Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1)

by Gemma Jackson

  “That’s just it, Mrs Reilly.” Ann Marie sipped her tea slowly. “I have no idea how best to help this woman. I was hoping to consult with you. I thought if I explained the situation to you, you might be a better person than I to work something out.”

  “I see.” Mrs Reilly said having no idea whatsoever how she could be of help to one of the gentry. “Would you care to tell me about this young woman?”

  “What I wish to share with you, Mrs Reilly, must remain strictly between ourselves.” Ann Marie had no idea where Ivy Murphy lived but she had no wish to make the young woman the subject of servants’ gossip, should they know of her.

  “That goes without saying, Miss Gannon.” Mrs Reilly was insulted by the suggestion she might gossip.

  “Thank you.” Ann Marie bowed her head. “Let me lay out the situation for you and when I’ve finished perhaps you could make some suggestions?”

  Ann Marie first made known her wish to help someone in difficult circumstances. She wished to offer her advice and assistance without offending the dignity of the woman involved. She then gave Mrs Reilly a brief rundown of her dealings with Ivy.

  “You wish to offer this person money?” Mrs Reilly couldn’t see the problem. Most people would almost break your fingers taking the money out of your hand.

  “No, not at all,” Ann Marie said. “In fact I think Ivy Murphy would be mortally offended if I offered her money. The woman was insistent that she’d accept no charity. I admired her attitude.”

  “Ivy Murphy?” Mrs Reilly felt faint. She could actually feel the colour leaving her face. It couldn’t be the same person. Surely Miss Gannon wasn’t talking about the ragamuffin that begged for cast-offs and throwaways from all the servants’ entries around this square of prosperous Georgian mansions. “Is this woman you wish to help tall, badly dressed in filthy layers of clothing, with an enormous black bun sitting on the back of her neck?” She wanted to cross her fingers. She hoped very much she was mistaken.

  “You know her?” Ann Marie was surprised. Where would their very upright housekeeper have met Ivy?

  “If it’s the same person, then yes.” Mrs Reilly forgot herself so much she held out her cup for a refill.

  “Without being indelicate or revealing something you wish to conceal,” Ann Marie poured the tea, excited at the thought of learning more of Ivy Murphy’s circumstances, “would you tell me how you came to know her?”

  “Ivy Murphy, merciful heavens, I’ve known her all of her life.” Mrs Reilly was feeling very important. Miss Gannon was hanging on her every word. Without giving the game away she’d be sure to mention that little fact below stairs. “I knew her mother.”

  “Would you tell me about Ivy?” Ann Marie couldn’t believe her luck. She stood, walked over to her concealed liquor cabinet and removed a bottle of cognac. She added the brandy to her own tea before offering Mrs Reilly the same fortification. With satisfied smiles the two women settled in for a good gossip.

  Chapter 8

  Ann Marie left her uncle’s home early the next morning. In her handbag she had one of the large brass keys used to open the locked gates of the private park the square was built around. She’d telephoned the hospital and informed them she would not be working that day. Ann Marie intended to take Ivy into the park.

  Ann Marie was so wrapped up only her eyes were visible. Her winter fox-fur hat and shawl-like fur collar kept the wind off and the heavy tweed fabric of her coat covered her from neck to ankles. To the best of her ability she was dressed for the weather. She walked briskly around the park, having no idea which direction Ivy would come from.

  The tale of Ivy’s life, as much as Mrs Reilly knew, horrified Ann Marie. She’d had difficulty sleeping thinking of a nine-year-old girl being the sole provider for her father and three brothers. How had such a thing been allowed to occur? There were agencies set up to prevent child slavery. Ann Marie believed Ivy had been a slave to the male members of her family.

  How Ann Marie’s mother would have revelled in the opportunity to right this social wrong! Well, Elizabeth Gannon was dead but her daughter was determined to see justice done.

  Thankfully Ann Marie hadn’t mentioned Éamonn Murphy’s demise to Mrs Reilly. That would have been unforgivable since it was obvious Mrs Reilly knew the family. It was imperative no-one should know Ivy intended to sell her father’s remains. Ann Marie felt faint at the problems she’d almost brought upon Ivy’s head.

