Brimsley and Reynolds

Chapter 3

Although Brimsley hated having nothing to do for hours on end, there was one good aspect to his temporary freedom. He could explore. The day after the Queen was found, he discovered his sanctuary. It was a small, seemingly hidden room in between the kitchen and the servant's quarters. It was filled with books, and unlike nearly all the rooms in the palace, it was less regal and more cozy. He started coming there for long hours to sketch, read, and even eat. He could't stand being in his own room knowing Reynolds was busy working while he was simply being idle. 

The Queen was to arrive in less than a month, and the whole palace was already abuzz in preparation for the wedding. Whenever Brimsley asked to assist with something, he was usually ordered to stay out of the way. It has been two days since the incident in Reynolds' room and they hadn't really spoken since. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around what had happened. It was all so strange. 

He walked into the kitchen, speaking to the head chef he had already become quite familiar with. "Hey there Brimsley," She said, happy to see him. "Hello Ms. Burnard. Got any lunch for me today?" He asked cheerfully. She handed him a sandwich wrapped in paper. "Here you are. You know, you really ought to eat breakfast, you're too skinny boy" He took the sandwich, shaking his head as he chuckled. "You know me Ms. Burnard, too busy for breakfast," he walked the now more familiar path to the room he found that he'd started to call his library, and opening the door, was met with a now familiar gaze.

Reynolds looked up, surprised. "What are you doing here?" Brimsley asked, indignant. 

"I almost always eat here," he replied. 

"Shouldn't you be following around the king?" He persisted. 

Reynolds waved his sandwich in the air, "I've got to eat sometime," he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. 

"Well, I suppose I'll go then," Brimsley said, turning around. 

"Wait," Reynolds called out. "You can eat with me, can't you?"

 Brimsley turned to face him, "Well.... Yes, I suppose I can,"

The only seating in the library was a long reading nook underneath the window. Brimsley carefully sat down on the end opposite to Reynolds, and began staring at his sandwich awkwardly. 

"I am truly sorry for my outburst the other night, I don't know what came over me." Reynolds said, sounding embarrassed. 

Brimsley looked up slightly, not quite meeting Reynolds' eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said softly. 

"Why did you apply, for Queen's man?" Reynolds said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

It was  Brimsley's turn to look ashamed. Lord Venning, his employer before this job was one of the men, the drunk men. He had done everything he could think of to get out of there, but nothing had worked. Until he was hired for this position. 

"I needed a reason to leave the job I was working before," he responded finally. 

"What do you mean? What did you do before?" Reynolds questioned. 

"Butler for Lord Venning," he responded plainly.

 "Oh," he continued, "I can see why you would want to get out of that job, I've heard Lord Venning is a absolute snob to his staff" he said with a smile.

 Brimsley nodded slowly, wishing he could say more. But what could he say? For him, to say the wrong thing, to draw attention in the wrong way or by the wrong person, it was a death sentence. He liked Reynolds, and sometimes it seemed like......but it wasn't worth the risk. It couldn't be. 

Brimsley forced his feelings down. "So what about you, how did you become the King's man?" he asked somewhat sarcastically, trying to shake off thoughts of Lord Venning. 

Reynolds chuckled, "Well, I've been working in the palace since I was fourteen, and I've been King's man since I was seventeen, I suppose I just got along with the King the best, he chose me for the job himself," 

"Oh," Brimsley didn't know what else to say. He was suddenly feeling inferior in his position as Queen's man. He hadn't had the years of training, hell, he had never even seen the Queen before. He felt his chest start to tighten. 

As if Reynolds could read his mind, he added "You seem very suited for the job as Queen's man, I'm sure you'll do splendid," He reached out a hand and touched Brimsley's shoulder. Brimsley nodded in thanks, not sure what to say. Reynolds' hand lingered on his shoulder as he turned, checking the time of the clock mounted to the wall.

 He slowly pulled his hand away, wrapping up his untouched sandwich. "Well, I have got to be off, the job as King's man never ends," he said lightly. He strode out the door as Brimsley struggled to find the words to say goodbye. 

That evening, Brimsley was sitting on his bed, working on a drawing of Reynolds when he was sitting in the library, leaning against the window. He was trying to get the light hitting Reynolds' hair exactly right when he heard a knock on the wooden door.

 He closed his book and walked over to the door. Reynolds stood on the other side, out of uniform for the first time Brimsley had ever seen. He was instead wearing black slacks and a loose fitting white linen shirt. What Brimsley really noticed were his hands, which for the first time ever weren't covered in white gloves. They were long and narrow, almost like that of a woman's. 

"I was wondering," Reynolds began, twisting his hands as he spoke, "if you would be interested in taking an evening promenade in the gardens with me?"

 Brimsley tilted his head slightly in confusion, before stuttering his shaky reply. "Of course, that....that sounds delightful," 

It was cold out, but Reynolds hadn't brought a coat so Brimsley left his behind as well. He couldn't help but notice the way that Reynolds was walking, quietly, stealthily, like he was trying to avoid being seen by anyone. He carefully led Brimsley outside, and after checking to make sure it was empty, they began slowly walking along the hidden areas of the moonlit garden. 

"There's something I want to show you," After quickly looking around again, he gently grabbed Brimsley's hand and led him through the garden. They were almost running, but all Brimsley could feel was the heat that held his hand, now unfiltered by a glove. He could have sworn that Reynolds' thumb was barely rubbing against the palm of his hand, but he decided he was imagining it. 

He led him to a small bench underneath a flowering gardenia tree. "I come here all the time, just to think or read or eat my breakfast," Reynolds said.

 "So thats where the smell comes from," Brimsley thought aloud. 

Reynolds was still holding his hand, leading him to the bench. "What?" he questioned. They were standing underneath the tree, hands still wrapped around each other as they breathed loud from running. 

"Nothing just, I noticed.....you......you sometimes smell like them," he pointed with his free hand to the tree, "gardenias,"

 Reynolds nodded, truly smiling for what seemed like the first time. A branch cracked, and they ripped their hands apart. "We should go," Reynolds whispered so that Brimsley could feel his warm breath on his nose. He nodded. 

They stood in front of their doors, seemingly unwilling to enter them. Once they did, it would all be over, this night, this feeling.

 "Well, Goodnight," Reynolds finally whispered. 

"Goodnight," Brimsley whispered back. And they entered their rooms, trying to leave what just transpired behind the door.