Eliza the Scholar
*This is cross-posted from my Ao3 Account*
Started 1/28/24
Author's Note: Another lifetime ago, I wrote for fanfiction. Net under the pseudonym vcatrashfiend, and my primary ship was Eliza Doolittle/Henry Higgins –I was just around twenty-three years old when I started writing for them. After a major life upheaval, I sort of fell away from the fandom (and left one fic with a HUGE cliffhanger – I'm so sorry!). I'm now 38, married, and a mother. After dabbling in the Stranger Things fandom, I hit a creative rut due to being pregnant during the pandemic, and losing several crucial people in my life to death.
Fast forward to mid-January this year: Recovering from Covid, caring for my child who also has Covid, and finally getting a quiet moment to myself. I decided to watch the 1938 film adaptation of "Pygmalion", which stirred old feelings about the fandom I once inhabited. It occurred to me that this adaptation was released just before the Second World War. I wondered how these characters would cope –not unlike my thought process when I wrote "A Better Man" many, many, MANY years ago. I drew some inspiration from the film "Arrival" where linguists are voluntold by the government to assist in a matter of great importance. It seemed natural to me that Henry would be similarly commissioned, due to his chosen career. I thought about how that might change a person.
Eliza's plotline is inspired from my own anxiety over choosing what to do with my life, an anxiety I feel is timeless, especially during a time where the academic world was just beginning to open up to women in the United Kingdom. Ultimately, I became a teacher. I wondered if Eliza would too. I saw her as a staff member in a charity school, and then I inevitably thought of Operation Pied Piper.
Anyway, here is the silly little thing that has been rolling around in my head. I hope you like it. All research notes will be compiled and cited in the epilogue. This, of course, disregards George Bernard Shaw's "sequel". I have thoughts to revise some of my fanfiction . net works, as well as finishing "A Quiet Affair", but that seems to be a very long way down the line, so please keep your expectations low and your patience high.
Disclaimer: Most characters are creations of George Bernard Shaw. I take no ownership or profit from any of them.
London, England
1937
Eliza Doolittle had a creeping fear that she may perish in Freddy Eynsford-Hill's little Austin 7 as it sped inexpertly down the street, leaving Mrs. Higgins' townhouse a neat white speck in the distance behind the lovers. Freddy was as inattentive towards his surroundings, as he was attentive to Eliza, and she had to slap his hand away from her knee and give him a sharp reminder to mind the road, when he nearly struck a vegetable vendor, who had been crossing the street.
"Where should we go, my darling? I'll take you anywhere you please!"
Where indeed? Eliza took several breaths to calm her thoughts – she was a violent jangle of nerves due in no small part to Freddy's driving, but also the loaded confrontation from which she had fled. She had told Professor Higgins off with the confident air of one who knew exactly where the wind was taking them. She had been made of cold steel when letting Henry - er - the Professor know exactly how much she needed him, which was not at all; so much bravado that she had felt confident the momentum would launch her straight into a cohesive plan. No such luck.
"Anywhere, you please," Freddy repeated softly, before banking off an unsuspecting curb. Eliza lurched forward, her stomach leaping to her throat. "Dreadfully sorry," he added.
"It's quite alright, Freddy."
"Thanks. Some direction would be nice, darling. Whenever you are ready, of course."
Which direction? A lady in a flower shop? A ladies' maid? Back to Covent Garden? Where would she live? Surely not her father's home - Eliza's current stepmother had tossed her out when she turned fourteen, after the girl had mentioned wanting to stay in school until she could take her exams, and then pursue a scholarship for secondary school. She had not been obligated to stay in school beyond her fourteenth year, and, indeed, most of her classmates did not plan to extend their own educations beyond the four walls of their raggedy little free school. Eliza thought she was different - meant for more. Grace Doolittle (Boyland, at the time), disagreed.
Fighting to afford food and lodgings had effectively put an end to Eliza's dreams and aspirations… until Professor Henry Higgins decided to write down every bleedin' word she uttered that fateful night in Covent Gardens. Oh they were definitely not going to watch Grace marry her father.
"I think I'll just pull over here," Freddy declared as his intrepid little automobile jerked to a sudden stop that caused Eliza's forehead to smack gracelessly (and painfully) against the windscreen.
"Ow! Freddy, are ya tryin' to do me in?" Eliza squawked, quite forgetting her audience.
"Drat! I fear I'll never get the hang of this blighted hunk of junk. Please forgive me, Eliza - I only wanted to give you time to think about our destination. Your father's wedding, maybe?"
