. She turned and locked the door at her back with her key. She waited until she heard Ann Marie slide the bolt home before walking away.
Chapter 9
Ivy walked down the yard, swinging the buckets. There was no one standing in front of the tap, she was glad to notice. The place seemed deserted which was unusual enough to have her checking over her shoulder. Something wasn’t right. A soft sobbing sound caught her attention. She thought it came from inside the toilet cabin. She filled her two buckets quickly, glancing frequently over her shoulder. The noise continued – she couldn’t just walk away. She left her buckets on the ground by the tap and crept over to the toilet.
She pulled the cracked wooden door of the single toilet open and bit back the scream that jumped to her lips. Ginie Johnson was against the back wall of the toilet, her shoulders shaking. She turned her painted face towards Ivy. The fear in the bruised, swollen face was heartbreaking. She was crouched on the dirty floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, sobs shaking her body.
“Ginie,” Ivy whispered with a fearful look back over her shoulder, “what are yeh doing in here?”
“Have yeh seen our Seán? I can’t find him anywhere.” Ginie ignored Ivy’s shocked reaction. Her son was missing – that was all that mattered. She knew this place was one of Seán’s favourite hidey-holes but he was nowhere to be found.
“Yeh can’t stay in here, Ginie.” Ivy took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come into my place – we’ll have a cup of tea and sort something out.” She thought Seán was probably with the woman in Granny’s old room but the little lad was skilled at finding places to hide – if Seán didn’t want to be found it would take them ages to lay their hands on him. “Let me get sorted and we’ll see what’s what.” Ivy practically pulled Ginie along with her. “I need to get me water buckets.” She grabbed a bucket in each hand and with Ginie trailing like a lost dog after her she made her way to her own back door.
“Ann Marie, open up.” Ivy used the toe of her boot to rap gently on the door.
Ann Marie unbolted the door then stood back as Ivy and a woman unknown to her almost exploded into the room.
“Bolt the door, Ann Marie!” Ivy carried the two buckets over to the range. “I’ve a feeling we’re going to need an ocean of tea.” She emptied one of the water buckets into the reservoir then hurried to fill the kettle. “Ann Marie, meet Ginie Johnson. Her son Seán has gone missing. I’m going to give her a hand looking for him.” Ivy kept her back to the other two. She wondered how Ann Marie would react if she explained that Ginie was the eighteen-year-old prostitute mother of six-year-old Seán. On her eleventh birthday, Ginie Johnson hadn’t got a cheap card and a biscuit. Her eldest brother Declan had taken her down to Monto and sold her.
Ivy looked over her shoulder. The two women were standing frozen, Ginie with her back to the door as if she wanted to run back into the night. She suddenly remembered Ann Marie’s expensive bag and gold case sitting out on the table. Ginie would have them in one of her pockets before you could blink. Ivy didn’t care how rude it appeared. She crossed to the table and with a quick flick of her hand shoved everything back into the bag and the bag into the deep pockets of her worn skirt. No point in leaving temptation lying around.
Ann Marie was incapable of speech. She stared down at the tiny child-sized woman standing in the light cast by the gas globes. Ginie didn’t even stand five feet tall and her body was thin and undernourished. The bird-boned wrists sticking out of the torn dark garment she wore were marked by black-and-blue bruises in the shape of thick fingers.
“Ann Marie is a friend of mine, Ginie,” Ivy said. “Sit down and I’ll get yeh something to eat.” No point in asking if Ginie was hungry.
“I only wanted to know about my Seán.” Ginie looked around like a trapped animal.
Ann Marie thought she was probably scaring the young woman. She hurried back to take a seat at the table with a sigh of relief. She had noticed Ivy removing her belongings but said nothing. This was Ivy’s world.
“Sit down, Ginie.” Ivy ignored Ginie’s obvious reluctance. “I’ll dish yeh up some of me rabbit stew.”
She’d said the magic words: Ginie’s stomach rumbling could be heard and she walked slowly over to sit across the table from Ann Marie.
Ivy got busy, preparing the tea and dishing up an enamel plate of her rabbit stew. The silence between the two women sitting across the table from each other almost hurt her ears.
