A Better Man
Chapter Fourteen
The Space Between
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, my dears! I had a wedding to attend to, and the preparations for it took up some time. Enjoy this chapter, and its tiny hint of lemon zest.
He wanted to tell her about the way he felt immediately after she came running down the sidewalk, but he decided to wait and allow her an emotional reunion with her young son.
Much later, he intended on working up the courage to broach the subject; alas, his mother, Pickering, and Clara - who had arrived shortly after the raid was over- insisted on hearing Eliza's account of the destruction, and he delayed once more.
Apparently many thanks were owed to Burt the gardener, who posessed an uncanny memory for every nook and cranny in London, and had rushed Eliza and a young lady she had been conversing with to safety. Eliza was visibly shaken by the experience, particularly when she shared the news of the Upper North Street School. News of its destruction had spread like wildfire after the raid, and Eliza ran the entire way home after hearing of it, desperate to get to Jack, and to revel in holding him when there were many mothers that would not get to do the same ever again.
Henry knew the timing was not right.
Several days after - after the memorial for the lost schoolchildren - he contemplated pulling her aside and finally telling her. What better time - after all - when a reminder that life was precious was so needed in their lives? The sight of her mourning garb galled him into silence. He could not in good conscious talk of feelings to a woman who was under order by society to think of nothing but her lost husband. She had become a wave in the great sea of black that had overtaken London, and even though the rituals were nowhere near as rigid as they had been before the war, Eliza was still obligated to fall in line, lest her reputation fall any further into disrepair.
Out of consideration, Henry decided that he would drop the subject from his mind entirely. After all, people's minds always tended to get thrown into chaos when a real threat was imminent. All those thoughts of longing to be able to tell her lest he never see her again was pure foolishness borne of panic. Life would go on as it always had, without any further threat to his sacred bachelorhood.
It was better this way.
11 November 1918
Eliza awoke, and - as she had been doing since spring of that year - gave a prayer of thanks that she woke in good health - many people her age were not experiencing that luxury. Her sister-in-law was off in the countryside in a convalesance home, recovering from a nearly fatal bout of The Spanish Flu, and Eliza felt her absence keenly. Clara had very much been a comfort to Eliza for nearly five years - she was never dreary or defeated, and refused to let Eliza be either. The poor girl had continued to be a nurse at the start of the first outbreak, and had insisted on staying on, even as the death toll started to rise. Eliza was beginning to believe that Clara was simply made of sterner stuff - that was until she had returned home completely run down, and not in the way that long hours at work runs one down. She immediately sent her house mates away, and phoned Eliza to tell her that she would not be visiting for some time, and urged her not to come to the flat to see her back to health. Fear for Jack was the only thing that made Eliza obey this request.
Amazingly, Mrs. Pryce had caught wind that her only surviving child was gravely ill, and had made haste to her side. It had been established that the old generally had nothing to fear of this mysterious plague that preyed primarily on the young and strong. It had been a long time since Eliza had even considered that the old woman posessed a beating heart, and upon learning that she did indeed, and that it still bled for her children - well, Eliza could have been knocked over with a feather. It did not change the fact that Eliza did not care to ever speak with the woman again, and she doubted that Clara would have allowed herself to be nursed back to health by her mother, had she been possessing of enough wits to refuse.
The important thing was that Clara would live, and that Jack would still have someone from his father's side of the family to remind him of where he came from.
Jack - at two years and nearly two months old - was the very image of his departed father, with delicate traces of Eliza in the dramatic sweep of his thick, dark eyebrows, the generous shape of his lips, and the slight in his black hair. His eyes had done what everyone suspected they would do, and had turned a piercing grey color, fringed with dark, curling lashes. He was very much a beautiful boy, and Eliza hoped that someday he would inherit some of his father's sweetness to match his striking good looks.
That day could not come soon enough, Eliza thought to herself, as she struggled to dress her imperious, wriggling toddler. Unfortunately, his disposition matched Professor Higgins's to the letter, which was no surprise. The child idolized Higgins, and had become the man's shadow the moment he learned how to walk.
"Hold still, Jack!" Eliza scolded softly as she attempted to pull a jumper over his head.
"No!" Her son cried, before freeing himself from her grasp and running into the corridor. Eliza gave chase, and breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped into the corridor in time to witness Professor Higgins making a deft retrieval of Jack before the boy could reach the stairs.
"Here now - what's all this commotion, and why are you only in your nappies, young man?"
Jack ceased his squirming immediately when he realized who had caught him. "Mean Mummy!" He complained to his confidante.
