Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl
Chapter Thirteen: The Book of Revelations
Author's note: I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for the wonderful feedback. Without your kind words, I don't know if I would be as far in this take as I am. Much love!
Henry Higgins was in a church. Truth be told, it was a place he had successfully avoided ever since leaving his mother's home many, many years ago. It wasn't that Henry was not a god-fearing man, he just preferred to keep his relationship with God within the confines of his home, in the safety of his study. This, Henry felt, prevented the good word from being stuttered or slurred from the lips of inept clergymen.
As it was, though, Henry found himself at a baptismal font standing to the right of a small, red faced infant. The child, a girl, was screaming quite loudly, her little fists clenched and shaking. Henry had to admire the child's brass, and envy it a bit. He wished he had leave to scream and howl at the injustice of being paraded in front of the congregation like an exhibition.
Henry cast a sideways glance towards Eliza, who was sitting with Pickering in one of the front pews. She was distractingly lovely in her dove grey gown, and nearly a picture of demure Christian goodness, if it weren't for the cheeky smirk she flashed at him, and Henry knew she had to be aware of his discomfort. Impudent Hussy, he thought fondly.
"Henry!" Came a feminine whisper. Henry turned his attention to his sister-in-law, Jane. "Name her."
"Oh! Dreadfully sorry…" Henry dug in his coat pocket for the envelope Edward had given him at the beginning of the ceremony. For reasons unknown to Henry, he was not privy to the child's name beforehand. Edward had even insisted that Henry not look at the name in the envelope until it was time to name her. It had better be grand, after all this secrecy, Henry mused, pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope. The moment his eyes alighted on the name, penned in Edward's painstakingly elegant scrawl, Henry felt as thought a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him.
Catherine Louisa Higgins
-Twenty-three years earlier-
Henry found himself staring again at her again. It had to be the way the sun hit her golden curls, making it appear as though she was wearing a halo. Perhaps it was the way the corners of her lips quirked into that sardonic smile of hers, making her cornflower - blue eyes sparkle. Currently, she was intently unwinding a skein of yarn for his mother. Her eyes lifted for a moment and met his, before she cast them down, her thick, dark lashes fanning blocking them from his view.
"Henry, have you been listening to anything I've been telling you?" Came his mother's impatient voice.
"Hmm?"
Eleanor Higgins sighed. "I was saying that, as per your father's will, the Wimpole Street house is yours, and that I should like to know when you will be taking up residency in it. It's been empty for far too long, and it's about time you established your own household."
"Sick of the sight of me already, Mother?" Henry asked, teasingly.
His heart soared at the sublime giggle brought forth from the younger woman's lips. His eyes fixed on her once more, but she did not lift her head from her work.
"Oh for Heavens sake, Henry! It's not as if you will be all that far away. I will even throw in Mrs. Pearce. She will be an enormous help in establishing servants, and I should like to train Catherine to take her place."
Catherine looked up at Mrs. Higgins, her cheeks pink with pleasure. "Oh, Mrs. Higgins! But, what about Annette? She is your head ladies' maid, and I am only an assistant."
Mrs. Higgins smiled at the girl, and patted her cheek affectionately. "There is none as sharp as you, my dear. Annette would never take on that sort of responsibility. She's perfectly content to fix my hair and be paid an offensive wage to do so. You, sweet Catherine, are meant for much more ambitious endeavors."
Henry fought back a chuckle at the sight of a visibly preening Catherine. She was the most magnificent creature he had ever beheld. He had felt that way ever since she had first come into his mother's employ six years before. As a consequence of his opinion of her, Henry had maybe spoken to Catherine five times in those six years. The letters he wrote her, however, were numerous enough to span of lifetime of correspondence. Poetic letters of yearning, and praise. Letters that once written, were locked away in the numerous drawers of Henry's escritoire, never to be seen again.
"What's this? Catherine is going to be our new housekeeper?" A youthful voice chimed in from the archway. Henry turned towards the voice with a look of disdain. Edward bounded into the room smiling. He was not yet fourteen, but was already promising to cut a dashing figure. Edward shared Henry's dark looks that they had inherited from their father, but many considered Edward the more handsome of the two brother. Henry rationalized it was because Edward was not ever hampered down with serious thought, and probably hadn't willingly opened up a book since he started school.
Henry frowned as Edward kissed their mother's cheek, and then boldly leaned down to place a kiss on Catherine's proffered hand. Edward and Catherine always had an easy rapport that nagged at Henry ceaselessly. When Edward was a small boy, Catherine would often hold him on her lap, feed him candies, ruffle his dark hair, and sing to him. Now that he was a young man, it was no longer appropriate for them to carry on as they had, but now , the suspicious Henry sensed something different between the two of them. A bit of a flirtation perhaps. Harmless, probably; Catherine was older than Henry by three years, and therefore thirteen years older than Edward.
"Yes, just as soon as Henry takes up the Wimpole Street house. I am sending Mrs. Pearce along with him," Eleanor explained.
"Congratulations, Catherine!" Edward exclaimed. Catherine blushed prettily in response.
