A Better Man
Chapter Two
Duty
Author's Note: I thought I would take this time to answer a few questions that have come up in reviews, kind of like an unofficial FAQ. Alrighty, here goes:
Q: Wouldn't this officially be considered a sequel to the sequel of "Pygmalion" by George Bernard Shaw, and not to "My Fair Lady".
A: I suppose you could say that. However, many of the characters in my mind - Freddy in particular- look like the actors that portrayed them in the movie musical. (Jeremy Brett, be still my beating heart!) Also, I feel that the Higgins of "Pygmalion" would not run back to his mother's to appeal to Eliza one last time, as I have him do in this fic. This is just my humble opinion of course. I pulled Clara out of the "Pygmalion" storage just because I felt Eliza needed a female of her own age to interract with, and she is fun to write for.
Q: How can you justify this being an Eliza/Henry piece when she is in a consumated relationship with Freddy?
A: I suppose you will have to read and find out! It won't be easy, that is for sure.
I suppose those were the only two questions that really needed to be addressed, but I would like to address Never You Mind's concern in her review. Do not worry, my dear. I have the wonderfully insightful Jacqueline Viana to cyber-smack me across the skull if I make Higgins too lovey-dovey. *wink*
Anyway, thank you all so very much or reading and reviewing!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I've neglected to put up a disclaimer in previous chapters. Please don't sue, I am making no money off of this!
War. Eliza took Freddy's hand in her own and squeezed. Cold fear washed over as she was suddenly very aware of how young her husband was. Freddy looked down at his wife, whose eyes had been on him from the moment Swithin made the grave announcement. He wanted very badly to smile reassuringly at her, to prove that he could manage a stiff upper lip if it meant allaying her fears - however, Freddy was too paralyzed with fear to manage anything more returning a gentle squeeze, no more than a slight, tremulous pressure.
No one in the corridor spoke for a very long time. Eliza and Freddy had just been children when the war in South Africa had occured; Freddy's father had been too old to serve, and Eliza's father was just young enough, but not at all interested in the military - therefore the two had been spared the keen pain of losing a close relative to war. The concept was foreign to them, and the conflict existed in fading memories of witnessing parades from their vantage points on top of their respective paterfamilias' broad shoulders.
Henry and his mother, of course knew of families who had lost their sons to the previous war, but the Higgins family was a pitifully small tree, and therefore no one in Henry's close sphere had been touched by the ravages of South Africa.
Colonel Pickering had experienced the disease and the death first hand. He himself had survived the many typhoid outbreaks, but only just. He had watched brothers-in-arms die on the battlefield, and waste away to nothing in hospital cots. He had set fire to crops, and had been party to other activities that made life for the enemy unbearable. A Mauser bullet through the shoulder, coupled with a near-fatal bout of typhoid had sent him home with a few tenuous threads of his humanity still intact. He had felt the stirrings of conflict for some time now, but Swithin's announcement still had hit him with such violence that it took his breath away. He looked to the young couple standing next to him, saw Eliza's anxiety, and studied Freddy very carefully. The boy was obviously terrified, but Pickering knew the look in his eyes; it was the steady gaze of one who was just realising their duty, and suddenly Pickering felt very badly for Eliza.
"Oh dear," Eleanor finally managed. It was an underreaction, to be sure, but the silence in the room was growing most unbearable, and she felt something had to be said.
The party disbanded shortly after, no one having anything of an appetite anymore, and all returning to their respective homes in a sort of numb, worldless trance. When Eliza and Freddy finally reached their bedroom, Eliza broke down.
"Freddy you mustn't be brave!" She cried, her voice violently desperate.
Freddy was astonished at Eliza's outburst. The thought of bravery had plagued him the entire way home. It was just something men did, when the situation arose, after all. Freddy would've been lying if he admitted that the thought of playing soldier had not appealed to him greatly ever since he was a young boy. His mother had discouraged any mention of it while he was growing up, mortally terrified of losing a son in addition to a husband. Now he was well of age, and there was a war. Freddy was more than a little ignorant about politics, but he knew that this had been a possibility for some time now - that something had been in the air, waiting to descend upon his sheltered world like a tempest, and he was very keen.
However, the more hysterical Eliza became, the more the feeling lessened and devolved into husbandly concern for his wife's nerves. She was now reduced to choking sobs, and torrential tears, her face pressed against his chest, and her arms about him, embracing him with surprisingly vice-like strength born of sheer, almost child-like, terror. He had never seen her like this in all of his days.
"Darling - oh, my love!" He crooned, petting her hair. Eliza suddenly pulled away from his embrace, and cupped his face between her delicate, cool hands. Her eyes were wild.
