IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ THIS NOTE!
I just want all readers to be informed that the true Grell does NOT appear in this story, so please don't expect him to show up. I am saving you the disappointment now. What I wanted to do was have some fun imagining what it would be like if the persona Grell used while in disguise was the real him. I guess you could say that this is somewhat of an AU. It was interesting because once I took my idea and flew with it, I kept having to remind myself that even though some readers may believe he (and Madam Red, for that matter) to be out-of-character at parts, it isn't necessarily true because this form of Grell wasn't genuine to begin with. Therefore, I took a lot of liberties, so some people may like it and some may not. In any case, it was a fun story to write. I hope you will enjoy it.
/
Contrary to popular belief, Madam Angelina Durless did not exactly lead an easy, worry-free life, despite being an upper-class lady whose image seemed to suggest it. She did, after all, hold the well-being and often the lives of London's citizens in her hands each day. She also continually studied medicine in order to remain well-informed of new findings, and in addition to all of this she was also one of the rare females who had dared to attempt, and succeeded in, obtaining the license that earned her the title of doctor. That last detail in particular was something that placed her under constant scrutiny by both her stuffy male colleagues and the general public, and therefore placed considerable pressure on her to keep proving her worth.
Most of the time, though, this career was nothing she believed she couldn't handle. She had been working at it for quite a few years now, after all, and the complaints were few and far between, so she had to be doing something right. However, these last few days at the hospital had not treated the clever and well-to-do Madam Red very favorably, presenting extra challenges and obstacles she hadn't foreseen, and besides which, she had also been troubled recently over the shadowy activities of her young nephew, who lived outside of the city. She was exhausted and had many irritable moments, only wishing to distract herself from her misfortunes and hoping things would soon go back to normal. At least aside from work and Ciel, the only things she needed to concern herself with were the latest fashions, and attending galas, and who was supposedly having an affair with whom –
CRASH.
Her eyes immediately flickered over the lawn and toward the kitchen window.
…oh yes. And him.
Pretending she hadn't heard the sound, and hoping that her current guests would have the decency to do the same, Madam Red straightened up a bit and turned to said guests smilingly. The three of them were sitting at the outdoor tea table in the backyard on this warm day – she and two other noblewomen, all garbed in colorful and refined spring dresses. The other ladies were Samantha and Clara, and two examples of those in the social circle within which Madam Red shared and learned of all the most interesting news. Never mind that some of that news couldn't always be confirmed; when a possibility existed, it was wrong not to speculate on it. They had been in the middle of having one of these discussions as they waited for the tea to be served. If the tea would ever make it out of the house, Madam Red thought, mildly cross. Judging by the crash she'd just heard, Grell was experiencing the usual difficulty in getting anything done.
Unfortunately, both of the visitors were casting glances toward the house, their expressions ones of disdain. Both of them had met Grell before and had witnessed his blunderings firsthand more than once, giving them a pretty good inkling of what the source of the noise was. Madam Red had to strain to keep the smile on her face.
Samantha sighed and shook her head. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but is he progressing any?" she asked, looking at her hostess and gesturing with her chin to the house.
Madam Red hesitated, but only for an instant. "He is, but…rather slowly," she pretended to admit. In truth, she hadn't seen any real change at all. Yes, Grell always tried his best and sometimes even learned from his mistakes, but he seemed unable to improve his coordination or shake away the occasional distraction. Madam Red was not about to confess that she was able to prepare tea with less confusion than him, despite having done it only a handful of times in her life.
Clara raised her eyebrows. "It seems to me that he needs much more training. Though, I suppose there's nothing one can do if one simply doesn't have the talent for a certain job. By now you'd think he'd have quit this profession and gone on to something else."
None of the things Madam Red could have said in reply to that would have felt sufficient enough. What could she say – that the humble, awkward man was a terrible job-seeker, or that he had tried everything else, or that she just pitied him? They were all horrible excuses, and they all made it sound as though she was going to great lengths to defend him…and the last one made her sound much too soft, even though when it came down to it, it was true.
