The poem quoted at the beginning of Henry's POV is Dialogue between death & the sinner a broadside ballad by an unknown poet.
The opera Henry and Pickering attended is Tosca
Eliza was thrilled to find out that Mrs. Higgins was wont to throw aside her love of order and strict cleanliness for the last thirty-one days of the calendar year, and positively deck out her home for Christmastide – something Eliza had never experienced in her twenty years on earth. The soft white and pastel walls of the townhome were overpowered by an explosion of greens and deep reds; as holly and ivy boughs were twined about banisters and balustrades; and affixed to walls and mantles. The sharp scent of pine and sap overpowered the heady scent of roses and peonies, as the household made room for three - three! - Christmas trees.
The staff bustled about in a flurry; preparing extra rooms for Mrs. Higgins daughter Lillian, and her family; decorating the house for optimal cheer; and preparing for Henry's birthday – an occasion he repeatedly suggested ought to be removed from the December schedule entirely; a suggestion that, of course, registered not at all with Eliza and Mrs. Doolittle.
Mrs. Lillian Bennet and her brood arrived on December 14th; the party included Mr. Robert Bennet; the twins, Henrietta (named for her uncle) and Lucille (named for Mrs. Higgins, Eliza discovered); a toddler, Little Robbie; and an infant, Little Reg. The children were all tiny copies of their mother; curly honey-blonde hair, large brown eyes, and straight, striking noses; while Mr. Robert was a stout, snub-nosed man with blue eyes and straight, thinning hair of a very regular muddy brown. The unbridled force of Lillian's personality quite overpowered her husband's shy sense of reserve, and Eliza knew immediately that she liked the slightly older woman, with all of her brass and assertiveness.
"E-liza!" Lillian exclaimed upon their initial introduction. "Our darling Mummy has written so much about you, I feel as though we are old chums already."
So confident, Lillian was with the depth of their friendship, she pawned Little Reg off on Eliza without preamble. An apologetic Robert immediately approached to help Eliza adjust her tenuous hold on the babe, all while balancing Little Robbie on one hip.
"Where is my horrid big brother?" Lillian demanded as the group settled into the parlor, herself perched on the settee like a queen; while her husband anxiously shadowed the twins and Little Robbie as they scampered around one of the Christmas trees. Mrs. Higgins was quite content to coo and pet Little Reg, as she sat next to Eliza on the sofa; sensing that the hostess was deep in Gran Land, Eliza answered:
"He and a friend will be attending the opera this evening; I expect he will be around tomorrow."
Lillian's snort was decidedly unladylike.
"Oh, he'd better; the children took so much care – Robert, those are breakable, please stop them! – the children took so much care when making his birthday presents. I call him 'horrid' but I do love and miss him terribly – but why aren't you at the opera, darling? He's perfectly beastly for leaving you here to contend with his awful sister, and all these little parasites – Robert, my love, please take Robbie and the girls for a walk, I beg!"
"Oh no," Mrs. Higgins scolded as she plopped LIttle Reg into Eliza's arms. "Lillian, it's far too cold to take the babies for a walk; you'll bring pneumonia into the house for sure!"
"Mummy, fresh air does cause pneumonia, no matter how frigid it might be; Robert, you're a doctor; tell her!"
Robert was currently buried under a pile of shrieking children - He mumbled something that sounded like 'quite right', and Lillian gave her mother a smug half-grin.
"You see, old girl?"
Mrs. Higgins tutted fretfully. "Darling; you are far too commandeering with your husband."
"Oh; it's quite alright, old Mum," Robert declared cheerfully, once Little Robbie stopped sitting on his head. The stout little man pulled himself to his feet and approached with some difficulty, as the twins were both clinging to a leg. "We get on like a house on fire. I'll just get the children bundled up and we'll be off."
"Just until Nanny arrives… then you can join the land of adults." Lillian sighed. "Nanny Forsyth is visiting family in town for a few hours, but should be returning just in the nick for bedtime."
Eliza found herself smiling in amusement at the strange pair: Lillian was clearly the supreme leader of the Bennet household, and Robert appeared constantly awestruck to be in her orbit. Eliza couldn't help but draw parallels between Lillian and Henry; they were two powerful personalities that did not take kindly to ceding control, though Henry had definitely improved in that department.
"Well, I shall see about tea," Mrs. Higgins announced, as Robert and the older children were heading out of the parlor. "Robert, pray do not keep the babies out too long; Lillian, do behave with Eliza when I am away; I shouldn't like her to think I've raised two ill-mannered children."
