Author's Note: Please accept this distraction from me focusing on the WWII chapters of "Eliza the Scholar". It is completely unserious.
August 1912
Eliza Doolittle stood outside the front door of 27A Wimpole Street, frantically waving her fan in front of her face in a futile attempt to banish the combination of heat and nerves that caused sweat to creep down her forehead. She had been standing there a full two minutes as she built her courage to push the button that would harken her arrival. She had not been this nervous since the first day she had darkened this particular doorstep.
Eliza closed her eyes for a moment, and took a steadying breath as she muttered, "drum, drum, drum…"
"My god, what on earth are you chanting, you insane creature?"
Eliza had not heard the door open - someone must have taken her advice and oiled the hinges while she was gone. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on a very confused-looking Professor Henry Higgins; his eyebrows were raised upon his high forehead, and his lips were pressed together in a thin, expectant line. As was his custom, his hands were resting in his trouser pockets as he leaned forward and awaited a response.
"I-I am…" she trailed off and decided against stating that she was quite literally drumming up her courage. "Colonel Pickering and I have an appointment to look at a shop."
"Is that so?" God, she hated the smugness in his tone; she wanted to smack it clear from his smiling face with her parasol.
"Where is Mrs. Pearce?" Eliza demanded, inexplicably annoyed that he had come to the door, not his dependable housekeeper.
"It is Sunday morning, Eliza; the staff are enjoying the day off. Would you care to come in?"
Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and jerked her chin upward. "I would cheerfully decline, only it is hot as the blazes out here."
Professor Higgins stood to one side and Eliza flounced past him; she was forged steel wrapped in ivory linen, topped with a towering garden hat. She stood in the middle of the foyer, studiously avoiding eye contact with her former teacher, though she could feel his scrutinizing gaze upon her. Studying.
"PICKERING!" Professor Higgins bellowed after a full minute of heavy silence. There was a light stampede of footsteps descending the front staircase and Colonel Hugh Pickering appeared, all merriment and affability, and busy pulling on his coat.
"I say, Eliza, I did not hear the doorbell ring."
"It didn't," said Professor Higgins. "She was shivering at our door like the Prodigal Son, come to beg for shelter."
"Oh God," Eliza sniffed with a dramatic roll of her eyes before leveling her most dazzling, dimpled smile toward Colonel Pickering; the older man, quite susceptible to her charms, returned the grin and offered his arm. Eliza and the Colonel started for the door when the sound of the coat rack smacking against the wall caused them to pause and turn in unison.
"Steady a moment, you two," Professor Higgins commanded, as he pulled one sleeve from his overcoat; the thing had been hung haphazardly by the collar and was inside out to boot. "Hang on."
Pickering, no doubt feeling charitable, dropped Eliza's arm and moved to help his friend don the unruly piece of clothing.
"And where do you think you are going?" Eliza asked with raised eyebrows, as Professor Higgins bounded to her side.
"Why, to take some air with my friends! We've talked about this shop for so long, and I'd like to be there to see you pick your prize for a job well done." Eliza opened her mouth to protest, but the Professor barged on, "You don't need to apologize for excluding me from the original invitation; I quite understand that courtesy doesn't come naturally to you, and it's understandable that you'd forget."
"Ha!" Eliza uttered. She thought she might tell the Professor that he could bloody well stay put, but she did not wish to cause an uncomfortable scene. She took Pickering's arm, but not Professor Higgins'.
"Someone ought to get the door," Eliza announced as she flashed imperious eyes at Professor Higgins; to her complete astonishment, he completed the task without so much as a grumble. The three set off for Covent Garden.
The first shop was, in Eliza's estimation, almost perfect. The interior was painted a lovely shade of lilac, and every square inch shone as though recently scrubbed over. It boasted a lovely two-bedroom flat upstairs, elegant and ladylike with frills and a picture window in the sitting room, and an office adjacent to the kitchen; however, it was too close to the stalls, and - as Eliza curtly informed the landlady - the monthly rent was highway robbery.
