Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2)

by Gemma Jackson

  “Did you receive the fixtures and fittings of this room?” Ivy wanted to change the subject. She had no right to voice her opinion here.

  “I received the entire contents of this floor for my own use.”

  “If they are leaving staff to take care of this place, surely you would be able to stay?” Ivy asked.

  “The family are to take the children and their personal staff on a Christmas holiday in warmer climes.” Nanny had been surprised to hear that she would not accompany the family on their annual visit to their estate in Italy. “This house is to be locked up, dustcovers throughout. It is my understanding the caretakers will lodge in the room off the kitchen. I was not given an actual date to vacate the premises.” Nanny didn’t think her heart could take any more pain. She had no time to wallow in self-pity, however. She had to be realistic and plan some kind of future for herself.

  “Right.” Ivy was frantically trying to shift her days around in her head. She had a routine but it wasn’t set in cement. She sighed deeply. The offer of these goods for sale came as a big surprise. Perhaps she should be ready to hear something similar from other servants? She’d like to help this old woman out. Nanny Grace had been good to Ivy through the years. She’d like to help but where was she going to find the time?

  “I’ll have to leave soon, Nanny. I really don’t want to be out on the streets in the dark.” Ivy took her seat again.

  “Can you at least advise me, Ivy?” Nanny didn’t want to beg but she desperately needed help. “Give me the name of someone who might be interested in these things.”

  “I’ll do better than that, Nanny Grace,” Ivy owed this old woman a great deal. She believed in paying her debts. “I’ll come back and discuss the matter in detail with you. We need to take stock of what you have. We want a better idea of how you’re fixed. That will all take time I don’t have right now.”

  “Thank you, Ivy.” Nanny Grace smiled sadly. A young ragamuffin she’d thrown some crumbs of mercy to over the years was going to help her more than the family she’d devoted her life to.

  “I’ll come back.” Ivy held her head in her hand for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. When did she have a spare morning? She had the schedule she kept to for her round, she couldn’t change that. She didn’t like to let people down. “It will have to be early Saturday morning, Nanny Grace. Does that suit you?”

  “That will suit me admirably, Ivy.”

  Ivy stood abruptly. Time was passing, shadows were deepening outside the small windows that ran along the outside wall of this room. “In the meantime you could get a start on making a list of the goods stored in these rooms. You need to make note of everything and I do mean everything, Nanny Grace. The smallest item must be accounted for. That would be a great help.”

  “I’ll do that, Ivy.” Nanny pulled the embroidered cord hanging by her chair. “Hetty will be here in a moment to guide you out.”

  “I’ll see you Saturday morning bright and early, Nanny Grace,” Ivy promised. “We’ll go over your list, get a better idea of what’s what, see how you are fixed.”

  “Thank you again, Ivy.” Nanny nodded towards the door when the sound of knuckles rapping sounded. “There’s Hetty now. Have a safe journey home, Ivy.” Nanny watched the young woman hurry from the room. The children would be back soon from their visit to the museum with their tutor. She was alone for the moment. She could allow the tears to flow.

  Ivy practically ran around the back streets of Dublin, frantically trying to make up the time she’d lost with her visit to old Nanny Grace. The wheels on her pram were in danger of locking. The sheer weight of the goods she’d received today excited and delighted her. She couldn’t wait to examine everything. While smiling cheerfully and exchanging remarks with people she passed, Ivy’s head was whirling. She had so much she needed to get done.

  Chapter 24

  “Is that you, Johnjo?”

  “Who else would it be?” Johnjo Smith responded while removing the key from the door that opened into the Regency Suite of the Shelbourne Hotel.

  If the Moocher had been there he’d have recognised Johnjo as the man he’d seen loitering in the back lanes of Fitzwilliam Square.

  “What happened?” The man now known as Douglas Joyce walked out of the hotel bathroom, a towel around his waist. He was rubbing his wet blond hair with a second towel.

  “I almost had her!” Johnjo Smith wanted to curse. He hated to fail at anything this man asked of him. He owed Douglas Joyce . . . everything. “I was just about to nab her when she was invited into one of those bloody great houses. I couldn’t wait until she came out of there.”

  “Impossible.” Doug turned to go back through his bedroom and into the bathroom again. “Ivy is never invited inside one of those houses. She knows her place. She stands outside in all weathers like a good little beggar.” Doug’s voice echoed faintly back through the bedroom and into the lushly furnished lounge. He reappeared, wearing a dragon-embroidered, padded, black-satin dressing gown. He had one of the hotel’s towels tucked under the collar of the robe. His bare feet sank into the thick carpet that covered the hotel-room floor.

  “Well, she was invited inside today,” Johnjo stated. “In fact I got the impression that her visit was important to someone inside that house. There was a bloomin’ maid practically dancing in the alley. She’s the reason I wasn’t able to nab Ivy today. She almost dragged her into one of those fancy houses with her.”

  “That’s a turn-up for the books.” Doug grimaced. He’d hoped to have the chance to talk to Ivy. He’d been in Dublin for weeks but events had conspired to halt the plans he’d made for his own personal business. “The situation may have changed anyway.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Brace yourself.” Doug took the towel from around his neck and began rubbing his hair. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the news he’d uncovered this morning.

