For the Sake of Her Crumble

The world was ripe for exploitation. Limitless opportunities to profit from, secrets to uncover and sell, systems to squeeze the lifeblood from and ultimately destroy. Infinite wealth practically begged to be carried off from less worthy masters and put to more practical uses, and Bertram Cadwell intended to take full advantage of that.

Just not this morning. This morning he was having tea with his mother.hercrumble

Bertram rang the antiquated brass doorbell a second time and promptly shoved his hands back into the pockets of his gray overcoat. The spring air still had a nip to it in the shadows cast by the tightly packed but orderly houses of Harden Street. The neighborhood was quiet and unobtrusive, yet he still felt exposed standing alone in the empty lane. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet impatiently. Do get on with it, Mother; I know you’re in there.

Presently light steps approached the door, and a suspicious eye set in a wrinkled face appeared in a pane of glass. He heard a pleased gasp, and the door was hurriedly unbolted.

“Bertie!” exclaimed his mother, swinging the door open. “What a pleasant surprise! It’s about time you dropped in to see me, young man!”

Bertram reluctantly allowed himself to be embraced and his immaculately combed hair to be ruffled.

“You’re in luck, I just made a pan of crumble last night,” she said, beaming. “Cold apple crumble—your favorite, isn’t it? Come up and have some tea.”

Bertram decided to favor her with a small smile. “It’s good to see you too.” Then he shrugged off his coat and handed it to her.

In the kitchen, which was typically small like most houses built in the Edwardian era, his mother began puttering away with the dishes and food. Bertram scanned the room and adjoining dining space; nothing had changed since his last visit. Both were a custard yellow color and decorated in sensible British post-wartime fashion. The blackout curtains were still hanging in the dining room windows, and a clipped-up woman’s magazine lay on the table beside a half-read newspaper.

He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair and wondered why he had come here. His mother’s incessant calls and letters weren’t any reason for visiting; he could have simply changed his number and moved as in times past. I’ll have to move regardless if things continue this way. The landlord will be after me, not to mention Gregson’s hired thugs. If only he hadn’t—

The teakettle abruptly began whistling. His mother snatched it off the stove and turned to continue rummaging through the cooler. “And how’s your work been, dear? Any trouble lately?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Not at all,” he lied calmly. “My work at Cromwell’s is going smoothly. I was promoted to head researcher of my department last week.”

“Bertie! You don’t say?” his mother exclaimed. “Head of your department? Soon you’ll be running the whole firm, mark my words.”

Bertram accordingly marked then discarded them. Not likely. I don’t have any more time than what I presently allocate to the researcher cover. My real business would suffer.

“Just last week that prattling Martha Dabney was boasting about her boy heading off to law school.” She sniffed derogatorily. “As if he could come close to you, a real scientist.”

“Biochemist,” Bertram corrected automatically.

His mother set the tray on the table and sat down across from him. She waited a moment for Bertram to pour the tea, but he decided he’d indulged her enough today. She shrugged and went ahead without a trace of annoyance.

“Did you see the headlines today?” she asked, gesturing at the open newspaper.


“‘Daring Robbery in Kensington.’ ‘Armed Heist on Late Train,’” she tutted, peering at the page. “Even ‘Violent Assault in Marlborough Square.’”

Bertram stifled a yawn. It had been a busy night for him, as the papers testified. He should have returned to his flat to sleep instead, since he had declined his accomplices’ offer to drink away his meager earnings with them. He felt peevish and annoyed by everything from his lack of funds to expand his network, to his mother’s constant prattle.

He glared fiercely at her. She didn’t notice and blithely chattered on about the latest royal gossip as she stirred her tea. Bertram’s calculating eyes focused on the cup, and a dark and murderous thought arose in his mind with such astonishing swiftness that it would have horrified him if he hadn’t grown indifferent to all qualms of his conscience long ago. It would be childishly simple to slip something in her cup; he had a dozen undetectable substances in his lab at work that would do the trick. A concentration of aconitine would do nicely. No more nagging visits, not to mention a decent inheritance that would spell the end of my monetary problems.

“I don’t know what this generation is coming to, reputable persons sullying themselves with criminality! Look at you, a respectable gentleman with a good occupation. Most could learn a thing or two from you.” His mother smiled at him, all of her maternal pride and love shining on her face. She at least was proud of him.

For the first time in eons, Bertram felt a spear of guilt stab his conscience. If only his tender-hearted, pious mother knew how far her only son had wandered. He stared broodingly at an embroidered list of the Ten Commandments on the wall.

“Something on your mind, dear? You haven’t touched your crumble.”

Bertram finally noticed the large saucer heaped with apples and sugared oats. He picked it up and took a spoonful. The sweetness of apples rushed over his tongue, mixed with the strong tang of cinnamon and subtler hints of nutmeg and anise. Chewing slowly, he savored the delectable treat before swallowing.

