“I’ll have a rummage in these and see what I can find to wear. There might be something I’ve forgotten. It’s been a long time since I had the time and space I need to pull these apart.”
She was looking forward to emptying the chests. She jumped to her feet. She was sure her da had chalk in his room. He used it to mark the streets for his ha’penny toss school.
I’ll mark each chest as I empty them, she thought. She was delighted by the idea. But I wish I could write down what is in each chest. She pulled one of her da’s boxes out from under the bed – a crime that would have brought her a severe beating from her da. Without really looking she grabbed the chalk head of a statue sticking up from one of the boxes. Nobody used store-bought chalk. A shattered chalk religious statue worked a treat.
Ivy gleefully pulled items from one of the chests she knew she rarely used. The top item she recognised – a vibrantly pink expanse of fabric. One of the Morgan twins’ ball gowns. She vividly remembered Mrs Morgan’s housekeeper at Number 12 passing the two ugly big dresses to her. It had been a long time ago.
The Morgan girls must have looked like an explosion in a paint factory in the ugly great dresses. They were as wide as they were tall, not an attractive sight wrapped in yards of pink satin and lace.
Ivy might dress in rags but she could recognise something extremely ugly when she saw it. She’d been hoping to find a use for the yards of expensive material but the darn ball gowns had been buried in the chest for years. Ivy had fond thoughts of the Morgan twins. It was a good day’s work when she received anything they discarded. There was always loads of really superior fabric in their clothes and she was sure of a good profit from anything she re-fashioned from them.
With a sigh Ivy continued her search.
Chapter 7
While Ivy searched through the discards of others Ann Marie Gannon – “your one from the morgue” – was being served a meal by her aunt’s servants. She watched the butler, Foster, carry the soup tureen into the room and place it on the mahogany sideboard with great precision.
“Is something the matter, dear?” Charles Gannon asked his niece. “You seem unusually sombre. Did you have a busy day at work?”
“I have said it before and will repeat myself incessantly if necessary but I really believe you should give up that awful position, Ann Marie,” Beatrice Gannon said before Ann Marie could answer Charles.
“Mother is in the right, cousin.” Charles Junior, the pride of his mother’s heart, chipped in. “There are plenty of people out of work. You should allow one of them to take the position. You would be better served helping Mother with her charity work.” He smiled absently in his mother’s general direction.
“I couldn’t imagine anything more ghastly than working for one’s living!” Clementine Gannon, the daughter of the house, tittered. “But you really take the biscuit, cousin, working with the dead. How perfectly dreadful!”
“Clementine, we are at table.” Beatrice forgot herself enough to rap her knuckles on the table top.
“Perhaps you are right.” Ann Marie spread her hand-embroidered Irish linen napkin over her lap. “I believe I will give your opinions serious consideration.”
“I wish you would, niece.” Charles Gannon picked up his solid silver soup spoon and began to eat.
Ann Marie lowered her head and glanced surreptitiously around the table from beneath her eyelids. How had she allowed this situation to continue for so long? It seemed such a short space of time since her beloved parents had been carried off in an influenza epidemic. Yet it was easily five years. Where had that time gone? Indeed, what had she achieved in that time?
Ann Marie stared across the expanse of table. The Irish linen tablecloth was practically invisible under the vast quantities of silver, crystal and china that spread over it. A magnificent display of hothouse flowers seemed to sprout from the tall silver and rose-pink glass epergne resting in the middle of the table. Two footmen and a butler stood by in case of need. Was all of this really necessary for five people?
Ann Marie allowed the conversation to float around her. She was vaguely aware of the subjects under discussion – titbits of news and gossip about their social circle. It all seemed so unimportant to Ann Marie. She couldn’t work up the least interest. These people were her family but she felt removed from them.
She was beginning to realise that at the death of her parents she’d withdrawn almost completely from the world around her.
