Indentured Pt. 02

"A good living, not a good life. Not without you. Please, let me stay."

Douglas came from behind the desk and wrapped Owen in a tight embrace. "Of course you can stay! I hated the thought of losing you but I couldn't face myself in the mirror each morning if I let my own desires prevent you from having everything you want."

Owen smiled up at him. "You've just given me everything I want."

Owen sent a letter to his father, notifying the family that he was going into paid service at Brentwood Hall. Two days later, Grayson came to where he was working and informed him: "A man is here to see you. He says he is your brother. I have brought him to the servants' dining hall."

Owen thanked him and went to see which brother had come to visit.

As he expected, it was Jimmy. When Jimmy saw Owen, he ran and threw his arms around him. "Your letter came this morning and Papa read it to us. Don't stay here, come home."

Owen extricated himself from his brother's grip. "I like it here. And Papa doesn't need me."

"I need you. I want us to be together again."

"What you want me for is not available to you anymore, Jimmy. Those days are over."

Jimmy was not used to this assertive attitude from his younger brother, and even less to such self-confidence. Here was not the meek, submissive boy who had left three years ago. Jimmy's demeanor changed from entreaty to challenge. Narrowing his eyes, he asked: "Are you hooked up with someone here?"

"Goodbye, Jimmy."

Jimmy stood there for a moment, finding it hard to believe how greatly his younger brother had changed. Then he stormed from the dining hall and told a passing servant to show him where the butler could be found.

He was guided to Grayson's office. He entered without knocking. "Take me to the master of the house, I have something important to tell him."

Grayson eyed this aggressive, demanding stranger. "Who shall I say wishes to see him?"

"Owen's brother Jimmy."

Grayson took Jimmy out into the hall, closed his office door, and said: "Wait here, I will see if the master is available."

He returned a few minutes later and escorted Jimmy to the sitting room.

In Douglas's five years managing the estate, he had developed the ability to take on a manner anywhere from deferential to imperious, as circumstances warranted. Knowing how Jimmy had preyed upon Owen, and consequently having no respect for this man, he chose accordingly: As Jimmy entered, Douglas was seated at his desk, seemingly occupied with a document. He did not look up until Jimmy was announced. When he did look up, his expression suggested that this visitor's presence was a somewhat annoying interruption. Without inviting Jimmy to sit, he said in clipped syllables: "Mr. Grayson tells me that you claim to have important information for me."

"Yes. It's about my brother Owen."

Douglas gestured for him to proceed.

"He's a fag."

Douglas picked up an apricot from a bowl of dried fruit, inspected it, and put it in his mouth. "Mm-hm" he responded as he chewed.

Watching Douglas eat the apricot without saying anything more, Jimmy grew impatient. "Are you going to fire him?"

Douglas leisurely finished the apricot and retrieved a second dried fruit. He inspected that one while Jimmy waited in anxious silence. Then he said "No" and began to consume the second fruit.

No? Jimmy had taken it for granted that his news was a bombshell that would blast Owen back to the farm, back to him. This was a bitter disappointment - which became suspicion, followed by indignation and finally by intense anger. Bursting with rage, he yelled: "WHY NOT? ARE YOU FUCKING HIM?"

Douglas ceased chewing and stared in disbelief. No one speaks that way to the man who owns the house you live in and rules your family's livelihood.

Regaining his composure, he asked in a deceptively soft voice: "Were you?"

The unruffled return challenge threw Jimmy off balance. In reflexive defense he blurted out: "He's lying!"

Douglas did not attempt to hide a sneer. "I didn't say that Owen had told me you were, I simply asked a question. Now there's no need for him to tell me, because you just did."

The impulsive denial had been Jimmy's fourth mistake in their conversation, and Douglas now delivered the coup de grâce: "I ought to slap your face for the insolence you have shown me. I will instead reveal to your parents what you were doing to your younger brother. I will further inform them that you came here to get him back so that you could resume your predation."

Jimmy's fury, along with his bravado, dissolved into panic. "Please don't do that. I apologize. Please don't."

