“That pram is on its last legs, Ivy.” Porky placed the first big package of meat into the depths of the pram. He gave an experimental push to the pram, shaking his head in sorrow as he stared at his customer. “It would be easier to carry the bloody stuff home, Ivy.” He looked at the big bag of potatoes and another of large Spanish onions sitting in the bottom of the pram. “That pram won’t be able for all the weight.”
“I’ll make it.” Ivy knew she needed a new pram but where was she going to get one? She had put the word out around the markets but no-one had a second-hand pram that would suit Ivy. Jem had replaced the leather straps that held the body of the pram to the springs but the old pram was on its last legs. It was exhausting work pushing it around the place.
“I’ve a few ham bones with a bit of meat left on them,” Porky said when he’d put the second of Ivy’s packages in her pram. “I’ll wrap a couple up for yeh, Ivy. They give a grand flavour to the stockpot, so I’m told.” He told her the total cost of her purchases with a smile.
“Thanks, Mr Donnelly.”
Ivy had to almost force her own fingers to release the money from her hand. The amount she was passing over to the pork butcher would make her weak if she thought about it. It seemed to her the more money she made the more she spent.
“I’ll be off,” she said as soon as the exchange of money had been made.
“The blessings of God on yeh, Ivy.” Porky was thrilled with the money he’d made from Ivy. He hadn’t expected to take any cash today. If he was fast he could be around to the bookies before his missus got back from the market. What the eyes don’t see, the heart will never grieve over, Porky believed, and, besides, if he made a few bob on the horses sure he’d share it with her.
Ivy put the weight of her body behind the pram as she pushed it through the back streets of Dublin. Her flesh was crawling. She felt as if someone was watching her. She’d been so nervous that she’d made a deposit of most of the money she’d taken that day. She was aware of every sound around her.
She had a lot to think about as she walked the streets. The Alice dolls were on sale in the Grafton Street shop. She was glad she didn’t have to stand out in the street selling them. She made less profit in the shop but it was easy money as far as she was concerned.
Maybe there would be a letter from Shay for her when she got back. She was trying to be patient. Who knew how long it would take her brother to reach this place he’d talked about – this Hollywood.
Chapter 13
“Ivy!” Jem had been calling Ivy’s name for ages. If she turned down the street she was heading for he’d never be able to get his horse and small flatbed cart down there after her. He clicked his tongue at his old horse. “Ivy Murphy, will you wait up!”
“Jem Ryan,” Ivy leaned against her pram, her hand to her heart, “are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She straightened and, pulling her pram along with her, crossed to the edge of the pavement. “What are you doing out and about? I thought you were getting too big for driving around the streets.” She gave Rosie, Jem’s longest-serving horse, a pat on her glossy black neck.
“I had a delivery to make to Old Man Muskoff, the apothecary.” Jem applied the brake and tied the reins to the iron leg of his seat before jumping down to join Ivy on the pavement.
Just then he noticed a dark figure sneaking back into the shadows. He began to follow but the sound of running feet echoed down the lane. He’d never catch whoever it was now. Some young thug obviously didn’t know Ivy was under the protection of Billy Flint – that worried him.
“I wish I’d known that,” Ivy said. “I’d have given you a list of things I need from the apothecary.” A lot of the herbs and things she used in Granny Grunt’s cures were items she could pick up from parks and hedgerows but there were some items she had to buy.
“Old Man Muskoff has been a good customer of mine for years. He’s having difficulty trusting the young lads who make the deliveries for me. I thought I’d take old Rosie here,” he gave the mare a hearty pat, “out for a run and have a chat with the man.” He would have to keep a closer eye on Ivy himself. He was travelling around the familiar streets today making a study of them with his automobile in mind. There were a lot of streets the cart could travel that would never suit his machine.
“I haven’t seen you with a sack around your head for a long time.” Ivy smiled. Jem Ryan had been a fixture in her life for years, driving out in all weathers to pick up fares around Dublin. “Are you on your way home?”
