A Hole in the River
Chapter Six: Arrival
The air was different in the country, Eliza noted. The first breath shook her to the very core, comparable to an icy punch in the stomach. After the initial shock, Eliza found that she could breath easier than ever before, although had she never taken an excursion outside of London, she most likely would never know the difference.
To Eliza's great surprise, Mrs. Higgins owned both a motorcar and a coach, both of which were sent to collect Eliza and the rest of the party from the train station.
"Stop gaping like a fish, Eliza," Professor Higgins hissed into her ear.
"You must be very 'igh class indeed, Mrs. 'Iggins!" Eliza exclaimed, not quite under her breath, drawing some strange looks in their direction in the process.
"It is not something a lady divulges, Eliza," Mrs. Higgins chided, softly.
Soon after, the party was ready to be off. Eliza, after an agonizingly difficult decision, had opted to ride in the motorcar. She was given a hat with a very wide brim that was adorned with fine netting, a pair of goggles, and a leather duster.
"Aoow! Don't I look silly?" She had asked the others, before they boarded the coach. Mr. Eynsford-Hill, Mrs. Higgins, and Colonel Pickering smiled indulgently at her query, Professor Higgins rolled his eyes, but she detected a twitch at the corner of his lips.
"Ridiculously so," Professor Higgins commented.
After an hour of dusty and rocky driving, the novelty Eliza's open-air drive was beginning to wear off considerably. Eliza looked over her shoulder, and sighed wistfully at the slow, but elegant and covered specter of the coach in the distance.
"We are nearly there, Miss Doolittle," The driver assured her. Eliza nodded in acknowledgment, feeling a bit queasy.
Mercifully, they arrived to the grounds without any embarrassing sort of incident. Eliza was assisted out of the motorcar by the driver. A stately woman that Eliza identified as the housekeeper approached her, and Eliza hastily pulled off her hat and goggles, mindless to the fact that her hair was askew and she looked a general fright.
"The others will be arriving shortly, Mrs. Leslie. This is Miss Doolittle." The old woman smiled warmly at Eliza, and nodded.
"The guest of honor. I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Doolittle." Eliza impulsively took the woman's hand and shook it vigorously.
"Thankee kindly, ma'am. May I just say that this is the most beeyootiful place I've ever seen, an' I used to sell flowers near St. Paul's, I did." Eliza was not lying. She loved everything about the estate. It was so sprawling and immaculately kept. The lawn stretched on for yards and yards of emerald, and the home itself towered imperiously over Eliza, and yet still managed to welcome her with it's warm, auburn bricks, and elegantly arched windows.
"Praise indeed." Eliza noticed Mrs. Leslie's scrutinizing gaze was now rested on her bandaged forehead.
"Gracious! They allowed you to take a trip in the motorcar with a head injury?"
Eliza started to protest, but in truth, her head was throbbing. She swayed on her feet, and fervently wished she had a means to sit down.
"Foolish. Come along, Miss Doolittle." Mrs. Leslie placed a guiding hand on Eliza's back and guided her towards the front entrance of the house.
"You, girl! Take Miss Doolittle to her rooms and be sure that she is taken care of; the poor girl is exhausted and requires rest." Eliza was traded off to a young woman in a white mobcap, who led her up the front staircase, down several winding corridors, to a finely furnished set of rooms.
Eliza gawked at her surroundings, but was pulled out of her wonder-filled stupor when the little maid removed her duster, and began unbuttoning Eliza's blouse. The young woman cried out when Eliza delivered a smart slap to her fingers.
"I can undress meself, thankee very much!"
"I beg your pardon miss; I didn't mean to cause offense." Eliza felt a stab of guilt when the maid lowered her eyes.
"I am sorry. I ain't used t'havin' people wait on me."
The misunderstanding having been cleared up, Eliza was shown around her suite. She exclaimed loudly at the prospect of her own water closet, and a bath to boot. Though she could not clearly recall having a bath before in her life, and had even remembered at one point being horrified at the thought of being naked and immersed in scalding water, it was strange that the idea did not hold the horror it once did.
"Would you like me to draw you up a bath, miss? Those roads are unforgivably dusty."
"Yes, thank you," Eliza responded.
Henry arrived at the home of his childhood summers, and felt his burden lift somewhat. The sight of Mrs. Leslie, perpetually grey and stern, stirred something decades old within Henry, which nearly compelled him to run to her and confess his fears and hurts against the comfort of her rustling skirts. Mrs. Leslie, despite her dour appearance, had always been a source of love and safety for Henry when he was a small boy. His own mother, while absolutely dear to him, had not always been the most demonstrative of females, and had spent a great deal of her time laboring over accounts, and the overseeing of several households. Mrs. Leslie, whose burdens were similar, had nonetheless always found time for her young master.
