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

Respectable Looks Changed On The Instant. "Tol Yer Chib,  Or I'll Heat

The Bones Of You With The Fires Of Bongo Tem," She Screamed Furiously,

And In A Mixture Of Her Mother-Tongue And English. "Ja Pukenus,  Slut Of

The Gutter," She Shook Her Fist,  And Chaldea,  With An Insulting Laugh,

Moved Away. "Bengis Your See! Bengis Your See! And That,  My Generous

Lady," She Added,  Turning Round With A Sudden Resumption Of Her Fawning

Respectability,  "Means 'The Devil In Your Heart,' Which I Spoke

Witchly-Like To The Child. Ah,  But She's A Bad One."

 

Miss Greeby Laughed Outright. "This Is More Like The Real Thing."

 

"Poor Chaldea," Said Lambert. "You're Too Hard On Her,  Mother."

 

"And You,  My Sweet Gentleman,  Ain't Hard Enough. She'll Sell You,  And

Get Kara To Put The Knife Between Your Ribs."

 

"Why Should He? I'm Not In Love With The Girl."

 

"The Tree Don't Care For The Ivy,  But The Ivy Loves The Tree," Said

Mother Cockleshell Darkly. "You're A Good And Kind Gentleman,  And I

Don't Want To See That Slut Pick Your Bones."

 

"So I Think," Whispered Miss Greeby In His Ear. "You Play With Fire."

 

"Aye,  My Good Lady," Said Mother Cockleshell,  Catching The Whisper--She

Had The Hearing Of A Cat. "With The Fire Of Bongo Tern,  The Which You

May Call The Crooked Land," And She Pointed Significantly Downward.

 

"Hell,  Do You Mean?" Asked Miss Greeby In Her Bluff Way.

 

"The Crooked Land We Romany Calls It," Insisted The Old Woman. "And The

Child Will Go There,  For Her Witchly Doings."

 

"She's Too Good-Looking To Lose As A Model,  At All Events," Said

Lambert,  Hitching His Shoulders. "I Shall Leave You To Have Your Fortune

Told,  Clara,  And Follow Chaldea To Pacify Her."

 

As He Went Toward The Centre Of The Camp,  Miss Greeby Took A Hesitating

Step As Though To Follow Him. In Her Opinion Chaldea Was Much Too

Good-Looking,  Let Alone Clever,  For Lambert To Deal With Alone. Gentilla

Stanley Saw The Look On The Hard Face And The Softening Of The Hard Eyes

As The Cheeks Grew Rosy Red. From This Emotion She Drew Her Conclusions,

And She Chuckled To Think Of How True A Fortune She Could Tell The

Visitor On These Premises. Mother Cockleshell's Fortune-Telling Was Not

Entirely Fraudulent,  But When Her Clairvoyance Was Not In Working Order

She Made Use Of Character-Reading With Good Results.

 

"Won't The Gorgios Lady Have Her Fortune Told?" She Asked In Wheedling

Tones. "Cross Mother Cockleshell's Hand With Silver And She'll Tell The

Coming Years Truly."

 

"Why Do They Call You Mother Cockleshell?" Demanded Miss Greeby,  Waiving

The Question Of Fortune-Telling For The Time Being.

Chapter 3 (An Unexpected Recognition) Pg 25

 

"Bless Your Wisdom,  It Was Them Fishermen At Grimsby Who Did So. I

Walked The Beaches For Years And Told Charms And Gave Witchly Spells For

Fine Weather. Gentilla Stanley Am I Called,  But Mother Cockleshell Was

Their Name For Me. But The Fortune,  My Tender Gentile--"

 

"I Don't Want It Told," Interrupted Miss Greeby Abruptly. "I Don't

Believe In Such Rubbish."

 

"There Is Rubbish And There Is Truth," Said The Ancient Gypsy Darkly.

"And Them As Knows Can See What's Hidden From Others."

 

"Well,  You Will Have An Opportunity This Afternoon Of Making Money. Some

Fools From The Manor Are Coming To Consult You."

 

Mother Cockleshell Nodded And Grinned To Show A Set Of Beautifully

Preserved Teeth. "I Know The Manor," Said She,  Rubbing Her Slim Hands.

