Chapter 19
Nineteen
DO NOT HURT
Darcy tried, tried diligently to keep his attention upon Edward.
Sometimes he managed it, because the little boy did not seem to understand a word he said.
He did sort of recognise that Darcy wanted his hands to stay in certain places, and even, perhaps, why.
He was, however, the most distractible lad upon the face of the Earth.
“Skil!” he cried at the sight of a skittering squirrel. “Bird,” he said, pointing at a wren hopping from branch to branch.
Edward’s shouts startled several deer from their woodland habitat, and the sight diverted him so thoroughly, he seemed to forget he was several feet off the ground.
“Deer,” Darcy said, pointing at the creatures as they gracefully fled.
“Deer! Deer! Deer!” Edward repeated.
Darcy wished he could get up behind the lad to truly show him how to direct the horse; this was a mere pony ride. At the same time, the boy’s pleasure in the sights and sounds surrounding him was a delight to watch.
He had not known whether Elizabeth would allow him to take the child by himself on the basis of such a short acquaintance. That is the single reason I brought the lead rope, he assured himself. He was here for Edward, and that was all.
And yet…it was such a delight, watching her, hearing her occasional remark, her voice slightly husky.
Her smile, when she first had seen him, was so lovely it had stolen the breath from his lungs.
A half-dozen times this morning, he had begun a note to her, relaying the promised information upon her sister’s health, struggling to stay away.
Finally, he had decided that it would not hurt if he could come this one last time, giving Edward the ride the boy had longed for.
Especially since he must never come again, once Georgiana was in residence as a constant reminder of why he should not.
Elizabeth was very quiet today, and he wondered if anything was wrong. In fact, the longest silence seemed to have possessed her at the peak of Oakham Mount, and they were nearly back to Fox Hollow before she broke it.
“Mr Darcy,” she began, with a hesitant smile in his direction.
“Yes?” he asked, trying to keep his expression sober, business-like, trying not to smile back helplessly, like a green lad with his first lady.
But at that moment, Edward’s happy, excited demeanour changed. He shouted angrily, startling Mabel, and Darcy had to lunge for the boy lest he fall off his perch.
“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, reaching for him as well. “He has discerned that we are heading back in the direction of home—even before I thought he would, since he is unfamiliar with this path. I do not know how he does it, but he always seems to know where he is.”
“Edward, you are scaring Mabel,” Darcy ordered firmly. “You need to stop shouting.”
“He will not,” Elizabeth said grimly. “He does not understand, and believes in his heart that this is the last horse he will ever touch again. Please give him to me, before he hurts your horse. He will not mean to, but he might.”
Unfortunately, she was right; as Darcy led the horse inexorably onwards, towards Fox Hollow, Edward grew visibly more upset; when he began kicking his feet in his outrage—and thereby kicking Mabel—Darcy immediately plucked him off the saddle.
Edward threw himself to the ground, beating his head on the dirt.
Elizabeth grabbed hold of him, stopping him from his painful self-punishment, but he attacked her, as Darcy had seen him do once before.
“Give me the boy,” he ordered, while trying to calm an agitated Mabel, who was perhaps alarmed by the ear-piercing screams.
Elizabeth, apparently heedless of the pain she must be experiencing at the boy’s hands, hurried away faster. She must believe that taking him where he can no longer see the horse is the best solution.
Possibly, it was. There was nowhere close by that he could see to safely leave Mabel, and Elizabeth was quickly out of sight. Although he could still hear the boy’s screams, they were quickly growing fainter, as if she might be running with him.
He vaulted onto Mabel’s back, looking for a good place to tether the horse, worried, knowing that the child was beyond reason, and was probably hurting Elizabeth.
In his mind, he wondered whether Edward might need to be given laudanum, and whether they ought to restrict him to the indoors.
If Philips thought throwing a bauble was deserving of physical punishment, this sort of behaviour might see the child beaten bloody.
Yet, if the lad conducted himself this poorly while still a mere infant, what did it mean for him as he grew?
He was a healthy, sturdy child who might go from scratching and kicking when he was upset to a more dangerous violence as an adult.
It was an obvious trajectory. It was only Elizabeth who was stubborn enough to disbelieve it.
But no, she had already told him, had she not, of her worry? Of wishing to be stronger?
The path down the hillside narrowed and roughened; he could not go as fast as he wished.
There was no sign of Elizabeth. If she was running with the child, they might break their necks, both of them!
At last he reached flat ground, and saw a copse of trees where Mabel might be tethered.
He did the job quickly, before setting off at a run himself.
Elizabeth was not all that far ahead of him, but had reached her home.
