“He’s been that good to us,” Mrs Rattigan said. “I know he has a bad reputation in The Lane but he’s never been anything but kind to me and mine.” She looked across the room and out the window over the sink that opened onto her small backyard farm and the animal enclosure her husband had built for her animals. The geese, chickens, pig and goat that she’d reared wandered about the mud enclosure. “The lads are broken hearted about leaving the animals. I promised them there would be plenty of animals at my parents’ place but it’s not the same, is it?”
Ivy hadn’t an opinion either way. She’d never had an animal. “Have you cups about?” She wanted to give the woman something to think about that didn’t make her cry. “I can help you make a list of everything you need to get done before you leave, if you like.”
“That would be great.” Mrs Rattigan stood to root out the cups. “I’m that afraid of forgetting something important. A list is the very thing.”
Ivy looked around her back room. She had the range lit, the water reservoir full to the top and the kettle filled. The people of The Lane were still away taking advantage of the nearby Sandymount Strand. There had been hardly anyone around while she’d been running back and forth with brimming buckets of water. The promised storm was rolling in – thunder rumbling over their heads.
“I’m going over to the livery – keep Jem and his horses company.”
She put more coal on the range fire. The heat in the room was unbearable. The water could heat while she was out and about. There was no need for her to stay here sweating. She checked the room quickly before grabbing her keys from the kitchen table. She locked the back door. She stood for a moment looking at her front room. They hadn’t touched that space yet. The two of them were living in the back room. The place was an awful mess – still, there was little she could do about it. With a shrug of her shoulders she hurried out the front door, locked the door at her back and ran up the metal steps to ground level.
“He’s upstairs,” Conn Connelly shouted as soon as Ivy stepped into the open doors of the livery. Conn was standing in the central aisle of the livery, a hose in his hand. He and a group of helpers were trying to give the sweating horses a cool-down.
“Thanks, Conn.” Ivy walked swiftly towards the wooden ladder leading up to the eaves. She was tempted to run through the water and cool herself down. With a sigh she resisted the temptation. She was a married woman now. She had to behave herself. Before she stepped onto the ladder she pulled the loose folds of her dress between her legs and held it in place while she climbed using one hand. She was not giving anyone a free view of her bloomers.
“Jem Ryan!” she shouted when she was almost to the top of the ladder.
“Ivy Ryan.” Jem appeared in the open door of the room that had been his home before he’d moved in with Ivy. He smiled and walked over to take her hand and pull her up onto the lip of the storage area that ran around the livery. He’d been trying to cool down – his work shirt was open, sleeves rolled back to the elbow.
“Put the kettle on.” She didn’t care how hot it was, she wanted tea.
“I lit the Primus and put the kettle on as soon as I heard Conn shout out at you.”
“Yer blood should be bottled.”
“I thought we could talk in private up here.” They walked into the room tucked under the eaves. He left the door open at their back. It was muggy up here. “I don’t want to go far from the horses.”
“Mrs Rattigan is leaving us.” She’d promised the woman she’d tell Jem.
“Is that a fact?” He carried two enamel mugs of tea over to the table they had left up here for such occasions. They had carried all of the good china across the way to Ivy’s place.
“Father Leary has found the answer to her prayers apparently.” She filled him in on all the woman had told her.
“More power to her!” He lifted his mug in a toast.
“Have you ever been in those rooms at the back of Wilson’s house?” Ivy remembered the sink with running water, the window overlooking the little private garden and farmyard. “It’s a gem of a place.” She wanted to think a little deeper about the idea that had come to her. It was a big step to take.
“I’ve only been in Wilson’s once in my life.” He didn’t like to remember Ivy hunched in pain from being beaten by the parish priest.
“That wasn’t all that happened today.” She couldn’t keep the pain in her heart to herself any longer. “I saw our Eamo and Petey.” She’d been determined not to cry but could feel the tears rolling down her face.
“Ah Jaysus!” Jem stood quickly and pulled her from her seat into his arms. “Tell me.” He held her close while she stuttered over her words, trying to explain the inexplicable.
“When I think of all the times I went hungry so they could eat, all of the things I did without so they would never have to, I could spit.”
“Fuck them.”
“Jem!”
“I don’t care, Ivy. I apologise for swearing but none the less it’s how I feel. Fuck them.” He held her while she cried. Shay had warned him that their two brothers might turn up in Ireland now they knew Eamonn Murphy was dead. If the two lads were here then so was Ivy’s mother. Had she thought of that?
“They seemed to be in very thick with that Burton Moriarty.” Ivy accepted the handkerchief Jem pressed into her hand. “That man is our landlord though he doesn’t seem to know it.” She’d thought to use their connection to secure her two rooms. The fear of being evicted was still very real. The room they stood in was always available to them, she knew, but she didn’t want to live here. It would make running her business practically impossible.
“You should talk to your uncle.” Jem released her from his arms and turned to freshen the tea, giving her time to pull herself together. His Ivy didn’t like to be seen crying.
“Why?” She decided to ignore his reference to her ‘uncle’. She’d troubles enough.
