Work Text:
Summer 1912
The evening after Ascot Eliza Doolittle dreamed of ebony horses with scarlet eyes. The demon creatures pounded down the track, breathing flame and smoke from their nostrils as they approached. That Eliza was standing in the middle of the track, rendered incapable of movement due to the metal posture chair she was currently strapped to came as no surprise to her.
She could feel his presence behind her, first as a familiar heat, and then in a more tactile way when his hands slid his long-fingered hands over her shoulders and squeezed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as he leaned over, so close she fancied she could feel the ghost of his lips against the shell of her ear.
Tell me, Eliza; how do you address an Archbishop?
“Your Holiness!”
He did not pull her out of the path of the horses. She was wrong.
Idiot girl, he’s not the Pope.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her from the sidelines, nestled in the safety of their boxes. Ruddy tall black tophats, and wide, blood-colored bonnets stretched across the smoke-filled sky like vultures.
Miss Doolittle.
“You called me Miss Doolittle,” she murmured, pleased despite the encroaching hooves ready to trample and pulverize.
Miss Doolittle, please wake up.
“YOUR GRACE!” Eliza screamed as the sound of hooves thundered against her ears. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up with a jolt. She was not, as she feared, sitting in God’s waiting room, but instead looking wildly about the semi-dark of her bedroom on Wimpole Street.
“Miss Doolittle, you were just having a bit of a nightmare,” Mrs. Pearce reassured. The older woman stood at the side of her bed, holding a lit candle.
Eliza’s face colored with embarrassment. “Oh no… I’ve roused the whole bleedin’ house, haven’t I?”
“No, but a man outside claims to know your father. I would’ve turned him out firmly, only he says it is a matter of life and death.”
Eliza sighed. “That old fool is sending friends to touch me for money now?”
“He seemed quite distraught.”
Eliza nodded, resigned to a night of interrupted sleep. “Let him know I shall be down presently.”
“Shall I wake Professor Higgins or Colonel Pickering? He seemed a rather rough sort.”
“What on earth for?” Eliza inquired with a laugh. “If he’s one of Dad’s friends he will be quite harmless, and if he’s not, well…” Try as she might, she could not imagine either man engaging in fisticuffs.
“I can handle it, Mrs. Pearce.”
When the older woman left to attend to the unexpected visitor, Eliza rose and dressed in haste, before pinning her braid to the top of her head in a messy, but functional coiffure. She retrieved a clutch from the top drawer of her bureau. The green satin thing was heavy with pin money. She hoped it would be enough.
Barney Blake was waiting for her at the bottom of the main staircase, flat cap in between his beefy hands, and a hangdog look on his ruddy features. Eliza could tell he had more than a drop. She gave him her most imperious glare as she descended.
“Liza, it ain’t good news, I’m afraid.”
“It never is.” She looked to Mrs. Pearce, who was lingering near the landing. “Mrs. Pearce, you can leave us now.”
Mrs. Pearce hesitated, but then went up the stairs, muttering about propriety and trouble. It did not occur to Eliza to remark on Mrs. Pearce’s room being downstairs in the servant’s quarters, she was too overcome with annoyance toward the trouble at hand.
“Barney, what are you doing here in the middle of the night? What’s Dad gone and done now?”
“Liza, I swear it just started as a bit of a light flutter–”
“Gambling!” Eliza interjected. She realized the volume of her voice was not conducive to discretion, so her next words came out in a defeated hush. “Jesus wept. Where?”
“The Ten Bells.”
“Cor lumey. Who against?”
Barney wordlessly twisted his cap until Eliza thought it might never retain its original shape. She repeated her question.
“One of Sabini’s boys.”
“Derby Sabini?!”
“That’s the one.”
Cursing in the middle of Ascot had absolutely nothing on this. Eliza’s first instinct was to send Barney away with a polite ‘’s’bad luck mate’, but she knew deep down that welching on one of Sabini’s men would mean terrible things for her father. Alfred Doolittle was a useless layabout, but he did not deserve whatever they had in mind.
“Right then. Well, take me to him.”
Barney’s eyes widened. He put his hat back on his head and raised his hands, palms forward, placatingly. “Now Liza, it ain’t a fittin’ place for a lady. Just give me something to give to Old Chuck so ‘e don’t take it out of yer dad’s flesh.”
Eliza tightened her grip on her clutch purse and shook her head defiantly. “I’m afraid not. I want this man to look me in the eye and tell me what Dad owes. You’re liable to take a cut.”
“Eliza, what is the meaning of this?” Eliza and Barney gave a start and turned in unison to the voice from the top of the staircase. She groaned. Henry Higgins stood in his dressing gown and pajamas, arms crossed over his chest, glaring his most disapproving glare.
“Now you’ve done it, Barney,” Eliza hissed before smiling up at the annoyed man. “Professor Higgins, this is Barney. He’s my father’s chum.”
“Mrs. Pearce came to me saying you might be in danger. Is this man molesting you?” Professor Higgins descended the stairs with the speed of a spider closing in on an insect in his web.
