“‘Oh, Mrs McGrath,’ the sergeant said, ‘Would you like to make a soldier out of your son, Ted?’”
Ivy scrubbed the soft rose-scented soap over her arms as she sang lustily, delighted with the acoustics in Ann Marie’s bathroom. She’d spent the morning running around the Dublin markets shifting her goods.
Ivy carefully sat up in the bath. She didn’t want to disturb the towel she’d wrapped around her wet hair. She took a deep nervous breath and, almost shaking at her own daring, picked up the silvered razor she’d left on the floor by the bathtub.
“Well, here goes,” she muttered, kicking one long slim leg out of the water. She lavishly applied the soap – just like Jem had shown her, using his own face as an example. She muffled her laughter at the memory of the pair of them blushing and stuttering while he gave her instructions on shaving her legs. He’d mumbled he could do it for her – after they were married, of course.
She’d never get used to the luxury of having hot and cold water on demand – running into your very own private bathtub. The Tara Street Baths would never seem the same again. There was no bath attendant here to hurry you on.
“Ivy Murphy, did yeh fall down the bath hole?” Sadie Lawless rapped her knuckles on the bathroom door. “You’ve been in that bath so long your bloody skin will be floatin’ away with the dirty water. Get out now and get dressed.”
“Sadie, did anyone ever tell you you’re a spoilsport? I was having the time of my life in here. You don’t know you’re born with this indoor plumbing.”
“Get out of there – now!” Sadie shouted.
“Go away!”
Ivy finished shaving her legs before carefully standing up. She stood out on the bath mat. She gave a sharp yank on the metal chain attached to the big black plug. She removed the thick towelling bathrobe Ann Marie had put on the back of the bathroom door for her. “A bathrobe, I ask your sacred pardon.” Ivy shoved her arms into the loose sleeves, pulled the robe around her and fastened the long belt. “Some people don’t know they’re born.” She raised the long collar around her head and face and stood enjoying the experience for a moment. “It’s a livin’ wonder to me that the priests don’t call bathrooms dens of iniquity and order their congregation to avoid them. All this luxury and pleasure has to be an occasion of sin, to their mind.” She shrugged out of the bathrobe, letting it fall around her feet. She ignored the blush that went from her toes to her hairline. With a defiant sniff she put her foot on the side of the bathtub and began to apply the body cream she’d made, following the recipe she’d found in one of old Granny’s many ‘healing cures’ books, to her newly shaved leg. Ann Marie had warned her that it would sting but the motto of upper-crust women seemed to be ‘Suffer for Beauty’.
Ivy pulled the underwear she’d brought with her from home on over her damp skin. She couldn’t walk around the place naked under a robe. She covered her fine bodice and panties – a gift from her brother Shay – with a slip that covered her from her bosom to her knees and covered everything up with the robe.
She crossed to the bathroom mirror – well clear now from any steam that might have lingered. With quick movements she applied the fine cream she’d made to her face and neck. “That aul’ Granny knew a thing or two about making cures,” she whispered, watching the cream sink into her skin. “There must be money in the making of these things but sure I’ve only two hands and enough on me plate at the minute. Pity though.”
“Ivy, you need to get a move on!” Sadie was back.
Ivy opened the bathroom door, tightening the belt of the robe around her. “Where is Ann Marie?”
“I think I’ve run the poor woman out of her own home,” Sadie admitted. “She’s over at the carriage house working on her photographs.”
“Shout down and ask Dora to knock on the carriage-house door. She can tell Ann Marie I’m almost ready. I mean it, Sadie – shout – don’t run down them bloody stairs again. Ann Marie wants to live without servants under her feet. Well, we haven’t an upstairs maid to carry a message to the footman to pass to the butler – so just shout down the bloody stairs. Ann Marie will never forgive us if she misses me big unveiling.”
Ivy sat on the edge of Ann Marie’s big bed and prepared to pull the silk stockings up her legs. She was nervous – she didn’t want to ladder the things. She put her foot into the marked toe, pulled gently till the thick heel settled into place and prepared to pull the stocking up her raised leg.
“Ivy Murphy, the state of you and the price of best butter!” Sadie said, returning to the room after shouting down the stairs like a hooligan.
“Don’t make me laugh.” Ivy got one sheer stocking up her leg and attached it to the first of two suspenders per leg that were attached to the garter belt she wore around her waist. She started on the second leg while Sadie watched – fascinated. Ivy slipped her feet into the black leather T-strap shoes she’d placed by her feet. When she’d fastened the buckles on the shoes, she stood up, shaking the robe down around her.
“Ann Marie, I swear to God I’m going to go blind if you flash that light in my eyes one more time,” Ivy complained.
“You look stunning, Ivy.” Ann Marie lowered the camera and the long stick with its flashlight head that she’d held aloft to light the hall.
Ivy wore a narrow black skirt with a line of large white leather buttons running down the left side. The skirt was shorter than anything she’d ever worn, inches above her ankles. A black leather belt accentuated her waist. The sparkle of silk stockings flattered her ankles. The white blouse had a matching line of black leather buttons. The dainty black hat, with its long trail of white feathers draped along the side of Ivy’s face, was the perfect finishing touch.
