Since birth, the Scab brothers had never lived apart; living in the same council house. Now in their forties; having alluded the necessity of a full-time job by cheating, stealing, slight-of-hand of associates and victims who were unlucky enough to have bought one of their ill-gotten good’s.

 After dropping out of the school they rarely attending, they rooted their lazy behinds in their mother’s council house; setting up as third-party traders in the, not-so-lucrative car-boot world. Broken toys, chipped ornaments, Mills & Boon books, figurines with missing appendages, chrome-painted and peeling candelabras, etc… for cash only.

Their rust-bucket van was instantly recognisable, when they drove in to another car boot, crammed with yesterday’s throwaways. If fact, they were just as recognisable; Barney was rotund and had plenty of greasy hair, and Rick -as thin as a rake - had no hair.

“How much for the left shoe…? Do you have the right one?” the next victim asked.

“Just the left, but you can have it half-price!” Barney was always the silver-tonged one.

Life wasn’t good, but it beat getting a nine-to-five; they were their own masters. Yet, their car-boot sales income had to be supplemented by the state, giving the Scab brothers a source of comfort, until one day, their mother dies.

“Please get a job!” were the last words out of their mother’s lips.

“She’s delirious!” Barney bemoaned.

“Why would she say that?” queried Rick.

 “I told you, she’s delirious!” Barney sighed.

For the Scab brothers, lacking any sense of self-worth, it made sense to stay in the house, particularly as they could now use all of their mother’s bedroom to store more goods. Yet, their gravy train did come to a halt when the council gave in to pressure from their disgusted neighbours; given notice to leave the council property soon after their mother was buried.

 You might think they’d finally have a taste of hardship, that had eluded them so far, but luck seemed to have smiled on them soon after, when Barney read an advert in the local paper, penned by the old Duchess Jessica Gloriana Ramsbottom.

“Have a look at this! We’re in luck!” Barney beamed, rubbing his arse.

“What?” asked Rick; concentrating on picking his nose.

“Some rich old biddy as well!” Barney declared.

“Oh, we’re in luck,” Rick agreed, before chewing on his bogie.

 Barney read with shaking excitement that the aging Duchess, who owned the old mansion at the top of Reading hill, was looking for lodgers. The mansion is a local land-mark, she’d occupied as a widow since the death of the controversial Lord Ramsbottom a few years before. No need to go in to the controversy of the old Lord, whipped up in his later years, but if the Scab brothers had known anything about the old Lord, they’d have avoided the old Duchess and ran the other way. As they didn’t, I’m able to tell this tale.

 Responding to the advert, for company in return for low rates of rent, they washed some of their face’s and called round to meet the old Duchess. Remember, the Scab brothers had swindled a few old people out of their chattels, so were in a sly, furtive, confident mood as they walked up mansion’s the gravelled pathway for the interview.

“Let me do the talking,” whispered Barney.

“What talking?” Rick asked.

“Exactly!” Barney winked, pressing the old brass nob.

“But…” Rick began.

Then the door opened and a tall old butler with rounded shoulders, coldly observed them, “Yes?” he slowly enquired.

“…We’re here for the room!” Barney declared.

The butler creased a wrinkled smiled, “Of course,” he agreed, making way.  

“Don’t touch anything,” whispered Barney

“Don’t touch what?” asked Rick.

“Exactly,” whispered Barney, as they were showed through to a great hall, where the Duchess was sitting at the end of a long table. At once, both noticed her shining jewellery.

“Come in,” she beckoned, watching their awkward shuffling across the flag stones.

“Hi, Duchess, Majesty,” bowed the larger one, stepping slowly forward, “I’m Barney.”

“Call me Jessica,” she smiled, turning her interest to the thinner one, “And your name?”

“Rick, your majesty,” he mumbled, cracking a creepy grin, as he stepped behind is brother, in awkward reverence.

The butler smirked.

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