Читать книгу Alice’s Secret: A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed - Lynne Francis - Страница 23

Alice suffered mixed emotions when Ramsay, the mill manager, told her that someone had been appointed to teach arithmetic to her pupils. This topic was the least favourite part of her morning and she’d often guiltily allowed reading and writing to expand into the allotted arithmetic hour, simply because she enjoyed teaching these subjects much more. Although she could teach basic sums, she felt unqualified to go much beyond that. She didn’t appreciate that her work with Sarah on remedy calculations and costings were as valuable as the hours spent in Elsie’s company had been in advancing her reading and writing. But, as Alice realised with a heavy heart, having someone else come in to teach arithmetic would mean that she would have an extra hour or so each day on the mill floor.

For all his brusqueness, Alice had found Ramsay a fair and thoughtful manager, enquiring after her mother’s health and occasionally sending a small gift home for her.

‘The wife’s been jam-making again. Can’t abide the stuff mysen. But mebbe the goosegogs will do your ma some good,’ he said, thrusting a small pot of delicate-pink gooseberry conserve into Alice’s hands as she left for home. Or, ‘The hen’s been doin’ a second shift wi’out us asking it. The wife can’t keep up,’ handing over half a dozen eggs packed into a straw-filled box with an equal quantity of freshly baked scones on top.

Alice blushed as she stammered her thanks. The gifts were not only kind, but thoughtful. Sarah’s illness had left her so low in energy that she could no longer go beyond fulfilling the basic household duties. The fruit and vegetables went unpicked, so the pies, jams and chutneys that had seen the family through previous hard times no longer filled the larder shelves. Alice did her best to fill the gaps when she got home from work, or on her precious day off, taking over all the chores on that day so that Sarah could simply rest. Try as she might, though, she didn’t seem to find time to fit in all the extra work. Four-year-old Beattie was too young to help and while Annie and Thomas, who were eight and ten, did what they could, cooking was beyond them. Alice had her sights set on training up her younger sister Ella but, at the age of twelve, she showed no signs of being anything other than the most basic cook or housekeeper. She’d rush through her chores and, before anyone noticed, she’d slipped away through the back door, down the garden path and was off through the back gate, roaming the fields and woods, her thoughts always away somewhere else and no eye on the time at all, except when hunger drove her home, tired and dishevelled at the end of the day. No amount of scolding had any effect. Alice, envying her sister this freedom and having never enjoyed it herself, berated her all the more.

Alice wasn’t sure what caused these acts of kindness by old Ramsay and his wife. She tried to hazard a guess at his age – could he be the same age as Sarah? Or older? Maybe they had known each other when they were growing up? She’d mused on it for a while, but there seemed to be no inclination on either side to follow up the gifts. Eventually she’d asked Sarah, half-wondering whether Ramsay was perhaps an old sweetheart of hers. Sarah had laughed, then stopped short, her breath caught.

‘No, they’re from beyond Nortonstall. I never saw them until a few years back when they came to see me with their daughter. She’d been treated by the doctor out their way, but by the time I saw her there was nothing I could do except give her lobelia syrup and suggest ways they could make her comfortable. Molly was such a pretty girl, but as frail as thistledown by the time she came to me. She’d have been around your age if she’d lived. You’d have transcribed her remedy. Do you not remember?’

Alice didn’t, but that was no surprise. She just listed what her mother told her to, and didn’t feel as involved with each and every patient as Sarah did. She remained puzzled, but knew that her mother’s care and patience in listening to her patients often gave them as much comfort as the remedy prescribed. The doctors, on the other hand, tended to adopt an overbearing approach to their patients, brooking no argument or questions, and expecting them to do exactly as they said. Sarah’s approach was a gentle concern for all issues surrounding the patient’s health, with a series of questions designed to probe but not distress, in order to produce a clearer picture of the treatment required. Two patients might seek help for the same complaint, but they rarely left with the same remedy. Sarah’s success was the result of seeing beyond the illness to the person and their individual needs, and prescribing accordingly.