Lillian and Eliza found themselves quite alone, save for the infant slumbering in Eliza's arms.
"Now then," Lillian began, moving from the settee to Eliza's side. She did not, however, take Little Reg back.
"What is this I hear about you enchanting my dullard of a brother?"
Eliza straightened her spine in indignation, and pulled a severe expression. "Begging your pardon; but he's not a dullard by any stretch of the imagination!"
Instead of taking offense at Eliza's brusque response, Lillian chuckled and reached forward to take one of Eliza's hands in her own.
"Darling; you really must love him then! I don't think I've ever seen another woman, save for Mummy, take such umbrage over Henry – Oh, I'm glad! – I so want him to be happy with someone; I so want him to have what Robert and I have."
Eliza smiled sweetly at Lillian; quite placated by the older woman's sincerity.
"We aren't engaged, you know."
Lillian gasped in response. "What? Why would he be so thick? Anyone might snatch you up!"
"They shan't, and he's not thick. I won't let him propose."
Lillian released Eliza's hand, and fell back against the sofa, as though the younger woman's confession completely bowled her over.
"Why? Don't you love him? Mummy made it sound as if you both were completely besotted."
Eliza blushed crimson, and her eyes fell to her lap; her heart was beating such a frantic tempo, that she feared Lillian would be able to hear.
"We are – I mean, I am… I do love him - very much so." She gave a start at Lillian's yelp of victory; the woman clapped enthusiastically, as though Eliza had just brought down the house with an aria, and not an awkward declaration of love. Lillian stopped clapping, and her expression changed like a thunderclap; going from ecstatic to annoyed.
"He has not told you as much himself, has he?"
"Well; no, I suppose he hasn't… but that's not really him, is it?"
"No – damn him! – it really isn't. Do you at least feel confident in his affections?"
Eliza frowned, and took a sharp intake of breath: certainly Henry desired her, and was fond of her, as a companion… but did he love her? It was so hard to tell with him at times.
"You do not feel confident – ugh – that foolish little boy."
"You are six years younger than he, Lillian."
"Those are just years – don't fret Eliza, I'll soon get to the bottom of this, and you'll be married by Spring."
"But I don't want him to propose! Not just yet, anyway." At Lillian's look of befuddlement, Eliza decided to better explain the situation. The older woman – despite her charming, scene-stealing bluster – was an excellent listener, and understanding soon dawned on her patrician features.
"How modern!" Lillian exclaimed, breathlessly, once Eliza finished the tale.
"Quite… would you like to take back the baby?"
"Oh, no; it wouldn't do to wake him. Ah! Here is Mummy with the tea."
Sometime around midnight, as Eliza was engaging in light reading – slim book of Christmas ghost stories – her focus was pulled to the sound of something small and sharp, snapping against the glass panes on the door leading to her balconet – at first she thought it might be the beginnings of an ice storm, but then someone hissed her name in a stage whisper.
"Pebbles?" Eliza slammed the book shut, and got out of bed. She fetched her dressing gown from the top of her bureau, and donned it; before bracing herself for the frigid air, as she pushed the door open, and stepped outside.
"'Liza! Ah; there you are!"
Henry Higgins, resplendent in black silks, and three sheets to the wind, stood in the street below. He was holding his black top hat in his left hand, and waving enthusiastically with his right; a wide grin on his face.
"'Enry 'iggins, what on god's green earth are you about?" Eliza whispered back, fearful that he would wake the whole house. She gasped when Henry ran towards the balconet, and gave an ineffective attempt at jumping up to catch hold; before stumbling backwards and landing arse first on the pavement. Still, he grinned like the King's fool that he was.
"Henry, do not move; I am coming down to you," Eliza instructed sternly; before closing the door; donning her slippers; heading into the hallway, and down the main stairs. She was out the door, and down the front stairs, before she realized he was still sitting where he had landed. Eliza gave a disgusted sound in her throat before helping him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily against her side.
"Dearest 'Liza," he murmured against her hair as they stood in the street together. " - dearest 'Liza the opera was dreadful."
"What have you done with Colonel Pickering?" Eliza demanded, suddenly filled with worry over the fact that Henry was alone. She led him to the front stairs, and they both settled on the third step from the bottom.
"Nothing." Henry slurred, as he pulled her close against his side. "I left the taxi and told him I wanted to walk."
"And he let you?" Eliza groaned.
"Ah, Pick… he always shows poor judgment when he's in his cups," Henry replied, and Eliza wondered if it was warm in Spain, where his last bit of self-awareness was clearly on holiday.