  “Did someone recognise you?” Johnjo had feared something like this happening. It was ludicrous that this man thought he could pass himself off in public as a penniless dock worker. On a stage Doug could get away with it, but in natural light he doubted it. Even standing wearing nothing but a towel Doug’s long leanly muscled figure gave the impression of breeding and wealth.

  “No, give me some credit.” Doug dropped the towel around his neck again. He held both ends of the towel in white-knuckled fists. “I’ve learned a few things about passing myself off as something I’m not over the years.” Today had been the first chance he’d had since arriving in Dublin to get out and do any investigating for himself.

  “So, what did you find out?”

  “It seems me da is dead.” Doug dropped into his childhood accent automatically when speaking of his father. He had no idea how he felt about the death of his parent – was that normal?

  “Yeh what? How? He wasn’t an old man.”

  “It’s true none the less.” Doug had control of himself again. “It would appear there is a great deal of speculating about the bold Éamonn Murphy’s passing. The gossip around the pub was that Éamonn drowned on New Year’s Eve. There was no funeral, the body having been lost at sea or in the Canal depending on who was telling the story. They did say that our Ivy gave him a wake fit for a king at the local pub.” Doug was sick, thinking about what his sister might have had to do to get the money needed for the bloody royal send-off.

  “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it? No need for grabbing her off the streets if the old man is gone.” Johnjo felt almost weak with relief. He hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d feared he might have to knock her out or something. He was a dab hand at stealing inanimate objects, but not people.

  “I think I’ll have to pay a call on Billy Flint.” Doug turned to go back into his bedroom. “That man has his finger on this city’s pulse, we both know that. I need more information.”

  “But –”

  “I want more information!” Doug snapped over his shoulder. “I need to get ready. I’ll n
eed my black suit, Johnjo.”

  The sudden demanding peal of the gilded black telephone rang out.

  “Get that,” Doug ordered. “That will be Her Ladyship as you insist on calling her.”

  Johnjo walked into the bedroom after his employer. He shrugged at the loud bang the hotel bathroom door made as Doug slammed it shut behind him. He removed his employer’s black suit from the depths of the wardrobe, ignoring the demanding peal of the telephone placed on a dresser by the side of the bed.

  “Tell her I’m not here!” the man listed on billboards as Douglas Joyce shouted through the closed door. “I’ve taken the first ship to the moon.”

  “That, sir, would be such an obvious lie.” Johnjo Smith continued to pay close attention to the brush he was passing over the shoulders of his employer’s black jacket. He was both official dresser and friend to the man.

  The telephone began to ring again.

  “Answer the bloody phone, man. You and I both know she won’t give up!” Doug roared.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Johnjo hung the suit carefully back into the wardrobe. He crossed the thick bedroom carpet. The luxury of his surroundings amused him. He picked the phone up from the nightstand. A nightstand, I ask your sacred pardon, he thought. It’s far from it we were raised.

  He knew well what was coming. Doug was right: only one person knew they were in Dublin and staying at this hotel.

  In his snootiest voice he gave his employer’s name.

  “Put my son on the telephone,” a well-bred female voice snapped out of the instrument. The demand was barked over Johnjo’s polite little refrain.

  “I am terribly sorry, Your Ladyship,” Johnjo gave the woman on the other end of the line a title she didn’t possess, “but my master is not here at the moment.” Johnjo was not telling a lie. Doug was still in the bathroom. Johnjo would never state it aloud but it gave him great pleasure to put a spoke in the wheel of this woman.

  “Have there been any developments?” the voice demanded. “Do not try to tell me you don’t know, Mr Johnjo Smith.”

  “I’m afraid I really couldn’t say, Your Ladyship.” Johnjo allowed his displeasure to show in his voice. He would not give this woman any information.

  “Have my son telephone me!” Her Ladyship almost shouted.

  Johnjo was glad she couldn’t see the grin on his face. The woman was capable of scratching the eyes out of his head.

  “I’ll pass your demands along.” Johnjo gently replaced the telephone receiver.

  He stood for a moment, looking around the room. They’d come a long way from grotty boarding rooms smelling of boiled cabbage and nights when any rough kip was a blessing. Doug had insisted on booking this suite – two bedrooms and a sitting room plus private bathrooms. He’d been adamant that they would stay at the Shelbourne Hotel.

  Johnjo shook his head and shrugged. Who would have believed that he would one day stay at this hotel?

  “Well,” Doug stood in the open bathroom doorway, “what did she want?”

  “Her Ladyship wished to speak with her son,” Johnjo delivered deadpan. He might not have been able to make a living on the stage. That didn’t mean he was entirely without talent.

  “Nice to be recognised.” Doug grinned wryly. His mother had been horrified that a son of hers should take to the stage. She’d ignored him while he struggled to survive. She’d recently changed her tune when he’d started to make a name for himself.

  “Her Ladyship requested an update on the situation here,” Johnjo said mildly.

