While he was at Castlemaine, the scheme had seemed ambitious and progressive. Now, seeing again the alarming extent of the potato blight, Liam became thoroughly depressed. Only a full-scale programme by the English Government could stave off a total disaster.
His depression did not lift until he rode up to Inch House. To his surprise, Kathie came running down the path to meet him. She was living with Nathan Brock and his family, but this was a different Kathie from the dirty and ragged girl he had last seen in the cabin on the hill above Kilmar. Her long hair hung down her back, shining and clean, and she looked a picture of health, the plain woollen dress she wore revealing only a trace of pregnant thickness about her waist.
She greeted him warmly, and as he disentangled himself from her uninhibited hug he saw Caroline watching them from the main doorway of Inch House.
Caroline’s manner toward Liam was far from warm. She greeted him only because not to have done so would have attracted comment.
Liam was puzzled; he was not aware that he had done anything to upset her. As soon as he could, he sent Kathie to find Nathan and tell the ex-prizefighter he would like to see him before leaving.
Inside the house, Liam turned to speak to Caroline, but she had a question for him, first.
‘Why did you not tell me that Kathie is in love with you?’
Liam was about to laugh at the preposterous statement, but then he looked at Caroline’s face. She was in no mood for humour.
‘This is absolute nonsense! Kathie is married to my brother.’
Caroline stared at Liam for a few moments before saying quietly, ‘And I am married to Sir Richard Dudley.’
Liam could think of no immediate answer to such a blunt statement, but as he floundered Caroline came to him. Putting her arms about him she clung to him in an agony of self-reproach.
‘I am sorry, Liam. I should have known bette…. I did know better…. But I have never been so jealous in all my life.’
She kissed him, and as her body pressed against his he wanted her so desperately it was a physical pain. For a while they kissed wildly, but then she pushed him away.
‘Kathie will return in a few minutes, my Liam. I must regain my composure before then.’
She looked at him and, in direct contradiction of what she herself had just said, she threw herself at him and kissed him again.
‘Oh Liam! My darling, I have missed you so much.’
She took him by the hand and led him to an armchair. When he was seated, she said, ‘I have been so unhappy, Liam. Since Kathie came to the house she has done little but talk about you – no, it is all right. I made it my business to learn exactly what there had been between you, but seeing you together when you arrived made me utterly unreasonable.’
Caroline perched herself on the arm of his chair. ‘Poor Kathie has been through a great deal and she is deeply disturbed about something. Shelagh Brock tells me Kathie has dreadful nightmares and wakes screaming.’
Liam thought he knew of the things that were troubling Kathie, but now was not the time to tell Caroline about them. He had other things to say before his brother’s wife returned. Quickly, he told Caroline of his meeting with Sir Richard Dudley and his salesman companion.
‘No doubt Sir Richard is supplementing his Commissariat salary by becoming involved in corn buying,’ he said. ‘I don’t know a great deal about trading, but with such a desperate shortage of food everywhere the price of grain must be going up daily. Anyone who has a shipload for sale could make a small fortune.’
Caroline nodded. ‘And Richard will consider it no more than his due. His salary with the Commissariat will be less than he was receiving at the Treasury. He will be most anxious to make up the difference. However, it is unforunate that you and he have already fallen out about famine relief. Richard can be very stubborn. He may well refuse to open new depots in your area.’
‘I think that decision has already been made for him. My belief is that Trevelyan will delay the opening of Commissariat depots for as long as possible in order to save Treasury money.’
‘I cannot believe that any man who is in possession of the true facts would even consider such a thing,’ declared Caroline, but she said it without conviction. Unless Trevelyan acted very soon there could be little doubt that his tardiness was deliberate policy.
Further discussion was ended when Kathie returned with Nathan Brock and Liam questioned his friend about his journey to the Wicklow mountains.
Nathan Brock shook his head apologetically. ‘I was unable to find Dermot. I asked everyone I met with there, but if any man knew where he was he was not telling me.’
