Red Money by Fergus Hume (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖

1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 4

"That's Just What I Do Mean," Retorted Miss Greeby Daringly,  "And If He

Does,  Garvington Will Shoot Him. He Said So."

 

"He Said Nothing Of The Sort," Cried Lady Garvington,  Angrily Rising.

 

"Well,  He Meant It. I Saw Him Looking At Agnes. And We Know That Sir

Hubert Is As Jealous As Othello. Garvington Is On Guard I Suppose,

And--"

 

"Will You Hold Your Tongue?" Whispered The Mistress Of The Manor

Furiously,  And She Would Have Shaken Miss Greeby,  But That She Had

Borrowed Money From Her And Did Not Dare To Incur Her Enmity. "Agnes

Will Hear You; She Is Looking This Way; Can't You See?"

 

"As If I Cared," Laughed Miss Greeby,  Pushing Out Her Full Lower Lip In

A Contemptuous Manner. However,  For Reasons Best Known To Herself,  She

Held Her Peace,  Although She Would Have Scorned The Idea That The Hint

Of Her Hostess Made Her Do So.

 

Lady Garvington Saw That Her Guests Were All Chattering With One

Another,  And That The Men Were Getting Ready To Leave For The Day's

Shooting,  So She Went To Discuss The Dinner In The Housekeeper's Room.

But All The Time She And The Housekeeper Were Arguing What Lord

Garvington Would Like In The Way Of Food,  The Worried Woman Was

Reflecting On What Miss Greeby Had Said. When The Menu Was Finally

Settled--No Easy Task When It Concerned The Master Of The House--Lady

Garvington Sought Out Mrs. Belgrove. That Juvenile Ancient Was Sunning

Herself On The Terrace,  In The Hope Of Renewing Her Waning Vitality,

And,  Being Alone,  Permitted Herself To Look Old. She Brisked Up With A

Kittenish Purr When Disturbed,  And Remarked That The Hengishire Air Was

Like Champagne. "My Spirits Are Positively Wild And Wayward," Said The

Would-Be Hebe With A Desperate Attempt To Be Youthful.

 

"Ah,  You Haven't Got The House To Look After," Sighed Lady Garvington,

With A Weary Look,  And Dropped Into A Basket Chair To Pour Out Her Woes

To Mrs. Belgrove. That Person Was Extremely Discreet,  As Years Of

Society Struggling Had Taught Her The Value Of Silence. Her Discretion

In This Respect Brought Her Many Confidences,  And She Was Renowned For

Giving Advice Which Was Never Taken.

 

"What's The Matter,  My Dear? You Look A Hundred," Said Mrs. Belgrove,

Putting Up Her Lorgnette With A Chuckle,  As If She Had Made An Original

Observation. But She Had Not,  For Lady Garvington Always Appeared Worn

And Weary,  And Sallow,  And Untidy. She Was The Kind Of Absent-Minded

Person Who Depended Upon Pins To Hold Her Garments Together,  And Who

Would Put On Her Tiara Crookedly For A Drawing-Room.

 

"Clara Greeby's A Cat," Said Poor,  Worried Lady Garvington,  Hunting For

Her Pocket Handkerchief,  Which Was Rarely To Be Found.

 

"Has She Been Making Love To Garvington?"

 

"Pooh! No Woman Attracts Garvington Unless She Can Cook,  Or Knows

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 5

Something About A Kitchen Range. I Might As Well Have Married A Soup

Tureen. I'm Sure I Don't Know Why I Ever Did Marry Him," Lamented The

Lady,  Staring At The Changing Foliage Of The Park Trees. "He's A Pauper

And A Pig,  My Dear,  Although I Wouldn't Say So To Every One. I Wish My

Mother Hadn't Insisted That I Should Attend Cooking Classes."

 

"What On Earth Has That To Do With It?"

