Mumbles

Mumbles. Everywhere there were mumbles. The maids were mumbling, giggling, and whispering among themselves, voices swirling like a soft current. They were throwing knowing smiles his way, mistakenly thinking they hid it well even though he was keenly aware of the unspoken conversations that danced around him.

"Rest assured, they were not talking ill behind your back, master," Belfast assured the Commander when he confided in her his concerns—that he may have unwittingly erred.

"Then why are they looking at me funny?"

"I shall speak with them if you're troubled, master," Belfast offered, though the fact she didn't answer the question didn't go unnoticed by the Commander. That slight pause between the question and her answer felt peculiar, as did the fact that she, the ever-reliable, typically composed woman, allowed herself to be momentarily distracted. That raised even more questions, but the Commander soon decided to put them on hold for now.

"Hm, very well, I'd appreciate that," he replied, returning to his papers. He glanced up briefly as she bowed to leave, noting her nod.

As far as the Commander noticed, the mumbles had ceased the day after that conversation. Normalcy had seemingly reclaimed its place.

***

"The master…is he not here yet…?" Belfast asked Edinburgh, who had just emerged from the Commander's office. Edinburgh shook her head, then smiled at her sister—a smile straddling the line of affection and amusement, knowing she had spent the better part of the morning looking for the Commander.

"Ye-yes…?"

"Nothing, never mind," Edinburgh replied before hurrying away, leaving a sighing Belfast in her wake. She had been doing that often even when her fellow maids were no longer bothering their master—because now they were bothering her instead. They were talking behind her back—or perhaps not because, unlike with the Commander, the likes of Kent, Suffolk, or even her sister made no effort to be discreet. She had given up trying to admonish them because, technically, they hadn't done anything warranting punishment, no matter how irksome.

And she could not deny what they were saying about her, anyway. Her one-time slip, vexing as it was, had been the catalyst, and she could only blame herself.

And she certainly could not begrudge them for mumbling things.

After all, she mumbled, too. Quite a lot, even. Things she wanted to convey but had to hold back so that they would never truly leave her lips, becoming only silent soliloquies meant for her and her alone. Words of desire, words of hope, and everything else that fabled and troublesome emotion could put in her heart, gently nudging her to speak them out loud.

They remained mumbles still.

For how much longer, she didn't know.

Maybe she didn't need to know.

Maybe she didn't want to know.

Maybe she was hoping he would notice instead—that everything she had done for him was not only driven by her sense of duty.

And waiting was certainly the more sensible option.

For how much longer, she didn't know.

But maybe it will be worth it.

"Belfast?"

Hearing her name being spoken, Belfast immediately straightened up and whipped around to see the Commander looking back at her.

"Mas—master," she offered a respectful bow.

"Sorry I'm late, damn traffic was a nightmare…were you looking for something?"

"Pardon…?"

"You seemed lost in thought when I arrived. If you're searching, I could help."

The Commander was smiling at her.

Kindly, warmly, unabashed. How he always had been. He always would. She looked for it whenever she could.

It was the one she had been looking for.

The one she had been longing to see.

"I've found it, master."

"Oh, do you? Glad to hear that. Well, excuse me."

He walked past her, but not before giving her another smile and tipping his cap.

She had never realized how much she treasured seeing it until that moment.

Maybe she should smile more. To try smiling like him. Maybe if she did, it could leave him feeling the way she did whenever she saw him smile. Maybe, just maybe, it would bring forth the same emotion she saw in him that morning. The same warmth. The same joy.

And if that happens, perhaps she wouldn't have to mumble ever again.

***

The Commander didn't know if Belfast was aware of it, but she had been smiling more often these days. Not that thin, inscrutable smile she would usually have to keep up appearances. They were easier to read—simple, happy smiles that many times he'd find himself being drawn to.

If that were the only change she had shown, he wouldn't be so concerned.

"Good work, master; I shall see you tomorrow," Belfast bowed as she'd usually do at the end of the work hours.

"Good work to you, too. See you," replied the Commander. Like yesterday and the days before that, she, for a moment, seemed to mumble as if she wanted to say something but abruptly decided against it. Then, in a moment equally fleeting, she would look like someone who had swallowed something bitter and breathed a heavy sigh.

"On second thought, let's have dinner," the Commander declared after a moment of thinking instead of turning around to leave like Belfast thought he would. Then she smiled that simple, happy smile of hers.

In the following days, the Royal Maid Corps continued to speak of that night, much to Belfast's chagrin. But nobody was mumbling behind someone else's back anymore. And she no longer mumbled in the struggle to say those words she had wanted to say.