Forward:  A word to begin with.

For several years I've been Tom Borden's editor and proofreader.  He trusted me enough to give me free reign with his stories, knowing that I would change nothing of critical importance to them.  He even allowed me to re-write one of his stories ("Church of the Holy Seed") so that it would meet the "age" requirements in order to be posted on this site.

Last year, Tom had a surgery, and I received one promising e-mail from him after he returned to his home.  I've not heard from him, since.  I've written to him several times, with no replies and no computer-generated rejections.  So, I have no further information about him.  I loved him as a friend and a very dear mentor (and still do), and wish him well, wherever he may be.

Now then … after that introduction, let me just  say that three years ago, with his knowing of my involvement in Community Theatre, Tom wrote this story, "DISHONORED", just for me, and asked that I  adapt it to a one-act play to be performed wherever I could find a venue for it.

Well, I never did fulfill his wish, and with seemingly having lost contact with him, I'm now taking the liberty to add this story to his collection of thirty-four others.  I feel in my heart that it should not be lost to his fans and dedicated readers.  I do truly miss him.

I hope you enjoy "DISHONORED" as much as I do.

(signed)  Gerry Young

*******

Sir George Tubbs-Rumford stood at the window of the posh Fifth Avenue Gentleman’s Club and looked out upon the street with idle disinterest.  The light snowfall of the night before had turned to rain, and late afternoon crowds of New Yorkers rushed along the sidewalk under a virtual canopy of black umbrellas.  The horses, with steam shooting in bursts from their nostrils, clopped along with their cabs and clanging streetcars in tow.

Sir George turned away from the gloomy sight and sank into a large green velvet wing chair near the fireplace.  Dampness pervaded the room, causing the varnish on the carved wooden hand rests to feel sticky.

An elderly waiter appeared from behind a row of potted ferns with a glass of sherry and a silver tray with several brands of cigars.

"Good afternoon, Sir."  He spoke softly so as not to disturb those guests who were asleep in their chairs or those sitting in stony silence behind their newspapers.  "Would you care for a cigar?  This one is Jamaican, and this, Nicaraguan.  These three are Cuban, but I would recommend the Hoyo de Monterrey.  Very smooth.  But the Partagas and the Padrón are quite nice, also.  Will you be dining with us, Sir?"

"What's on the board tonight?  You wouldn't have a good saddle of mutton, would you?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir.  Chicken pie, ocean perch, and…"

"Perhaps later."  Sir George selected the Hoyo de Monterrey cigar.  "First, though, I'll be meeting with…"

"Oh, yes, Sir.  Mr. Sutton sent word that you were to be accorded all comforts until he arrives."  The waiter glanced out the window.  "It looks as though it will be a most unpleasant New Years Eve tonight.  This is a good place to be, right here by the fire, I would say.  It hardly seems possible, Sir, that we're entering 1898.  We'll be in a new century before we know it."

The waiter departed, and Sir George lit his cigar.  He knew that proper decorum in America called for a cigar only after a meal.  But he believed such pleasures should not be put off.

*******

Sir George Tubbs-Rumford, British historian and author, arrived that morning after an eleven-day crossing of the Atlantic.  He'd come to America to confer with Laurence Sutton, an important New York publisher.  Among his published writings in Britain, Sir George had, to his credit, a highly acclaimed ten-volume history of England, which he hoped might also be published in the United States.  Queen Victoria claimed she had been enormously impressed with it, although no one actually believed she'd read it.  She had, however, been made aware of the fact that Tubbs-Rumford had treated Her Majesty and Prince Albert with extreme tenderness.  And with this in mind, she considered him the author-laureate of Great Britain and promptly granted him knighthood.

*******

Before long, Mr. Sutton arrived with an air of good cheer and extended his hand.  "So nice to see you again, Sir George.  It doesn't seem possible it's been two years since I was last in London and visited you at your lovely estate."

Sir George rose and greeted Sutton with a warm handshake.  "Two years?  It seems like only yesterday."