  Last evening the housekeeper had been able to tell Ann Marie a great deal about Violet Burton, a woman who’d married so far beneath her own social station her family had cut her off without a penny. How could any woman, any mother, leave four children at the mercy of a man like Éamonn Murphy? Granted Ann Marie had seen that even in death Éamonn Murphy was a handsome devil with mouth-wateringly tempting physical attributes. If life with the man had been so unbearable that Violet Burton had run away, how could she believe her children would be safe?

  Ann Marie sighed, making another circuit of the park. It was really none of her business. She couldn’t change the past but perhaps she could make a difference to Ivy’s future. Ann Marie needed a project, a reason for living. She needed to justify her exalted position in society.

  She had mistakenly believed her position in the morgue would allow her to help people. When she’d accepted the position at the hospital she had imagined herself consoling and counselling the bereaved, serving a purpose. She’d spent the last three years sleepwalking through life. Ivy Murphy had kicked her awake.

  She huddled into the thick fur collar she pulled up to frame her face, finally admitting she’d taken the position at her father’s old teaching hospital to remove herself from her uncle’s house. The family were not unkind but their constant twittering on about their social engagements and pleasures had driven Ann Marie to distraction.

  Charles Junior and Clementine, through no fault of their own, were completely useless individuals. They had no purpose to their lives. Charles Junior fainted at the sight of blood so a career in medicine had never been suggested for him. He seemed content to drift from day to day, posing a constant danger to any attractive housemaids his mother might employ.

  “You must like white.” Ivy had come unnoticed to Ann Marie’s side. “Although the white fur is more attractive than that white doctor’s coat you wore in the morgue.” She smiled shyly.

  “Ivy!” Ann Marie almost groaned. The woman was wearing the same atrocious old army greatcoat and moth-eaten wool shawl. “I brought the key to the park gate.” She took the key from her handbag and held it high. “I thought we might talk inside – it should be more sheltered.”

  “Fine.” Ivy hadn’t come far but she was frozen.

  “I don’t know why they insist on keeping these gates locked.” Ann Marie was embarrassed. “A park like this should be for everyone.” She smiled over her shoulder. “You’ve probably never been in here before?”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Ivy looked out of the corners of her eyes, amused at Ann Marie’s assumption. She’d spent a lot of her childhood behind these gates keeping an eye on her brothers and picking daisies with her mother. Two or three of the iron railings had been loosened, allowing the women of The Lane and their children to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine in pleasant green surroundings. They were careful never to be caught by the residents of the mansions. The children of the families that owned the mansions were taken for strolls with their nannies, none of whom were a match for any of the ferociously protective women of The Lane. Both parties turned a blind eye to each other and no harm was ever done to the park.

  “I wanted to speak to you in private,” Ann Marie said as she locked the park gate behind her. She knew she was missing something but had no idea what it could be. She had the impression Ivy was laughing at her.

  “We could talk in that little three-sided hut by the bandstand. We’d be out of this wind anyway?” Ivy smiled innocently.

  “That would be ideal.” Ann Marie left it a
t that. She was flustered enough by the thought of the conversation she hoped to hold with Ivy. She didn’t need to complicate matters.

  They approached the bandstand and stepped into the hut that was used by the groundsmen and visitors alike. The back of the tall hut protected the two women from the biting cold wind.

  “Ivy,” said Ann Marie, “I have something I wish to discuss with you and I’m heartily terrified of insulting you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Why don’t you tell me your name before you start insulting me?” Ivy suggested.

  “Oh, my dear Lord!” Ann Marie closed her eyes, horrified at her breach of etiquette.

  “That’s an unusual name.” Ivy had no intention of kowtowing to this woman. It was obvious from a casual glance that they came from totally different ends of the social ladder. Ivy didn’t intend to allow that to bother her.