"You. Must. Not. Leave. Do you understand me?" Her voice had changed from a hyperventilating, vaguely cockney mess, to a cold-as-steel, steady tones in the span of mere moments. Freddy did not comprehend, but still very much wanted to reassure his wife at the same time. He nodded.
"Good." Eliza kissed him hard on the mouth, and Freddy noted a faint tremor in her lips. He would not - could not leave her, if this was the way such a decision would affect her. His devotion to his country was strong, and natural, but his wife superceded any and all prior loyalties, vaguely treasonous as it sounded.
Spring 1915
Life for Freddy went on much as it had before. He continued assisting Eliza with the shop, although business was once again starting to dwindle. After the Zeppelins appeared, people were less likely to crowd the streets in pursuit of commerce as they once had. Sadly, it seemed that funeral wreaths were their one dependable source of income.
Age and constitution had forced Colonel Pickering to remain in England, but he kept himself busy between helping run a munitions factory and various work at the hospitals. Freddy had taken a position at the factory to supplement the income that Eliza's shop was losing, although he sensed that Pickering had hired him on as a kindness, and not in faith of his work ethic.
Freddy's mother still refused contact, even with the war going on. It seemed that she refused to care whether Freddy served or he didn't. Clara Eynsford-Hill, an aspiring bohemian, still kept in contact, and become a confidante of sorts to Eliza. Her company was shallow, but earnest, and Eliza delighted in it in her own way, not ever having a real female friend before in her life. Freddy dearly loved his sister, and as they were of such a similiar disposition, he never showcased resentment at her suddenly constant presence. The war had cut short her decidedly modern travels, but she was more than happy to regale Eliza with tales of them, from the safety of the Eynsford-Hill's pitifully small parlour.
"Dearest, I think that Freddy is very down in the mouth," Clara declared to Eliza over tea. Freddy was working late at the factory, and therefore was not privy to the meeting.
Eliza sighed, and set down her cup. "I am afraid he wants to fight. So many of his friends are already enlisted, and several of them..." Eliza's voice trailed off. The news of Gallipoli had deeply affected Freddy, and the dear, jolly boy that had so unashamedly fallen in love with her was beginning to slip through her fingers. Eliza knew that Freddy would die, rather than show an ounce of resentment towards herself, but she felt it in the tenseness that overcame her husband everytime she touched him lately.
"You ought to let him sooner or later, you know." Clara, no matter how modern she claimed she was, was nevertheless shocked at how much control Eliza exhibited over Freddy's existence. To forbid him from enlisting - the very idea!
Eliza said nothing, but had grown very pale. It was true, she knew she ought not to stand in the way of Freddy's ever-intensifying patriotism, but still she clung. If he died, her conscience would smite her. She had married him without loving him, which was unfair enough. Eliza felt deep down that if Freddy was sent to the front, God would certainly have him killed to punish Eliza for her crime. True, she felt something very akin to love for Freddy, but instinctually, without much prior experience, she knew it was not of a very romantic sort. She was... immensely fond of him, and enjoyed nearly every aspect of their marriage, but something essential was missing.
Later that night, Freddy was walking home from the factory. Fewer and fewer men were working alongside of him, and he was acutely aware of the fact that he was now in the minority. Posters taunted him as he strolled along. 'IF ENGLAND FAILS, YOU FAIL' they screamed at him, in letters that may as well have been sixteen hands high.
'WHO'S ABSENT? IS IT YOU?' With every glaringly disapproving message, Freddy felt the strength of Eliza's hold slip more and more.
'WOMEN OF BRITAIN SAY - GO!' Freddy smiled bitterly at that one. Not his woman of Britain. Although, someday, she may very well be ashamed that Freddy did not enlist. The thought of her shame was humiliating to Freddy. Once the fear for his life would begin to ebb, it was inevitable that she would find him weak, and ineffectual. What if they had children? What would he say to them when they asked him about his role in the War? It was not a pleasant thought.
Freddy stopped along the way to have a drink at the pub. It was a matter of strengthening his resolve; to do what had to be done. Two pints would have to be enough to steel himself against Eliza. Any more and his arguments would come out slurred, and she would undoubtedly be upset that he would come home so very late for dinner. Two were sufficient.
His face fell when he saw that his sister was joining them for dinner. Ah, well; it still had to be done, and Clara might appeal to his mother with the tale, if she were there to witness. If his mother would reconcile with him, Eliza's future welfare would be secured, should he die. His mother had recently married again, and her straits were not so very dire anymore, despite the war.
"Eliza, Clara, I have an announcement," Freddy began, as the trio finished their simple dinner. He had their attention, although it occured to Freddy that it seemed they were prepared, and resigned. Something had happened while he was away, and Eliza miraculously did not argue. Clara kissed his cheek and called him a 'brave, dear thing', but Eliza stayed silent, and eventually excused herself for the night.