"Eliza, the cost is no object to me, truly," Pickering protested, feeling a trifle overwhelmed by Eliza's domineering handling of the landlady. Professor Higgins only wandered about and observed the trappings with a half-thoughtful, half-annoyed expression.
"That's how they get you, dear Colonel," Eliza replied. "You've got to know how to haggle."
"It is far too tidy, was someone killed here recently?" The landlady sputtered in horror at Eliza's query. "No matter. I think we ought to move on to the next."
"If your young lady wants a deal," Eliza overheard the landlady hiss to Professor Higgins, and the trio headed for the exit, "you ought to take her to Pimlico… though I would not blame you a whit if you decided to toss her into the Thames instead."
"That's a bit of a hike, I daresay – no, we're off to Soho," Professor Higgins replied, as Eliza spun around to face the women, her ire rising at the insult She gave a start when she felt the Professor's hand on the small of her back, hastening her and Pickering through the exit.
"Highway robbery," Eliza repeated as she, the Professor, and the Colonel put a safe amount of distance between her and the rejected shop. "And people are so rude nowadays."
"Perhaps inquiring after a hypothetical murder wasn't the best tactic, 'Liza."
"That is Miss Doolittle to you," Eliza snapped as she swatted at the hand that still lingered on her back; Henry snatched the offending hand away as though stung.
It was no small irritation to Eliza's soul, that Professor Higgins had decided to tag along with her and Colonel Pickering; their last conversation had been a disaster – she had tried, really tried, to make him understand and listen to her vision for the future of their acquaintance and he had blown through concerns like a hurricane, all tempest and bluster, unable to hear anything above the howling of his own voice. It had broken her heart, if she was being honest.
Eliza had thought about returning to 27A after their argument with the hope that cooler heads could prevail and they could start afresh as friends; she had even gotten as far as his front door that day, but a sudden fear gripped her; a vision of the complete loss of her pride and independence as she fell back into old habits. Fetch this. Write this down. Tea not coffee, if you please, Eliza.
Where the devil are my slippers, Eliza?
Eliza fled before she could even turn the handle on the front door, but she had not gone far. Mrs. Higgins had been all too gracious, opening up her home to Eliza without conditions or remonstrations, and before long, the younger woman had found her niche as a sort of companion. She and Mrs. Higgins attended gallery nights, operas, and ballets. On quiet days they did needlepoint, read books, and walked together in the park. They were a pleasant little pair, it was almost like having a mother.
Mrs. Higgins also introduced Eliza to her friends and the sons of those friends. Unfortunately, it seemed every single one of Mrs. Higgins' dearest bosom friends had a son in want of a wife. Eliza politely received them all but made it a point to mention that she had a (tenuous) understanding with one Mr. Freddy Eynsford-Hill, and for the first few weeks of Eliza's residency at Mrs. Higgins' fashionable Chelsea townhome, this excuse went a long way. Unfortunately and rather disappointingly, Eliza had not been able to harness the power of Freddy's blinding admiration and channel it into something she could offer him in return. She was flattered, certainly, and it had been nice to be adored, but when she tried - and she did try! - to conjure something for Freddy other than mild amusement and gratitude, Eliza was left feeling - well - there really was no feeling involved when it came down to it. Poor Freddy may as well have been a block of wood, albeit a very handsome one.
Recently, Eliza began the slow process of letting Freddy down easily; because she had never had a guide in these matters, the results had been mixed. She had announced her intentions to throw him over to Mrs. Higgins, not knowing that this would cause the older woman to renew her efforts in presenting Eliza with every eligible bachelor between the ages of twenty-five and forty; as a result of this, there was a constant stream of male presence in the home plus Freddy, because Eliza had - as previously stated - only announced her intentions to Mrs. Higgins.