"It's beyond me," she finally answered with a nonchalant shrug, getting ready to revert back to the previous topic of conversation or possibly start a new one. It didn't seem like it would be too easy, however; movement from the window caught her eye and she turned her head in time to see Grell practically fly across the kitchen. He seemed to be rushing in the direction of the cabinets, his long hair catching the wind and a harried expression on his face. Madam Red bit her lower lip as she watched his elbow knock against a small aluminum dish sitting on the table and send it tipping to the floor, producing a clang that was thankfully muffled. Grell spun around and stooped down out of sight to retrieve it, reappearing a moment later and then moving out of view.
Hiding a frustrated sigh, Madam Red faced her guests once again. Both of them had also been watching the scene through the window, but when their hostess redirected her attention back to them they quickly averted their eyes to different parts of the yard. After a few seconds of uneasy silence, save the chirping birds and rustling leaves, Samantha cleared her throat. "So Anne, you are planning to attend the garden party this weekend, aren't you…?"
Grell slid his hands under the edges of the tea tray sitting on the counter and slowly lifted it up. He had spent the last fifteen minutes preparing the chamomile concoction, which, no matter how many times he was told otherwise, was tricky to get just right. There always seemed to be some sort of miniscule detail he missed when preparing tea, and it didn't help that he was supposed to memorize every little thing concerning the different types, like which one was most bitter or which one should be steeped longest. Why did it matter so much anyway? Why did people insist on drinking different kinds of tea all day long? It certainly wasn't making his life any easier.
But if that was what his lady required, then that was how it must be, Grell reminded himself as he walked carefully across the kitchen holding the tray. And at this time of day during this season, she usually preferred her chamomile. He was almost sure that it was perfect this time and in a few minutes he would know for certain, when the ladies waiting outside took some. Before leaving the room he caught a faint glimpse of his reflection in one of the shiny chrome pans hanging on the wall. His clothes were clean and mostly wrinkle-free (and also devoid of the tea stains that occurred every now and then), his hair was tidy, and his glasses had been polished. He certainly looked the part, as he always did; now if only he was good at acting it.
He must think positively.
Taking a deep, slow breath, he opened the door leading out to the yard and walked out into the sunlight, tightly clutching the tray in an effort to keep his hands from trembling. The women at the table looked up as he approached, one of Madam's friends even bothering to flash him a false smile which then vanished as quickly as it came. Grell set down the tray, and the conversation abruptly stopped as three pairs of critical eyes immediately scanned its contents. Aside from the porcelain tea set patterned with blue roses, there were three small dishes holding a petite slice of pound cake each (the cake having been bought by Grell from the bakery that morning since he could not bake to save his life). After a few moments' silence, Madam Red looked at him expectantly, slight impatience in her crimson eyes.
His shoulders jumped a fraction as he realized what he was forgetting, and he spoke up in a hurry. "Er, today's tea is an aromatic blend of chamomile, accompanied by pound cake." He avoided their eyes, the visitors' in particular, as he set about pouring the tea into the exquisite cups. To his relief, none of it splashed, though some of it did come close. Grell glanced over at the sugar bowl and creamer as he put down the teapot; he had learned long ago that he was supposed to allow the drinkers to add their own preferred amounts, which was why he hadn't put in any himself beforehand. He folded his hands in front of him and inched his way over to stand quietly behind his lady.
He watched the three of them pass around the cream and sugar and then stir the sweet condiments into their tea. He watched as one after the other they raised their drinks and took a sip, searching their faces carefully for the slightest hint of disgust. He was beginning to think that he had at last completely succeeded in the execution of afternoon tea when suddenly Clara sputtered over the rim of her teacup. Grell visibly tensed, while Madam Red and Samantha looked at their companion in something like alarm.
Clara pursed her lips and frowned, and then quickly reached for a napkin. She wiped away the hot liquid that covered her chin and cast a vexed look at first Grell and then at Madam Red. "Something is not right with this tea," she declared. "It may just be me, but it tastes horribly sour."
"Sour?" Samantha inquired in surprise, but at that word a dark shadow fell over Madam Red's face, and beside her Grell blanched, feeling suddenly ill. As Clara responded to Samantha with an indignant "Horribly!", Madam Red turned to her butler with a glare. Both of them knew exactly what the problem was. As it happened, Clara was the only one of the three who had opted to add cream to her tea – cream that, as Madam Red had discovered the day before, had indeed gone bad. Grell was supposed to have seen about getting fresh cream that morning when he went out to the bakery, but evidently he had forgotten all about it.
