“There’s a living area up those stairs.” Ann Marie crossed to join him. She’d offered Ivy this carriage house to live in. It would be an ideal space for a married couple and she herself would enjoy having Emmy running back and forth. Ivy didn’t even think about it before refusing. It seemed the thought of leaving The Lane and its familiar surroundings had been too much for her.
“Who lives there now?” Jem didn’t want some unknown person around his precious vehicle.
“No one,” Ann Marie said. “I’m going to turn part of it into a dark room. I need somewhere to develop my photographs and the rooms up there,” she jerked her chin upwards, “have running water and indoor plumbing. I can leave my photographic equipment up there too.”
“Have you grown out of that big house already?” Jem couldn’t imagine what Ann Marie wanted with all the space she already had.
“I’m going to be using a lot of dangerous chemicals to develop my photographs, Jem.” Ann Marie had thought to use one of the bathrooms in the main house as her studio but the constant interruptions from Sadie had inspired her to look for somewhere more convenient. If she’d had to refuse one more cup of tea or snack she’d have screamed at Sadie. “Would you like to see?”
“I’d love to,” Jem grinned. He wanted to get a good look at this living space with indoor plumbing. “I’ll just put my automobile inside first.”
He went and reversed neatly into the open space.
“Show off!” Ann Marie grinned and thumped him gently on the shoulder. “Here, you need this key. I have others.” She passed the large key to Jem, waiting while he closed and locked the double doors. She pressed a switch, illuminating the space.
“Begob, Missus,” Jem stood staring around open-mouthed, “you have the electricity in here and all. I knew you had it in the house but putting it in your carriage house, that’s posh.”
“Yes, the previous owner seems to have been a man ahead of the times. He had the latest inventions like plumbing and electricity put into the house and grounds.” Ann Marie too was fascinated by the uses of electricity.
“How do you turn it off?” Jem walked over to join Ann Marie by the light switch. He watched carefully, a wide grin of sheer delight on his face. When Ann Marie had turned the lights off and on again he raised his eyebrow in query – at her nod he experienced turning the lights on and off himself – several times. “Begob, Missus, that’s mighty.” He heaved a sigh of sheer satisfaction.
“Come on upstairs – I’ll show you around.” Ann Marie didn’t think there was anything risqué about inviting Jem upstairs with her. He’d become the brother she’d never had. She led the way up the wooden staircase. “There are two bedrooms and a box room up here.” She opened doors as she spoke, showing Jem the space available. There was a kitchen, bathroom and living room all carefully spaced around the large upstairs area. She wanted Jem to see what it was possible to create with careful planning.
“I asked Ivy to come live in this carriage house, Jem,” she said, when they stood in the living room before the large window overlooking the manicured lawn of her property. “She refused.”
“Ivy has had more shocks and sorrows in the last year than most people have to deal with in a lifetime, Ann Marie.” Jem stood – hands on his hips – and simply stared around. He understood Ivy’s fear of this big place. A body would rattle around all of these rooms. “I think leaving The Lane and her neighbours might have been one shock too many.” Besides, he thought his Ivy would be too proud to be beholden to anyone and the rent on this place would be a shocker.
“I have a friend . . .” Ann Marie had been thinking about this ever since Ivy had told her she would be marrying Jem. She did not want her friend to start her married life in those two basement rooms. Ivy deserved better. “He has studied architecture . . .” She stopped, unsure how to continue.
“What’s architecture when it’s at home?” Jem knew Ann Marie had another shock to deliver him. He tightened his sinews and waited.
“The study of buildings,” Ann Marie said simplistically. “Jem, with careful planning and the help of my architect friend I’m sure you could create something similar to this place at one end of your livery.”
“Between you and Ivy, Ann Marie, a poor man could end up in the loony bin.”
Without another word Jem began to pace the living space, his head full of plans and dreams, Ann Marie a silent shadow at his heels.
Chapter 6
“Miss Murphy, if I might have a word?”
Ivy smiled at her landlord’s agent as he hurried importantly from his backroom office. Greg Norton was a decent sort but she couldn’t imagine what he needed to talk to her about. With a sigh she accepted her rent book from the office clerk and moved down the long polished wooden desk to try and escape from listening ears.
“Mr Norton, I haven’t seen you in ages.” Ivy offered her ungloved hand.
“That is only too true, dear lady.” Greg Norton took the offered hand gently and shook it quickly before releasing the contact. He only saw the tenants who fell behind in their rent or caused problems. He should have had no reason at all to bother Miss Ivy Rose Murphy, but sadly he felt the need to talk to the unfortunate woman today. “You have always been a good tenant.”
“What’s going on?” Ivy didn’t have time to waste in chitchat. The fact that Mr Norton was making a point of seeking her out meant trouble.
“The rent collector for your area has expressed his concerns to me.”
Neal Ramsey had only recently taken over the area that included The Lane. The man was conscientious and caring, unlike the blackguard he’d replaced. He had never met Ivy Murphy as she insisted on paying her rent directly into the company office.