"You foolish man," Eliza scolded, as she tried to think of a way to get him home safely without arousing suspicion. She looked around anxiously, eyes searching for the long shadow of some meddlesome night watchmen. "Why have you come here? At this hour?"
"It's my birthday, and Mother is expecting me today," he explained before pressing a feather-light kiss on the side of her neck. Eliza jumped at the sensation, putting a wise bit of distance between the two of them.
"Henry, be serious..." She trailed off when she spotted the long shadow of a man approaching from the left. Eliza urged Henry to stand, and she led him up the stairs, and through the front door as stealthily as she could, considering he outweighed her by more than two stone.
"Can you show me where to find your old bedroom?" Eliza inquired breathlessly. She leaned against the front door for a moment, quite winded from the effort of hefting her tippled beloved up a flight of stairs.
Henry had the temerity to giggle against the side of her head at the question.
"You haven't wished me a happy birthday yet, you know."
"Happy bloody birthday - now, lower your voice and take me to your room."
"Mother has been giving that room to the twins when they visit, because they don't like sharing the nursery with babies – I assume my awful sister has arrived with her menagerie of brats?"
Eliza groaned at the hopelessness of the situation. She was so very tired.
"She has."
Henry chuckled. "Oh dear."
Somehow, they managed to avoid detection as she fairly shoved him into her bedroom. Henry stumbled over her rug, and threw himself into the french armchair in front of the hearth, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"... slippers…" Henry murmured sleepily.
"They're at home with your dignity," Eliza groused, and she approached and bent down to remove his shoes. "Why did you have to go and drink so blessed much tonight?"
"Well," Henry began, his eyes open with a jolt of lucidity. "Didn't I tell you the opera was dreadful?"
"You did," Eliza acknowledged, as she pulled him forward in order to remove his suit coat. Her cheeks grew warm when she had the realization that he looked most appealing in his ivory dress shirt and black silk vest – his golden hair was tantalizingly rumpled, as she smoothed a few locks back from his forehead. .
"It was also interminable; I was quite certain we'd been there for two years by the time intermission hit."
"So you both decided to get absolutely pissed in order to cope?" Eliza moved to set his coat and hat atop her bureau along with her dressing gown, and pulled the quilt from her bed, which she carried over to him, and tucked him in.
"Come darling, don't make me sleep in a chair," Henry cajoled as she padded back to her bed, and crawled under the covers. Eliza glared over at him.
"You are welcome to the floor," she snapped, as she set an early alarm on her clock, and slammed it back onto the nightstand. When she was on her side; eyes closed and ready to drift off, he spoke again:
"I'm not going to ravish you in my mother's home – what kind of perverse creeper do you think I am?"
"Get. In. The. Bed." Eliza relented through gritted teeth.
She heard the sound of a belt clatter onto the floor, followed by the soft rustle of fabric; felt the mattress dip slightly as Henry climbed into bed; he stopped short of being close enough to touch her, but she could still feel the heat radiating off his body. .
"I lied," he whispered. Eliza rolled her eyes, and turned so they were face-to-face. His eyes were drowsy, and his expression so openly tender that Eliza felt her ire dissipate.
"What?"
"When I said I came here because it was my birthday, and I was expected – that wasn't true."
"Oh?"
"I had the damndest urge to see you; that's why I'm here. I tried to shake it, but I had to leave the taxi at once and come here… is that strange?"
"Positively barmy." Eliza whispered, but there was no bite in her voice. The anxiety that had arisen from her earlier conversation with Lillian gradually began to dissipate. She gave a great yawn that Henry echoed.
"You know; I'm so damned proud of you."
"Henry…"
"No - dash it all - I am, and I'm going to tell you as much. Look at you; about to start your training, and already employed with a school – you're shaping the minds of future generations, my dear. I don't know how a person can contain this amount of pride in another – you're so… so… magnificent to behold – dear me, how d'ya think I'll escape without notice tomorrow?"
Eliza blinked back tears, and gave a drowsy smile before stating:
"We'll come up with something… now go to sleep before I solve our logistical problem by hurling you off the balconet."
O Death have mercy on my age,
And spare me yet upon the stage;
I'm just a flower in my bloom,
And wilt thou cut me down so soon…
Henry Higgins' aching skull conjured a verse from an unknown poet, as he contemplated the scorching dryness of his mouth, and throat. The pain between his eyes shot hot, and sharp; and came to settle in his gut – then there was the infernal ringing from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He rolled over; eyes still screwed shut - intent on reaching the offending thing- when his body collided with something warm, soft, and snoring; it was then, He realized, that he was not at home.