Ginie glared at the uppity bitch sitting at the table with her. She didn’t know who Ivy Murphy thought she was fooling. Your one might be dressed in a second-hand suit now but Ginie had seen her driving around Dublin in her fancy automobile. Ginie wanted to jump to her feet and run out of this place but the smell of food kept her feet almost nailed to the floor.
“Here.” Ivy put an enamel mug of tea and the brimming plate of stew on the table in front of Ginie. She felt hard-hearted but there was no way she’d allow Genie to break any of her delicate china dishes. “Get that inta yeh.”
“Ta.” Ginie slurped the tea like a dying camel. “Jaysus, Ivy Murphy, there’s milk in here, fresh milk.” She wiped her bruised and bleeding mouth carefully with the back of her hand. She moved to shove the grain-rich stew into her mouth using her fingers but Ivy stopped her, slapping a spoon into her hand before she could blink.
“I went by the creamery this morning.” Ivy grinned. It did her heart good to be able to serve little luxuries to her guests. “Molly Chivers,” she was referring to a neighbour who worked at the local creamery, “gave me a pint extra when Old Man Ivors wasn’t watching.”
“That’s the ticket.” Ginie grinned then winced when her split lip objected to the movement. “If we don’t help each other who will?”
“If that isn’t the God’s honest truth, what is?” Ivy turned back to the black range.
“Merciful Jaysus, this stew is mighty, Ivy!”
Ann Marie had to look away as the young woman crammed the food into her mouth.
“Yeh mustn’t know yer luxury since yer da died.” Ginie opened her mouth wide, displaying the half-mashed food inside.
Ann Marie felt her stomach turn.
“I’ll get yeh more tea,” said Ivy.
Ivy was amused by Ann Marie’s obvious reaction to Ginie’s table manners. What had she expected? Ginie Johnson was one of seventeen children living with a bad egg of a da and a changing flow of ma’s in two rooms. It was every man for himself. You fought to get every little bit and then had to cram it into your mouth fast or lose it.
“Yeh need to slow down, Ginie,” Ivy cautioned. “That food is going to meet itself coming back up i
f yer not careful.”
“Yer right, Ivy.” Ginie forced herself to stop shovelling the food into her mouth. The last time she’d been able to eat slowly and savour the taste was the time leading up to Seán’s birth when the women of The Lane had passed her from house to house and nursed her.
“You’re among friends – enjoy the feckin’ food,” said Ivy and threw a damp rag at Ginie. “Wipe your face and hands.”
Ivy reluctantly joined the other two at the table, pulling one of her supply of wooden orange boxes to the table. She turned the box lengthways before sitting down. She wasn’t any more fond of bad table manners than Ann Marie but she understood Ginie’s desperation. Hunger was a demanding master.
“Ginie,” Ivy dared to say when Ginie had made a decent dent in the food on her plate, “do yeh not earn enough to get a room somewhere for yourself and Seán?” Ivy knew Ginie went out on the stroll every day God sent. Surely the money she made could be put to making a better life for herself and her son?
“It’s well for yeh, Ivy Murphy,” Ginie snapped, “sitting here in yer little palace judging others.”
Ann Marie looked around the room she considered little better than a hovel in spite of Ivy’s best efforts. The room was a bare shell. There was no art work on the whitewashed walls, no covering on the bare black stone of the floor, no touches of comfort. The big iron bed pushed into the corner by the wall that divided Ivy’s two rooms was a monstrosity in her opinion. The tall freestanding wooden cupboard pushed up against the far wall was functional. The open shelves of the top held Ivy’s meagre supply of dishes. Ann Marie knew Ivy sometimes used the central flat surface of the tall unit as a work surface. She couldn’t begin to guess what the closed doors of the bottom cupboards hid. The table they sat at was ancient and well used. Ivy was sitting on an upturned orange crate for goodness sake. The two decrepit old chairs sitting in front of the black range completed a picture of abject poverty as far as Ann Marie was concerned. She wondered what kind of home this young woman had that she’d consider Ivy’s bare little room a palace.
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 7