It was not yet known how typhus was transmitted. It could be food, touch – or the germs might live in the air about sick persons. Sir Richard Dudley wanted only to get out of this house of sickness, but before he left he had a word of warning for Liam.
‘You would be well advised to spend your time in County Kerry and stay away from this house. Lord John Russell has called an election for next month. You will need more than the friendship of an ageing politician to win the seat for you this time.’
With this warning, Sir Richard Dudley left Inch House, less than ten minutes after his arrival. The servants, who had just begun to unload his baggage, hurried to put it back on the carriage again.
Norah McCabe, bristling with indignation, accosted the baronet as he was about to step into his carriage after a brief and impatient walk in the gardens of the great house. She knew why he was leaving in such unseemly haste – she had known many others with a similar fear of the fever – but to leave without even seeing his wife was unthinkable.
‘Are you leaving no message for your wife before you scurry back to Dublin? Am I to tell her that you came to this house and left only minutes later without asking to see her?’
Sir Richard Dudley looked with distaste at the tall gaunt-featured woman standing before him with her hands resting on her hips. The Earl of Inch ran a lax household here. As an Irish peer, the Earl could not be expected to maintain the same standards as his English counterparts, but to allow Liam McCabe and riff-raff like this woman free run of his house was inviting trouble.
‘What I do is none of your concern. You may tell Lady Caroline that I will soon be returning to the Treasury Department to take up a senior post in Canada. I shall expect her to accompany me.’
Sir Richard Dudley spoke loudly, aware that Liam was listening. He then negotiated the high carriage-step with some difficulty and settled himself inside before ordering the coachman to drive off.
‘Why, the mean-faced little greenbone! He is so full of puffed-up pride and his own importance that he never even asked how Lady Caroline was.’
Norah McCabe quivered with rage, ‘If that’s the way gentlemen behave, then I’m pleased I brought you up to be a fisherman.’
Liam was thoughtful as he watched the baronet’s carriage depart along the long driveway from the house. Sir Richard Dudley’s visit had been very brief, but he had imparted a great deal of information in that short time.
The news of the forthcoming election came as no great surprise to him. It had long been known that Lord John Russell would have to call one sometime during 1847. Of more interest was Sir Richard Dudley’s warning that Liam might have difficulty keeping his parliamentary seat. It sounded as though the baronet had already begun a campaign to discredit Liam in County Kerry.
To Liam’s own surprise, he realised he did not care. He had set a relief programme in motion that others would be able to see through and there were troubles enough here in County Wexford to occupy all his time. Had he spent more time nearer to home, Caroline might not be so close to death at this moment. For the moment, the most important thing in his life was to see her restored to health. Time enough then to worry about Sir Richard Dudley’s threat to take his wife to Canada with him.
Fleetingly, Liam wondered how the baronet had found his way back into favour.
It was fortunate that Liam did not know. The appointment was Sir Richard Dudley’s reward for rigidly enforcing Charles Trevelyan’s harsh policy of not supplying food to the cottiers, however desperate their needs. The baronet was the only Commissariat Area Inspector to hold out against the suffering of the populace. His firm stand supported Trevelyan’s stated belief that it was not necessary for the Government to provide an unending supply of food to the ungrateful Irish.
The Permanent Head of the Treasury chose to ignore the files of harrowing reports which told of the thousands of deaths directly attributable to his determination to withhold Treasury funds.
Liam remained at the great house that night, sitting in the room with his mother during her vigil at Caroline’s bedside.
As she had on previous nights, Caroline came out of her coma soon after midnight, when lightning was flickering across the night sky and the wind rattled the casement windows of the room.
Tonight the period of lucidity was briefer than it had ever been before. Caroline opened her eyes, smiled weakly at Liam and reached for his hand. In a whisper she told him how happy she was that he was there with her, but before Norah McCabe was able to bring hot soup to the bedside Caroline had lapsed into unconsciousness once more.
