A Hole in the River
Chapter Three: Complications
"Pardon?" Inquired the angrier of the trio. She observed that he was quite a bit younger than the white haired man, but quite a bit older than dark haired boy. Something in her brain told her she was surrounded by swells, and the well-articulated inquiry from the angry one confirmed it.
"I'm in me nightgown. It ain't decent for swells like you to be 'overin' over the likes o'me."
"Darling?" The youngest seemed confused, the other two merely stunned, gaping like fishes.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Charlie, but I ain't yer darlin'." She moaned in pain. Talking to the gentlemen made the pounding in her brain intensify to the point where the light in the room was blinding.
"Freddy. My name is Freddy… we met at Ascot," the boy gently explained in a soft, gentle voice tinged with a slightest bit of desperation.
"Never been," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut, and turning away from the light, and the probing eyes of the strangers.
"I am going to fetch the doctor," she heard the oldest man declare. Receding footsteps told her that he was doing just that. Wait… doctor?
"Wot am I doin' in 'Ospital?" She opened her eyes, and noticed that the angry man seemed to be getting angrier every passing moment, and the boy's eyes were widening at an alarming rate.
"What have you done, Eliza?" The angry man asked. His voice was as soft as the boy's, only with a dangerous edge to it. He was calling her Eliza… that sounded about right, for some reason.
"I don' know wot yer talkin' about!" She fired back. Something about the angry man rose her hackles, wild panic making it hard for her to breathe.
"I will not have you upsetting the patient!" A man about the angry one's age rushed into the room, followed by the white-haired man. "I want everyone in this room to wait in the hall until I have assessed the condition of this young lady."
She -Eliza- was now alone with the doctor. He sat down by her side, with a reassuring smile -quite a change from the range of panicky to peeved she had just experienced- and nodded at her.
"Your name is Miss Eliza Doolittle."
Eliza nodded. Now that she thought about it, she was.
"Tell me, Miss Doolittle… What do you remember about the events of last night?"
Eliza closed her eyes, and racked her befuddled brain. What she found in the far reaches of her mind disturbed her. It was a void. "Please, sir, I don' remember."
The doctor- Dr. Drake- gently explained to her the events of the night before, according to the police report. As he explained, Eliza found herself recalling the events as though through a haze… a dream. Why had she resolved to do such a desperate act, though?
"'Oo are those gents outside, Doctor?"
Dr. Drake cleared his throat. "The oldest gentlemen claims that you are his ward, the other two I am not sure. I do know that the rather loud gentlemen came here first, bearing your photograph so that we were able to identify you."
Eliza pressed her lips into a hard thin line, and frowned. Suddenly, it dawned on her.
"The young chap ruin't an 'ole bunch of violets from me the other night, the angry chap sent me 'ome wiv a pocketful o' coins, an' the old bloke was a right gentlemen. The angry one said 'e could turn me into a lady in a flower shop, an' when I went to me own bed, I was 'finkin' I would take 'im up on that, I would!" The enthusiastic revelation fairly staggered her, and she sunk back against the pillows with another pained groan.
"Would you like me to fetch some morphia for your head?"
Eliza shook her head violently. "I'm a good girl," she moaned.
Dr. Drake nodded, and then excused himself. Eliza closed her eyes, and tried to sleep away the splitting in her head.
Henry had never felt such a surge of hatred for a single person in his life. Every second was a Herculean effort to not run back into Eliza's room and throttle the life out of her. The first time she had spoke upon waking, Henry regarded it as a fluke. Oftentimes, Eliza would regress to her old manner of speech when she was unawares. Then came the total lack of recognition. Then, she spoke again. And again. Henry felt like a child on the beach, meticulously constructing a palace of sand, only to have some ham-fisted bully kick it to the ground at the height of its beauty. She could not have devised a more effective means of wounding him even if she had run him through with a sword instead.
Henry stood, silent, stony and darkly contemplative with Pickering and The Boy. God, why hadn't she had just absconded with the little fool? Even that would have been more merciful than thoughtlessly chucking his grandest work over the Waterloo Bridge along with her ungrateful person.
