The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3)

by Gemma Jackson

  “You had better ask him yourself,” Ivy was glad to be able to say. “Here he comes now.”

  Chapter 26

  Wanted

  Information leading to the whereabouts of

  Miss Mary Rose Donnelly

  “Dear Lord above, how could I have forgotten I pushed that into my pocket?” Ivy stood at her kitchen table staring in horror at the tattered stub of newspaper sitting on the table top.

  The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind lashing around the back yard. A perfect time for hanging out heavy woollen clothing as the wind and rain cleaned and freshened the thick fabric. She’d cleared out the deep pockets of the skirt she was wearing, planning to put the skirt onto a clothesline she’d erect outside her back door.

  She continued to read the black-rimmed announcement she’d torn from the newspaper when packing away Nanny Grace’s knick-knacks, and shoved into her pocket. The notice gave a fairly accurate description of Emmy’s aunt, Miss Mary Rose Donnelly, but the announcement made no mention of the child. Ivy stood dripping onto the black slate slabs of her back-room floor. She’d just returned home after spending the day visiting Fitzwilliam Square. She’d removed her coat and shawl – those two articles were draped over a kitchen chair in front of the black range that she’d stoked to a blaze.

  “I was that thrilled with finding a pram I could use I forgot all about this bloody notice.” She wanted to kick herself for not making note of which paper had run the announcement. “It says here,” she put her finger on the notice and bent forward to make sure she got the details right, “all information to Bishop Troy at an address in Galway – her own family doesn’t seem to be looking for the aul’ besom.”

  Emmy and her aunt, the Miss Mary Rose Donnelly mentioned in the newspaper, had been passengers in Jem’s carriage when the aunt suffered a fatal accident. Jem had made the decision to keep Miss Emerald O’Connor of Galway – as Emmy was then – with him. The aunt had made no secret of her intention to leave her niece with the nuns at Goldenbridge. The place was supposed to be a trade school but the people of Dublin knew it for something else. It was a place you wouldn’t put a dog if you had the option. Jem and Ivy together had disposed of the aunt’s body.

  “This is a fine howdeedo.” Ivy wanted to run into the courtyard screaming Jem’s name. What should she do? She couldn’t leave this piece of paper sitting around. It was too dangerous. If anyone found out what she and Jem had done they’d be lynched.

  She picked up the piece of newspaper and, shaking, walked over to the range and shoved the scrap of newspaper into the open grate. She stood watching until the paper crumbled and blackened, then with the poker shook the coal in the fire until the paper had disappeared completely.

  “There’s shag all we can do about the situation.” Ivy stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the fire. “I’ll hold me whist until we see what happens. No point in rushing to meet trouble. I’ll keep me eyes open and, if I see another one of them notices, then I’ll tell Jem – least said soonest mended.”

  Weeks passed with Ivy checking every paper that crossed her path. She didn’t see another notice that concerned her. She was glad she’d decided to keep the notice to herself. Jem had enough to worry about.

  Chapter 27

  “It’s nice to be able to step out like the nobs,” Jem said as they strolled down the gas-lamp-lit Grafton Street. The lack of red-coated soldiers marching along the street was still new enough to be remarkable. The poor of Dublin had feared showing their faces on the streets after dark. The wealthy had walked out without encountering problems.

  “I’ve never really thought about the evening strollers as a business opportunity,” Ivy said as Jem waved away a flower seller. “I sold me dolls in the afternoon and missed out on the evening trade. Still and all, I didn’t do too badly.”

  “Let’s not talk business this evening, Ivy.”

  “Alright.” She could think about the situation later. For now she’d enjoy the time with Jem – she was surprised she’d managed to drag him away from his beloved radio.

  “Is Emmy over at Ann Marie’s again?”

  “She is,” Jem sighed. “Emmy runs in, throws her schoolbag into the office, and disappears over to Ann Marie’s place. Do you know what they’re getting up to over there?” He’d suggested an evening stroll because lately the snatched moments of time he and Ivy managed were spent in dangerous proximity. They couldn’t continue to tempt fate.

  “I’ve had the whole thing explained to me until my head spins but I still don’t understand what Ann Marie is trying to do with these ‘sepia’ photographs she’s trying to produce.”

  “It’s a lovely evening. March might have come in like a lion but today was lovely.” The first two weeks of the month had been miserable but today had held a promise of spring. “I thought I’d go over and talk to the priest at St. Andrew’s.” Jem gave the church on Westland Row its official name for once. “We need to find out what date in May they can marry us.”

  “I don’t want to get married in church, Jem.” Ivy held her breath, waiting for the sky to fall on her head at her words. She had tried to speak to Brother Theo about this but every time she went by the friary he wasn’t there. Brother Roderick would take her homework and give her the lessons Brother Theo had prepared for her. It was strange how she kept missing him.

  “What!”

  “I want to marry you, Jem,” Ivy almost whispered. They’d come to a stop outside West the jeweller’s. She stared blindly into the window backlit by the nearby gas lamp. “I thought, when you paid for the licence and whatever else . . . we could marry at the registry office.”