"Bets!" Cried Henry, in a rare show of real affection. He threw open the door of the coach, ran to the old woman, and kissed both of her cheeks soundly.
"Calm yourself, young master Henry. Such an impetuous child…" Mrs. Leslie scolded through her blushing smile.
"Where is Miss Doolittle? Out scandalizing the entire household with her rough speech, no doubt."
Mrs. Leslie shook her head. "I have sent the lamb to her rooms. The rough roads jostled her most unpleasantly, and I daresay aggravated her wounds."
Henry felt some guilt at the news. He had not thought to protest Eliza's decision to ride in the motorcar.
Mrs. Leslie did not have a chance to chide him further, for his mother approached the pair, followed by Pickering and the Hill Boy. Henry stepped aside and allowed Eleanor to make introductions, and inquire over the running of the household.
Henry's gaze wandered to the various staff who were in the process of carrying luggage into the house. He snorted when he thought about the previous morning, when Pickering, in a bizarre flurry, had phoned (and bribed) nearly every dressmaker in town to assemble a replacement wardrobe for Eliza.
"The damned ungrateful girl should be made to walk about the country in burlap," Henry had remarked.
"Higgins, really! What an absurd thing to say; of course she must have new clothes. What would the Ambassador's wife say?"
"Ha! The way those society bees were buzzing around my Eliza at the ball? She would probably declare it the newest fashion craze. The streets would be crawling with pretty young things clad in shapeless sacks." The two men shared a laugh over the absurdity of Henry's statement, and Pickering had continued his quest for suitable replacement clothes.
"Be sure the proper trunks are taken to Miss Doolittle's suite," Eleanor ordered.
"Quickly too," Henry remarked. Under his breath he added. "I am sure she is tired of wearing the same clothes she was dragged from the river in." The last bit still managed to reach the ears of his traveling companions, and three sets of disapproving glares were thrown his way.
After a brief rest, dinner was announced. Henry, rationalizing to himself that it was all in the name of educational purposes, made sure that Eliza was seated next to him at the table. He managed to bite his tongue when Freddy appeared at Eliza's opposite side.
Henry painstakingly pointed out the function of every utensil before Eliza, and without asking for permission, got up from his chair to adjust Eliza's posture. The girl sputtered her protests, and Freddy gave a spirited "See here!", but eventually, Eliza sat ramrod straight in her chair.
"Strange," Eliza murmured once she had been corrected.
"What is it, Miss Doolittle?" Freddy asked, boldly taking of her hands into his own.
"It feels nat'ral like; as though I've not been slouchin' me 'ole life."
"You always had the most singularly beautiful posture." All eyes were on Henry, who himself was shocked at issuing such a compliment so naturally. Eliza blushed.
"Well, it is true, I say."
"Thankee, Professor."
"No, no, Eliza. You must enunciate and make your words separate from each other. Thank. You. Try putting a slight pause at the end of each word."
Eliza obediently complied to his request. The accent was still wretched, but at least the words did not blend together into one.
Throughout the dinner, Henry began to realize something. Although it appeared Eliza's former lessons had been scoured from her brain, it was apparently not the case. Every single time Henry took it upon himself to correct Eliza, she seemed to comply to the requests without a bit of mental struggle, as though she was not being taught so much as she was being reminded.
My dear, clever girl. The endearment entered Henry's mind, completely unbidden. Since when had Eliza become his dear anything? Henry felt his fists clench at his side when he spied the Hill boy, making calf-eyes at Eliza, making conversation with Eliza, making…
"Boy, I will ask you to stop being a distraction. Dinner table or no, Eliza is technically in a school room atmosphere, and I must have her undivided attention!" Henry turned his sudden wrath upon Eliza. "Good girls do not, I repeat, do not allow strange men to kiss their hands at the dinner table, is that clear?"
Eliza turned her eyes to her plate and nodded. Attacking her sense of propriety seemed to be the right mode in this instance.
"Good lord, Henry! You express your disapproval very strongly," Eleanor remarked. She was once again wearing that knowing smirk that bothered Henry to no end.
"Young people, I declare, are allowed to become more and more bold in their affections everyday," observed Pickering. "I think it is sweet to see such an ardent display, Mr. Eynsford-Hill." He winked at Eliza. "I daresay she is a prize worth having."
Eliza gave a start so violent that it shook the table ever so slightly. She stood up, cheeks burning with a humiliated blush, eyes blazing. "I ain't a prize, Colonel! No one is goin' to be owning' me, not as long as I live." She took a deep breath. "'Scuse me." With that, Eliza fled the room, carrying herself away with surprising grace, given her fit of temper. Henry felt pleased, despite himself.