This story takes place in a country where tenant farming and indentured servitude are common. Although it is about servant and master, it does not involve bondage and discipline.
The story will be posted in three parts. The plot unfolds more slowly than in my previous works.
Chapter 1- Change of Address
Owen had never before been off the farm except for a few hours every Sunday when his family walked to the little nearby church. But now, in his eighteenth year of life, he was several miles from home, standing nervously in the drawing room of the landowner's big manor house. He was waiting to meet the man who would be his master for... he had no idea how long.
By the standards of the wealthy, this was a modest residence. To Owen, it was a mansion: The vast entrance hall alone had taken his breath away, with its marble floor, its high ceiling, and the wide grand staircase that dominated the space.
Douglas Hathaway entered the drawing room and regarded the youth who was standing there with lowered head. "Hello" he said. "Sit down, let's chat for a bit."
Owen sat on the edge of a chair and braced himself. His brothers had warned him that as a servant he should anticipate harshness and even brutality from a landowner.
"You might be more comfortable if you sat back" Douglas offered, "and you
can
look at me you know, I'm not a king."
Owen obediently moved back in the chair but continued to look down at the floor. Douglas walked over and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. He cringed.
Douglas quickly withdrew his hand. "Don't be frightened" he said softly, sitting down opposite the new servant. "I just want to get acquainted with you. All I know is that your name is Owen, your father works one of my farms, and you're eighteen."
"Eighteen and a half" Owen corrected firmly, looking up for the first time. "Almost nineteen."
"Eighteen and a half" Douglas granted with a smile, amused by Owen's insistence on the additional half year.
Now that Owen had raised his head and was no longer hiding under his lush crop of blond hair, Douglas had the first full view of a handsome face whose sky-blue eyes gleamed in the light from the large windows. He had already noted Owen's strapping figure, a result no doubt of the teenager's labor on the farm. He observed silently that Owen had the sort of beauty found only in the young.
What Owen saw when he looked up was a man with an athletic build, who appeared to be little older than Owen. This was not the bloated, cigar-puffing old tyrant he had expected. The contrast so unsettled him that he barely heard Douglas's next question until it was repeated emphatically: "
Do you know why you're here
."
"Oh. I'm sorry... sir. Yes, my father owes you money."
"That's right. He rents one of my farms and pays me each year from what he earns when he sells his crops. Last year the crops did poorly and he couldn't pay the rent. Rather than put your family out of their home, I suggested that he send one of his children here to work off the unpaid rent. You'll be what is called an indentured servant. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
Douglas told Owen what his salary would be, and asked how much he wanted to keep as spending money. Owen asked what he would be required to buy during his indenture. Douglas told him that room, board, and a uniform would be supplied, so whatever Owen chose to keep from his salary would be his to spend as he liked.
"Then please use the whole salary for the debt. It's my father's greatest worry."
Douglas rose from his chair, which caused Owen to rise as well; his parents had told him that a servant does not sit if his master is standing, unless he is told to do so.
Owen was six feet tall, but he had to look up at Douglas, who towered several inches above him. It made the young landowner look especially powerful .
Douglas pulled a tasseled cord on the wall. "You'll be supervised by Mr. Grayson, the Butler. He is in charge of the staff. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes sir. Am I your slave?"
"Good god, no! You're not a prisoner either. During your time off you can come and go as you please."
A stern-looking man strode into the room, and Douglas said: "Grayson, this is Owen Minton, our new footman."
Grayson's austere manner did not preclude a friendly if formal greeting: "Welcome to Brentwood Hall, Minton. You may consult me at any time if you have questions or difficulties. Now let us go and have you measured for your uniform while I explain your duties."
=====
When Grayson came to Douglas that evening to give the daily report, Douglas asked: "How is our new footman getting on?"
"Not well" the Butler replied, "and the fault is not his. Most of the staff are ill-disposed toward him because he is indentured and his clothing shows that he is very poor. I was hoping that because of his age they would be supportive, but only one is so much as pleasant to him. He tries to appear unaffected by their attitude but the hurt shows on his face."
Douglas scowled. "Let's see if things improve over the next few weeks. Maybe as they get to know him their attitude will change. Better clothes should help: The seamstress will have his uniform ready within a day, and for his off hours give him some items from the stock we compile for charity."
Douglas treated his servants well. One example was that each of them had an individual room, in contrast to many of the grand houses in that country where servants slept dormitory-style. Knowing that Owen must have shared a room at home, Douglas pictured him exulting in the comparative luxury of a personal space.
That picture was to prove inaccurate: Walking through the servants' section late that evening, a shortcut Douglas often took on his way to the master bedroom, he heard disturbing sounds as he was passing Owen's door. He stopped and opened it.
