The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 460 Ch.459 Hatching Chicks

Randolph was not home.

It is said that he is busy with some business.

When Roland arrived, he came across a batch of freshly baked cookies that were still warm. Theresa held the baking tray, coaxed these little creatures of various shapes into an enamel plate, and handed it to Roland.

And told him mysteriously that this thing is not something that ordinary people can eat.

——In fact, it tastes no different from usual.

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

"I guess Betty did it, didn't she?"

"She is responsible for adding sugar." Theresa 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 Theresa frowned and let her fly away from the swaying branches like a bird startled by the wind.

Ever since Beatrice showed her "unusual" closeness to Roland, Theresa began to act like an old hen and expel all women who tried to contact Roland except her own daughter - at least not in Taylor's house.

A very majestic lady.

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

"He's always so busy."

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

The sound came down the stairs, with varying degrees of intensity, like a three-legged rabbit or a kangaroo that suddenly decided to walk properly.

Roland had seen the same scene countless times:

Beatrice ran in front and Bronte followed behind.

She slipped on her slippers and spread her wings like a baby bird that saw its mother from a distance, and rushed towards Roland.

He heard Bronte's voice:

"No! Sir!"

then.

Click.

The girl threw herself on him and hugged Roland's waist tightly. In addition to the smell of sunshine and the boneless meat that was not controlled by the corset, Roland heard a series of crisp sounds.

It's like something is broken.

soon.

From the gap between the two people's embrace, clear egg liquid trickled out.

Those are the unborn offspring of poultry.

Roland: ...

Theresa: ...

"What did you do!" Theresa glared at Brontë, who looked uneasy, and said sharply: "Teacher, teacher! Don't you even know how to serve people? How can you get so much money every week? Miss Brontë, do you think this place is your own home?"

There was something strange about Theresa's attitude towards Bronte - in the past this lady would never get angry with anyone because of Beatrice's 'naughtiness'.

But her next words let Roland know the answer.

"I should say this. If you are angry, I am afraid you will tell someone, right? I have seen too many women like this at my age. I know exactly what they are thinking. You'd better not think that you can use some unpresentable and questionable women's methods to -"

Theresa's chest heaved, but she could not utter anything else.

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

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

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

The old maid's expression changed immediately. She half-knelt down and said with a smile, "I'm not angry, Betty."

…………

……

Beatrice's room.

After taking off his clothes covered in egg liquid and changing into Randolph's casual clothes, Roland half leaned back in a round-backed chair, slowly smoking a cigar.

"She's been hatching chicks lately."

After the servants left, Bronte spoke softly.

It was as if what had just happened was not a big deal and did not make her sad at all.

"I filled all the pockets on my body that could hold things with eggs..." Bronte said, "And when I went to bed, I crushed a basket of eggs yesterday."

Roland: ...

"Teresa has been in a bad mood lately, hasn't she."

Bronte moved her lips, as if considering whether to tell Roland - to be honest, if she were Theresa, she would treat herself in a more sharp way.

She knew why. "…Lan…Mr. Taylor wants to buy a newspaper."

"Ouch."
-
Oh hoo.

Roland's expression was not serious at all, but rather a look of "I expected this" on his face, which made the tutor beside him suddenly realize what kind of person this man was.

They can't talk about anything too serious.

"So, this newspaper wants you to pay?"

Bronte lowered his mouth: "Mr. Collins."

"Okay," Roland restrained his smile, picked up his coffee and took a sip, "I'm not laughing at you, Miss Bronte."

"I know."

Bronte forced a smile.

What could she say?
A tutor is more than just a teacher. To some extent, they are also responsible for the sexual desires of their master or the children of the family.

Those semi-coercive behaviors are common in this industry, and once they happen, 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 a special house and dress up beautifully is:

They can read Braille.

She should be glad that Randolph Taylor didn't come barging into her house drunk one of the night.

There was no sliding and brushing in a daze, making her realize that she was still the poor woman who had to count pennies to live and wished she could tie her sister to her waist. There was no ending of his day's troubles with the creaking of a wooden chair.

Then he pushed her away rudely, wiped the sweat from his forehead, picked up the kettle on the table and drank it rapidly.

One more sentence before leaving:
Deduct from your salary.

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

No one had her gums, teeth or tongue examined, and her internal organs were her own. No 'third son', 'fourth son' or 'husband's friend' was curious about her pajamas or more private things. Those private things never happened in the Taylor family or to her.

She should be content.

just.

I knew this day would come.

First, Theresa.

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

The servants looked at her with increasingly strange eyes.

There is jealousy and also ridicule.

"I should say I should be content, Mr. Collins. I should be like this, not greedy." Bronte silently rubbed his knuckles that were red and painful from holding the pen for too long, took a few deep breaths, "I know what to do."

Roland knocked on the porcelain cup. She couldn't help but smile at the woman's 'vigilance': "Don't worry, Miss Bronte. If you want to know what I talked about with 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 tripped began to breathe deeply again.

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

——I admire Randolph Taylor for being able to tolerate such a 'lively' personality.

Roland: “Me too.”

——You know clearly whether there is a ‘friendship’ between you two.

Bronte clutched the folds of her skirt and her left cheek twitched unnaturally.

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

Bronte did not understand the meaning of the latter comment.

Now she understands.

"It seems that you are also a thrifty man who never suffers a loss."

Roland laughed: "Who would like to suffer a loss?"

He paused.

"Unless he is willing to do so - and then he has to bear the pressure from his family, the strange looks from his servants, the dissatisfied attitude from the housekeeper who has served him since he was a child, the warnings from his friends, and the ridicule from the circle."

"Unless he wants to do it, and does it willingly."

Roland felt the cool breeze and slowly put his cigar between his teeth.

(End of this chapter)