Eliza turned to Freddy with an astonished look. Her eyes were burning with tears brought on from the knock to her head, and the turmoil within. She suddenly saw, with perfect clarity, the current course of her life stretching out neatly before her. If she married Freddy, he'd be utterly dependent on her. She could teach him the ins and outs of running the mythic flower shop, certainly… once she figured that out herself. Perhaps Pickering would know how to run a business, even if he could help Eliza with the books. Clever as she was, maths had always been her downfall.
They would struggle… well, she'd roll along as she always had, but Freddy –Freddy might not be able to cope. True, he was already poor, but in a genteel sort of way; the kind that allowed his family to keep up appearances in their little townhouse, and look down their noses at people in trade. He certainly wasn't raised to do much but tinker about with his cheap car, and catch up with his university chaps. He was utterly devoted to her, but how much would that devotion extend when hunger was clawing at his door? Oh dear. Oh damn. Drat.
What if the shop failed? What if her marriage failed? What if a flower shop wasn't a thing she wanted anymore? Colonel Pickering and the professor had introduced her to so many subjects; literature, the arts, she had even learned a bit about keeping house from Mrs. Pearce. Heavens, even Higgins had remarked that she was downright clever at the piano.
Eliza the Shopgirl, or Eliza the Concert Pianist? Mrs. Doolittle, housekeeper of the Great and Ancestral Such-and-Such Park. Miss Doolittle, assistant to Higgins the Great… or Eliza the teacher in her own right?
Eliza the aimless. Eliza the hopeless.
"Darling, you're crying!"
Eliza was crying. Great streams of hot, torrential tears fell to her lap, as she convulsed with terrified, body-wracking sobs, and meditated on how utterly hopeless her situation was for the second time in as many days.
"Please, my sweet, please stop. Or if you cannot stop, then please give me a clue as to how I can be of comfort."
Eliza hadn't the foggiest clue as to how to accept comfort from others, but she did not want to keep ignoring Freddy's pleas for some sort of response. She tried to think back to the far reaches of her memory –surely someone had comforted her at some point. She visualized a long, narrow hallway filled with doors, and behind each door was a past incident of distress. There were a lot of doors. After a while, Eliza landed on a winner:
Sister Mary Ruth pulling a big bully of a girl off of Eliza, as she lay blubbering on the dusty ground of the schoolyard. Bridget Beaton was the girl, and Bridget's mother had fled the Beaton household, and moved in with Eliza and her father – the first in a long line of stepmothers. She had recognized the double braids in Eliza's chestnut hair as her mother's handiwork, and had flown into a violent rage.
As Sister Mary Ruth led Eliza away, bruised and bloody, she had turned suddenly, and let out a torrent of slurs and obscenities - many aimed at Bridget's mother and father. Another nun had to restrain Bridget, and Eliza felt herself being pulled into a brisk stride.
"We're going for a walk, Eliza. We shan't turn back until you are yourself again – or goodness sake, stop using that language, or the headmistress will force me to thrash you!
They walked for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, Sister Mary Ruth began asking gentle questions about Eliza's plans after school. Avoiding home. What did she think she was going to have for dinner? Likely nothing. What did she want to do after school? Go back to school. What was her favorite subject? History. Why? It was bloody good fun. What did she want to be when she grew up? A history teacher.
Eliza adored a good walk. Adored being listened to.
"I want to go for a walk," she told Freddy. "You can come if you like."
Freddy bounded from the driver's side of the automobile with all the speed and eagerness of a Golden Retriever, and opened the passenger side door for Eliza. She took his arm as they walked through Hyde Park
"Beautiful day, ain't it, Eliza?"
Eliza nodded, as she let the cloying flower scent from Kensington Gardens inhabit her senses while they crossed the Serpentine Bridge. She imagined, to a passerby, she probably looked a terrible fright with her wet, red-rimmed eyes, and her blotchy face. She never had been a pretty crier, of that Professor Higgins had been correct, but the cool breeze was doing wonders for the heat beneath her skin. Wonders for the maelstrom in her mind.
In the future that danced about her, clear as the day she and Freddy were currently enjoying along with hundreds of other park-goers, Eliza could see that his love would fade, and hers might not grow at all. She could see the intensity of his current, puppyish regard becoming a distraction, possibly resulting in a child that would pull her further and further away from that one thing, that ultimate goal. Whatever that goal might be.
"Freddy."
"Yes?" His earnestness nearly caused more tears from her.