“I am. I thought I’d give you a carriage ride home.” He walked over to her pram, preparing to hoist it up onto the empty bed of the cart. He grunted as he picked it up. “This thing weighs a ton, Ivy. I hope there’s nothing breakable in it.” He slid the pram onto its side and with the rope he kept attached to the cart began to tie it down, being careful not to let anything spill out.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Jem.” Ivy watched her pram being loaded with a sigh of relief. She’d been afraid she’d never make it back to The Lane. “I still have a few stops to make along the way – would you mind?” She might as well make use of having this private horse and cart at her disposal. “I need to stop at the creamery and the bakery.”
“I’d be delighted to serve you, m’lady.” Jem held his bent elbow out from his body and gave an elaborate bow.
“Get along with you, my good man.” Ivy put her nose in the air and with a sway to her hips walked towards the waiting cart.
“Far from it you were raised, Ivy Murphy.” Jem bent his knees, took a firm grip on her waist and almost threw her up onto the high seat right behind the horse’s rump. Rosie turned her head and gave a startled neigh in his direction. “Sorry about that, old girl.” He slapped his open hand on the horse’s rump before walking to her head and giving her a gentle pat. He was enjoying this trip out and about. He’d have to get out of the livery more often now that he had the choice. He strolled towards the driver’s seat where Ivy sat proudly waiting for him.
“That aul’ pram of yours is giving up the ghost, Ivy.” He joined her on the seat. He took the reins in his hand and clicked his tongue, giving the horse her off.
“I know.” Ivy loved being up high like this, driving through the streets of Dublin. Her aching feet appreciated the rest. “I’ve the word out that I need a replacement. I’ve even been checking out the scrap yards for bits but so far no luck.”
“If I’d known I was picking up a lady I’d have taken the time to put the top over this seat.” Jem was paying close attention to the traffic on the streets. The latest fashion for rapid transit was becoming dangerous. It broke his heart to see the horses injured in the accidents that happened when some young hothead offered extra money to the jarvey for a speedy ride.
“That’s okay, Jem.” Ivy pulled her damp black shawl out slightly from her head, making a peak. “I come with a guarantee not to melt. It’s stamped on me back, right beside Made in Ireland.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jem said absentmindedly. “What have you got in your pram that made it so heavy?” He knew that Ivy sold her goods around the markets on a Friday and usually returned to The Lane with a practically empty pram.
“I’m planning to make a really big pot of coddle tonight.” Ivy leaned into his side when they turned a corner onto George’s Street and headed south. The horse travelled along the wide street framed on both sides by tenement buildings. Barefoot children ran alongside the horse, calling out greetings. “I need to check on old Nanny Grace tomorrow. I haven’t been in a while and I worry about the old girl. And I thought I’d drop off some of me coddle to Sadie. She could serve it up to her family – save her cooking. It seemed the thing to do since we’ll be eating at Ann Marie’s on Sunday. Sadie has herself worn to a frazzle worrying about the Sunday menu, if you can believe it.”
“I thought Sadie was beginning to calm down a bit.” Jem knew Sadie Lawless was trying to prove she could run Ann Marie’s big house without a problem. Th
e poor woman was afraid of letting her family down.
“I’ve a pain in me face telling her to take each day as it comes.” Ivy leaned in to Jem’s side again when they made the turn onto Stephen’s Street, the road that would lead them past Stephen’s Green and towards The Lane.
Jem slowed the horse as they approached the creamery. “If you’ll give me a shout when you’re ready to head off in the morning, I’ll take you about in this rig,” he offered to her delight while pulling on the reins.
“I’ll feel like one of them ladies of leisure you read about,” Ivy said, laughing.
