Chapter 682 Ch681 Old Ancher's House

Chapter 682 Ch.681 Old Anchel's House

Xandel had heard of similar rituals, but most of them failed.

She originally planned to let Roland fool this man casually, and then send Rose to steal the two strange objects - she and Roland could enjoy a sweet date for a whole day (Miss Vansittart could also satisfy her own low-class and vulgar pleasures).

However, since she heard "lamb blood".

"Burn to death?! Benefactor! We didn't do anything! Miss, how can you convict a kind and pious believer so hastily?"

Old Anchel was a little angry.

"My wife and I have done good deeds all our lives. Even if a sharp knife falls into our hands, we use it to help people resist wild beasts. Sir, your friend really shouldn't talk like this."

Roland was not surprised that Xandel had a guess based on only one material. In mysticism, she was as knowledgeable as Miss Deloz.

"The people of the Inquisition will not reason with you, Mr. Ancher."

"But you and your friends are not from the Inquisition!" Ancher was angry at the person who was about to offer help: "Even if you turn around and leave, I will make it clear. Sir, Miss. You can insult me ​​for being ignorant and a complete countryman, insult me ​​for being mentally ill and not as smart as young people-"

"But you can't insult my faith and dignity!"

"I am a clean and devout believer who has never made a mistake in my life! Even if the bishop comes in person, I will hold my head high!"

Roland held his cheek, and the gradual turbulence interrupted his drowsiness: "Excuse me, Mr. Ancher. The party you support is-"

Ancher straightened his chest and was very proud: "Of course it is the secret party."

"Oh, it's not hard to imagine."

Only those old guys would value decency and dignity so much.

Change to Randolph?

As long as he can help his family, it's okay even if you say he is the product of frogs and bison.

It was Chandel who was frightened by him. She apologized timidly, and then forced a smile, saying that she would never speak nonsense again and provoke a truly noble old gentleman.

Anchel was satisfied.

Of course, he later apologized to Chandel for his "anxiety".

With expressions.

About one second.

"You are a good girl, and you must have good parents... Excuse me?"

"They are dead," Chandel gently stroked the end of her eyes with her index finger, and her expression gradually became sad: "I was fostered in my aunt's house. She also raised me up."

Anchel frowned at first, and then felt a little regretful.

"You are also a poor person. I have to apologize again for what I said before."

Chandel smiled with curved eyes and shook her head: "Who would be angry for such a legitimate reason? Old man, I am educated."

Although there were minor twists and turns along the way, it was generally stable (Anchel thought).

They arrived at Basildon in Essex in the afternoon.

That is... the countryside.

Although it is adjacent to London, even if you were born in a pit two miles outside of London, you can't say that you are a "native" Londoner when you grow up - you can say that you are native.

"It is indeed the countryside, but the countryside also has its own advantages."

Old Anchel introduced them to his small estate, the animals he raised and the carefully tended flower gardens. This place is not deserted, but each surname is far away. In other words, once night falls, it is difficult for you to find the second light on foot without a carriage.

"Come in, Ke..."

"Collins."

"Yes, Mr. Collins."

The location is in the countryside, and the interior decoration of the villa is also in the countryside.

Roland can't see much difference, but Shandel is different: those rough and bold rough wood boards, the smell of soil in the air that is hard to ignore, the sculptures that are pretentious, the oil paintings of painters who are not famous at all - and the collars of the maids that are yellowed by over-starching.

Roland thinks it's pretty good.

Old Mr. Ancher had a practical wife with a loud voice. Although she was a little rude when entertaining guests, she didn't make random comments about tongues. The servants' service was not as attentive as that of the Taylors. In places like this, simplicity is always better than complexity.

They were invited to the large hall used for reception, and several plates of special snacks were served: some kind of green plant as a sandwich, mixed with butter, solidified, wrapped in flour and baked.

Mrs. Ancher said that the sauce dipped in the butter balls (Roland thought this name sounded better) was prepared by her own hands.

It just tasted a little...

Like being beaten by a cold wind in the mouth?

"Please, don't eat anymore."

"Ask them if they have meat."

-

Don't be so rude, I'll eat another one.

"I'm dying."

-

Eat two more.

"You murderer."

The couple was very talkative. They told some jokes that Roland had never heard before. They didn't talk about politics and art, but about sheep in the garden and hounds, and then talked about the servants' private "stupid things" - and the pony they raised that coughed when running.

It can be seen that the Ancher couple is very hospitable.

Until they talked about John Ancher.

"... He locked himself in the room. Since that incident, his health has been getting worse day by day."

No mistakes in one song, one post, one content, one book, one forum, one 6, one 9!

Mr. Ancher paid more attention to the "consequences of the invisible art" and the trouble it would bring to the family, while his wife kept a close eye on her son's health, fearing that it would be too late and cause irreparable regrets.

——From the conversation on the road, Roland could find that Mr. Ancher was actually more worried about what happened to his son than his wife. After all, he understood the invisible art better than his wife.

Perhaps it was some identity or education that went deep into his bones that made him unable to express this to others while taking dignity and back into consideration.

"Let's meet little John."

No matter how much you hear, it's better to take a real look.

John Ancher's room is on the second floor.

Passing through the corridor where hunting rifles, medals and deer heads are hung, there are many handwritten manuscripts nailed to the wooden boards on the staircase wall.

"John's assessment sheet when he was in school."

Old Ancher told Roland very "inadvertently" that the corrections in other colors were the handwriting left by his tutor - the top few were rated very highly.

"Of course, these are not worth mentioning."

Just as it is difficult for a sixteen-year-old boy to suppress his morning spirit, it is also difficult for the bearded father to tighten the corners of his mouth when talking about these things.

The wife behind him wiped her tears silently, saying things like "What a good child" and "He will never commit a crime."

The temperature dropped significantly when he stepped onto the second floor.

There were two used plates on the floor at the door of John Ancher's room.

"He won't let anyone in."

Mrs. Ancher mentioned.

Xindel was a little puzzled: "How can he not let anyone in?"

The lady covered her heart: "The benefactor is above! He just won't let us in! My girl! He won't let us enter the house!"

The door was closed, but not locked.

Just like countless ordinary people's bedrooms, there was no bloody smell like a murder scene, no animal or human remains, no candles as dazzling as daylight, and no strange symbols.

Nothing at all.

Indoor shoes were parked side by side on the outside of the carpet, one in front and one behind.

Putting aside the meaningless decoration, the boy on the bed was shivering in a thick quilt.

Perhaps because old Anchel had informed him in advance, he was not surprised by the "strange helper", but rather saw a savior.

"…Help me!"

He shouted at the person who pushed the door in without any courtesy and in an imperative tone, without asking.