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

by Gemma Jackson

  “I thought I recognised you.” Mrs Felman examined Ivy with eagle eyes. “I believe I saw you in our shop – with my daughter-in-law, wasn’t it?”

  “I stopped in from time to time, yes.” Ivy was aware of the dark-clothed men closing in on where they stood. Manny Felman was not giving up hope of grabbing his errant wife off the streets. She’d been aware of his men searching the streets and markets but this was the first time anyone had approached her. “I generally buy my supplies in bulk.” She left it at that, not wanting to babble and appear nervous.

  “Mr Solomon, a relation by marriage, mentioned you in passing last Shabbath.” She searched Ivy’s eyes intently as two of her son’s men came to stand at her shoulder.

  “I know Mr Solomon well.” Ivy knew Shabbath was a Jewish day of rest. A lot of Jewish families came together Friday evening to celebrate. She hadn’t known Mr Solomon joined Hannah’s in-laws. “He is a neighbour of mine.” She waited to see what would happen next. She didn’t want to turn her back on these people.

  “Yes, he mentioned a neighbour who made use of skilled needlewomen.”

  So that was it. Ivy felt her heart thumping against her ribcage. They thought Hannah might be working for her. Well, they were too late. Hannah was safely away. Billy Flint had lent his expertise to spiriting Hannah away without anyone being any the wiser.

  “That is correct.” Ivy put one hand on the handle of her pram and smiled sweetly – she hoped. “Do you know of some women who might be interested in making dolls’ clothing? I must admit I never thought of your store as a source of skilled needlewomen – remiss of me.” She waited with raised eyebrows.

  “Certainly not.” Mrs Felman’s many chins waggled in outrage. To think that she might know women who sought menial labour – the cheek of the woman!

  “That is a shame. I can always use additional skilled needlewomen.” Ivy took a firm grip on the handle of her pram and with an abrupt nod stepped away from the woman and her cronies. “Good day to you, Mrs Felman.” She didn’t take a decent breath until she’d walked several steps away and no hairy-knuckled hand had been put to her shoulder.

  Ivy pushed her pram easily along the Dublin streets. She was aware of the people around her but this time alone – one among many – gave her a chance to think. She missed Emmy running around the place. Would they get to spend more time with the little one? She knew Jem was heartbroken but they didn’t talk about it. What would be the point?

  “Howayeh, Missus, fancy a dip?” a cheeky child shouted as she approached one of the many street water fountains. The little boy ran naked around the cement basin of the fountain.

  “I’d love one,” Ivy laughed at the children splashing and screaming about in the water, “but I think I’d be arrested if I tried.”

  She stopped her pram, took a large man’s handkerchief from her dress pocket and dipped the fabric in the fresh water splashing from the mouth of the fountain. She gave into temptation and held both hands out to the rushing water, glad of the chill.

  “Enjoy yourselves!” she shouted, turning away.

  “Ivy!”

  “Brother Theo.” She’d been aware this fountain was situated at the end of the street that housed the Friary but she hadn’t expected to see any of the friars out and about – not in this heat. “Are you not cooked in that heavy habit?” She hadn’t seen this man in ages. She’d been dropping off her homework and picking up fresh lessons and books from the friary door.

  “This weather is trying.” Theo took a handkerchief from one of the pockets of his long brown woollen habit. “I thought to do as you have just done and cool myself down a little.” He stepped past her to wet the cloth, striking the street kids dumb. “How have you been, Ivy?” He turned away from the fountain, knowing his presence inhibited the street children. He took several steps away, expecting Ivy to follow.

  “I’ve been getting along fine.” She’d missed seeing him around The Lane – missed their talks. Brother Theo insisted Ivy learn to think for herself and question the world around her.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to visit The Lane lately.” He ran the chilled cloth over his sweating face and neck.

  In fact he’d been ordered to keep away from The Lane by his Abbot. Father Leary appeared to have many powerful friends. The parish priest had begun a campaign of whispers against Brother Theo that was causing him some level of discomfort.