Chapter 14
“When are you going to marry my Uncle Jem, Aunty Ivy?” Emmy was sitting between the two adults she loved – delighted with life. She cuddled under the heavy blanket draped over their laps. Her Uncle Jem had pulled two jacket potatoes from the fire and put them into her coat pockets so she was snug and warm. “Only my friend Biddy said if you don’t do it soon it will be ages and ages before you can get around to it.” She leaned forward to stare into Ivy’s eyes. She wanted an answer to her question.
“Does she indeed?” Ivy felt as if someone had punched her. It seemed lately that every man and his dog wanted to stick their nose into her private business.
“Yes.” Emmy nodded her head frantically. “Biddy says it will soon be Lent and you’re not allowed to do anything in Lent. Biddy says we’ll have a big, big, street party in The Lane on the Tuesday before Lent and then it will be all beating your chest and wailing.”
“Really, Biddy said ‘beating your chest and wailing’?” Jem asked, amused. He’d been wanting to move Ivy along on a date for their wedding but now it seemed the two little girls were also becoming impatient.
“Yes,” Emmy cuddled closer to Ivy, “like the people in the story told at story time last night. Only those people were pulling their hair out as well. We won’t have to pull our hair out for Lent, will we, Aunty Ivy?” She didn’t wait for a reply but continued, “You looked so funny with that bucket of potatoes at your feet, Aunty Ivy. So, when are you going to marry my Uncle Jem? Biddy and me want to know.”
“I thought the month of May?” Ivy glanced over Emmy’s head. She smiled at Jem’s look of surprise. It was time and past it she put the man out of his misery. She ignored the comment about her bucket of potatoes. She’d been able to peel what felt like a small mountain of potatoes while listening fascinated to the stories being told in the vestibule of one of the tenement houses. It had made the tedious chore seem so much easier, her hands moving almost in time to the cadence of the bible story being told.
Story nights were a social occasion for the people of The Lane. A lot of the women took needlework, darning or knitting along with them and sat listening to the stories. Last night Ivy had decided to peel potatoes. It wasn’t an unusual sight and she’d have missed the story if she’d decided to peel the vegetables in her own place.
“The month of May sounds perfect to me.” Jem grinned widely. Emmy had achieved something he couldn’t. He didn’t intend to let Ivy change her mind. “And there will be no chest-beating and hair-pulling in Lent, Missus.” He nudged Emmy gently with his shoulder.
“But May is such a long, long, way away,” Emmy objected just as the horse turned into Fitzwilliam Square.
“It will be here before you know it,” Ivy said with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She pointed out the entrance she wanted to go through. “Now give me a minute to think. Jem, I want to drop off the second pot of coddle to Curly and Moocher.” She’d already dropped off a pot of food to Sadie.
“Who are they?” Emmy looked around, fascinated. “I don’t know them – do I?”
“Shush,” Ivy whispered as the horse came within sight of the three-sided hut the two men called home. “Curly, are you about?”
“Sure where else would I be?” Curly’s bald head, covered with old sacking, appeared in the hut’s opening. “The Moocher is out and about. I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Ivy. It’s not Wednesday, is it?”
“No!” Ivy laughed at the old man who’d been a part of her life for years. “I’m making a special visit to see old Nanny Grace.”
“Howayeh, Curly.” Jem pulled the horse to a stop in front of the hut. The horse and cart would help cut the wind whistling around the hut and give the old man a bit of extra warmth.
“Jem Ryan, I’d doff me hat to yeh but then me poor head would freeze.” Curly showed his gums in a wide grin. “Who’s this little beauty you’ve brought to meet me?” He stepped out of the hut to stare up at the trio sitting so high up. “Begob, if you mixed the two of yeh – you’d make one of her.” He stared from Ivy with her black hair to Jem’s green eyes – both seemed to be replicated in the small girl sitting between them. “Something you never told me, young Ivy?”
