Red Money by Fergus Hume (read dune .txt) 📕

Explained The Hostess,

Touching Her Ruffled Hair,  "He Doesn't Give Us Enough Money."

 

"Why Should He Give You Any?" Asked Mrs. Belgrove Bluntly

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 8

"Well,  You See,  Dear,  Garvington Would Never Have Allowed His Sister To

Marry A Nobody,  Unless--"

 

"Unless The Nobody Paid For His Footing. I Quite Understand. Every One

Knows That Agnes Married The Man To Save Her Family From Bankruptcy.

Poor Girl!" Mrs. Belgrove Sighed. "And She Loved Noel. What A Shame That

She Couldn't Become His Wife!"

 

"Oh,  That Would Have Been Absurd," Said Lady Garvington Pettishly.

"What's The Use Of Hunger Marrying Thirst? Noel Has No Money,  Just Like

Ourselves,  And If It Hadn't Been For Hubert This Place Would Have Been

Sold Long Ago. I'm Telling You Secrets,  Mind."

 

"My Dear,  You Tell Me Nothing That Everybody Doesn't Know."

 

"Then What Is Your Advice?"

 

"About What,  My Dear?"

 

"About What I Have Been Telling You. The Burglar,  And--"

 

"I Have Told You Before,  That It Is Rubbish. If A Burglar Does Come Here

I Hope Lord Garvington Will Shoot Him,  As I Don't Want To Lose My

Diamonds."

 

"But If The Burglar Is Noel?"

 

"He Won't Be Noel. Clara Greeby Has Simply Made A Nasty Suggestion Which

Is Worthy Of Her. But If You're Afraid,  Why Not Get Her To Marry Noel?"

 

"He Won't Have Her," Said Lady Garvington Dolefully.

 

"I Know He Won't. Still A Persevering Woman Can Do Wonders,  And Clara

Greeby Has No Self-Respect. And If You Think Noel Is Too Near,  Get Agnes

To Join Her Husband In Pekin."

 

"I Think It's Paris."

 

"Well Then,  Paris. She Can Buy New Frocks."

 

"Agnes Doesn't Care For New Frocks. Such Simple Tastes She Has,  Wanting

To Help The Poor. Rubbish,  I Call It."

 

"Why,  When Her Husband Helps Lord Garvington?" Asked Mrs. Belgrove

Artlessly.

 

Lady Garvington Frowned. "What Horrid Things You Say."

 

"I Only Repeat What Every One Is Saying."

 

"Well,  I'm Sure I Don't Care," Cried Lady Garvington Recklessly,  And

Rose To Depart On Some Vague Errand. "I'm Only In The World To Look

After Dinners And Breakfasts. Clara Greeby's A Cat Making All This Fuss

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 9

About--"

 

"Hush! There She Is."

 

Lady Garvington Fluttered Round,  And Drifted Towards Miss Greeby,  Who

Had Just Stepped Out On To The Terrace. The Banker's Daughter Was In A

Tailor-Made Gown With A Man's Cap And A Man's Gloves,  And A Man's

Boots--At Least,  As Mrs. Belgrove Thought,  They Looked Like That--And

Carried A Very Masculine Stick,  More Like A Bludgeon Than A Cane. With

Her Ruddy Complexion And Ruddy Hair,  And Piercing Blue Eyes,  And

Magnificent Figure--For She Really Had A Splendid Figure In Spite Of

Mrs. Belgrove's Depreciation--She Looked Like A Gigantic Norse Goddess.

With A Flashing Display Of White Teeth,  She Came Along Swinging Her

Stick,  Or Whirling Her Shillalah,  As Mrs. Belgrove Put It,  And Seemed

The Embodiment Of Coarse,  Vigorous Health.

 

"Taking A Sun-Bath?" She Inquired Brusquely And In A Loud Baritone

Voice. "Very Wise Of You Two Elderly Things. I Am Going For A Walk."

 

Mrs. Belgrove Was Disagreeable In Her Turn. "Going To The Abbot's Wood?"

 

"How Clever Of You To Guess," Miss Greeby Smiled And Nodded. "Yes,  I'm

Going To Look Up Lambert"; She Always Spoke Of Her Male Friends In This

Hearty Fashion. "He Ought To Be Here Enjoying Himself Instead Of Living

Like A Hermit In The Wilds."

 

"He's Painting Pictures," Put In Lady Garvington. "Do Hermits Paint?"

 

"No. Only Society Women Do That," Said Miss Greeby Cheerfully,  And Mrs.

Belgrove's Faded Eyes Flashed. She Knew That The Remark Was Meant For

Her,  And Snapped Back. "Are You Going To Have Your Fortune Told By The

Gypsies,  Dear?" She Inquired Amiably. "They Might Tell You About Your

Marriage."

 

"Oh,  I Daresay,  And If You Ask They Will Prophesy Your Funeral."

 

"I Am In Perfect Health,  Miss Greeby."

 

"So I Should Think,  Since Your Cheeks Are So Red."

 

Lady Garvington Hastily Intervened To Prevent The Further Exchange Of

Compliments. "Will You Be Back To Luncheon,  Or Join The Men At The

Coverts?"

 

"Neither. I'll Drop On Lambert For A Feed. Where Are You Going?"

