Seacliff

Chapter twenty-one: The lady with the lamp

1919

Tyres grazing gravel and headlights flashing in the dark had Saoirse shuffling from the settee to the front door. She opened it just as James was stepping off the car in his tailcoat and top hat, on the run from some dreary high-society party, no doubt. She expressed her gratitude that he'd made the journey from the city in the dead of the night and invited him in.

"How is he?" James asked.

"Still asleep, or rather..." She picked up an oil lamp and lit it as they headed for the stairs. "Unconscious. He hasn't budged at all. But otherwise stable."

Sorley was still lying on the bedroom floor where he'd passed out. James removed his coat and knelt by the patient, motioning to Saoirse to bring the light closer. The doctor checked Sorley's pulse, temperature, and pupils. No reaction. At least he was still breathing.

"What happened?"

Saoirse gulped. "It's... I don't know, really. He had a seizure, out of the blue – "

"A seizure?" James frowned. "What caused it?"

She gently shut the door behind them as they left the room. Avoided looking up at James.

"I think... I did... He – he remembers things. About... me." Saoirse cleared her throat. "This is the second episode he's had. The first one – "

She lowered the lamp to hide the blush burning in her cheeks.

"The first one happened after we first kissed. He had a fit, all of a sudden, fell unconscious and woke up remembering... my picture. The one of me in the gown, that's on the mantelpiece downstairs."

The doctor stood with his hands firmly poised on his hips. His eyebrows furrowed further.

"After you... first kissed?" A light, incredulous chuckle. "Goodness, Saoirse, I've only been gone a week."

The tone of prejudice in her friend's voice made Saoirse reconsider trusting him with the most intimate details of her life. Wordless, she turned and started down the stairs, leaving him in darkness. It took James a moment to snap out of it and follow her.

"Wait, Saoirse!" he shouted in a strained whisper.

"You know, James..." She whipped round to face him, stunning him to a halt.

The flickering flame of the oil lamp barely cast enough light to distinguish the contours of their figures from the shadows.

"I've encountered my fair share of proud, virtuous lads in the war. Sons from wealthy families, like yourself. They screamed all the same when I had to saw their limbs off. The same as the poor lads, the same even as the Huns."

A glimmer of fear, and perhaps shame, seemed to pass across his eyes.

"Yes, we kissed," Saoirse carried on. "Several times over the past week. And he had his second fit in my bed, after we'd made love for the fourth or fifth time this weekend. So yes, I do believe it's safe to assume I was the one who, in some way, caused these bouts of... of pain and madness. If you're really going to be judging me for it, then you'd better go back to your soirée, where I'm sure everyone is behaving exemplarily."

"I... No, I'm sorry, Saoirse, I never meant – "

"I'm sure you never did, but it's what it sounded like."

"I am sorry," he reiterated more timidly. "Forgive me, I just – " He loosened his bowtie and ruffled his hair. "In fact... there used to be a time when I thought Sorley might fancy me."

Saoirse stared agape at him. "What on earth would make you believe that? Did you – oh, my goodness... Is that why you warned me? Did you two – "

"No!" James hurried to sever her assumptions. "No, we never quite got that far. But we... we kissed last year, just before he disappeared. I was walking up to the Lodge, passing through the cornfields, and I found him... absolutely nude... playing with deer. I, um..."

James gulped and licked his lips.

"In true English fashion, I tried to pretend I hadn't seen him and walked the other way, but he spotted me and caught up."

His shoulders sagged and he went to sit on the settee, unbuttoning the top of his pressed white shirt. Saoirse joined him and left the lamp on the coffee table.

"I couldn't... And by that, really, I mean I could have, but I did not want... to leave. He had this uncanny ability to reach into me, somehow, could feel that I was attracted to him and... and made it easy for me to give in.

"It was just a kiss! But so intense... I ran back home afterwards. I didn't go visit your aunt again until she telephoned to invite me to tea. Sorley had gone by then. And I thought it was because of me that he didn't come this year. Because of what happened."

Saoirse shook her head, sighing. In the dim light of the oil lamp, James was wringing his fingers in his lap. She took his hands in hers, holding them still.

"That man is an enigma even to himself," she said. "Let's have some tea and go to sleep, shall we? We can worry about him tomorrow."

James nodded, sniffling, and followed her into the kitchen. She preferred to bring the lamp along, rather than fill the room with electric brightness.

"How's your ma?" Saoirse asked, fetching the tea and the kettle. "Oh, beg pardon – Lady Mortimer." Her knees folded into a mock-curtsey that brought a smile to the doctor's lips.

"She's as fit as a fiddle, my mum. She only played at feeling unwell to make me stay longer and hopefully convince me to court the very pretty, but very dull, Miss MacKenzie. Of course, my father and I knew she was not, in fact, ill, but no one is allowed to call maman out on her acts."

"That's mothers for you." Saoirse filled the pot and pulled a chair at the table. "Mine always knew how to get me to do what she wanted, by making me believe it'd been my idea in the first place."

A beat of nostalgia in the dwindling light.

"If I may...," James began. "Your aunt often talked fondly of her sister, but I never... I never dared ask what had happened to her. Auntie Aoife seemed to only hang onto happy childhood memories."

"Consumption," Saoirse said simply. "She suffered for a long time before it finally took her. My father – he was a sailor – had died at sea a few years prior. At first, I thought I would just come out here and live with my aunt, but she encouraged me to pursue my passion and become a Nightingale. So, I moved to London instead and went to school."

She filled their cups and passed one to James.

"Did you meet Florence Nightingale? I heard she liked to assess the nurses herself."

"I did meet her, once. The year before she died. When I told her I was getting married after my graduation, she asked if she could come to the wedding."

"Florence Nightingale came to your wedding?"

"Yes, but she only stayed for the service. Her gift to us was securing a good position for me at St Thomas, where we'd trained, and... an oil lamp."

James glanced at the one on the table. "The Lady with the Lamp!"

"Indeed!" Saoirse laughed. "Just not this one."

"How extraordinary. She must have... she must have thought very highly of you. And no wonder. You are extraordinary, Saoirse."

"Yes, I was deeply humbled by the honour. And so saddened when she passed." Saoirse finished her tea and stood up with her lamp. "She inspired me to be... an improving woman," she quoted, "for stagnant waters always grow corrupt and unfit for use. Is any one of us a 'stagnant woman'?"