‘The poor little soul.’ A tearful Norah McCabe stood with the unwanted dish in her hands. ‘If she doesn’t eat, I can’t see her lasting another night.’
‘I’ll not allow her to die.’ Tucking Caroline’s hand beneath the bedclothes, Liam rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to fetch Bridie O’Keefe. She’ll come whether she wants to or not.’
Norah McCabe called to Liam from the window as he strode from the house, but he was deaf to everything but his own determination and the wind blew his mother’s words back in her face.
In the darkened stables Liam had to awaken a stable-boy from his comfortable bed of straw in order to locate his horse. Ignoring the sleepy lad’s grumbling, Liam made him hold a lantern while he saddled the animal before riding out into the night.
The storm was far out beyond the land. On the horizon jagged lightning noisily stitched sky to sea, and the wind blew strong and clean upon Liam’s face as he rode toward Kilmar.
It was still a couple of hours short of dawn when Liam reached the village and began banging on Bridie O’Keefe’s door. She was a heavy and determined sleeper, and the noise wakened her neighbours long before the old healer stirred. Twice Liam was obliged to explain his errand and only when the obliging neighbours pounded upon their bedroom walls and rattled the cottage windows with boat oars did Bridie O’Keefe fling back her bedclothes and stamp her way to the window to show her night-bonneted head to those outside.
‘What are you making all that din for? I’m not deaf. Who is it who wants me in the dead of night?’
‘It’s me, Liam McCabe. I’ve just come from Inch House. I want you to come back there with me and do what you can for Lady Caroline.’
‘You’ve woken me in the middle of the night for that? I’ve already been to see her. I told your mother there was nothing more to be done.’
‘I believe there is,’ shouted Liam doggedly, above the wind. ‘If she could only be brought out of her fever for a while, she might gather enough strength to pull through.’
‘Is that so? A doctor as well as a Member of Parliament are you now?’
‘I am no doctor, Bridie, but I have seen it done – and anything is worth a try. I can’t just wait around for her to die.’
‘And why should you be the one to do the waiting, Liam McCabe? There are others who should be more concerned than yourself – and I doubt whether folks will be slow to say as much, behind your back.’
‘Sir Richard Dudley was at the house yesterday. He is going to send an army surgeon from Dublin, but I fear he will be too late.’
The wind roared along the narrow street, distorting Liam’s words and rattling the open window of the old lady’s house. Reaching for the catch, she said, ‘I’ve yet to meet the army surgeon who is fit to do more than gut a fish. All right, Liam McCabe, I’ll come with you – but she will probably die anyway.’
It seemed an age before Bridie O’Keefe emerged from her house. She was wrapped in a large dark shawl and cursing the night and the wind. Refusing to mount Liam’s horse, she walked beside it, taking frequent rests and wheezing all the time, as noisy as a County Waterford beam-engine. When they were still a mile from the great house, the threatened storm caught up with them. Even now the old lady refused to ride, and by the time they reached the house they were both soaked through.
Bridie O’Keefe went directly to Caroline’s bedroom, and as Norah McCabe clucked about her, wield
ing a large towel, the old woman told Liam to go about his business and leave her to the task of bringing down Lady Caroline’s fever.
An hour later the storm had moved on and Liam rode off in search of Nathan Brock, who was somewhere in the cottier settlements. Liam felt the need of someone with whom he could talk, and Nathan Brock was a good listener.
Liam failed to find his friend, but he did not return to Inch House until late evening. Although the wind and rain had returned, the windows of Caroline’s bedroom were flung wide open.
When Liam entered the room he saw that the fire had been extinguished and Caroline lay on a bed from which all the linen had been removed.
