“Leave it to me.” Marcella pushed up the sleeves of her jumper and prepared to begin issuing orders. She’d soon shift everyone. She had faith in Billy Flint if no one else did – and, besides, she knew something about yer one that no one else was aware of.
Marcella was as good as her word. She organised the unsettled people with a few suggestions. She soon had the younger children filing into one of the tenement houses with the promise of a special storytime. She reminded the women fortunate enough to have men out working that they needed to begin preparing a meal for the workers. It wasn’t fast but it was efficient.
In the livery, the sound of the ringing telephones and the swift responses by the men working to answer them was the only sound heard. Jem worried about the effect this was having on his taxi business. The lads on their bikes should be flying in and out of here carrying messages to the carriages waiting in the rank around Stephen’s Green. He hoped someone was giving an explanation for the delay in the service he offered. He tried to shake off the worry; there was nothing he could do about it right now. Everyone was on edge. Those not occupied with some chore simply stared out the door . . . waiting.
Then a motorised bicycle seemed to explode out of the tunnel: it was a Garda messenger. The noise of the motor attracted the attention of the squabbling officials. Barney Collins hurried over to the messenger, hoping against hope that this was good news. He received freshly printed orders from the messenger’s leather-gloved hands. He read the written orders and with a sigh of relief hurried over to put them into immediate effect.
The people of The Lane were keeping an eye on the situation. They watched, some from behind their windows, others keeping watch from their open doorway, as the Garda officers almost pushed the health visitors towards their vehicles. They wanted to see what was going on, now that the danger to themselves seemed to be over. It would take nerves of steel to drive that unwieldy truck out of here. When one man ran to take the crank shank out of the back of the vehicle, the sigh of relief that ran around The Lane could almost be felt. The noise of the sputtering engine as the man almost jumped on the handle to turn it more swiftly was music to Jem’s ears.
Chapter 19
“Officer Collins seems to be heading in this direction.” Jem stood in the open livery doors well out of the way of a swarm of messenger lads peddling their bicycles out of the livery and into the tunnel. He was back in business.
The people would calm down now that The Lane was being cleared of official visitors. They would return to the courtyard now, needing to express their very vocal opinions.
“Come on in, Officer Collins, we’re dying of curiosity,” Jem said when the red-faced Garda reached his side. He turned to lead the way to what was quickly becoming the hub of his new business, the tearoom.
“Can we come down now, Jem Ryan?” Ivy’s voice drifted out over the stable yard.
“A voice from above,” Barney Collins quipped. “That’s all we need.”
“You keep a civil tone in your voice, Officer Barney Collins.” Ivy laughed. “I’ve been sequestered away up here and now I want to know what the heck is going on.”
“Far be it from me to keep you away from the action, Missus.” Barney Collins admired Ivy Murphy.
“We ladies need a staircase, Jem Ryan,” said Ivy as Emmy giggled with relief.
For a time there Ivy had been terrified. The situation had been resolved somehow, but how? Had Billy Flint been responsible for that Garda messenger? Was the man really that powerful? That influential?
“Are you too proud to lend a hand, Officer Collins?” Jem walked over to where he’d hidden the heavy wooden ladder.
“For however you managed to get those orders sent out I’ll suck up me pride – and don’t bother denying it – someone took a hand in that situation and my money’s on you.” Barney Collins joined Jem in lifting the heavy ladder and they wrestled it over to its previous location. Jem gave an experienced jerk and the ladder dropped into place.
“Your staircase, m’lady!” Jem grinned up at the two females he’d come to love.
“Thank you, my man,” Ivy quipped and without a moment’s delay turned her back and began to throw her leg over the loft rim.
“Eyes right!” Barney Collins barked, blushing furiously.
“It’s okay, Officer Collins,” Ivy giggled. “I’m wearing a pair of lads’ trousers under me skirt – me modesty’s safe.”
“Would you get down out of that, Ivy Murphy!” Jem grinned. Ivy Murphy would always have an answer.
Jem stood and watched as the woman and girl climbed down into the livery, ready to catch them should they slip. There was no need. The two females came down the ladder as if born climbing up and down wooden rungs.
“Yeh promised us cream cakes, Jem Ryan,” Ivy said as soon as her feet touched the ground.
“So I did,” Jem grinned. “Conn, grab a bike, will you?”
“I live to serve.” Conn grinned his relief at the peaceful resolution of the recent problem.
“Oh, if only that were true!” Jem cuffed Conn gently, glad of the younger man’s attempt to add levity to the situation. “Here.” Jem reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a florin. “Get cream cakes for ten, will you, please, Conn?”
Barney Collins was now standing slightly to the right of the main livery door. He was watching the people pouring out of the houses and into the courtyard, judging the mood of the crowd. He couldn’t believe he had managed to calm the very dangerous situation that had been developing out there.
Jem took what felt like his first easy breath of the day. He’d been sure blood was going to be spilt. He’d worried about protecting ‘his’ people, the most important two of whom were now laughing and giggling, teasing the young lads congregating around the livery floor. He shook his head and looked around the livery as people bustled around getting back to whatever work they’d left when the trouble began. He had spent years living alone after his uncle’s death. He’d been in danger of becoming a hermit. The changes in his own life over the last year still had the power to amaze him and never more than just now.
