A Better Man
Chapter Twenty-One
Walking After You
Eliza arrived home a few hours after Jack's bedtime. She had rather hoped that the night would have lasted longer, but the strange row at Mrs. Higgins's birthday party had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. None of the men were willing to discuss what had happened, although Clara promised to get something out of Linton eventually. Eliza believed it - Clara was a persistent busybody when she wanted to be in the know. Eliza also suspected that Mrs. Higgins would be conducting an investigation of her own, once she got a hold of Professor Higgins.
He had looked so strange when Eliza saw him! Such an expression of unrestrained wildness, as absurd as it sounded - this was not a banging-his-head-against-a-tree-Heathcliff she was dealing with, after all. What the devil had sparked it all?
Her reverie was broken by the sight of Jack, slumbering sweetly in his little bed. The fire had begun to ebb in the fireplace, so Eliza crossed the room to put on another small log, and stoke it. The flat was growing more and more drafty as the days shortened, and Eliza was reminded that she ought to find better lodgings, now that things were beginning to stabilize financially. Jack needed a bigger room, and Eliza longed for a nice study, or perhaps a small library.
"Mummy?" Her son's groggy voice pulled her to his bedside, smoothing his rumpled locks with a gloved hand.
"I am here, darling."
Jack rubbed his eyes, and then rewarded her with a sleep-soaked smile. "You look like a queen."
"Thank you, my little prince. Were you on your best behavior for Rosie?"
Jack nodded. "Oh, yes; I let her beat me at chess. She's very bad at it, you know."
Eliza covered her mouth to supress a grin. "Perhaps you didn't let her win - perhaps she bested you."
Jack furrowed his brow, as though thinking hard over how absurd his mother's statement was. He shrugged it off and asked, "Was Uncle Henry at the party?"
Eliza nodded, tucking Jack in once more. "Yes he was."
"I bet he thought you were beautiful."
She kissed his forehead. "Uncle Henry doesn't notice things like that, darling."
"Silly Mummy," Jack murmured before closing his eyes.
Eliza left Jack to his dreams, and entered her bedroom. Piece by piece, she dismantled her illusions of glamour, scattering bobby pins and jewelry about in a tray on her bedside table. The gown that had so entranced every male at the party was put away, and a plain cotton nightgown was put on in its' place. Eliza meticulously brushed her hair, erasing the elaborate style it held earlier, and plaited it into a single, thick braid. She smiled at her reflection, relieved to see her reliable, serviceable self in the looking-glass. It had been wonderful to be the center of attention - that she could not deny - but there had been an underlying air of danger, as though she had sparked a series of events that could not be reversed.
With a sigh she crawled under the covers and pulled them against herself tightly. She glanced over her shoulder, at the other side of her bed, and for the first time in ages she noticed how very empty it was. She closed her eyes to escape the feeling, and ended up seeing him.
Henry wondered if anyone had truly ever died from humiliation. Surely, if not, he could prove the exception. He had walked all the way back to Wimpole Street, and promptly locked himself up in his study, intent on drinking away any memory of his actions. Throwing around his fists like he was some sort of back-alley pugilist, and at his age! Disgusting.
His glass of port went down bitterly, as his mind added that he had fought for a 'woman' of all things.
"Higgins, old chap - open the door!"
"Go to bed, Pickering - I'm in no mood to explain myself tonight!" Henry bellowed back.
"Come now, it's not as bad as all that - I daresay that whelp had it coming to him, don't you?"
"Go. Away."
There was a pause. "Well, that's fine then. I will see you in the morning, Higgins." If Henry was not mistaken, there was a hurt tone in Pickering's reply. Oh, well - it's not like it was the first time Henry had even been cross. It was likely it would not be the last time, either.
She made him feel like an old fool. Who did she think she was, waltzing into his mother's like that, dressed the way she was? He had not felt such a violent, heady desire for someone since he had been a very young man, when those sorts of feelings were new and uncharted. That foolish boy had only drunkenly confessed what Henry himself was thinking at that moment. Still, it had been jarring to hear one's innermost thoughts echoed in an inebriated slur from someone over two decades younger.
It pained him to know that he could have had her - should have had her - years ago. They would have arrived at that party together, arm-in-arm, and the rest of those swains would have had to keep their leering at a discreet distance. After all, she was the wife of their hostess's son! He would have been proud, rather than threatened.
He was a colossal idiot.
Oh, god - Linton Pryce was actively pursuing her hand. Linton Pryce was handsome, rich, and would willingly repair the rift between Eliza and Jack's grandmother if need be, thus giving the boy a legitimate family.
Blast.
Henry poured himself another drink, and then another. He went on in this fashion until sleep overtook him. Apparently, even in a drunken stupor, he could not escape her, for she was waiting for him.
"Hello Professor," Eliza greeted. She was standing by the sofa he was laying on, staring down at him with a curious smile. She was wearing that damned indecent frock.
"What are you doing here? Aren't you off to marry that Linton fellow?"
"My, but your brain works fast, Professor. I hardly know Mr. Pryce; why on earth would I marry him?"
"You hardly knew Freddy."
