The Music Makers

by E. V. Thompson

  ‘… And what did they do with this money?’ Prosecuting counsel withdrew a hand from inside his black gown and wagged a finger at the twelve jurymen. ‘Did they use it to settle some pressing debt or unavoidable expense incurred during their travels to help their suffering countrymen? No. Much of it went to purchase extravagant clothes for Liam McCabe.’

  The barrister turned to look at Liam, who was dressed in his best suit for this occasion. ‘Liam McCabe is probably wearing some of those clothes here, before you. I see he has on a suit that I would not be ashamed to wear, that any fashionable man of London would be proud to own. Yet Liam McCabe is not a fashionable man of London. Neither is he a barrister. This well-dressed young man standing before you is a poor fisherman from County Wexford in impoverished Ireland. A land where people are dying for want of a few pence with which to buy food.’

  The barrister jabbed an accusing finger at Liam. ‘Yet this “poor” fisherman comes to London and buys clothing to the value of sixty-five guineas with the cottiers’ money.’

  There was a gasp from the public gallery and prosecuting counsel was quick to force home the impact his words had made.

  ‘Yes, I will repeat that sum. Sixty-five guineas to buy clothes for a fisherman.’

  The barrister turned to the jury once more. ‘When you are hearing evidence that may confuse you, or if doubts arise in your minds, I would like you to reflect on this fact. Where could a poor fisherman obtain such a sum of money – unless it be from a deliberately mismanaged fund of money, collected from gullible and misled donors. Now I will call my first witness.’

  Liam had listened to the prosecution’s opening speech with dismay. He had no idea of the cost of the clothes bought for him from Eugene Brennan’s tailor, but he had no reason to doubt the sum quoted. What was even more damning was that the MP himself had told Liam that the money for the clothing had come from donated money. Eugene Brennan had called them ‘a justifiable expense’. When Liam looked across the court-room, the white-haired MP was leaning back in his chair with apparent unconcern. When he caught Liam’s anxious glance he smiled reassuringly. Liam wished he could share Eugene’s confidence. He did not see how the prosecution case could possibly be shaken.

  The first witness was a man to whom Liam vaguely remembered being introduced at one of the meetings he had addressed. His name, he told the court, was Ephraim Butt, and he was a junior Treasury official. He had somehow managed to obtain a list of the persons present at that first meeting, together with details of their contributions to the famine relief fund. The total amount was £2,300. Butt gave his evidence nervously, his tongue constantly flicking out to moisten dried lips, and his eyes never once looked toward Eugene Brennan or Liam.

  ‘Did you become suspicious that not all of this money would find its way to the fund for which it was intended?’

  The prosecution did not ask why Butt’s suspicions should have been aroused.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And did you take certain action as a result?’

  ‘Yes. I obtained a statement of the amount of money paid to the famine relief fund as a result of this meeting.’

  ‘Will you please tell this court how much this most deserving cause actually received?’

  ‘One thousand seven hundred and twenty pounds.’

  ‘Thus revealing a discrepancy of five hundred and eighty pounds. Thank you, Mr Butt.’

  Eugene Brennan rose to his feet slowly, almost lazily, and smiled amicably at the witness.

  ‘Hello, Ephraim – I am sorry, Mr Butt – we are not drinking together at the club now, are we?’

  Ephraim Butt squirmed uncomfortably.

  ‘You were concerned that the money you donated to the fund might be misused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you tell this court how much money you gave to this – “most deserving cause”, I believe was the phrase used by my learned friend.’

  There was a pause before Butt replied, in a low voice, ‘Two pounds.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Butt. Will you speak up, please?’

  ‘Two pounds.’

  There was a snigger in the public gallery which was quickly stifled when the judge looked in that direction.

  ‘You were so concerned about your two pounds that you made extensive enquiries into the manner in which the fund was administered?’

  ‘I felt it was my duty.’

