“If you’d sit back down, Missus, I’ll get us out of here.”
Jem didn’t like the mood of the crowd. In horrified slow motion he watched a stone shoot out from the crowd. The stone hit his passenger bang in the middle of her forehead. He could actually hear the noise of the impact. The child inside the carriage screamed. Jem watched his passenger slide bonelessly back into the interior of the carriage.
“Gee up, Rosie!” Jem grabbed the whip that sat in the holder at the side of his seat. He cracked the old leather whip over the heads of the crowd. Rosie, unaccustomed to the noise, neighed almost fiercely and shook her head. She danced in the traces, her steel shoes striking sparks from the cobbles that covered the road. He had to get out of here. The shaken sobs coming from the interior of his cab broke his heart.
Jem inched his carriage out from the crowd that backed away from the dancing horse. He needed to get as far away as possible. With his hand shaking violently he returned the whip to its upright holder. He allowed Rosie to take control of the carriage. The horse knew what she was about. Jem was shaking too much to be of any use. The woman must be very badly hurt. He had heard the rock hit her head.
Jem stopped the carriage moments after Rosie turned into Islandbridge. The road passed directly in front of the Goldenbridge building. Jem didn’t even want to think about that. When he’d made doubly sure the brake was in place, he jumped down from his seat. He walked back quickly to the carriage and pulled the door open. The child screamed and jumped from the carriage directly into his arms. Her entire body was shaking.
“Ssssh, it will be all right.” Jem patted the little back gently. “Let me see here.” Jem tried to push the child away from him but she clung like a limpet. “I need to check if you’re hurt, petal.”
“No!” Emerald shook her head frantically.
Jem put his hand behind the child’s head and glanced into the carriage. His heart almost stopped. Unless he was very much mistaken his passenger was dead. She lay where she’d fallen, her mouth open, her eyes glazing over as death took the life from her body.
“Everything will be fine, petal.”
Jem needed to think. He could drive the carriage to the nearest police station. He could prove he had nothing to do with the woman’s death. But if he did that what would happen to the child? She’d be taken to Goldenbridge and forgotten. He couldn’t do that to any child.
“I’m going to let you talk to my horse. Her name is Rosie.” Jem put the girl on the ground by the horse’s head. He watched carefully, checking the little girl wasn’t afraid of the animal that towered over her head. Sensing no problem, he left the child and hurried back to the open door of the carriage.
Jem stood staring, incapable of thought. He didn’t feel capable of movement. His heart was beating so hard it almost rattled his ribcage. The woman whose voice had called down curses on the heads of everyone she knew was dead. There was no mistaking that look. Jem had seen it too many times. She was on her way to meet her Maker. Jem blessed himself, his arm like a ton weight as he forced himself to complete the motion.
The sound of an approaching horse and the noise of wheels turning snapped Jem out of his frozen state. He leaned into the carriage and with hurried movements pulled the woman’s body straight. With the trunk between the seats he was able to drape the body over the entire space. It was a blessing the woman was so short. Her feet and head reached from one side of the carriage to the other. He pulled her cloak around her body, passed his hand over her face and shut her staring eyes. Jem turned and with a casual wave in the direction of the passing cabby went back to the horse’s head.
“Your aunt is sleeping,” Jem said to the little girl. “If I help you up into the carriage will you be able to sleep too?”
“Are you going to take me to the place where they lock bold little girls away?” Emerald O’Connor didn’t believe her aunt was sleeping. “Did I kill her?”
“No, you most certainly did not!”
“May I stay up there with you?” Emerald didn’t want to go back into the carriage with her aunt. She didn’t care if she never saw her aunt again.
“You’ll get soaking wet.” Jem didn’t want to put the poor creature in with her aunt’s dead body. He needed to get out of here. He had to get away in case any questions were ever asked about him and his vehicle.
“I don’t mind,” Emerald whispered. She’d far rather stay with this man who had kind eyes and hands.
Jem made a sudden decision. “I’ll wrap you in the impermeable I keep for Rosie.” He needed to move. He’d think about this situation as he travelled along. What in the name of God was he going to do now?
He wrapped the child, lifted her onto the driver’s seat and climbed up beside her.
“This is nice.” Emerald liked being so high up. She yawned hugely and with a sigh buried her head under Jem’s arm.
“Walk on!” Jem snapped the reins and Rosie began to move slowly down the gaslamp-lit street.
Jem resisted the urge to hide the child as he passed in front of the dark gloomy building of Goldenbridge. He would not be pulling in there this evening.
Jem hoped the clip-clop of Rosie’s hooves and the familiar rattle of the wheels over the cobblestones would help him relax. The little girl was fast asleep, her head nestled into his armpit. He checked to see the child could breathe. With his heart in his mouth and a dead body in his carriage Jem drove through the silent Dublin streets, desperately trying to think. He wanted to keep driving around Dublin’s streets but knew he couldn’t – the little one needed to be somewhere warm and dry – she was beginning to shiver.
“Let’s go home, Rosie.” Jem snapped the reins to signal the horse.
