CART

“No,” says Edward. Of course he says no.

Whatever is she thinking? Out of his room? Downstairs? And then outside, where it’s cold and the wind’s blowing, in some cart that will bump about all over the place so that he’ll fall out and have an accident? Outside, where everyone can see him? He can’t imagine anything worse.

“Yes, but…” says Lampie. “You’ll finally be able to see everything for real. The trees, the birds, the—”

“I already know all of the birds,” says Edward, and that’s true. Their plumage, their breeding spots, how they build their nests, the songs they whistle – he knows it by heart.

“But that all came out of a book! And that isn’t the same.”

He does not see why not. The real world just makes more noise – that’s the only difference.

“No,” he says from under his bed. “Go away. Come back when it’s half-past three.”

“Yes, but…” she says again. She can never keep her mouth shut. “We could even go through the gate one day. To the sea. We could go to the lighthouse if you like. Or go and take a look at the harbour, or…”

“The harbour?” whispers Edward. Where his father’s ship always moors? “Really?”

“Well, maybe not today.”

“Oh, then forget about it. Never mind.”

“But we could do it later. We’ll go for a short ride first, just in the garden.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”

“I’ll be really careful.”

“No.”

“And it’s not at all chilly out.”

“No.”

“And I can put a blanket over you.”

“No.” He has crawled back under the bed, as far as he can. “I don’t want to, and you can’t make me. I said NO.”

They sit there without saying anything.

“Anyway,” he mumbles after a while, “I can’t get down the stairs.”

 

Edward blinks. The light is bright, and the air is cool on his cheeks. There is so much light here, and lots and lots of sky. It is enormous, with clouds floating across like gigantic monsters, and the trees are towers with grabbing branches and they are green, everything is so ridiculously green, and there are so many smells all at once and so many sounds: rustling and whistling and barking, and on the other side of the garden there is a thin man in a big coat, and huge dogs are running by and everyone is staring at him, of course, at Edward. He buries his nose under the blanket and squeezes up closer to Lenny, who responds by holding him more tightly and that helps a bit.

“Come on,” says Lampie. “Down these steps and we’ll be there. We’ll just go for a little trip this afternoon, just a tour of the garden. Lenny, you can be the horse.”

Lenny nods seriously. Yes, he will be the horse.

 

The cart has been crafted for Edward. His body fits snugly inside, and his deformity can rest on the cushion. Lenny carefully lays him in the cart, and Lampie puts the blanket over him. The horse takes hold of the handle and starts to pull.

Edward squeezes his eyes shut. Why did he let her persuade him? He is so stupid, so stupid. This is going to be so painful and uncomfortable. So he braces himself. But the wheels turn smoothly, the blanket is warm, and the cart hardly bumps at all. Off they go, down the path.

Edward takes in his surroundings, bit by tiny bit. A piece of bark. A tuft of grass. There: a branch with a hundred leaves that are moving in the wind. Maple, he thinks. Or a lime tree, or… He can’t see very well, because everything is intertwined. The birds are not taking it in turns to squawk and whistle either; they are all singing away at the same time and he cannot identify a single one of them.

All of this has been here all along, he thinks. All of it belongs here.

All of it except for him.

He looks up. There is his tower, with his window, and his bed inside. If only he were back up there right now.

“Are you all right, Fish?” asks Lampie. “It’s not bumping you about too much, is it?”

“I’m fine,” says Edward grumpily. He can handle it, he really can.

Lenny is a good horse. They go as slowly as anything. Around the smelly pond, past the half-finished hedge animals: the dogs, the dragon, the swan, which still has a bit of a lumpy neck.

“Not bad for a horse, eh?” says Lampie, gesturing towards the animals with a smile.

“What? He didn’t make those, did he?” Edward can’t imagine it.

“He certainly did,” says Lampie. “Lenny is a wonderful clipper.”

Lenny looks back, both proud and shy. Then he gives a little skip and a whinny.

 

“Shall we go to the gate? Or do you want to go back inside already?”

Edward shakes his head. Just a little longer. He is already sitting up a little straighter. He can do this. He is brave enough. There is nothing to it, in fact.

Lampie brings him whatever he points at, so that he can take a closer look: a strange clump of fluffy moss, a flower that looks like an umbrella, which he intends to find in his flower book later, a stone with a vein of gold running through it. He gently places them under his blanket.

The dogs are curious and come over to take a look. The bolder of the two even sniffs at his hand. Edward is brave enough to hold out his hand – it’s easy, in fact. You just have to let them know who’s the boss – that’s what his father always says. He knows their names: Douglas and Logwood. When he calls, they come to him, just as they come to his father. Well, they do if Lenny gives them a bit of a nudge.

He pulls the blanket down a little. “We’ll go out again tomorrow,” he decides.

“Great,” says Lampie. “Where would you like to go? To the sea? To take a look at the harbour?”

His dark eyes widen. “Tomorrow? Can we do that?”

“Why not?” says Lampie. “I can ask Nick for the key. We’ll just go out through the gate and then we’ll…”

 

“Whatever are you doing? Have you all gone completely mad?”

Martha is standing on the path with shopping bags full of fish and leeks. “No, no, no. This simply will not do. Go on! Back inside with the lot of you. Right now.”

“Why?” asks Lampie. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Lenny, do as I say. Now.”

Lenny always does whatever his mother tells him to do, and so he turns the cart around, so quickly that Edward almost rolls out. He gives a squeak, but then ducks back under his blanket. With a sniff, Martha walks past. She does not look at the boy in the cart.

Lampie does not understand. “But what’s the matter? Why aren’t we allowed?”

“Because you’re not! He’s not allowed outside, he can’t be on display for everyone to see. You understand that, don’t you?” Martha pushes her son ahead of her through the garden. She strides on with her bags, looking at Edward as little as possible. Lampie stomps angrily after her. She had thought it was such a good idea.

“And certainly not…” Martha stops walking for a moment and gives the girl a stern look. “Certainly not outside the fence. Not ever. Never. Do you understand, child-who-never-listens?”

“But why not?”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

When they get inside, Martha shuts the door with a bang. The sun remains outside, and the long corridor is dark and cold.

“Go on,” she says. “Upstairs with him.” She points, but she still won’t look at the boy in Lenny’s arms. “No, wait. This affects him too.” She puts down her bags and takes something out of her pocket. “There was a telegram at the post office. Finally. The master’s coming home.”

Edward’s face turns pale. “When?” he says. “When’s he coming?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Soon. A few days? A week? Who knows?” Martha irritably beckons Lampie. “You, come with me to the kitchen, right now. When I think of all the work we still have to do, I feel quite faint, I really do.”