Author's Note: The storybook the girls give Henry is an adaptation of Tod Browning's Freaks. I am not sure if it would have been shown anywhere in the world in 1937, but it was definitely banned in the UK.
Eliza woke to a blast of full daylight, as Jean – one of the chambermaids – threw open the drapes. Panic tore through her, and she sat with a start, giving a wild look about the bedroom. Henry was mercifully absent, and he – by all appearances – had been in possession of good sense, as there were no traces of him – no articles of clothing; scarves, gloves or cufflinks to be found.
"Miss; are you well?" Jean inquired with real concern as she crossed the room to Eliza's bedside.
Eliza nodded and gave a wincing sort of smile.
"Bad dream," she explained weakly.
Jean made a soft, sympathetic sound, before informing Eliza that breakfast would be served soon. Eliza nodded and rose to greet the day and make herself more presentable.
"It's a little stuffy in here this morning," Eliza noted while browsing her wardrobe.
"Would you like some fresh air?" Jean inquired, pausing stoking the fire.
"Yes, I think I'll just–"
"Oh, I got it, Miss!" Jean rose and crossed over to the door to Eliza's balconet; she threw it open and stepped out. Eliza had just selected a suitable day dress when she heard Jean - in a thick, Aberdeenshire burr that had not been present in her voice moments before – exclaim, "Some eejit boked in the street!"
Eliza sighed wearily as she realized she more than likely knew the eejit in question, but said nothing – her mind painted a picture of what had happened in the early hours of the morning; she was sincerely glad that Jean had only found his sick, and not the man himself, smashed to oblivion on the pavement after playing a young man's game of leaping down. Still, it had been very sweet of him to silence her alarm and let her continue to sleep – she wouldn't give him too much credit for it, though, as she had been the one to drag him upstairs and exhaust herself playing nursemaid.
The children took breakfast with Nanny Forsyth in the kitchen; the breakfast table occupants (Eliza, Lillian, Robert, and Mrs. Higgins) were able to sit in peaceable silence - Eliza noticed that Lillian tended to throw the odd, sly look in her direction – which was exceedingly puzzling.
"Did you sleep well, Lizzie?" Eliza blinked slowly at the woman; she certainly had not ever been called 'Lizzie' a day in her life that she called – she supposed it was fine – and something in Lillian's sing-song tone belied a thread of knowing.
"Yes," she began in a measured tone, "my room is exceedingly comfortable."
Lillian's smile spread upwards, and made her eyes crinkle at the edges – she was every inch the Cheshire Cat. Eliza did not like it and steeled herself for some sort of unmasking.
"It is one of the sweeter guest rooms," Lillian agreed, "the bed is a little small."
"Nonsense," Mrs. Higgins chided, "the bed is the perfect size for a single person."
Eliza's eyes widened as the corners of Lillian's mouth trembled with repressed mirth; the woman quickly concealed the potential broach in propriety by taking a sizable bite out of her croissant. Eliza sipped her coffee and yearned for the ceiling to collapse on her head – she soon deduced that while Lillian knew something, there was no danger of it being revealed – the woman just liked to tease.
Shortly after breakfast; once Mrs. Higgins and Robert were safely away from the breakfast nook, Lillian – who was idling a bit at the table with Eliza – spoke:
"I've been hideous this morning, Lizzie; but that is just how we show affection in this family."
"I am aware," Eliza stated solemnly, her eyes on the remaining brown liquid that clung to the bottom of her coffee cup.
"The truth is: I spied my brother jumping from your balconet this morning, and I couldn't help but poke a little fun at the situation. He's such a stuffed shirt most of the time; so to see him – to see – well, what was he doing in your room exactly? – Ugh, no, don't tell me. You are a modern girl, and what you get up to with my brother is certainly none of my business; nor shall I spread it about like some pathetic gossip."
"But nothing happened!" Eliza exclaimed with no small amount of frustration; then, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and shared the events of the evening. Lillian was snickering with tears in her eyes by the end of the tale.
"Oh no – oh dear! Oh, this is too perfect. I cannot wait until he shuffles through Mummy's door like some reanimated corpse – ha!"
"Please don't tease him," Eliza begged, as she reached across the table to take Lillian's hand, beseechingly. Lillian merely shook her head and jerked her hand from Eliza's grasp.
"Oh, my dear, that's just my God-given right as a sister, you know."
Henry and Pickering arrived late in the afternoon. The Colonel was a fount of cheer and greeted Eliza with a quick embrace, and a clap on her back before he grinned amiably through introductions to Lillian and her family, as they gathered in the foyer. Meanwhile, Henry was unshaven and pale in his rumpled trousers, shirt, and blue knit vest. He kept his eyes forward, as his entire being radiated with abject misery and discomfort. Eliza had seen that look on her father's face many times.