Eleanor brought a hand to her forehead. "This heat is giving me a dreadful headache. I think I am going to go have a lie down." Catherine assisted the older woman to her feet, and the two of them left Henry and Edward alone.
"What are you playing at, Edward?" Henry asked once they were alone.
Edward looked at his elder brother in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"
"With Miss Fitzroy. What exactly do you think you are doing?"
Edward laughed outright. "Oh, I see what you mean. You think I'm in love with Catherine, is that it?" The youth smirked. "Come off it, Henry; She's like a second mother to me, and you know I intend to court Jane Smythe once we're old enough." Henry supposed Edward was right, although it did not lessen the sting of his beloved being able to talk comfortably with his younger brother, while Henry could never, for the life of him, think of anything particularly clever to say when she was in his presence.
Henry cleared his throat. "I suppose the implied accusation was a bit outrageous."
"Just a bit. You're not in love with her, are you?" Henry did not respond to Edward's inquiry, causing Edward to laugh once more. "How awfully funny! It's not like you could ever marry her, you know. She's a servant, for one, and you'll never pluck up the courage to talk to her."
Henry felt rage bubbling inside of him. Sometimes he really wanted to throttle his younger brother. He could not wait for Summer holiday to end, and for the prat to be sent back to school. "Her last name is Fitzroy, Edward. Do you know what that means? Somewhere down her family line is the natural child of a king, and she carries herself like a queen." It was true.
One of Henry's most keen delights was watching how Catherine behaved with the other servants. Even around Annette, her better by household rank, Catherine treated the rest of the domestics with an imperious sort of disdain. He caught one of the male servants trying to accost her , once. Before he could intervene, Catherine rose to her full height, lifted her pointed chin and said, 'Noli me tangere, for Caesar's, I am.' She had rendered the mischievous servant quite speechless, and flounced from his sight, back straight as a rod. Henry had laughed from his hiding place, and added under his breath, 'And wild for to hold, though I seem tame'.
Edward shrugged at Henry's claim to Catherine's royalty. "I just don't seem Mother allowing it, and if she doesn't allow it, you had better leave it at that." The youth gave an uncharacteristic frown. "Don't meddle with her. I won't have you ruining her."
Henry was appalled at the insinuation, and told Edward as much.
About a week after that exchange, Catherine left the Higgins residence for her day off. Henry watched her glide through the streets until he could no longer see her. He resolved that she would finally get to see one of his letters; That he would finally discuss his feelings at length, and he would propose, society be damned!
She did not return that night. Henry waited late into the evening, with Edward explaining that she was probably staying with her family. Catherine's family, as far as Henry knew, were no longer of this world. Eleanor retired early, thinking nothing of Catherine's tardiness. "It is her day off, after all, Henry. Why fuss so anyway? She's of little consequence to you."
So you say now, Mother. Henry mused, with a smirk.
It was three in the morning before Henry nodded off on the chaise near the servant's entrance. He awoke several hours later to the sounds of hushed voices, feminine and masculine combined.
"Please, you needn't take me any further, Alfie." Henry leapt to his feet when he realized that it was Catherine outside the door. A rough male voice replied in such a muddled accent that Henry didn't understand a word of it. From the retreating footsteps, Henry assumed the man was leaving. Jealousy coursed through every vein in his body. Catherine had been with a man!
Henry didn't bother to hide himself when she came through the door. He took in her tumbled curls, her rumpled gown, and her swollen lips, each little thing confirming his suspicions. The force of the proof nearly winded him. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.
"Master Higgins, please-" She was cut off by Henry brutally shoving his letter into her hands. He turned and fled, intent on finding his mother. He wanted the little slut out of his sight as soon as could be managed.
He found his mother in her sitting room, having a conversation with Edward. Without preamble, Henry launched into his report. Vindictively, he added a few embellishments, pointing a finger at Edward and claiming that Catherine's behavior had been completely reprehensible towards him as of late, and that she had also been carrying on with a great deal of the male staff. Henry declared his unwillingness to name any of them, painting Catherine as a brazen seductress, and that the intrigues were entirely her fault. He refused to make eye contact with Edward the whole time, but he could almost feel the heat of his brother's glare.
Eleanor refused to believe any of it, until Catherine burst into the room, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. She had been under the impression that her conduct of the morning was the only thing coming into question. Her disheveled appearance gave credence to at least one of Henry's claims, as did her contrite attitude. With a heavy, and injured heart, Eleanor had Catherine expelled from the house.
As Henry grew older, he came to regret his rash actions. He realized, standing at the baptismal font, reading his goddaughter's name from a sheet of paper, that Edward had never forgiven him.
End of Chapter
Author's Note: Noli me tangere is Latin. It roughly translates to: Touch me not. The context in which the phrase was used is from a poem entitled 'Whoso List to Hunt' and is attributed to Thomas Wyatt, written about his unrequited love for Anne Boleyn. I felt it appropriate for this chapter, as I wrote Catherine with little touches of what I imagine Anne's personality was. Here is the poem in its entirety:
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.