“Jem Ryan is driving his vehicle up the way.” Dora carried over Ivy’s beige cashmere coat. She held the coat while Ivy slipped her arms into the sleeves.
Ivy picked up the black leather clutch purse and gloves from the hallstand. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. With a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face.
“Open the door, Dora.” Ann Marie put her camera equipment on the nearby hallstand.
The two women stood in the open doorway and watched Jem settle Ivy into his car before driving away.
Chapter 21
“We’re there.” Jem stopped the vehicle. “Sit tight.”
“It seems ridiculous to drive such a short way. I’d have nearly walked it faster.” Ivy watched Jem run up the steps. She checked to be sure there were no wrinkles in her leather gloves. A quick glance downward reassured her that the silk stockings were behaving themselves, with no unsightly wrinkles around her ankles.
“Miss Ivy Rose,” Jem passed the white embossed card to the butler when the man opened the door to his knock, “to see Mr William Armstrong.” He returned down the steps and opened the back door of his vehicle. He held out his hand to assist Ivy in stepping out onto the kerb in front of the row of Merrion Square houses. “That’s the first step,” he muttered under his breath as Ivy pulled her beige cashmere coat firmly around her. “You’re on your own now. Good luck.”
“I’ll see you later,” Ivy whispered through lips that felt numb.
She climbed the steps slowly and, with barely a glance at the butler, stepped into the black-and-white marble foyer. She fought back a nervous giggle – her outfit matched the foyer. She waited with an outward appearance of calm while the butler closed the door.
The man clicked his fingers at a waiting footman.
“If you would follow me,” the butler said as the footman draped the coat he’d removed from Ivy over his arm.
The butler led the way through the open door of the nearby withdrawing room.
“I will inform the master of your arrival.”
Ivy walked into the room as if she owned the place. Ann Marie had told her to find something to focus on while she waited. She was so nervous she only had time to get an impression of skinny-legged chairs and tall urns with some kind of tall leaf
thing sticking up. The carpet on the floor was the most beautiful item in the room. She stood before the glowing fire in the massive white marble grate. She was not allowed to sit down as that would put her at a disadvantage. Ivy didn’t understand why but Ann Marie was the expert.
“Mr Armstrong will see you now.” He didn’t approve of a young single female visiting a man in his own home – without a chaperone to protect her virtue.
“Thank you.” Ivy slowly walked over to join the butler. She remembered to push the top of her head towards the sky as she walked – something Ann Marie had made her practise. While following after the stiff-backed butler she slowly drew her black-leather gloves from her hands.
“Miss Rose, sir,” the butler called as he stepped through the door he’d just opened.
“Miss Rose, a pleasure.” The man behind the desk stood and walked around the impressive-looking piece of furniture.
“Mr Armstrong, thank you for agreeing to see me.” Ivy walked into the room. She had called ahead to make this appointment.
“Tea, I think, Chiles.” William Armstrong – aka Billy Flint – was impressed in spite of himself. The girl cleaned up well. He was curious to know what had made her seek him out – but he could wait.
“Not for me, thank you.” Ivy was afraid she’d shake so much she’d drop the bloody thing.
“No tea.” William couldn’t care less. “That will be all, Chiles.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I believe I’ve caused your butler some discomfort.” Ivy was conducting a detailed examination of the man in front of her. She could see her father in his features but this man gave off almost visible emanations of power. Her uncle was a power to be reckoned with. His beautifully tailored suit of gunmetal grey was accentuated by a blindingly white silk shirt and a blue silk tie that sported a diamond-and-gold stickpin.
“I pay him to do his job,” William snapped. “I don’t ask for his opinion.” He gestured towards the chair placed in front of his desk. “Take a seat and tell me why you’re here.”
Ivy sat down carefully with elegant ease – this too she’d been practising. She placed her clutch and gloves on the desk in front of her and sat back in the chair with her knees together and feet folded off to one side. “I have a business proposition for you, Mr Armstrong.” Ivy dropped her hands into her lap. She was careful not to twine her fingers in a knot.
“I don’t make investments without the advice of my financial advisors.”
“I’m not seeking investors – what I am offering is a straightforward business deal.”
“What is it you think you can offer me, Miss Rose?” William’s blue eyes almost blazed as he dared her to offer him anything he didn’t already have or could get himself.
“I’m selling social class, Mr Armstrong,” Ivy said. “I’m selling the kind of class you and I were born without, and a family tree to boast about.”
“Are you indeed?”
“I believe your eldest son’s wife has just announced a happy event.” Ivy had spent weeks thinking about this meeting – recent events had forced her to step up her plans. She had prepared as much as she could, gathering every piece of information from servants’ gossip and the loose lips of this man’s male servants at the local pub. Jem’s lads seemed to be able to pick up an amazing amount of information sitting over a pint in the pub.
“What a mealy-mouth way of saying my first grandchild is expected.”
“Your son married rather high up the social ladder.” Ivy wanted to lick her dry lips. “A situation which hasn’t had such happy results for your family in the past.” She was thinking of her own parents. This man’s wife was from a socially elite family fallen on hard times. They had been glad to accept his money.