  ‘Very commendable, Mr Butt, and I trust you made a thorough investigation. You did, of course, realise that the two thousand three hundred pounds that has been referred to was money that was promised to the fund. No doubt you checked whether it was actually received?’

  Ephraim Butt looked genuinely shocked. ‘The promises were made by gentlemen, Mr Brennan. I have no doubt at all that their promises were kept.’

  ‘I find such faith in my fellow-men quite touching, Mr Butt, but I regret to inform you that most of the persons at that meeting were parliamentarians – a breed notorious for unkept promises. I will say no more on that subject, but will merely call your attention to a single name on this list. J. Hart, Esquire. He promised one hundred pounds, did he not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ephraim Butt looked uneasy.

  ‘You are aware that Mr Hart was taken ill and died on his way home from the meeting? He was therefore unable to honour his promised donation.’

  ‘I learned about it later. I did not know at the time I began my enquiries.’

  ‘Ah yes, your enquiries. Did you start them immediately after the meeting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, indeed you did not.’ A strong Irish brogue had crept into Eugene Brennan’s voice. ‘Will you tell this court when you started to make your enquiries – and upon whose instructions?’

  ‘I started them about six weeks ago – but nobody told me to do it.’

  ‘Perhaps “instructed” is the wrong word. “Suggested” might have been more suitable. Never mind. One last question, Mr Butt. You are in the Treasury Department. Will you tell me the name of the head of your particular section?’

  Ephraim licked his dry lips and looked quickly about the court, as though worried his department was represented there.

  ‘Come, Mr Butt. Your section head, please?’

  ‘Sir Richard Dudley.’

  Liam’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He hardly heard Eugene Brennan inform the judge that he had no further questions for this witness. Liam now had an inkling of the direction Eugene Brennan’s questioning was taking. Yet many things remained unexplained. He could understand why Sir Richard Dudley should wish to see him in trouble, but why Eugene Brennan? Was this part of the political hatchetry of which the MP had spoken?

  The next witness had been at a later meeting. His story differed very little from that already told by Ephraim Butt. He, too, produced documentary evidence to show that the amount actually paid into the famine relief fund was less than that promised. This time the discrepancy was £400.

  Once again Eugene Brennan’s questioning was almost casual until he asked the witness about his employment at the time he attended the meeting.

  ‘I was in the Commissariat.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘The Treasury Department.’

  ‘At a greatly increased salary, I believe.’

  The witness nodded.

  ‘Will you tell this court who arranged your promotion to this new post?’

  ‘Sir Richard Dudley.’

  There was a stir of interest in the court. Nobody yet knew the significance of Eugene Brennan’s questioning, but he had drawn the baronet’s name from both witnesses. The fudge and jury would remember the name of Sir Richard Dudley.

  The next witness was the tailor who had made Liam’s clothes. His evidence was terse. Yes, he had made clothes to the value of sixty-five guineas for Liam. Yes, he had been paid. Mr Brennan had given him a letter drawn on Messrs Lubbock & Company’s bank for the full amount.

  To Liam’s surprise, Eugene Brennan declined the opportunity to q
uestion the tailor at this stage. Instead, he requested that he might recall the witness at a later stage in the trial. The judge grumbled that it was not good legal procedure, but he acceded to Eugene’s request.

  The last witness for the prosecution was the detective who had arrested both Eugene Brennan and Liam. He gave evidence of arrest and told the court he had charged both men with the offence for which they were now standing trial.

  It was now Eugene Brennan’s turn to take the stage and in his opening speech he showed some of the fire and power that had made him one of the most powerful forces in Irish politics for half a century.

  The charges brought against himself and Liam, he said, were both false and malicious. He promised to supply absolute proof of their innocence. He went on to assert that the charges were political in their inception and had been pursued by persons in authority who had no love of either Ireland or the Irish. He told of his own long record of public service and years as an MP. Then he spoke of Liam. Far from being no more than a ‘simple fisherman’, he told the court, Liam was a man of some standing in his own community. Giving the truth a certain amount of elasticity, Eugene Brennan told the court that Liam owned a substantial fishing boat, had established trade with inland markets – using his own transport – and was currently employing a number of men to fish for him.

