“I’ll –” Ivy opened her mouth with no idea of what she was going to say. A loud shout from downstairs saved her from having to come up with an answer at that moment. Jem was needed in the livery. “We can talk later.” She jumped at the chance to escape. She had things to think about.
“Emmy will be home soon,” he said. “Are you going to eat with us?”
“I won’t, Jem, thanks. I have so much to do.”
“I’m not letting this go, Ivy.” Jem held the door open. “We need to set a date for the wedding – the sooner the better.”
“I’ll think on it,” Ivy promised, hurrying from the loft room.
As if she’d be able to think of anything else.
Chapter 10
“Think about it, the man says.” Ivy had pushed her sewing machine into the back room. She had a wash basin of hot soapy water on the kitchen table and was scrubbing twenty of the little rubber dolls before laying each one on a nearby towel. “I’ve nothing else to be doing with me time. The dirt of the place is looking up at me. I haven’t a minute to draw a deep breath and there’s yer man asking me to rearrange me life. Think about it? Aagh!”
A knock on her back door had her stopping her rant.
“I can’t even be left alone with me thoughts,” she muttered, heading for the door. “If that’s Jem Ryan at the door I’m going to scalp the man.”
She headed for the door and opened it.
Hannah Solomon-Felman, a black shawl wrapped around her shivering figure, stood in the doorway.
“Twice in one day, Hannah.” Ivy didn’t know what else to say. She stood back and silently invited Hannah into her rooms.
She busied herself putting the kettle on to boil. Hannah wanted something from her but she couldn’t begin to guess what.
“You’ve started the dolls?” Hannah sat at the kitchen table, examining the little dolls and trying to think how she could say what she needed to say.
“You didn’t come here to talk about dolls, Hannah – spit it out. I want to get this first batch of dolls finished. See what I have.” She put the kettle to the side of the range. For once the tea could wait.
“I am a bad wife,” Hannah whispered. “I am a bad mother to my husband’s sons – all of whom are older than me. I am a bad daughter to a father who loves me and wants only the best for me – his idea of what’s best, of course.” She picked up one of the little dolls and began combing its hair with the small comb Ivy had left to hand. “I am a bad sister who will bring shame to her siblings.” There was a moment of silence while she continued combing the doll’s hair. “But I am not a bad woman.”
Ivy didn’t know what she was supposed to say to all that, so she said nothing. The other woman seemed to need to get a load off her chest. She’d just tend to her own business. She picked up one of the dolls and dried it carefully, preparatory to painting black shoes onto its feet.
“Are you listening to me, Ivy Murphy?”
“I’m listening.” Ivy didn’t take her eyes off the work she was doing. “Shouldn’t you be getting home to your husband and family?”
“My husband,” Hannah almost spat the word, “is entertaining his wife’s family this evening.”
“You are his wife.”
“No, I’m not. His wife is dead. I’m just the girl who runs his shop and keeps his home running efficiently. He went through a wedding service with me to reduce the cost and inconvenience to him.”
There was a silence while Ivy waited to see if Hannah had anything else to say. It didn’t do to come between a husband and wife.
“If you’ve no one waiting for you to come home I have onion-and-potato soup made. There’s plenty for you if you’d care to join me.”
“I thank you, Ivy Murphy. No, no one will miss me.” Hannah slept over the shop when her husband entertained his first wife’s family. It was a pleasure not to have to lie beneath his sweating, grunting, heavy body.
“What do you think I can do for you, Hannah?” Ivy stood to put the pot of soup on the black range to heat.
“I have running-away money.” Hannah waited to see if God would strike her down. “I’ve been hiding away money for all of the seven years I’ve been married.” Sometimes when her husband was beating her or rutting over her, she wished for death. “If my husband should die before me his sons would see me in the street.”
“You are married to the man, Hannah.” Ivy began to clear her work from the table. She didn’t pass comment on a wife running from her husband – hadn’t her own mother done the same thing? Hannah at least was leaving no child motherless. “I believe that gives you certain rights.” What did she know about the rights of a wife?