 

"To Do With What?" Asked Lady Garvington Absentmindedly. "I Don't Know

What You're Talking About,  I'm Sure. But Mother Knew That Garvington Was

Fond Of A Good Dinner,  And Made Me Attend Those Classes,  So As To Learn

To Talk About French Dishes. We Used To Flirt About Soups And Creams And

Haunches Of Venison,  Until He Thought That I Was As Greedy As He Was. So

He Married Me,  And I've Been Attending To His Meals Ever Since. Why,

Even For Our Honeymoon We Went To Mont St. Michel. They Make Splendid

Omelettes There,  And Garvington Ate All The Time. Ugh!" And The Poor

Lady Shuddered.

 

Mrs. Belgrove Saw That Her Companion Was Meandering,  And Would Never

Come To The Point Unless Forced To Face It,  So She Rapped Her Knuckles

With The Lorgnette. "What About Clara Greeby?" She Demanded Sharply.

 

"She's A Cat!"

 

"Oh,  We're All Cats,  Mewing Or Spitting As The Fit Takes Us," Said Mrs.

Belgrove Comfortably. "I Can't See Why Cat Should Be A Term Of

Opprobrium When Applied To A Woman. Cats Are Charmingly Pretty Animals,

And Know What They Want,  Also How To Get It. Well,  My Dear?"

 

"I Believe She Was In Love With Noel Herself," Ruminated Lady

Garvington.

 

"Who Was In Love? Come To The Point,  My Dear Jane."

 

"Clara Greeby."

 

Mrs. Belgrove Laughed. "Oh,  That Ancient History. Every One Who Was

Anybody Knew That Clara Would Have Given Her Eyes--And Very Ugly Eyes

They Are--To Have Married Noel Lambert. I Suppose You Mean Him? Noel

Isn't A Common Name. Quite So. You Mean Him. Well,  Clara Wanted To Buy

Him. He Hasn't Any Money,  And As A Banker's Heiress She Is As Rich As A

Jew. But He Wouldn't Have Her."

 

"Why Wouldn't He?" Asked Lady Garvington,  Waking Up--She Had Been

Reflecting About A New Soup Which She Hoped Would Please Her Husband.

"Clara Has Quite Six Thousand A Year,  And Doesn't Look Bad When Her Maid

Makes Her Dress In A Proper Manner. And,  Talking About Maids,  Mine Wants

To Leave,  And--"

 

"She's Too Like Boadicea," Interrupted Mrs. Belgrove,  Keeping Her

Companion To The Subject Of Miss Greeby. "A Masculine Sort Of Hussy.

Noel Is Far Too Artistic To Marry Such A Maypole. She's Six Foot Two,  If

She's An Inch,  And Her Hands And Feet--" Mrs. Belgrove Shuddered With A

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 6

Gratified Glance At Her Own Slim Fingers.

 

"You Know The Nonsense That Garvington Was Talking; About Shooting A

Burglar," Said The Other Woman Vaguely. "Such Nonsense,  For I'm Sure No

Burglar Would Enter A House Filled With Nothing But Early Victorian

Furniture."

 

"Well? Well? Well?" Said Mrs. Belgrove Impatiently.

 

"Clara Beeby Thought That Garvington Meant To Shoot Noel."

 

"Why,  In Heaven's Name! Because Noel Is His Heir?"

 

"I'm Sure I Can't Help It If I've No Children," Said Lady Garvington,

Going Off On Another Trail--The One Suggested By Mrs. Belgrove's Remark.

"I'd Be A Happier Woman If I Had Something Else To Attend To Than

Dinners. I Wish We All Lived On Roots,  So That Garvington Could Dig Them

Up For Himself."

 

"My Dear,  He'd Send You Out With A Trowel To Do That," Said Mrs.

Belgrove Humorously. "But Why Does Garvington Want To Shoot Noel?"

 

"Oh,  He Doesn't. I Never Said He Did. Clara Greeby Made The Remark. You

See,  Noel Loved Agnes Before She Married Hubert,  And I Believe He Loves

Her Still,  Which Isn't Right,  Seeing She's Married,  And Isn't Half So

Good-Looking As She Was. And Noel Stopping At That Cottage In The

Abbot's Wood Painting In Water-Colors. I Think He Is,  But I'm Not Sure

If It Isn't In Oils,  And The--"

 

"Well? Well? Well?" Asked Mrs. Belgrove Again.

