Dunstan Cass - The Swindler

I wrote this for British Literature, and I liked it. So! Enjoy.

A black figure stole out of the large mansion carrying a small sack over its shoulder. The mansion was called the Red House and the figure was its owner’s son: Dunstan Cass. Dunstan was a smart, shady character with a smooth tongue that he used to swindle people. Right now, the sack he carried contained a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a small crystal vase that his younger brother had sold him. Dunstan had managed to purchase it for two pounds and was planning on selling it to dear Mrs. Winthrop for ten pounds.
He made his way to the Winthrop residence, a cozy brick house with smoke wafting out the chimney. Mrs. Winthrop, humming a little tune, was weeding with her little son, Aaron. Dunstan called out with a cheesy smile and a wheedling tone, “Top o’ the day, Mrs. Winthrop. How’s the baby?”
Aaron ran behind his mother, peeped his head out, and jammed his thumb into his little mouth. “Good day, Mr. Dunstan, sir. He’s just wonderful. What’s in the bag?” asked Mrs. Winthrop, skepticism mounting in her voice.
“I’m so glad you asked that, ma’am. This here,” he removed the vase from the sack. “This is a genuine diamond vase. I’m going to let you have it for only ten pounds, because you’ve such a pretty face.” His smile broadened and he patted the vase. It twinkled in the warm sun as Dunstan stroked its smooth surface.
“Oh? A pretty face has I, eh? A pretty face you’ll have when I’m through with you!” She whipped a potato from her apron pocket and flung it at Dunstan’s face. “Go swindle someone else with your low tricks! I may be pretty, but I ain’t stupid!” She bolted after him, still pelting him with potatoes and weeds.
Dunstan turned and ran as fast as his long legs could carry him. After two minutes of straight sprinting he finally looked back. All he could see of Mrs. Winthrop and her painful potatoes was the smoke lazily curling up towards the clouds. Nobody saw him again the next day, but anyone who had would have run away at the sight of his purple cheek.
Dunstan plodded along the dirt road towards the Red House. After spending two days with nothing but a bottle of red wine and a loaf of stale bread, he decided it was time for some meat. After drinking the entire bottle of wine in one day he was still slightly drunk, but he knew that nobody at home – except maybe Godfrey, his brother – would even care, nonetheless notice his return. He staggered up the front stairs and attempted to open the large, wooden door. His tired, alcohol-impaired eyes couldn’t make out the doorknob or the knocker so instead he collapsed in front of the door with a thud.
Hearing a noise, Godfrey Cass hurried to the front door and flung it open. He wasn’t surprised to see his brother sprawled out on the porch. The thought that he should just leave his drunken brother there flashed in his mind, but he decided against it. He sighed and wondered what his idiot brother had tried this time. Grabbing Dunstan’s arms, Godfrey hauled his brother to the Great Hall and deposited his unconscious figure on the couch.
When Dunstan came to, he was startled to see a great big moose staring into his face. Jumping up, he uttered a faint cry. His head pounded and he eased himself back onto the couch cushion. He was home again, probably to end up back in some no-good deal with another person smarter than himself, but he wouldn’t admit that. Dunstan was a proud, stupid man.