"I-I'm so sorry!" the poor excuse for a butler began stuttering, though more to Clara or to Madam Red even he didn't know. He sprung toward the table and shakily took away Clara's teacup. His mind was racing. He was definitely going to be hearing about this one later on. "Please let me dispose of this for you."
"But what is the matter with it?" asked Samantha curiously. "Mine tastes just fine."
"It-it is possible that the cream may have – might have – gone bad," Grell finished in embarrassment. Madam Red couldn't help thinking that if he could only admit his mistakes and apologize in a dignified manner, like her nephew's butler would (though that one never seemed to make an error), it might not be so bad. But unfortunately, Grell was the type of person whose first instinct was to get flustered, or if she was really unlucky, to completely panic.
He could be so hopeless. And his performance wasn't doing anything for her reputation, either.
Without really thinking about it Grell extended his arm and unceremoniously dumped the rancid substance inside the cup onto the lawn. Madam Red would have slapped her forehead at this action if she hadn't been in front of company. Grell was about to pour out some pure, untainted tea for Clara when he noticed her grimacing at the teacup, and he realized that she did not intend to use it again, not like this. "Excuse me, I'll be right back!" he exclaimed, much louder than he'd meant to, and turned around and fled toward the house. Halfway there he stopped, turned around and ran back, picked up the creamer with its spoiled contents and then sprinted off again.
There was an uneasy silence for a long moment after the kitchen door closed. Madam Red stared at the linen tablecloth, forcing herself to remain as calm as possible and preparing to look at her companions again. When she did look up, Samantha was gazing at her, countenance unreadable, while Clara was still staring at the house, overwhelmed. Madam Red took a breath. "I am so sorry, Clara," she said, her words echoing Grell's, and though much more calm, she was not any less sincere. She considered going on, saying "you know how he is", but decided against it.
Clara released a disgruntled sigh, and turned back to her. "How awful it must be for you," she replied in pity. Then she made a face. "And the taste of that cream is still in my mouth."
"I have to agree," Samantha put in. "I don't know how you can live like this every day, Anne. It remains a fact, I'm afraid: he is simply no good. At least, not as a servant." She paused. "Do you remember my maid, Sarah? Do you remember her eccentric ways and how air-headed she was? Well, though she wasn't as inept as your butler, you know that I had to release her from service eventually. My nerves have been so much better since then." She then leaned forward. "As a friend, my advice to you would be to let that man go, Anne. You deserve so much better, and believe me when I say the change will ease your mind."
"Yes, that is the only thing to do," Clara immediately voiced. "What other choice is there? None!"
Madam Red couldn't say she was surprised that they were making this suggestion. In all reality, it was a very logical one, despite the way the other women were far too eager to persuade her to take it. She had entertained the thought before, and on one or two occasions, had almost done it in a fit of anger. But she had always stopped herself, had somehow convinced herself that Grell could improve, that he deserved another chance.
And then there was that other time. That morning when he had approached her minutes after cleaning up the shattered pieces of a glass that had managed to slip through his hands.
…
"Madam," Grell started uneasily, and though his hands were behind his back, she was certain he was nervously twisting his fingers together. He then hesitated and took a deep breath. "If you are unhappy with my performance…as I can often assume you are…well…" At seeing her quirked eyebrow and inquisitive look as she sat in the parlor chair before him, he stopped and began again, and this time his words came out all in a rush. "If I'm only being a burden and you want me to leave, then I will! If it would make things easier and make you more comfortable, then just say the word!" He was now gesturing wildly with his hands, his voice rising slightly in pitch and the hysterics beginning to set in. "In fact, if that's not enough, I'll leave and punish myself! I'll – I'll – oh, I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll find a way! Even if it costs me my life, because really, I'd rather die than –"
It was then that she cut him off by standing up abruptly and slapping her hand down over one of his, effectively stopping him from waving it about. "Calm down, now," she ordered sternly. Grell fell silent and shut his mouth, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. "Now listen well. I do not intend to fire you. All I ask is that you continue to try your hardest. Is that clear?"