  “It is too hot to stand out here.” Theo was aware of the curious eyes upon them. “I will be returning to my home for a short break but I will leave some prepared lessons for you at the friary.” Theo pushed the damp cloth into one of his deep pockets. He’d love to pull up his habit and step into the water with the children.

  “Thanks, Brother.” Ivy wished she felt confident enough to question him about his absence from her life. She appreciated the education she continued to receive but she missed his teaching skill.

  “I’ll correct your work when I return. I’ll telephone you when I have done so. God go with you, Ivy.”

  “See yeh, Brother.”

  Theo gave her a quick nod of his head and turned away. He felt better in himself. He would find a way to deal with Leary. The man would not be allowed to dictate his actions. Besides, he liked Ivy’s totally irreverent attitude towards him – it kept him humble.

  Ivy grabbed the handle of her pram and prepared to continue her journey home. The people of The Lane had set out for the seaside early that morning. The women pushed their prams packed with children and supplies to the nearby Sandymount Strand. She thought she’d join them as soon as she’d dropped off her pram and changed her clothes. Maybe Jem would like to come along with her. He could take some of the stable lads and horses along.

  A dip in the cold sea water would do everyone a world of good. This weather was giving man and beast a hard time. Some people had taken to sleeping in the entry tunnels to The Lane. The muggy heat made the overpacked tenement rooms miserable.

  Thinking of visiting Sandymount Strand put a kick in her step. A cool paddle in the sea was practically calling her name. She slowed her steps approaching the O’Connell Street ice-cream parlour. Burton Moriarty, a man who thought a lot of himself, had bought her an ice cream from that parlour once upon a time.

  “Well, think of the devil and he’ll appear.” She stopped her pram, not wishing the man to see her.

  Burton Moriarty, wearing tennis whites just as he had when she’d met him, was holding the door of the ice-cream shop open. Two fancy vehicles sat waiting in the street close to the shop. Ivy was on the opposite side of the street. She leaned her weight against the base of the new Daniel O’Connell statue. She’d watch a minute and catch her breath.

  “That’s not his wife his fingers are rushing all over,” Ivy muttered. The shadow cast by the statue at her back was welcome. She watched Burton kiss the hand of a laughing young woman. The two ran to the vehicle parked behind the other. Still laughing, they jumped into the open-topped vehicle. “They must be what the papers are calling ‘bright young things’ – well for them.”

  She continued to watch.

  “God!” The air left her lungs.

  Two of her brothers, wearing whites, each with a laughing girl on his arm, rushed out of the ice-cream parlour. Eamo and Petey. What were they doing here? Did they know Moriarty was their cousin? She collapsed against the wall at her back, her hand to her mouth. She must have made a noise because her brother Eamo looked directly at her. She waited for him to call her name. There was only a year in age between the two of them. He’d been gone for years. He looked so much like their father. She felt tears fill her eyes. The pain of his glance almost crippled her. Eamo, her own brother, visually examined her from hair to toes and dismissed her.

  “Let us away, cousin!” the man once known as Eamo Murphy shouted to Burton, leaping into the driver’s seat of the front vehicle.

  His younger brother seated the two ladies and cranked both cars before jumping into the back seat. “I intend
to beat you soundly at tennis,” Eamo said. “I give you fair warning.” He turned the key and without a glance in Ivy’s direction drove away.

  “God!” The pain was physical. She wanted to throw up. She was icy cold, trembling. “Shay warned me you’d become a pompous hypocrite, Eamo. But seeing is believing.”

  She watched the vehicles head in the direction of Grafton Street. She’d walk along the Liffey. She didn’t want to chance bumping into them again. He’d called Moriarty ‘cousin’. It seemed they were all one big happy family.