 

"It Isn't Well At All,  When You Think What A Tongue Clara Greeby Has,"

Snapped Lady Garvington. "She Said If Noel Came To See Agnes By Night,

Garvington,  Taking Him For A Burglar,  Might Shoot Him. She Insisted That

He Looked At Agnes When He Was Talking About Burglars,  And Meant That."

 

"What Nonsense!" Cried Mrs. Belgrove Vigorously,  At Last Having Arrived

At A Knowledge Of Why Lady Garvington Had Sought Her. "Noel Can Come

Here Openly,  So There Is No Reason He Should Steal Here After Dark."

 

"Well,  He's Romantic,  You Know,  Dear. And Romantic People Always Prefer

Windows To Doors And Darkness To Light. The Windows Here Are So

Insecure," Added Lady Garvington,  Glancing At The Facade Above Her

Untidy Hair. "He Could Easily Get In By Sticking A Penknife In Between

The Upper And Lower Sash Of The Window. It Would Be Quite Easy."

 

"What Nonsense You Talk,  Jane," Said Mrs. Belgrove,  Impatiently. "Noel

Is Not The Man To Come After A Married Woman When Her Husband Is Away. I

Have Known Him Since He Was A Harrow Schoolboy,  So I Have Every Right To

Speak. Where Is Sir Hubert?"

 

"He Is At Paris Or Pekin,  Or Something With A 'P,'" Said Lady Garvington

Chapter 1 (The Drama Of Little Things) Pg 7

In Her Usual Vague Way. "I'm Sure I Don't Know Why He Can't Take Agnes

With Him. They Get On Very Well For A Married Couple."

 

"All The Same She Doesn't Love Him."

 

"He Loves Her,  For I'm Sure He's That Jealous That He Can't Scarcely

Bear Her Out Of His Sight."

 

"It Seems To Me That He Can," Remarked Mrs. Belgrove Dryly. "Since He Is

At Paris Or Pekin And She Is Here."

 

"Garvington Is Looking After Her,  And He Owes Sir Hubert Too Much,  Not

To See That Agnes Is All Right."

 

Mrs. Belgrove Peered At Lady Garvington Through Her Lorgnette. "I Think

You Talk A Great Deal Of Nonsense,  Jane,  As I Said Before," She

Observed. "I Don't Suppose For One Moment That Agnes Thinks Of Noel,  Or

Noel Of Agnes."

 

"Clara Greeby Says--"

 

"Oh,  I Know What She Says And What She Wishes. She Would Like To Get

Noel Into Trouble With Sir Hubert Over Agnes,  Simply Because He Will Not

Marry Her. As To Her Chatter About Burglars--"

 

"Garvington's Chatter," Corrected Her Companion.

 

"Well,  Then,  Garvington's. It's All Rubbish. Agnes Is A Sweet Girl,

And--"

 

"Girl?" Lady Garvington Laughed Disdainfully. "She Is Twenty-Five."

 

"A Mere Baby. People Cannot Be Called Old Until They Are Seventy Or

Eighty. It Is A Bad Habit Growing Old. I Have Never Encouraged It

Myself. By The Way,  Tell Me Something About Sir Hubert Pine. I Have Only

Met Him Once Or Twice. What Kind Of A Man Is He?"

 

"Tall,  And Thin,  And Dark,  And--"

 

"I Know His Appearance. But His Nature?"

 

"He's Jealous,  And Can Be Very Disagreeable When He Likes. I Don't Know

Who He Is,  Or Where He Came From. He Made His Money Out Of Penny Toys

And South African Investments. He Was A Member Of Parliament For A Few

Years,  And Helped His Party So Much With Money That He Was Knighted.

That's All I Know Of Him,  Except That He Is Very Mean."

 

"Mean? What You Tell Me Doesn't Sound Mean."

 

"I'm Talking Of His Behavior To Garvington,"