Ann Marie couldn’t get Ivy Murphy’s face and situation out of her mind. Who ordained that she should live in luxury, attended by servants, her every need met, while Ivy had to consider selling her father’s corpse to make ends meet?
Ann Marie wanted to ask her cousins if they knew how very fortunate they were. She knew they wouldn’t understand the question. It was simply the way things were. Why question one’s own good fortune?
Ann Marie leaned back and allowed Foster to remove her empty soup bowl. She had no memory of eating the soup. She stared fascinated at Foster’s hand encased in pristine white gloves – heaven forfend that the family should be offended by the sight of naked hands.
She stared at the salmon in dill with white wine sauce and wondered what Ivy was eating that evening. A brief smile flickered on her lips. She imagined the servants’ horrified expressions if she requested they pack up her meal for a poor person she knew. Did the servants eat the same food as the family?
Ann Marie rented two large comfortably furnished rooms in her uncle’s house. Her suite consisted of a large bedroom with the almost unheard-of luxury of a private bathroom, and a sitting room to allow her a level of privacy. Nothing so crass as rent was ever mentioned of course but Ann Marie made a monthly contribution to the running of the household.
Doctor Charles Gannon, a noted physician, became head of the Gannon family upon the death of his brother George, Ann Marie’s father. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world for Ann Marie to move in with her uncle’s family.
“My dear, you haven’t touched the salmon,” Beatrice Gannon’s voice cut into Ann Marie’s thoughts. “Was it not to your liking?”
“I’m afraid I have one of my headaches coming on, Aunt.” Ann Marie pressed the napkin to her lips. “Would it be terribly rude of me to withdraw?”
“Not at all, my dear,” Charles Gannon was using his calming physician’s voice. “Do you need me to prescribe a little something to help you sleep?”
“That won’t be necessary, Uncle.” Ann Marie stood as Foster pulled her chair away from the table. “I thank you for the kind thought but I’ll be just fine. It is a mild annoyance only.”
She swept through the doors being held open by the vigilant footmen. Holding her white satin evening gown away from her matching satin slippers and with her hand clutching the highly polished banister, she practically ran up the Aubusson-carpeted staircase.
When did I become such a competent liar? Ann Marie had to make an effort not to slam the door at her back. She stomped into her living room, glad the fire was burning brightly. Someone had turned the gas lamps on, the soft light adding a cheerful glow to the furnishings.
Ann Marie didn’t know what was wrong with her. Rip Van Winkle, the man in the popular story, had slept for twenty years. It would appear she’d been sleeping for five. What had caused her awakening?
Ivy Murphy. An image of the young woman formed in Ann Marie’s mind. What would she look like without the mountain of rags that swaddled her? How would she have fared if she’d had Ann Marie’s advantages? Something about meeting that young woman had awoken Ann Marie. What was it?
Ann Marie brushed tears from her cheeks, unaware of her actions. Mama, Papa, what would you make of your little girl now, she thought. Mentally she compared the people she’d just left to her parents. In her parents’ home dinner conversation had been of world affairs, human rights – sometimes the conversation had become extremely heated with both of her parents beating the table to underline a difference of o
pinion.
Ann Marie had been encouraged to think for herself and express her opinions aloud. What would her parents think of the ghost she’d become? She’d drifted through life making no waves, taking the easy road.
She had spoken as an equal to her brilliant father. George Gannon had been a noted surgeon, a recognised leader in his own field. Her mother Elizabeth had been an extremely outspoken supporter of women’s rights. They’d be ashamed of their daughter if they could see what she’d become.
She’d thought she was being so liberated, working outside the home. She’d simply been hiding, going from one day to the next without thinking. Her mother had a favourite saying and, thinking of it now, Ann Marie cringed: “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Elizabeth Gannon had used that expression at least once a day. How much more terrible was it to waste a life?