He wondered where your one was, the woman who had offered to telephone Billy Flint. That had been a turn-up for the books. Had that man really been responsible for shifting the do-gooders from The Lane? The thought sent a shiver down Jem’s spine. He’d been looking for someone who could give him information on the bould Billy Flint. It seemed he might have an expert close to hand. He looked towards the office he’d set up: he hadn’t seen your woman leave.
“Emmy,” Jem softly touched the thick black mane of his adopted niece, “why don’t you run upstairs and get your coat and hat on. I’ll have one of the lads take you across the way and you can join the other children for storytime. I’ll call you when Conn gets back here with the cream cakes.”
“All right!” Emmy couldn’t wait to see her friends and hear their views of the goings-on. It had been very exciting but frightening too. Emmy didn’t like it when she didn’t understand something. The older kids would explain it to her.
“I don’t mind telling you,” Barney Collins said when Jem walked over to join him at his watching post in the livery doorway, “there were times out there that I was worried we’d have murder committed. This is not the end of the matter. We can’t allow the spread of infectious, communicable diseases – you both have to realise that.”
“We know – everyone in The Lane knows that. We don’t want that filth any more than anyone else would.” Ivy dared to touch Officer Collins gently on the shoulder. “I don’t think anyone in The Lane would object to being treated like a human being. We’ll co-operate with a delicately handled health examination – it won’t be the first time.” The attitude of the group of health-care workers had angered and offended her. “However, the next time that lot,” she nodded towards the tunnel leading into The Lane, “come in here like a conquering army they’ll find themselves facing an angry mob. Someone needs to inform them of that.”
/>
“I’ll have none of that, Ivy Murphy.” Barney turned to glare at her.
“And we’ll have none of a crowd of toffee-nose twits trying to lay their dirty hands on us without a lick of common decency,” Ivy snapped. “Respect works both ways, Officer Collins.”
“We can’t solve the problems of the world right now,” Jem said, supplying the voice of reason. “Let us leave everybody out there,” he nodded to the courtyard, “to calm down in their own time. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“I have to get going, Jem, Ivy.” Barney Collins needed to think about what had almost happened here today. The walk back to the station would calm his nerves. “I’ll take you up on the offer of a cup of tea another time. Right now I have a report to write.” He wanted to find out who had issued those orders that had arrived in the nick of time. He also needed to put out the order to arrest Declan Johnson on sight.
“You’re welcome to stay for a cup of tea.” Ivy felt guilty. She hadn’t meant to run the man off – he was a decent sort, for a Garda.
“Thank you, Ivy Murphy,” Barney Collins pulled his uniform jacket straight, “but I need to get on.”
“You are welcome here any time,” said Jem. He understood. The man found himself in a very difficult position. The world around them was changing. He for one couldn’t wait to see what the future would bring. He did not, however, plan to be as helpless and frustrated as he’d been in this situation today . . . ever again.
“I’ll be on my way then. A good evening to you both.” Barney Collins touched the tips of two fingers to the brim of his helmet before stepping out of the livery, very aware of the eyes that followed his every step.
“I’m going to see my friends.” Emmy, her hat and coat pulled on any old how, ran through the livery.
“Hold up, young lady!” Jem grabbed at the fleeing child. “I said I’d send someone with you.”
“Oh, Uncle Jem,” Emmy rolled her big green eyes in disgust, “I’m only going across the courtyard.”
“Nonetheless, young lady,” Jem said in a very plummy tone, much to Emmy’s delight, “I must insist you have an escort.” He shouted to Pete, a tall strong young lad standing nearby and instructed him to take Emmy across the courtyard.
“See you, Uncle Jem, see you, Auntie Ivy!” With her hand firmly gripped in Pete’s, Emmy pulled the young man through the open doors and across the cobbled courtyard. It was easy for her to see which house the children were in: the door stood wide open and the stairs were packed with seated children. She hoped she hadn’t missed too much of the story.
“She doesn’t seem to be too upset,” Jem said wryly.
Ivy stood with Jem for a moment. She wanted to kick something, scream, pull her own hair from her head. She felt her nerves twitching under her skin. Today had frightened the life out of her. She hated feeling so powerless.
“Come on.” Jem threw his arm around her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the tearoom. “Let’s get you a river of tea.” He gently nudged her with his hip. “We’ll start with a cup but you know you’ll feel the better for it.”
“Jem . . .” Ivy stopped walking and stared up into his strong familiar face. She stepped away from him, took his hand and pulled him with her in the direction of one of the vacant stalls. They couldn’t stand in the main body of the livery with people brushing past them constantly. She didn’t care who saw her pull him off to one side. She didn’t care what gossip this would cause. Ann Marie had advised her to ask for what she needed. She hurt and this man had the power to ease some of that pain.
“I need something far more than a cup of tea,” she said.
They were standing tall in an empty stall, clearly visible to the lads rushing around the place pretending not to see, the smell of fresh hay and horses all around them.