Grell stared at her, and then nodded quickly, having mostly calmed down. "…yes, my lady. I will. I mean – I understand," he managed to meekly respond. Satisfied that he was finished overreacting, Madam Red removed her hand, which she had firmly kept over his while speaking, and sat down in the chair again.
And Grell, all at once looking bewildered and staring down at his own hand, promptly fainted.
…
Thinking back on it now, she realized that aside from the usual muted exasperation at Grell's outburst, she couldn't remember very well what her thought process at the time had been. Whatever it was, she had in essence told him that he wasn't going anywhere.
So how was she supposed to turn around and act like that had never happened?
Madam Red had always considered herself to be a tough and forward woman who did what had to be done, but this just felt different.
"Well…it is a thought, I suppose. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that," she finally said in reply to her companions.
"It is true that having to confront a servant in that situation is bothersome," Clara said, picking up her fork and starting on her cake. "Especially when the servant has the gall to get upset. But you shouldn't let that stop you."
"Absolutely not," Samantha agreed.
There was movement in the kitchen window again. Madam Red looked over to see Grell wiping the teacup he'd taken inside with a dishrag, and assumed he had just finished washing it out. There was a brief, anxious moment in which he almost dropped it, but then caught it at the last second. She looked away, and sitting up a tad straighter, stiffly reached for her own slice of cake.
Inside the kitchen, Grell sighed unhappily. He gave the dainty piece of china, so fragile in his ever-clumsy hands, a final look-over before heading back to the door. Hopefully, he had made all the mistakes he was going to make until the visitors left. There had come to be quite a difference between these humiliations happening in front of Madam Red only and in front of everyone else. No such situation could exactly be called a good one, but the more people there were around, the more demeaning it was.
Sometimes he still wondered for how many more years – months – weeks – he might be here.
When he came back outside and approached the table once more, he received only the most cursory of glances from the three, as they were now engaged in a rather crass conversation concerning someone's uppity and distasteful brother-in-law. Silently, Grell picked up the teapot and began pouring out the tea that he knew Clara had been impatiently waiting for. Dully, he watched the chamomile swirl about inside, until without warning an extremely fleeting but very loud humming sound invaded his right ear, fading out almost immediately but causing him to start. His head whipped to the side and he caught sight of the source of the scare: a bumblebee, yellow and black and furry, that was buzzing off toward some flowering shrubs and unnoticed by the others. Grell could still hear the ringing in his head as his eyes followed the insect to where it stopped and hovered over one of the small blossoms. He didn't mind bees so long as they kept their distance; there was just no reason for that one to have come so close…
"Grell!"
At Madam Red's shout, Grell snapped out of his wandering thoughts and hastily looked back. It scarcely took a heartbeat of seeing her alarmed stare before he glanced down at where she was looking. He gasped. He had no idea which of his hands had moved, but the stream of tea pouring from the spout was now missing its target and spilling down to the lawn, and to his dismay, the cup was already overflowing.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Grell cried, hurriedly righting the pot. Now he knew that averting his eyes from such a task for even a few moments was a very bad thing for a butler to do. "I don't know how I can ask for forgiveness, especially after what happened before! I know that I've been nothing but a disgrace!" he wailed, completely flustered and forgetting to put down the china he was still gripping. As he continued to lose it and rambled on, having reached the limits of his composure, Clara shot a meaningful look across the table at Madam Red.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps there really was no other choice. This had gone on long enough. And before long no one would take her seriously anymore.
Even so, the thought of how the conversation would go, this being Grell and all, was a very unpleasant weight.
/
A few hours later, when her company had gone and the table in the yard had been cleared, Madam Red rounded on Grell as he exited the kitchen. "Listen, before you forget, you should probably go out and get some good cream now. I won't mind going without it when I have my tea this evening, but we will definitely need it by tomorrow. Go and get it now before it gets dark."
"Yes, Madam," Grell responded obediently, a trace of discomfort crossing his face as he was reminded of the afternoon's events. He took the money from her and went to get his cloak, Madam Red watching him go. Although it was best to have Grell get the cream sooner rather than later, what she really wanted to do was buy herself some time alone to think about how she could bring up his potential…dismissal. A portion of her still didn't want to do it, knowing that this had to have been the best opportunity for employment Grell had ever had. Not to mention, she couldn't imagine him taking news such as this very well.