“Nothing at all, Mother,” he replied at length. “Excellent crumble, as always.”

Vehemently disregarding his prior murderous thoughts, Bertram eagerly took another mouthful. He told himself he was most certainly not being merciful or sentimental. Far from it. He would simply be hard pressed to find such delicious apple crumble anywhere else.

A quarter of an hour later, he was off again, striding down the street under a gray London sky. The churning of the dark clouds overhead matched the turmoil in his mind as he tried to shake off the unsettling effect the visit had had on his usually unreachable conscience.

Unbeknownst to him, someone watched his retreating figure intently from an upper window. His mother looked on with an aching heart until he was no longer in sight, then slowly sank to her rheumatic knees. Heaven only knows what hidden evil he goes out to do, Lord. And only You can bring him back again.

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Sierra Ret — homeschool grad, camping fanatic, and amateur adventurer — joined the KP team as an intern a year ago and has since been promoted to Writing Team Captain, an honor equally thrilling and humbling. She enjoys both swinging in a hammock in the woods and hermiting behind a laptop screen with a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of dark chocolate in the other (something that tends to make typing difficult).
While the most recent plot in her long string of fantasies involves making a living as a travel blogger in New Zealand, she currently makes her home in Peterborough, Canada, a pleasant land that bears an uncanny resemblance to the Shire. But regardless of whether she eventually settles at home, abroad, or at the seat of government power in Ottawa, her chief aim is to live a passionate and meaningful life for the glory of God.
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  1. You did a superb job on this story, Sierra! I was impressed by how you managed to make even the narrative (in addition to the characters’ dialogue) sound British. 🙂

  2. So, I just really love the narrative and enjoyed this too much. x) (Which kinda scares me.) So as soon as I read it I was ranting to my friends about its greatness too. And like, I would read a book around this. Like, there is so much here. I want to spend a book with this man. That’s how much I liked it. x)
    You are extremely talented.

    • Thank you Hannah! To be honest Bertie’s one of my favourite characters that I’ve created, so it’s wonderful to hear you say you’d want to read a book centred on him. Maybe someday…

  3. I love this story. Had me grinning all the way through it at the humor, and with such a potent twist at the ending!

  4. Oh wow… this is actually pretty touching. I guess it was supposed to be funny, but I love the darker, more painful elements behind the bored narrative voice and I want to know how he turned out… Great work, Sierra. 😀

    • You’re not the only one wondering what becomes of him, Kate. The author is equally in the dark. Might just have to scribble up a sequel someday 🙂

  5. I love the tone of this, you have a wonderful writing style and I enjoy reading everything you write.
    Keep up the good work. 🙂

  6. I read this so quickly! I wanted to know what was going to happen…. 😮 It was so…supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

  7. Great job, Sierra. You kept me hooked throughout the whole story. The narrator voice is interesting with a tinge of sarcasm, and it sounds British 🙂 I like how both of the characters are more than they seem. A favorite quote: ” “…mark my words.” Bertrand accordingly marked then discarded them.” 🙂

  8. “Just not this morning. This morning he was having tea with his mother.”
    Some lines are just priceless. Just sayin’.
    Fantastic story. Should have gotten over to read it sooner! Loved the “hard pressed to find crumble” line too. Lots of heart with the humor. Nicely done!

    • I’m glad you took a fancy to it 🙂 Now I really should get over and finish reading that article of yours on novel plotting. The half that I read was brilliant!

  9. … I don’t even have words. Because it was already not what I expected. And then that ending was more unexpected. And then your writing, friend, is just fantastic. Seriously. You killed it. A++++. Keep up the great work! I look forward to reading more of your stuff in the future! 😀

  10. Wow, wow, wow, Sierra! This is a wonderful story, and I LOVE the twist at the end! I honestly love British anything (especially accents; I’ve had to speak in British accents for some plays before), and you did a great job making the accents authentic. 🙂 Keep up the great work!

  11. Heyyy, it’s Bertie! I can’t add any comments that will say anything the previous ones haven’t said, but you already know what I think of this brilliant, posh piece that leaves you screaming at the computer screen to generate more of the story all by itself. So I will just leave a note here for Bertie: I teased your author about you at first, but I actually think your story is pretty darn cool. 🙂

  12. I read this months ago, but it still pops into my mind almost every week. I guess It had more of an effect on me than I realized. Nice work!

  13. Karissa says:

    I love the title of this, and the piece is even better. It makes me smile. Great work!!

  14. Whoa… what a great story! It makes me want to learn more about Bertie – like, what does he do? What happened to him? Aahh I want to know more!! Great job! 😀

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