  “I’m so sorry!” Ann Marie held out a hand encased in a buttery soft beige leather glove. “My name is Ann Marie Victoria Gannon and I wish very much to be a friend to you.”

  “Ivy Rose Murphy.” Ivy held out a hand encased in a discarded sock folded back to form a thumbless mitten. “You can never have enough friends in my opinion.”

  “Thank you,” Ann Marie said sincerely.

  “What did you want to say to me?” Ivy didn’t know why this woman was bothering with her but she’d go along with it and see what happened.

  “I wanted to advise you.” Ann Marie blushed bright red. “We talked about visiting Iverson’s with regards to selling your hair.” She was choking on the words but she had to say what needed to be said.

  “You said I could get some money for it. Have you changed your mind?” Ivy had known it was too good to be true. Who in their right mind would buy hair?

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind!” Ann Marie almost snapped. She was disgusted at her own cowardice. “The truth of the matter is, Ivy, and I do beg you to forgive me if my words sound harsh, but attired as you are Iverson’s won’t let you past the door.”

  “I see.” Ivy had made an effort with her appearance. She’d sat up late into the night making a dress she was really proud of. However, she knew the old coat and battered shoes ruined everything.

  “I’m sure you do,” Ann Marie said sadly. “However, I’m hoping you will allow me to help you.”

  “How?” Ivy couldn’t afford to allow her pride to get in her way. She was in a desperate situation and she knew it.

  “I live just across the road.”

  “What number?” Ivy knew all of these houses. Well, she knew them from the back alley entrance anyway.

  “Number 8.” Ann Marie wondered why the number of the house mattered.

  “Mrs Reilly’s place?”

  “I suppose, yes, in a sense I suppose it is Mrs Reilly’s place.” Ann Marie laughed softly, wondering what her aunt would think of that. “Anyway, what I wanted to suggest to you . . .” She paused, wondering if she dared go on. Mrs Reilly had advised her to tread carefully. “What I wanted to suggest was . . . if you would care for it, that is . . .”

  “Ann Marie, will you stop beating around the bush and spit it out, whatever it is!” Ivy was frozen and wanted to get to this hair place and see how much she could get for the hair on her head. She was very much aware she owed Ann Marie a half crown. Would she get as much as that for her hair?

  “I want you to come over to Number 8 with me and allow Mrs Reilly and I to try and find something that will fit you,” Ann Marie said breathlessly. “Mrs Reilly thought my uncle’s daughter Clementine might be of a size with you. We can put an outfit together that will allow you to stroll into Iverson’s with your head held high.”

  “Old Foster would lay a duck egg if you took me into his house!” Ivy laughed until her sides ached. Every time she’d almost caught her breath the image of Foster’s face would pop into her head and she’d be off again.

  Just then Ann Marie heard the sound she’d been waiting for: her aunt’s chauffeur cranking up the automobile. Mrs Reilly had mentioned, in passing, that the chauffeur had received orders to have the automobile outside the door early that morning. Beatrice Gannon and her two children were driving to Kildare to visit friends for lunch.

  “Let’s go.” Ann Marie took a sniggering Ivy by the elbow and almost towed her from the park.

  “I can’t go in there.” Ivy pulled back when they approached the house, staring upwards at the four floors of the redbrick building in front of her.

  “Of course you can. The family have left for the day so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” Ann Marie considered the house empty once the family members had left – it didn’t occur to her to count the servants.

  “All right.” Ivy couldn’t wait to see Foster’s face when he opened the door. She hoped someone had smelling salts on hand – the old fellow would likely faint dead away.

  “Miss Gannon, I wasn’t aware you had left the house this morning.” Foster held the door open for Ann Marie, then attempted to shut it in Ivy’s face, glaring his disdain.

  “This is my friend, Miss Murphy, Foster.” Ann Marie opened her coat. “Have the breakfast covers been removed?” She waited for the butler to remove her coat, passing her hat and gloves to him automatically.

