An Abundance of Quite Good Fortune (in the manner of Dickens) Options

[RC James]

In the chill and dark winding thoroughfare , ghostly in its absence of sound, Jeremy Coffinbloke wondered
in a pronounced mutter, whether or not his presence here was in any way to his advantage. Mrs. Blowthrough,
his angry and perpetually shouting landlady had given him the night to make up the difference in his three month
rental debt.

Jeremy, an uprepossessing, wicket stem thin and overly tall young man, was a lowly messenger
for a firm dealing in stocks and bonds, lorded over by a Mr. Hastuprattle, who transported himself
around behind an oversize mid section leaning to his portside, so that many visitors to the firm were alarmed
and remarked that the portly man was about to keel over. Jeremy was a nervous sort, who all the day long
frazzled himself to the quick wondering about the best way to deliver the particular missive in hand.
His diet was sparse due to his lack of funds which accustomed his stomach to very little companionship
in the way of vittles.

Wandering in an internally blithering manner he had little idea how, where or when he would be able to meet
the payment by morning. Of a sudden, a horse whinnied, some ways off ahead of him, followed by
a sharp human curse. Presently, after hastily moving to the side and being swallowed by a hedgerow,
he glimpsed the rider dismounting and looking back of him for some unseen object. Then, cursing more volubly
and for an extended time, in the space of which the rider revealed indirectly what he had dropped and was searching for.
A pouch of money apparently had fallen in the road and during this revealing tirade, Jeremy heard other riders
approaching with great speed and shouting. The rider remounted and dashed off. Jeremy pressed himself further
into the hedgerow as the new riders on the scene passed by, apparently the constabulary by the sound
of their imprecations. It turned silent again after a good ten minutes.

Jeremy walked in the direction he had begun and kept his eyes fast to the ground. About twenty meters along,
he espied a light brown lump on the ground and had an involuntary rushing intake of breath, and uttered an inspired
“Oh, Lord.” With great trepidation, as this seemed to be the stolen money, he pulled open the strings on the pouch
and flabbergastedly discovered enough for at least one full year’s rent. He wasted no time in finding an alternate way
back to his rooms, obliquely thanking the lone horseman, his unknowing benefactor.

[Psyche]

Hi Richard!
Just enjoyed reading your story. Love the surnames of your characters! Coffinbloke...Blowthrough...Hastuprattle....

I don't think I have anything to criticize, in fact I learn a lot reading stories and books in English. Word usage, in particular. Idioms.
I've read some Dickens, but long ago. My favourite, of course, is David Copperfield!
Bleak House? Hmm...

Perhaps you could separate this tale into two or three paragraphs? Take or Toss! Just sayin'

Tx so much for sharing,
Sylvia

In the chill and dark winding thoroughfare , ghostly in its absence of sound, Jeremy Coffinbloke wondered in a pronounced mutter, whether or not his presence here was in any way to his advantage. Mrs. Blowthrough, his angry and perpetually shouting landlady had given him the night to make up the difference in his three month rental debt. Jeremy, an uprepossessing, wicket stem thin and overly tall young man, was a lowly messenger for a firm dealing in stocks and bonds, lorded over by a Mr. Hastuprattle, who transported himself around behind an oversize mid section leaning to his portside, so that many visitors to the firm were alarmed and remarked that the portly man was about to keel over. Jeremy was a nervous sort, who all the day long frazzled himself to the quick wondering about the best way to deliver the particular missive in hand. His diet was sparse due to his lack of funds which accustomed his stomach to very little companionship in the way of vittles. Wandering in an internally blithering manner he had little idea how, where or when he would be able to meet the payment by morning. Of a sudden, a horse whinnied, some ways off ahead of him, followed by a sharp human curse. Presently, after hastily moving to the side and being swallowed by a hedgerow, he glimpsed the rider dismounting and looking back of him for some unseen object. Then, cursing more volubly and for an extended time, in the space of which the rider revealed indirectly what he had dropped and was searching for. A pouch of money apparently had fallen in the road and during this revealing tirade, Jeremy heard other riders approaching with great speed and shouting. The rider remounted and dashed off. Jeremy pressed himself further into the hedgerow as the new riders on the scene passed by, apparently the constabulary by the sound of their imprecations. It turned silent again after a good ten minutes. Jeremy walked in the direction he had begun and kept his eyes fast to the ground. About twenty meters along, he espied a light brown lump on the ground and had an involuntary rushing intake of breath, and uttered an inspired “Oh, Lord.” With great trepidation, as this seemed to be the stolen money, he pulled open the strings on the pouch and flabbergastedly discovered enough for at least one full year’s rent. He wasted no time in finding an alternate way back to his rooms, obliquely thanking the lone horseman, his unknowing benefactor.