The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1170 Ch.1169 Pet Dog

The light spots passed through the shadows of the branches and through the dust covering the glass.

The carriage swayed gently.

The maid gently lit the incense, masking the faint musty smell in the land-based boat worth several pounds.

They were decorated with deep blue velvet, with natural pleats on the sides, gray satin adorning the armrests, and black silk for the curtains.

The ebony cabinets and square table hadn't been maintained or waxed in a long time, and the paper borders of the menus were missing and yellowed with tobacco stains.

It took Harida a full fifteen minutes to tidy up the carriage so that it was "barely usable for half a day," not including the time spent patiently listening to Rupert's complaints and nonsensical instructions—in fact, Roland and Theodore had no problem with the slightly old carriage.

Miss Rupert Benevento had a strong opinion.

She believed the dust floating in the air, the dirt on the table, the musty smell in the air, and the stains on the glass—

Even a single creaking inch of the floorboards might damage the noble qualities inherent in her blood; staying there too long might even contaminate her with unclean diseases, the kind that poor people are prone to. For example, being overly calculating, obsequious, shallow-minded, dull-witted, and narrow-minded, etc.

Roland said that the poor couldn't afford to ride in the most expensive carriage, and that the dust inside probably contained all the bad habits of the rich.

What's wrong with rich people?

Rupert raised an eyebrow.

"Beneventone's annual tax revenue could support half the poor in the Eastern District. Without people like us, how could the Empire have achieved its current glory?"

Roland found a chair by the window and sat down, then casually opened the window a crack.

"This reminds me of what the coachmen said when they were smoking together—'Steam carriages? We have to pay to rent a broken machine? Bah! When will London ever be without us?! Stay home! Starting next month, we'll all stay home! Let's see how those big shots manage to conquer the long, muddy streets…' Theodore, isn't that hilarious?"

Theodore thought to himself, "It's funny as it may be, but the problem is you're the one laughing, and I'm the one being flattered."

That's not funny at all.

The blond man silently separated Rupert from Roland with his body and invited her to another small sofa—a seat next to the window, separated from Roland by an aisle.

Harida had just cleaned up and placed candlesticks and a basket of butter tarts baked before dawn on the square table.

"For fools who completely misunderstand the power of material things, even if they have money, they don't know how to use it, yet they shamelessly claim 'I don't care about money'—"

Roland thought for a moment and said, "That's right, Miss Lulu. I am indeed that kind of person."

These words left Rupert speechless, unable to choke on the barrage of questions he was about to unleash.

How could this person be so shameless?
He is not at all...

Right.

He should have known what kind of person Roland Collins was long ago.

"Let's eat something, we're going to sit here all day."

Theodore sat down opposite Rupert and picked up the menu—it was hard to say how good the food was, but the numbers behind each name were considerable.

Only the highest-class carriages offer catering services, and you can imagine how expensive they are.

"This vehicle doesn't look like it can afford to hire a chef team year-round... I can already imagine the terrible experience that's about to happen." Rupert curled his lip in disgust, glanced at Theodore's unfolded menu, and casually uttered a few names.

Halida nodded slightly, opened the door, and went to the corridor to find the train conductor.

Rupert glanced in surprise in the direction the maid had left, his fingertip touching the bell by the window hinge: "She prefers walking?"

Theodore rubbed his temples.

To his surprise, when the waiter knocked on the door and entered with large and small platters, enthusiastically introducing the stations the journey would take, the new culinary team on the train, their signature dishes from a certain small country, and the bottle of perhaps somewhat aged red wine included with the ticket…

Rupert Benevento did not display the 'harshness' he showed in front of Roland and Theodore—on the contrary, he was 'gentle' like a philanthropist who was always in tears.

"Give my regards to the chef. Although I don't usually try these 'specialties,' as the saying goes, 'adventure begins with peeling the shell'—thank goodness I bought a private room ticket, didn't I?" The young waiter was clearly captivated by the girl's perfect smile. He should have just put down the food and left, but instead, he chatted with her for a few moments about the wine and their destination—Cornn.

“We all know that this isn’t really Cornwall… otherwise the ticket wouldn’t be this price. Miss, it used to be a gold mining town.”

"Gold mine...town?" Rupert held a handkerchief, his index finger hidden inside, and gently pushed it to wipe the corner of his mouth.

She certainly knew Cornwall; Collins had told her about it, a port town teeming with lively, wriggling fish…

Now it seems, it wasn't that place?
"Gold mines, those dirty, smelly places where miners work, miss. Many people go to that port, but this 'Cornnore' is quite rare—I suppose that's why the private rooms are so unpopular? What rich man would go to such a remote place for a little gold?"

The waiter spoke loudly.

He thought this would flatter Rupert and also bring along the two gentlemen in the carriage.

All I can say is that the conversation skills were not very good.

“No wonder my friend’s servant was sweating before the whistle even sounded. Ah, I don’t believe that’s the conductor’s fault…” Rupert said with a rather elegant air, propping his arms up on the ebony table and looking up at him.

"Of course not, ladies and gentlemen! It's just that no one has bought such high-class tickets for a long time... ever since Cornwall's gold was all mined up..." the waiter puffed out his chest in defense.

Cornwall.

A mining town that no longer has gold mines.

"The seaside scenery is quite nice. I suppose you're all...on a trip, right? I suggest you get off the bus, immediately add some money, change your ticket, and sit for an hour. The port is quite interesting..."

As expected, it wasn't very clever.

What right does a waiter have to pry into a customer's purpose?

Theodore was even more surprised.

—Because Rupert was not angered by this.

"What do you think?" she asked with a smile.

“I bet it’s… I can’t think of anything that would attract you kind and noble people to that ruined place… It’s just asking for trouble—” He blurted out, then realized how foolish he was. Under the woman’s beautiful pink eyes, he lowered his head, muttered an apology, and hurriedly retreated.

The door was closed from the outside.

Rupert rolled his eyes.

“There is a reason why the poor are poor, Mr. Thackeray.”

Theodore was puzzled by Rupert's attitude toward the waiter—even someone like him would have said something sarcastic, warning him to leave after putting down the food and drinks.

Rupert's approach, however, was unusually gentle.

“Keep your composure, Mr. Thackeray. To be elegant and dignified in front of the lower classes is not to put on airs—because to waste time on these people is like forcing a cow to carve itself up and put itself on the frying pan—we don’t have that much time to waste.”

She held a small piece of steak down with the fork and gently ground it with the serrations of her knife.

There wasn't the slightest jarring sound.

“It’s not that I can’t eat, or that I can’t complain. But when faced with people who have to struggle to make a living as soon as they wake up… would you scold your pet dog for getting grease from the bone on the blanket?”

Rupert said indifferently.

"They're just pet dogs, Mr. Thackeray. What do they know?"

She looked straight at the blond man across from her.

But in Theodore's eyes, Rupert seemed to be sitting on countless thick, soft cushions, gazing down at a void.

(End of this chapter)