Liam waited for the other man to say more, but all Nathan Brock would say was that he had left word here and there that Kathie was safe and well. Then Caroline broached the subject of the current famine. They discussed it at some length and it was decided they would do much as they had the previous year. If Nathan Brock went out and found the cottiers, Liam would donate all the fish surplus to his immediate requirements. Caroline intended increasing the work force on the estate immediately, supplying as much food as was possible. She would also contact famine relief organisations in England and obtain their help. Even Kathie promised to help wherever she could, for as long as her forthcoming child would allow.
It was dusk before Liam left for Kilmar, and Nathan Brock walked part of the way with him. When they were clear of the house, the big man said to Liam, ‘I am worried at the news I heard in the mountains concerning Dermot and his men.’
‘You said no one would tell you anything.’
‘I didn’t want to speak in front of Kathie, but I heard far more than I liked. Dermot is no longer a hero, Liam. Leastwise, not to the law-abiding folk who live in the Wicklow mountains. They are calling him and his men thieves and murderers.’
‘I am not surprised. The description fits most of the men who were with him when we last saw him. The rumours will soon die away.’
‘I am not so sure. I spoke to a farmer who swore it was Dermot’s men who killed his son when he tried to prevent them stealing stock. The sanctuary of the mountains depends upon the silence of those who live there. I doubt if they will remain silent to protect Dermot.’
‘What can be done? Dermot should be warned.’
‘You can do nothing. I will try to think of some way to bring Dermot out of the mountains. There are many other matters needing your attention. When you reach Kilmar go to see Father Clery. I have never seen him so worried. Last week a dead child was left on his doorstep and on Sunday morning he found a woman lying dead in his church. He needs help.’
‘Has Eugene been to Kilmar while I have been away?’
‘No. He is in London, and I heard that he has been ill.’
Nathan Brock saw Liam’s immediate concern, and added quickly, ‘I don’t think there is anything to worry about now – but Father Clery will be able to tell you more.’
At the lodge gate Nathan Brock said he would return home, and Liam thanked him once more for his attempt to locate Dermot.
‘When I have more time we will go looking for him together.’
‘You would be well advised to stay clear of the Wicklow mountains. It will do you little good in England if it becomes known your brother is a fugitive.’
‘We will argue about it some other time, Nathan. I will be coming to Inch House to see you again soon.’
‘To see me, Liam?’ Nathan Brock did not expect a reply, but he believed there were some things that needed to be said. ‘Lady Caroline is a remarkable woman. Indeed, I have never known another like her, but she belongs to a noble family, her brother is a great land-owner … and she is married to Sir Richard Dudley. Be careful, Liam. You are not your own man any longer. You have become an inspiration to every young hopeful in Ireland. An example of what each one of them might become. You have shown them it is not necessary for a man to own land in order to represent the people. The whole country is watching you. Don’t let them down, Liam.’
>
Liam arrived in Kilmar late enough to expect to have to wake his mother, but there were lights showing in the windows of most of the cottages and much activity was centred on the church.
When Liam entered the building it looked more like a poorly equipped hospital than the house of God. It was a frightening scene. At least a hundred cottiers were accommodated in the nave of the church, most of them women and children. All of them were in an advanced state of malnutrition. Children lay four or five beneath a single blanket, from which protruded fleshless legs resembling twigs from a long-fallen oak-tree. Above the blanket their eyes looked out on the world about them with a disconcerting hopelessness.
Liam found Norah McCabe kneeling beside a boy who might have been any age between seven and fourteen. With his head cupped in her hand she fed him fish soup that trickled out again from the corners of his mouth as he worked desperately hard at swallowing.
Norah McCabe acknowledged the arrival of her son with a nod of her head. A smile would have been out of place in the midst of so much suffering, and there was no time for words as the boy began choking on the soup.
