Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Author's note: Thank you Lady Weasleyy and Miss T! Without you ladies, this story would be riddled with repeat words, run on sentences and gross abuse of the comma.

Eight Years Later and Six Months Before the Embassy Ball.

Eliza Doolittle thought of her mother for the first time in years. A voice that she took to be Catherine's kept repeating, 'You need your mind to be nurtured.' In the secret place in the back of Eliza's mind , she saw a face not unlike her own, save for golden curls and bright blue eyes standing out brilliantly against a chalky face.

This unlocked memory had played over and over in her head ever since her encounter with Professor Henry Higgins. He had sworn up and down that he could teach her to speak proper. That she could be work in a floral shop, something she had coveted since she was a young girl.

She observed her surroundings while chewing nervously on a thumbnail. A single room squalid and plain. Her father's home had been an improvement on the hovel she had been renting since she was fifteen. Any money she saved from selling her flowers immediately went to food and rent ; the rest was often finagled by her father when he was wanting. Which was often. Nothing left to bring a simple cheer to the room. A proper job could change her outlook immensely.

"I'll go to this bloke tomorrow, I will." She picked up a small tarnished mirror gave her face a once over. "Probably far too dirty for 'is side of town, but I'll be sure to wash me face and 'ands before I go."

A full day later Eliza was shivering in a too-large robe, sitting on a bed far too soft to be her own, in a room so fine she was sure she didn't deserve it. She hadn't meant to cause such a spectacle during her the bath. The moment Eliza had realized what she was supposed to do in order to take a bath, her mother's face appeared again urging her, 'Be wary. Be good.' Letting others see her naked was not what good girls did, even if they had been females. Eliza didn't even own a mirror that showed her from the neck down, and she had always made it a point to dress herself with her eyes straight ahead.

It turned out that Eliza rather liked taking a bath, and once the maids managed to deposit her into the tub and Mrs. Pearce had explained how to use the strange thing called a 'scrub brush' she was left alone. Her hysterics had been for nothing, and she had felt rather guilty for blackening one of their eyes.

Mrs. Pearce entered the room carrying a neatly folded stack of clothing. "These belong to one of our maids. You both seem to be the same size, and hopefully they will suit until we get you fitted for new ones." The woman gave Eliza a disapproving look. "Heavens girl! Don't you know how to use the hair brush on your vanity table?"

Eliza bristled with stung pride. "'Course I do! I just 'aven't gotten to it yet."

"Well, dinner will be served shortly and you don't want to keep the gentlemen waiting. Go over there and sit down, I will fix it up for you myself." Mrs. Pearce gestured to the vanity table. Eliza reluctantly obeyed, it had been a long time since another person had done her hair for her.

Mrs. Pearce conducted her business in silence, and Eliza did not mind in the least. The woman despised her for sure, Eliza thought. No one in this house seemed to like her, except for the excellent Colonel Pickering. It didn't matter much to Eliza. She didn't come to 27A Wimpole Street to be liked, after all. She was there to become a lady, and the devil take the hindmost!

"There you are, girl." Mrs. Pickering soothed a few errant strands of Eliza's hair and smiled. "My word, what a difference a bath and a brushing makes; you certainly look like a good young lady."

Despite her resolve not to care for the opinions of Mrs. Pearce or anyone else, Eliza felt a surge of warmth at the old woman's words.

The old biddy certainly knew how to do hair! It was swept up far more elegantly than Eliza had ever managed style it, and the white satin bow in the back was sweet. "Thank you," Eliza whispered tearfully, inwardly cursing herself for being emotional over something as bloody foolish as hair.

Mrs. Pearce patted Eliza's shoulder awkwardly. "Now get dressed and head downstairs straightaway, girl." With that, Eliza was left alone once again.

Clean clothes! Eliza wanted to sing with jubilation. Cotton under things; a black wool skirt; a white shirt that buttoned primly to her chin, Eliza was in heaven. She felt a bit naughty for lifting her skirts ever so slightly to admire her legs, sheathed in black stocking that bore no holes, and black ankle boots that weren't scuffed or ready for the dust bin. With a delighted laugh she ran out the bedroom door and down the stairs to join the others in the dining room.

"What the devil was all that damn stomping for?" Professor Higgins asked in an irritated tone that immediately killed Eliza's joy.

"That was just me comin' down the apples and pears," she retorted. Pickering laughed at the slang before getting up and crossing the room to pull out a chair for her. She grinned at him.

"Thanks, Captain."

"Colonel Pickering, is how you ought to address him, Eliza."

"Thanks, Colonel Pickerin'."

"Thank you, Eliza," The Professor corrected.

Eliza gave Higgins a quizzical look. "What're you thankin' me for?" Her confusion deepened when he pinched the bridge of his noise and winced as if in pain.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing."

Dinner was served. Eliza had never seen such appetizing food before in her life, and she tore into her plate as if it were the last meal she was ever going to receive. Even the water tasted better! They had offered her wine earlier, but she steadfastly refused it.

Somehow, Eliza felt as though she were being observed while she ate. It was almost enough to make her slow down and take notice, but she had not eaten in close to a full day, save for the bon-bon the Professor had given her earlier. Eliza did feel a little ashamed, though, when she couldn't suppress the belch that followed the meal. Even she knew that was the antithesis of 'ladylike'. She looked from face to astonished face after it had happened.

The Professor threw down his napkin and sat back in his chair. "Well that is that. She is not to eat another crumb in this house until she can do it properly."

Eliza wished the floor beneath her would open up and swallow her. "I'm sorry. I ain't eaten so fine in me life, and I got carried away." She stood up and attempted to take her leave.

"You wait just one moment!"

Eliza paused at the door and looked back at The Professor. "What?"

"You rude little ignoramus, don't say 'what', say 'pardon'."

Eliza squared her shoulders and resisted the urge to scream. "Pardon?"

"When you get up to leave the table before your betters, you must beg your leave. Give an excuse, you know." Higgins affected a high pitched tone, "Pardon me gentlemen, but my head aches so, and I must ask that you excuse me while I have a lie down." He frowned at her, "Something like to that effect. Don't just flee the table like a thief in the night."

Eliza sighed impatiently. "'scuse me, gents, but I've got a pain in me 'ead fit to split it in two." She gave them what she thought to be a grand curtsey. "Please let me go to me room to wallow in me misery." With that, she flounced from the dining room, not caring whether her hasty retreat up to the bedroom caused Henry Higgins's head to pound.

Hugh Pickering gave a delighted chuckle once Eliza had left the two men alone. "I say, Higgins, I admire that girl's pluck!"

Henry just shook his head with a weary moan. "She's a damned mess, Pickering. A paragon of ignorance if ever I saw."

Pickering grinned at his newfound friend. "Oh, I don't believe so. I sense a real intelligence behind those remarkable eyes. I also find that she is astonishingly easy to look at now that the grime is gone from her face."

Henry agreed, but not aloud. There was something disturbingly familiar about Eliza's arresting features. They conjured memories of a person he had long since ceased to think about, someone he had tried like hell to purge from his mind. He found he resented Eliza for the fact.

"Put a pretty dress on an ape and it's still an ape," he retorted cruelly.