Disclaimer: Characters are property of Daniel "Lemony Snicket" Handler, and Lemony "Daniel Handler" Snicket.
This story takes place right before the last chapter of The Bad Beginning, with references to characters and/or events from The Reptile Room, The Grim Grotto, and Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorized Autobiography. There is some adult content in here, including (implied) statutory rape by a creepy evil man (Olaf/Violet), hints at an inappropriate and one-sided incestual love (Klaus/Violet). Read at your own discretion.
Summary: AU. Lemony Snicket has gone missing, and a new narrator has uncovered his notes. Violet signs Olaf's wedding documents, making her his Countess, and making him the owner of the vast Baudelaire fortune. Klaus and Sunny have seemingly found happiness with the next relative on Poe's list, but how long can it last when their sister is in the clutches of the Count?
A Snake In The Grass
Chapter One: 'The Worst Wedding'
Violet's right hand was trembling as she signed the paper.
Klaus's heart sank. There were no loopholes to be found to thwart Olaf's nefarious scheme — a phrase which here means "to stop Olaf from marrying Violet, inheriting the Baudelaire fortune, and just in general being a nasty individual." Perhaps someone who had studied inheritance and nuptial law their whole lives could have found something of use, but Klaus had only been studying the subject for a week.
Count Olaf, as a villain is wont to do, decided at that moment to be most villainous, and announce his villainy. Which he did, loudly and greasily, to the protests of the audiences, many of whom felt quite badly on Violet's behalf.
Klaus's stomach twisted. For he had the sinking feeling, as he lay his eyes on his sister (who, despite her miserable surroundings, looked very pretty in her white wedding dress), that he might never see her again. And I wish I could tell you, poor readers, that in the midst of this misery, in the middle of this misfortune, oh how I wish I could tell you that there was one ray of hope for the three remaining Baudelaires.
Alas — a word which here means "it is sadly true" — I cannot.
My brother had been presumed missing for some time. Of course, it is hard to be presumed missing when you are also presumed to be dead, a poor critic, and a wanted criminal, all of which he was presumed to be. And all of which, I mean to add, he was not. Well, perhaps except for a wanted criminal, which he very much was, so perhaps I should rephrase that he was presumed to be guilty, which he very much was not.
His disappearance was actually a very false distraction, as he was instead following the three Baudelaire orphans, and as you can see, transcribing their horrific story. "Transcribing" is of course a word that means "writing down absolutely everything that happened." These, however, are the first, last, and only pages I've found detailing the truth about the Baudelaires and Count Olaf. This packet of papers, what their author was thinking of titling (if his scribbled notes are any indication) "The Sour Start," "The Worst Wedding," or "One Hundred and Forty-Four Pages Proving That I Am Innocent of All Charges," are the only thing accurately representing the unfortunate events unfolding around the Baudelaires. I came here in hopes of finding him but instead have only found his story.
However, here is something that many people do not know. Although at the completion of a story, one might tack on the phrase "the end," that does not mean the story is over, for truly you don't believe that things just finish because someone with a pen says so.
Now, you must forgive my narrative, readers, for I do not know precisely what transpired between the moment where Violet Baudelaire was declared to be Countess Violet, and where my tale picks up. Only those present at that dreadful moment can say for sure, and I was not there, instead dealing with an unpleasant situation out in the Mortmain Mountains. As you might know, very few weddings occur in the mountains, and as it happens, Count Olaf is quite adverse to the cold. Of course, "adverse" is a word that means "he hates it, despises it, loathes it, and it makes him cry like a small child." As it stands, only the previous author could provide the notes on the doomed wedding, ad he has disappeared. My research starts only on Lousy Lane, and while the notes on the wedding now add to my extensive file on the Baudelaire orphans, what happened directly afterwards is, regrettably, lost to the ages.
There are, even in the darkest of times, tiny glimmers of hope. Just as I was grimly suspecting that my brother was indeed lost forever, I stumbled across his notes. Olaf's henchman released Sunny, so at least two of the Baudelaires were reunited. Mr. Poe stopped coughing long enough to allow some common sense to seep in, and relieved Count Olaf from his responsibilities as guardian. (As it turns out, announcing to an audience that you plan on killing at least two of three children automatically deems you unfit.)
The second bout of fortune was when Mr. Poe delivered Klaus and Sunny to their next closest relative, Mr. Baudelaire's cousin's wife's brother, or something close to that. Dr. Montgomery Montgomery was a world-renowned herpetologist. "World-renowned" of course means that he was very important, and other herpetologists looked up to him, not just because he was very tall, which he was not. "Herpetologist" of course is a word that means that he studied snakes, and did not think the were as bad as everyone said. Much like a certain individual is not guilty of all the crimes a certain newspaper says he is.