Father Clery laboured into the church, carrying a fresh cauldron of soup and perspiring from the heat of the fire over which it had been boiling. Liam took the vessel from him and carried it to a trestle table beside which some of the walking cottier skeletons waited patiently. The whole church was filled with the smell of fish soup – and of cottiers.
‘Thank you, Liam.’ Father Clery took out a handkerchief and dabbed it over his face and inside his frayed clerical collar. ‘It is good to see you, but I wish God had sent a miracle along with you. We are going to need one.’
‘What is happening? Where have all these cottiers come from?’
‘It was an eviction, not a couple of miles from here. Their potatoes failed, they had no rent, so the landlord had the soldiers turn them off the land. Then he pulled their houses down. They did not go far away, sleeping in the ditches, praying and waiting for the landlord to allow them back. He didn’t, of course, not even when they began dying. Then Tommy Donaghue came across some of them on his way back from Gorey market and told me. We’ve spent the whole day bringing them here, but I doubt if we have found them all. We will need to go out again tomorrow.’
An emaciated woman lying on the church floor nearby began to have convulsions, and Liam went to her aid. Kneeling beside her he lifted her head and shoulders, shocked at the lack of weight in her body. A convulsive twitch dislodged the rag shawl from about her shoulders, and he saw she wore nothing else above the waist, her flat breasts lying on her ribs, as empty as used parchment envelopes. Father Clery hurried to Liam’s side with a mug filled with water. He managed to spill some in the woman’s mouth, and her convulsions slowly subsided.
Liam lay the woman gently back on the floor, not knowing whether her eyelids were closing because she was exhausted, or whether she was dying.
Father Clery had no such doubts. ‘She’s gone, I’m afraid. We’ll lose a great many more before this famine is over. Unless something more permanent is done for them soon we’ll merely be giving them enough strength to face death all over again. What are they doing in London, Liam? When are they going to send us help?’
‘They have no intention of sending aid.’ Liam told Father Clery of his meeting with Charles Trevelyan. ‘… So we must do what we can, ourselves, however little it may be.’
‘We can’t hope to keep the cottiers alive without help from England. There must be at least two million of them. By God, but this is murder on a grand scale.’
‘Then pray for your miracle, Father. Nothing else will save them. Meanwhile, all the fishing boats must be out from dawn to dusk, whatever the weather. We are going to need every scrap of food that can be obtained. I’ll ride around to speak to local land-owners and ask them to forgo this year’s rents. Perhaps they will donate some of their harvest, too, but I won’t be able to see them all. My constituents in County Kerry are no better off, and I must do the same for them. We need Eugene back here. People listen to him.’
‘Eugene Brennan is an old man, Liam, worn out by a lifetime of fighting. He is tired and has been ill. I have a couple of his letters in my house. I will show them to you. They were not written by the man we have known in the past. It saddens me to say it, but I think this latest disaster will be the death of Eugene Brennan. It might have been different if Peel were still in office. Eugene had grown used to fighting him. When Lord John Russell came to power, Eugene thought his fighting days were over. He had helped the Whigs for many years and he expected them to show some gratitude. Now they are proving that Ireland means less to them than it did to Peel. Their indifference is breaking Eugene’s heart. He believes he has come to the end of his road and can help Ireland no more.’
‘Then the sooner he is back where he belongs, the better,’ said Liam firmly. ‘His people have need of him.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The grain-ship on which Sir Richard Dudley was a passenger put into Dublin after a long and rough passage from Castlemaine harbour. For four days and nights it had battled against adverse winds and rough seas. The baronet was not a good sailor and suffered greatly, but he had work to do and was in his office the morning after his arrival. His sickness was over, but a brandy-induced headache boded ill for anyone who crossed him during the day.
It fell to Jacob Burke to be the first man to put Sir Richard Dudley’s temper to the test. He came to the office to inform the baronet that Eoin Feehan had refused to see him.
