A Better Man
Chapter Eleven
Without
Author's note: Thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter! You ladies (and possibly some gentlemen?) are the greatest!
Henry never seriously considered the threat to his immortal soul until he successfully wished away Freddy Eynsford-Hill. It was true that he never outright pondered the pleasure of seeing the boy dead, a garden variety total abandonment of Eliza had been about as grim as the fantasy had gotten - but Henry had still wished the boy gone, and now he was dead.
Eliza's dealing of the situation offered no pleasure either. It had been so easy to conjure up smug delight when he fantasized over her utter devastation; it was another thing entirely to be faced with the reality of it. The sad, stunned silence that had become a part of Eliza's entire being did not entice Henry to boast and gloat over her misfortune, nor did he even contemplate slamming the door in her face - not that he could, this was his mother's home, after all.
It was devastatingly disappointing, and not to mention shaming, having one's darkest and most private of wishes come to fruition.
Such thoughts haunted Henry as he returned to his mother's home after Freddy's memorial. Eliza kept a few paces behind him, on the arm of Pickering, and Henry escorted his mother. They had decided to forgo the customary reception, as food supplies were growing scarce, and not many families held large dinners any longer. The sight of Eliza fanning her face with her hand caused Henry to feel a stab of pity. The summer heat had taken its toll on Eliza before news of Freddy's death, he imagined it now could only be worse with her being restricted to mourning garb for the forseeable future. Damned barbaric customs.
"Excuse me, I think I need to go lie down," she explained, a bit breathlessly. Henry's mother assisted Eliza on the laborious journey upstairs. Her painfully slow steps concerned Henry, a feeling now permanently associated with the girl. It filled him with irritation, the fact that he could not look at her without wondering if she were well.
What's to become of me? That question repeated like a prayer in Eliza's mind, as she lay in a bed that was not hers, in a house that also did not belong to her. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to be on her own, and the thought was beginning to frighten her. Except she would not be alone, would she? Eliza let a hand fall to her stomach, feeling the heated skin seperated by the fine lawn material of her nightgown. A quiver of movement beneath her hand confirmed that she would never be alone again.
Our child. Eliza allowed hot tears to spill down her cheeks, although she did not sob or cry out, and her blank expression did not alter. She needed Freddy beside her, to share in the moment when their son or daughter entered the world. It would never be so.
Eliza thought about what Mrs. Pryce had said, and began to agree with the older woman. She had not trusted Freddy with anything critical involving the flower shop, and she had given him a degrading task. It was no wonder that he felt so emasculated that he volunteered for the army, even refusing to accept Colonel Pickering's offer to ensure he was placed in a safe situation. It was true that he would have been drafted in February, when the act of conscription passed, but perhaps he could have protested, on the grounds of Eliza being with child. Perhaps...
She could not believe that he had been in contact with his mother the whole time, and had not said anything. It was a betrayal, to be sure, but Eliza could not get angry over it, not ever. How she wished he were standing before her, so she could berate and resent him without feeling an overpowering sense of guilt at doing so.
"Damn you, Freddy Eynsford-Hill," she cursed under her breath. The ensuing shame hit her like a freight train, especially when Freddy's sweet, earnest face appeared in her mind's eye. She would never, ever see that face again unless it was in dreams.
September 1916
"You need to cease looking at Eliza with an expression that clearly states that you think she is as big as a house."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That is what she told me this morning during tea. She finds it very insulting, you know."
Henry gaped at his mother. He had just walked through the door after a day at the factory with Colonel Pickering, and instead of a warm greeting, she opened by scolding him out of the blue over something Eliza had imagined.
"Does it occur to you that I rarely see Eliza anymore? The girl is confined to her room more often than not."
"I do not know, Henry; she told me that she came to the library for a book the other day, when she was still feeling well, and you gave a start as though just realizing how awful she looked."
"Were those her exact words?"
"They were."
"Insufferable girl! I suppose she forgot to mention that she knocked over a vase when she walked into the library - it did not break, Mother - and that is why I looked startled?"
"She did not."
"Probably because she knocked it over with her oversized stomach, and was embarassed."
"Henry!"
Her son had the gall to shoot her a thoroughly innocent look.
"You must admit that she has gotten rather large."
Eleanor threw her hands in the air, and walked away, disgusted at her son's lack of tact. Henry looked to Pickering, completely baffled.
"These confounded women, Pick! I daresay we are the only sane people left in the household."
"Oh, Higgins - you must be sensible. Women become very sensitive about such things, and you have got to approach the situation with more care than you have."
"I always take care in what I say to Eliza."
Colonel Pickering seemed to be at war with himself for a moment. A part of him did not want to insult his friend by taking it upon himself to make contradiction, but another part of him remembered Higgins' not-so-sotto-voce exclamation of 'Ye gods!' the first time he noticed that Eliza was beginning to show. He often wondered at how one person could persist in being so spectacularly unselfaware.
"If you say so, old man," Pickering replied before heading to the study, intent on pouring himself a stiff drink.
