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

By Working On The

Heart-Hunger He Most Probably Felt,  Owing To The Loss Of Agnes Pine. If

He Loved That Lady In A Chivalrous Fashion--And Miss Greeby Believed

That He Did--She Was Absolutely Lost To Him As The Wife Of Another Man.

Lambert Would Never Degrade Her Into A Divorce Court Appearance. And

Perhaps,  After All,  As Miss Greeby Thought Hopefully,  His Love For Sir

Hubert's Wife Might Have Turned To Scorn That She Had Preferred Money To

True Love. But Then,  Again,  As Miss Greeby Remembered,  With A Darkening

Face,  Agnes Had Married The Millionaire So As To Save The Family Estates

From Being Sold. Rank Has Its Obligation,  And Lambert Might Approve Of

The Sacrifice,  Since He Was The Next Heir To The Garvington Title. "We

Shall See What His Attitude Is," Decided Miss Greeby,  As She Entered The

Abbot's Wood,  And Delayed Arranging Her Future Plans Until She Fully

Understood His Feelings Towards The Woman He Had Lost. In The Meantime,

Lambert Would Want A Comrade,  And Miss Greeby Was Prepared To Sink Her

Romantic Feelings,  For The Time Being,  In Order To Be One.

 

The Forest--Which Belonged To Garvington,  So Long As He Paid The

Interest On The Mortgage--Was Not A Very Large One. In The Old Days It

Had Been Of Greater Size And Well Stocked With Wild Animals; So Well

Stocked,  Indeed,  That The Abbots Of A Near Monastery Had Used It For

Many Hundred Years As A Hunting Ground. But The Monastery Had Vanished

Off The Face Of The Earth,  As Not Even Its Ruins Were Left,  And The Game

Had Disappeared As The Forest Grew Smaller And The District Around

Became More Populous. A Lambert Of The Georgian Period--The Family Name

Of Lord Garvington Was Lambert--Had Acquired What Was Left Of The

Monastic Wood By Winning It At A Game Of Cards From The Nobleman Who Had

Then Owned It. Now It Was Simply A Large Patch Of Green In The Middle Of

A Somewhat Naked County,  For Hengishire Is Not Remarkable For Woodlands

Chapter 2 (In The Wood) Pg 13

There Were Rabbits And Birds,  Badgers,  Stoats,  And Such-Like Wild Things

In It Still,  But The Deer Which The Abbots Had Hunted Were Conspicuous

By Their Absence. Garvington Looked After It About As Much As He Did

After The Rest Of His Estates,  Which Was Not Saying Much. The Fat,  Round

Little Lord's Heart Was Always In The Kitchen,  And He Preferred Eating

To Fulfilling His Duties As A Landlord. Consequently,  The Abbot's Wood

Was More Or Less Public Property,  Save When Garvington Turned Crusty And

Every Now And Then Cleared Out All Interlopers. But Tramps Came To Sleep

In The Wood,  And Gypsies Camped In Its Glades,  While Summer Time Brought

Many Artists To Rave About Its Sylvan Beauties,  And Paint Pictures Of

Ancient Trees And Silent Pools,  And Rugged Lawns Besprinkled With

Rainbow Wild Flowers. People Who Went To The Academy And To The Various

Art Exhibitions In Bond Street Knew The Abbot's Wood Fairly Well,  As It

Was Rarely That At Least One Picture Dealing With It Did Not Appear.

 

Miss Greeby Had Explored The Wood Before And Knew Exactly Where To Find

The Cottage Mentioned By Lady Garvington. On The Verge Of The Trees She

Saw The Blue Smoke Of The Gypsies' Camp Fires,  And Heard The Vague

Murmur Of Romany Voices,  But,  Avoiding The Vagrants,  She Took Her Way

Through The Forest By A Winding Path. This Ultimately Led Her To A

Spacious Glade,  In The Centre Of Which Stood A Dozen Or More Rough

Monoliths Of Mossy Gray And Weather-Worn Stones,  Disposed In A Circle.