"You're looking so fit, I hardly recognized you.  When I last saw you, you were…"

"Yes, yes, I've whittled myself down a bit.  But I still have this bloody paunch, and my hair is as white as clouds and thinner than ever.  I've just turned sixty, and I know the downhill slide is now unstoppable."

Sutton reached for the glass of sherry offered to him by the waiter.  "I trust Mrs. Tubbs-Rumford is well.  Such a charming woman."

Sir George raised his close-set eyebrows, revealing a sparkle in his blue-green eyes.  "She died last year."

Sutton brought his hand to his mouth.  "Oh, dear, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"She was such a lovely lady.  So Aristocratic."  Sutton lowered himself into the wing chair across the small table from Sir George.  "If I had ever married, I would have chosen a woman just like her."

"Well, if I'd known that, I would have let you have her."  Sir George looked at Sutton with a sly grin.

"Oh, surely not."

"Oh, surely yes.  That is, if I'd had no regard for your happiness.  I know you were quite unaware when you visited, but it was not a good marriage."

"I'm so sorry."

"Isabel had no respect for me.  She considered me and my position unworthy, always comparing me unfavourably to her father, Lord Templeton.  He was a member of the Peerage, the Aristocracy, you see.  My marriage rotted over the years.  In the end, I was well rid of her."

"Oh, my word."  Sutton's face began to flush.

"I was spared having to spend the rest of my miserable life with a demanding old woman who lay all day on her fussy Earl of Chesterfield davenport like a bloody queen smothered in jewels and powder.  When she died, I gave every penny of her money to the Home for Indigents.  It was the only act of human kindness she ever did.  My only regret is that she never knew."

Sutton was stunned at such a blunt admission, especially since it came so suddenly after greeting each other.  Where, he wondered, was the reserve known to be so typical of the English?  He hailed the waiter to refill Sir George's glass.

"Your wife was a beautiful and beguiling woman, Sir George.  In the face of that, I'm amazed you could not accommodate her behavior."

"Accommodate her insults, you say?  Listen here, Sutton.  Beauty pales in the face of ridicule.  All men know that.  When we retired each night, she would give me a parting word of derision, and then go directly to sleep with her conscience totally at rest.  She did her best to poison my life, and did so with sublime disregard.  When the end came, she uttered a garbled deathbed curse that I was luckily unable to understand."

After a long moment of silence while Sir George stared sternly into the fire, Sutton leaned forward.  He and Sir George were of the same age and had been close friends and literary colleagues for more than a decade.  He knew he could speak his mind openly without rebuff.

'I realize, Sir George, it's not my place to say this.  But I am hard put to be truly sympathetic with you.  If you'll pardon my bluntness, it seems to me you've failed to recognize marriage as the proverbial two-way street.  Perhaps if you'd made a little more effort…"

"Rubbish."  Sir George turned his gaze sharply at Sutton.  "This from a man who knows nothing about that misery called marriage?  If a man had nothing else in his marriage, he should, at the very least, command respect."

"You mean she didn't regard your knighthood with the same reverence you had."  Sutton immediately regretted his remark and sat back biting his lip.

Sir George cocked his head to one side, with a wide smile stretched across his face.  "You won't be surprised, my good man, to know you're quite right about that.  I'm very proud of my knighthood."

After another long silence, Sutton said, "There must still be reminders of your wife in your home that would make you feel more kindly to her."

"Isabel decorated my house with all sorts of odd curiosities she collected hither and yon.  But they're all gone now.  I would say Isabel was like a great oak.  When it's cut down and hauled away, even its shadow disappears.  Her memory resides as far away from me as those North Atlantic icebergs we passed on our way to New York."

Sutton shifted in his chair and looked away.  "I do believe I've never seen you this bitter.  You embarrass me a bit, Sir George, talking so openly about your dear … uh … your wife."

"Then we shan't speak of her again."  Sir George rose and stepped to the window.  He waved his arm toward the outside.

"What an unpleasant outlook.  A dreadfully melancholy scene.  It rather reminds me of London this time of year."

"I've heard it's expected to turn to snow again tonight," Sutton said.