She would have to be unflinching. After all, if she didn't do it now, how much harder would it be to do it in the future? She had to do this to save her image, her respect, her sanity…
She wouldn't admit that part of her might miss him.
He was gone longer than expected. Madam Red had since gone upstairs to her study in a halfhearted effort to make arrangements to hire a new butler. It was only when she heard the front door close downstairs did she realize how much time had passed.
She couldn't make him go tonight, Madam Red thought as she stood up from her desk. He could remain here only until she found his replacement, which shouldn't take too long, a week perhaps. But it would be best to tell him now and prepare him. With a heavy sigh she left the room and began descending the stairs.
By the time she reached the bottom, Grell had already passed through the foyer and his footsteps could be heard echoing down the hallway. Walking through the first floor and into the kitchen, the first thing Madam Red saw was the tall glass bottle, full of fresh cream, sitting atop the nearest counter, but Grell was absent from the room. Hearing movement coming from the dining area, she turned and headed in that direction.
The sight that met her eyes was not one she would have necessarily expected. Grell had removed his cloak and draped it over the back of one of the dining chairs, and was now standing by the table placing a generous cluster of red flowers in a crystal vase that sometimes sat in the center. They were amaryllises, Madam Red recognized, a flower she had not seen for a long time. They were gorgeous and would have made a wonderful centerpiece, but she already had an ornament in the middle of the table, something she would assume that Grell would have remembered.
He looked up. "Forgive me, Madam," he began, a bit hesitantly. "I…made a stop on the way back."
"So I see," she replied, her eyes flitting from him to the vivid blooms and back again. "They're very nice, I'll admit, but whatever possessed you to get them?"
Grell paused, and blinked a few times. It was obvious that he hadn't even thought to prepare an explanation, and now he was at a loss as to what to say. Madam Red temporarily forgot what she had come downstairs to talk to him about as she watched him with curiosity and some amusement. Grell moved his hands in an uncertain gesture before finally saying, "I suppose I thought they might…just be something nice to look at…and because you have been so strained over matters for a few days now, when I passed the florist I thought it might be a good…idea." He stopped, looking as though he was trying to decide whether his deed was something that should be considered strange. He went to buy flowers for the house frequently (since the garden was mediocre at best), but only when asked to. Quickly, he added, "I realize that things could have gone better today during tea hour –" and here he faltered – "but since they didn't, this is probably the least I could do to help improve my lady's mood." Unable to find anything else to say, he went silent and awaited her response, hoping it wouldn't be unfavorable.
Something like this never having happened before, not from Grell anyway, Madam Red had to take a moment before saying something, though her bewildered countenance gave much away. "That's quite…good of you. Very spontaneous and not something you had to do, but…considerate, I suppose." To seem more businesslike and less sentimental, she added, "I'm sure we would have needed more flowers for the house soon, anyway." Then, she paused. "You were gone for an awfully long time though, even for making a stop."
"Ah, well…I didn't really know what to choose at first," Grell feebly attempted to explain. "I looked around for a bit and then I thought something red might be best, since, you know, you're so fond of that color, but even that didn't narrow it down very much. So eventually…" He trailed off and waved a hand at the crystal vase, which glinted in the remaining daylight that streamed in through the windows. He didn't feel the need to mention that he had also spent a lot of time there just trying to satisfy himself with a red flower that he found to be pretty enough. Whenever Madam Red sent him out to buy these things, she always gave him an idea of what kind she wanted, but this time he had been on his own. The elegant amaryllises with their red bell-shaped blossoms stood tall and proud.
Nonetheless, the excuse he gave was not one that most masters and mistresses would have tolerated without some degree of annoyance. Madam Red, however, had learned to tolerate such things, and had also learned that things could have been much worse – she wouldn't put it past him to accidentally burn down the shop. For a moment she considered scolding him for what it might be worth, but in the end decided not to bother. It would just be better to graciously accept the gesture and let that be the end of it.
"I see. Well, that's all right. As I said, it was thoughtful of you to do. Thank you." This was said with the utmost casualness and indifference as she was capable of. She leaned forward to take a hold of the vase, intending to find a place to put it and then to finally move on to…other matters.