“Mind your manners, Curly.” Ivy jumped down from the high seat to stand beside the old man. “This is Miss Emmy Ryan, niece to the man sitting beside her grinning like a fool.” She climbed up on the back of the cart and opened the tied-down chest Jem had placed there to store her pots of coddle. “Have yeh a good fire going, Curly?” She took out a pot, closed the chest and put the pot on the chest lid before jumping off the cart again.
“We had a bit of luck there.” Curly was watching Ivy, wondering what the devil the girl was up to. “Sure, there were a few deliveries yesterday and them coalmen are that careless me and Moocher were able to pick up so many pieces of coal they let fall we’ll have big fires for days. The horses made a few deposits for our fire as well.” Curly chuckled, thinking of the manure they had drying behind the hut.
“Good for you.” Jem reached behind Emmy, picked up the pot by the handle and passed it down to Ivy.
“I made a pot of coddle for you and Moocher, Curly.” Ivy didn’t ask if they had a pot she could empty the food into. The men would have to use a bucket to heat the coddle if she didn’t leave the pot with them. “I put plenty of potatoes and onions in so it’s good and thick.”
“The blessings of God on yeh, Ivy Murphy.” Curly almost closed his eyes and he did smack his lips at the thought of the promised treat. “I couldn’t name the day nor the hour when I last had a taste of a good Dublin coddle. Me and Moocher will say a special prayer for yeh when we eat it, that I can promise.”
Jem and Emmy sat silently watching the two people standing on the bare earth below them. Emmy opened her mouth to ask a question but a quick shake of her Uncle Jem’s head made her keep her lips closed. She cuddled close to his side, content to wait. She’d ask her questions later.
“I’ll leave the pot with yeh.” Ivy carried the well-filled tightly covered pot into the hut. The pot was one of two she’d bought at the market. It had a screw-on lid and a half-moon handle that went over the top, the kind of pot that was popular for carrying food from the Penny Dinners. It was heavy and Curly’s hands were bent and twisted with age. She didn’t want him to drop it. His companion Moocher looked after the older man and he’d take care of heating and serving the food.
“Open the pot for us, will yeh, Ivy?” Curly couldn’t wait until Moocher returned from wherever he was rambling. The very thought of a coddle had him salivating. He groaned when Ivy unscrewed the tight lid of the pot. “There’s a smell that would raise the dead.” He rubbed his hurting hands together. “I’m going to sit over me fire and watch that pot carefully. The smell of that coddle will have Moocher running back here like a shot.” His empty stomach rumbled. He turned to shout out the opening of the shed. “I’ll say me goodbyes to yeh now, Jem Ryan! I’ll not be moving from this spot for a while. Be a good girl, Emmy – it was nice meeting yeh.” He took his seat, with the metal bucket of embers between his knees, and watched as Ivy carefully balanced the pot over the coals in his bucket. He noticed she was careful to leave the handle of the pot standing up so he wouldn’t burn himself.
“It will be really thick for the first feed, Curly,” Ivy whispered from her crouched position. “If you have a bit left, add a drop of water a
nd you should be able to get a few meals out of it. I’ll pick the pot up on Wednesday when I’m doing me round.”
“Your blood should be bottled, Ivy, thanks.” Curly’s eyes filled with tears as the aroma of ham and onion filled the hut. “Get about your business now. I hear that old woman is not doing too good.”
Chapter 15
“Mr Cusack,” Ivy said to the elderly man who answered her knock on the back door of the house that had been Nanny Grace’s home for years, “I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to pay Nanny Grace a visit.”
“Ivy, by the mercy of God, come in.” Paddy Cusack slowly stepped back and opened the door wider. “It’s Ivy Murphy, Meg,” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Thanks be to God,” came from the direction of the kitchen as the two made their way down the long dark hallway towards the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“What’s going on?” Ivy had left Jem walking his horse along the back lane. Emmy was happy to sit in the high seat holding the reins.
“There’s that much going on, I don’t know if I’m on me head or me heels,” Paddy Cusack said as they entered the kitchen.
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 6