"I think I need to go back to Wimpole Street."
"Well, yes, isn't that where you live?"
Eliza sucked in her breath, and blinked several times before pausing to meditate on her response.
"For now."
"I'd be happy to take you back, and call on you another day. Maybe when you're feeling more cheerful, eh?"
Eliza shook her head as they turned and followed the path back towards Freddy's automobile.
"Freddy, I need to be frank with you."
"Where the devil are my slippers?"
Eliza clocked Professor Higgins' teasing tone almost immediately, and could not repress a gentle smile at the request. Freddy had been remarkably sweet in the face of her outright rejection of him, and insistent that they remain the best of friends - his reception had removed the two stone pressure off of her chest, and eased the constriction in her throat.
"Have you checked your arse?' she replied, far too cheekily. The retort gave the Professor a jolt that pulled him to his feet. He turned to her, grinning wickedly, his hat askew. Eliza's smile reached her eyes at the sight, and caused her to giggle, in spite of herself. He looked so boyish, almost younger than Freddy, though he had to have been at least 15 years older than her former beau.
"Language, Miss Doolittle. How on earth did you learn such words?"
"Father, the gutter, and you," was the pert reply she gave, as she removed her jacket, and folded it over one arm.
"Shocking accusation." Higgins gave Eliza a shock herself, when he crossed the room, took the jacket from her arms, and laid it across the back of his chair with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I'll have Mrs. Pearce bring a tray to the drawing room. I'll need to get a hold of Pickering and inform him of your return - he's worried sick, you know." His words tumbled out rapidly, almost manic. Eliza gasped as he took her arm and led her from his office and onto the foyer.
"Mrs. Pearce! Mrs. Pearce, Eliza has returned!"
"Professor Higgins, what has gotten into you?" Eliza imagined that her return would be met with smugness, that he wouldn't be able to see her darken his doorway for two seconds before launching into a braying litany of "I-told-you-so's". She hadn't anticipated genuine giddiness. Enthusiasm even. Perhaps he was coming down with influenza.
"What the devil do you mean?"
"We've only just quarreled!"
Professor Higgins' grin disappeared at the reminder, and Eliza noted a flash of hurt in his large, soulful eyes. He plucked the hat from his head just in time for Mrs. Pearce to arrive on the scene and automatically retrieve it from him. The old woman beamed at the sight of Eliza.
"Oh, Miss Doolittle! It's so good to see you back. Will you be staying long?"
Eliza's breath caught in her throat, and she found herself looking to Higgins for an answer. She had not yet been able to explain her return, nor had she asked if such a thing was possible. He gave a sad little smile and sighed.
"Oh, as long as she fancies, I imagine."
"Indefinitely?" was Eliza's whisper-soft query. Their eyes met, and Eliza once again felt a tectonic shift in their ever-changing dynamic. She wondered when the strange bit of space they inhabited would go still and stay consistent - what that might look like.
"As long as you fancy," his tone matched hers before he blinked, straightened his spine, and addressed Mrs. Pearce in his usual, dynamic tone. "Tea, sandwiches and seed cake, if you please, Mrs. Pearce. Be sure the staff ceases closing up Miss Doolittle's room immediately."
Eliza found herself in the drawing room, sitting in uncertain silence for several minutes while Professor Higgins was called away to the telephone. She was beginning to feel a throbbing tension between her eyes, and she realized that she was feeling a bit fatigued.
Higgins bounded through the door before taking note of Eliza's bewildered expression, and reverted to a slow and dignified journey to the armchair adjacent to the chaise Eliza occupied.
"So," he intoned.
"So," Eliza echoed. Her eyes widened as he moved from his chair to the opposite end of the chaise. She gasped as he reached out to gently grasp one of her hands, but she did not pull away. His hand was soft, warm, and surprisingly strong over her own, rough, cold hand.
"Eliza, I owe you an-"
The double doors to the drawing room were flung open with a bang that startled them both, and Eliza felt herself mourning the loss of warmth, but immediately felt her heart go light at the appearance of Colonel Pickering, as he rushed in with the speed of a man half his age, Mrs. Pearce followed close behind with the tray. She and Higgins stood to greet his return.
"Eliza, my dear! When you didn't appear at your father's wedding, I feared the worst."
Pickering grasped Eliza's hands between his, and looked her over with a mixture of elation and concern.
"I'm awfully glad to see you've returned, but I confess it wounded me greatly to find you gone without so much as a by-your-leave, especially after your success at the Ball."