The room was dark, but in the light from the hall he saw Owen sitting in a chair, clad in pajamas and holding a pillow against his face in an apparent attempt to muffle wracking sobs. He entered. "Owen?"
Owen jumped half out of the chair, and turned toward the voice. Seeing Douglas, he rose hurriedly to his bare feet.
"Sit down" Douglas directed. "I didn't mean to startle you. I heard you as I was passing, and I came in to find out what was the matter."
"I tried not to make any noise" Owen responded. "Please don't beat me too hard."
"Beat you? What in the world gave you
that
idea?"
"My brothers said that landowners beat their servants."
"I've never beaten anyone" Douglas told him, closing the door and switching the light on. "Why were you crying?"
Some seconds went by before Owen answered. "At home we sleep two in a bed, I was lonely. I'm sorry to make so much noise."
"You weren't making any noise; I wouldn't have heard you at all if I weren't passing directly outside. Stay there, I'll be right back."
He returned a few minutes later with a brandy snifter containing a small amount of amber liquid. "Don't get up" he commanded when Owen began to rise. He held out the snifter. "Cup the bottom of the glass in your palm, as I'm doing."
Owen could barely believe that his master had not only gone to the trouble of bringing something to a servant, he was trusting Owen to handle an object that looked very delicate. Owen carefully took the snifter. "Thank you."
"Have you ever had cognac?"
"That's alcohol isn't it? Papa doesn't let me have alcohol, he says I'm not old enough."
"You can have
this
alcohol, it will help you get to sleep. Sip it slowly."
Owen raised the snifter, and was assaulted by the fumes. He recoiled. Then he looked apprehensively at Douglas, afraid that his reaction might have caused offense.
Douglas smiled. "That's called the bouquet of the brandy. Dedicated cognac drinkers consider it an essential part of the experience. It takes getting used to."
Owen raised the snifter again, and sipped. He didn't like the strong taste but he would not insult his beneficent master by failing to consume it all.
Lacking a frequent drinker's tolerance for alcohol, Owen was soon swaying in his chair, struggling to keep hold of the empty snifter. Douglas took it and said "Looks like the cognac is doing its job." He helped Owen walk the few feet to the bed and laid him down. "It will get better" he promised as he swung Owen's legs up and covered him.
He watched until he was sure that Owen was asleep. Then he left the room.
The next day, Grayson reported that Owen had gone about his tasks "rather lethargically, though he is making a concerted effort."
"He was probably awake most of the night" Douglas said. "Last evening I found him crying. He told me he's never slept alone before. I gave him some cognac and that put him to sleep but most likely he woke up again. He'll need some medicinal help for a while. In my medicine cabinet you'll find something I imported a few months ago to treat a bout of insomnia. Look for a bottle with the brand name 'Repose'. Give him two capsules each day to take at bedtime. Also bring him a pair of slippers from my shoe closet; he has none of his own."
Walking past Owen's room that night, Douglas again heard muffled sobbing. The Repose had not been sufficient, and Douglas didn't want to risk an overdose by giving more than the recommended amount. He stood thinking for a minute. Then he went in.
Owen was in bed, with his face buried in his pillow. Douglas touched him on the arm. He turned his tear-streaked face to Douglas and groggily said "Hello sir" as he tried to pull the covers down so he could stand in the presence of his master.
Looking at this teenage boy who had been thrust abruptly into a big house occupied by people most of whom had inexplicably made themselves his enemies, Douglas felt a rush of sympathy - mixed, he had to admit, with a certain amount of physical attraction.
He helped with the covers. "Come with me. You need someone next to you in bed tonight."
"I don't think anyone will let me sleep with them. They don't like me."
"I'm not taking you to anyone else" Douglas told him, opening the door. "You'll sleep with me."
"With y
ou
?"
"Yes. Come."
Swinging his legs over the side as quickly as he could manage in his woozy condition, Owen stood up, took a few wobbly steps, and started to fall. Douglas strode forward and caught him. Then, sliding one arm around his back and the other under his behind, Douglas lifted him.
Owen put his head down on Douglas's shoulder.
He was cooing happily as Douglas carried him to the master bedroom.
After putting Owen down in the big four-poster bed, Douglas changed into pajamas and got in beside his overnight guest. He pulled the covers up and was about to say goodnight when he saw that Owen was already asleep.
In the middle of the night, a voice awakened him. He lay still, listening. Owen was mumbling something Douglas couldn't make out. The boy sounded frightened. When the mumbling gave way to whimpers, Douglas gave Owen's arm a gentle shake. Owen opened his eyes and tried without success to focus on Douglas. "They were chasing me, Jimmy" he whined. "They were yelling and they were chasing me."