Jem felt sick, his heart was jumping every time someone passed by. He needed to be somewhere safe, somewhere he could think in peace. His teeth were rattling in his mouth. He wasn’t cold, he was terrified. What was he going to do? He knew he should drive to the police station and leave the woman and child in their hands but he couldn’t do it. He knew what would happen to the little girl nestled so trustingly against him.
Jem’s uncle had driven the “death wagon” for years. When Jem first arrived in Dublin his uncle insisted Jem accompany him on his rounds. The death wagon was a lucrative portion of the cabby business. The sights Jem had seen over those years haunted him. The first thing Jem did upon his uncle’s untimely death was cancel the agreement. Jem couldn’t bear to continue doing something so soul-destroying every night. But the loss of income meant Jem had to work longer hours.
The death wagon rattled around the Dublin streets in the darkest part of the night. The drivers picked up unclaimed bodies from hospitals, homes and the city morgue. The tiny young battered bodies were the stuff of nightmare. Jem hadn’t minded so much picking up dead adults. They’d lived their lives. The children and babies he had seen thrown without care into the back of the open wagon had sickened him.
The number of times the wagon picked up some innocent little white body from Goldenbridge had struck Jem as excessive. He’d shocked his uncle by examining some of the young corpses. The marks of constant physical abuse had horrified Jem. He wouldn’t allow a cat of his to be housed in Goldenbridge. There was no way he could deliver the little girl snoring softly by his side to that house.
“What am I going to do with you?” Jem whispered down to the little girl at his side.
Jem tried to think of some family he knew who might take in a lost child. He mentally ran through a list of the couples he knew with young children. They were all having a hard time financially. He couldn’t ask them to take in another mouth to feed.
He could offer to pay Ivy Murphy to take care of the child for him but he’d never give another young girl child into Éamonn Murphy’s hands. The good Lord alone knew what that man would make the child do to earn her keep. But Ivy might know of a family who could help him out. Ivy travelled the squares and blocks around the lane on foot practically daily. She might know of some woman who
could help. Jem would work harder than ever to pay for the child’s keep.
He’d been stopping earlier and earlier to protect Rosie. He couldn’t continue on like this. He’d been letting the business drop off in the two years since he’d inherited it from his uncle. The livery had been a going concern in his uncle’s day – bustling. Jem had neglected everything but Rosie and this carriage. That had to stop.
Jem’s mother Mary Ryan would click her tongue in disgust and tell him he was being a hard-headed moron. Mary Ryan would have seen the events of this evening as a sign from above. She’d have clapped her son around the ears and told him to wake up. Jem could almost hear his mother’s voice in his ear. “How much more of a sign do you want, you great gobeen? Maybe you’d like an angel with a flaming sword?” With this evening’s events it would appear some deity was taking an interest in Jem Ryan’s life. He’d better start paying attention to what was going on around him. His sigh shook his body.
“Bide a minute, petal.” Jem let the little body drop onto his seat. He jumped down from the high driver’s seat and with a slap on Rosie’s rump he passed the horse and prepared to pull open the huge double doors leading into his livery.
Jem was sure eyes were watching him but he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to lead Rosie, still in her traces, into the barn-like structure. He’d close and lock the doors at his back. Then he’d be free to think about the nightmare situation he found himself in.
He’d need help. There was no two ways about it – he couldn’t handle this on his own. There was only one person Jem could think of who could help him now. Ivy Murphy. The woman was quick at thinking on her feet. Jem needed help now more than he ever had in his life before. He’d ask Ivy Murphy.
Chapter 12
Ivy pulled the tea chests from the side of the fireplace. She’d be able to leave them out. There would be no-one to shout at her about the mess. She put the bed platform on top of the boxes and spread her day’s takings on top.
She’d scored two damaged porcelain dolls today. Ivy had a tea chest full of doll parts. She’d see if she could mend these two dolls. She had women at the Haymarket and the Daisy market who bought all the dolls she could score. If she couldn’t mend them she’d keep the parts and sell the clothes.
Violet Murphy had started her ‘round’ out of desperation. She’d gambled on being able to pass the stuff people threw out on to others at a profit. Violet’s knowledge of quality goods had been a bonus. She’d taught Ivy to appreciate and recognise quality items. Violet’s ‘round’ became the main income for the Murphy family.
Violet had been able to keep Éamonn in check with a smile and a kiss. But when Ivy took over the business she learned to hide the best of what she scored. The items she’d known would bring in a handsome sum, she’d left with Granny. She’d sold those items only in an emergency. She couldn’t do that too often or her da would have caught on. The man seemed to have a nose for the scent of money.
Ivy returned to the back room. She stood making a mental list of things she wanted to do. The bed kept drawing her attention. She didn’t remember what it felt like to sleep in an actual bed. The sheets needed to be boiled. The luxury horsehair mattress that repelled all known bugs needed to be turned.
Ivy remembered her ma and da giggling in that big bed. Ivy hadn’t understood when things started to go bad. The fights between her ma and da frightened her. The worst fights always came after a visit from Father Leary.
“I can’t live this life any more!” Ivy remembered her ma screaming at her da with tears pouring down her face. “I don’t want a baby a year! It will kill me! We can’t feed and clothe the children we have. Father Leary can talk all he likes about ‘increase and multiply’,” Violet’s voice when she said those words had been ugly, “but that fat lump doesn’t have to find the money to run a household.”