  “One of these days she’s going to let you have it for calling her ‘Her Ladyship’ in that snotty tone,” Doug warned. “Meanwhile, next time she telephones, you can tell her from me that she can go –”

  “Soak her head,” Johnjo put in quickly. He’d noticed their return to Dublin had also brought about the return of fluent cursing in his employer’s speech.

  “That’ll do.” Doug closed his eyes in disgust. His mother had that effect on him.

  “You need to get ready to leave, sir.” Johnjo reminded his employer of his responsibilities.

  “Stop calling me ‘sir’ in that supercilious tone, Johnjo Smith,” Doug barked. “I’ve enough to put up with without your cheek.”

  “I don’t even know what the word ‘supercilious’ means, sir.” Johnjo grinned. “I didn’t have the advantage of your education.”

  “Oh, put a sock in it.” Doug smiled in spite of himself. “As you’ve pointed out, I’ll be late to the theatre and that would never do.”

  Doug wondered, yet again, what had possessed him to agree to this theatre date. He walked over to the chest-of-drawers and removed his pressed and carefully folded underwear from the depths of a drawer. Johnjo insisted on serving as his dresser these days but there were some things a man did for himself. He’d be plucked before he’d allow another man or woman to pull on his underwear for him.

  He dressed quickly in his black pants and white dress shirt. He sat on the side of the bed to put on his socks and highly polished black shoes. The headliner for the Gaiety Theatre had broken his leg in three places. In the lead-up to Christmas, the busiest time of year in the entertainment calendar, few successful acts were available to step in and rescue an established show. Doug had been free only because he’d been planning to put his affairs in order before taking a long-overdue holiday. He’d been working all the hours God sent for the last four years. Fate and the obscene amount of money offered had tempted him to step into the suddenly vacant top spot at the Gaiety.

  “Your jacket, sir,” Johnjo held the black dinner jacket aloft.

  “Tell me again what insanity possessed me when I agreed to accept this offer. I’ve even agreed to play Prince Charming until they can find someone else, for god’s sake.” Doug slipped his arms into the jacket and stood patiently while Johnjo arranged the fit and ran the brush over the fabric a final time. He knew the answer to his own question. He’d been unable to resist the chance to return to Dublin – one final visit home.

  “I’ll fetch your hat and coat, sir.” Johnjo knew Doug wasn’t expecting an answer to his familiar ranting.

  He walked to the cupboard placed just inside the main door of the suite. He removed his employer’s dark-grey cashmere coat from the depths of the cupboard. The matching trilby hat and a long white silk scarf he took down from the high shelf of the cupboard.

  “I don’t know why I put up with your impudence.” Doug allowed Johnjo to drape the white silk scarf around his neck. He put his arms into the sleeves of the coat Johnjo held open for him.

  “Yes, you do, sir.” Johnjo took the bristle brush he kept in his pocket and applied himself to brushing his employer’s broad shoulders.

  “I should have had you arrested when you tried to steal my wallet.”

  “Fat lot of good that did me,” Johnjo grinned. “You had even less of the readies than I did. It was embarrassing to a man of my standing in the thieving community. I ended up feeding you and giving you somewhere to stay. I had to get out of that life. I’d never have been able to live down the shame. ”

  Johnjo had taken an injured, homesick, lost young man under his wing. He’d attempted to teach Doug how to ‘snatch and grab’ but the lad simply wouldn’t learn.

  Doug wanted to go on the stage. He’d heard there was money in it and travelled to London to seek his fortune. They’d formed an unlikely partnership. Together they learned to survive in the cut-throat world of variety theatre.

  Johnjo hadn’t the skill or the looks needed to make a living as a leading man. He’d always be a bit player. He did however know a great deal more than Doug about the world at large. It was Johnjo who learned the rules and regulations of the world Doug desperately wanted to enter. He watched out for the young lad and taught him the rules of the game. It was Johnjo who had planned out the quickest routes to run from one theatre to another so Doug could repeat his spot several times a night and drag in the money they needed. They had barely surv
ived at first but eventually they’d flourished.

  “Your hat, sir.” Johnjo passed the trilby to his employer, having applied the brush with swift efficient strokes.

  “Thanks.” Doug crossed to the mirror sitting proudly on a nearby table. He put the hat on his shining blond hair. He examined his face in the mirror with a sad smile. Vanity. How many times had he received a crack around the head for the sin of vanity? “Is it raining?” he asked as he continued to examine his image.

  Doug didn’t see the sorrow in his own violet-blue eyes. He saw only the image he wanted to present to his public: a dapper young man about town, one gifted with an excellent tenor voice that brought him to the top of the bill in every theatre he played in these days. He’d come a long way in a relatively short space of time. He was about to step out into the unknown again as soon as he finished up his Dublin dates.

  “Amazingly,” Johnjo broke into Doug’s troubled thoughts, “it would appear that the rain is keeping off.”

  “Right, I’m set to go.” Doug saluted his image in the mirror. The Great Pretender. He was ready to step out onto the stage of life and delight his admiring fans.

  “We need to hurry.” Johnjo took his own coat from the closet. It was really unnecessary to leave this early but Doug preferred to be the first to arrive at the theatre and the last to leave.