“I’m not in any sort of – Oh, blimey.” The professor stood between her and Barney, towering over the older man with a dark expression. “Professor Higgins, I’m not in danger, but my father is. Barney needs me to go with him to Dorset Street–”
“Dorset Street!” Henry interjected, turning on Eliza. “At this hour?”
“She don’t need to go with me, guv’nor,” Barney added, tapping Professor Higgins on the shoulder.
“I should say not!”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “I need to pay off a bit of a gambling debt, but I need to know how much, and I need to know it from the source. I don’t trust this man any more than I could throw him – I just know he’ll rob me blind, so I’m going.”
“Then I shall go with you,” Professor Higgins stated resolutely. Eliza felt both touched by the gesture and astounded by his naivety.
“Oh, guv’nor I don’t think–”
“-Professor Higgins, you don’t know what you are saying, it’s not–”
“-it ain’t Crockfords–”
“-or White’s, like you toffs are used to.”
Professor Higgins puffed up his chest and swept his gaze from Eliza to Barney. “I’ve never been to either, thank you very much.”
“Well, then you definitely should not go to The Ten Bells,” Eliza reasoned. The Professor’s expression became apoplectic.
“Neither should you! Good God, Eliza; it is nearly midnight! You could be robbed, or butchered, or–”
“It is sweet of you to care, but–”
“-worse! You could derail this entire experiment with your stupidity. No, I am coming along. It is that or I will throw you over my shoulder, carry you upstairs, and lock you in your room until this mad notion subsides! So there.”
******
“Well, this place is filthy.”
“Lower your voice! No one asked you to come,” Eliza grumbled as Barney led her and Professor Higgins through the smokey, dark interior of the pub. She pretended to be annoyed with how he kept her close to his side and tried to ignore the distinct thrill of his hand on her hip as they made their way through the crowd. She had barely managed to talk him out of carrying a firearm, explaining they would likely be checked for weapons.
They were ushered into a small side room with a round table with cards and chips strewn about the center. At the table sat Alfred, and three severe-looking men. All but Alfred stood when Eliza entered the room with the Professor. Her father ducked his head and groaned.
“What the ‘ell is this?” Stormed a gruff, bearded man with wide shoulders and squat legs.
“This ‘ere’s Liza. She’s Alfie’s daughter and she’s come to pay. The bloke is her lover or summat.”
“Search em.” Eliza assumed the man was Old Chuck. She found herself pulled from the Professor’s side by one of the men, and ushered to the wall, where she was roughly turned so her face was pressed against it. Dust and smoke filled her nostrils as uncaring hands groped about her person.
“I say, unhand her!” The Professor shouted. Eliza saw him get shoved against the wall with considerable force. His protests continued.
“Shut up,” she hissed at him. She was released after another moment of searching. Her clutch was liberated from her dress pocket. When Professor Higgins was released he took her hand and pulled her back to his side.
“They took my wallet,” Henry groused.
“You should not have brought it,” Eliza whispered.
Old Chuck rifled through Eliza’s clutch and pulled out a handful of notes.
“Could you please tell me the exact amount my father owes you? That is all I have.”
“It ain’t enough,” Old Chuck replied.
“I have a plan,” Professor Higgins whispered before stepping forward. Eliza tried in vain to pull him back. “Good sir, I believe I could offer you something more useful than money. In two months–” he was cut off abruptly by the fist of one of Old Chuck's associates as it made contact with his nose. Eliza caught him as he reeled back, and the two of them tumbled to the floor as she tripped over her feet.
“He punched me,” The Professor whimpered. “I had a plan…”
“Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face,” Eliza stated, reaching into his front pocket for a handkerchief and holding it to his bleeding nose. He lay prone and dazed with his head in her lap. She looked up with a fearsome glare.
“You big bloody brutes! What the bleedin’ ‘ell do you think you are–”
“‘ang on,” Old Chuck began with a laugh. “Ain’t you the bird who got all them toffs in a fuss at Ascot today?” He crouched near Eliza and the Professor and examined her face with such scrutiny she could smell onion and ale on his breath.
“She is,” The Professor groaned.
Old Chuck stood and clapped his hands together. “Goddess! That was absolutely smashin’!” He turned to Alfred, who had lifted his head to give Eliza a curious look. “You’ve got a real corker of a daughter, Alfie.”
Eliza held her breath, wondering where this night was going to go. To her surprise, Old Chuck helped the Professor to his feet, and then her. The gruff old man grinned at them as though they were old friends.
“Tell you what; I’ll take ‘alf of what’s in this purse and call us square.” True to his word, Old Chuck returned some of Eliza’s money and handed her the clutch; The Professor’s wallet was also handed off.
“Now get out of here, Alfie,” Old Chuck growled at Eliza’s father. “-and don’t ever challenge me with money you don’t ‘ave or I’ll take your bollocks.”
Alfred ran from the room without so much as a farewell to Eliza. Old Chuck bowed to her and gestured towards the open door. “Farewell and adieu, sweet lady. Farewell and adieu, silly old chap.”
Later, when Eliza and the Professor were safely at home and contemplating the events before a dwindling fire in the study, she heard him heave a sigh.
“Eliza,” the Professor began. “I believe we have earned a holiday in Brighton.”