"Eliza?" He murmured, after disarming the clock. The woman in question did not awaken; but he felt her wrap her arms about him, and burrow herself against his chest; which now beat at a rapid, anxious pace. He opened his eyes slowly to reveal that it was - indeed - Eliza; she was a slumbering beacon of light in an otherwise pitch-black room.
Fragments and flashes of the previous night's revelry flashed painfully before his eyes: The opera had been an absolute disaster; the staging was uninspired, the pacing was glacial; and the talent - well, he had never been so happy to see Floria fling herself from the parapet in his life. He and Pickering saw no other recourse than to drink to excess; so that if they squinted, the show appeared to be very much a comedy; their solution had been such a rollicking success, that the pair had nearly gotten ejected from the theater altogether – the events of the night became a little blurry along the edges, after that. He recalled spouting some sentimental hogwash about Eliza's eyes – how they were so bright, he could light his pipe with them – and then? – ah yes, he begged to leave the taxi, and promised Pickering he'd be back by dawn; sprinted three blocks like a fool; and now he was cuddling with his unmarried with his – his what? – lady friend? – Lover? – in her bed in his mother's home… on his birthday.
"'Enry… was that my alarm?" Eliza muttered, before rolling away from him, and reaching blindly for the nightstand. Henry took hold of her; pulled her back to his side; and stroked her outstretched arm until it fell lax against the pillow.
"It was the nightingale, and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear." His stomach roiled unpleasantly; both from the hangover, and the fact that he had quoted Romeo and Juliet to her.
"Stop talkin' so odd; I don't understand…" she moaned, before falling back into a deep, untroubled slumber.
Henry sighed, and allowed himself to relax against her back – allowed himself the luxury of kissing her tousled curls with a deep inhale; after that, it was time to formulate a plan. Eliza had – perhaps in anticipation of aiding his escape – set the alarm for five. The staff would be up and about in a half hour to start morning chores. It would be easy to avoid them if he went through the front door but…
"Henrietta! - Lucille! - it is not time to wake; put Robbie down, and come back to your room at once!" Henry recognized Nanny Fortsyth's agonized cries, and the relentless patter of the twins as they undoubtedly were running pell mell through the corridor.
Not the front door, then. Henry left the exquisite warmth of Eliza's bed, and worked up the courage for what had to be done; as he donned his trousers, hat, and coat. The almost-Winter air hit him like an icy shot when he threw open the door to Eliza's balconet; he stepped out, and hastily closed it – not wanting to disturb her rest.
The drop to the street below was not that far; and Henry was tall, and relatively fit considering his profession; but the act of looking down gave him double-vision, and he knew he needed to do what needed to be done, lest he left a pile of sick on the balconet.
"For King and Country!" He cheered in a whisper; before throwing one leg over, and then the other. Henry crouched; gained hold of two wrought iron bars, and lowered himself before letting go, and landing on his feet with a jarring jolt that rattled his teeth, and shot a bolt of pain from his ankles to his hips. He immediately heaved the meager contents of his stomach into the gutter.
"Oh ho; what have we here?"
Henry looked up towards the voice; Lillian stood at the balconet adjacent to Eliza's – she was clad in a midnight blue dressing gown, and smoking a cigarette with a smug expression on her face. He glared up at her.
"Shut it, Lillian," he hissed.
"Eliza told us not to expect you until this afternoon; I daresay the romantic spirit must have moved you to visit her before the rest of the household." Lillian's voice was casually conversational, rather than hushed and conspiratorial – which is what Henry would have infinitely preferred.
"Lower your voice before you bring the whole household out here!"
Lillian chuckled cruelly. "Wouldn't that be a laugh? –you having to explain–" here she gestured vaguely with the hand that held her cigarette– "all this?"
"I suppose you'd have to explain the Gauloises to Mother and Robert then; as you've been under strict instructions to quit… asthma, was it? Give us one, Lil."
Lillian opened a silver case, pulled out another slim cigarette, and leaned over to toss it at Henry, who – against all odds– caught it.
"You'd better run along, Hen."
"You won't tattle, then?"
"Not if you won't."
After acknowledging that neither was willing to participate in mutually assured destruction, Henry Higgins walked towards Wimpole Street in his rumpled evening attire; a French cigarette dangling from his lips. He would have felt rather roguish if it wasn't for his splitting headache.