  “The two of them looked well.” Ivy pushed her body away from the shadows. She could stop worrying about them. They had made a new life for themselves. Wasn’t she doing the self-same thing? “I won’t be giving you a second thought, Eamo Murphy.” With her pram firmly in hand, she began the walk home. She had a husband waiting for her. If her face was wet with tears as she travelled the sweltering streets no one noticed.

  Chapter 43

  “Well, isn’t it well for yez?” she exclaimed, catching sight of Jem and some of his lads, naked from the waist up, trousers rolled up, feet bare, as they used a pump hose to wet the horses and themselves down. They were working in the newly opened yard that led directly to the Stephen’s Lane tunnel. The hulking shape of the livery at their backs cast a long shadow over the yard.

  She wouldn’t allow the insult offered her by her two brothers to spoil her day. She could tell Jem later in the privacy of their bed.

  “Ivy,” the Widow Rattigan stepped out of Wilson’s house, “yeh better get that pram of yours parked before this lot eat everything in front of them.” She stepped closer to Ivy and whispered. “I want a word in private with you. When you have the time.” She stopped speaking at Jem’s approach.

  “You go do what you have to do, love.” Jem joined Ivy. “I’ve the water hot for tea.” He pressed a quick kiss into her hair before turning away with a smile. “I’ll throw me body over the sandwiches if I have ta. I’ll not let me mot starve,” he offered in a fair copy of a Dublin accent. “Right, you lads!” He clapped his hands to attract the attention of the young people working around the livery. He was aware of Ivy hurrying away with her pram. “We need to get ourselves organised.”

  With shouted instructions the horses were returned to their stalls, a table and a few chairs carried out and put on the damp cobbles of the yard. He had used some of the bricks taken from the walls that had hidden the tunnels for years to build a safe wall surround for a bucket fire. It was his habit in this warm weather to have a big black kettle sitting over the red coals in that fire. He never knew when his Ivy might need a cup of tea.

  “This is the life.” Ivy sat on a chair in the yard, a cup of tea in her hand, an egg and tomato sandwich on the table in front of her. “I was thinking we could take some of the lads and horses to the seaside later. We all need to cool down.” She’d changed her leather sandals for a pair of white plimsolls, the canvas shoes the children of The Lane wore all through the summer. When the shoes were worn through they made a grand addition to the fire in winter.

  “We might do that some day – but I want to stay close to home for the minute.” Jem didn’t like to leave his business for too long. “We’re getting a lot of orders for taxis in this weather. It seems people don’t want to walk anywhere. It’s hard on the horses. I have the men changing horses more frequently. The radio mentioned thunder and lightning that might be coming our way. I’ll need all the hands I can get to keep the horses calm.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Ivy looked around at the crowded yard. The lads Jem employed were sitting on the bare cobbles stuffing their faces with the sandwiches Mrs Rattigan had provided. There were long wooden boards piled high with sandwiches, covered with damp tea towels, sitting off to one side of the table. The lads knew they could have two sandwiches each – if they were still hungry there was plain bread to go with their mugs of tea. It was more than most of them would get at home. Mrs Rattigan made her own bread which was delicious and cheap. Ivy didn’t envy the woman the heat of her kitchen in this weather.

  “Isn’t it well for some?” John Lawless stood in the open door of the livery, leaning unsteadily on his crutches. “I suppose you never thought to ask me if I had a mouth?”

  “Come on out and join us, John.” Jem stood to fetch an enamel mug of tea for his friend.

  Ivy stood to fetch a chair and carry it over to their table. They had been left alone to enjoy their meal. The lads preferred to sit on the ground, their backs to the nearest wall.

  “My Clare is at the telephone switchboard,” John said. “Someone needs to carry a mug of tea and a sandwich in to her.”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Conn Connelly followed John from the livery building. He took careful note of the lads sitting around the yard. It wouldn’t be beyond some of them to try and get served twice. He’d lads working away inside the livery building who needed to get their turn at the tea and sandwiches.

  “Good lad.” John accepted Ivy’s help in lowering his body onto the wooden chair. She took his crutches and leaned them against the livery wall, well out of the way.