An army surgeon was also there. He had been sent from a regiment Sir Richard Dudley had met with along the Dublin road. The surgeon was a very senior officer, having begun his army service with the Duke of Wellington’s forces on the hillside of Mont St Jean – later to be known as the battlefield of Waterloo. But his seniority counted for nothing to Bridie O’Keefe. He pinned his hopes of the, patient’s recovery on forcing draughts of laudanum down Lady Caroline’s throat and advocated a blood-letting. Bridie O’Keefe refused to allow him to touch her patient. She informed him in no uncertain terms that Lady Caroline could afford to lose none of her blood. As for medicine, when the time came for it to be taken it would be a herbal mixture, made up by Bridie herself. She told the army surgeon that the most useful thing he could do was to take hold of one side of the bed and, with Liam on the other side, move it closer to the open window.
The two men carried out Bridie O’Keefe’s orders with only a modicum of protest from the army surgeon.
All that night and until well into the following day the old lady battled to save Caroline’s life, while the surgeon remained as little more than a frustrated bystander. Liam stayed in the bedroom for as long as Bridie O’Keefe would allow, but on the second day his mother persuaded him to go to bed in Nathan Brock’s cottage.
Liam woke after a long sleep to find the cottage empty and ominously quiet. Looking out of the window he saw that the sun was beginning to set over the western hills, but there were no signs of activity in the vicinity of the great house. Fearing the worst, Liam quickly dressed and hurried there.
As he approached he saw, with dread, that the windows of Caroline’s room were now closed and only a solitary light burned inside. Taking the stairs two at a time, Liam pushed through a crowd of servants outside the bedroom door and entered the room. Caroline was propped up against the pillows of her bed! She was dark-eyed, but able to smile at him. Liam could hardly believe the change he saw in her. He looked at Bridie O’Keefe, and the old lady nodded her head,
‘She’s over the fever now.’
‘God bless you, Bridie.’ Liam strode across the room and kissed the wrinkled cheek of the surprised woman.
‘I think He already has,’ commented the army surgeon. ‘I have seen a miracle performed here. When I first came into this room and saw Lady Caroline I believed I was looking at a dead woman. I realised that anything I might do would be merely a face-saving routine. I knew of no way to bring her back to health.’
He looked at Bridie and smiled ruefully. ‘I wish Mrs O’Keefe would tell me what herbs she used here. If I could cure the fever in the Dublin barracks, I would be assured of becoming Surgeon-General of the Queen’s Army.’
‘All the herbs in the world wouldn’t help if it wasn’t to be. Life or death is not decided by anyone on this earth.’
Bridie O’Keefe met Liam’s eyes and she lowered her voice so that it would not carry to the bed. ‘Death took her by the hand and nothing has been done in this room to break his grip. He will walk with her wherever she goes. Remember that, Liam McCabe. Now I’ll be going home.’
The old healer walked from the room without a look back at the woman she had cured and, trying not to let Caroline see how deeply he had been disturbed by Bridie O’Keefe’s words, Liam went to the bedside and took her hand.
The army surgeon looked perplexed. He was used to a fairly ordered life, and here his world had been turned upside down, his medical knowledge scorned and his presence unwanted. He had been humbled by a dirty old woman who would have been burned as a witch not many years ago, and in the sick room of a baronet’s wife people seemed to come and go as they wished. However, he had come here at the urgent request of Sir Richard Dudley. He would at least have the satisfaction of returning to his regiment and sending word to the baronet of his wife’s recovery.
Looking across the room to where Liam and Caroline were talking happily together, the army surgeon thought it would be wise to tell Sir Richard Dudley no more than that.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Caroline’s strength was slow in returning to her, and Liam remained at Inch House for two weeks. He spent most evenings reading to her in her room, but during the day he went out with Nathan Brock with food for the cottiers. They had to search for them now because the famine-hit families were behaving like sick animals, seeking out-of-the-way places where they might die in peace.
Then, one day, Liam returned to Kilmar and went out in his boat with the two men who were working it for him. It was a relief to leave the land behind and spend a day with the clean salt-scented wind blowing in his face, losing his troubles in hard physical labour.
But even here Liam was unable to stop his mind from working. It was apparent that the Kilmar fishing fleet was working well below its full capabilities. The boats were remaining too close to the shore, not bothering to go into deep water where the shoals were larger.