 

"I'm Sure I Don't Know," Said The Hostess Vaguely. "There's Lots To Do.

I Shall Know What's To Be Done,  When I Think Of It," And She Drifted

Along The Terrace And Into The House Like A Cloud Blown Any Way By The

Wind. Miss Greeby Looked After Her Limp Figure With A Contemptuous Grin,

Then She Nodded Casually To Mrs. Belgrove,  And Walked Whistling Down The

Terrace Steps.

 

"Cat,  Indeed!" Commented Mrs. Belgrove To Herself When She Saw Miss

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 10

Greeby's Broad Back Disappear Behind The Laurels. "Nothing Half So

Pretty. She's Like A Great Flanders Mare. And I Wish Henry Viii Was

Alive To Marry Her," She Added The Epithet Suggesting That King,  "If

Only To Cut Her Head Off."

Chapter 2 (In The Wood) Pg 11

Miss Greeby Swung Along Towards Her Destination With A Masculine Stride

And In As Great A Hurry As Though She Had Entered Herself For A Marathon

Race. It Was A Warm,  Misty Day,  And The Pale August Sunshine Radiated

Faintly Through The Smoky Atmosphere. Nothing Was Clear-Cut And Nothing

Was Distinct,  So Hazy Was The Outlook. The Hedges Were Losing Their

Greenery And Had Blossomed Forth Into Myriad Bunches Of Ruddy Hips And

Haws,  And The Usually Hard Road Was Soft Underfoot Because Of The

Penetrating Quality Of The Moist Air. There Was No Wind To Clear Away

The Misty Greyness,  But Yellow Leaves Without Its Aid Dropped From The

Disconsolate Trees. The Lately-Reaped Fields,  Stretching On Either Side

Of The Lane Down Which The Lady Was Walking,  Presented A Stubbled

Expanse Of Brown And Dim Gold,  Uneven And Distressful To The Eye. The

Dying World Was In Ruins And Nature Had Reduced Herself To That

Necessary Chaos,  Out Of Which,  When The Coming Snow Completed Its Task,

She Would Build A New Heaven And A New Earth.

 

An Artist Might Have Had Some Such Poetic Fancy,  And Would Certainly

Have Looked Lovingly On The Alluring Colors And Forms Of Decay. But Miss

Greeby Was No Artist,  And Prided Herself Upon Being An Aggressively

Matter-Of-Fact Young Woman. With Her Big Boots Slapping The Ground And

Her Big Hands Thrust Into The Pockets Of Her Mannish Jacket,  She Bent

Her Head In A Meditative Fashion And Trudged Briskly Onward. What

Romance Her Hard Nature Was Capable Of,  Was Uppermost Now,  But It

Had To Do Strictly With Her Personal Feelings And Did Not Require The

Picturesque Autumn Landscape To Improve Or Help It In Any Way. One Man's

Name Suggested Romance To Bluff,  Breezy Clara Greeby,  And That Name Was

Noel Lambert. She Murmured It Over And Over Again To Her Heart,  And Her

Hard Face Flushed Into Something Almost Like Beauty,  As She Remembered

That She Would Soon Behold Its Owner. "But He Won't Care," She Said

Aloud,  And Threw Back Her Head Defiantly: Then After A Pause,  She

Breathed Softly,  "But I Shall Make Him Care."

 

If She Hoped To Do So,  The Task Was One Which Required A Great Amount Of

Skill And A Greater Amount Of Womanly Courage,  Neither Of Which

Qualities Miss Greeby Possessed. She Had No Skill In Managing A Man,  As

Her Instincts Were Insufficiently Feminine,  And Her Courage Was Of A

Purely Rough-And-Tumble Kind. She Could Have Endured Hunger And Thirst

Chapter 2 (In The Wood) Pg 12

And Cold: She Could Have Headed A Forlorn Hope: She Could Have Held To A

Sinking Ship: But She Had No Store Of That Peculiar Feminine Courage

Which Men Don't Understand And Which Women Can't Explain,  However Much

They May Exhibit It. Miss Greeby Was An Excellent Comrade,  But Could Not

Be The Beloved Of Any Man,  Because Of The Very Limitations Of

Semi-Masculinity Upon Which She Prided Herself. Noel Lambert Wanted A

Womanly Woman,  And Lady Agnes Was His Ideal Of What A Wife Should Be.

Miss Greeby Had In Every Possible Way Offered Herself For The Post,  But

Lambert Had Never Cared For Her Sufficiently To Endure The Thought Of

Passing Through Life With Her Beside Him. He Said She Was "A Good Sort";

And When A Man Says That Of A Woman,  She May Be To Him A Good Friend,  Or

Even A Platonic Chum,  But She Can Never Be A Desirable Wife In His Eyes.

What Miss Greeby Lacked Was Sex,  And Lacking That,  Lacked Everything. It

Was Strange That With Her Rough Common Sense She Could Not Grasp This

Want. But The Thought That Lambert Required What She Could Never

Give--Namely,  The Feminine Tenderness Which Strong Masculine Natures

Love--Never Crossed Her Very Clear And Mathematical Mind.

 

So She Was Bent Upon A Fool's Errand,  As She Strode Towards The Abbot's

Wood,  Although She Did Not Know It. Her Aim Was To Capture Lambert As

Her Husband; And Her Plan,  To Accomplish Her Wish