The two children were glum as Mr. Poe drove them to Dr. Montgomery's house, and not merely because Mr. Poe's car was very small (Mr. Poe, being a banker, always believed that it was uneconomical to have a car that was much bigger than a person's needs required it to be), nor because the trip to Dr. Montgomery's involved driving on the putrid stretch of pavement known as Lousy Lane, which reeks unpleasantly of horseradish. No, the children were glum because their sister Violet was now a countess, and the wife of a beady-eyed man named Olaf. "Now, children," coughed Mr. Poe, "you must not let yourselves get too upset over your sister's condition. Our fine legal system quite protects her from any harm." At this comment, the children kept their opinions to themselves, though they shared skeptical glances. They were thinking, and rightly so, that the legal system couldn't be all that "fine" if it had allowed Violet to marry Olaf in the first place, a situation that surely put her into more harm than it got her out of.
Klaus figured he'd be a better candidate to reassure Sunny than Mr. Poe, and so he said to her privately, "Violet is smart. She'll keep herself safe." Sunny nodded, for while she didn't believe that Violet was particularly safe, she understood what Klaus was trying to do, and it would make them both feel better to lie to themselves.
"At, at last," Mr. Poe said. "We're here." His tiny black car had pulled to a stop in front of a large stone house with numerous windows so clean that they sparkled in the morning sunlight, and a neatly trimmed lawn decorated with shrubberies cut to resemble various snakes. Klaus and Sunny did not know yet that Dr. Montgomery was a herpetologist, so they found these shaped bushes to be menacing. But the man waiting on the front stoop for them did not appear to be menacing at all. He was short and slightly rounded, evidence of being a man who appreciated great food in great quantities. He had a bushy mustache, and a smile that spanned his entire face. "Welcome, welcome, bambini! And Mr. Poe, of course. Come on in, all of you. Who would care for some cake?"
The Baudelaires' initial impression that Count Olaf was a sinister figure had turned out to be quite correct. Likewise, their initial impression of Dr. Montgomery was that he was a kind individual, and once again, they were right. Mr. Poe and the children followed their host inside, to a long dining room with a long dining table. One half of the table was so clean it glistened, with five places set at it, one at the head, and two on either side. The other half of the table was hidden under a layer of dust.
"Please forgive the appearance of the room. I live alone, and it seems silly to eat all by myself in this giant room. I rarely come in here." Klaus thought that Olaf spent a good deal of time in his dining room, and it bore quite the same appearance.
"Dr. Montgomery," Klaus said, "why are there five place settings? There are only the four of us."
"Ah, yes. Very observant, Klaus, you'll make an excellent researcher yet. My assistant Gustav may or may not come in tonight. He comes and goes as he pleases around here. Please, sit down, and we can kill two birds with one stone. I shall get to know you children while feeding you."
Dr. Montgomery Montgomery, for all of his good attributes (of which he had quite the list), was surprisingly enough, an excellent pastry chef as well. His specialty was a coconut cake that was particularly delicious, and was without a doubt the best food Klaus had tasted in some time. Sunny, however, had taken only a small bite. "It seems to me that your sister is dissatisfied," Dr. Montgomery said, looking concerned.
"It's the cake," Klaus said. "It's too soft. Sunny likes hard foods. They keep her teeth in good shape. She likes to bite."
"Numfo," Sunny said, which I can only presume meant, "It is very delicious; it's just not to my liking."
"Goodness me, I didn't realize." He smiled at Sunny. "Would you like a vegetable, then? Many vegetables are very hard, and all of them are better for you than cake. I have some celery or some raw carrots, if you're interested."
"Carrot!" Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of "Yes, please, a carrot would be good. It's one of my favorite foods."
"That settles that," Dr. Montgomery said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and fetch that carrot for you." Of course, after his departure, there was a dull silence as Klaus, Sunny, and Mr. Poe waited for their host's return. I will spare you that tedium, for it is of little interest to read about something so boring. I will instead skip to his return, upon which he handed the youngest Baudelaire her carrot, sat down with a flourish, and announced, "Well then. It has only been a few minutes, and already I have learned that Sunny likes to bite. What about you, Klaus? What do you like to do?" He waited for the answer with a smile.
"Well," Klaus hesitated, for he was take by surprise at Dr. Montgomery's genuine interest, something that Count Olaf had never displayed, unless it had concerned their fortune. "I like to read."
"Excellent!" Dr. Montgomery boomed, clapping his hands together. "What do you like to read? Fiction? Nonfiction?"
"Both," Klaus said. "I prefer nonfiction, however. I like to learn."
