The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 586: Cavendish Bloodline

Beatrice was led to the old woman by Theresa with a bewildered look in her eyes. When she found that the girl was wearing a skirt that exposed her ankles and calves, and her manners were neither fish nor fowl, and could not even be considered "etiquette"...

Some words just don't sound very nice.

"My precious, I guess your brother must love you more than anyone else, right?" She looked at Beatrice, her mouth affectionate, but her hand was motionless on her belly: "He loves you very much. I have heard that our Randolph loves his sister the most..."

"Love is so tolerant that this girl who is about to get married has lost all her manners."

"I spoke for her."

"Do you remember me? You should call me aunt, kid."

Bethany bent down slightly to make her twenty-year-dead pale face look more friendly: that was about all she could do.

Beatrice was stunned for a few seconds, called out "Auntie", and turned to look at Roland.

This then brought the topic to another person present.

"this--"

"My friend, Roland Collins." Randolph introduced, "My partner, an excellent and noble gentleman."

It seemed that this topic interested Bethany more than 'Beatrice'.

She produced a folding fan from somewhere and treated the living room as a social venue. With a warm smile on her old face, she inquired about Roland's background in various ways.

"I am very familiar with your last name, and I must have heard of your glorious deeds. Can you help an elderly person recall? You must forgive my memory. The sea breeze has been blowing into my ears all night. Apart from the horn and the waves, it can only be used when talking with an outstanding young man like you."

"It's too long."

"It's really too long."

"My last name? From my father, of course, Ms. Cavendish."

Roland seemed particularly enthusiastic, and his smile was as if he had seen the body of Mince Croy: "My father, old Collins, was a country gentleman. A fire left this poor man away from his children - mother? Oh, I have never seen my mother."

The more Roland spoke, the stiffer Bethany's smile became.

"…Maybe I'm a bastard? Although I didn't inherit much material wealth. All of this is nothing compared to the spiritual wealth they left me - that is, virtue, ma'am."

Roland was in high spirits, half raising his head, and speaking passionately to the painting next to Bethany...

"That's moral character!"

"I have excellent character and I am an excellent person." He became more and more excited as he spoke, and his eyeballs were attracted to the tip of his nose like a magnet.

Randolph scowled.

Keeping serious at such a moment is a more difficult challenge than catching a stray cat.

"…I didn't know you had eye problems, sir. Sit down… Randolph! Please help him, sir!

In short.

When Roland showed that he was deaf and poor, but had noble character and was full of confidence, the old woman from the Cavendish family no longer wanted to talk to him.

Bethany Cavendish was a very standard lady. She judged people accurately and sharply, as if a few unnecessary polite words would damage the wealth and moisture in her ravine. Soon, she left Roland and Beatrice behind and was only willing to talk to Randolph.

Of course, she treated Bellows Taylor just as well as the servants had said.

It's just that Roland could always detect a hint of caution in this kind of "good".

"…I am the same as Theresa, Randolph. I miss you and worry about you. Perhaps our feelings are no longer as bright as they used to be due to time and distance, but child, you must know that you have the blood of Cavendish in you. You are one of us."

She said some strange and obscure words, and her smile was more disgusting than a whole jar of honey: "It's time for you to get married, have some beautiful and lovely children, and continue the bloodline of Taylor and Cavendish..."

"I think I've found my life partner, Aunt Bethany."

Randolph's refusal melted into the increasingly straight lip line.

Bethany was very dissatisfied with this statement.

"I've done all the hard work for you, kid. There are many pretty, respectable, naturally noble girls waiting for you, looking at you, and just a few words about the ups and downs of business would make them fall completely in love with you - Randolph, how can you let yourself do that?"

She was angrier than Roland had imagined, and even lost her temper in public.

The wrinkles on that pale face were squeezed out one by one, like an old and dilapidated church. If the saint child sneezed, it and the priest would fall to pieces.

"…Every time I come here, I ask you about it and worry about your marriage, but you quietly do such an indecent thing! Randolph! A real wife is different from the ones you let peel off! Your father…"

Her chest rose and fell, and her tone was as cold and sharp as an ice arrow: "Your father is ill, and your mother died early. Who else can help you choose and arrange this important event for you? Randolph, my child, are you going to blame me, blame an elderly person, blame her for not caring about you, and not caring about the private affairs of the owner of the "Golden Smoke"? "

"Yes, now that you are extraordinary, Cavendish has no right to say anything, do you think so?"

Roland lowered his head and let Beatrice twist his fingers, with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

As Randolph's mother's sister, a blood relative, and a rigid, polite old lady, Bethany Cavendish had reason to be angry and publicly scolded Randolph and uttered this long string of sarcastic remarks.

But no matter how Roland listened, he felt that there was a sense of...frustration in her tone?
"I should like to see the girl you describe, if the law would allow it—it's a pity, Aunt Bethany, that I can only have one wife."

Randolph still used the same rhetoric.

Bethany Cavendish was a little impatient: "What kind of girl is that? Maybe she doesn't even have a family tree. Her father's father was a blacksmith? Or a boatman? I know your character, Randolph. You always do those surprising things and cause trouble quietly-"

She stared at the maid standing behind Randolph with a suffocating and urgent look, and asked in a cold voice: "Teresa, tell me, don't lie to me. You have served Bellos all your life, and now, you are dragging this broken body that should have returned to the arms of the gods to serve the little master of Cavendish--"

"Don't lie to me, tell me the truth. What kind of woman did our Randolph find?"

Theresa ignored Randolph's look and said calmly:
"Her name is Charlotte Bronte."

This was the first time she pronounced Miss Bronte's name in its entirety.

"A writer of genius, Mrs. Cavendish."

The old maid smiled slightly, and her light voice penetrated the crowded and thick oppression in the sight.

"I think you'll see her name in the newspapers soon."

(End of this chapter)