“That man will know the minute your brothers stepped foot in Dublin.” Jem joined her at the table. “It’s better to know what’s going on, Ivy. You won’t have any unpleasant surprises if you know what they plan to do. This could be a quick visit to Dublin, you never know.” He didn’t think so. If what Shay had told him was true, Violet Burton had a score to settle with the family who had all but deserted her. The woman would want to rub their noses in her improved circumstances.
“I don’t know how to get in touch with the man now that Betty’s gone back to America,” Ivy hedged. She didn’t want to telephone William Armstrong’s home. She had no intention of becoming familiar with that family. Having them turn up at her wedding was bad enough.
“There is always the telephone.”
“I suppose.” She hunched over her cup.
“Ivy, you need to use the contacts you have. Armstrong used your connections to push his way into Ann Marie’s social circle. Tell him its payback time.”
A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning had them both jumping to their feet. They were needed in the stables. The sound of frightened horses deafened them.
Chapter 44
“Walk on!” Ivy slapped the reins against Rosie’s rump. She was feeling very pleased with herself. She trotted the horse and small carriage around the outside of Stephen’s Green Park, Jem sitting tall beside her.
“You’re doing really well,” Jem offered without taking his eyes off the people strolling out on this fine day.
“Thanks.” She was afraid to take her eyes off the road and the horse. The street children chasing each other around the park never seemed to look where they were going. She thanked Heaven for Rosie’s placid nature. Of course the nannies walking the upper-crust children had a firm grip on their young charges.
“That’s enough for today, love,” Jem said softly. It was a beautiful August Saturday, almost time for the shop assistants to take their lunch in the park. The crowds would soon be too much for a novice driver to handle. “Turn her head now.”
Ivy gav
e the horse its orders through the reins. Rosie picked up her feet. The old horse knew she was heading for home and a warm stable.
“I telephoned Ann Marie while you were hitching up the horse.” Ivy didn’t take her eyes off the horse’s rump. She missed her friend. It felt as if she’d lost Ann Marie at the same time as they’d lost Emmy. Ann Marie had returned from Galway and gone directly to her Dalkey estate. The O’Connors were her guests. “I don’t think our Emmy is happy.” She wasn’t given the chance to speak to the child but something in Ann Marie’s voice had warned her that things were not running smoothly.
“There is nothing you or I can do about that, Ivy.” Jem too kept his eyes on the horse’s rump. He hated to see the heartbreak in his wife’s eyes. The loss of Emmy was a constant ache in his own heart. He had to keep reminding himself that O’Connor was Emmy’s father, her family. He, Jem Ryan, a farm hand from Sligo, had no right to the child.
“We have a lot to be thankful for.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. They both enjoyed the privacy offered without a child constantly underfoot.
“I’m not in gaol.” Jem turned to look at her. “That’s a blessing.” The horse was approaching the tunnel leading from Stephen’s Lane into The Lane. “You want to be careful here. The entrance is narrow.”
“Yes, sir!” She concentrated on guiding the horse home.
Truth be told, Rosie knew the way but Ivy was learning to drive the horse and needed to pay attention.
“Looks like the postman’s here,” Jem said as the horse and carriage cleared the tunnel.
“Wonder if he has anything from Shay?” She wanted to hop off and demand to know if the man had post for her. She had been receiving orders for her baby dolls through the post since the end of June. That business development had come as a pleasant surprise to her. Hannah Solmon had kept in touch by post too. The sight of the postman never failed to give her spirits a bit of a lift. She’d have to wait to talk to the postman though until she’d tended to the animal in the traces. Jem insisted on the horse coming first.
“Go on.” Jem took the reins from her hands. “I know you won’t settle until you see if he has anything for you. I’ll see to the horse.”
“The blessings of God on yeh!” She jumped off almost before the carriage had come to a complete stop. “I won’t be long.” She ran away, long legs eating up the space between the livery and the postman.
Tim Allen the postman saw her coming. He stopped and began to search through his big postbag. He knew he had something for Ivy. He sighed, knowing what the blue-pencil-crossed white envelope meant. He’d never known registered letters to bring good news.
“I’ve a big brown-paper-wrapped package for you from America.” Tim grinned when Ivy reached his side. He might as well give the good news first. “This one is from New York though, not Hollywood.” He knew all about Ivy’s brother in California. The man was set to make a name for himself in the fillums, if you wouldn’t be minding. He passed Ivy the brown-paper package. It was tied around with twine and well decorated with melted red wax. He continued to search in his bag for his clipboard. He needed Ivy’s signature for the registered post. He gave her the white, blue-crossed envelope with one hand and a bent head while pulling the clipboard from his bag.
Ivy examined the piece of registered mail with a sinking heart. She’d never received one before but everyone knew they were generally bad news.
“I need you to sign here, please.” He pointed with his pencil at the correct line on his form.
Ivy signed her name then carried her post over and sat on the steps leading up into the house that sat over her basement rooms. She sat there like a statue for what felt like ages, the package on the steps beside her. She was afraid to open the white envelope. She paid no attention to the people walking around her to go in and out of the house. She didn’t hear their words of greeting.
