Indentured Pt. 02

"I've spent my happiest years here" Owen told him. "I plan to stay. But I can buy a house for the family wherever you want to live, with rooms and beds for everyone. And I'll have it maintained, you won't have to lift a finger."

"I appreciate the offer" his father responded, "but you know what they say about idle hands. Besides, I'm getting on in years, this is no time for big changes. I'd rather keep doing the work I've done all my life. I have the boys to help me; even Jimmy chips in if I prod him enough. But I'll take you up on those beds."

"Done. And you won't have to worry about crop failures anymore. Instead of paying rent to the landlord you'll be receiving money from him. Now there's something I have to ask of you and the family: The people I'll need as business associates and friends are a very snobby crowd. Unless you're from what they call 'old money' they look down on you. I would be shunned if they knew I used to be poor, so when anyone asks about our identical names, it's vital that you just say I'm a relative you never knew about."

Owen's father nodded his agreement. "If that's what you need." Then a mischievous grin appeared on his face. "Since you're now my landlord, will I have to call you Mr. Minton?" he asked with a wink.

Owen laughed for the first time since losing Douglas. "I'll visit you as often as I can. If you need anything between visits, or if the money I send you each month isn't enough, let me know right away."

His father scrutinized him appraisingly. "You look good; don't let yourself go to pot just because you're rich."

Having settled matters with his parents, Owen went back out to the assembled mourners. He delivered a glowing eulogy, accepted expressions of sympathy from the neighbors and friends, and allowed his tenants to introduce themselves. A few of the tenants stared a bit too long at his face, finding it vaguely familiar. They were not, however, about to question their new landlord.

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The morning after the funeral, Grayson came to the sitting room, where Owen sat reading messages of condolence. He told Owen that Jimmy was in the entrance hall. "Shall I send him away?"

Jimmy was the last person Owen wanted to see, but he could not simply dismiss his brother without a word. He sighed. "No, send him up."

Compassion was not in Jimmy's nature. Nor was subtlety. As he entered the drawing room he said: "So Hathaway left everything to you. I was right, he was fucking you."

"What do you want, Jimmy?"

"You must have given him one hell of a good time. I guess I trained you right."

"That's what you call what you did to me? Training?"

"You went along with it."

"I didn't know any better. What do you want, I'm in no mood for this."

"I'm moving in with you."

"Is that so. Well here's a fact that seems to have escaped you: I didn't issue an invitation."

"Now that Hathaway is dead, you need me."

"No, it's Papa who needs you, he's close to seventy."

"He's got the other boys, he'll do ok. My things are all packed. You can send someone to pick them up."

"Go home and unpack, you're not moving in."

"Why not?"

"Where do I start? I don't want you here. Go back home, help Papa."

"You're rich; if you won't let me move in here, give me money to live someplace else."

"No."

"Either give me money or I'll tell Papa that you were letting Hathaway cornhole you. You know how he feels about fags."

"Papa's not stupid, do you think he hasn't figured out what Douglas and I must have been to each other? And even if it were news to him, what would he do, disown me? I'm now the family's source of financial security."

Jimmy was not about to give up easily: "I'll tell your neighbors that you're queer."

Owen laughed for the second time since Douglas's death, but this was a mirthless laugh meant solely to irritate his brother. "Go ahead. I'm a wealthy man with extensive lands and businesses; a lot of people will depend on my trade. They'll still compete to have me at their dinner parties."

During Jimmy's visit nearly two decades earlier, he had been dismayed by his younger brother's self-confidence. This was even worse: Owen's total command of the present situation left him feeling utterly powerless.

Owen rang for the Butler. "Douglas certainly had you pegged, you are truly some piece of work."

When Grayson entered, Owen said: "Please show my brother out. If he ever comes back, have him arrested for first degree trespass."

Jimmy didn't move. Grayson grasped his arm. He broke free. "I'M YOUR BROTHER! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!"

"Very well" Owen replied. "Mr. Grayson, have two of our strongest men help Jimmy back to the family farm."

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Most people rejoice at coming into great wealth, but Owen cared nothing for his new riches. He would gladly have relinquished everything if that would bring Douglas back. He vowed, however, to accept the part that life had assigned him: He kept up Douglas's practice of visiting the tenants on a regular basis, and like his former master he accepted invitations to dinner parties as well as occasionally hosting dinner parties at Brentwood Hall. In advance of the first event, Grayson familiarized him with patrician etiquette, from use of the proper utensils at each course to the correct manner in which to greet people of the various social ranks.

The dinner parties would have added zest to Owen's life had it not been that without Douglas, nothing held a spark for him. He approached each day with resignation rather than eagerness.

Owen had consented to being called 'sir' by the staff, and he had also agreed to address the male servants by last name only – with one exception: He insisted on addressing the Butler as "Mister" Grayson, to honor the man who had given him invaluable advice and counsel throughout his years at Brentwood Hall. He used the title even in the presence of visitors, who accepted the odd behavior as a permissible eccentricity.

Lineage and pedigree are of supreme importance to the upper classes, so there was much interest in the ancestry of this wealthy newcomer. Attempts to discover his genealogy by the usual means were unsuccessful (family histories of poor people in that country were not entered in official records); that made Owen a particularly intriguing mystery. Propriety forbade asking him directly about his family, but it did not bar subtle probing.

Even though Owen had no previous experience as the subject of stealthy interrogation, his quick mind enabled him to avoid giving any significant information without seeming rude.

A number of eligible young women visited the rich, handsome bachelor. While cordial, he did not respond to their implied advances, and news of his indifference to the wiles of even the loveliest ladies gave rise to the suspicion that his interests lay in another direction. As a result, he began receiving visits from men who tried their luck, hinting broadly that they would be happy to provide companionship of the sort he must want. He was as unresponsive to them as to the women. Douglas had been his one great love, he did not care to try for what could at best be only a far lesser sequel. He preferred to console himself with memories of the man who had meant everything to him.

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Shortly after the second gloomy anniversary of Douglas's passing, Grayson told Owen that the Footman was leaving service in order to care for aged parents. This was a rare, if minor disruption in what had become for Owen a soothingly monotonous life. He told Grayson to contact the local employment agency and obtain dossiers for three footman candidates.

Three dossiers arrived by courier the following day. Owen began glancing through them before passing them on to Grayson, who as supervisor of the staff was authorized to choose.

The second dossier was for a boy whose age was the same as Owen's had been when he came to the manor house. This would be the teenager's first position in service. Owen did not pass the documents on to Grayson, having already made his own choice.

"Jack Spratt" is a reference to an old nursery rhyme:

His wife could eat no lean.

And so, betwixt the two of them

They licked the platter clean."