Probably These Were All That Remained Of Some Druidical Temple,  And

Archaeologists Came From Far And Near To View The Weird Relics. And In

The Middle Of The Circle Stood The Cottage: A Thatched Dwelling,  Which

Might Have Had To Do With A Fairy Tale,  With Its Whitewashed Walls

Covered With Ivy,  And Its Latticed Windows,  On The Ledges Of Which Stood

Pots Of Homely Flowers. There Was No Fence Round This Rustic Dwelling,

As The Monoliths Stood As Guardians,  And The Space Between The Cottage

Walls And The Gigantic Stones Was Planted Thickly With Fragrant English

Flowers. Snapdragon,  Sweet-William,  Marigolds,  And Scented Clove

Carnations,  Were All To Be Found There: Also There Was Thyme,  Mint,

Sage,  And Other Pot-Herbs. And The Whole Perfumed Space Was Girdled By

Trees Old And Young,  Which Stood Back From The Emerald Beauty Of

Untrimmed Lawns. A More Ideal Spot For A Dreamer,  Or An Artist,  Or A

Hermit,  Or For The Straying Prince Of A Fairy Tale,  It Would Have Been

Quite Impossible To Find. Miss Greeby's Vigorous And Coarse Personality

Seemed To Break In A Noisy Manner--Although She Did Not Utter A Single

Word--The Enchanted Silence Of The Solitary Place.

 

However,  The Intruder Was Too Matter-Of-Fact To Trouble About The

Sequestered Liveliness Of This Unique Dwelling. She Strode Across The

Lawns,  And Passing Beyond The Monoliths,  Marched Like An Invader Up The

Narrow Path Between The Radiant Flower-Beds. From The Tiny Green Door

She Raised The Burnished Knocker And Brought It Down With An Emphatic

Bang. Shortly The Door Opened With A Pettish Tug,  As Though The Person

Behind Was Rather Annoyed By The Noise,  And A Very Tall,  Well-Built,

Slim Young Man Made His Appearance On The Threshold. He Held A Palette

On The Thumb Of One Hand,  And Clutched A Sheaf Of Brushes,  While Another

There Were Rabbits And Birds,  Badgers,  Stoats,  And Such-Like Wild Things

In It Still,  But The Deer Which The Abbots Had Hunted Were Conspicuous

By Their Absence. Garvington Looked After It About As Much As He Did

After The Rest Of His Estates,  Which Was Not Saying Much. The Fat,  Round

Little Lord's Heart Was Always In The Kitchen,  And He Preferred Eating

To Fulfilling His Duties As A Landlord. Consequently,  The Abbot's Wood

Was More Or Less Public Property,  Save When Garvington Turned Crusty And

Every Now And Then Cleared Out All Interlopers. But Tramps Came To Sleep

In The Wood,  And Gypsies Camped In Its Glades,  While Summer Time Brought

Many Artists To Rave About Its Sylvan Beauties,  And Paint Pictures Of

Ancient Trees And Silent Pools,  And Rugged Lawns Besprinkled With

Rainbow Wild Flowers. People Who Went To The Academy And To The Various

Art Exhibitions In Bond Street Knew The Abbot's Wood Fairly Well,  As It

Was Rarely That At Least One Picture Dealing With It Did Not Appear.

 

Miss Greeby Had Explored The Wood Before And Knew Exactly Where To Find

The Cottage Mentioned By Lady Garvington. On The Verge Of The Trees She

Saw The Blue Smoke Of The Gypsies' Camp Fires,  And Heard The Vague

Murmur Of Romany Voices,  But,  Avoiding The Vagrants,  She Took Her Way

Through The Forest By A Winding Path. This Ultimately Led Her To A

Spacious Glade,  In The Centre Of Which Stood A Dozen Or More Rough

Monoliths Of Mossy Gray And Weather-Worn Stones,  Disposed In A Circle.

Probably These Were All That Remained Of Some Druidical Temple,  And

Archaeologists Came From Far And Near To View The Weird Relics. And In

The Middle Of The Circle Stood The Cottage: A Thatched Dwelling,  Which

Might Have Had To Do With A Fairy Tale,  With Its Whitewashed Walls

Covered With Ivy,  And Its Latticed Windows,  On The Ledges Of Which Stood

Pots Of Homely Flowers. There Was No Fence Round This Rustic Dwelling,

As The Monoliths Stood As Guardians,  And The Space Between The Cottage

Walls And The Gigantic Stones Was Planted Thickly With Fragrant English

Flowers. Snapdragon,  Sweet-William,  Marigolds,  And Scented Clove

Carnations,  Were All To Be Found There: Also There Was Thyme,  Mint,

Sage,  And Other Pot-Herbs. And The Whole Perfumed Space Was Girdled By

Trees Old And Young,  Which Stood Back From The Emerald Beauty Of

Untrimmed Lawns. A More Ideal Spot For A Dreamer,  Or An Artist,  Or A

Hermit,  Or For The Straying Prince Of A Fairy Tale,  It Would Have Been

Quite Impossible To Find. Miss Greeby's Vigorous And Coarse Personality

Seemed To Break In A Noisy Manner--Although She Did Not Utter A Single

Word--The Enchanted Silence Of The Solitary Place.