“Let me feel your head.” Jem looked down into her worried face. “I never thought I’d see the day Ivy Murphy refused a cup of tea.” He didn’t know how he could help her.
“I need one of your hugs, Jem.” Ivy stepped forward until her head rested on his muscular chest. She put her arms around his waist, stepped as close to his warm body as she possibly could and held on tight. “I need this more than a cup of tea, Jem Ryan,” she whispered into his chest as his strong arms closed around her. She snuggled her head into the space between his shoulder and chin. She fought the tears that wanted to fall. She would not allow her situation in life to reduce her to tears. She. Would. Not.
Jem stood with his arms wrapped tightly around Ivy’s trembling figure, taking his own comfort from her nearness. He rocked his body gently from side to side, offering and taking comfort. “It will be all right, alanna,” he whispered, bending slightly to press a kiss into her hair, closing his eyes, willing to stand here all day if that was what she needed. The business of the livery went on around them as they held tight to each other, content to just be.
“Is there anyone going to drink this bloody tea!” John Lawless’ voice echoed around the livery building. “I’ve the arse burned off the kettle.” He knew what was going on – there was very little that went on around here that he didn’t know – but now was not the time nor the place for Ivy and Jem to stand there like two ruddy statues. They’d been standing there so long the lads were beginning to nudge each other and giggle. Time to put a stop to all that nonsense. They could kiss and canoodle behind closed doors like the rest of them.
“Our master’s voice.” Ivy tightened her arms around Jem’s waist for a moment before stepping reluctantly away. She stared up into his green eyes, a slight smile on her lips. She raised herself on her toes and whispered, “Thank you,” then pressed a delicate butterfly kiss onto his firm, lush lips. “I needed that,” she said, dropping to her heels and stepping away.
“It was my pleasure entirely, Miss Murphy.” Jem pulled her back into his arms for a deeper kiss before he released her with a deep sigh. “We’d better go before John sends someone to drag us away.” He put his arm around her shoulders and they slowly stepped out of the stall.
The lads pushing brooms, grooming horses, polishing tack, all seemed to be looking away from them. Jem grinned widely. He’d take a lot of teasing for this but he didn’t care. Ivy Murphy had kissed and hugged him. Let them talk.
Chapter 20
“It’s about time the pair of yez got over here,” John Lawless snapped as they approached him. He’d been keeping company with the woman who had telephoned Billy Flint. The darn woman just sat there staring around at everything. It was making him nervous. “I’ve the arse boiled out of the kettle waiting for yez.” John refused to allow his lack of mobility to hinder him. He’d do everything he was capable of doing and then some. “I thought we were going to be graced by the presence of a Garda officer? I suppose the pair of yez put the poor man to the blush and he ran off?” He busied himself making a fresh pot of tea in a galvanised teapot big enough to serve a battalion of thirsty soldiers. “I offered this poor woman a cup of tea and she’s still waiting.”
“It was good of you to telephone Billy Flint.” Jem didn’t know what the woman was doing sitting in his tearoom but he wanted to pick her brain – not at the minute – but soon.
“Betty.” Ivy nodded briefly to a woman who made her uncomfortable for some unknown reason. She walked over to John and, with her hand on his shoulder, said, “No need to be jealous, John.” Ivy refused to be embarrassed. She’d desperately needed that moment of sanity in a world gone mad. She was learning to ask for what she needed and, by God, it felt mighty. She’d do it again. “You know your Sadie loves yeh. I’m sure she’d give you a bit of a kiss and a cuddle if you asked her.”
“You’re a cheeky article, Ivy Murphy.” John smiled up at her. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business. What me and my Sadie get up to is our own business.”
“Give us that cup of tea you were roaring about.” Jem carried one of the wonky wooden chairs that sat in the tearoom over to Ivy. He tested the chair before seating her with a fond gri
n and stepping away.
“Mr Lawless suggested I waited here until things calmed down outside.” Betty Armstrong wondered how in the name of God she’d landed up in this place, sitting on a wonky chair in a stable of all things.
“Who’s tending the telephones?” Jem asked.
“Jimmy Johnson and one of the other lads are handling things.” John’s heart was still somewhere around his tonsils. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind a kiss and a cuddle with his own woman right now.
“Fair enough.” Jem opened a nearby freestanding cupboard and began to remove cups and saucers for the women, enamel mugs for himself and John.
“I’ll be glad when Jimmy can get around to making a sturdy table to go in here.” Jem looked around the space he’d set up for the people he employed. The lads he was training up had practically moved in here. When not out and about on their business around the city the lads congregated in this space. The area offered more comfort than most of them found at home. It shocked Jem to think that he, Jem Ryan from County Sligo, was an employer.
“If I might offer a suggestion?” Betty Armstrong said softly.
“You haven’t been backward in coming forward so far, missus,” Jem said. “Why start now?” He was willing to go along with any conversation that didn’t touch on what had almost happened out there in The Lane. They all needed a chance to catch their breath before tackling the underlining problems. He heaved a deep sigh: if it wasn’t one thing it was another.
“Thank you.” Betty ignored the quip. “I’ve noticed on my travels around the town that a lot of the people who openly supported British rule are leaving.”
Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2) Page 16