“Yes?” Ivy needed to get on. It was late Monday afternoon and she’d spent the day collecting the discards from the homes of the wealthy on Merrion Square. It was her custom to stop into the rent office and pay her rent before she returned home.
“Mr Ramsey, the rent collector for your area, has received complaints from a number of individuals about a young single female renting what some consider a prime property.” Greg Norton almost swallowed his tongue on that little snippet of exaggeration. The two basement rooms this woman rented were little better than dungeons in his personal opinion. He shrugged mentally. He supposed every eye formed its own beauty.
“My family, as you well know, Mr Norton, have rented those two rooms for over twenty years.” She’d been earning and paying the rent for the last thirteen years. Mr Norton had explained to her that paying her rent weekly gave the landlord the power to evict her with only a week’s notice. The fear of becoming homeless kept her awake at night. “Would it be possible for me to pay my rent monthly, Mr Norton? That would remove a great deal of weight from my shoulders.”
“I’m afraid that would not be possible, Miss Murphy.” Greg Norton knew the slum landlords refused to issue monthly rent agreements. The power to evict tenants with only a week’s notice was a privilege they demanded. A problem tenant could be thrown out in the street with only seven days’ notice. The raggedly dressed woman in front of him paid her rent in full and on time every week. That was a rarity for tenement tenants.
“I was hoping for the additional security a monthly rent book would grant me.” Ivy grabbed the handle of her old pram and prepared to leave the rent office. “I suppose I should have known better.” It wouldn’t do her any good to kick the tall wooden counter, no matter how much she might want to.
“Perhaps you could talk to Jem Ryan about the situation,” Greg Norton called softly. “I believe you two are walking out together.”
“I’ll do that.” When Hell freezes over, Ivy thought, while pushing her pram through the office door. “See you next week, Mr Norton.”
“Good day to you, Miss Murphy.”
“It’ll be a great day now you’ve frightened the life out of me,” Ivy muttered under her breath.
She pushed her pram in the direction of home, fe
eling her bones almost shake her body apart. She was terrified. What would she do if they decided to kick her out of her rooms? Jem had only the one room over the stables. How would she keep her business going?
Putting her back into pushing the stubborn pram in front of her, she walked without seeing along the old familiar paths. She had serious thinking to be doing.
Chapter 7
The following morning, after tossing and turning half the night, Ivy was determined to go about her business. She had used the sleepless time to make plans and jumped out of bed determined to implement them. She’d give the markets a miss today. She had places to go and people to see.
“Thanks to the sale of all them dolls I’ve more money in the bank than I know what to do with.” She prepared a pot of tea and a slice of bread to start her day. “That’s the kind of problem many a one would like to claim.” She wanted to think of something she could do with all of the little rubber dolls she had in stock. “I’ll never give up me round, that’s me bread and butter,” she hurried around the room, getting herself organised for the day ahead, “but them dolls are the jam.”
She gave herself a good wash before dressing in what she thought of as her business outfit. She left her rooms with a smile on her face and renewed hope in her heart.
“And where are you off to, all cocked, powdered and shaved, Miss Murphy?” Jem Ryan was standing in the courtyard, overseeing the business of hitching up carriages. He stood surrounded by horses and men getting ready to drive the carriages around the town. His business was thriving.
“I’m surprised you were able to drag yourself away from that newfangled radio of yours,” Ivy said.
“The programmes don’t start until the evening.” Jem had given in to the temptation to buy a radio now that Ireland had its very own radio station.
“That day would skin yeh, Ivy.” John Lawless was sitting in his wheelchair, checking that this second shift of drivers had the papers and instructions they would need for the day. His daughter Clare, a trained telephonist, was in the office.
“I’m off to make me fortune, lads.” Ivy laughed as she walked around the men and carriages. “I’ll see yez later.”
“Be sure and telephone if you need a carriage to carry your money back with you!” Conn, one of Jem’s lads, shouted.
“I’ll do that.” Ivy exchanged a soft glance with Jem.
“I’ll have the kettle on when you get back,” Jem called out, while admiring Ivy’s retreating figure. He stood for a moment watching and wishing they were married already. When was she going to set the date? He turned back to his business with a sigh. His Ivy was worth waiting on.
“Miss Harrington, how lovely to see you,” Ivy said in the posh accent she used for such business dealings and which came to her so easily. Hand out, smile professional, she approached the owner of the upmarket Grafton Street toyshop. She was wearing her purple tweed suit under her beige cashmere coat. She didn’t care what Ann Marie said about the fashion for shorter skirt length. The morning was cold and mucky and her smart beige coat and hat covered a multitude of sins.
“Miss Rose!” Geraldine Harrington grinned delightedly. This woman had added a generous amount to the money the shop had made over the Christmas period. “I’ll put the kettle on. It’s not a fit day out there for man nor beast.” She hurried into her back room to put the kettle on the primus stove she kept for her own use. “I’ll telephone across the road to Bewley’s,” she said over her shoulder. She could afford to be generous. She lived by the motto ‘Speculate to accumulate’. A cup of tea and a cream cake might soften Miss Rose’s attitude towards her profit line. She doubted it but one never knew. “Would you prefer a cream slice or puff, Miss Rose?”