When Colonel Pickering reached out to her, mentioning that she had yet to claim the fruits of her labor - that being the flower shop - she had jumped at the chance for a reprieve from the Chelsea Embankment Marriage Mart. Her vision was clear, whatever shop she decided on had to be a fixer-upper; that way, she'd have little excuse to be at home and at the mercy of the Higgins Army of Society Sons. If the shop had a flat above it, all the better. Once acquired and fixed to her exact specifications, Eliza would make a tidy home of her own and that would be that. Perhaps she would get a kitten to keep her company, or, if Mrs. Higgins and the Colonel were being particularly bullish about the arrangement, she would take a flat mate.
The next available shop still did not have what Eliza was looking for. At worst, the floorboards sagged slightly beneath her boots, but everything else was brand new down to the freshly sealed windows - what was the world coming to if she couldn't even have a little bit of a healthy draft in the winter months? The three ventured further down the square when Eliza noticed the Colonel looking a bit winded, so she suggested they stop for tea.
To Eliza's great dismay, the moment they settled on a table, the Colonel spotted someone he knew from his schoolboy days; excusing himself, he made his way to the other side of the tea room with a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. Eliza found herself sitting across from Professor Higgins, they had not been in such close company in weeks.
"The last two places were perfect, El- erm - Miss Doolittle. What on earth are you looking for?" Professor Higgins demanded as he leaned across the table.
"I am not interested in perfection," was her lofty response. "I am interested in the economy."
The Professor threw himself back in his chair with a laugh that was too loud and sharp for fashion. "You silly thing, we've already told you money is no object; there's no earthly reason to be frugal. You've earned your reward, now take it."
Eliza was about to fire back with what she hoped was a witty rejoinder, but she went ashen at the sight of two very familiar faces strolling into the tea shop. It was Freddy and Clara Eynsford-Hill, in all their flaxen-haired, classically good-looking glory.
"Oh bugger me," she swore, ducking her head, so she was mostly obscured by her hat.
"Language, Miss Doolittle!" Professor Higgins scolded sharply.
"Shush!"
"What are you lo - oh damn."
Eliza nearly shrieked when Henry ducked behind the safety of her hat, his face mere inches away from hers. "Why don't you want them to see you?" she demanded.
"Mother keeps making sure that Little Oddity is visiting when I come to call, as of late. I suspect some sort of romantic scheme."
"Who, Clara?" Eliza had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing, her nose wrinkly with the effort. She noted something soft flicker over the Professor's features before they turned into something resembling mildly irate.
"Yes, you smug insect, Clara."
Eliza furrowed her brow, as she finally processed what he was saying. "Hang on, you haven't been visiting your mother's at all."
"Yes, I have. You're always out when I call. I assume Mother gives you advanced warning." There was a tinge of sadness in his voice; Eliza elected to ignore it.
"Hen - Professor Higgins, no she does not."
"I say, fancy seeing you two here… but why are you both hiding behind Miss Doolittle's hat?"
Eliza lifted her head to meet Freddy Eynsford-Hill's grinning, openly kind face as Clara glared down at the pair, her pale-blonde eyebrows furrowing with something touching on jealousy; she wanted to yelp at the absurdity of the thought but recognized that this was neither the time nor the place to pass judgment.
"Miss Doolittle had something in her eye-," Professor Higgins lied. "-and I was helping her remove it." He was not a good liar, Eliza decided. The Eynsford-Hills, however, seemed pacified.
"We're waiting on Colonel Pickering and have appointments today, or else we would have loved to have you both tag along," Eliza explained sweetly.
"Speak for yourself," The Professor murmured so low he was only audible to Eliza.
Freddy nodded, his grin had not wavered one whit. Clara appeared annoyed and impatient.
"Freddy, let's go find a table."
"Right-o. Goodbye, Eliza… Professor Higgins."
The siblings departed, and Eliza released an anxious breath.
"Hold on now -" the Professor drawled. "-why were you so dismissive?"
Eliza heaved a great sigh. "I am sure you will be very pleased to hear that I've decided to throw Freddy over."
There it was again, that softening about the Professor's eyes with an added hitch in his breath before it shifted abruptly into bored indifference. He sat back with a shrug.
"Well, I'm doing a rather bad job of it."