Jacob Burke cringed before the fury of the ill-humoured Commissariat Inspector. When his wrath had subsided, Sir Richard Dudley ordered a carriage and, with the sulking salesman seated opposite him, rode through the streets of Dublin to the Drum Inn, a tavern standing in the shadow of the Four Courts.
When Jacob Burke introduced Sir Richard Dudley, the landlord was sufficiently impressed to put a small private room beside the bar at the baronet’s disposal and send his potman from the cellar.
When Eoin Feehan limped into the room, Sir Richard Dudley wasted no time on niceties. Keeping the red-haired potman standing before him, he asked what he knew of Dermot McCabe.
Eoin Feehan cast a baleful glance toward Jacob Burke. ‘I know nothing. Anyone who says different is a liar.’
Sir Richard Dudley sighed; this was going to be more tiresome than he had thought.
‘No doubt I would gain little by asking you what you know of the Wicklow mountains?’
‘I know nothing,’ Eoin Feehan repeated, glaring at Jacob Burke.
‘H’m! I see. Leave us alone, if you please, Mr Burke.’
When the surprised salesman looked at Sir Richard Dudley for confirmation of his instruction, the baronet shouted, ‘You heard me. Get out! And stay outside until I tell you I want you again.’
Jacob Burke knocked over a chair in his haste to escape from the room, and the baronet drummed his fingers on the table before him as the flustered salesman righted the chair and apologised for his clumsiness. The moment the door-latch had dropped behind him, Sir Richard Dudley turned his bad-tempered glance upon Eoin Feehan.
‘You have a bad limp. How did you come by it?’
‘I hurt it in a fishing accident.’
‘Would you like me to call a surgeon and prove that the injury was caused by a musket-ball – no doubt from a soldier’s gun?’
‘The shot came from a Kilmar gun – for helping soldiers,’ said Eoin Feehan, throwing away his pretence.
Sir Richard Dudley shrugged casually. ‘A surgeon can prove only that a wound has been caused by a musket-ball, not from whence it came. I doubt whether you would convince a jury with your story.’
‘You can’t frighten me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Eoin Feehan turned as if he was about to leave the room.
‘We will see about that. In the meantime I advise you not to try to leave Dublin. A limping man will not travel far with every soldier in Ireland looking for him.’<
br />
Eoin Feehan limped back to where the baronet sat looking speculatively up at him.
‘Why are you threatening me? I have done nothing to harm you.’
‘Neither have you agreed to help me.’ Sir Richard Dudley knew he had won his game of bluff. Eoin Feehan would do what was required of him. ‘Sit down and listen to me. I know you were with Dermot McCabe’s rebels in the Wicklow mountains. I also think I know why you were there, but that is of little consequence. What matters is that Dermot McCabe must be captured and brought to justice. He is one of the Queen’s enemies and a danger to all law-abiding people. For those reasons alone it is your duty to help me in any way you can. Do you understand me?’
Eoin Feehan’s lips had become suddenly unnaturally dry and he ran his tongue over them nervously. ‘I can’t go back to the Wicklow mountains. Dermot and the others will kill me on sight.’
‘There will be no danger for you. Show English soldiers where the rebels are most likely to be hiding and they will do the fighting. When they take your friends prisoner identify Dermot McCabe and your part is done. On your return you will learn that I am a generous man to those who serve me well.’
It sounded so easy when the rich easy-living baronet spoke of the task he required Eoin Feehan to perform for him. But Sir Richard Dudley had never been obliged to spend days and nights among the Wicklow mountains searching for a band of desperate men, every one of whom hated him enough to take a risk to kill him. Eoin Feehan shuddered at the thought, but he had no choice in the matter.
‘Good man! I knew you would see sense in the end. Now, go and find Mr Burke and tell him to bring some drinks in here for all of us. We will drink to the success of our venture – but you must keep your silence about what has been said here today. If McCabe and his men are not to be found in the mountains, I will blame the failure on you.’
The Music Makers Page 34