  Finally, Eugene Brennan informed the court that in Liam they were looking at a future Member of Parliament, and a man who would leave this court without a blemish on his character. Then Eugene called Liam to the witness-box.

  When Liam had taken the oath, Eugene Brennan asked him to repeat what he had told his audiences when he was speaking on behalf of the famine relief fund.

  The prosecution immediately objected that such evidence was irrelevant, aimed only at gaining the sympathy of the jury. The judge called upon the politician to explain himself.

  ‘My Lord,’ said Eugene Brennan, ‘I and my young friend are on trial for felonies of such a serious nature that both our lives will be ruined by a wrongful conviction. I have no intention of allowing that to happen. Liam McCabe is a humanitarian, dedicated to helping his fellow-Irishmen. I want him to tell this court of the horrors he has seen among the cottiers of Ireland. Then they will realise that only the Devil incarnate would divert money from these poor creatures – and Liam McCabe is not such a person.’

  With some misgivings, the judge indicated that Liam might give his evidence. The fisherman told his story to a hushed and horrified court and when he ended there was a stunned silence before an angry roar burst from the throats of the Irish men and women in the public gallery. It was minutes before the court officials were able to re-establish order and allow Eugene Brennan to continue his defence.

  He resumed his questioning of Liam without comment, well aware that the court’s sympathy was his.

  ‘Mr McCabe….’ The formality sounded strange to Liam. ‘Mr McCabe, did you at any time handle any money collected for the famine relief fund?’

  ‘No, I never saw any money.’

  ‘Were you even aware of how much money was raised by your efforts?’

  ‘No … only an approximate amount.’

  ‘Thank you. I have no further questions.’

  Now it was the prosecution’s turn once more and counsel questioned Liam anew about the money taken at the meetings, but Liam was able to tell him no more than he had already told Eugene Brennan.

  Then prosecuting counsel came to what he believed would be one of the most damning pieces of evidence against Liam. The question of his clothes.

  Again, Liam was less than helpful, yet scrupulously honest. He told his questioner he did not know the source of the money used to purchase his clothes.

  Prosecuting counsel made as much as he could from this fact.

  ‘Come now, Mr McCabe. Are you telling this court you accepted clothing to the value of sixty-five guineas without enquiring who would pay for them?’

  ‘No, Mr Brennan paid for them.’

  ‘Oh? From his own pocket?’

  ‘No. He said money was specially donated for such purposes.’

  ‘Really, Mr McCabe?’ The words were weighted with heavy sarcasm. ‘And of course you believed him?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Brennan is an honest man.’

  Liam saw Eugene Brennan smiling as prosecuting counsel snapped, ‘That, Mr McCabe, is for the jury to decide. I doubt if they will prove as gullible as you would have them believe you are.’

  At this stage the judge announced that the court would adjourn for lunch. Liam was returned to the cells beneath the court, but this time he was given a cell to himself and he ate a meal ordered for him by Eugene Brennan. It was spoiled only by the foul smell of the unsavoury food served to prisoners in the nearby communal cage.

  Eugene Brennan came down to the cells later in the lunch adjournment, and Liam asked him how long he thought the trial would last.

  ‘Oh, we’ll bring it to a close soon after we go back into the court this afternoon,’ was the confident reply,

  ‘You’ll bring it to a close?’ queried Liam.

  ‘That’s what I said, my boy. Enough has been said to interest the newspapers and give a big boost both to the Association and your future career. All that remains is for me to produce the evidence that will clear our names and then we will go home and celebrate.’

  ‘I wish I shared your confidence, Eugene. There were a lot of questions raised in court to which I have no answers.’