She held Neddy by his legs, flung over her shoulder as he had once done—the boy was almost fully upside-down, but at least he could not reach anything to injure her.
She struggled to hang onto him and fish the key out of her pocket, finally managing to clutch it, get it into the lock, and open the door bolt.
She disappeared inside, but although she had swung the door closed, it did not latch.
He did not hesitate, but crossed the yard, took the porch steps in a single bound, and followed her within.
Edward writhed in her arms, lashing out at her while she grappled to keep him contained.
From the room’s opposite end, Mrs Finch poked her head out of what was probably her chamber; she took one look at the lad’s wild phrenzy, and promptly returned to her room, shutting the door behind her. A lot of help she is, Darcy thought with great irritation.
He did not hesitate any longer, but strode to the thrashing child and pulled him from Elizabeth’s arms, wrapping him in his greater strength; his action not only startled Elizabeth, but Edward, too—he stopped his screams immediately.
There was a trickle of blood on Elizabeth’s cheek, resembling a tear.
After a surprised second, Edward laid his head against Darcy’s chest. He wept even now, but it was the ordinary weeping of a heartbroken child, not the crazed phrenzy of minutes before.
He held the lad tightly, rocking him back and forth, as gradually the child quieted.
He walked away from Elizabeth, towards the window.
“Edward, you must have gentle hands,” he said in his sternest, calmest voice, sounding foolish to his own ears.
To his surprise, the child repeated something that sounded very much like ‘gentle hands’.
“You hurt your sister. Sister loves you and you hurt her. Hurting Sister is bad.”
“Hurt,” Edward said.
Elizabeth sat—or perhaps collapsed—upon the room’s one settee.
“Yes. You hurt Sister.”
Edward looked over at Elizabeth. “Hurt,” he repeated.
Since he appeared to have calmed now, when he tried to get down, Darcy allowed it. Edward went directly to Elizabeth; Darcy followed.
“Tell your sister you are sorry,” he ordered.
“Hurt,” Edward said. He touched the bloody mark on the side of her face. “Hurt.”
“Yes, you hurt me,” Elizabeth said; her expression was solemn, but there was no anger in her voice. “Neddy hurt Sissy. Do not hurt.”
“Hurt,” Neddy repeated. He drifted off to the corner of the room where a wooden chest sat; he opened it and began piling bricks into towers.
“It is his lack of language,” Elizabeth said quietly. “As he ages, his frustration grows with being unable to make us understand his feelings. The one thing he knows to do is to cry, and the greater his infuriation, the louder those become.”
“And the more violent?”
“Yes,” she admitted with obvious reluctance.
“But in case you were wondering if it is because I have spoilt him, it is not true. My uncle has made serious attempts at beating language into him. It will not work. If you are wondering why I did not discipline him for lashing out at me, it is because he does not understand why he is being struck, and it only incites him to respond in kind.”
She had begun to explain this once before, and Darcy could not prevent his distaste from showing. “I would not treat an animal that way, much less a young child.”
“That is what Mr Philips believes—that Neddy is an animal. Perhaps even less than that. It is not true! Perhaps he cannot…cannot attend correctly and he does occasionally lose control. But he is also loving, sweet, and generally good-natured. He does not mean to be disobedient. Can you imagine what it must be like, to be surrounded by people whom you cannot understand, who cannot understand you, without a clue of how to make yourself understood?”
To his own surprise, he suddenly recalled the intensity of the feeling very well.
He felt a need to help Elizabeth understand, however, that the situation could not go on as it currently was.
Obviously she loved the boy, but he was getting to be too much for her.
He seated himself beside her on the settee.
“I can. I had an abbreviated grand tour, and there were one or two very uncomfortable situations in which I found myself unable to grasp what being said. I suppose I can sympathise, a little at least. I have heard him say a few words. Can he learn at all?”
“In a way. He might not do things the same way of ordinary children, but he is not stupid. It is as though his mind is fogged—he sees little glimpses where most see whole pictures. Yet, he makes sense of those glimpses, forms them into patterns, and does his best to make sense of his world. He takes my hand and leads me to where he wishes to go—invariably beyond the doors of his home. He will bring me his cup when he is thirsty. When he cannot accomplish something on his own, say opening a complicated latch or something out of his reach—he brings my hand to it, or as near as he can get to it. He understands that my hands are capable of doing things his are not. He will look at his books for long periods of time, even though he cannot read. It is as if he knows they are a gateway to knowledge, and simply cannot unlock them. He holds up his arms to be picked up, and he gives the best hugs in the world.” Her chest tightened against sobs she could not permit, and she looked away.