 

However,  The Intruder Was Too Matter-Of-Fact To Trouble About The

Sequestered Liveliness Of This Unique Dwelling. She Strode Across The

Lawns,  And Passing Beyond The Monoliths,  Marched Like An Invader Up The

Narrow Path Between The Radiant Flower-Beds. From The Tiny Green Door

She Raised The Burnished Knocker And Brought It Down With An Emphatic

Bang. Shortly The Door Opened With A Pettish Tug,  As Though The Person

Behind Was Rather Annoyed By The Noise,  And A Very Tall,  Well-Built,

Slim Young Man Made His Appearance On The Threshold. He Held A Palette

On The Thumb Of One Hand,  And Clutched A Sheaf Of Brushes,  While Another

There Were Rabbits And Birds,  Badgers,  Stoats,  And Such-Like Wild Things

In It Still,  But The Deer Which The Abbots Had Hunted Were Conspicuous

By Their Absence. Garvington Looked After It About As Much As He Did

After The Rest Of His Estates,  Which Was Not Saying Much. The Fat,  Round

Little Lord's Heart Was Always In The Kitchen,  And He Preferred Eating

To Fulfilling His Duties As A Landlord. Consequently,  The Abbot's Wood

Was More Or Less Public Property,  Save When Garvington Turned Crusty And

Every Now And Then Cleared Out All Interlopers. But Tramps Came To Sleep

In The Wood,  And Gypsies Camped In Its Glades,  While Summer Time Brought

Many Artists To Rave About Its Sylvan Beauties,  And Paint Pictures Of

Ancient Trees And Silent Pools,  And Rugged Lawns Besprinkled With

Rainbow Wild Flowers. People Who Went To The Academy And To The Various

Art Exhibitions In Bond Street Knew The Abbot's Wood Fairly Well,  As It

Was Rarely That At Least One Picture Dealing With It Did Not Appear.

 

Miss Greeby Had Explored The Wood Before And Knew Exactly Where To Find

The Cottage Mentioned By Lady Garvington. On The Verge Of The Trees She

Saw The Blue Smoke Of The Gypsies' Camp Fires,  And Heard The Vague

Murmur Of Romany Voices,  But,  Avoiding The Vagrants,  She Took Her Way

Through The Forest By A Winding Path. This Ultimately Led Her To A

Spacious Glade,  In The Centre Of Which Stood A Dozen Or More Rough

Monoliths Of Mossy Gray And Weather-Worn Stones,  Disposed In A Circle.

Probably These Were All That Remained Of Some Druidical Temple,  And

Archaeologists Came From Far And Near To View The Weird Relics. And In

The Middle Of The Circle Stood The Cottage: A Thatched Dwelling,  Which

Might Have Had To Do With A Fairy Tale,  With Its Whitewashed Walls

Covered With Ivy,  And Its Latticed Windows,  On The Ledges Of Which Stood

Pots Of Homely Flowers. There Was No Fence Round This Rustic Dwelling,

As The Monoliths Stood As Guardians,  And The Space Between The Cottage

Walls And The Gigantic Stones Was Planted Thickly With Fragrant English

Flowers. Snapdragon,  Sweet-William,  Marigolds,  And Scented Clove

Carnations,  Were All To Be Found There: Also There Was Thyme,  Mint,

Sage,  And Other Pot-Herbs. And The Whole Perfumed Space Was Girdled By

Trees Old And Young,  Which Stood Back From The Emerald Beauty Of

Untrimmed Lawns. A More Ideal Spot For A Dreamer,  Or An Artist,  Or A

Hermit,  Or For The Straying Prince Of A Fairy Tale,  It Would Have Been

Quite Impossible To Find. Miss Greeby's Vigorous And Coarse Personality

Seemed To Break In A Noisy Manner--Although She Did Not Utter A Single

Word--The Enchanted Silence Of The Solitary Place.

 

However,  The Intruder Was Too Matter-Of-Fact To Trouble About The

Sequestered Liveliness Of This Unique Dwelling. She Strode Across The

Lawns,  And Passing Beyond The Monoliths,  Marched Like An Invader Up The

Narrow Path Between The Radiant Flower-Beds. From The Tiny Green Door

She Raised The Burnished Knocker And Brought It Down With An Emphatic

Bang. Shortly The Door Opened With A Pettish Tug,  As Though The Person

Behind Was Rather Annoyed By The Noise,  And A Very Tall,  Well-Built,

Slim Young Man Made His Appearance On The Threshold. He Held A Palette

On The Thumb Of One Hand,  And Clutched A Sheaf Of