Ha'Penny Chance (Ivy Rose Series Book 2)

by Gemma Jackson

  Who knew what she could do in the future? If her little brother could go off to America to star in the fillums then she’d have to pull up her socks to keep up with him. No better woman. She strode along with her chin in the air.

  “How’s yerself, Ivy?” Old Peadar was hunched over his makeshift fire, holding his rag-wrapped dirt-encrusted hands out to the flame. The fire in the holed steel bucket at his feet was miserable but it was heat.

  “Not so bad, Peadar.” Ivy parked her pram by the three-sided hut. “You’ll keep an eye on me pram?”

  She couldn’t believe how much better she felt knowing that the word was out on the street that she was under the protection of Billy Flint. She hadn’t met the man herself but Betty Armstrong had put in a good word for her. Ivy didn’t know how much the man’s protection was going to cost her but for the moment she was delighted with the safety she felt walking the streets. She’d face the man’s charges when she had to. She’d fight to keep most of the money she’d earned but that worry was for another day.

  “That I will.” Peadar offered a gummy grin, practically smothered by the grey whiskers that decorated his face. He’d been keeping careful watch over Ivy’s pram every night. She slipped him a few pence for the service but she was always polite enough to ask which pleased the old man.

  “It’ll soon be Christmas, Ivy.” Peadar accepted the paper-wrapped parcel of coal nuggets Ivy slipped from the depths of her pram without a word. They never mentioned the gift but every evening she brought him enough coal to keep him alive another day.

  “We’ll all get a day off then, Peadar.” She knew the old man would get a meal from the Ivy, one of the doss houses around the city. It seemed to amuse the old man that Ivy’s name was the same as the infamous doss house. She dropped her shawl on the pram before removing the usherette tray. She slipped the leather straps over her suit jacket before settling her red paisley shawl over her head and shoulders again. She wrapped a money belt around her waist under her jacket before pulling fingerless gloves onto her hands. She couldn’t make change wearing ordinary gloves.

  “Here, I brought a can of tea.” She offered the tightly lidded can to the old man. “Yeh might have to pour it into yer pot and give it a warm.”

  She kept a wet rag in her pram to wipe her fingers clean and without seeming to pay attention to the old man she used this rag now to assure herself her fingers and nails were clean. She took the empty can back as soon as he’d emptied the tea into his battered metal teapot. Peadar wasn’t past keeping the can and selling it on for a few pence.

  “Here, yeh need to know,” Peadar tapped a dirty finger to the side of his bulbous red-veined nose, “them fancy-talkin’ nanny women were talking about yer dolls.” Peadar knew he was invisible to most people. That didn’t bother him – he overheard enough gossip to keep him entertained. Sometimes he heard something that made him a few coppers. “They got to planning how they could buy yer dolls for less if they ganged together. Yeh need to mind yerself.”

  “I will, Peadar, thanks.” Ivy took her carefully covered orange-box crate from the pram. She removed the custom-made cover and carefully began transferring her dolls from the box onto her tray. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get me to offer them a special price. They’ll find out the same as the others that me price is set in cement.”

  “A half crown, Ivy. That’s bloody expensive for a doll – that’s more than a working man’s week’s wages, that is.”

  “To you and me, Peadar, but not to the likes of them out there.” Ivy gave a jerk of her chin towards the people beginning to gather outside the Gaiety doors. “I’m taking the money from them that can afford it.”

  “Well, yeh seem to know what yer doin’ right enough.” Peadar shook his head at the wonder of it all. “Yeh better get out there before they open the doors. I’ll keep me eye on yeh and yer goods.”

  “Here we go.” Ivy checked she had everything she’d need, put the cover over her pram, locked the brake and then with a deep breath stepped out to conduct business.

  She approached the crowd of richly dressed people swarming around the entry door to the Theatre. There were two lines of people waiting for the doors to open: those with money for the expensive seats and those who’d saved and scrimped to buy the tickets to take their families to the pantomime. She took her place standing as close to the street as she dared. The horses pulling the carriages and hired cabs ignored her but she didn’t fancy getting shoved in the back by a passing horse.

  “Get yer Cinderella dolls here!” Ivy shouted when she was in position. She had to make sure her voice carried over the shouts of the other dealers and the hum of the excited crowd. The cry to buy oranges, sweets, chocolates and even flowers sounded alongside her own. She held up one of the pink lace-dressed dolls and shook it towards the waiting line of nannies and children.

  “Hand-made by the fairies in Tír na nÓg . . . Cinderella dolls here!” She waited to see the usual nudges and demands from the well-groomed children to their uniformed nannies. It shouldn’t take her long to shift this lot. “Get them before they’re gone!”

  It wasn’t long before the first of the women guarding the wealthy children stepped out of line.

  Ivy settled in to do a brisk business. She held out her hand with a smile when she accepted the silver coin decorated with a standing horse. Every afternoon she feared it would be the day when the demand dried up but word of her dolls had spread around Dublin. There were now other Cinderella dolls on sale outside the Gaiety. The other dealers, seeing the success of Ivy’s dolls, had quickly jumped on the bandwagon. Ivy welcomed the competition – her dolls were superior and she knew it.