  ‘Of course there were. Had you known all the answers you would have blurted them out to the court and spoiled my surprise.’ Eugene Brennan clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. While you are waiting for the case to start again, decide what you will order for your meal tonight.’

  The cell door was locked after Eugene had gone, and Liam was left pondering over what had been said until the hearing resumed at two-thirty.

  The sky over London was dark and overcast, and gas-lamps were burning around the walls of the court-room. The heat from these and from the perspiring bodies packed tightly in the public gallery made the room unbearably hot.

  The judge looked hotter than anyone in his heavy wig and gown, and Eugene Brennan thought this might be a very good moment to announce that he intended bringing the proceedings to a close.

  The judge looked at the MP suspiciously. ‘Will you please tell the court exactly how you intend to do that, Mr Brennan?’

  ‘Certainly, my lord. Much has been made of the alleged unbusinesslike manner in which the famine relief fund has been administered. I would like to set the record straight by presenting to this court certified receipts for all monies received by the fund, together with the names of all donors and the amounts they gave. I also have a separate list of amounts promised but not received.’

  He produced a sheaf of documents and handed them up to the judge.

  ‘Mr Brennan, am I to understand you have been in possession of these documents the whole time? If so, perhaps you will explain why they were not produced before? Had you done so, I very much doubt whether this case would ever have reached this court.’

  ‘Quite true, my lord, but that would have meant there would always be rumours circulating … damaging rumours … concerning this matter. It was necessary for the case to come to this court and for Mr McCabe and myself to be fully exonerated by someone as distinguished as yourself.’

  ‘And, no doubt, gain a great deal of political publicity into the bargain,’ retorted the judge, ‘Do you have anything else to say, Mr Brennan?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. There is the matter of the clothing purchased for my young friend. I would like to recall the tailor.’

  The judge mopped his brow and sighed. ‘Very well, Mr Brennan, if you must. But please keep your questioning brief. I will have no more time-wasting in my court.’

  As the tailor entered the witness-box he smiled at Eugene Brennan, and Liam knew that, prosecution witness or not, the tailor was on their side. He and Eugene had no d
oubt already discussed the case at some length.

  The tailor began by confirming, that Liam’s clothes had cost sixty-five guineas and that the account had been settled.

  ‘But of course, Mr Brennan, you have always been a man who settled your accounts promptly. If everyone settled as quickly as you, there wouldn’t be so many tailors going out of business in London.’

  Eugene Brennan acknowledged the tailor’s compliment. ‘You have told us you were paid by means of a letter drawn on Messrs Lubbock’s bank. Was the signature on the letter mine?’

  ‘No, Mr Brennan. It was not.’

  ‘As far as you are aware, does the person who signed that letter have anything to do with the famine relief fund?’

  ‘Why, I would doubt it very much, Mr Brennan.’

  ‘Then I have no further questions, my lord,’ Eugene Brennan said to the judge.

  ‘But I have!’ The angry prosecuting counsel pointed at the tailor. ‘This witness deliberately misled me. I demand to know whose signature was on that bank letter.’

  The tailor stayed silent and Eugene Brennan said, ‘It has nothing to do with the case. You need not answer.’

  ‘Mr Brennan, that is for me to decide.’ The judge rapped on the bench in front of him and looked sternly at the tailor. ‘You will answer counsel’s question or go to prison yourself.’

  ‘There is no need. I signed that letter. I paid for the clothing.’

  The voice came from the back of the court-room, and as the court erupted into excited sound Liam leaped to his feet and turned to look at the speaker.

  There was a timid knock on the mahogany office door and Sir Richard Dudley called, ‘Come in,’ without loking up from his writing to see who it was.

  The door opened and Ephraim Butt entered the room. He stood before the large square desk shifting his weight from foot to foot and mouthing noiselessly, as though rehearsing what he would say.

  Sir Richard Dudley put down his pen with a sigh and looked up at his visitor. His frown changed instantly to a welcoming smile.