“I know what I know, Ivy Murphy. I must get away.”
“Where will you go?” As far as Ivy understood it, the Jewish community in Dublin was extremely close-knit. She couldn’t imagine anywhere Hannah could go that she would not be caught.
“I have dreamed of America.” Hannah watched Ivy set the table for their meal.
“What about your father?” Mr Solomon was a good man if a bit old-fashioned.
“I cannot tell my father.” There were tears in Hannah’s eyes. Her father had thought he was doing his best by her but his attitude of ‘you’ve made your bed, you must lie in it’ was not for her.
“You know our Shay has gone to America?” It wasn’t Ivy’s place to pass judgement. If the son was anything like the mother she’d met in the shop that day she’d be tempted to do a runner herself.
“Aah, your Shay,” Hannah sighed. “I saw him on the stage. I was so proud of him. Prince Charming, no less.”
“He hated it.” Ivy ladled two bowls of soup from the pot on the range. “He said he only accepted the role because they were desperate and offered him an obscene amount of money.” She put the soup bowls on the table. She had a loaf of crusty bread she added to the feast.
She sat down opposite Hannah.
“The cost of a ticket to America is very high, Hannah,” she said when the two women were spooning the rich soup from the bowls.
“I thought to seek work as a seamstress on one of the sailing ships.” Hannah had been dreaming of her escape for years. “I do not wish to arrive in the new world penniless. I have worked hard for my husband and his family from our first day of marriage. I set up the little shop in the alcove. My husband’s mother will not step into the place, believing it beneath her dignity. This works in my favour as she has no idea how much money I take behind those curtains. I have been stashing coins like a squirrel stocking nuts for winter. It is strange. I was content to drift along, always planning my escape.” She looked into Ivy’s eyes. “Seeing you today broke something inside of me. I can no longer waste my youth waiting for my moment.”
Neither woman mentioned the fact that it was illegal to meddle in the affairs of a married man. His wife was his chattel. Anyone caught helping his wife escape his clutches was breaking the law of the land.
“What do you think I can do for you?”
“I need your help to remove all of the money I’ve saved from the shop.” She reached across the table and covered Ivy’s hand with her own. “I know I am asking a great deal of you. But I have no one else I can turn to. The money is in coin, yes, but it is not as heavy as you might believe. I have managed to change a great deal of it into crowns. My mother-in-law’s cronies seem to spend a vast amount of crowns in the shop.” She’d asked a question about that once. She knew never to ask again. Some lessons were unforgettable. “The mice would eat paper. I do not know exactly how much I have managed to save but I know I will need every penny.”
“Are you sure about this, Hannah? It’s a big step to take and if you’re caught you’ll be in a worse state.”
“I can’t continue to live my life.” Hannah tried not to sob.
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Ivy took her empty bowl from the table. She could take Hannah’s money to the post office and open an account. That shouldn’t be a problem. “Leaving you
r husband will take a lot of careful planning on your part, Hannah.”
Hannah felt almost faint with relief. She hadn’t been able to think of a way she could smuggle the coins out from under her mother-in-law’s nose and change them into bank notes. Her husband’s mother watched every move she made. The woman even had her cronies spy on Hannah whenever she had to be away from the shop.
“It would be best, I think, if I’m not seen to be helping you,” said Ivy. “Too many people know me – know I do business with your father.” She ignored Hannah’s gasp. “I may know someone better able to help you plan your escape.” Ivy was thinking of Betty Armstrong. Her da’s long-lost sister was a woman who knew a lot more than she let on. She’d be willing to bet that woman would know how to get someone away from a bad situation. She hated to be beholden to the woman but Betty had friends in America who might be able to help Hannah.
Hannah didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She put her head on her arms, folded on the kitchen table, and wailed.
