I'm rather surprised how long this got, my apologies. Thanks for all your great responses so far; they're keeping me honest. I do not own the characters. They are the property of Shaw (Pygmalion) and Lerner and Loewe (My Fair Lady). That I can do so much with them is because they were created well, and my work is a tribute. Enjoy.
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The Duchess of Manchester, founder of the Field Surgery Aid Society, always made her "unannounced surprise inspections" of the Society's warehouse in London every other Wednesday morning, but that didn't make the staff and volunteers any less nervous about her scrutiny and criticism. Only Eliza Higgins, the warehouse's manager, was unperturbed by the visits. She had dealt with much worse than the Duchess.
"It is good to see such low breakage figures, Mrs Higgins. We mustn't waste our volunteers' efforts."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Your bandage supply room is very clean. See that it stays that way. Our brave wounded soldiers deserve no less."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And remember that no item should sit here longer than a week. The supplies must get where they are needed quickly."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Eliza and the Duchess walked together to the loading yard, where the Duchess's maid held the car door for her. (The chauffeur had enlisted months ago.) "Remember, Mrs Higgins, we must redouble our efforts. We are needed more than ever. No slacking now!"
"Thank you, Your Grace," said Eliza as the car door closed, and muttered under her breath, "I'll take that as your way of saying 'good job.'"
When the Duchess wasn't there, which was most of the time, the warehouse was on the whole a pleasant place to be. There was a constant flurry of activity involved in unloading and sorting hospital supplies before sending them on their way overseas. Eliza's biggest challenge was getting women of leisure who were not accustomed to work to do their jobs at the necessary pace. For her brusque, efficient demeanour she was nicknamed "the sergeant," but she was generally liked and took a quiet pride in earning the name.
And all the activity took her mind off home and Henry. His first few months with the War Office were apparently glorious, then descended into monotony and further into frustration. His tours of duty were only a few weeks at a time at first, then grew longer. He was both drained and agitated when he returned home, and he and Eliza chafed at the prohibition against discussing his work. This time, he had been gone nearly four months, with no correspondence permitted, as usual.
As the Duchess's car pulled away, Eliza noticed a young woman in khaki standing on the step of a lorry, who had been watching the exchange. Hmph, cheeky thing, Eliza thought. "May I help you, miss?" she asked. And then she gasped.
"Ee-loi-za Doo-li'le!" said the lorry driver as broadly as she was smiling.
"Fanny Bowyer!" squealed Eliza as they pounced into each other's arms.
"'Ow long's it been since I've seen you!" cried Fanny. "Five years if a day!"
"I know, I'm sorry. I went back to the flower market once after I had my lessons and no one recognised me. It was awful. I've been scared to go back since."
"It's all right, we're all of us wearin' different 'ats now!" Fanny held out her breeches to their full extent and curtseyed comically.
"What ARE you up to, then?"
"Women's Land Army in Newbury! I'm a farmer now! And some of the churches out there 'ave been collecting medical supplies and were looking for a lorry driver, and well, I can drive a lorry now too! So 'ere I am!"
"I envy you, Fan, outside in the fresh air, while I'm stuck in this old barn in the middle of the city."
"But look at you 'ere talking fine and running this whole place!"
"Oh, I don't run this place! The Duchess of Manchester runs the place!" Eliza said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
Fanny grinned at the sarcasm. "Well, dear, it looks to me like you're doin' a tip-top job of not runnin' it! And married too? Your dad 'as some stories to tell."
"Some of which may be true!"
"Your 'usband, is he in the war?"
Eliza sighed just a bit. "Yes, his speciality is accelerated language instruction. Teaching the Allies to understand each other." This was the standard story she gave when asked about Henry.
"Aow, someone's finally teachin' the Yanks to talk English!" Fanny grinned. Eliza smiled very weakly. "You've 'eard that one before, then."
"Only about forty times. No, really, it's all right! Let's get you unloaded and I'll give you a quick tour." Eliza flagged down a passing Girl Guide. "You! Looking for something to do, dear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Get three of your mates, make sure each has a cart, and put everything in this lorry into the proper storerooms. And how do we carry the bottles?"
"Slow and easy, ma'am."
"Excellent. Off you go." The Guide scampered off.
The warehouse tour was much more of a catch-up on years of gossip. Perhaps Eliza's fears were overblown, or the war had erased a few class lines, or Fanny was a better friend than she'd given her credit for, but it was a great relief to talk to her and learn she would see her regularly with deliveries. Eventually duty called, or at least gave warning, as Eliza could hear someone down the hall say, "Let sergeant know, she'll straighten it out quick."
