The secretary of the All-Ireland Association was a very worried man. The Association was disintegrating about him. Its membership was halved, its funds gone to feed the cottiers – and now it seemed it would lose its MP.
Liam agreed to tour the area in a bid to gain votes and perhaps bring more donations into the Association’s funds. But money could hardly be expected from the majority of their members. They were finding it hard enough to live on what little they had.
As Liam had anticipated, his last-minute campaign was a waste of time. Indoor meetings were reasonably well attended, but the outdoor meetings which had once drawn huge crowds were attended only by the cottiers. The reason was not political; it was self-preservation. Fever was raging everywhere, and the cottiers were blamed for its spread. No one would risk mingling with them at a meeting. It was better to stay at home, with doors and windows shut tight to keep the fever outside.
For the same reason a great many voters stayed home on election day. A tight-lipped Liam toured the polling-booths but saw few of his supporters. Most of the activity came from the land-owners, who ushered their committed voters back and forth in a determined effort to have their candidate elected to Parliament.
Long before the votes were counted, the result was a foregone conclusion. The land-owners’ man won the seat but, much to Liam’s surprise, he learned there had only been thirty-three votes between the two of them. The militant ex-Association candidate came a poor third.
Liam was disappointed only because he was left with the feeling he had let down his friends in County Kerry. For himself, he felt nothing but great relief. Now he could return to Kilmar, to his boat and a life he enjoyed. He would be his own man once again, not forced to divide his time between Kilmar, County Kerry and London. He would continue to help the cottiers because he was aware of their continuing need, but it would be practical help, taking much of the burden from Caroline.
At Inch House, Liam found Caroline seated on the lawn in front of her own new house, enjoying the July sunshine. Her joy at seeing Liam quickly gave way to distress when she learned he was no longer an MP. She knew his defeat was due in no small measure to their relationship and Liam’s concern for her. Liam tried to explain that it did not matter, but he knew she did not believe him.
She still looked very ill, and Liam told her she needed to get right away from Ireland for a while. To go somewhere far from the constant parade of begging cottiers who came to her house, reminding her of the things she felt she should be doing.
Caroline hesitated before she replied. She knew Liam was right, but was reluctant to admit it, even to herself.
‘I have had a letter from my brother. He has taken a house in Paris and would like me to join him there.’
Liam looked at her thin pale face. ‘You will go, of course.’
‘It is so far from you, Liam. I don’t want to go.’
She was close to tears, her trembling lip betraying her weakened state.
‘I will be close to you in thought every minute of the day, but I think you must go if you are to recover as quickly as possible. Besides, it will take you well away from Sir Richard. By the time you are well enough to return here he should be on his way to Canada.’
‘But this house, Liam – there are still so many things to be done.’
‘Leave everything to Nathan.’
‘I seem to have been doing that ever since he first came here. Since my illness he has been running the whole of the Inch Estate.’
‘Then you have nothing to fear – but where is he now? I would like to speak to him before I leave.’
‘You are not going so soon? I have been looking forward to having you with me for so long and you have only just arrived.’
Liam took her hand in both of his own. ‘I have to get used to being a fisherman again, Caroline, and this is fishing weather.’
He kissed her gently, afraid of the frailty of her. ‘I will be here often to see you, and if you are strong enough you must come to Kilmar before you leave for France. My mother would love to fuss over you, and the sea air will put the colour back in your cheeks. Get yourself really fit and I will even take you out in a boat and make a fisherwoman of you.’
When one of the servants came to help Caroline back to her room, Liam went in search of Nathan Brock.
As Caroline had said, Nathan Brock was managing not only her lands, but those belonging to the Earl of Inch as well. Liam found him marking out the line of a new boundary wall. Stretching for more than a mile, it would keep a large gang of cottiers in work for many weeks.
As they walked back to the house together, Nathan Brock commiserated with Liam over the loss of his seat in Parliament, but welcomed the news that Liam would soon be fishing again. He offered to purchase as much fish as Liam could spare, to feed the cottiers now working at Inch House. Nathan Brock was also delighted with the news that Caroline would be going to France for a period of convalescence.
‘She is getting better, Liam, but not as fast as she should. She still spends far too much time worrying about the things she feels she should be doing. I fear that if she is not soon taken away from here she will have a relapse – and things would be very different in these pans without her influence.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Liam quietly. ‘She means a great deal to all of us.’
Liam found village life little changed. At first, the fishermen showed him a certain deference, but after they had heard him cursing the vagaries of the sea as vehemently as the best of them as he worked elbow deep in guts and fish-scales he became one of them once more. Soon they were following his boat into deeper waters and bringing home the largest catches Kilmar men could remember.
Liam managed to visit Inch House, where arrangements were going ahead for Caroline’s visit to France, two or three times every week. She was still reluctant to leave Liam and her new house, but had agreed to leave Ireland in September, before the damp winds of winter arrived. Her health was improving but at such a painfully slow rate that Liam was more worried than he dared tell anyone.