Douglas looked at Jimmy silently, long enough to heighten the man's terror, before saying "I'll decide in a few days" as he rang for Grayson.

When the Butler entered, Douglas said: "Our visitor is leaving." Then, looking at Jimmy: "He will not return. Ever."

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Owen had sat pensively in the dining hall after Jimmy stormed out, waiting until he felt sufficiently recovered from the altercation before going in search of Douglas to tell him about it. He reached the open door of the sitting room just in time to hear Jimmy loudly demanding to know whether Douglas was having sex with him. He stopped and listened to the rest of the exchange. He was still standing there as Jimmy came out, hurried along by Grayson. Jimmy glared at him as they passed.

Owen knocked on the frame of the open door and was beckoned into the room. "I'm sorry" he began, "I didn't think he would come and bother you."

"I know. Mr. Grayson told me that you were the one Jimmy had come to see."

Owen recounted the dining hall argument.

Douglas rose and went to Owen. Gripping the young man's shoulders, he said: "You found your courage, Owen! You showed him that you're no longer under his control. I'm so happy for you, and so very proud."

He stood there for a few moments before asking: "How much did you hear when you got to the door?"

"I heard everything from the point where he yelled and asked if you were... you know."

"Yes, that was quite a rant. He was intent on getting you back, and when you wouldn't bend obediently to his will, no pun intended, he tried to have you fired. When I refused, he lost all control." Douglas grinned. "You should have seen his face when I threw his question back at him."

"Are you really going to tell our parents?"

"No, I just want him to worry about it for a few days. Your brother is some piece of work. But now he's gone. I think he knows better than to come back."

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So Owen stayed on as a regular member of the staff. He kept some of his salary toward a nest egg, and a small amount for the pub visits. The rest he sent to his family.

Every night, he slept in Douglas's arms.

One morning as they lay together, Douglas said: "I wish I could tell the world how much I love you. And I wish I could make you more than a servant."

Owen reached up and stroked Douglas's face. "I'm glad to be your servant, and I treasure our nights together. It doesn't matter to me that no one else can know."

Despite the reassurances, Douglas desperately wanted to do something for Owen. He wracked his brain for an idea. When it finally came several months later, he was ashamed that he had not thought of it sooner:

Owen had never been to school; a sister had taught him to read and write, and he had gained a rudimentary education by availing himself of the only two publications in his family's home: 'The Old Farmer's Almanac', which his father bought each year for its articles on planting, and an old, well-worn encyclopedia. The almanac had a limited scope, and much of what he gleaned from the battered volumes of the encyclopedia was sketchy or badly out of date. Now hearing conversations among the other servants, he began asking Douglas about the things they discussed. His wide-ranging curiosity was what made Douglas realize that right in this house he had the means to do something for his devoted servant and lover: He took Owen to a room where only the maid who dusted there was ordinarily permitted to go.

Owen stood in open-mouthed wonder: The room was immense, and its walls were lined with bookcases that towered to a ceiling so high that a balcony was necessary for access to the upper shelves. Almost all the bookcases were fully populated. "Have you read all these?" he asked breathlessly.

"Hardly" Douglas replied. "This library was compiled over many generations. Even if I were to spend all day every day reading, I would only make a dent. I choose titles that pique my interest, and even then a book has to capture me in the first ten or twenty pages. You can use any method you like."

"You mean I can read them?"

"I didn't bring you here just to show off my library. Come here and read whenever you want; I trust you to take good care of my books."

Owen made full use of the library: He spent every evening reading except on Saturdays, when he socialized with his fellow servants.

He devoured knowledge: From the best works of fiction he learned about the varieties of human behavior; from reference volumes he gathered facts; and from textbooks he acquired some understanding of the arts and the sciences, including a fair grasp of mathematics and logic. He read something on every topic he encountered, extending even to the histories and the holy books of the world's religions. Everything he read produced questions, which he would broach to Douglas at night. The acuity of his questions and his grasp of the answers showed Douglas what a sharp intelligence and quick mind Owen possessed.