Chapter 11
Ivy walked along Baggot Street, checking the numbers on the houses. It wouldn’t do to knock on the wrong door on this street. There were a number of very busy abortionists plying their trade along here.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her beige cashmere coat. She had asked young Seán McDonald to set up this meeting. That lad seemed to run back and forth to Betty’s whenever he felt like it.
The door to the house she was looking for opened as she neared. A slender grey-haired figure dressed all in black stood framed in the opening. The woman didn’t say a word, simply stared at Ivy with the scariest eyes she’d ever seen.
“I’m here to see Miss Armstrong.” Ivy offered a weak smile.
The woman, who was much younger than she appeared from a distance, stepped back.
“Ivy!” Betty Armstrong appeared in the opening to the first door on the left of the long elegant entrance hall. “Dolly, we’ll have tea and biscuits, please.” She looked at Ivy, wondering what had brought her brother’s child to her door. “Unless you’re hungry. I’m sure Dolly wouldn’t mind making a snack.”
“Tea would be fine, thank you.” Ivy didn’t want to visit politely. She passed her coat and hat to the woman who stood by her side, hands out, waiting.
“We can talk in here.” Betty turned to enter the room at her back. She knew Ivy would prefer the kitchen. She didn’t care.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Ivy looked around. The room was elegantly furnished with soft beige chairs arranged around a roaring fire. A glass-topped occasional table supported a mountainous display of fresh flowers. She looked at the roll-front desk with envy.
“Sit down, Ivy.” Betty waved to the chair across the fire from where she sat. “We can discuss why you wanted to see me after Dolly has served the tea.” She waited until Ivy sat stiffly facing her. “How have you been?”
“I didn’t come here for polite chitchat.”
“It won’t kill you to indulge me.” Betty was determined to form a positive relationship with Ivy. “For example, we could talk about what you’ve been up to today.”
“Friday is my day for visiting the markets.” She’d run around the markets and even bought supplies from Harry Green’s warehouse.
“You appear to be making a success of your business.” Betty felt she had to almost drag every word out of the stubborn woman’s mouth.
Dolly entered the room silently carrying a tray which she placed on an occasional table in front of the fire.
“We will serve ourselves, Dolly, thank you,” Betty said when everything was in place.
The woman left the room.
“Why have you come to me?” Betty poured tea into two cups and with silent gestures offered milk and sugar – at Ivy’s nod she added milk only to her cup. She passed the prepared tea served in a delicate china cup and saucer across the small table.
“Someone came to me for help.” Ivy was glad the cup didn’t rattle in the saucer as she took it. She waved away the offered plate of biscuits. “I don’t know how to help her. I hoped you might know something I could tell her.”
“How well do you know this woman?” Sometimes holding out a helping hand was a trap.
“We grew up together.” Ivy almost inhaled the tea in the delicate cup – nervousness seemed to have drained all of the moisture out of her mouth. She held the cup out for a refill.
“Tell me everything.” Betty turned the handle of the silver teapot in Ivy’s direction. If she was going to drink tea at that speed she could serve herself.
“Hannah is married to Manny Felman.” Ivy was filling her cup and didn’t notice Betty stiffen. She served herself and then told Betty everything that had happened since she’d set foot inside the Dawson Street haberdashery.
Betty wondered if Ivy had any clue what she was actually telling her. The shop took a lot of crowns. Mrs Felman’s cronies visited the shop regularly – he was using old biddies as runners. The bloody man was using the shop to bank the money he took from gambling and intimidation. Entertaining his late wife’s family – nonsense!
“Do you trust this woman?” Betty needed to get this information to her brother. She would do nothing that might endanger him. They had both been active in the rebellion to free their country – a fact it didn’t pay to advertise. Manny Felman had been on the other side – a known enemy.
“I have no reason not to trust her.”
“Did she seem unhappy to you – abused?” Was this a trap for her brother? Manny Felman’s wife – dear Lord, the woman would be a mine of information if asked the right questions.
