The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 460 Ch.459 Hatching chicks

Randolph is not at home.

It is said that he was busy with some business matters.

When Roland came, he bumped into a furnace of freshly baked cookies that were still warm - Teresa was holding the baking sheet, coaxing these little guys of different shapes into the enamel plate and bringing them to Roland.

He also told him mysteriously that ordinary people could not eat this thing.

——It actually tastes the same as usual.

Except it's so sweet it makes your brain hurt.

"I guess Betty did it, right?"

"She is responsible for putting the sugar." Teresa winked, took the tea brought by the maid, and served Roland herself. The little maid looked regretful and lingered around for a long time, until Teresa changed her face and let her Like a bird frightened by the wind, it fluttered away from the swaying branches.

Ever since Beatrice showed her 'unusual' closeness to Roland, Teresa started like an old hen to expel all women except her own lady who tried to get in touch with Roland - at least not in the Taylor family.

A very dignified lady.

"The young master went to the store and came back in the afternoon."

"He's always so busy."

Teresa was about to say something when suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps.

The sound started down the stairs, varying in severity, like a three-legged rabbit or a kangaroo suddenly trying to walk properly——

Roland has seen the same scene countless times:

Beatrice ran in front, Bronte chasing behind.

She pulled on her shoes, like a chick that had seen its mother from afar, spread its wings, and bumped into Roland.

He heard Bronte shout:

'No--! gentlemen! ’

Then.

Click.

The girl who jumped on him tightly hugged Roland's waist. In addition to the smell of sunlight and the boneless flesh that was not controlled by the corset, Roland heard one after another crisp sounds.

It seemed like something was broken.

soon.

From the gap between the two people's embrace, clear egg liquid flowed thinly.

Those are the unborn offspring of poultry.

Roland:......

Teresa:…

"What did you do!" Teresa glared at Bronte, who was worried, and spoke sharply: "Teacher, teacher! Don't you even know how to serve people, yet you still receive so much money every week? Miss Bronte, you Do you consider this your home?"

Theresa's attitude towards Bronte was a bit strange - in the past, this woman would not get angry with anyone because of Beatrice's 'naughty'.

But her next words let Roland know the answer.

"I should talk like this. If you are angry, who are you going to tell? Isn't it? I have seen too many women like this at my age - I know exactly what they are thinking. You'd better not think that using some Those who are unworthy of publicity can do it with the tricks of a woman—"

Teresa's chest heaved, but she couldn't say anything else.

She couldn't use those words to insult Bronte in front of Roland.

"Pack it up! Miss Bronte, if you can't do the job, won't you apologize?"

Beatrice wiped her face with tears and tugged at Theresa's sleeve.

The old maid immediately changed her face, knelt down and said with a smile: "I'm not angry, Betty."

…………

…

Beatrice's room.

He took off his egg-covered clothes and put on Randolph's regular clothes. Roland half leaned back in the round-backed chair, smoking his cigar slowly.

"She's been hatching chicks lately."

After the servant left, Bronte spoke quietly.

It seemed that what just happened was painless and didn't make her sad at all.

"All the pockets on the body that can be put are filled with eggs..." Bronte said: "Even sleeping - one basket was crushed to death yesterday."

Roland:......

"Teresa has a bad temper lately, right."

Bronte moved her lips, as if she was considering whether to tell Roland - frankly speaking, if she were Theresa, she would treat her in a sharper way.

She knew why.

"...Lan...Mr. Taylor, wants to buy a newspaper."

"Oh ho."

-

Oh ho.

Roland's expression was not serious at all, his face was full of "I had expected it", which made the tutor next to him suddenly realize what kind of temper this man was.

They can't talk about anything too serious.

"So, this newspaper wants you to pay?"

Bronte lowered her lips: "Mr. Collins."

"Okay," Roland stopped smiling, picked up the coffee and took a sip, "I'm not laughing at you, Miss Bronte."

"I know."

Bronte forced a smile.

What could she say?

Governesses are not just 'teachers', at some level they are also responsible for the desires of their masters or the heirs of the family.

Those semi-forced behaviors are common in this industry, and once they occur, there is usually no place or law for them to 'reason'.

Let’s put it this way, the only difference between them and those women who have specific houses and dress up in fancy clothes is:

They know Braille.

She should be glad that Randolph Taylor didn't break into her house drunkenly one midnight.

He did not slip and brush in a daze, letting her know that she was still the poor man who had to live by pennies and wished he could tie his sister to his waist. He did not end his day's worries with the creaking sound of the wooden chair.

Then he pushed her away roughly, wiped the sweat from his forehead, picked up the kettle on the table and drank a lot.

Before leaving, I said one more sentence:

Deducted from your salary.

Fortunately, Mr. Taylor didn't do this, and she should be happy.

Her gums, teeth, and tongue were not examined, and her internal organs were her own internal organs. There was no "third son," "fourth son," or "sister's friend" who was curious about her pajamas or more secret things. Those private matters were never in Taylor's house. , will never happen to her again.

She should feel content.

only.

I knew early on that this day would come.

First there was Teresa.

Then, maybe Randolph's friends, or even his father.

The servants looked at her more and more strangely.

There is jealousy and there is ridicule.

"I should say contentment, Mr. Collins. I should be like this. I shouldn't be greedy." Bronte silently rubbed her knuckles, which were red and sore from holding the pen for too long, and took a few deep breaths. "I know what to do." Do."

Roland knocked on the porcelain cup. This woman's 'vigilance' made her smile: "You don't have to worry, Miss Bronte. If you want to know what I talked to Randolph in private, you should open your heart a little - at least open a crack."

Bronte: "I——"

Roland: "I mean, the windows in the house. Don't you think it's too choking?"

Bronte:…

The woman who stumbled began to take a deep breath again.

Bronte: "I admire your friendship with Mr. Taylor."

——I admire Randolph Taylor for being able to tolerate such a ‘lively’ character.

Roland: "Me too."

——You know for yourself whether there is a ‘friendship’ between you.

Bronte tightened her skirt folds, and the left side of her face twitched unnaturally a few times.

She suddenly remembered that one day she heard Mr. Taylor talk about Roland, saying that he was a gentle, loyal and patient friend.

Brontë didn't understand the meaning of the latter comment.

Now she understands.

"It seems that you are also a very careful man who never suffers losses."

Roland laughed: "Who likes to suffer?"

He paused.

"Unless he is willing to do this - and then he has to bear the pressure of the family, the strange eyes of the servants, the dissatisfied attitude of the housekeeper who has served him since childhood, the warnings of his friends around him, and the ridicule of his circle."

"Unless he's willing to do it, willing to do it."

Roland blew the cool breeze and slowly took a cigar in his mouth.