  “Here you go.” Jem put a mug of tea and a sandwich on the table in front of John.

  “That’s what I like to see, service with a smile.” John too took note of the lads sitting around laughing, joking and stuffing their faces. He’d shift them soon enough and let the next lot out.

  The three friends sat sipping tea, nibbling on sandwiches and talking about nothing important. Ivy allowed the peace and familiarity of the scene to soothe her emotional injury.

  “I can’t make them Alice dolls for you any more.” The Widow Rattigan had her back to Ivy, washing the dishes at her indoor sink.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Ivy looked around at the gang of boys picking up their belongings. For some reason they were piling them into a heap in one corner of the kitchen – she didn’t like to ask why. She’d come to see the Widow Rattigan after the woman had put her head out the door half a dozen times to see if she’d finished eating.

  “I’ll have to tell Jem as well.” The woman turned from her washing, drying her hands on her apron. She leaned against the sink at her back, staring across the room at Ivy who was still standing inside the door that separated the Rattigan rooms from the rest of the house. “Father Leary, that sainted man, has found me a job as a housekeeper.”

  “Has he?” Ivy kept her teeth firmly clenched around what she might want to say. A good deed done with bad intentions was still a good deed.

  “You know how hard I’ve been having it since me husband died.” The woman was practically rubbing her hands raw on her apron.

  “I do.” Ivy walked across the room. She took the woman’s hands in hers. “Sit down and tell me everything.” She led the woman to the well-scrubbed kitchen table and sat down with her.

  “Father Leary,” she blessed herself with tears flowing down her ashen face, “I don’t know how to thank him. He found me a job. In a big house close to my parents’ home in Mayo.” She fought the sobs that shook her body. “I don’t know if I’m on me head or me heels. Father Leary found apprentice jobs for my two eldest boys. The three youngest can live with my parents. I’ll be able to help out with the money. The job is live-in but I’ll have Wednesday evening and Sunday afternoons off. I’ll be able to walk home and see my family.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed as if her heart were breaking.

  “Have you told Mr Wilson you’re leaving?” Ivy asked when the other woman had calmed down slightly.

  “He’s been so good. He told me not to worry. He’s glad I’ll be well fixed.”

  “Jimjo!” Ivy shouted at the nearest Rattigan boy. “Ask Mr Wilson to make a pot of tea for us, will you?” She didn’t know where anything was in this kitchen. Besides, that gas cooker of Wilson’s would heat the water in no time.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Mrs Rattigan gasped.

  “You’re not asking, I am,” Ivy insisted. “Go on, Jimj
o, get the tea.” The lad looked as if he wanted to cry. Mrs Rattigan might be returning home but this was the only home her children had ever known. She doubted they’d even met their grandparents.

  “I have a basket with all of the doll stuff in it,” Mrs Rattigan sniffed. “I’ll give it to you before you go. I’m sorry to be letting you down. I hope you know I was grateful for the work you put my way.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She could make the Alice dolls herself until she found someone else to take over the backbreaking work. “How are you getting home?”

  “Father Leary got a voucher from the Saint Vincent de Paul to pay for train tickets for all of us – with a little left over. That man will be in my prayers for the rest of my life. He’s been so good to us.”

  “Ivy Murphy, you have a cheek ordering me to serve up a pot of tea to you.” Frank Wilson opened the door that divided the long hallway of his house. The door served as a private entrance to the Rattigans’ back rooms. Jimjo stood at the old man’s side, sniffling.

  “Devil a bit of it.” Ivy smiled over at the cranky old man. His bark was a lot worse than his bite. “Did you make it?”

  “It’s brewing.” Frank Wilson stared at Ivy. It seemed his helping her out was bringing good to someone. Leary was depriving him of rent and Ivy of a worker but the Rattigan family were being given a chance. So some good would come out of it. “I made a big pot if the lads would like a mug.” He turned to go back to his own rooms, Jimjo at his heels.