A Special Guest At Chalky House

20251018

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

Old Widow Chalker was a local meme. She’d be a full-on joke except the older generation kicked off if anyone called her “Ma’am Chalky”. I always knew her family owned a lot of land around here, and used to be wealthy and powerful with it. But that didn’t sink in until I actually went inside her sprawling house.
The old biddy lived in a veritable museum! I didn’t get to see much, that stickler Ron was in charge and we were only replacing a dishwasher. And I was new on the crew, didn’t want to draw attention to myself. But…
A whole standing cabinet of pristine fine porcelain! I’d done enough scouting for collectors to guess how much that’d go for, and it was eye-watering. And drawers and drawers of actual silverware.
Yet the daft bint was shuffling about in tatty slippers and a patched dress she’d clearly made herself, eating store-brand cereal!
When I brought this up after we left, Ron said it’s ‘genteel poverty’. Having valuable stuff but not much actual money. Claimed most of the income from landowning went to maintaining the house.
“So why not sell some of it?”
He shrugged. “Sentimental value. Historical value. She calls herself the house custodian. Guess she doesn’t feel it’s her right. Posterity, and all that.”
Stupid. The kind of ivory tower rich-twit stupid which boiled my blood.
I didn’t rush in, though. Waited until I’d done a few more jobs there with the crew. Cased the place casual-like between.
Chalky only occupied a fraction of the house. The rest was closed up and ignored, only visited now and then by the cleaners she got in thrice a week. And with them all living in the village (being a ‘good old girl’ she kept money local wherever she could) it was easy to memorise their schedule.
While I’d never committed robbery, don’t think you could ask for a better opportunity. And, I mean, is it even stealing if they won’t notice to miss it?
Tonight’s the big game. Cleaners’ll be rushing to finish before kickoff. With luck Chalky’ll also be glued to the telly, assuming she hasn’t gone to bed. The perfect setup.
Soon as Amanda’s car’s back in her driveway I’m off. My route, carefully planned, left my van tucked out of sight of the manor but close to one of the dozen entrances. Specifically, the servant door on the far side from where Chalky lurks.
Get in. Sneak upstairs. Swipe valuables stored out of sight, stuff that won’t be missed. Then drive around all the big second-hand markets and sell it cash-in-hand.
When I try the weathered door and it opens without protest, I think fortune’s smiling on me. I step into the silent, dark hall, ears straining for the slightest sound. Then jump like a singed flea as a crisp baritone says “Let me get that for you, sir.”
The light snaps on. Blinking and flailing I stagger backwards into the suddenly closed door. I spin to grab the handle but before I finish the motion hands have whisked off my backpack and coat and someone’s tugging my arm. “This way, sir.”
My vision’s clearing but my head’s only spinning harder.
A butler? Proper old-fashioned fella, too. With a surprisingly firm grip.
This didn’t make sense. I’d know about a butler.
I crane my neck, trying to see what he did with my stuff, but the hallway’s empty. Then we’re through a door and down another hall and around a corner and…
My mental map is noway good enough to keep up. I only realise where we are when I’m led into the sitting room I’ve seen from the other side.
The game’s on telly. Chalky’s in her worn armchair with that big tatting frame or whatever it’s called in front of her. She glanced up with a smile, then stares at me.
“We have a special guest, marm.”
“Oh.” Her face fills with… unease? Trepidation? Whatever that expression is, the chill it instills snaps me out of my daze. “Are you sure? He looks so young…”
“Quite sure, marm.” The butler turns to me and smiles. A frigid, joyless gesture. “Have a seat, sir.”
I readily extract my arm, then swiftly back towards the door. “I think there’s been some mistake-”
“Yes, there has.” The butler’s lips peel back. Slowly. Tenderly. Revealing more and more pearly teeth until I’m certain they couldn’t all fit in his face. “Don’t compound them with further mistakes, sir. Take. A. Seat.”
The doorknob rattles in my hand. It refuses to turn. But we just - does it even have a lock?
Without thinking I glance down - and the butler is at my elbow again, his implacable grip dragging me to the spare armchair.
“Comfortable, sir?”
“Wh-who are you?” My hands claw at the creased leather and my feet scrabble against the carpet, yet I can’t stand. It’s like I’m glued in place. “What are you??”
“Merely a loyal servant of the house, sir.” His smile, while still frigid, now holds a certain desiccated mirth. “I look after the place. Ensure it’s kept in good place. Deal with… pests.”
“I…” I suck in air, my mind racing through tar. “I didn’t mean any harm, I just-”
He leans forward until his washed-out periwinkle eyes fill my vision with ice and fury. “I know exactly what you meant, sir. What you intended. What you’d planned.”
“Geoffrey.” Chalky’s voice is soft. Pained. “He’s just a young fool. Can’t you chase him off and make him forget?”
“I could, marm.” ‘Geoffrey’ straightens, his expression once more placid and almost human. “But the house hungers. And my job is to look after it. Not nanny reprobates.”
I desperately stare past him at Chalky… who gazes back with sorrow. But says nothing more. Nor does she move when Geoffrey paces past towards the kitchen, declaring “I shall go have a word with the cook, sir, and we shall be right with you…”

Prompt was “You’ve been casing this mansion for weeks, planning the perfect robbery. The night arrives and you break in, only to discover the owners are expecting you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than anything you could have imagined…”