“What goes on in my family is none of your business. I will accept no interference in my affairs.” He’d kept a close watch on his brother and his offspring over the years. He didn’t need or want any problems from that direction. It was smarter to anticipate trouble and head it off. The death of his brother appeared to have allowed this young woman to emerge from her grey little world. She’d be worth watching in the future.
“I am not here to bamboozle or amuse you. I am here to offer you something that will help ensure your grandchild’s future and impress your daughter-in-law – a woman, I believe, who is very aware of her family’s social standing – and astound her snobby family.” His son and said snobby wife lived in this house – under this man’s roof.
“Indeed?” If the bloody woman could pull that off she was a magician.
Ivy took a deep breath, preparing to dare the devil. “I’d like you to take me upstairs and show me the nursery you are preparing for the expected child.”
She stood and leaned over the desk, staring into the eyes that were the same shape and colour as her da’s but had much more awareness and almost an animal magnetism within them. She had a deal to offer and wanted to get her terms and conditions settled. But first, she needed to see if any effort had been made to set up a nursery – according to the servants the place was a mess but she needed to see it for herself. She straightened and stood waiting for him to make a decision.
“I’ll have one of the upstairs maids take you up.”
“No.” Ivy waited for the counteroffer.
“I do not take spinster ladies upstairs in my home.” William leaned back in his chair.
“Live dangerously. I don’t believe that’s a foreign concept to you.” Ivy walked over to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. She wanted to lean against the door because her knees didn’t feel like they wanted to hold her up. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t of vital importance. I need to see the nursery.”
“Vitally important to whom, Miss Ivy Rose?” William stood. She obviously thought she’d an ace up her sleeve. He’d see what cards she had to play in this game and then he’d throw her out. He had no intention of playing happy families with this urchin.
“My offer will be important to both of us.” She remained standing with her back to the door, her white-knuckled hand clenched around the doorknob. “It will cost you nothing to accompany me upstairs and listen to my proposal.”
“You’ve piqued my interest at least.” Which was a rare event these days. He walked over to the door and put his hand over hers on the doorknob. “Allow me.”
She jerked her hand away and waited for him to open the door.
“Here we are.” William stood on the nursery landing, his hands shoved into his pockets. He waited to see what would happen next.
Without asking permission Ivy began opening doors. According to her sources the previous owner of this house left Ireland in a hurry. It was rumoured the man staring after her with feigned patience had bought the house for a peppercorn price – he’d paid in cash.
The cluttered rooms she stepped into were damp and neglected. They smelled musty. The area gave off an air of long neglect. She walked into each room, mentally comparing them to the space Nanny Grace inhabited. The rooms were a mirror image of that space. She returned to join the man who stood like an oak in the long corridor. She crossed her fingers, said a quick prayer and began.
“The baby’s room.” Ivy waved her hand towards one of the doors she’d deliberately left standing open. “I see a cradle craved by a master craftsman, a matching chest of drawers and two cedar-wood trunks filled with the most exquisite baby clothing. A symphony of silk, satin and lace embroidered with love and kept for generations to come.”
“You apparently have an active imagination.” William took his hands out of his pockets. “I have given you more of my time than most people get.” He stood looking around an area that he was going to have to fill. He’d been avoiding furnishing it, waiting for an actual baby to appear. “You are trying my patience.”
“A boy’s room.” Ivy had seen the interest in his eyes – she waved her hand towards another dusty room nearby, “with a carved child’s bed – a much-loved globe that has been handled by generations
of your family, sitting on a desk carved to fit his small figure – a child’s bookcase filled with the much-thumbed books you loved as a child.” She was praising the Lord for her excellent memory, the images of the well-stocked rooms surrounding Nanny Grace coming vividly to life behind her eyes. “I can fill all of these rooms with wonders.”
“I’m listening.” He could practically see the rooms she described. Could she deliver on her promise?
“If you would follow me, please?” Ivy knew this man would walk all over her if she allowed it. Time to reveal her cards.
She stepped into the largest of the rooms, waiting for him to follow and close the door at his back. They didn’t need any passing servant listening to their conversation. When he did she turned to stare at him, surprised she’d succeeded in getting him into this position. “You need to have your staff begin clearing and decorating these rooms.”
“Indeed, I’d never have thought of that on my own.”
“No need for sarcasm.” She took a deep breath, preparing to dive in. “I’m offering you the chance to create an impressive family background,” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to answer. “I can make an entire nursery suite available to you. The items are used but in the best way possible. The touch of generations of tiny hands can be seen on the articles I’m offering – plus decades of polishing by skilled servants.”
“Go on.”
“This room will be an Aladdin’s cave of treasure.” Ivy walked around, pointing out places for the items she mentioned. “A dappled-grey rocking horse with flowing white mane and tail, red-lined nostrils flaring – a miniature saddle and stirrups.” She waved towards the empty shelf. “A collection of hand-carved doll’s houses.” She whirled around and then, standing still, shrugged. “Books of pressed flowers, paintings and everything you could possibly imagine for a generation to come.”
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 9