The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1047 (Ch.1046) The Unfamiliar Gardener

Old Tom knew why James Shelley didn't go to the scene.

I must not go to the young lady's side, nor watch her fire that shot.

Because James Shelley also had his suspicions—he feared he wouldn't be able to control his expression, feared the young lady would notice his uncontrollable expression, feared being questioned by the young lady who noticed, feared her mercilessly revealing:
'We're not related by blood, Mr. Shelley. And now, what are you doing all this behind my back? With just a word, I could have left.'

This isn't Rose's usual way of speaking.

But that doesn't stop some people from having this fear.

James Shelley told Tom very seriously that he had no fear whatsoever.

“I’m worried Lillian won’t be able to handle the shock, Tom. You know, she’s just a child, and her life hasn’t been very good before—the Shelleys gave her so many happy days, and if she finds out we’re investigating these things…”

pause.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep for nights on end."

I'm afraid you're the one who can't sleep at night.

The old butler thought.

Nothing that happens in the house can be hidden from him.

James Shelley has been uninterested in business lately, spending all his time locked in his study—not just looking in this little mirror, is he?
"Ugh…"

Old Shelley sighed again, finally made his decision, and pushed the gun forward.

People always need to know the truth.

The old steward understood, bowed, grasped the strange object with both hands, and lifted it up.

“Then I will send the young lady to the shooting range—sir, forgive my impertinence, but if—”

“If this thing can’t be fired, it means William hired a fool as the appraiser,” old Shelley said in a low, gruff voice, his tone so savage it seemed to remind Tom of his young master: “…hired a fool as the appraiser, what more do I need to say? For the sake of these two wondrous objects…”

This decision was so difficult...

master.

Old Tom smirked and slowly walked out of the study.

then.

The overjoyed girl genuinely believed she had 'stolen' a gun.

Despicable adults.

Old folks.

These adults, who remain calm and say "I'm treating your mother" even when discovered by their children while riding around, can always come up with a lie anytime, anywhere—even if the child shouts from outside the door, "You're not a doctor!"

The mother in the room would chime in intermittently: 'Your...father...was a doctor for a while when he was young.'

Despicable adults.

The happier Rose was with the gun, the more terrified old Tom became—every step she took and then jumped up again, her utterly rude and ill-mannered leaps sending shivers down the old butler's already empty heart.

They all had to keep quiet.

Regarding this 'secret'.

Preserve it forever and ever.

otherwise…

Given the young lady's personality.

There's a chance something's going to catch fire.

"Something's not right with you today, Tom."

Rose glanced at the silent butler following behind her.

"Miss?"

“You always nag me about how I should walk, and you always complain that Anna doesn’t take good care of me… Did your wife really have three kids recently?”

Old Tom laughed: "I'm happy for you..."

Rose didn't believe it.

"There must be something they're hiding from me."

“No, miss. You…” Old Tom paused, “I have never lied to you.”

"That's a lie to begin with—but I don't mind lies. Who wouldn't be comfortable with a master liar around?" The girl thought of that annoying golden-eyed boy and smugly spat, "He drinks lies like water..."

He is probably your water; you would die of thirst if you didn't drink from him for a day.

Whenever Roland is mentioned, this young lady becomes 'absurd'—who throws firewood into the fireplace? Her young lady is like an awakened flame, burning the kindling named 'Roland Collins', using him to spread her passion.

Burn him to death.

That shrewish woman! Burn this lewd, despicable man who seduced his mistress!

Old Tom thought maliciously, yet he was also terrified that the goddess might have heard his prayers and sent down golden nectar and fiery flames to burn Roland Collins's soul—that way, his young lady would be weeping all day long and would never be happy again…

As for why the goddess heard his prayer.

Who knows.

Even gods sometimes doze off, and they must be curious about what believers are thinking about all day long... right?

After all, the gods are cultured; they only descend gracefully when believers pray, listening for a few moments—unlike some authors whose ideas are like the many long dresses in a woman's wardrobe, kept until they're tired of them, thrown away, and then longed for again, who insist on throwing their unreal and unreliable thoughts in front of readers who are reading long sentences and cursing, wagging their heads like a curly-haired dog, acting cute, and crawling out from between the lines to rub against their faces.

In conclusion, to sum up.

Old Tom was filled with fear and confusion.

We've arrived at the firing range.

This was supposed to be a shooting range, but it was later demolished. James Shelley decided to build a 'manor within a manor' specifically for Lillian Rose Van Sittard—unfortunately, the decision was made too early, and after the poison arrow incident, it was once again reduced to ruins.

It hasn't had a chance to take shape again yet.

"Once this is over, Miss, I'll find a group of London's best artists and architects to design a mini Buckingham Palace for you..."

Rose failed to notice the contempt for Victoria that Old Tom revealed in his words.

She noticed 'this matter'.

"What 'this matter'?"

Old Tom was taken aback, then quickly tried to cover it up: "I meant the plague, Miss. How can we easily bring people to the manor now? If the servants get sick, both you and the master will be in danger..."

Rose's suspicious gaze swept over him a few times.

He weighed the beautifully patterned musket in his hand.

"Ok."

she says.

“I’m right here—” She raised her gun, pretended to aim it a few times, and reached out to Tom for bullets.

The housekeeper was just waiting for her to ask for bullets.

"I sent a servant to get it... What's going on?" Tom frowned, ignoring Rose, and quickly disappeared behind the planted hedge with small, quick steps.

It’s ridiculous to think about it.

His and Shelley's combined age is almost ten times that of Lillian.

Yet he was as timid as an ignorant young man.

What problems could possibly arise if we just stand by and watch?
Lillian could never be his daughter—he has nothing to do with this, right?

The elderly butler, his hands behind his back and walking unsteadily, pondered deeply.

He tapped his heel on the stone slab.

The man trimming the bushes nearby saw him stop, quickly put down his shears, bent down and stepped forward: "...Good day, Mr. Tom."

A new gardener?
Old Tom was momentarily confused and couldn't quite recall the man's face—he'd been too busy lately to do everything himself…

"gardener?"

Upon hearing this, the servant spread his hands with a slightly mischievous grin, leading the old butler's gaze to look at himself: the gardener's lake-blue backpack had pockets stuffed with either scissors and rulers of varying sizes, or some sprays whose names he couldn't recall.

"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Tom."

He made a joke.

Boys this age are all unreliable.

Old Tom frowned, thought for a while, and then pulled a handful of blood-stained bullets from his pocket.

"…gentlemen?"

The gardener saw it, but dared not accept it.

"Go to the shooting range and give it to the young lady."

"gentlemen--"

The old butler didn't give him a chance to ask any more questions. He emptied the bullets into the gardener's coat pocket, then trudged into the small stone path on the left with his hands behind his back.

The young gardener stared at the retreating figure with an ambiguous expression until he completely disappeared from sight.

He raised his hand and pressed the woven bag on his chest.

The bullets whizzed by.

“...Lillian Shelley”.

(End of this chapter)