  “Looks to me like you’re almost finished up here,” a welcome voice whispered in her ear.

  “Jem!” She turned with a beaming grin. “If I could feel my feet I’d be dancing in the street.” She used her ‘posh’ voice when she was selling her dolls.

  “I believe I was here first,” a nasal voice snapped.

  Ivy turned to find a very irate nanny standing waiting to buy the last doll on her tray. The theatre doors hadn’t even opened yet and she was all sold up. She ignored the woman’s glare and with a beaming smile passed over the doll with one hand while taking the coin with the other. “Enjoy the show,” she wished the woman who’d turned away without a word of thanks.

  “You can’t be coming down here all the time, Jem.” She was always glad to see him but he had his own business to run.

  “I have to see my best girl safely home.” Jem followed Ivy back down the alley to pick up her pram. He nodded to Peadar and waited while Ivy removed her usherette tray and prepared her bank bag.

  “You know, Jem,” Ivy said as they walked out of the alley and along King Street towards the bank, “I never thought of young gents wanting to buy the doll for the ladies on their arms. I need to think on that . . . it’s a business opportunity I’m missing out on.”

  “Ivy,” he took her elbow in his hand, “I don’t want to talk about business. Ann Marie is taking Emmy to her house. I thought we could drop the pram in The Lane and have an evening to ourselves. How does a picture with fish and chips for afters sound to you?”

  “Music to me ears, Jem.”

  Ivy dropped the bank bag in the night safe, took the handle of her pram firmly in one hand and held out the other to her best fella. They walked in the direction of The Lane, discussing the films on offer around town.

  Chapter 42

  “I do believe I’m a mite tiddly.” Ivy enunciated clearly in the tone of someone who finds herself surprised to be drunk.

  “In that case,” John Lawless used two crutches to push himself to his feet, then stood swaying for a moment before catching his balance, “I’d better make my toast now. I wouldn’t want you to miss it, Ivy. I’ve been working on it.”

  “Let me refill the glasses.” Doug Joyce jumped to his feet. The champagne that was turning Ivy’s head was his contribution to this feast.
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br />   “I don’t know how long I can remain standing on my feet,” John admitted. He’d worked very hard to stand on his own two feet for this, his first Christmas with his family in their new home.

  “Then sit down, John, do.” Ann Marie looked around the table, thrilled with her new life. They were gathered around the large table in the staff dining room. She’d wanted to have this dinner in her upstairs dining room but that suggestion had been vetoed by everyone else. What would have been the servants’ table was the place they picked so that was where they were.

  “I want to stand for this,” John insisted stubbornly.

  “Good man.” Doug had finished refilling the fancy glasses which looked out of place on the heavy wooden surface of the long table.

  “You better be quick about it, love.” Sadie Lawless beamed up at her husband. She beamed a lot these days. “I want to get all this food cleared away. I’m putting me feet up for the rest of the day.”

  “You deserve to, love. You’ve worked like a Trojan, you and the girls. I’m proud of all of us.” He grinned. “Now as to me toast – I want everyone to raise a glass to Miss Ivy Rose Murphy!” He didn’t dare pick up his own glass. Not yet.

  Everyone picked up a glass and prepared to listen. Ivy blushed furiously. She put her two hands to her face.

  “Everyone sitting around this table owes something to Ivy Murphy,” John said. “I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn to say that.”

  “Ivy’s not the only one slightly drunk,” Sadie muttered under her breath.

  “I wanted to die when that bale of hay fell on me back and took the strength from me legs,” John admitted. “Ivy Murphy wouldn’t let me. She pestered me to live and become a part of this merry crowd.”

  “She has a way of doing that,” Jem interjected.

  “She raised me so I’m saying nothing or she’ll box me ears.” Doug Joyce looked around the long table, a table groaning with the remains of the feast they’d just enjoyed, a table surrounded by people who would take care of and love his sister when he was far away.

  “Will yez let me husband speak before he falls down!” Sadie watched the man she loved sway in place.

  “Thanks to the same Ivy Murphy,” John ignored the interruption, “I can give my girls, my Clare and Dora, a better life than Sadie and I ever imagined. Thanks too to her I’ve a son any man could be proud of.”

  “Ay up, Ivy – what’s that about?” Doug knew all about Ivy’s life in the last year but it was fun to joke and fool about.

  “Will yeh hold yer whist?” John swayed alarmingly but remained on his feet. He was determined to get this said. “There’s not a one sitting around this table that doesn’t owe the good things in their lives to Ivy Murphy.” He picked up his glass and raised it to her. “Now, I’ve had me say. The rest of yeh can do what you like.” He held his glass up, whispered “Ivy” with a smile and drank deeply before collapsing back into the chair his wife held for him.

  “I suppose it’s my turn.” Jem pushed to his feet.

  “Sit down, Jem,” Ivy hissed. “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

  “You, Miss Ivy Rose Murphy, are a hard woman to thank.” Jem grinned down at a glaring Ivy. If looks could kill he’d drop where he stood. “Everyone here knows the effect Ivy has had on my life for the past year. I didn’t want to die like John but I wasn’t really living either. I was content to let life pass me by until Ivy Murphy and Fate kicked me in the posterior.”