"And Lord Garvington,  With His Pretty Sister."

 

"Lady Agnes Pine?" Asked Miss Greeby. "How Do You Know,  Her?"

 

"I've Been In These Parts Before,  My Gentle Lady,  And She Was Good To Me

In A Sick Way. I Would Have Died In The Hard Winter If She Hadn't Fed Me

And Nursed Me,  So To Speak. I Shall Love To See Her Again. To Dick A

Puro Pal Is As Commoben As A Aushti Habben,  The Which,  My Precious

Angel,  Is True Romany For The Gentile Saying,  'To See An Old Friend Is

As Good As A Fine Dinner.' Avali! Avali!" She Nodded Smilingly. "I Shall

Be Glad To See Her,  Though Here I Use Romany Words To You As Doesn't

Understand The Lingo."

 

Miss Greeby Was Not At All Pleased To Hear Lady Agnes Praised; As,

Knowing That Lambert Had Loved Her,  And Probably Loved Her Still,  She

Was Jealous Enough To Wish Her All Possible Harm. However,  It Was Not

Diplomatic To Reveal Her True Feelings To Mother Cockleshell,  Lest The

Old Gypsy Should Repeat Her Words To Lady Agnes,  So She Turned The

Conversation By Pointing To A Snow-White Cat Of Great Size,  Who Stepped

Daintily Out Of The Tent. "I Should Think,  As A Witch,  Your Cat Ought To

Be Black," Said Miss Greeby. Mother Cockleshell Screeched Like A

Night-Owl And Hastily Pattered Some Gypsy Spell To Avert Evil. "Why,  The

Old Devil Is Black," She Cried. "And Why Should I Have Him In My House

To Work Evil? This Is My White Ghost." Her Words Were Accompanied By A

Gentle Stroking Of The Cat. "And Good Is What She Brings To My

Roof-Tree. But I Don't Eat From White Dishes,  Or Drink From White Mugs.

No! No! That Would Be Too Witchly."

 

Miss Greeby Mused. "I Have Heard Something About These Gypsy

Superstitions Before," She Remarked Meditatively.

 

"Avo! Avo! They Are In A Book Written By A Great Romany Rye. Leland Is

The Name Of That Rye,  A Gypsy Lee With Gentile Land. He Added Land To

The Lea As He Was Told By One Of Our People. Such A Nice Gentleman,

Kind,  And Free Of His Money And Clever Beyond Tellings,  As I Always

Chapter 3 (An Unexpected Recognition) Pg 26

Says. Many A Time Has He Sat Pal-Like With Me,  And 'Gentilla,' Says He,

'Your're A Bori Chovihani'; And That,  My Generous Lady,  Is The Gentle

Language For A Great Witch."

 

"Chaldea Said That You Were That," Observed Miss Greeby Carelessly.

 

"The Child Speaks Truly. Come,  Cross My Hand,  Sweet Lady."

 

Miss Greeby Passed Along Half A Crown. "I Only Desire To Know One

Thing," She Said,  Offering Her Palm. "Shall I Get My Wish?"

 

Mother Cockleshell Peered Into The Hands,  Although She Had Already Made

Up Her Mind What To Say. Her Faculties,  Sharpened By Years Of Chicanery,

Told Her From The Look Which Miss Greeby Had Given When Lambert Followed

Chaldea,  That A Desire To Marry The Man Was The Wish In Question. And

Seeing How Indifferent Lambert Was In The Presence Of The Tall Lady,

Mother Cockleshell Had No Difficulty In Adjusting The Situation In Her

Own Artful Mind. "No,  My Lady," She Said,  Casting Away The Hand With

Quite A Dramatic Gesture. "You Will Never Gain Your Wish."

 

Miss Greeby Looked Angry. "Bah! Your Fortune-Telling Is All Rubbish,  As

I Have Always Thought," And She Moved Away.

 

"Tell Me That In Six Months," Screamed The Old Woman After Her.

 

"Why Six Months?" Demanded The Other,  Pausing.

 

"Ah,  That's A Dark Saying," Scoffed The Gypsy. "Call It Seven,  My

Hopeful-For-What-You-Won't-Get,  Like The Cat After The Cream,  For

Seven's A Sacred Number,  And The Spell Is Set."