  “Ivy,” Jem wasn’t sure how he felt about this latest idea of Ivy’s, “we wouldn’t be married in the eyes of God.”

  “No, we wouldn’t be married in the eyes of the Catholic Church – there is a difference.” Ivy used the arm she had linked through his to pull him along towards Exchequer Street, out of the main thoroughfare.

  “Jesus, Ivy,” Jem allowed his feet to follow along, “you’ve fair taken my breath away.”

  “I know.” She did but she would not participate in a church ceremony. She had no intention of following the rule of the Church that dictated she must produce and multiply, and she couldn’t stand before the altar of God with a lie in her heart.

  “Do you want to tell me why?” Jem himself feared the stranglehold the Catholic Church was trying to establish over this new Ireland they were living in, but the idea of marrying in a registry office was too much for him.

  “We should have had this conversation before.” Ivy was glad they were walking along, surrounded by people out taking the air. She had been trying to find the time to talk to Jem about her worries but, whenever they had a moment together, they got lost in kissing and cuddling. She blushed red at the memory of the temptation she’d barely been able to resist. “I want a modern marriage, Jem.” She began to release his arm, thinking he’d be disgusted by her words.

  “You better explain this ‘modern marriage’ to me.” He took her hand in his, stopping her from stepping away, then pulled her arm through his again and they continued walking in the direction of George’s Street.

  “I won’t follow the teachings of the Church about having babies, Jem.” She felt tears flood her eyes – could he possibly understand how she felt?

  “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want my baby?” He couldn’t agree to that. He wanted children. He loved having Emmy around the place. With the increased revenue from his business he could afford a wife and children. But, on the other hand, he worried about Ivy being constantly pregnant like some of the women of The Lane. He wouldn’t allow one of his horses to be used in that way, let alone the woman he married.

  “I want your children, Jem.” Ivy could feel the embarrassed flush burning her cheeks. What kind of conversation was this to be having with a man you were walking out with? What kind of a woman was she? Still, if she didn’t talk to Jem about her worries,
who else could she talk to? “I’d like, if it’s possible, to wait a while before we have the first one. I’m twenty-two years old – that’s considered old to be having a first baby but I don’t care. I still want to wait. I want to spend time with you – time learning to be a married woman. Am I a terrible person?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re terrible.” Jem patted the hand of the arm linked through his. “I knew what I was getting when I asked you to marry me. Ivy Murphy, always thinking of a way to do things differently – that’s the woman I want to marry.” Lord above but this woman challenged him at every turn. It would take a strong man to handle a woman like Ivy. Jem pushed out his chest, pleased with himself – no better man.

  “I won’t agree to discussing our private life with a priest.” It was her opinion that if Father Leary the parish priest had kept his nose out of her parents’ private affairs her mother would never have left Ireland. “I want to be able to talk to you about my fears and concerns without worrying that you’ll drag me before the priest.” She had seen too many of her neighbours being browbeaten by the parish priest whenever they tried to disagree with their husbands.

  “I have no problem keeping our private life to ourselves, Ivy,” Jem fought his body’s reaction to just the thought of having a ‘private life’ with his Ivy, “but I don’t know how to stop the babbies coming.” He hated to confess his ignorance. “Not and live as man and wife anyway.” He couldn’t promise to keep his hands off her after they were married. He’d never be able to keep his word.

  “There has to be a way, Jem.” Ivy shook the arm she held slightly. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. The rich have only one or two children. How do they manage that? You tell me – what do they know that we don’t?”

  “Ivy . . .” He thought he’d choke over the words but she wanted them to have candid talks – so, on her own head be it. “The rich make one or two babbies with the women they marry. For slap and tickle they visit the Monto or have a ‘bit’ on the side.” His face felt on fire, he was that embarrassed.

  “They can’t all of them be wandering dogs, Jem.” She was convinced the rich knew something the poor didn’t.

  “I might have heard of something.” Jem was thinking of a news item he’d heard on the radio. He’d inadvertently tuned in to the British Broadcasting Channel when he was tuning his radio. The words coming out of the radio had shocked him – all about some woman who was lecturing other women about controlling the number of children born. “I heard about some woman preaching about something she called birth control. She’s in an awful lot of trouble, Ivy. They’re saying she’s going against the laws of God and man.” The woman was some class of an Irish American . . . he tried to remember her name . . . Margaret Sanger – that was it, he was sure of it. How would he go about knowing more?

  “Well,” she punched his shoulder with her free hand, “see – there is something they know that we don’t. That thing you heard on the radio – that’s all about them not wanting the rest of us to know all about it.”

  “You’ll have to give me a bit of time to find out about this.” He hadn’t a clue how to go about finding out about this Margaret Sanger.

  “We can’t let anyone know what we’re doing, Jem,” she whispered. “We’d have The Lane down around our ears. We’ll never be able to go to Confession and Communion again if we do this. You know the aul’ biddies make a note of who attends the sacraments. It won’t be only Sheila Purcell calling us sinners. I’ve made me decision but you have to think long and hard about it, Jem. What I’m suggesting could get us excommunicated.”