Ann Marie walked over to one of the tall windows that graced her room at the front of the Georgian house. She pulled back the heavy drapery and, holding the drape in one hand, stared down into a practically deserted thoroughfare. The lamplighter pushed his cart before him, checking on the many gas street lights. A horse-drawn carriage passed under her window.
How many service people did she pass daily, without ever noticing their existence? She’d once read that the longest journey begins with one simple step. Perhaps her meeting Ivy Murphy was the first step in her journey.
She had impulsively suggested meeting Ivy Murphy the following day. She’d had some vague idea of changing the woman’s appearance before taking her personally to Iverson’s shop. The woman in her ragged outfit would be disdained and ignored by the staff at Iverson’s no matter how fine a head of hair she might possess. Ann Marie knew too that Ivy, in her rags, would not receive the full monetary value of her sacrifice. She would be judged on her appearance and found lacking. She would be cheated out of the money she so desperately needed. The same situation would apply at the morgue. Ivy would be cheated and scorned by those who considered themselves so far above her socially and financially.
Ann Marie tried again to imagine Ivy Murphy without her rags. The woman was tall, taller than she was, that much at least she knew. Ivy appeared to have a well-padded figure but her face and neck showed signs of starvation, so unless she was truly bloated by her lack of nutrition, she couldn’t be overweight.
Ann Marie dropped the drape back into position over the window. She crossed to the mantelpiece and pulled the tapestry cord hanging there, summoning a servant.
“You rang, Miss?” Mary Coates, the upstairs maid, bobbed her knee and waited. It was unlike Miss Gannon to ring for a servant after dinner. Mary had had to leave her own meal cooling on the table in the servants’ hall.
“Mary, I have a problem.” Ann Marie wasn’t exactly sure who in this household would be best able to help her.
“Yes, Miss.” Mary wouldn’t mind having a few of this woman’s problems. Talk in the kitchen said this woman’s money paid all the household bills.
“I wish to consult with Mrs Reilly, our admirable and very efficient housekeeper, on a matter of some delicacy.” Ann Marie hesitated. “Perhaps you could advise me.”
“Me, Miss?” Mary was flabbergasted. She’d never been asked for advice by the quality before. Wait till she told them about this below stairs!
“Where and when would it be best to consult with Mrs Reilly?” Ann Marie had no idea of the woman’s duties. “Should I invite her to take tea with me here, in this room, or should I arrange to meet her below stairs?”
“I believe Mrs Reilly would prefer to meet with you here, Miss Gannon,” Mary managed to get out through numb lips. The old battle-axe would skip up the ruddy stairs and be impossible to live with afterwards. She didn’t mind really. Mrs Reilly ran the house with skill and experience and Mary was learning a lot from just watching the woman. Mary had plans to improve her own situation.
“Would it be improper to suggest you ask Mrs Reilly directly?” Ann Marie was very aware of the proprieties. It would not do for her to upset a valued servant in her aunt’s domain.
“I’ll speak with Mrs Reilly,” Mary said. “Would that be satisfactory, Miss Gannon?”
“Thank you, Mary.” Ann Marie bowed her head gracefully. “I’d be much obliged.”
“Thank you, Miss Gannon.” Mary turned and in her best black uniform and spotlessly white apron and mob cap she practically floated from the room.
Mary made her way slowly and quietly towards the servants’ stairway though she wanted to kick up her heels and run. She couldn’t wait to reach the servants’ hall. This little bit of excitement would rattle the dishes right and proper. She’d better be careful how she went about it or she’d be in deep trouble. She’d have to inform Mr Foster, the butler first – that would be the right way to go about the thing.
“Aggie, get the plate out of the warming oven!” said Iris Jones, the cook, as Mary entered the kitchen.
The cook’s young helper jumped to her feet, leaving her own meal.
“I put your dinner in the warmer, Mary,” Iris said. “You weren’t away long so it won’t be ruined.”
“Thanks, Cook,” said Mary. Then she stepped forward and addressed the man at the head of the table. “Mr Foster, Miss Gannon has a request for Mrs Reilly.”