 

"Gypsy Jargon,  Gypsy Lies," Muttered Miss Greeby,  Tossing Her Ruddy

Mane. "I Don't Believe A Word. Tell Me--"

 

"There's No Time To Say More," Interrupted Mother Cockleshell Rudely,

For,  Having Secured Her Money,  She Did Not Think It Worth While To Be

Polite,  Especially In The Face Of Her Visitor's Scepticism. "One Of Our

Tribe--Aye,  And He's A Great Romany For Sure--Is Coming To Camp With Us.

Each Minute He May Come,  And I Go To Get Ready A Stew Of Hedgehog,  For

Gentile Words I Must Use To You,  Who Are A Gorgio. And So Good Day To

You,  My Lady," Ended The Old Hag,  Again Becoming The Truly Respectable

Pew-Opener. Then She Dropped A Curtsey--Whether Ironical Or Not,  Miss

Greeby Could Not Tell--And Disappeared Into The Tent,  Followed By The

White Cat,  Who Haunted Her Footsteps Like The Ghost She Declared It To

Be.

 

Clearly There Was Nothing More To Be Learned From Mother Cockleshell,

Who,  In The Face Of Her Visitor's Doubts,  Had Become Hostile,  So Miss

Greeby,  Dismissing The Whole Episode As Over And Done With,  Turned Her

Attention Toward Finding Lambert. With Her Bludgeon Under Her Arm And

Her Hands In The Pockets Of Her Jacket,  She Stalked Through The Camp In

Quite A Masculine Fashion,  Not Vouchsafing A Single Reply To The

Greetings Which The Gypsies Gave Her. Shortly She Saw The Artist

Chatting With Chaldea At The Beginning Of The Path Which Led To His

Chapter 3 (An Unexpected Recognition) Pg 27

Cottage. Beside Them,  On The Grass,  Squatted A Queer Figure.

 

It Was That Of A Little Man,  Very Much Under-Sized,  With A Hunch Back

And A Large,  Dark,  Melancholy Face Covered Profusely With Black Hair. He

Wore Corduroy Trousers And Clumsy Boots--His Feet And Hands Were

Enormous--Together With A Green Coat And A Red Handkerchief Which Was

Carelessly Twisted Round His Hairy Throat. On His Tangled

Locks--Distressingly Shaggy And Unkempt--He Wore No Hat,  And He Looked

Like A Brownie,  Grotesque,  Though Somewhat Sad. But Even More Did He

Resemble An Ape--Or Say The Missing Link--And Only His Eyes Seemed

Human. These Were Large,  Dark And Brilliant,  Sparkling Like Jewels Under

His Elf-Locks. He Sat Cross-Legged On The Sward And Hugged A Fiddle,  As

Though He Were Nursing A Baby. And,  No Doubt,  He Was As Attached To His

Instrument As Any Mother Could Be To Her Child. It Was Not Difficult For

Miss Greeby To Guess That This Weird,  Hairy Dwarf Was The Servian Gypsy

Kara,  Of Whom Lambert Had Spoken. She Took Advantage Of The Knowledge To

Be Disagreeable To The Girl.

 

"Is This Your Husband?" Asked Miss Greeby Amiably.

 

Chaldea's Eyes Flashed And Her Cheeks Grew Crimson. "Not At All," She

Said Contemptuously. "I Have No Rom."

 

"Ah,  Your Are Not Married?"

 

"No," Declared Chaldea Curtly,  And Shot A Swift Glance At Lambert.

 

"She Is Waiting For The Fairy Prince," Said That Young Gentleman

Smiling. "And He Is Coming To This Camp Almost Immediately."

 

"Ishmael Hearne Is Coming," Replied The Gypsy. "But He Is No Rom Of

Mine,  And Never Will Be."

 

"Who Is He,  Then?" Asked Lambert Carelessly.

 

"One Of The Great Romany."

 

Miss Greeby Remembered That Mother Cockleshell Had Also Spoken Of The

Expected Arrival At The Camp In These Terms. "A Kind Of King?" She

Asked.

 

Chaldea Laughed Satirically. "Yes; A Kind Of King," She Assented; Then

Turned Her Back Rudely On The Speaker And Addressed