Eliza rolled her eyes as Professor Higgins brought her son back to the child's room. "Is that so; what tortures has she wrought upon you, then?"
"No jumper!" Jack pointed a chubby forefinger at the discarded clothing on the floor.
"I think it's a perfectly good jumper, young Jack. I was just thinking of having your mother knit me up one in that very pattern."
Eliza snorted in a very unladylike manner, but tried to keep herself in check as the professor attempted to reason with her child. Jack appeared to be contemplating Henry's words, although Eliza was sure he had only comprehended 'Good' and 'Jumper'. The toddler widened his eyes, and attempted to stick a thumb into his mouth, but Henry blocked the manuever. "You do not want to have teeth like your Grandfather Alfred," he warned.
"I get dressed, Mummy." Jack's announcement was made in a royal sort of tone, as though an entire populace had been awaiting his decision. Eliza smiled at the professor as she took her son from him. She mouthed a 'thank you', and could have sworn the professor had blushed slightly before he turned and left them alone in the room.
A noticeable change had come over Professor Higgins in the past few years, Eliza thought. She imagined he was just trying very hard to cope with being stuck in a house with a small child and herself, and being his usual acerbic self had grown tiresome after a while. She supposed that he did not have to pretend to be so attached to her son in order to make life easier, but it was touching to see Jack with a father-figure, even if it would not last. The flat above the flower shop had been vacant for some time, and Eliza planned on re-establishing herself there, once the war was over. It would be insupportable for her to remain under the patronage of Professor Higgins' mother, and unforgivable. Eliza imagined that the professor would be more than happy to have her gone from his life, for him to be able to return to his solitude and his words.
Still, the kindness he had bestowed on her son, and the new - gentle? - attitude he had shown her was endearing. It had to be a front, though, and Eliza could not bear the thought of him feeling that he could not be true to himself - even if his true self was a touch unpleasant and cruel at times.
It would be better this way.
Eliza headed downstairs, with a fully dressed Jack. She would broach the subject of taking up the old flat at some point during the morning, when the opportunity presented itself.
The opportunity failed to show at breakfast. Jack was relentlessly talkative, and more than a little disruptive. However, her resolve to branch out on her own was only strengthened by the fact that she was the one of the only people at the table trying to curb Jack's behavior. Mrs. Higgins was ever the indulgent surrogate grandmother and rather encouraging, and Pickering was blissfully ignorant, and reading his newspaper, occasionally making such statements like 'What spirit!' and 'Well, I'll be dashed!'. Professor Higgins successfully managed to give the boy a few stern looks that seemed to work, until Jack took to mimicking him. Soon after, Pickering and Higgins set off for the munitions factory for the day.
Eliza decided to try again at the edge of the morning, after she had set Jack down for a nap. Eleanor was sitting in the study, going over accounts.
"Eliza, whatever is the matter, my girl? You look positively forlorn!" It was true. Eliza knew that Eleanor would be upset when she heard the news, the older woman was so attached to Jack. He was the grandson that her own son would probably never give her.
Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but the sound of jubilant cries in the street had filled the room, alarming the two women.
"What on earth?"
Pickering and Henry suddenly burst into the study. Eliza could not recall ever seeing the pair look so jubilant, not since her breakthrough all those years ago, when she had finally spoken correctly. Pickering boldly strode up to Eleanor, helped to astonished woman to her feet, and then pulled her into an embrace, swinging her full circle.
"The armistice has been signed!" He cried. Professor Higgins looked like he was about to attempt a similiar manuever with Eliza, but stopped short, as though remembering himself. The pair smiled at each other, Eliza's heart hammering in her chest with joy at the news. The war was over. Impulsively, she embraced Professor Higgins, who initially tensed at the unexpected contact. Eliza started to pull away when she thought that the gesture had been unwelcome, her cheeks burning with shame at her forwardness. Astonishingly, he tightened the embrace for a long moment before releasing her.
They stood slightly apart, studying each other with the most curious expressions on their faces. Eliza was bewildered at the thoughts racing through her brain, and the warmth that had overcome her entire being. Professor Higgins looked apprehensive, and on the verge of saying something about it.
Jack had woken from his nap, brought to consciousness by the commotion in the streets. He cried desperately for his mother, his gran (Eleanor), Pickering, his Aunt Clara or anyone who would listen to his pleas for attention. Eliza turned away from Henry, and exited the room, thanking providence that her son was a light sleeper, and a convenient escape from a moment she did not quite comprehend.