Eliza allowed him to lead her back to the chaise, where they both sat at opposite ends, Higgins' position quite usurped by the older gentleman.
"Perhaps the less said on the subject the better," Higgins intervened before flopping onto the armchair.
"I'm so very sorry for hurting you, Colonel Pickering, it was not my intention at all," Eliza confessed. She found herself quite unable to lift her gaze to meet his. "I guess I found myself terrified of what comes next. I confess I still am."
"Do you mean in terms of your place in the world? In our lives?"
Eliza nodded as she blinked back tears. Stop this at once, you old Weeping Willow, she scolded herself.
"I realize I simply can't go back to my old life-"
"Nor would I allow that. You are like a daughter to me, if you'll forgive the familiarity."
"I wish I were your daughter, Colonel," Eliza uttered, quite touched by his admission. "But I also don't wish to become dependent on you or Professor Higgins."
Pickering nodded. "You're a modern sort of girl, I understand. You want a bit of independence. To have your own way." He smiled sadly and hummed thoughtfully before continuing, "The new ways can be quite confusing to an old, doddering man like myself, but I suppose what was new in my youth probably bewildered my parents before me, and theirs before them. I imagine that is the very definition of the circle of life. I don't suppose it would help to confess that you're not a burden at all?"
"That is very sweet to say, but no it would not."
Pickering shrugged and clapped his palms against his thighs, and straightened his spine. "Ah. Quite a conundrum, eh, Higgins?"
—
Henry Higgins, deeply uncomfortable with the sheer open sentiment of the conversation he was attending, had decided to focus his attention on an almost imperceptible crack in the cherry wood armrest on the left side of his chair; he had been tracing it lazily with one forefinger before the sound of his name snapped him to attention.
"Eh?"
"I say, Higgins." Pickering's tone was softly disapproving, and the realization caused a twist of shame in Higgins' gut.
"I heard what she said, dash it all!" Henry blustered back. He stood and moved to kneel before Eliza, who recoiled slightly to his proximity – another arrow to his sense of self. He refrained from touching her, despite the strong and sentimental urge to do so. To give her the comfort she needed.
"Eliza, what I'm hearing is you want to be independent, but know that Convent Gardens has nothing for you now."
Eliza averted her eyes, but nodded.
"But you don't wish to burden Pickering or myself." He desperately tried to will her to meet his gaze - wanted to convey the comfort he wanted to give her through his eyes, because something deeply ingrained in his blood was preventing him from doing so with words or actions.
"Truly."
Henry drew a deep breath before continuing. "And perhaps overwhelmed with indecision over your life's purpose."
Eliza lifted her eyes and he knew immediately that he had got it right on the head. She had the almost serene expression of someone who had finally been seen without her having to spell it out.
"I haven't a head for business. I-I had to leave school at fourteen, but I didn't want to. I've- I've always loved to learn. I had even set some money aside to pay for my exams fee. But I…" Eliza trailed off, and her expression became stricken for an almost imperceptible moment. She quickly exhaled and a smile quirked at the corner of her mouth that did not touch her eyes. Henry was ill at ease with how strong the urge to take her in his arms struck at the sight of her pained expression.
"I had to leave, you see. I became as you found me. No education to speak of, but quick to learn - and learn I did." She smiled. "I learned how to talk; how to move, and dress… but I also learned about culture, and the different sort of paths I could choose that don't involve flowers." She held up one hand and began curling a finger down for each subsequent statement:
"I could be Eliza: the concert pianist. Eliza: the ladies' maid. Eliza: the housekeeper Eliza: the scholar." Her expression softened, and she did not year her eyes from Henry as she added:
"Eliza the teacher - or at the very least, the teacher's assistant. Maybe your assistant, professor."
"Oh, I might like that," Henry replied, too quickly. He admonished himself for coming off as an eager swain. Too much like Freddy, but the thought of keeping her entered his bloodstream like a drug.
"But I'm not sure I would!" Eliza interjected. Henry could not contain the stormy, wounded look that contorted features. He saw the shift in Eliza's expression to one of immediate contrition.
"That's not to say it would be something I don't or wouldn't like– I just don't know what I would like, you see? How can I know I like one thing above others unless I'm able to-"
"Sample it all." Something akin to pride bloomed in Henry's chest. Eliza was a lifetime learner. He knew, deep down, that this had always been so, but a small, pompous part of him wanted to snatch just a secret crumb of credit. Privately, of course. He had quite learned his lesson the last time he tried to claim her achievement as his own.