“I didn’t see bruises and cuts if that’s what you’re asking.” Ivy saw enough women around The Lane bearing the proof of their husbands’ loving fists. “What I did see were her eyes, the stiff way she held herself.” She looked at Betty. “I saw the change in her. Hannah was the . . .” she searched for a word, “the sunniest young girl I’ve ever known. She always had a smile, a greeting, a joke. The woman who came to my house is a shadow of that girl.”
“You need to leave this with me.” Betty knew Manny Felman’s reputation. A British officer lover of hers – an informant had he known it – had talked of the man paid to extract information from prisoners. He’d remarked Manny enjoyed himself a little too much when questioning female prisoners. “Miss Ivy Rose may be needed to pass information along.” Betty hated to think of Ivy involved in this but no one else could be seen to approach Hannah. “You need to think long and hard about this, Ivy. Manny Felman has a very bad reputation in this town. The kind of reputation that makes most sane people steer well clear of him. He and his henchmen play for keeps.”
“Tell me what I should do.” Ivy couldn’t turn her back on Hannah. She’d heard the whispers going around town about Manny Felman. She planned to keep well out of his way.
“I need time to put a plan together.” Betty leaned forward slightly to stare into Ivy’s eyes. “What you are planning to do is not only against the law, it is bloody dangerous. Don’t go near Hannah or that shop until I talk to you again. Don’t come back to this door. I’ll telephone you at the livery. I’ll help you in this, Ivy, but for God’s sake watch your back.”
Chapter 12
“In the name of God, Ivy Murphy, are yeh feeding the five thousand?” Porky Donnelly, a well-known Dublin pork butcher, stared at the list of items Ivy had passed to him. He pushed his glasses on top of his bald head, put his bloodstained hands on his sackcloth-covered hips and waited.
“Now, Mr Donnelly, you shouldn’t be complaining when a customer comes to your door.” Ivy had made a note of her requirements because she didn’t want to forget anything. “Besides, wasn’t it loaves and fishes that fed the five thousand in the Bible? I don’t remember any mention of ham hocks.”
“I’d want to get up early in the morning to catch you out, Ivy.” Porky Donnelly was standing in the back room of his two-up two-down house, cutting chunks from the pig he’d slaughtered that mornin
g. Porky, his wife and children lived in the two top rooms, keeping the downstairs for business. The front-room shop was closed today. Friday was a black fast day for Catholics everywhere.
“The missus must have put the word out that I was butchering.”
Mrs Donnelly had a stall in the Thomas Street Market.
“I’m not looking for fresh pork, Mr Donnelly.” Ivy had been out and about from early morning, selling her wares to the stallholders of the Dublin street markets.
“You’re not thinking of eating meat today, are you, Ivy?”
“No, of course not.” She shoved her hands into her coat pocket so he wouldn’t see her crossed fingers. “I’m going to slow-cook the meat overnight.”
“Have yeh a pot big enough for all of this meat?” Porky stood over one of the big barrels standing against the wall of the room. The barrels were filled with brine and portions of pig.
“I haven’t but I know someone who has.”
“Fair enough.” Porky got busy pulling the legs he had soaking in brine out of the barrels. He carried the ones that needed trimming over to the big block table in the middle of the room. He’d trim the hanging meat off and cube it. He’d strings of sausages hanging from the ceiling. “I’ve cooked and smoked ham hanging if you’re interested?” He panted while using his cleaver to chop through the meat.
“No, thanks – I want the ham hocks, ham chunks and sausages today. I’ll take half a ring of your black pudding though.” She could fry the pudding up with a tomato and a slice of bread as soon as she returned home. No need to mention her sinful ways here. She needed something hot and fast to eat. A cheese sandwich wasn’t very appealing when you’d been walking the streets in the cold and rain all day. “That should do me.” She pulled back the covering of her pram and began making a space for the meat packages.
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 5