Seacliff

Chapter thirty-two: The in-laws

1919

Sir Alexander and Lady Mortimer weren't all too pleased to learn their only surviving son had gotten married behind their backs.

Especially since his wife was a woman they knew nothing about, a widow with no social standing. And Irish. They were civil enough during supper with Mary and her brother, but now, left alone with the newlyweds in the drawing room, their discontent became more apparent.

At least she had some dowry – Saoirse's in-laws seemed to approve of Seacliff Lodge when she described the little estate to them. However, their disdain resurfaced when the young couple revealed their plans of making it their home. James had been kind enough to agree to this arrangement, so that Saoirse wouldn't have to abandon her aunt's beloved abode.

"I thought you might finally relocate to a townhouse here, in Edinburgh, and start a private practice," Sir Alexander told his son.

He'd pointedly avoided talking to Saoirse all evening. Lady Mortimer mustered up a compassionate smile every now and then, plagued nevertheless by awkwardness.

"Seacliff is a beautiful place," James defended their decision. "Perfect for starting a family. And I'd rather keep working at Edington Home, with the people who need me most. I didn't become a doctor for the riches."

"And yet here you are, driving the latest Hispano-Suiza. My fortune will run out at some point, you know."

Saoirse itched to speak up on James's behalf, take her husband's side, but she knew it would only make things worse. She instead sipped her tea and kept quiet.

"Saoirse," Sir Alexander turned to her all of a sudden, "you don't mind if I call you Saoirse, do you?"

"No, sir, of course not. In fact, I prefer it at all times."

A slight curl of his lip that made Saoirse inwardly rejoice at this small victory. He had attempted to offend her and failed.

"It is a... very interesting name," Sir Alexander continued. "Irish, yes?"

"Yes, indeed. It means 'freedom'."

"Oh, how lovely!" Lady Mortimer exclaimed. "From whereabouts in Ireland do you hail?"

"My family is originally from Claddagh, county Galway. But I mostly grew up in Dublin, as my father was a sailor and my mother moved there with him. I left for London at eighteen, though, and studied to become a Nightingale."

"What are your thoughts on the Fenians?" The question flew in from Sir Alexander. "The IRA?"

"I believe there's been enough war." Her opinions on the matter were mixed, at best, and she never liked to dwell on it long enough to come to a conclusion, but – to possibly improve their impression of her – she added, "I don't sympathise with their cause."

"And yet you were named after it."

"I am not sure that that is what my poor mother had in mind thirty years ago. And even if she did, I am not my mother."

A visible change occurred across Lady Mortimer's face, which made Saoirse feel briefly old.

"James tells me you often work with him," Sir Alexander carried on with the interrogation. "Do you intend to continue that work?"

"Well, I don't see why not. There are plenty of veterans in North Berwick – the sea does them good – who could use my help. A few I even tended to at the hospitals in France. If women like me don't keep looking after these men who sacrificed so much, then who will?"

Lady Mortimer's eyes glossed over as her heart softened.

"Your current husband didn't serve," Sir Alexander resumed his undermining strategy. "How can we trust that you don't despise him for it?"

"Father – "

But Saoirse took James's hand and smiled, tempering him. "I'm glad he didn't serve. He can teach me to be happy in ways that, perhaps, the war has destroyed inside of me. Besides, I love James for his goodness and his kindness. Whether he went to war or not has got nothing to do with it."

"You say that now. Who's to say you won't get fed up with it as you grow older?"

"Father – "

"Quiet, James. War is like nothing else on this Earth – "

"I know, I was there – "

" – and especially this war, which has taken and ruined so many lives. Husbands who've come back are unrecognisable to their wives. Women who were there and tasted horror and freedom... You can't say that it hasn't changed you. Do you even want to be a wife anymore? Now that you have learned 'independence'?"

Saoirse yearned to lunge for the old man's neck and claw his eyes out. Fortunately, James intervened before she could act on it.

"Father, Saoirse is my wife now, whether you like it or not. I will not tolerate such insulting – "

"What do you know about your wife, then? Hmm? What do you know of her life behind the frontlines? God Almighty only knows what women might have been getting up to out there, all on their own. Unsupervised. Surrounded by soldiers. Men of all kinds."

James shot to his feet. "Enough! You've made your point, Father. It is well taken." He picked up his hat and put it on. "Come, Saoirse. Let's go home."

"James!" Sir Alexander bellowed after his son. "If you walk out that door now, you are no longer a son of mine!"

"Alex!" his wife chided him in a panic.

"So be it," James retorted. "Don't expect to be a part of my children's lives, in this case, as they will not be your grandchildren."

"James, please," his mother begged. "Alexander, please, let's all be reasonable. We've all lost so much... Right, Saoirse? Really, we should band together now, rather than tear each other apart."

Sir Alexander huffed, puffed, and stormed away. Lady Mortimer had to see her son off, as he would not be persuaded to remain in the same house as 'that brutish man' a minute longer. She watched them from the front door, waving goodbye, on the verge of miserable tears.

Saoirse wrapped her forearms around her abdomen, as if to shield it from a blow, while James seethed next to her on the car. No words could describe how sorry she felt for the family rupture she'd inadvertently caused. How much it hurt to empathise with that poor mother's pain. At the very least, her growing bundle of joy was safe.

"Get out," James snapped, frightening her. "He can keep the fucking car if he wants to. I never asked for it in the first place."

Her fright dissolved into relief that the venom was not directed at her. Then it thickened into remorse.

"I'm so sorry, James. I had imagined that your parents wouldn't like me very much, but I'd never thought that, on my account – "

"Not everything in this world is about you, Saoirse. Please get off."

He hopped out himself before she had a chance to process his harshness. She knew it wasn't meant for her, yet it hurt to be in its line of fire regardless. She gathered her things and stepped outside. James stood behind the car, holding their luggage.

"What now?" she asked. "We won't make it for the last train even if we hail a cab. Back to the N.B.?"

He stared into the gloomy distance of the city. "I had something else in mind, actually."