"You haven't told him," the Professor correctly surmised.
"Not exactly."
The conversation came to an abrupt end when Pickering rejoined the table, already launching to a breathless recounting of every detail of his conversation with Mr. Carter Hollingsworth, this lasted until the tea trays arrived, and about halfway through the sandwiches. Eliza hadn't the energy to find herself in a position to continue her conversation with Professor Higgins, especially not with Pickering in earshot, so she limited her comments to the weather and everyone's health, once the Colonel had finished his story.
The last shop was the clear winner. Eliza, the Colonel, and the Professor were greeted by the owner of the building, not a landlord or lady; and the man was prepared to sell the building outright for - what Eliza thought - was a steal. It was clear at first glance that the building had been abandoned for some time: The damp, gritty smell was the first thing Eliza noticed; dust covered every flat surface, and the paper covering the windows was growing brown with age. To her delight, there were holes and cracks all about the floors, and some of the display cases were spiderwebbed, or just plain shattered. When she tried to run up the backstairs to the flat above the shop, the owner nearly tore her head off for touching the banister.
"Miss, please take your hand off the banister; it's quite unsafe! It's not meant to withstand any sort of weight."
"Eliza, come down from there," The Professor pleaded.
"I want to see the flat," Eliza replied stubbornly.
"In heaven's name, why? This place is a - forgive my offense, sir - this place is a hovel."
"Perhaps we could apologize to the landlady from the first shop," Colonel Pickering reasoned.
Eliza shook her head, and surveyed her bounty from the top step; when the boards beneath her bent and cracked, she wisely decided to survey her bounty from the second step from the top.
"Nah, I think this is the one."
The Professor glared up at her with his hands on his hips. "Gentlemen, I need to have a word with Miss Doolittle – Eliza, go into the flat, I need to speak to you for a moment."
Eliza groaned but did as she was told. The space upstairs was not much better than down; the wallpaper was peeling, and it was so airless and humid, that Eliza nearly choked. The mildew smell was definitely stronger, and the fireplace in what passed as a parlor was really just a pile of bricks. She felt incandescent with glee. It would take her centuries to fix all of this if she did it herself.
Henry stepped into the flat, his face a mask of determination, and then he was struck with the full force of his surroundings.
"What the devil? You thought someone might've been murdered in the first place we visited - ha! - Eliza, I cannot even begin to imagine the horrors that occurred here. If I were a religious man I would tell you to find a priest to bless this - this - … how on earth can you be so foolish?"
"It is affordable."
"We can afford to give you so much better than-" his arms waved wildly about their surroundings "- this, Eliza!"
"Then put it into my repair fund. It won't be cheap to fix a piggery like this."
Professor Higgins threw his hands in front of his face and groaned against them; then, he drew himself up into a stance that she knew he thought appeared calm and dignified, even though Eliza was reminded of a deranged butler in a satirical drawing she had seen in the paper.
"Miss Doolittle,' he began evenly, his voice soft, 'I demand to know why this place - despite all, and I do mean all appearances - seems a palace to you."
Eliza explained her reasoning truthfully and plainly.
"Ah-" Henry stated, his eyes fixed on a hole in the floorboards that revealed the water closet on the floor below."- well, I guess that makes perfect sense. It really is the perfect plan."
"Is it?"
"No, you goose! - Well - I suppose it is not a bad plan actually."
Eliza felt fully vindicated; her smile was triumphant.
"Mother will find a way to steal your time for her little matchmaking project, all the same. She's relentless when she gets her notions, you know."
"I suppose she will not rest until you are yoked to Miss Eynsford-Hill; you must have encouraged the girl at some point in your life."
"Never!" The force of Professor Higgins' protest gave Eliza a jolt. She had not expected that level of vehemence.
"Right then; I see we both have troubles at present; condolences... May I buy this dungheap?"
Later, when Eliza returned to her room in Mrs. Higgins' home, her brain hatched a perfect solution; it meant returning to 27A in the morning, but she was almost too drunk on her own brilliance to sleep that night.