Sir George held a monocle over his right eye and tapped the window with his finger.  "Look.  Who is that woman?  The one throwing bundles up into the refuse cart."

Sutton rose from his chair.  "Why, that's Mrs. Gooch, the club's housekeeper."

Sir George gave a quick shake of his head.  "That starched cap of hers will be nothing but a rag if she doesn't get out of the rain."

"Mrs. Gooch has been here at the club for many years.  A widow most of the time.  She's the model of perfection when it comes to keeping this club in immaculate condition."

Sir George moved his face closer to the glass.  "She has what I call a lively bosom and mobile hips.  I wonder if she has a lover."

"Really now, Sir George.  Why would you wonder such a thing?"

"She'd probably make a good lover — a good wife."

"She's only a servant.  Why would that matter to you?"

Sir George smiled and returned to his seat.  " 'Only a servant.'  I do like the sound of that."

Sutton settled back in his chair and signaled for more wine.  He cast his eyes about the room and smiled in an attempt to change the subject and be cheery amidst the gloom.

After a deep sigh, he spoke again.  "I love it here in this club.  To get away from all the frantic hubbub and noise is what a man needs now and again.  A quiet spot where he can evict all cares from his mind.  For me, it offers the tranquility and peace I crave as a respite from the incessant nerve-racking world out there.  It's a lovely fire, isn't it?"

"Yes.  Quite."  A shadow of a frown swept over Sir George's face.  "But there's always something lacking in these clubs, even in England."

"What could that be?  I find nothing lacking.  It certainly couldn't be tranquility."

"Think about it, Sutton.  Do you not find pleasure in matters of the heart?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"What is life worth without love, passion, romance?  Do you find anything like that here in your lonely repose?"

"Well … no.  This certainly is not the place for that."

"Of course it isn't.  Romance would be a stranger here in this gloomy setting.  But outside, love and romance is all around us.  We all need to be loved, Sutton.  Even by…"  Sir George turned and nodded his head toward the window.

"Even by Mrs. Gooch?  Is that what you're saying?  You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Well, for my part," Sutton said, "I'd rather not have any love at all than to be loved by a … a servant.  I suppose you would think it quite proper to be loved by someone like Mrs. Gooch?"

"I would find it rather amusing … and rewarding.  I say.  You Americans have no imagination.  Puritans, all of you.

Sutton took a silver snuffbox from his vest pocket and snuffed a pinch into each nostril.

Sir George shook his head.  "You should go to cigars, Sutton, and give up that old habit.  Nobody does that anymore.  The best things about this club are the fine Cuban Cigars we're presented with.  They have a way of cutting through the dreariness and melancholy in the atmosphere."

"To my mind, Sir George, any dreariness in this club comes from an overabundance of cigar smoke."

Sir George leaned back elegantly in his seat and produced three almost perfect smoke rings that rose toward the ceiling and dissipated.

Sutton waved his hand before his face to indicate his displeasure.  He'd never seen this side of Sir George.  The comments about Mrs. Gooch were completely out of character.  They didn't square with the pomposity of the man's outward demeanor.  Sutton couldn't recall a conversation with him when anything other than his writing, research, and other unobjectionable matters were discussed.

"Let me ask you a question, Sir George.  Since your wife passed, have you been lonely?  That is … have you felt a need for … what should I say … companionship?"

Sir George's eyes brightened.  "I have to admit my large home in the country did seem a bit lonely at first.  But I've retained all my servants after Isabel was gone.  What's more, I have their complete devotion … and their love."

"Love?  You mean…"

"Yes, indeed. Quite passionate, in fact."  Sir George looked at Sutton with a reflective smile.

A short gasp came from Sutton's lips.  "You must be joking."

"Not at all."

"You don't believe, do you, that you're taking undue advantage of those poor wretches?"

"I believe a man commits a wrong against nature if he does not take advantage of everything he is confronted with in this world.  Do you not think it virtuous to allow, and even encourage, the lowest classes to have the pleasures they seek?"