Late in August, Liam returned from Inch House to Kilmar to find Father Clery waiting for him with a letter from Eugene Brennan.
The priest had written to the MP to tell him of his re-election to Parliament and to say that his salary was assured by his constituents. But the priest had urged his friend to return to Ireland, if only for a short visit, to put new heart into his supporters and rally the flagging spirits of the members of the All-Ireland Association.
When Liam asked what news the old politician had sent, Father Clery handed the letter to Liam without comment.
Liam read the untidy scrawl with great difficulty, and the words made little sense when deciphered. Irrelevant political doctrine vied for space with details of Eugene’s little French cottage, obtained for him in Paris by his nephew, but the letter said nothing intelligible.
Liam handed the letter back to Father Clery, saddened by the insight it gave into Eugene Brennan’s present state of mind.
‘He is an old, old man, Father.’
‘True, Liam, and this country owes a debt to Eugene Brennan that can never be repaid. History will prove him right in so many things that have not always been understood by his people – but I have men and women in my parish who need more than a page in history.’
The old priest sighed. During his many years in Kilmar he had been given more than enough of life’s problems to solve and they had not lessened with his own advancing years. Eugene Brennan had always been a stout staff for him to lean upon in the past. Now he, too, had become a burden.
‘In my own letter to Eugene I told him he had no need to attend the House of Commons. I did not want him to feel he had to do anything before he was ready – but there has never been a time when County Wexford needed a spokesman in Parliament more than it does today. If I knew that Eugene was being well cared for in France and that he would never return to politics, I would arrange for a new MP to be elected in his place – but how can I be
sure? I have a duty to my people, but I would resign from the Church before I would break that old friend’s heart.’
Liam had been thinking seriously as Father Clery talked, and now he arrived at a quick decision. ‘I’ll go to France to see Eugene.’
‘You …? To France …?’
‘Yes.’ Liam felt a surge of excitement go through him at the decision he had just made. ‘Lady Caroline is going to Paris to stay with her brother for the winter. I have been worried about her travelling alone in her condition; she is still far from strong. I will go with her and see Eugene when I reach Paris.’
Some of the enthusiasm faded from Father Clery’s face.
‘Ah! So you’ll be going with Lady Caroline?’
‘Pay her a visit, Father. You’ll see for yourself that she should not travel alone for such a distance.’
Father Clery bit back his disapproval. He knew it would make no difference to Liam’s decision. The old priest had long ago learned to accept the frailty of men without useless comment. When the right day came he would be able to help. He wanted Liam to feel he was always able to come to him.
‘I don’t doubt she is a sick woman, Liam. Take care of her on the journey, and give my blessing to Eugene.’
Chapter Fifty
Liam’s news that he would be travelling with her to Paris made all the difference to Caroline. She prepared for the journey with all the enthusiasm of a convalescent child. It would be an exciting adventure – a shared adventure – and for a while the household at Inch House was happier than it had been for a very long time.
Caroline’s own happiness lasted until the day they landed in France. Then realisation came that she must soon face a parting with Liam, perhaps for many months. She became quiet and more and more withdrawn as the wheels of the carriage they had hired ate up the miles to Paris.
When they came within sight of the bloody hillside of Crécy, where the Black Prince had won his knight’s spurs five hundred years before, the thin veneer of good health crumbled away and Caroline collapsed. Thoroughly alarmed, Liam ordered the carriage to the nearest inn.
They found a small inn nestling in a copse of trees on the bank of the small River Maye. Nobody here spoke any English and Liam knew no French, but Caroline’s illness cut through all language barriers. The proprietor of the inn took one look at her and had her brought inside, at the same time despatching one of his sons to fetch a doctor.
To Liam’s great relief, the doctor spoke good English and Liam was able to explain the background to Caroline’s collapse. Everything Liam said was translated by the doctor for the benefit of the innkeeper and his large family. The translation was received by them with much head-shaking and a wide variety of sympathetic noises.
The doctor then went to the room to which Caroline had been taken and gave her a thorough examination. When he returned downstairs, Liam was sharing a bottle of brandy with the innkeeper and his wife. The doctor’s expression was so grave that Liam jumped to his feet in alarm.
‘What is the matter? Is she worse …?’
The doctor waved Liam back to his seat. ‘She is no worse – but that does not mean she is any better. You are the lady’s husband?’
‘No, a very close friend.’
If the reply surprised the doctor, he did not give any indication. ‘I see. You are travelling far?’
‘To Paris. Lady Caroline will be staying there with her brother.’
‘Lady Caroline? But that is good. It means she will be able to afford the doctor I will send to see her there. He is a good man – the best doctor in France.’
‘Is there something seriously wrong with’ her? I can’t understand it; she has been improving steadily since she recovered from the fever.’
Even as he said the words, Liam remembered how worried he had been at her slow progress back to health.
‘Outside, she is improving. Inside … who can say? I am but a country doctor. My friend in Paris is more knowledgeable than I. Perhaps he will be able to learn more. The lady is able to speak now. I think perhaps she would like to see you. I will return tomorrow and in the meantime will send a letter to Paris, to my friend.’