It became clear that night that Eliza was not well enough to join the trio for dinner, so Eleanor had a light tray brought up to her. The affair was silent, punctuated by the occasional work anecdote from Colonel Pickering. Everyone was painfully aware of how close Eliza's due date was, and the fact hung over them in a heavy, anxious black cloud. The dynamic of their little makeshift family would inevitably be turned on its head with the arrival of Eliza's child, and the uncertainty of what they change would mean made them all very uneasy.
Eleanor and Pickering were determined that the child should have as normal of a life as they could provide. It did not matter that the child's grandparents both maternal and paternal were bound to be nonentities in his or her life, Pickering and Eleanor would simply have to become Grandfather and Grandmother, respectively. Henry, whether he wanted to or not, would be titled with obscure Uncle.
Of course, society would definitely have their opinions on the arrangement.
Whispers had risen to a fever pitch, ever since Mrs. Pryce had made her accusations at Freddy's memorial. It was entirely possible to the general population, that Professor Higgins - a confirmed bachelor - had fathered a lovechild with Eliza Doolittle, mysterious upstart. A few modern types declared it romantic, the idea of an embittered, stodgy academic falling madly in love with his pupil - and who could blame him? Eliza, questionable origins aside, was a stunningly fetching young thing. One as pretty as herself was bound to get lonely with her young husband away.
Yes, it was entirely possible, and a secretly accepted fact. After all, anyone who had ever met Freddy Eynsford-Hill while he was growing up knew him to be a painfully shy, awkward, albeit handsome boy. Perhaps their marriage had not been consumated at all! Several classmates of Freddy even testified that they thought the boy practically fey - in the most derogatory sense - even if he did show a bit of manhood by enlisting well before the act of conscription.
Mrs. Pryce had done all the damage she could possibly do. Eliza's reputation was in shambles almost before she could finish building it.
Henry was about to comment on dinner, when one of the few maids Eleanor still posessed, ran into the dining room, unannounced. The young girl was white as a sheet.
"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but Mrs. Eynsford-'ill is sayin' that the baby is on its way, and I've just called the doctor!" The child's dialect betrayed a hasty promotion from scullery maid to regular housemaid, after the war effort had turned most of Eleanor's staff into soldiers or nurses. Henry felt his teeth being set on edge at awful cockney twang.
Good lord, the baby! Almost immediately, Henry forgot his complaint about dropped 'H's.
"Oh, my! Thank you, Sarah. Please tell Mrs. Eynsford-Hill that I will be upstairs directly." The chit curtsied, and left the trio to soak in the news.
"I want you gentlemen to go and do what you do best -smoke and drink brandy in the study- I will see to Eliza." Eleanor started for the door, but paused. "Could one of you please see that Clara is informed of the news? She would never forgive me if I left her in the dark."
The two men were left alone, dumb-founded, and a more than a little frightened for their young friend.
Hours passed, and Clara had arrived shortly after Pickering phoned her, stumbling awkwardly over the announcement that Eliza was giving birth. There were just some things that a confirmed bachelor did not care to discuss.
As Eleanor predicted, the brandy flowed, albeit more in a medicinal manner than a celebratory one. It seemed that everytime one of Eliza's agonized cries rent through the air, a new drink had to be poured.
"Good god, Pickering, why on earth do they put themselves through such torture?" Henry asked from across the smoke-filled room. He felt rather like Sherlock Holmes, in that Eliza's ordeal was turning into a three pipe problem - possibly more before the night let out. Henry nearly choked on a cloud of smoke he was inhaling when he heard the unmistakable sound of Freddy's name being invoked via a nearly unearthly wail. Even dead, the mention of the boy managed to cause an odd twisting in Henry's heart.
"Higgins, if women did not gallantly put themselves through 'such torture' you and I would not exist."
"Poor Eliza," Henry replied, fully meaning it.
It was nearly four in the morning, when Dr. Hardwicke entered the study. "Mrs. Higgins asked that I inform you gentlemen her wish that you would retire for the night. The child will not be arriving any time soon."
Henry's heart nearly stopped at the news. "Eliza-"
"- Is doing well. Mrs. Eynsford-Hill is healthy, she is just -" Dr. Hardwicke blushed, he was not accustomed to explaining delicate things to people who were not anxious husbands. "-her physiology dictates that this will be a long process." Thoroughly mortified, the doctor fled the study, and headed back to Eliza's bedroom.
"Well, I shan't be sleeping after news like that, what say you, Higgins?"
"There's plenty more brandy."
The sun was high in the sky, and Henry and Pickering were passed out in a drunken stupor in their respective chairs when the unmistakable cry of a robust newborn filled the household. Henry jerked to consciousness immediately, feeling as though he had been thoroughly thrashed with cricket bats for hours. He cracked his neck, and turned to his slumbering friend.
"Pickering, wake up!"
The older man awoke after a bit, his fuzzy look of confusion turning into one of sober concern when he heard the cry.
Eleanor appeared at the entrance, as they were straightening their rumpled clothing and hair, and stretching.
"Eliza has a son."