"Yes."
Henry shot to his feet. "And so you should!"
—-
Eliza frowned up at the professor, puzzled that her teary confession should be met with something akin to validation from him. That Colonel Pickering should hear her out patiently was no surprise; he was sweet to a fault, but Professor Higgins was… not that.
"I should?"
She felt Pickering reach over to squeeze her hand.
"I daresay I agree with Higgins. Why should you not take your time and decide within the safety of these walls?"
"I would never presume-"
"Dash it all, Eliza, didn't I already say you were welcome to stay as long as you fancy? If your fancy is to stay and become a Jack-of-all-trades, you are perfectly welcome to do so!"
Eliza felt as though the tenuous understanding she had established was beginning to slip. She'd have to better explain herself.
"Tutors cost money. School costs money. I could not, in good conscience allow myself to rack up such a cost to you both. I should like – Colonel Pickering, I know it's no object to you, but please let me finish my thoughts!" Pickering had tried to interject around the time Eliza began bringing up money. Her rebuke was slightly shrill, far sharper than she'd ever addressed him before. Her conscience smote her.
"Oh, Colonel, I meant no offense."
"Not at all, dearest Eliza. Please continue." Pickering gave Higgins a pointed look as he added, "We shan't interrupt you again."
Eliza smiled tremulously. "Thank you. Now, what I would like to do is pay back any cost I may incur."
Pickering sputtered at the suggestion, but caught himself, and his expression became neutral once more. Higgins had settled back into his chair, and was studying her wordlessly; a contemplative smile playing across his boyish features, as he rested one cheek against the palm of his hand.
"Now, I'm not employable just yet, but there are things I could do to be of service. I was hoping I could assist Mrs. Pearce a bit, which would give me experience as a member of household staff. I could also assist Professor Higgins with his lessons, in any capacity he requires. This might give me teaching experience. I may fancy being a ladies' maid, so perhaps I could spend a few mornings with Mrs. Higgins in her home."
"On top of studying for your leaving exams."
Eliza smiled sadly. "I'm not so sure it would be possible to take them. I'm quite ancient."
Higgins snorted at her self-deprecating statement, while Pickering chuckled.
"If twenty is ancient, then I am Methuselah, and I have ways of making the impossible possible. I've a great many friends in Academia. We will bring in a tutor to fill in the gaps in your education, and have you sitting for the exams in less than six months. I suppose we'll also bring in a piano instructor. You do have quite a good ear for music, does she not, Higgins?"
"Indeed. So now that's settled, Mrs. Pearce can sit with you and teach you how to put together a neat little schedule. She puts together all of mine for my appointments, and they're damn near perfect."
Eliza quietly marveled at how cut and dry the conversation concluded – it was not at all the battle of wills she had expected. All of the tension in her forehead and shoulders relaxed. Satisfied with the plan of action, the three friends sipped their tea.
Henry found himself feeling incredibly light-hearted as he escorted Eliza to her room that night. While he had never quite gotten back around to the apology Pickering had interrupted, he felt a peace in his soul that had not existed since – well, probably since before Eliza had come marching into his life. He tried to ignore the wild fear that had plagued him earlier, when he thought he had lost her forever, and instead focused his attention on one incontrovertible fact:
She had returned, and she would remain for now.
But then there was the one ugly feeling that still remained, deep in the back of his mind.
"I say, Eliza," he began, trying to keep his tone light as he turned the doorknob to her room. "Will Mrs. Pearce have to work Freddy Hill into your busy schedule?"
"Not at all," Eliza replied lightly as she stepped into her room. She turned to him with a grin Henry could only describe as sly.
"Oh?"
"Unless he and his sister decide to pay a friendly visit."
Friendly. A friend. Not a suitor. Henry desperately hoped Eliza was not noticing the blush that had begun to creep from his neck to his cheeks. They stood, facing each other - Eliza in her room, and Henry in the hallway, and the air was crackling electric with possibility. He could see that her strange, dark eyes were studying his face intently. He felt rather like a specimen under a microscope. Best to pull up the mask, he thought.
"So you threw him over, eh? Poor devil."
"Just so."
"If it's painful, we needn't dwell."
Eliza shook her head and shrugged. "It's not painful at all. A love affair simply does not fit into my plans at the moment. I guess I'm well on my way to being a confirmed old bachelor like you. Goodnight."
Eliza took care to close her bedroom door as gently as possible, taking note of the long seconds that passed before twin shadows beneath her door vanished.