"Henny Penny!" Lillian exclaimed in a boisterous volume Eliza suspected was completely intentional. Henry visibly winced as his sister pushed past the small crowd of Bennets to embrace her brother.
"Keep the children away from me, please," Eliza heard him growl into Lillian's ear.
Lillian pulled away from him with a wide grin, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Children!" She bellowed, "Children; come wish your uncle a happy birthday!" She began to lead them in a cacophonous chorus of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.
"After dinner!" Eliza interjected, stepping in front of Henry to safeguard him from the onslaught of tots. "I've not had many birthday parties; but, I think I remember that singing is to fall after dinner, but before cake."
"Too right, Eliza," Pickering agreed, as he took her arm. "You are a saint," the older man whispered to her, as they followed Mrs. Higgins towards the drawing room for drinks; and the children were spirited off to the nursery to await the dinner bell. Eliza cast a glance over her shoulder: Henry was shuffling behind, he entire being seemingly focused on functioning just enough to get through the evening – still, he managed to give her a weak smile and mouth a thank you.
"How goes the invalid?" Eliza inquired gently, as the pair sat – knees touching – on an unoccupied sofa.
"Oh, positively thriving, I assure you."
"Truly?"
"No; you goose – I went home; crawled into bed, and waited for death to take me; but Pickering intervened, and said I had to go to this tedious party first."
Eliza frowned at the sharp annoyance tinging his reply and shifted slightly to break the subtle contact of their bodies. She crossed her arms under her chest. "It's nobody's fault but your own – pray don't grumble through the birthday party your mother took great pains to arrange."
"I never grumble."
"What can you two be whispering about?" Colonel Pickering inquired from across the room; he was waiting for Argus, the butler, to make his and Mrs. Higgins cocktails.
"Oh, nothing. I was just inquiring about the professor's health."
Pickering chuckled knowingly, but Mrs. Higgins was immediately on high alert:
"His health? Oh dear - oh no…"
"Mother, I am fine," Henry ground out through his teeth. "A bit too much fun at the opera."
"Really!" Mrs. Higgins exclaimed disdainfully.
"Perhaps you'd like a little hair of the dog?" Lillian suggested from her spot near the grand piano her husband was currently playing.
"No thank you," Henry replied coolly, before turning to Eliza, and speaking to her in a low voice:
"May we speak in private?"
Eliza nodded and stood. "I think I'll just check on dinner; Henry, I know you are very particular about your- uh - the way your potatoes are roasted – could you please accompany me?"
"Ought I act as a chaperone?" Lillian inquired, teasingly. She was settled at her husband's side and they were attempting to hammer out something resembling a duet on the keys.
"You can chaperone the devil," Henry shot back.
"Children!" Mrs. Higgins thundered.
Henry and Lillian immediately chorused their apologies, before Henry led Eliza from the room; she followed him through several short corridors until they reached the solarium. The room relied primarily on the natural light that filtered in through the garden-facing windows that ran from ceiling to floor, and it was full dark – save for the soft illumination from the corridor light– when Henry pulled her into the room. She felt – rather than saw– his hands gently close around her upper arms, and she thought for a moment that he had brought her there to kiss her – the thought was intoxicatingly naughty.
"Eliza," he muttered hoarsely. "Tell me, please – did I act untoward at all last night?"
He had not – in fact – dragged her into an unused room for nefarious but appealing purposes. Eliza groaned and pulled one arm from his grasp so she could reach out, and slap the light switch to the left of the door – illuminating the room in dim electricity. Henry gasped at the sudden reappearance of light and ceased holding her entirely.
"Blast!" Henry swore; he pinched the bridge of his nose, and gave a shuddering sigh.
"Serves you right," Eliza hissed. "You made a real fool of yourself last night, you know."
A wild panic crossed over Henry's bloodshot features. He took a step forward; Eliza took a step back. "Eliza, if I've – my god – I didn't though… did I? 'Liza, I'm so sorry. Of course, I'll do right by you immediately–"
"Calm down, you ninny; absolutely nothing happened – well, no; I dragged your silly arse up two flights of stairs, and put you to bed."
"Your bed," he murmured.
"You told me the twins use your old room when they visit, and I hadn't the foggiest clue where else to put you!" Eliza protested.
"Henrietta and Lucille do not use my old room."
Eliza gasped at the confession. "You lied?"
Henry shrugged and turned away from the intensity of her glare.
"I must have done."
"Henry!"