  “I’m not a religious man, Ivy.” He went to Mass more out of habit than anything else. “I’ll look into the matter of stopping babbies but I don’t see any reason we need to shout our business to the world.” Trust his Ivy to give him something new to worry about. Still, with Ivy in his life he’d never be bored. “So, Ivy Murphy, will you be marrying me in six weeks’ time?”

  “Yes, please,” she whispered, almost weak with relief. She’d keep trying to discover the secrets of the rich herself but having Jem’s help would be a godsend. Ann Marie was a devil for research – she’d get the woman’s name from Jem and ask Ann Marie to find out everything she could about her. If this woman was teaching all about – what had Jem called it, birth control? – well, she, Ivy Rose Murphy, wanted to know all about it. She’d like one or two children, what woman wouldn’t? But she didn’t want twenty like some families in The Lane.

  “You know we’ll have to have a street party on the day or The Lane will never forgive us?” Jem was frantically trying to figure out how they could sneak away to marry at the registry office. If he had to pretend they were travelling to Sligo to have his family at their wedding, he would.

  “That’s fine with me, Jem.” The neighbours wouldn’t expect to be invited to the church. A wedding was not the social event a funeral was. A street party, however, was essential. One would be organised with or without her participation. “If we’re lucky we’ll have a nice day for it.”

  They turned back in the direction of Grafton Street, lost in their own thoughts.

  Chapter 28

  Ivy dropped the locked leather bank bag holding the money she’d taken at the Friday markets into the night safe of the bank on College Green. She’d taken a lot of money today. The news of her wedding had relieved some of the pressure from neighbours wanting her rooms. She hoped that would stay that way for a while. She didn’t want any more neighbours knocking on her door demanding her two rooms.

  She locked the fat-bellied door of the night safe before carefully putting the big steel key in her skirt pocket. She grabbed the handle of her pram and with a contented sigh set off. She walked the familiar streets towards home with her mind fully occupied with thoughts and plans.

  She’d seen and heard nothing of Father Leary. She was keeping well out of the man’s way. She kept her wits about her and her eyes open when she was out and about. The Good Lord knew Father Leary had made his opinion of visiting places like The Lane well known. It was beneath his dignity to visit the tenements himself. He sent a junior for any and all duties. He did, however, make exceptions and she’d hate to be caught on the hop.

  She walked along Kildare Street, trying to imagine how her married life would work out. It was impossible to move in her work room now, though the goods she’d bought from the warehouse were in great demand. She’d shifted a lot of the wool and materials to the women of The Lane and down the markets. None the less the remaining stock seemed to take up every inch of available space. She’d tried to plan out the living arrangements for her new family but failed miserably. Jem was talking about clearing out the two rooms and whitewashing the walls. He wanted everything to be fresh and clean. She’d decided to just take each day as it came. There wasn’t much else she could do.

  It had been a long hard day but the longer evenings made being out and about a joy. She had been to visit an old contact, Pa Landers – a man known for his superior second-hand clothing – looking for an outfit suitable for a long journey and a wedding. It seemed everyone and his brother had an opinion about what Ivy should wear on her wedding day. Jem had let it be known they would be travelling to Sligo for the actual wedding which, while removing one set of problems, created more.

  Mr Clancy would be coming to the livery tonight. She had her homework ready and what felt like a million questions to ask the man about business bookkeeping. Mr Clancy was a retired professor of mathematics, if you wouldn’t be minding. Brother Theo had recommended the man. He came by the livery twice a week to teach Ivy, Jem, John Lawless and anyone else interested about finance. That’s what he called it anyway – to Ivy’s mind it was bookkeeping and sums but the man was a mine of useful information.

  Ivy sighed with pleasure at the easy way her pram travelled over the cobbled streets. She walked on, a familiar dark shape pushing her pram around the Dublin streets. Her feet moved automatically but her mind was making and discarding id
eas and plans. She had more than just herself to be thinking about these days. How had she become involved in so many people’s lives? She’d been minding her own business keeping herself to herself and now look at her. She was a business woman for heaven’s sake – with money in the bank. How had that happened?

  “Jem, are yeh about?”

  Ivy had dropped her pram into her own rooms, stoked up the fire and put fresh damp nuggets on to smoulder. She’d taken the time to give herself a quick wash and changed her old jumper for a white cashmere one she’d been given on her round. The jumper had been badly stained but Ivy had used her handcraft skills and prettied the plain jumper up with a lace border and white on white embroidery. She was proud of the end result. She remembered to put her homework under her arm before leaving her place by the front door and hurrying across the cobbled courtyard to the livery.

  “Auntie Ivy, Auntie Ivy!” Emmy Ryan, black curls bouncing on her back, big green eyes gleaming, ran out of the room the lads were calling their tea room to greet one of her favourite people.

  “Miss Emmy!” Ivy caught the young girl up in her arms. She put the child on her hip and smiled into the beautiful face. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Emmy said impatiently. “Uncle Jem has your dinner on a pot over the fire.” She took Ivy’s face in her two little hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Have you done your homework for Mr Clancy?” she demanded seriously. “Do you need me to check your sums?”