Sutton peered over his spectacles at Sir George.  "But with a domestic?  I certainly wouldn't stand in their way, Sir George.  But to offer my … person … in such a way is unthinkable.  Really, Sir George.  Where's your dignity?  You don't want people to think you're common.  What would all your friends and associates think?"

"Probably the same as what you're thinking."

"What is the nature, precisely, of these lascivious encounters?  What on Earth does it do for you?  Certainly, it doesn't enhance your standing or your good name."

Sir George stood up and turned his backside to the fire.  He held his glass just below his lips.  "When I find myself alone with one of them, she changes her assssspect.  No longer the scullery maid with chapped hands, sweaty neck, and strings of hair in her eyes.  Her pale cheeks turn rosy, and there's a scent of perfume or vanilla.  She unpins her hair and transforms herself into a woman of purpose."

"Purpose?  What purpose?"

"Seduction, my friend.  Seduction."

Sutton furrowed his brow.  "Are you saying you allow these … servants … to seduce  you?  I don't understand.  It's normally the woman who plays the part of the temptress, and the man's place to be the seducer.  In my mind, your situation seems akin to being seduced by a scarlet lady of the street."

" 'Scarlet lady of the street'?  Not at all, Sutton.  Not at all.  In a situation like that, seduction plays no part.  Neither one of the parties needs to be seduced.  They each have something the other wants, and both are willing to give at the outset.  More like a simple business transaction."

"That sounds exactly like what you and your domestics are doing."

"Oh, but my good man," Sir George said, "the little maid thinks she's seducing me.  That is the greater part of my pleasure.

Sutton shook his head and cast his eyes over the bulky knight standing before him.  "I hope you'll pardon me for saying this, but you are sixty years old and…"

Sir George laughed and returned to his seat.  "You don't think for a moment, do you, Sutton, that my graying hair, blotchy complexion, and this jolly old belly attracts them.  It's who I am that drives them to seduce me.  It's my title, my position.  They recognize me as a man of consequence, of culture, of importance.  And the idea of seducing such a man arouses them."

"You talked earlier about romance.  A scullery maid seducing a titled gentleman doesn't sound at all romantic to me."

Sir George hailed the waiter for more sherry.  "If I were a commoner, I would never have the love I'm able to garner as a wealthy Knight of the Realm."

"So you believe it's not you these domestics crave.  It's the person who holds your title and your position."

"You are quite discerning, I dare say, Sutton."

It was now Sutton's turn to stand before the fire.  He looked up at the ancient oil that hung above the mantle.  Titled Mount Jurgins, it appeared to be nothing more than a depressing pile of rocks, now checked and stained a mustard-yellow by years of cigar smoke.

Sutton rubbed his hands over the sputtering flames.  "I can think of nothing more degrading.  You don't find it demeaning to be seduced by a domestic?"

"Quite to the contrary, Sutton.  I find it a matter of honor."

Sutton remained quiet for a moment and continued to watch the flames.  "You seem to have no inhibitions over flaunting your tolerance for a domestic's desire for you, or should I say your important title."

"I wouldn't say I'm tolerant of it.  I welcome it.  If I flaunt anything, it's my need for the love of anyone who finds me attractive."

"You mean, anyone who finds your title and position attractive."

"Of course.  I give in to those poor things as it takes my fancy."

Sutton pressed his thumb and index finger against his forehead and stared at the floor.  "So let me get this straight.  The thrill you feel as your servants seduce you comes merely from observing their passion to be intimate with a man of your stature — your rank, title, and prominence."

"Not only observing their passion, Sutton, but experiencing it in all it's amorous manifestations."

Sir George laughed and stepped again to the window.  "It's a wonderful thing.  Let me tell you, Sutton, they're like frolicking puppies in their effort to seduce me.  It's especially pleasurable when one of them comes to me crying after having some altercation with one of the other servants."

"I'm not sure I want to hear about it," Sutton said as he returned to his chair.

"The parlor maid.  A dark-skinned Italian.  Hot-blooded she is.  She set upon me like a tigress.  There was no mistaking her ravenous desire for me. 