Ivy understood now. She’d seen the girls she’d grown up with marry young and produce a baby a year. The girl she’d been closest to growing up, Nancy Hackett, was trying to raise six children under five years old and look after a husband, all in one room.
That didn’t mean Ivy forgave her mother. If Granny Grunt hadn’t helped, what would have happened to the children Violet left to fend for themselves?
A soft sound, like a dog scratching the rear door, had Ivy jumping in fright.
“Ivy, thank God you’re home! I was hoping I could attract your attention without alerting The Lane. You know what people are like for talking.” Jem Ryan stood outlined in the open doorway.
“What’s wrong, Jem?” Ivy had never seen Jem Ryan is such a state. The man was trembling if she wasn’t mistaken.
“I can’t tell you here.” Jem looked over his shoulder. “I need you to come over to my place, please.” He shrugged. “If you could turn invisible that would help.”
“You’re being very mysterious.” Ivy grinned. “How the heck am I supposed to turn invisible? The gas lamps are shining in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ll explain everything if you’ll step over the way.”
“You go back. Leave the people portal open.” Ivy was referring to the small human entry way cut into the giant stable doors. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
Jem nodded gratefully and left.
Ivy closed and locked the door.
“How am I supposed to become invisible?” She pushed her fingers through her short hair. With her fingers buried in her hair she froze. She might be able to pass herself off as a young lad.
Ivy dropped her skirt and pulled on a pair of her da’s trousers. They were clean. She was planning to sell her da’s clothes. Éamonn Murphy’s stuff was of the best quality and hardly worn. Ivy thought she’d get a good price for them. It was only fair since it was her earnings that had paid for the clothes.
Ivy pulled a ratty old jumper that dwarfed her, from one of her tea chests. With her da’s spare jacket on, and her da’s old cap pulled down to her ears, she left by the front door. If someone saw a young lad leaving her place it would give them something to talk about. Ivy locked the door, buried her chin in her chest and hurried across the courtyard. Her hand had only touched the handle of the smaller door of the livery when it was pulled open and she was jerked into the stables.
“In the name of God, Jem!” Ivy felt like kicking the man. He’d frightened the life out of her.
She opened her mouth to blast him but the sight of the little girl huddled against Jem’s chest stopped her cold.
“What’s going on, Jem?”
“I need help.” Jem said simply. “I can’t explain right now.” Jem’s head dipped in the direction of the child in his arms. “Can you put Emerald to bed? I need to put Rosie up for the night.” Jem didn’t comment on Ivy’s outlandish appearance. He’d asked her to become invisible and, God bless her, the woman had done her best.
“No problem.” Ivy was mystified. “Do you have a nightdress or something she can sleep in?” Ivy didn’t imagine the little one normally slept in her clothes, the quality of the child’s garments screamed money to Ivy.
“There are clean undershirts in the chest of drawers by my bed use one of them until I sort everything out.” Jem hadn’t thought of something for the child to sleep in. He hadn’t been able to think about anything but the dead body in his carriage.
“Right. Emerald, is it?” Ivy waited for the child to nod. “I’ll give you a piggyback.”
Ivy bent down, expecting Emerald to climb on her back, but the child just stood there, looking mystified.
What kind of child doesn’t know how to piggyback, thought Ivy.
“I’ll carry the little one up the ladder, Ivy. Then I’ll come back and take care of Rosie.”
Jem was up the ladder with the child like greased lightning, leaving Ivy to follow. Ivy was pleased with the freedom the trousers gave her.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Jem disappeared from the room. Jem’s living area was a well-built large room with its own walls and entranc
e, set well back from the lip of the stable loft.
“Let’s get you settled.” Ivy wanted to take the time to look around the room but first she needed to take care of the little girl sitting so still and silent upon the bed. She did take the time to notice that the place was spotlessly clean and everything was in its proper place. “We’ll get you out of these clothes.” Ivy dropped to her knees and began to open the laces on the little girl’s boots. The child looked sweaty and clammy. Ivy assumed it was the result of travelling. “We’ll give you a quick lick and a promise of a wash and get you into bed.” She pulled off one boot and then the other. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry!”
The little girl’s feet were bleeding. The expensive stockings were stuck into the bleeding spots. The boots, a superior quality child’s boot, were at least a size too small. Ivy wouldn’t question the child but she’d be demanding an explanation from Jem.
“We’ll leave your socks alone,” Ivy said gently. “I don’t know my way around so we’ll wait until Jem comes up. We can soak your feet in warm water. The socks will float right off.”
Ivy felt she was talking to a ghost. The little girl watched everything with her big sad green eyes. She hadn’t even complained at the pain she must have felt when Ivy pulled the boots off her feet.
“We’ll get these clothes off you.” Ivy had to struggle to get the coat off the child. In spite of the wealth demonstrated by the quality of the cut and fabric, the coat was several sizes too small. Ivy helped the child struggle out of clothes that were meant for a child a lot smaller than this little girl.
Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1) Page 12