A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [96]
“If it weren’t for my children, I don’t know what I would do, Maisie.” Ursula Thurlow’s manner was inclusive and open, as if she had known Maisie for a long time.
“Alice only mentioned that you were dependent upon the wheelchair—she didn’t really tell me about your condition. Have you not found a doctor to help you at all?”
“The expense of going to the doctor has prevented me from seeing more than just one or two physicians, though there was a doctor in Ipswich who referred me to a colleague in Cambridge who was interested in my case for ‘research’ purposes. I went to see him once, but I didn’t want to go again. It was exhausting, just getting there, and the symptoms did not seem to be deteriorating at any great rate—it has taken since 1917 for me to be so crippled, and at least I still have my mind and my hands, though they wobble at times.” She paused, and sipped her tea. Alice joined them, bringing a tray with more tea and a cake. Amber followed and made as if to remain with them, but when she realized the subject of their conversation, she left to go back into the house, informing them that her older brother had gone back to the farm.
Ursula Thurlow reached out for her older daughter’s hand, and continued with her story. “It all started with tingling in my fingers, and a sort of giddiness—the room would spin, then come back into place. I had young children then, so I could not allow it to hamper me. And I was alone; my husband had died, and I believed the shock of his death had likely set off the symptoms, and they would go in time. But they didn’t.” She reached out to touch the petals on one of the sweet peas. “Sometimes I can feel the soft touch of a flower, and sometimes I can’t, which tells me that this hand might be the next to go.”
Maisie nodded. “I know you only spent a short time with the consultant in Cambridge, but did he mention anything to do with myelin? There was some research a few years ago that won a Nobel award; it was to do with the way in which our nerves use something called myelin; lack of the substance leads to the sort of sclerosis that you describe.” She looked at Alice, then at Ursula once again. “I should have mentioned—I was once a nurse, so these things interest me.”
The woman shrugged. “Myelin? It sounds familiar, Miss Dobbs, but I have ceased to pay attention. Much as I would like to think that one day someone will say, ‘Take up your bed and walk,’ I have come to realize that, each day, I have only that day. I live for the present, Miss Dobbs, and the joy I can leach out of every moment with my children, in my garden, with my books and in my writing.” She reached out towards Alice, pulling her close so that she might kiss her forehead.
“I think you are perfectly right to live each day as you choose, Ursula. I can understand how wearing endless visits to the doctor can be.”
“It was bad enough when Alice chose to go to work with the family in Cambridge, but she’s back now. It was a few years in which I would love to have seen more of her, but she insisted upon working to bring more money into the household.” The woman seemed to tire. “I think I might just sit in the sun here while you two young women go off for a chat.” She paused and looked up at Maisie, who was now standing. “I am sure we will speak again before you leave, Maisie. May I ask what it is you do, for you are a working woman, that much is clear to me, though you are no longer a nurse.”
“No, I am no longer a nurse. I am a teacher, and I have another job as well, though that is more difficult to describe.”
The woman smiled, and then closed her eyes, her hands resting on the tray with her books and writing materials.
“Let’s walk down to the stream,” offered Alice Thurlow.
The two women walked for a while without speaking, then Maisie took the lead. “Tell me why you lied, Alice. Tell me why you have lived a lie while working for Greville Liddicote.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I know. But you wanted to, didn’t you?”
Alice laughed. It was a short laugh. “I don’t