As Owen continued to read and to discuss with Douglas the things he read, his vocabulary mushroomed and his reasoning took on depth and complexity. After only two years he was sufficiently erudite to have held up his end of a conversation with the most educated man.

He hid his high academic level from his fellow servants, feeling that to display it would be ostentatious and unkind.

In their evening discussions, Douglas corrected Owen whenever he made a grammatical error. That led to coaching on syntax and pronunciation, and before long it became apparent to Owen that Douglas was now teaching him how to speak in the accents and language of the upper classes. It seemed to Owen that having such an ability was pointless, since he had no more occasion to use upper-class speech than he had to play polo. However, he was more than willing to indulge this caprice of his revered master.

One day, Douglas told Owen that he was having some of the young man's tasks reassigned so that Owen could assist in managing Douglas's growing array of holdings. Since one of Owen's new functions would be to maintain the financial records, including those of the large household at Brentwood Hall, Douglas trained him in the principles of accounting. He also had several custom-tailored suits and shirts made, which he had Owen put aside along with a pair of expensive shoes, "in case your presence is ever required at a business meeting."

Owen took on his new tasks with enthusiasm, welcoming the challenge. Soon, he had become a full participant in the management of Douglas's estate. Aware now of its full extent, he realized that his master was even wealthier than he had thought.

He did not neglect his non-financial duties, and Grayson's daily report to Douglas often included laudatory comments about his diligence. In view of that, when Douglas's elderly valet became infirm and had to be given less demanding duties, it was not inappropriate for Grayson to suggest, with feigned innocence, that Owen be made valet.

From then on, Owen helped Douglas to dress and undress each day, functions he performed far more intimately than is normally required of a valet – or would be considered proper. Sometimes they were both brought to such a pitch by what he did, that they had sex then and there.

Douglas had no desire to be the bottom in lovemaking, and Owen had no taste for semen. Those preferences set their roles in this Jack Spratt arrangement. Within those roles, however, they managed to devise variations that kept their activities fresh and exciting.

One evening, Douglas brought up an old topic: "You say that you like being my servant, but I'm still troubled knowing that I can't tell everyone how I feel about you. I wish I could shout from the roof that I love you. And I wish I could do so much more than buy you clothes and give you the use of my library."

"And I wish I could convince you" Owen said, "that I'm supremely happy with things as they are. I'm in a good home, I have access to more books than I could ever read, and most important I'm with the man I love. What more could I want?"

"I don't know, but I feel that I haven't done enough. You fill my days and nights with joy; my joy would be complete only if you had the best possible life"

"I do have the best possible life. I can't imagine any better one, or any happiness greater than this."

Owen's supreme happiness came to an abrupt end fifteen years later when Douglas, only in his mid forties, was suddenly struck down by a fatal heart attack.

Consumed by grief, Owen went about his tasks like an automaton.

On the second day following Douglas's death a small group of cousins, his only living relatives, arrived to pay their respects. Owen was sitting near the open casket in the grand ballroom. He had always been the one assigned to attend any cousin visiting Brentwood, and such visits had been frequent, so he was familiar with them all. Watching now as one cousin after another walked to the casket and bade Douglas a silent farewell before returning to his seat, Owen thought for the first time about his future. He wondered if the estate was to be sold or if one of these men would be his new master. He certainly knew which one he would most prefer and which one he dreaded serving.

His thoughts were interrupted when Douglas's lawyer appeared at the door and announced the reading of the will. The cousins rose from their chairs and Owen rose too, out of deference, only to find himself swept along with the group. Having no opportunity to separate unobtrusively, he was swept with them all the way into the drawing room. He moved to the back so that he could make an inconspicuous exit.

The will opened with the typical clauses covering funeral expenses and executor's fees. Owen only half listened; he was planning his covert departure.

The beginning of the next clause caught his attention: "My relatives are all independently wealthy and have no need of anything from me. Therefore, purely as a courtesy I am leaving a small sum to each of them."