It did not take Liam long to discover the reason for this lack of enthusiasm. It was the story of the Kerry fishermen all over again. The Kilmar men resented risking their lives for the sake of the cottiers. The peasants from inland had become a permanent and unwanted burden on them.
It was a difficult situation, and one that Liam felt might best be resolved by Father Clery.
The old parish priest listened patiently as Liam talked and nodded his head in agreement when Liam asserted that it was essential for the fishermen to catch all the fish they could.
‘I know a way to make them catch as much as their boats will hold,’ he said. ‘I will ask a few of them to come with me when I visit the cottiers’ cabins. They are good men. Once they see the pitiful state of the women and children out there nothing will hold them back. They will go fishing in fair weather or foul – and row halfway to America, if need be. Talking of good men, have you heard anything of Eugene lately?’
‘Not a word. You’ll be needing him here before the election.’
‘No. Oh, there will be some who won’t be happy if he doesn’t show himself, but we will put him up as our candidate and he will be voted in with no opposition. Eugene has devoted his life to us. If he never sets foot in Ireland again, he will still be our Member of Parliament on the day he takes his last breath of God’s good air.’
‘I wish County Kerry had the same confidence in their MP,’ said Liam ruefully. ‘I received this letter yesterday.’
He handed an envelope to the parish priest, who put on a pair of spectacles with badly twisted frames and began to read. Pausing occasionally to frown, or go over a particular line more than once, he slowly turned the pages.
The letter was from the secretary of the Castlemaine All-Ireland Association and told Liam of a split in the ranks of the Association. A militant group intended putting up its own candidate for the forthcoming election. So, too, did the land-owners, resentful of Liam’s efforts on the cottiers’ behalf. The letter went on to tell Liam of the damaging rumour being spread about of his involvement with a married woman. Finally, it ended with a plea for Liam to persuade Eugene Brennan to return to Ireland and give the All-Ireland Association the leadership it so desperately needed.
‘What are you going to do about this, Liam?’
‘I must go to County Kerry and see if there is anything I can do to help them.’
‘What about the Association? Will you take over t
he leadership … as Eugene intended?’
‘I couldn’t, even if I were so inclined. Just as County Wexford will never have another Member of Parliament as long as Eugene lives, so the All-Ireland Association will never follow another man. Besides, Father, I think it will be better for the Association if I remain in the background of their affairs for a while.’
‘H’m. Perhaps you are right, Liam. I will keep an open mind until you are ready to bring your problems to me yourself – and make it soon, for everyone’s sake.’
Liam gave a non-committal reply and stood up to leave the preacher’s house.
‘How is Lady Caroline’s health now?’
‘She is fit enough to leave the house and sit in the sun for a while each day, but I fear her recovery is going to be a slow business. However, my mother will be returning to Kilmar this week and she would not be leaving Inch House unless Lady Caroline was well on the mend.’
At Castlemaine, Liam went first to the house of Harvey Gorman to learn what had been happening in County Kerry during his absence. Within minutes, news of Liam’s arrival had reached the secretary of the All-Ireland Association and he joined them.
Both the magistrate and the Association secretary told Liam that this election campaign was like no other they had known. There were few speeches, no grand meetings with free food and drinks. The land-owners’ candidate had provided one such repast, but even the most ardent of supporters baulked at enjoying his lavish hospitality, surrounded as they were by such a shortage of food. The candidate did not repeat the occasion.
But there was little enthusiasm for campaigning; no one seemed to care very much. Whoever was elected would be able to do nothing to improve the situation in Ireland, so there seemed little sense in voting.
The two men agreed that the rumours circulating about Liam had cost him much of his expected support. The majority of the men who had voted for him in the by-election were staid middle-class Catholics – the very men to be most offended by any indiscretion. Liam would always be something of a hero to the cottiers and the fishermen, but they held very few votes.
The Music Makers Page 43
