A Better Man
Chapter Three
'Til We Meet Again
Author's note: Suprise and Happy Sunday, I've a double update for you all!
10 May 1915
Dear Mrs. Pryce,
I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to start by offering my felicitations on your recent marriage. I have heard that your new position and household suits you very well, and this makes me very glad.
I do hope that you will forgive me if I do not continue this letter in such a cordial and inconsequential fashion, for I have a grave matter to inform you of.
Freddy is going off to fight. He was very firm on his position about a week ago, but the sinking of the Luisitania has completely strengthened his resolve. In exactly a weeks' time, he shall be going off to training, and then to the front. Since you have made no attempt to correspond with us, even with the outbreak of war, I will assume you have hardened yourself against your own son, and that you are convinced his possible death will not affect you; however, I beesech you to put this aside, and come to see him off at the train station. Freddy speaks of you often, and always with sadness. I do believe that your appearance would lift his spirits, and if he went off with a light heart, I think I could bear this a bit better.
Freddy needs his mother.
Sincerely,
Eliza Eynsford-Hill
Eliza rubbed her tired eyes, and pulled her shawl tighter against her frame. There was a slight chill in the spring air, and she had been unable to sleep. She had had a mind to write a letter to Freddy's mother for some time, but each previous attempt had turned out wrong. Hostility that she did not want to be apparent had oozed maliciously from nearly every word in other letters; however, as the date of Freddy's departure drew near, Eliza felt that old anger start to ebb, and be replaced with a real desire for her husband to see his mother one last time.
Mrs. Pryce, formerly Eynsford-Hill had been the centre of Freddy's universe for so long that even now, two years after their seperation, he seemed sometimes lost without her constant guidance. Eliza found herself being constantly consulted on matters as small as which pair of socks he ought to wear for which occasion, or being inquired about the weather in a manner that suggested she controlled the outlook - this had the potential to be both endearing and irritating at the same time.
Eliza looked over her shoulder, to the barely wide-enough-for-two bed where her husband slumbered. The lit candle that Eliza had employed in order to aid her writing had not disturbed him a bit. It was strange that his sleep went so consistently uninterrupted, while hers came late, and stayed lightly. He was the one going off to fight, after all, not her.
She crossed the room and crawled into bed, wrapping her arms about Freddy, who responded to the gesture by snorting softly, and turning about in her arms so he faced her, his forehead nearly brushing her own. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled drowsily at the vision before him.
"You ought to sleep you know," he chided, kissing her on the forehead.
"I cannot; you sleep enough for the both of us, my darling." Eliza smiled bravely, a gesture that chased away the haunted look about her thin pale face, and dark-rimmed, red tinged eyes.
"You are such a brave little love."
"Would that I could fight in your place."
Freddy kissed her quite suddenly, and fiercely after that remark. "Never say such a thing ever again," he admonished after they parted, panting and breathless. His voice was authorative, and gravely serious. He never used such a tone with Eliza before in her life.
They were silent for a short while, before Freddy began, "I've arranged for you to lodge with Mrs. Higgins while I am away. I've spoken with prospective tenants, and I've found a couple that will reside here, and that will give you a little extra income."
Eliza sat up suddenly, and looked down at her husband with astonishment plain on her face. "You've done all of this without consulting me?"
"I will not have you living alone while I cannot protect you. London is not safe anymore."
"Mrs. Higgins is hardly a protector; not that I would need one."
"No, she is not; but her residence is rather larger than ours, and her son has closed up his house on Wimpole street to stay with her as well."
Eliza laughed in a quick, nearly manic, burst. "Professor Higgins is to stand sentry over something that isn't books?"
"Colonel Pickering will of course be there."
"Oh, very cozy."
Freddy sighed and covered his face with his hands. In theory, he believed that his attempt to put his foot down with Eliza would work, but facing her stubborn temper was proving to be quite trying "I do not know why you are being so hostile about this, darling."
Eliza's resolved softened at the sight of Freddy's distress. She was being very unreasonable - what would happen if she were to deny the last request he ever made of her. It could very well be that last request. When Freddy sat up and pulled her into his arms, she realised that the thought had brought tears to her eyes. Soon she was crying in earnest, and Freddy was rocking her like a baby, stroking her hair and whispering reassuring nothings into her ear. Sleep soon overtook her, having finally exhausted the grief that she had kept locked tight since Freddy announced his enlistement.
One Week Later
Henry Higgins, for whatever reason, found himself shivering at King's Cross, waiting for Eliza to say her fond farewells to her husband. Pickering, Henry's mother, and Freddy's flibbertigibbet of a sister, Clara were also in attendance. If Henry could arrange all the things he least wanted to waste his afternoon doing, he supposed that this would very well top the list, with catching a Gilbert and Sullivan opera being a close second.
"Eliza needs a show of support. Do you have any idea how vulnerable she will be when the day comes?" Henry's mother had argued with him bitterly over his wish to not attend, and she painted - in broad strokes - a mental portrait of Eliza, prostrate with grief. The image did not bring the vindictive delight that it once had over Henry, for some reason.
Instead of the hysterical, grief-stricken female of Eleanor's prophecy, Henry was treated to a stoic, pale, and silent Eliza. She was a curious sight, rigid and impassive as a soldier, despite her small, dainty frame, and other feminine trappings. The torrential rain, and the chill of the morning did not seem to affect her, unlike her sister-in-law who clung tightly to Eliza from beneath the umbrella, wailing piteously into her shoulder. Curiously, Eliza would occasionally glance backwards, beyond Henry, his mother, and Pickering, as though searching for something or someone; when the mysterious search came up empty, she would furrow her brow and look back to Freddy, and come up with a bit of conversation that seemed more stalling than substantial.
The boarding call was given, and Pickering summoned the party to give Freddy his send off. Henry took the boys hand, and wished him some rather perfunctory well-wishes, Eleanor kissed both his cheeks, and Pickering gave him his most earnest wishes for the boy's health and well-being. After Freddy had managed to pry his sister away from him, transferring her to Eleanor's motherly arms, the party backed away, to allow husband and wife their own good-byes. Henry, feeling shamefully voyeuristic, did not look away as the others did.
Eliza spent a few moments, just looking up at Freddy, and stroking his cheek with a gloved hand. The pair were silently, drinking in each other's features for possibly the last time. Henry felt a pang, not of jealousy for once, but of one akin to sorrow. He was not made of marble after all, and anyone would be touched by the sight of the young couple, bravely saying farewell. The sorrow was fleeting however, as Freddy bent down to kiss Eliza most passionately for public display, and Henry was suddenly terribly uncomfortable, but still unable to look away, somehow.
"Henry - for shame!" Hissed his mother. Henry realised that she had caught him observing, and that hands were balled up into fists so tightly, that his nails were digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Thoroughly chastened, he looked away. His last image of the intimate scene was of Eliza, glancing wildly over her shoulder once more, her eyes now brimming with tears she was fighting hard not to shed. The whistle sounded loudly, and the engine fired up. Whatever she had been looking for, it had not come in time.
Eliza walked over to the small group, after the train began to depart. Henry noted that she still was not crying, and looked rather put out. She glared at Clara, who choked on a sob at the sight.
"Eliza-"
"You tell your mother..." Eliza trailed off, squeezed her eyes shut, and bit her lip, seemingly in an effort not to scream. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and revealed more focused, and less wild eyes to the party. "Forgive me."
Pickering walked up to her and offered her his arm, which she took. He patted the small hand that grasped at the crook of his shoulder. "Steady on, my dear." She nodded, and they went ahead of the party, towards the car that awaited to take Eliza to her new residence.