"This is true. You are right, Professor - I should marry that rich, handsome man." She turned her back to him, and started walking away. Henry sat up, and grabbed at her left hand, finding it cold, and smooth - like marble. With a tug, she was pulled backwards, forced to sit at his side. He kept a firm grasp on her hand.
"Like hell."
"Professor..."
"I will not sit by and watch another man marry you."
"Then do not 'sit by and watch'. Come to me, Professor - tell me all, or you will lose us both."
"You ask much of this old bachelor, Eliza."
"Do I really?" She kissed his cheek, the icy shock of her lips enough to give him a start.
He awoke, head pounding, and thoroughly frustrated. Fantasy would not suffice any longer.
The question now was: How?
How could he possibly compete with Linton Pryce? Granted, he knew absolutely everything there was to know about Eliza, a fact that was first brought to his attention when she had lived with him and his mother. On the downside, she could say the same thing about him, and a deviation from the behavior expected of him would more than likely cause concern, rather than palpatations.
Oh, why the devil did men have to act so silly to get a wife? If only women could oblige him by being more like a...
Best not to dwell there.
He contemplated a life where she married Linton Pryce, and left London for parts unknown, undoubtedly to travel with the man and possibly Jack's grandmother. Perhaps she would return once in a while to visit with her old friends, and Jack would vaguely remember a time when 'Uncle Henry' was the center of his little world. Uncle Henry: The Man Whom Mummy Tolerated. Look how old he's grown, how bitter and isolated; what a funny old thing!
This was insupportable.
Henry dragged himself from the sofa, and stretched out cramped muscles. His right hand hurt like the very devil, and upon inspection he realized that it was broken.
"Damn." Fisticuffs at his age, indeed. Mrs. Pearce would simply have to bind it.
After returning to his room to sleep off the rest of his hangover, and allowing Mrs. Pearce to force coffee down his throat and care for his wound, he decided it was time to start the monumental task of keeping Eliza. He donned his best tweed, squared his shoulders, and started for the front door. He would not propose today, oh no - this was a delicate matter that required a delicate, subtle hand. What was that ridiculous proverb?
"'Softly, softly, catchee monkey'." Henry gave a start, and turned to see Pickering standing behind him.
"What on earth, Pick - Are you a mind reader?"
"Higgins, you were muttering to yourself - quite loudly, I might add."
"Then you are a nosy parker."
"Perhaps - frankly, I couldn't be happier that you've finally come to your senses about Eliza."
Henry scoffed. "Romantic old fool."
"Aren't we all? Mind you don't make a botch of things again." Pickering frowned. "If you hurt her again, you will have to answer to me."
Henry nodded. "Quite right. Well, off I go on this foolish business, I suppose."
They shook hands in a brotherly - albeit left-handed - sort of fashion, and Henry headed out the door.
He was relieved to find Eliza was once again the approachable lovely sort, and not the dark eyed vamp from the night before. Her hair was softly coiffed, allowing for a few curls to spring out from the bun and frame her face lovingly as she worked, oblivious to the man watching her from outside the front window of her shop. He took a moment to admire the sweet cornflower blue of her cotton frock, with its' lace peter pan collar, and violet floral print. She wore a matching violet cardigan, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal her slender forearms and wrists, as her long elegant fingers twisted and formed the corsage she was working on. She was not even an echo of the type of woman he despised; silly, vain, and devoted to making him miserable - well, she did make him miserable at times, but now was not one of those times.
With a deep breath, he stepped into her shop, his heart nearly stopping when she smiled at him. They stood awkwardly apart - she behind the counter, and he in a state of nervous paralysis three feet in front of her.
"Professor Higgins, I thought you had fled to Argentina after last night."
He colored quickly at the remark, and vaguely contemplated fleeing the mission at once.
"Come, I was just teasing. What did happen, by the way? None of the men are talking, and Clara has not been able to get a single word from her brother-in-law."
"Why don't you ask him? I've heard rumours that you've been seeing quite a lot of him." Oh. He did not mean for it to come out so petty-sounding.
"Oh, really? If rumours were instantly true, than you and I would have been living together in sin for years by now." Eliza planted her hands on her hips, and smirked, obviously pleased to have caused him further discomfort. Both of them were too engrossed in the conversation to be cognizant of the fact that the front door to the shop had been opened, and that they were not alone.
"I was not aware that such a rumour still existed."
"Then you have not seen Jack come home from school early with a bloodied lip and a warning from his headmaster to not quarrel in the schoolyard."
The revelation took Henry's breath away. "I beg your pardon?"
"Jack was suspended about a month ago for trying to thrash a boy. It took me a few days, but I managed to glean to reason for the fight. The boy called me a whore - I am astonished well-bred boys know such words - and then went on to say that Jack was your bastard, and that you were a coward for not fighting in the war." Eliza's voice was slightly hoarse with emotion by the end of the tale, and Henry detected that her eyes were suspiciously sparkling.
"Little ruffians."
"Indeed. Why have you come here?" Before Henry could answer, Eliza noticed his bandaged hand. "You're hurt!" She exclaimed, rushing from behind the counter and to his side before a very visible realization came over her, and she gasped aloud. "You? Professor, why?"
Once again, his reply was interrupted.
"Eliza, I would like to speak with you about my grandson."
Mrs. Pryce had come to call.