The sight of Dr. Drake approaching the unhappy little group, pulled Henry from his thoughts. The good doctor turned to Pickering, designating him as the spokesperson for the strange little trio, and asked for an explanation of Eliza's presence in their lives.
With an apprehensive look toward The Boy, who had been completely in the dark over Eliza's origins, Pickering launched into a lengthy explanation, made more lengthy by his flustered stammering. Eliza was a difficult situation to explain without it seeming devious. Henry suppressed a groan when the subject of Eliza's father was broached, and Pickering helpfully explained that Alfred Doolittle had sold Eliza for five pounds.
Dr. Drake stood in stunned silence for several moments before speaking. "I respect your candor, gentlemen. Honesty is going to be absolutely essential in Miss Doolittle's recovery." He flashed a sympathetic grin. "It appears the blow to her head has affected her memory to a certain extent." Dr. Drake put a reassuring hand on one of Pickering's arms. "I do not believe it is permanent, as she seems to be recovering bits of it as we speak… however, I ask that she is allowed a lengthy period of convalescence in a quiet and peaceful environment." A meaningful glance in Henry's direction. "She cannot be pushed or bullied into remembering by any means."
"My poor darling…" whispered The Boy. Apparently, his esteem for Eliza had not diminished one bit from the news of her rustic beginnings.
"Young man, I beg you to bring the ardent lover act back a bit. Miss Doolittle must be treated as though she is just becoming acquainted with you all. Familiar behavior will only serve to confuse her." Dr. Drake studied them all. "Gentle recovery, men. "
"My god!" Henry swore under his breath and looked away. It was almost more than he could bear.
"I should like to keep her overnight for observation. There is still the slightest danger of her developing a fever." Dr. Drake paused. "I will call in the morning when it is safe to retrieve her… hopefully that will be ample time to make living arrangements for the girl. I would feel much better if it were her father taking her in-"
"I assure you, you would not," Henry interject.
"-I would feel much better if it were her father taking her in, but I will refer to Colonel Pickering's judgment on the matter, as he has claimed to be responsible for the girl."
"I am. Her father is a bit of a blackguard, I'm afraid, and not equipped to deal with a healing girl. I've no family myself, and I've recently changed my will to include Miss Doolittle as the main beneficiary," Pickering confessed. Both Henry and The Boy's head turned to the older man at the same time. Pickering had never said such a thing to Henry before.
"Very good of you, old man," The Boy congratulated. "I daresay when I spoke to Eliza's father as to her whereabouts, he only sounded like a rough sort."
"He probably looked it as well, you ridiculous boy; Alfred Doolittle is a common dustman."
The Boy shook his head at Henry. "Oh no, sir! He was being married at St. George when I came across him, looking very well in coattails and a top hat, I might add. There was no mistaking him for Eliza's father once I got the facts. He was coarse looking about the face, so perhaps he has had a hard life, but I daresay he's come into a fortune."
Henry frowned. What a bizarre day!
"Well, the point is moot. We've already told you, we gave him five pounds for her, so she is no longer his concern. Let us leave it at that."
"I will be sure to leave that bit out of my report when I explain things to the girl," Dr. Drake remarked dryly. "Now, if you please, I've a full hospital to tend to, and I do not think Miss Doolittle is ready for visitors just yet. I will have one of the nurses show you out."
Henry walked away from the hospital, feeling grateful for the day's grace he was given, in order to sort out his raging emotions towards Eliza Doolittle. When he got home, he went straight for the study, not waiting for Pickering, and began to drink. It was feeling like a binge night, something he rarely partook in. Pickering entered the room, and silently joined him in his misery.
Before the festivities could really take off, in walked Mrs. Pearce. She inquired about Eliza, and Pickering explained the situation, much to the old woman's horror.
"Perhaps you shall have to find a way to turn down this particular invitation then, sir." Mrs. Pearce held up an official looking envelope.
"What the devil is it?"
"It's addressed to Miss Doolittle… from the Ambassador of Transylvania's wife. She would like for Eliza, and the two of you gentlemen, to join her in a month's time at her manor in the country. She explains that she was absolutely taken with Miss Doolittle, and will not take no for an answer."
The sound of Henry's palm hitting his forehead reverberated throughout the study.