“What’s up, love?” Jem came to sit beside her. He’d been watching her, wondering what on earth she was doing sitting on the granite steps.
“Look.” She showed him the blue-crossed envelope.
“Well, you don’t know it’s bad news until you open it,” Jem said pragmatically.
“You open it.” She shoved the envelope into his hands. “I can’t bear to look.”
“Come on,” he took her elbow, put the fingers of his free hand under the twine on the parcel and pulled her to her feet, “we’ll open it in our own place.” He was aware of the neighbours’ curiosity and would prefer privacy for whatever was coming. He took his key from his pocket and with Ivy in tow walked down the steel stairs to the front door.
“What could it be?” she asked over her shoulder, walking towards the back room while Jem locked the door behind them.
“We’ll know soon enough, love.”
With the dreaded envelope and the gaily decorated parcel in hand he followed Ivy into the back room – their living space.
He pulled out one of their two kitchen chairs and waited until Ivy sat. He took the second chair and with a glance in her direction tore open the tough white fabric-imbued envelope. He pulled out a sheet of paper and quickly read the message typed on the page.
“That . . .” He bit back the curse. “It seems we are being evicted, love.” The silence in the room after his words had an almost physical presence.
“Oh God, Jem.” Ivy actually felt the colour drain from her face.
“Father Leary has a long reach.” There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the parish priest was behind this notice. The man had been too quiet lately – the calm before the storm. He passed her the typed page.
Ivy read the words on the page. “We have a week from Sunday to get out. That’s bloody generous of them.” She knew she could contest this eviction notice. She was a good tenant and had never missed a week’s rent. She caused problems for no one. It would cost money to fight this notice though and only delay the inevitable. What was the point? In a face-off the priest would always win. But no-one knew she had an ace in the hole when it came to this house. She couldn’t think about that right now. She had dreaded this moment but now that it was actually here she was numb.
“Come here.” Jem stood and pulled Ivy from her seat. He almost dragged her over to the large bed and with his arms wrapped tight around her fell onto the horsehair mattress. He was expecting her to weep and wail but Ivy surprised him. She lay silently in his arms. Her very stillness frightened him.
“It’s only the two of us,” he whispered into her hair. He waited to see if she would say something but Ivy remained frozen. “You won’t be homeless, love. We have my place.”
“I don’t want to think about anything.” Ivy’s voice sounded husky. “I just want to go to sleep.” She snuggled into his arms. She wanted to escape the problems of her life – just for a while – was that so wrong?
Jem lay on the bed, holding her suddenly shivering body close. He rubbed his hand up and down her back. He was worried. It wasn’t like his Ivy to give in without a fight. Was this the straw that would break the camel’s back? He lay on the wide bed, looking around at the space Ivy had turned into a home. There had to be something he could do. His mind whirled in ever-decreasing circles. He couldn’t just lie here. He had to move, to do something. He waited to move until her even breathing told him she was asleep. He moved slowly, sliding himself from the bed without waking her. He removed her shoes before pulling the covers over her. He almost tiptoed out of the basement rooms.
He crossed the cobbled space between the tenements and his livery, his blood boiling, his hands gripped in tight fists. He wished there was someone he could punch.
“Jem.” John Lawless put his head around the office door.
“Later!” Jem shouted. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to deal with more problems. Not at this moment. He climbed the ladder to his room in the eaves and slammed the door at his back. He stood staring around the room he’d called home for years. This was not what he wanted to offer his bride. Ivy deserv
ed better. The entire place echoed painfully with Emmy’s absence. How could one little girl take over his world in a little over a year? What was he going to do? He fell into the single armchair in the room and dropped his head into his hands.
“Mr Wilson, do you have a minute?” Jem looked at the old man. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Come in.” Frank Wilson opened his door wide then turned and walked back into his living room, leaving Jem to follow at his heels.
“I wanted to ask you about them rooms at the back.” Jem stood inside the open living-room door.
“Shut the door,” Frank Wilson growled. “I haven’t had time to fill those rooms since Mrs Rattigan and her boys moved out. I’ve been fixing the place up. The Rattigans were good tenants but a little spit and polish, a dash of white paint and the place will be good as new. I like to have the place nice before I rent it out.”
“I want to rent those back rooms.” Jem said.
“You and Ivy, you mean?” Wilson stared. “I thought the pair of you were well set up in that basement of hers. The rent on the back rooms here is a lot more than you’ve been paying.”
“Ivy is being evicted,” Jem said simply.
“That aul’ bastard Leary has a long reach. I wonder how the man sleeps at night.”
“So, about those rooms?” Jem didn’t want to get into a long-drawn-out discussion on the evils of Father Leary. He wanted to have everything in place before his Ivy woke up. He knew she loved the back rooms in this house. She’d talked of them often enough after her visits to the place. Jem stood staring at the fantasy land carved into the cupboards and wondered about them.
The Ha'Penny Place (Ivy Rose Series Book 3) Page 25