"An upstairs maid.  A pale-cheeked lazy girl, but willowy and unblemished.  It's amazing how the most wilted looking flower of a girl can become insatiable when bent on seduction. 

"The cook.  Ahhh, the cook.  Round and rosy with a bottom that rhythmically rises and falls as she walks.  It's like it has a life of its own.  Her soft Yorkshire accent and large hands on my chest, her fat thighs against mine.  Such magnificent debauches. 

"Occasionally, I'll offer them a bit of cognac to soften any inhibitions they might be feeling."

Sutton shook his head and pounded both fists on the arms of his chair.  "I don't mind telling you, Sir George, your behavior is disgusting.  Such nonsense is incomprehensible for a man in your position.  I do think your knighthood has gone to your head.  You may be lonely, but I don't understand this ungovernable passion to have you and your title admired in this way by even the lowest of the classes.  And while I'm at it, I'm appalled that you have no respect for your wife's memory."

Sir George turned from the window and stood by his chair with a conciliatory expression on his face.  "I trust that my sharing this with you will have no bearing on your assessment of my history series."

Sutton turned his gaze to the fire.  "I surely hope not."  He knew his answer was not entirely reassuring, and expected it would put a trace of doubt in his friend's mind.  After all, it was important to Sutton that Sir George knew the gravity of having revealed such unseemly behavior.

*******

Evening had now descended upon the city.  Through the window could be seen a light snowfall, sparkling in the streetlights.  The waiter arrived with their fish dinner, and the little balding man scurried fussily about as he lit the candled table-lamps.

Sir George tucked his linen napkin under his collar.  "I say, Sutton, when is this club going to be electrified?  It must be the last hold-out in all of New York."

"The Board of Directors has been considering it, but it's a matter of money.  Actually, I don't believe they think it's necessary."

"I would figure as much.  The fish, though, is really quite good.  Nicely boned."

"You'll be interested to know, Sir George, the chef is English."

"Oh, how jolly."

Sutton casually picked at his food.  The whole conversation with Sir George that afternoon had been mildly disturbing.  He'd always known, though, that eccentricity had been a part of the good knight's personality.  But he believed being so free and easy with his domestics could be risky for Sir George.  Encouraging the wrong servant at the wrong time to seduce him could very well be disastrous.

"Sir George, don't you think there could be a time when one of these servants will get the best of you when you're not expecting it?"

Sir George laid his fork down and brought his napkin to his mouth.  "Oh, yes, indeed.  Let me tell you about an adventure I had just two months ago.  It will give you an idea of what strange things can happen.

"For several years, I employed a very competent valet.  He was a small dark-skinned blackamoor from India.  I was saddened to lose him, but he was needed at home to take care of his very ill mother.  After trying three or four other valets, I was most discouraged.  None of them worked out.  I finally found an advertisement of a young man who seemed to have excellent references.

"I wrote to his address, asking him to come round so I could speak with him.  He called himself Anthony.  He was rather lean and tall, but a bit pale and on the shy side.  He wasn't very talkative, but answered all my questions about his abilities quite satisfactorily.  He had only one reference with him, written in beautiful English, and signed by Lord Wiffen, with whom I was not familiar.  The letter said he performed his duties admirably, except that he tended to be a little too friendly at times with the other domestics.  But I had no hesitation in engaging him."

"You were very lucky," Sutton said without looking up from his fish.

"For the next month, I realized I had come upon an extraordinary treasure.  I did, however, warn him most sternly that I would not tolerate any flirting or unseemly behavior with my female servants.  He didn't seem happy with that, but he obeyed, and there were no incidents."

"Why, for Heaven's sakes, did you admonish him for that?" Sutton asked.  "He was one of them."

"Because there was nothing about him that would interest them."

"You mean he had no stature, no title."

"Exactly."

Sutton shook his head.  "I would say that's a rather specious reason for restricting him."

