The air was cool and a gull cawed into the absence of sea-sound. Pickering sniffed and twiddled his thumbs. In the dimness of the dusk, a half-shadow fell upon Pickering's face; sharpening the lines and creases to dramatic proportions. The remains of the sun glowed, translucent, through the white hair he had left. As the wind sucked at his chapped features Pickering felt the pressing weight of old age like a heavy hand. Of course, he reckoned, it was only fair to allow the girl to enjoy her youth whilst she still had it, but marrying her off was a step further than he had wanted it to go, and, as he was all but sure, further than Higgins had wanted it to go – as of yet. No part of him had ever denied that Higgins' bet was going to be farfetched, but he felt it now more than ever. At the age of twenty-one, dressed in all her finery in a restaurant on the Brighton pier, Eliza was indeed beautiful, but within the next twenty years… at the very least, her age would betray this mock-up façade which Higgins seemed bent on creating for her, and then what would become of Mrs Einstford Hill? At least in India the caste system was absolute: once an untouchable, always an untouchable, and whilst Eliza had been a lady the moment she first walked through Higgins' front door as far as Pickering was concerned; try as he might, the least unsavoury vision of future he could conjure for her was to grow old with himself and Higgins under the roof of 27a Wimpole Street.
"Blimey, Guv'nor! Standin' there with a face like a month o' Mondays! Got the bird, you did, didn' you, eh?" A broad, jesting guffaw spilled from the rough lips of the ruddy-faced man and he took a swig from his flagon.
"Dolittle!" Pickering gave a start. "Alfred Dolittle, this is an important time. You might wish to come inside. Eliza's -"
"Ginger, you're barmy. Nah, ah'll get chucked out, guv'nor," he slurred. "Not 'middle class' enough. No finery; no grace; no middle class manners," he gestured, exaggeratedly, "No gold drippin' dahn me waistcoat pocket. An' I don' give a ha'pence – they can have i'. F'they want to be untollable ah c'n go elsewhere."
"The Professor Higgins is about to give Eliza away, and I would like to do this as decently as possible."
"Whu's not decen'? Ah gev 'im five pahnds for 'er."
"Do you not care to give consent to your own daughter's marriage, Alfred?"
"Eliza's gettin' 'ooked?"
"Yes, man," Pickering said emphatically.
"Well, gor blimey!"
"I thought you might like to come inside and preside over the arrangement." Dolittle sobered.
"Yeh "though' ah migh' lahk to", did yeh? Well, ah don' lahk to. Ah told yeh, guv. She hain't worth 'er keep at home, an' ah don' wan' nathin ter do with the middle class. She got herself inter it. She can chuck a bit of 'er riches back at 'er ol' father every so often. Ah c'n respec' tha' out o' the middle class." He paused, as if ruminating over his own sentiments; staring at a brick in the wall. "But tha' don' mike it my bus'niss," he added feverishly.
"Dolittle, I must ask you to stop," said Pickering sternly, "Your daughter is about to marry a certain Freddie Einsford Hill. Have you nothing to say? Do you not wish to meet your prospective son-in-law? Have you no morals, man?" Pickering asked with rising indignance. Dolittle frowned.
"Freddie Ahynstfoard Hill, Freddie…yeh dahn' say… yeh jas' dahn' say…" he murmured, shaking his head.
"You've met the man?"
"Ah've met 'im alrigh'," said Dolittle, with a grave roughness, "'Pleasure ter meet yeh'", he crooned mockingly, "'Jas lost in my thoughts.' Whu's Eliza want wiv 'im?" he exhorted, raising his voice, "Whu's she wantin' wiv 'im? I ask you, guv'nor, whu' did that professor do to Eliza? I'll tell yer whu' 'er did; 'e took 'er good mind and sent it ter bloody seed." He hurled his half-empty beer flagon to the ground.
"Mr Dolittle, please…" The dustman continued, oblivious.
"The kind a bloke who'd bawy a dahmond ring fer fahve pahnd from a comman dastman – fahve pahnd! 'E's middle class, inn'e? Whu's she tryin' ter do, ruin 'er own father?" Dolittle stormed on; Pickering's eyes widened and his face paled. He took a sharp intake of breath.
"The ring?" The words tumbled out of his dry mouth.
"…an' he hain't even got no more than ah hev. Next thing, she'll be touchin' on me for money, for the fine clothes and the jewellry an' all the clean, fancy living. Ah, the flahr baskit c'n go the way of all flesh;" he exclaimed bitterly, "'Course, she's a lidy now, an' marrid to a middle class gent! Now yeh c'n tell ya bloody professor where ta-" Pickering grasped Dolittle's arms and shook him. Dolittle broke off mid-sentence, stunned under the old man's iron grip.
"Dolittle, the ring! Tell me what you know about the ring," he said sharply.
"So help me guv, ah fahnd it," rushed Dolittle. "It was lyin' on the floor jas now."
"You – you mean to say you…" Pickering stammered, then paused, regaining his composure. "Dolittle, that ring belonged to the Professor Henry Higgins," he said impressively. "Why in heaven's name didn't you turn it into the police?"
"Could'a belonged to hanyone for all ah knowed it," responded Dolittle humbly, "Lahk ah said, I jast fahnd it on the floor. Ah'm the undeservin' poor, ah c'n get by, but I hain't got no money fer no middle class morals, an' now Eliza's goin' to marry the middle class' poor with the undeservin', ah c'n expec' nathin' but shame, an' hardship an' labour. Now what's tha' to do to your poor, ol' father? The Lord above didn' mike me fa' your middle class ways. They'll send me to the workhouse an' whip me like a dog. An ol' man like me. Like you, guv," he said reflectively, shrugging his shoulders under Pickering's tentatively loosening grip. "And what'd the police do with a dahmond ring hanyways?" he mused gloomily, "Posession's nine tenths of the law; they know tha' an' I know tha' an' you know tha'. Be human, guv'nor."
For a brief moment, neither of the men spoke and a mutual look passed between them. If not by any means one of warmth, it carried the distant respect that acknowledged a shared grievance. Pickering unhanded Dolittle, feeling his cheeks burn.
"We can stop the proceedings now, Alfred, if you wish," he said quietly.