  Emmy Ryan was having the time of her life. She’d never been to a party like this before. She hid her giggles behind her hands and stared across the table at her new friend Seán McDonald.

  “I’m a changed man from this time last year,” Jem said. “I have new friends.” He moved his glass around the table. “I have the chance of a business that scares me yet invigorates me at the same time.”

  “Them’s five-guinea words you’re using there, boss,” John grinned.

  “Every time I turn around, these two women,” Jem tipped his glass to Ivy and Ann Marie, “have come up with another plan or risk they want me to take. I’m proud of myself for being able to tighten me sinews and carry on.”

  “Uncle Jem, are you a mite tipsy too?” Emmy Ryan’s sweet young voice rang out.

  “The lot of them are drunk!” Seán McDonald crossed his arms in front of his chest like an old man. He glared around the table, disgusted at the adults. “Why don’t we take our new toys back to The Lane and show them off? Later Old Man Solomon will bring out his gramophone and his records for the street party.”

  Nothing loath, Emmy asked for permission to leave the table and return to The Lane. Seán watched openmouthed as the silly female waited to be given permission to leave the table. These people were strange. One thing he would say for them though. They sure knew how to feed a fella.

  The newly named Ginie McDonald, released from incarceration with the Maggies, sat silently staring around the table at these strangers who had rescued her. She didn’t trust them. She didn’t know what they wanted from her. That Johnjo fella who said he was a brother to her, she didn’t know him. He looked enough like feckin’ Declan to be his twin until you looked in his eyes. You saw the difference then but it was still a shock to the system. There had been no news of Declan for a while but Ginie wasn’t holding her breath that that bad bugger was gone from her life. A bad penny always found a way of turning up.

  “Ma, do yeh want to come back to The Lane with me?” Seán stood staring at his mother. Her eyes were all sad. He didn’t know what to do to make things better for her.

  “No, son, you go ahead.” Ginie didn’t trust the people of The Lane either. She and Seán had taken over the rent on the basement room next door to Ivy Murphy. Betty Armstrong had arranged everything. She’d found Ginie a job in a ‘fancy house’. She was being paid to spank grown men. She’d never known such a thing went on but she was being paid good money to do something she’d do for nothing if she could afford it. What with her earnings and the money Seán was bringing in for his work on the stage, she didn’t know if she was coming or going.

  “Can we take them over, Ma, Da?” Dora Lawless stood up. She wanted to go to The Lane. She wanted to show Conn her new red dress. Conn hadn’t come to their house for dinner. She looked at all the food left over and thought her mother wouldn’t mind if she made him up a plate. He was keeping an eye on the phones and the livery in case of an emergency. She’d be able to sit in the office with him and visit.

  “I’d like to go talk to Vera Connelly.” Clare stood up and looked towards her parents.

  “Clear the table and take everything into the kitchen before yez leave,” Sadie said. “But I give yeh fair warning the dishes will be waiting for yeh when yeh get back.”

  “We’ll do them later.” Dora grabbed Clare by the hand and with the help of Seán and Emmy they started clearing the table.

  “I think,” Johnjo Smith said, standing away from the table, “if it offends no one Ginie and I will go for a long walk by the Canal. We have a lot of talking to do.”

  “Suit yerself.” Ginie stood up with a flounce. She was wearing the clothes Ann Marie had bought for her. The long woollen dress was warm and covered her from neck to ankle. She’d even bought Ginie new boots and a new coat and hat. Ginie didn’t trust the woman.

  Ann Marie watched the brother and sister leave. “We are going to have to do something about that young woman, Ivy.”

  “All in good time, Ann Marie,” Ivy sighed. “All in good time. We’ve managed to get her away from the Maggies, Seán is earning a few bob with his stage work, Ginie has a place of her own in The Lane. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”

  Having cleared the table, the young people happily took their leave, while the adults sat on with their drinks.

  Betty Armstrong had been sitting back watching the action around her. She’d moved out of The Lane after she’d organised as much as she could for Seán and his mother. It nearly broke her hear
t to leave that little lad but Seán loved his mother. She’d wanted to keep him with her but realised that was selfish of her. She’d moved into her brother’s house in Baggot Street while she arranged the next stage of her life. She’d accepted the invitation to have Christmas dinner with these people, wanting to see them all again. She’d enjoyed a fabulous feast and good company.

  “And what have you got to say for yourself, Auntie Betty?” Doug drawled with what he imagined was an American accent. He’d heard a lot of American accents from visiting performers to the variety theatres he’d played in around England. With six of the people who sat down to eat having left there were gaps at the long table. He walked along the table, shifting his place to be closer to the people who remained.

  “Are you practising your accent for the fillums,” Ivy grinned, “talking all funny like that?”

  But her grin faded when she saw her brother’s serious expression as he stared at Betty, who stared silently back.

  Ivy took a swig of sparkling liquid from her glass and simply stared between her brother and the woman she knew as Betty. “‘Auntie’? Name of Jesus, Shay, did you say ‘auntie’?” She felt faint.