‘How long will it be before she is able to continue her journey?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘I think a week. But after today she will be able to leave her bed and may take short walks along the river bank. The sun and the air will be good for her.’
Greatly relieved, Liam thanked the doctor and went upstairs to see Caroline. She was propped up on her pillows, looking very tired but otherwise no worse than she had been before her collapse.
‘Poor Liam,’ she said as he fussed over her. ‘I am a worry to you. But it was no more than a foolish faint. Tomorrow I will be well again.’
‘Perhaps. But the doctor says we should stay here for a week before moving on.’
‘Why, that is wonderful! A whole week together. It will be like a honeymoon.’
‘No, the doctor also said your activities must be restricted to short walks along the river bank.’
Liam smiled at her happily. The news that they were to be together for another week had done more to restore her to health than any medicine the doctor had given to her.
In spite of the worry of Caroline’s illness, the week they spent at the inn became one of the happiest times either of them had known. Isolated from those about them by the difference in language, they were able to enjoy each other’s company with few interruptions. The walk along the river bank became a regular feature of their stay at the little French inn, Caroline being able to walk a little farther each day.
On their last evening, they sat by the river, beneath the hanging branches of a green willow-tree, watching the sparkling colours of a pair of kingfishers. The birds were methodically quartering each stretch of the river, seeking food for a late brood of gaping-beaked nestlings.
‘This has been a wonderful week, Liam. I wish it could last for ever.’
Seated on the grass, Caroline leaned back against Liam, who had both arms about her. He thought he had never before known her so relaxed and free from tension.
‘Do we have to leave tomorrow?’
‘I am afraid we must.’ They both knew they could not stay any longer. ‘Your brother will be worrying. He expected you a week ago. Besides, you have to see the doctor in Paris.’
‘Why not allow the whole world to believe we have simply disappeared? Then we could stay here for the rest of our lives.’
His arms tightened about her as he said, ‘I wonder how many lovers have said the same words?’
Tomorrow they would be returning to a world where they must act out a lie, but the memory of these few days would give them something to cherish for a very long time.
As Liam had predicted, the Earl of Inch was extremely worried about his sister and his relief at seeing her was quite evident – but he was puzzled by Liam’s presence. However, when Caroline introduced Liam and explained he was an ex-MP, travelling to France to speak to Eugene Brennan, the Earl became quite affable.
‘Ah yes! The father of Irish politics. Poor old chap. When did you last meet him?’
‘Early this year, in London.’
‘Then you must prepare yourself for a shock. Old age has caught up with Eugene Brennan since he came to France. He will never again draw a crowd of ten thousand to one of his meetings – but you will see the change for yourself. Will you be staying in Paris for long?’
‘A day or two at the most.’
‘No doubt we will meet again. Thank you for taking care of my sister, Mr McCabe.’
As Caroline went inside the house with her brother, surrounded by clucking servants, she waved to Liam, a sad uncertain gesture. He departed feeling he had left a part of himself behind in the Earl of Inch’s Paris home.
The Earl’s house was in the fashionable suburb of Neuilly. Eugene Brennan’s home was far more modest and closer to the heart of Paris. Yet, in a quiet cul-de-sac, it was away from the noise and industry o
f the main thoroughfares of France’s capital city.
A grey-haired expressionless housekeeper opened the door to Liam and led him through the house to a secluded walled garden bright with the flowers of late summer. Here Liam found Eugene Brennan kneeling beside a freshly dug bed of roses, a small trowel in his hand. A frail stooped figure, he stood up when Liam walked from the house. Frowning, he seemed annoyed at being disturbed and there was no recognition in his eyes.
‘Hello, Eugene. It’s me – Liam McCabe.’
Liam found himself talking gently, as though to a child.
‘Ah yes…. Of course….’
His expression held only puzzlement. ‘Have you seen my roses? Look, are these not the most beautiful flowers you have ever seen?’
‘They are very beautiful, Eugene.’
The old politician kneeled on the grass once more and resumed his digging about the base of a rose-bush. Liam squatted beside him.
‘I have come from Ireland to talk to you, Eugene. To discuss your seat in Parliament with you. Father Clery asked me to—’
‘Parliament, you say? I remember Parliament. I was there, you know. Member for County Wexford – that’s in Ireland. But it was a long time ago. A long time. Now I am in France.’
Eugene Brennan made a vague gesture with his hands as though he was about to say something, but the gesture faded into nothing and he looked at the trowel in his hand for a long time before speaking again.
‘Have you seen my new rose? It’s a white one. My nephew brought it here. He’s very good to me. A good boy….’
The door of the little white-washed house closed quietly behind Liam and he walked to the waiting carriage deeply saddened by his meeting with the man who had been his friend and inspiration. What he had just seen was the total mental disintegration of one of Ireland’s greatest sons. His only consolation was that Eugene Brennan was in exile. His friends and followers in Ireland would always be able to remember him as the great champion he had once been.
The Music Makers Page 44