As she did so, she caught sight of Grell's face as he began beaming at her. "It is simply my duty to accommodate you in any way possible, my lady," he proclaimed. "…or at least, to attempt to," he added as an afterthought. "I'm just about positive I didn't fill it with too much water this time."
She glanced at him as she straightened back up, holding the vase in both hands while her senses were overcome by the flowers' light scent. He was still smiling at her, but she realized that it wasn't the normal smile he sometimes wore, the one that simply meant he was pleased with himself when something went right. He looked…like he was happy that she was happy, even if she wasn't expressing it all that much. As if she was some wonderful person whose approval meant so much, even though he rarely achieved it since nine times out of ten he managed to somehow botch things up.
She could feel her conviction beginning to crack…and then it shattered. She knew it now. She couldn't fire him. Not after seeing him look at her like that. Tomorrow she might regret her decision, but then again, she might not. Tomorrow was tomorrow. And though she knew she was bound to get upset with him countless more times, maybe Grell wasn't entirely worth kicking out. Madam Red was a person who usually chose not to believe in fate, but she was starting to suspect, just a little bit, that perhaps he had come to work for her for a reason.
"…it looks fine to me," she replied distantly, and absently checked the water level in the vase. "Why don't we put this somewhere else…like the parlor! That will do, since I don't believe there is anything on the end table next to the sofa at the moment. Come."
She led him out of the room and back through the hall, and they entered the tastefully-decorated but not overdone sitting-room. Madam Red placed the amaryllises on the aforementioned table and took a few steps back. She nodded in satisfaction. "That looks very good."
"Excellent choice, Madam," Grell replied from where he stood off to the side, somewhat taken by surprise that she had wanted to put away the flowers herself instead of sending him off to do it. It was odd, and he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. But she seemed to be appreciative. He hadn't really expected something so trivial to actually lift her spirits, not after the last rough few days she'd had and then the scene he'd caused today, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it really had been a good idea.
Madam Red gave the pretty flowers one final look before turning at last to her careless, excitable, ungraceful, yet faithful butler. Yes, she decided, looking up at his subdued expression, Grell was here for a reason. That reason just wasn't clear to her yet.
As they left the sitting-room and began walking back down the hall, Grell, walking a few feet ahead of Madam Red, turned his head sideways to speak to her. "Uh, Madam," he started nervously, "please forgive me, but the money I used at the florist came from the money you gave me for the cream, which is why I have no change to give you." He went on hastily, as if afraid of being interrupted. "Please don't hesitate to take it out of my next pay!"
That was something she had already guessed, and she very nearly rolled her eyes, not wanting him to put up a fuss. "I'll do that. Don't worry about it."
"Oh, good," Grell said in relief, still looking over his shoulder. "Thank you, my lady. I – "
His words were cut short then, and he stumbled on a snag in the rug before pitching forward. He briefly flailed his arms about before using one hand to catch himself on the wall, but unfortunately, that part of the wall was occupied by one of the paintings owned by Madam Red, this particular one depicting a cozy-looking house in the middle of the countryside. Grell's hand smacked against the frame just a little too hard and sent the painting sliding off its hook and careening to the floor, where it landed facedown with a clatter. Grell managed to catch his balance but froze when he saw what he'd done.
He really should have been watching where he was going. Madam Red rubbed her temples, inwardly groaning in chagrin.
It could be a long time before that elusive reason revealed itself.
/
Thank you for reading. However, I must say that in all reality, I'm kind of mad at myself for being unable to come up with anything better for Grell to do than buy flowers, though I admit there was a part of me that was unwilling to let the idea go. The inspiration for that bit came from a picture I found on zerochan . net of Sebastian, Agni, and Grell in butler form, Grell holding a stack of dishes and a bunch of purple roses. However, I chose amaryllises for the story since I thought using any flower with romantic connotations would be taking things too far, too fast. Speaking of which, in florigraphy the amaryllis stands for "pride", something I thought about including and attributing to Madam Red, but then didn't. I was trying to keep the cheesiness to a minimum, really I was.
I kind of wish I could have found a moment to bring out a darker or a more slick side of Grell in this form, but there really was no place to put it. Also, I'm afraid I might not have given him enough freak-out moments. Oh well.
Review please! I like hearing anyone's opinion, either positive or negative.