Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
A CHANGE OF PACE
Georgiana came daily, and Elizabeth was so, so grateful.
It was a new experience, coming to know this girl who lived a life of wealth and ease that Elizabeth could scarcely imagine.
Yet her new friend was unconscious of this and their differences; she never seemed to notice the relative crudeness of Elizabeth’s home and furnishings.
The meals sent over from Longbourn were necessarily more simple than the lavish table set there, as everything had to travel a mile from its kitchens to reach her.
Nothing was ever hot and often not as fresh as one might wish, considering the sporadic nature of the help that the Hills were able to send.
Elizabeth sometimes felt embarrassed at her simple offerings, but Georgiana never seemed to notice.
The young lady liked to talk, and yet her speech was, at times, convoluted.
Her self-assurance was meagre, to say the least. “Lady is the best of good horses, but I brought Mabel today,” she said, on her third morning of visiting Fox Hollow.
“She is less fidgety, probably because she is older. Frost is having Netherfield’s stablemaster change her diet, which can be understandably difficult on them.
Calf’s head with brain sauce is not my favourite. ”
“Mr Frost is feeding your horses calf’s heads?”
Georgiana looked at her askance. “No. Why would you think it?”
“Um. Because you said so two seconds ago?”
The younger girl sighed. “Mrs Annesley must correct me so often in my speech, it is mortifying. My brother says my tongue is like a butterfly, in that sometimes it cannot stay in the place where it lands for any too long. I meant, at dinner last night, Miss Bingley served calf’s head with a ‘brain sauce’, which I have never before eaten—and I hated it.
Perhaps Lady feels the same about her new mash as I do about calf heads. ”
Elizabeth smiled. “And yet, you are gifted in comparison with my poor brother. We all do the best we can with what we have, do we not?”
Georgiana brightened. “Yes! Yes we do!”
She came early, she said, so that she could ride—heedless of rain—and not take the carriage that would be required were she to wait for proper visiting hours, toting along her companion.
As long as she was properly garbed, she had her brother’s permission, and that was good enough, in her mind, for all concerns of propriety.
The first week, Georgiana drew and they tried to help Neddy understand their meanings.
There was immediate progress—he learnt to put his toys away into the wooden chest where they belonged, all through her pictures.
He could identify many images, such as for ‘milk’ and ‘water’ and ‘toast’, and was using drawings throughout the day to ask for what he wanted.
After an hour or so of drawing and word practise, Georgiana would take Neddy for a brief ride on Mabel.
Now that he was confident that horseback riding was to be a frequent activity, he did not object to their brevity.
But on the fifth visit, Elizabeth made a mistake that affected their entire efforts.
For the last four days, it had rained in the late afternoon.
It had been difficult, ending Neddy’s afternoon walks almost before they began; he did not care one bit whether he was soaked to the skin, but of course she must protect his health and try to keep him warm and dry, and drying her own clothing was difficult.
But a quarter-hour after Georgiana’s arrival, she noticed darker clouds on the horizon.
“Georgiana, would you care to go for a little country stroll with us? I fear it will rain soon, and Neddy loves his walks. After his walk, he could go for his ride. Perhaps we will skip drawing today, as I would not want to send you home in a downpour.”
“I would love to go,” she immediately declared. “And I do not mind riding in rainy weather one little bit. It makes sense to do his drawings later, and begin his outdoor activities while the sun still shines.”
But Neddy did not understand; when they put their pencils away, he squawked like an angry rooster.
Donning his shoes distracted him, but when they walked out together in the opposite direction from where Mabel was tethered, he tried to run to the horse.
When Elizabeth stopped him, he attacked her—it was the first time he had done it since Georgiana had begun visiting.
She had hoped he was past his aggressiveness, that these small efforts to help him communicate had relieved his frustrations, but no—it was as ferocious a fury as never before, and worst of all, as Georgiana tried to intervene, and he put bloody scratches on her ungloved hands.
Elizabeth managed, with effort, to get him back into the house and deposit him on his bed, where he shouted and cried as if his heart was broken. “Horse! Horse! Mabel!” he shrieked.
She did not touch him, but neither did she allow him to leave his bedroom, blocking his exit.
He threw himself to the floor, but she noticed that he did it much more carefully than the last time, not banging his head.
At least he had learnt that much. She spoke firmly, evenly, and repeated relentlessly, “Neddy hurt Georgiana. No walks for Neddy. No horse for Neddy. Hurting is bad. We need gentle hands. Gentle hands.”
At last, after at least an hour had passed, he cried himself to sleep on the hard stone floor. Carefully, she picked him up and placed him on the bed, pulling the coverlet over him.
Elizabeth wanted to cry herself, but a weight within would not allow it. Bawling would not change Neddy’s problems. She would not be surprised if Georgiana never returned—yet another door closed to him. As she watched him slumber, she could only think, What am I to do?
If she returned home to Longbourn, she would be admitting that Neddy was too much for her to handle. She would never be able to extract him again. With a heavy heart, she quietly exited the room they shared. And stopped short.
Georgiana waited upon the settee near the fire, which was almost out.
“You are still here!” Elizabeth said, astonished.
“I was wondering how to build up the fire,” Georgiana replied. “I cannot believe that I have lived for sixteen years and never been curious about how it is done. How can I have watched so many times, without learning a thing?”
“You never should have to touch a coal grate…heavens, or ever be cold,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Or hungry. Or harmed, when you were trying to help.”
“He did not mean to hurt me.”
“It does not change the fact that he did.”
They both stared at the hearth.
“We changed course, we broke the pattern we have followed all week, and he did not understand,” Georgiana said finally.
“He cannot understand so much. When I was younger, I had trouble listening, so I often missed instructions. When I did not know what was expected of me, I searched for clues, because I was afraid to ask adults and admit my lack of attention. What if he is doing that? He cannot ever ask. Perhaps he is always searching for clues. What if it is terrifying to him when the expectation he has built, based on the evidence he has cobbled together, turns out to be wrong? He cannot explain his terror, and so he desperately tries to force us to follow the pattern he expects.”
Elizabeth marvelled that someone so young could see the situation so differently than most ever would.
“You are a clever girl, Georgiana, and you might even be correct. However, it does not change the facts—he cannot be allowed to assault people when his expectations are unmet. And I do not know how to teach him otherwise!”
Georgiana bit her lip. “I wish I knew what to do. I feel terrible, Elizabeth, that his day ended so poorly.”
“I feel terrible that he hurt you. You must, of course, tell your brother what he did.”
“Oh! No! No one need know! I can say I was scratched on brambles. I am always doing things like that.”
Elizabeth shook her head, feeling exhausted and out of ideas. “No, dear. I appreciate you trying to protect Neddy, but do not stoop to deception.” She made herself say what needed saying. “I will understand if Mr Darcy does not allow you to return. It was truly unacceptable.”
“Elizabeth, no. It was an accident! Neddy did not mean it.”
“Unfortunately, we cannot know that, not for sure.”
“I do know it. I feel it!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. She felt the same way, and yet many, if not most, would call Neddy feral, and agree that he ought to be locked up, or drugged with laudanum, or otherwise confined.
There was no possible way, after what he had witnessed himself of Neddy’s behaviour, that Mr Darcy would agree to allow his sister to continue to risk being harmed.
“Thank you, dear. But I insist you talk to your brother, and…and do as he wishes. Whatever that is.”
“Very well,” Georgiana agreed reluctantly.
A few minutes later, she was gone, and Elizabeth was once again alone. Curling up on the faded settee, she gave in to sorrow, and wept—a little for herself, but mostly for all the ways she felt she was failing her brother.