“You may pass the message along.” Foster bowed his head of magnificent grey hair in the housekeeper’s direction. “If the matter is not of a private nature.”
“No, Mr Foster.” Mary was enjoying her moment in the spotlight.
Agnes Reilly wanted to box the girl’s ears. She’d do it too if Mary didn’t hurry along and pass on the message.
“Mrs Reilly,” Mary took a deep breath, “Miss Gannon requests that you meet with her in her drawing room. Miss Gannon wishes to consult you on a private matter.” Mary watched every member of staff lean in closer and stare at the stunned housekeeper.
“Blimey, Mrs Reilly, you’re coming up in the world!” Davy, the young bootblack, grinned.
“Don’t be impertinent, Davy!” Foster snapped.
“Did Miss Gannon mention a time for this meeting?” Agnes Reilly pressed her napkin to her lips. It helped to hide the pleased grin that crossed her face. A change in routine was always welcome.
“Miss Gannon asked for my suggestion,” Mary stated daringly. She revelled in the gasps of astonishment that sped around the servants’ table.
“I beg your pardon?” Foster was horrified by this breach of etiquette.
“She did, Mr Foster.”
Mary’s dinner was sitting ignored on the table. For once Cook didn’t care – she was enjoying this little drama. “I hesitated to make any suggestion and asked if the Miss would allow me to consult with Mrs Reilly before returning to inform Miss Gannon of Mrs Reilly’s feelings on the matter.”
“Servants don’t have feelings!” Foster snapped.
“Yes, Mr Foster, but I’m just passing along Miss Gannon’s request.” Mary stood proudly, bosom erect.
“What is the world coming to when our betters ask for our opinion?” Foster snapped. “Mrs Reilly, take care of this matter yourself. At once if you’d be so kind.”
Mrs Reilly stood, giving every impression of calm competence. Inside she was giddy. She brushed needlessly at her skirt. She knew the superior quality of her black uniform dress and the keys hanging from her waist screamed her importance to the world – she need do nothing to improve her appearance.
“In my absence you may carry on with your duties.”Agnes Reilly glanced around the table. “You all know what to do.”
She sailed out of the servants’ hall, leaving a table filled with frantic whispers and avid listeners. For once Mr Foster allowed the servants to offer conjectures. Such a situation had never occurred before.
“You had better finish your meal, Mary,” Foster ordered.
“Yes, Mr Foster.” Mary delighted in her sudden rise in importance.
When the bell from Miss Gannon’s room rang out Mary jumped to her feet. Fo
ster examined her appearance personally. Such an unusual event had poor Mary almost swooning with the honour being bestowed upon her.
“Mrs Reilly . . .” Ann Marie had no idea of the commotion her simple request had stirred up below stairs.
“Yes, Miss Gannon?” Agnes Reilly was seated with Ann Marie at a small circular table. The table had been pulled out to stand adjacent to the glowing fire.
Mary Coates had delivered tea for two.
“I’m not quite sure how to go on.” Ann Marie poured the tea from the silver teapot into two exquisitely fine china cups. “I’ve met someone.”
“A gentleman, Miss Gannon?” Agnes Reilly was taking mental note of everything. Imagine the Miss pouring tea with her own hands for a servant! She’d have to work that little matter into conversation in the servants’ hall.
“No.” Ann Marie smiled, having no idea how much her private life fascinated the people below stairs. She’d be astonished to discover her every move and utterance was discussed and mulled over by the house staff. “A young woman.” Ann Marie offered Mrs Reilly a plate of sugared dainties. The woman was so overcome by the honour paid her she accepted a tiny cake with shaking fingers. “Someone I sincerely want to help.”
“Help in what way, Miss Gannon, if you don’t mind my asking?” Agnes Reilly felt as if she was standing outside herself watching her own image taking tea like a lady of leisure.
Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1) Page 7