The light was fading dimmer, and shadows cast themselves outside. Although lamplight glowed in every corner, the three characters at the table of number 27A Wimpole Street were not secluded from darkness. Eliza subconsciously held her knife and fork poised above her plate and cast downwards a gaze with the same emptiness, yet a mind bloated with images. She did not glance up when she heard the discreet chink as Higgins neatly placed his used utensils side-by-side. Her head felt heavy, even after she had long removed that hat, and stray wisps of hair lingered around her face in an unruly manner. She frowned through her tired brown eyes and took a slow intake of breath as if about to speak, then breathed out again. Her face contorted. The black and white ribbon seemed to bind her tightly to the dress so that the lace and stiff seams dug into her skin. She dropped her shoulders, took another breath and started:
"So I suppose now Ascot's over and done with, you expect me to fail, then live when you throw me away like some old coat that doesn't fit?"
Focusing his concentration upon refolding his napkin, Higgins raised only his eyebrows in apparent concern to reply matter-of-factly, "What drives you to imagine such a thing? Of course not, Eliza! Why, when I'm finished prepping you up, you'll be 'how do you do-ing' and 'I beg your pardon-ing' as well as any Princess." The corners of his lips curled in a mixture of discreet glee and amusement as he glanced up at her. "I'll make a Queen of you, Eliza!"
"Oh, do try to be practical, Higgins." Broke in Pickering after taking another sip of his tea, "It does no good to fill the girl with false hope," he sighed. Henry appeared oblivious to the words of the old man. Pickering brushed his grey moustache lightly. It was thin; as was the short, silvery hair which covered his head. Colonel Pickering was tall and thin himself; he had grown seemingly frail since he had left his regiment.
Higgins continued without looking up at Pickering or Eliza as he talked. He brushed his fingernails against the side of his shirt and surveyed them vainly. "Don't worry about things of such little significance. After all, I'm quite certain that after living in a dustbin for some time within the region of twenty years, to be welcomed into a decent home can be rather daunting. Why, if I were in Eliza's place, the very prospect of an Embassy Ball would do more than lift my spirits."
Eliza frowned, and her knife and fork fell to the plate with a clatter. "You two don't care, do you? You can both talk about me as if I wasn't here - you don't care or think of what you've forced on me, then watch me use it to humiliate myself! You act as if Ascot never happened!"
"Of course," Higgins began, "It happened. That is a fact which cannot be denied, but what can, is whether it is worth dwelling upon. No use crying over spilt milk, is there?"
Eliza stared. She clenched her fists. "So that's all I am to you, is it? Spilt milk?"
"Well, to a certain degree - "
"Higgins!" Pickering raised his voice and stood up. Higgins rose tersely.
"It must not be mistaken that her purpose here is only -"
"Higgins!"
" - but that's beside the point. Of course, the disaster that happened should be noted upon, but it must be remembered that - "
"Higgins!" Eliza sighed, placing her head in her hands.
" - And furthermore - "
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Silence.
"Mrs Pearce!" called Higgins.
Silence fell again, as the three stared down at their feet. Higgins swallowed.
"Eliza." Eliza looked up at him, the corners of her mouth down-turned, her eyes like glass. "Eliza, do you wish to be a lady?"
"Yes, Professor Higgins," she stated coldly.
"Then I pray you tell me what your problem is."
Eliza spoke slowly, casting him a sideways glance. "Problem? I don't have a problem. I believe that it's you with the problem, Henry Higgins: treating me like dirt, taunting me with this and with that, forcing me to speak properly then making an embarrassment of me when I get it wrong and then telling me not to cry over spilt milk! You can throw it all back at me now, Henry Higgins, but it's not my fault and don't you forget it!"
"Yes, Mrs Pearce?" Professor Higgins turned away to the maid standing in the doorway. Mrs Pearce's white hair was never seen outside its neat bun; her pinafore was always creaseless. She held a bouquet of yellow roses in a gloved hand and proceeded to speak.
"A young man is standing outside. He wishes to speak to Eliza - " Higgins smiled, eyeing the flowers.
"Men will be shooting themselves for your sake, Eliza. Did I not say they would? Now, with some manners, grammar and a little patience, I will succeed in making you a Duchess. Continue, Mrs Pearce." Eliza stared deeply, her fists still clenched tightly. Pickering stood behind her and touched her arm, but she shrugged him off.
" - and he bade me give her these." Mrs Pearce handed the roses to Eliza. Eliza just stared in silence, holding the roses. Her body relaxed, as she said not a word, but gazed at the gift that she was presented with. Two petals fell to the floor and the leaves drooped flimsily. Yes, these were Covent Garden roses to the bone; wilting in tired, brown paper, with even spots on the stem where thorns had been roughly picked off by idle flower girls. Not unlike herself, she thought. Yes, a thorn in everyone's side, to be picked off and discarded when this prince charming finds out that his duchess is little more than the city rats who sold him them. A tear welled in her eye and she glared hatefully at the Professor.
"To hell with the flowers, and to hell with him!" She cried, "You go and tell him, Mrs Pearce, that I don't bloody want no flowers, and I don't bloody want no more bloody men! I don't want to speak to anybody ever again!" Mrs Pearce flinched. Pickering brought his hand to his face and Higgins folded his arms.
"Right away, ma'am." With as much as a nod, Mrs Pearce departed briskly.
"Eliza, do sit down," Pickering comforted her, ushering her towards the armchair. "Allow me to make you a cup of - "
"And I don't want no bloody tea, neither!" She stormed up the staircase in tears and slammed the door shut. Higgins and Pickering looked to the floor, then at one another.
"Higgins, I have my doubts." Higgins sighed, unfolding his arms.
"Pickering, all is not lost because of a slight slip of the tongue. It just needs a little more training, that's all."
"Some joke that may turn out to be! I say that we should call off the whole bet. She's been put though enough pain already." Pickering proceeded to climb the staircase after Eliza and closed the door carefully. Higgins was alone. Watching Mrs Pearce pace past, shaking her head to turn into another doorway, Higgins spoke.
"Pickering, I also have my doubts about Eliza."