The family all decided to venture out of doors, and join the celebration that seemed to escalate with every minute that passed. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of the marches in the street, at the fireworks, and the noise - his weariness soon started to fade in the face of such jubilation, and disappeared entirely when his Uncle Henry allowed him to sit upon the older man's shoulder. The boy giggled, and clapped, delighting some of the surrounding crowd.
Eliza felt a tinge of sadness at the sight. It would have been nice to have Freddy there with them, to celebrate, and to be commended for his service. Surprisingly, the sadness did not linger as it once had. While she did still mourn his loss for the fact that he was her son's father, and far too young to die, it had been a long time since she had yearned for him in that aching way that one yearns for a lost love. Curious, and a bit shameful when she dwelled on the fact.
A raven-haired young woman of about twenty-five pushed through the crowd, and Eliza watched as the woman spotted Professor Higgins. A mischevious smirk played across the girl's pretty features, and she walked over to where he stood, pointedly ignoring Eliza.
"'Ere's an 'andsome old thing!" The girl exclaimed, before standing on her tiptoes, and kissing him full on the mouth for a very long moment. Eliza frowned, and suddenly she felt quite put out at the woman's impertinence.
"Bugger off, dearie, 'e don't want none of you!" She found herself shouting at the girl.
The dark-haired girl gave Eliza a cheeky grin. "Sorry, love - I guess I got carried away - e's all yours!" With a flirty wave, she was off to find the next unsuspecting gentlemen.
"Oh, pray don't look so pleased with yourself, Professor - look! - She seems to be getting all that she can out of today." Eliza pointed at the woman, who was now in a passionate embrace with a younger, slightly more dashing man.
"Pleased with myself? I beg to differ, Eliza - the woman attacked me!" Henry protested, secretly pleased with her burst of temper. A part of him hoped that it was jealousy he was witnessing - until he realized that Jack was sitting on his shoulders, and Eliza was more than likely incensed at the scandalous display her son had been forced to witness. Disappointing, but then again, it did not quite explain why she would use such shocking language in front of the boy.
Nothing more was said about the incident, and the festivities continued. Eliza refused flute after flute of freely proferred champagne, sticking to her resolve to never touch a drop of alcohol. The others were not so disciplined, and Eliza soon found herself taking Jack back into the house, intent on shielding his young eyes from the revelry, followed by Eleanor who was content with one drink, and then Pickering and Professor Higgins, who were only returning to retrieve a box of very fine cigars in which they planned on sharing. They both acted decades younger than they actually were, laughing and carrying their offerings of smoke and drink outside like university boys on holiday. Eliza shook her head, hoping that they would not feel too terrible in the morning.
12 November 1918
Henry had never felt worse in his life. It had been many a year since he had indulged so heavily, imbibing even more than he had when Eliza had given birth to Jack. He awoke on the leather sofa in the study, his legs dangling over the sides, and a decanter clutched to his chest. Pickering was snoring away in an armchair.
Head pounding, eyes bleary, and the world spinning rapidly, Henry pulled himself up, and stumbled out of the study, intent on making it to his own bed - that way he could sleep off this hangover in peace, without the thought of Eliza or his mother towering over him with disapproving looks and shrill remonstrations.
Eliza - there was a poser of a problem. How would they proceed now? He had enjoyed their brief embrace on the previous day, feeling that old familiar longing come over him once more. He thought he had successfully repressed those feelings that had come at him like a train, that long ago day when he thought he had lost her in the most permanent way possible - feelings that he had long dismissed as weakness, sneering at the poor bastards that had fallen prey to them in the past.
Best not to think about that now, Henry decided. Not now, when he wanted nothing more than to duck his head into the toilet, and then sleep for days. His head barely hit the pillow before he was off to a deep and disturbed sleep.
Eliza had followed him. This time she was the pretty, shabbily dressed girl in the crowd, grinning with seductive intent as she pressed her body against his, and teased his lips with her own.
"Here is a handsome old thing," she whispered, deepening the kiss, urging him to open his mouth, and moaning softly as he-
Henry woke up with a start, sweat pouring down his brow, and quite unable to breath. He was not allowed to linger long on the dream he had just had before a sneezing fit overcame him. The fit was long, and so violent that it shook him to the core. When it was over, he looked down at his hand, and then gasped, touching the area beneath his nose with his forefinger, and then looking down again.
Blood.
Henry blindly reached for the rope near his bed, ringing for someone, anyone to come to his aid. He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, and his fears were confirmed.
Influenza.