  “Not yet, Miss Gannon.” Foster clicked his fingers in the direction of the hovering footman. He would not deign to touch the upstart’s ragged coat and shawl. How dare she come into his home in this fashion? Someone should point out the correct way of doing things to Miss Ivy Murphy, and Foster felt he was just the man for the job.

  “Wonderful!” Ann Marie watched Ivy peel away her layers, unaware of the little drama taking place around her. Her jaw dropped when Miss Ivy Rose Murphy stood in front of her in all her glory. Where on earth had she found the dress she was wearing? Ann Marie would be proud to have the garment hanging in her own wardrobe. What was going on here? She forced her jaw closed with effort. “Ivy, do you prefer tea or coffee?”

  “I’ve never tasted coffee, Ann Marie.” Ivy bit her lips. She’d given her shawl to the footman. Was it decent to be standing here with her head uncovered? Ann Marie didn’t seem to mind, so it must be okay. Ivy shrugged, the rich were different.

  The shocked gasp at her effrontery from Foster and the footman echoed around the enormous entryway. Ivy wished she could just stand here and take it all in – how the other half lived. She’d never get a chance like this again.

  “Please ask Cook for a pot of tea and one of coffee, Foster.” Ann Marie opened the door to the dining room herself.

  Foster and the footman were standing, horrified, unable to move or function at this unacceptable turn of events.

  “Bring an extra cup if you would,” said Ann Marie. “I’m sure Ivy would appreciate her first taste of coffee.” She entered the dining room, leaving the door open for Ivy.

  “Suck it in, Foster, me auld flower!” Ivy almost skipped towards the dining room. “I’m an invited guest.”

  “What will you have, Ivy?” Ann Marie had lifted a silver dome that covered one of the many dishes on the sideboard.

  “Miss Gannon, please, that is my duty.” Foster hurried into the dining room, determined to protect his home from all ignorant intruders. It wasn’t Miss Gannon’s fault – she was a trusting soul – but that Ivy Murphy, that beggar girl, she was taking advantage.

  Foster sniffed loudly – expressing his displeasure. This was not how things were done.

  The footman returned quickly from the kitchen. Brian Sarsfield didn’t want to miss a moment of this unusual event. Under Foster’s watchful eye, he began to organise the table settings.

  “I’ll have a taste of everything.” Ivy watched the footman hurry to pull out a chair for Ann Marie. Was the woman incapable of seating herself? What a load of pretentious rubbish! Ivy had caught a brief glimpse of the mountain of lean bacon under the dome Ann Marie had held in her hand. Her mouth watered at the scents that drifted around the large room.

  “Thank yo
u, Foster,” Ann Marie said as soon as the man had placed a plate laden with food before her. “If you could bring in the tea and coffee, we will serve ourselves.”

  “Yes, Miss Gannon.” Foster wanted to throw the food at Ivy Murphy but he restrained himself. He had his dignity to consider. He placed a brimming plate in front of the woman with exaggerated care. He knew the beggar had never seen so much food in her life. Highly indignant at his dismissal, he then signalled the footman to follow him from the room.

  “Stand by that door and don’t move,” he said. “If that one,” meaning Ivy, “makes a move you don’t like, come and get me.”

  “Yes, Mr Foster.” Brian Sarsfield turned his back to the dining-room door. What a turn up for the books! This palaver would be the talk of every house in the square. He’d be treated to a few pints tonight at the pub – everyone would want to know about these goings-on.

  “Ivy, I don’t wish to offend you . . .” Ann Marie picked up the correct tableware, conscious that Ivy was waiting to see what she would do.

  “Ann Marie, can we agree that the two of us come from completely different worlds?” Ivy copied Ann Marie’s movements. Her mouth was watering. She’d never in her life had a plate of food like this just for herself. She wanted to dive in and devour everything. They’d be lucky if she left any pattern on the feckin’ plates. “If we worry about offending each other all the time we’ll be afraid of opening our mouths.” She bit into the bacon and egg she’d placed on her fork. She wanted to groan – it was the best food she’d ever tasted. “Let’s agree to say what we mean and if either of us takes offence, well, it can’t be helped.”