Eliza quickly walked Fanny to the loading yard. "They'll be wanting me now. Fan, it's been so good to see you. Please give everyone my love."
"An' I'll be 'ere next week. I 'aven't told you 'alf of what's been up!" Fanny always liked an audience.
"I can't wait!"
"Mrs Higgins, please!" came Mrs Ames's shrill voice behind Eliza. Eliza rolled her eyes and smiled conspiratorially to Fanny in farewell, then calmly turned to Mrs Ames, Mrs Millstone, and Mrs Stroud, who had followed her out to the loading yard and were now arrayed before her.
"What can I do for you ladies?" she said with an efficient smile.
"It's about Mrs Bartram," said Mrs Millstone.
"Mrs Bartram! Is she all right?" Millie Bartram had just found out two days ago that her husband had been killed in action in Turkey, yet she appeared as scheduled for her volunteer shift today. It was unusual, but not unheard of: many women who had suffered such losses kept their schedules for the war effort out of a sense of duty and as a tribute to their fallen.
"Well, several of us are thinking that she ought to go home," said Mrs Ames.
"Is she upset?"
"No, well, frankly, she may be! She just keeps talking! On and on!". Mrs Stroud seemed agitated.
"To her husband?"
"No, to us, about her husband!" said Mrs Millstone. "Everything! About when they met, silly things they did together..."
"And the letters!" said Mrs Stroud.
"Yes, about the letters he wrote from the war, and what was happening in Turkey, some of it was... not at all nice..."
Mrs Stroud grew impatient and interrupted Mrs Millstone. "In the first place I think the frivolous chatter is very disrespectful of Lieutenant Bartram's sacrifice in battle. Also I suspect it is very bad for morale to be constantly..."
"Reminded," said Mrs Ames.
"Over and over again!" Mrs Stroud's voice rose almost as high as Mrs Ames's. "Michael this and Michael that! We know he has passed! We know things are unpleasant in a war! But we don't go dithering on about our husbands! You certainly don't, Mrs Higgins!"
That's because I can't, Eliza grimly thought.
Mrs Ames smiled. "Poor Mrs Bartram is obviously hysterical. She needs to be home where she can be properly looked after by relatives until she regains some control..."
Eliza's jaw dropped. Every time she thought she had figured out upper class British society, she was dumbfounded in a new way. This would never even happen in Lisson Grove.
Her own mum died when she was twelve. Terrible pains in the stomach, a fever, and then it was over. Henry had later told Eliza it was probably appendicitis. Eliza's dad had been on the other side of town when it happened, but no matter, all her neighbors stepped right up to help with what they could from their own meagre stores. Right after Gert was buried, all of her friends and relatives got together for what Harry the dustman called an "Irish wake," and all the Gert Farrier stories started flying until people were crying and laughing at the same time. Gert had been a barmaid at Tim Cooper's pub, and Tim put his arm round young Eliza and said, "I've seen ladies and gentlemen in me time, but for takin' care of other people, and stayin' true to 'erself, there was no finer lady than your own mum." It couldn't be easy being a barmaid and a lady at the same time, and Eliza never forgot those words. Or the stories. They made her mum seem alive and with them all for just a bit longer until they were ready to let go.
Why couldn't people take care of each other like that? Death was no stranger in this war, why pretend it didn't happen? Or that the deceased didn't exist? Or that he was some legendary hero and not a real person who had been a part of everyone's messy little lives? Or that their lives weren't messy?!
Hurricane Eliza was about to strike. The mistresses Ames, Millstone, and Stroud continued to walk right into it.
"... We do need to consider the feelings of the other ladies who work with her." Mrs Ames had still been spinning rationalizations.
"Consider their feelings," Eliza said, nodding. The three ladies nodded eagerly in response. "Consider their feelings. And what of Mrs Bartram's feelings? In heaven's name, she's just lost her husband! She has just paid you, paid us all here, the great compliment of coming to us in her time of trouble because she feels comfortable and accepted here, and you propose to just leave her flat because she's not saying pretty things when she's bereaved! You may need to think about the way you would like to be treated in that situation."
Mrs Stroud jumped in. "Well, I for one would..."
"No!" snapped Eliza. "Don't tell me; it's not my business. Just think about it. If coming here and working and chatting helps Mrs Bartram get through this time, then we shall let her. If she troubles you so much, then send her over to the office to help me with filing. If you cannot handle helping her, I will be happy for the privilege." Eliza stormed through the line of silenced ladies back into the building.
From the driver's seat of the lorry, Fanny peered discreetly over the road map she pretended to read, smiled, and quietly said, "Bra-vo E-liza!"