“A cream puff would be delightful,” Ivy answered while checking out the work the owner had spread out around her counter top.
It seemed Miss Harrington was putting together Easter Baskets. At least that’s what she thought the straw baskets with little bunny rabbits and fluffy chicks encircled by big pink silk bows were. Her mother had talked of these baskets but Ivy had never seen them. Her mouth went dry while her mind spun frantically. She looked at the discreetly placed price tag and almost passed out – in the name of Jesus – all that money for a bloody little basket?
“The kettle won’t take long to boil.” Geraldine came through to the shop. “I see you’re admiring my Easter Baskets. Easter is a busy period for me, thank goodness – not as busy as Christmas but nevertheless I need to stock up for the occasion.”
“I have my artists working on a six-inch Alice in Wonderland doll which I believe would be ideal to include in your Easter Baskets,” Ivy lied quickly.
The idea had just exploded into her mind. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was always a favourite for story nights. She remembered the drawings of the little girl Alice on the book covers. It seemed to her that, every time someone was lucky enough to get a new Alice book, the girl on the cover was different. But one thing remained constant: Alice was always blonde. She had an abundance of the small blonde rubber dolls she’d used to make Cinderella. The outfits could be run up on the sewing machine in next to no time. It would be fiddly work but her heart sang at the thought of the profit that could be made.
“Why don’t we discuss this?” Geraldine knew she could make a larger gift basket and charge a great deal more. “Do you have a sample doll with you?” She didn’t see a case.
“I hadn’t originally considered your store for our Alice doll,” Ivy spread her hands in silent apology, “but I was passing and saw the dainty china tea sets on display in your shop window.” She’d go to Hell for lying but this was business. “The window arrangement made me smile and think of the Mad Hatter’s tea party.”
The bell over the shop door rang and a black-and-white-garbed waitress clutching a white bakery box pushed her way into the shop. Ivy wanted to kiss the woman, she was that glad of a chance to catch her breath. This lying took it out of her. She stood back and allowed her mind to wander while Geraldine Harrington and the waitress from Bewley’s café across the street took care of business.
She’d have to visit Harry Green’s warehouse. She closed her eyes trying to remember the last time Alice was read aloud on story night. A vivid image of Jenny Duncan formed behind Ivy’s eyes. She was standing on the tenement stairs holding her new book up for everyone to admire the cover. Yes, the girl on the cover had been wearing a sky-blue dress with a white apron – easy enough to replicate. She would need to buy extra blue and white thread for the sewing machine. She opened her eyes, hiding a grin – Harry was still frothing at the mouth over her success with the Cinderella dolls. Every time he saw her now he had something to say about her thieving ways. She needed to catch him in a good mood and order more naked baby dolls too.
She’d come into this shop to sound out the owner concerning another consignment of baby dolls. The Lawless family needed to get started dressing dolls for the Christmas market. It seemed ridiculous to be thinking of Christmas when they hadn’t even celebrated Easter.
“Shall we step in the back?” Geraldine offered when the waitress had left. She carried the white box with her and led the way. “I’m afraid talk of an Alice doll made me completely forget the kettle. It must be boiled dry.”
The two women stepped into the small space at the back of the shop set aside for Geraldine’s use. She could boil the kettle and have a snack while still being available to customers. It didn’t do to close the shop for any length of time. It depended on passing trade.
Ivy gave only half of her mind to the discussion about business. She drank the offered tea and nibbled on the cream puff but her mind was frantically planning. She needed to make a pattern out of brown paper for the Alice dress and apron. She’d make one complete outfit herself. She could paint little black shoes directly onto the dolls’ feet. She wanted to be able to pass the pattern and instructions to anyone she asked to dress the dolls. How many could she and her crew turn out in a short space
of time?
“How many Alice dolls can you let me have?”
Ivy almost jumped – for a moment she’d thought Geraldine had read her mind.
“I’ll need to discuss production details with my artists.” She never called them workers. “I’ll bring a sample doll for you to examine – would Thursday suit you?” It was Tuesday now. She’d sit up all night and dress a batch of the dolls herself if she had to.
“That would be wonderful.” Geraldine liked doing business with this woman. It was unusual to meet a female sales representative. She enjoyed the mild flirtation that took place between herself and the travelling salesmen who visited her shop but the chance to sit down and have a cup of tea and a cream cake with a fellow businesswoman was a rare treat.
“I’m aware you mentioned that the Baby Bundle dolls you supplied for the Christmas market were of a limited edition.” Geraldine sipped her second cup of tea, hoping no stray cream decorated her face. She wanted to lick her lips but resisted the temptation. “The dolls were such a wonderful success. I was wondering if you planned to make another baby doll available this year.”
Ivy opened her mouth to answer, her mind spinning.
Geraldine didn’t wait for Ivy to speak. “If possible I would like to have some of your dolls available to me throughout the year. Something like those baby dolls would make an ideal birthday present.” The dolls this woman offered were of a superior quality, the handwork beautifully finished. The profit margin had been exceptional.
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 3