Before he could wonder at that, what he heard next left him stunned: "My house, my lands, my business interests, plus all other assets, I hereby convey to my beloved companion, Mr. Owen Minton."

Owen had just been made a very rich man.

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His mind was still reeling as he exited the drawing room after signing the necessary papers. He sought out Grayson and asked him to call the staff together, prepared to hear the Butler rebuff such a request from a subordinate. Instead, Grayson turned and went to summon the others.

Once they had assembled, Owen gathered his scattered wits and using language that no longer concealed his advanced education, he said: "I'm sure you will be flabbergasted, as was I, to learn that our master left his estate to me."

He saw no reaction. Had they been told?

"I hope you will choose to stay although it means serving someone who has until now been your colleague. Those who prefer to leave will be given a letter of reference and a sum that should tide them over until they obtain positions elsewhere. For those who stay, it will be my goal to treat you as well as our master treated us."

Grayson came forward and asked: "Sir, may I speak?"

"Yes" Owen replied, "if you don't call me 'sir'. I may now be your employer, but I'm still Owen."

Grayson shook his head. "Forgive me, but there is a protocol to be maintained in service. In addressing the master we do not use his first or last name, it would be discourteous. Furthermore, if we were to become accustomed to addressing you in that way and inadvertently did so in the presence of guests, it would greatly reduce your stature in the community."

Owen nodded. "Thank you for your guidance, concise and beneficial as always. I will abide by it. Say what you want to say."

"Thank you sir. I wanted to tell you that we considered it quite likely Mr. Hathaway would make you his heir, because of ... " he paused, looking for a judicious phrase. "... because of the very special bond between you."

Owen's startled look drew a smirk from Grayson. "Oh sir, he did little to hide it from us. And even if he had tried, we would have known. Servants always know far more about their masters than their masters know about them; few secrets fail to find their way below stairs."

Owen acknowledged that with another nod, and Grayson continued: "I want to tell you also of our admiration for the way you have conducted yourself all these years: You never boasted of your association with the master, never demanded favor. You labored as if your ... singular affiliation did not exist. We have long held you in high esteem, and I believe I speak for nearly all the staff when I say we will be proud to work for you."

The eldest cousin now called Owen aside. Indicating the other cousins, he said: "In case you have any concerns that your choice as Douglas's primary beneficiary might have caused ill feelings among us, I can set your mind at ease. You see, he spoke of you often, telling us that you enriched his life immeasurably, and saying that he loved you as he had never loved anyone else. Several years ago he announced his desires regarding the will, and asked for our blessing. We gave it unreservedly."

The eldest cousin went on to convey the group's condolences, invited Owen to contact him for any needed advice, and apologized that commitments at their distant homes would prevent them from staying for the interment several days hence.

After the cousins left, Owen went to the library, where he could be alone to ponder this momentous change in his life. All the things Douglas had done that Owen had thought capricious at the time, now made perfect sense: It was clear why he had not only taught Owen how to manage the assets and the household, but had drilled him in upper-class elocution and bought him the fine clothing: Douglas must have had some warning of an early death, and had done everything possible to ensure Owen's future. Everything had been done out of love.

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The funeral was attended by Douglas's neighbors and friends, whom Owen greeted in the elegant clothes Douglas had bought him. Based on his refined speech and his appearance, which had been further enhanced by a hair stylist Grayson called in, everyone assumed that he was some relative of Douglas's who had come from afar to take over the estate. They would have known otherwise had they ever taken notice of the attractive young man who sometimes addressed their needs when they were at Brentwood, but servants are essentially invisible to visitors, for whom they are little more than a pair of hands. Even Owen's striking good looks had not made him an exception.

Also in attendance were Douglas's, now Owen's, tenants. None of them other than his parents had seen him since he was a boy in threadbare clothing, so they too assumed that this elegant man was one of Douglas's distant relatives. Even his parents did not immediately recognize him, clothed and coiffed as he was. He hurriedly steered them into the drawing room and told them of the bequest. When they had gotten over their shock, his father looked around the large, sumptuously-furnished room and asked: "Are you going to keep this house? I would be lost in it."