"Nevertheless, Sutton, I don't believe I'd ever been served so well.  I came to trust him implicitly.  He did everything for me.  He dressed me each morning, quickly and deftly without my feeling his hands on me at all.  At night, he used the warmer for my bed and saw to it that I had a clean nightshirt.  He worked me fast to get me ready for bed, and was gone in a flash.  His presence around me was hardly even noticed."

Sutton looked up and nodded agreeably.  I suppose that's the sign of a good valet."

"Exactly.  He saw to my bath and helped me get in since my legs are not as steady anymore.  He washed my back for me and then left quickly, not to return until I rang the bell for his help to get out.  Afterwards, I would have him massage my shoulders and back.  He did it quickly and always seemed anxious to leave and get on with his other duties.  But he never failed to give me the attentions I required from him."

Sutton squeezed some lemon on his fish.  "Competent help is so difficult to find these days.  You were most fortunate."

"I should say I was.  That is, until one morning just as Anthony had finished dressing me, a maid came to inform me the constable of our area and his deputy had come to the door and wished to see me."

"My word, Sir George.  What was that all about?"

"I was most disturbed since the police had never before had reason to come to my home.  When I arrived in the foyer, he told me he needed to search the house.

"I went up to him and said, 'Why?  There's been no crime committed here.'

"He removed his hat very courteously and made the assertion that one of my servants was a wanted person.  Of course, I didn't believe it and told him very firmly that I could vouch for the honesty of every one of them.  The maids, the cook, her helpers.  The stable boy, the gardener.  All of them.  They all had impeccable credentials.

" 'There are no criminals in this house,' I said.  'You must be mistaken.'

" 'I am not mistaken,' he said.  'This person does not have the appearance of a criminal.'

"He asked me to call all of my servants together.  When they were finally assembled in the foyer, he looked carefully at each one."

Sutton put his fork down and leaned forward expectantly.  "Who was it?"

"Well, after glancing at each one, he said, 'These are not all your servants.'

" 'These are indeed all,' I told him, 'except for my trusted valet, who in no way, could be considered a criminal.'

"He asked that I produce him.  The maid went upstairs to fetch him, and he came down very quickly and stood beside me.  The deputy then rushed to him and seized him and bound his hands.  Of course, I was furious and made an attempt to free him.

"The constable stopped me and said, 'This man, Sir, is a woman, whose name is Anne Porter.  She worked as a maid in the households of two other gentlemen whom she enticed into having lascivious affairs.  Their wives complained to her father, who has asked us to have her found and remanded to his custody.  He will be sending her to a convent.' "

Sutton dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter.  "You don't say."

"I insisted the arrest was totally without merit, until the constable offered to remove certain pieces of her clothing to show me the proof.  Of course I declined, and off they went."

Sutton hailed the waiter to have their wine glasses replenished.  "How dreadful it must have been to be deceived like that."

"Yes, I was very angry at having been toyed with in this way."

Sutton shook his head.  "The shame of it all that you had unknowingly had your intimate parts exposed to this woman."

Sir George waved his hand in front of his face.  "No, no, Sutton.  I feel no shame at having been dressed and undressed, touched and bathed by this woman.  What I feel is dishonor.  The humiliation of a man of my important position who has been dishonored.  I'm sure you understand."

"No, I don't understand.  Not really."

"Think about it for a moment, Sutton.  This woman seduced two other gentlemen.  Now do you understand why I felt profoundly dishonored?"

Sutton didn't reply.  He removed the napkin from his collar and covered his mouth with it.  He feared the smile that had come over his lips was about to turn into a full open-mouthed laugh.  He rose from his chair and walked to the window.  He watched as Mrs. Gooch left the building for the night and boarded a streetcar.

Sir George turned in his chair.  "What do you see out there, Sutton?"

"Nothing, Sir George."  Sutton suddenly lost control and burst forth with a loud laugh.

"Is there something amusing?" Sir George asked as he turned his attention to the flaming New Years plum pudding that had just been set before him.

"I was just thinking," Sutton said, still chuckling, "what a delightful New Years Eve this has turned out to be.  I wonder if Mrs. Gooch has anything entertaining planned for tonight."

Fin