"I seem to recall you looking very fetching in your dressing gown, and I suppose I was overcome."
Eliza snorted, and gave his chest a playful swat; he caught her arm and pressed a lingering kiss to her wrist.
"You said you wouldn't try to ravish me in your mother's home," she warned, not pulling her arm away.
"And so I shan't; I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last night… and compliment you on this very pretty dress."
Eliza blushed. "Oh, this old thing," she demurred; and allowed him to trail his fingertips down the sides of her gown – it was a floor-length, slinky confection of deep-green satin; the sleeves were long but the neckline was low. She had picked it out to elicit a favorable response – though she'd never admit it aloud.
"Well; do you forgive a foolish old man? May I still have my presents?" His face was so disarmingly boyish that Eliza – overcome by impulse – pressed a brief kiss against the corner of his mouth. Henry turned so she could feel the featherlight brush of his lips against hers, which elicited a slight gasp from her. She pulled away and smiled at him with a smile she was certain was incandescent, considering how much heat was coursing through her veins at that moment.
"I think that can be arranged."
Henry leaned forward for another kiss; but Eliza turned with a light laugh, took his hand, and led him back out into the corridor – when they returned to the drawing room, the entire party was standing and staring expectantly at the pair. Lillian was the one to break the awkward silence:
"And how did you find the potatoes?"
Eliza noticed Henry try to show a neutral, nonchalant expression over his features. He lifted his chin slightly and declared, "Excellent."
"They called for dinner several minutes ago, Higgins; I'm afraid we've been waiting on the two of you for some time," Pickering intoned with a gravity that, Eliza thought, did not quite match the situation; but, then again – she supposed, remembering his age – he was from a different time – that was not to say, that Eliza did not feel proper shame in the moment.
"Ah; well, we went to the dining room straight from the kitchen, and–"
"Henry." Mrs. Higgins gave her son a chiding look, "Let's just go to dinner, shall we?"
After the initial awkwardness of Eliza and Henry's faux pas began to fade, dinner went along smoothly, and the conversation flowed freely; Eliza was relieved to see Henry become more of his cheerful – but still acerbic – self again. After the main meal, the twins were invited into the dining room for cake and presents. Henry only looked mildly pained when the guests – Eliza included – sang a rousing rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'.
"Oh goodness, what could this be?" Henry inquired from his perch at the head of the table, as the twins handed him a slender, rectangular gift wrapped in brown paper and twine. Eliza was shocked to find that there was a softness around Henry's edges when it came to his nieces. It was true that he was not accustomed to children, and their little quirks and eccentricities – he seemed entirely ill-at-ease when Henrietta solemnly informed him that her dolly had revealed to her the time and date of deaths of everyone in the room – but he was visibly delighted to receive a present from the girls.
Eliza was seated beside Robert; who was seated next to Lillian; who sat at Henry's left – she had to lift herself slightly to see the object Henry pulled from the wrapping paper. The twins had fashioned Henry a storybook, written and illustrated by them. On the cover was a crayon drawing of what appeared to be a duck with an almost human face, and a blonde bob. Eliza squinted to see what was written on the cover:
Freaks
Adapted by Henriette and Lucille Bennet
"That's – that's – why; that's lovely, darlings," Henry declared as he lifted his eyes to Robert and Lillian. The girls ran back to their seats to consume the remnants of cake from their plates.
"Oh, that's just a silly little film the girls saw on our last trip to America. They were so sad to find it can't be seen here, so they made a book of it for you," Robert explained jovially.
Eliza watched as Henry paged through the book. Whatever he was observing on the pages –which were obscured from Eliza's view– was giving him the most befuddled and unsure expressions.
"Why can't it be seen here?" Eliza found herself inquiring.
"Oh, it's banned," was Lillian's light reply.
Eliza had agonized over Henry's birthday present; and had only settled on something earlier that day, when she had fled to the shops in an almost blind panic – she still wasn't quite certain she had made the right choice, even as she stood and approached him bearing a wide, rectangular box wrapped in bright red wrapping paper. She placed it in front of him and stood back to observe. Henry unwrapped the paper with surprising reverence and restraint; revealing a black box with a lid – he lifted the lid and first retrieved a cream-colored card, scrawled over with Eliza's elegant, but painstakingly cramped handwriting. She knew it read:
Now, this really is the very last time.
Yours,
E.
The next thing Henry retrieved from the box was a pair of smoking slippers of deep-blue velvet. He looked up at her and held her gaze with an expression she could only describe as yearnful. She reached over and patted his shoulder; he placed a hand over hers and squeezed.
"That's quite perfect, Eliza."