Dr. Montgomery did not, as I would have, point out that one can learn a great deal from fiction. For example, had you read C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, you might know what to do, should you find yourself in a situation with an enchanted piece of furniture. Reading Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden could teach you how to deal with both recluses and invalids, as well as how to overcome the misfortune of being a spoiled brat. And anyone reading Geraldine Julienne's column in The Daily Punctilio, regarding the play One Last Warning to Those Who Try to Stand in My Way, might learn the difference between a good dramatic critique, and a blatant case of brownnosing. So you see, there is a great deal one can learn from reading fiction.
However, as I said, Dr. Montgomery did not correct Klaus's misconception, rather, he leaned forward eagerly and asked, "What do you know about herpetology?"
"If a word ends in 'ology,' it means it's the study of something."
"Correct you are."
"But I don't know what herpetology is the study of," Klaus said. He was not embarrassed, for Klaus was not yet at the frame of mind where one feels shame at not knowing something, even if it is something that has never previously come up in one's life. Klaus, I am proud to say, never felt shame in not knowing something; rather, he saw it as an opportunity to learn something new.
"Herpetology is the study of reptiles and amphibians. The name comes form the word 'herpeton,' which is Greek for reptile," Dr. Montgomery said.
Klaus thought about the snake-shaped shrubberies in the front garden, and asked, "Are you a herpetologist, Dr. Montgomery?"
"Correct again, Klaus! I study snakes. And I ask that you please call me Uncle Monty. Not even my own colleagues call me 'Dr. Montgomery.' It's so stuffy."
Although I have never had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Montgomery Montgomery, and most certainly have not had the luxury of being his sister's husband's cousin's daughter or son, or something close to that, I will from here on refer to him as Uncle Monty, as the children did. It is indeed quite stuffy to always refer to someone by their title, and Uncle Monty was anything but stuffy.
Mr. Poe coughed, not to get their attention but because coughing was simply what Mr. Poe did. However, this cough did in fact gain their attention. "I have a few questions for you, Dr. Montgomery."
"Uncle Monty," he corrected cheerfully.
Mr. Poe coughed uncomfortably, for he was not at all pleased having to refer to a man as 'Uncle' when they were no relation whatsoever, no matter how distantly. "Yes. Well. I understand that you are a world-renowned herpetologist, are you not?"
"That is correct," Uncle Monty said with modest pride.
"Will this require a great deal of travel?"
"Oh, absolutely. In fact, I have a trip to Peru scheduled in two weeks."
"And surely you have lined up proper care for the children in your absence."
"No!" Uncle Monty said, looking shocked. "Quite the contrary. I'm taking Klaus and Sunny with me."
"Lima?" Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of, "You want us to come to Peru?"
"What my sister means," Klaus said, "is that do you really want to take us with you?"
"Of course!" Uncle Monty said. "I could always use the extra assistants." Still the Baudelaire stared at him, very much confused. Uncle Monty only smiled. "You said you like to learn, didn't you? You can learn about Peru plenty from reading about it, so imagine how much you might learn by going!" He paused. "That is, of course, if you would like to come."
"Abbo!" Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of, "I would love to travel to Peru and learn about herpetology."
"We would both like to go," Klaus said excitedly.
"Excellent," Uncle Monty said. "In that case, I ask that you show Mr. Poe to his car. When you return, I'll give you a tour of the Reptile Room. There's so much to do before Peru, and we haven't a moment to waste."
Knowing Uncle Monty's love of snakes, the promise of the Reptile Room was so exciting that the children took a little less time seeing Mr. Poe out than politeness might require. I do not wish to make it sound as though the children were so selfish as to think only of their happiness, for I believe it was a case of trying to find a silver lining in the series of unfortunate events that had become their lives. Indeed, Violet Baudelaire was still very much on their minds.
However, Klaus and Sunny, though they felt guilty about it, and tried to prevent it from happening, were very much enjoying themselves. Uncle Monty was delightful, constantly enthusiastic about everything. Already they had learned that Monty loved to cook, he loved to watch movies, he loved to be with his snakes, and most of all, he loved to share this with the Baudelaire orphans.
The Reptile Room was a fantastical place. It was filled with the rarest sorts of reptiles, the strangest you could imagine. I wish I could tell you the names of these remarkable creatures, but I don't possess a herpetological degree. There was a large frog that resembled a church, down to wide eyes colored like stained glass windows. There was a toad who only spoke in riddles, but the answers were always something along the lines of what he wanted to eat for dinner. There was a peculiar snake that did not slither at all like a normal snake, with gentle curves, but instead with right angles, so that he resembled a line drawing of a staircase. Klaus's favorite was a large snake that altered the color of its rattle turning red when the snake was angry, blue when sad, yellow when hungry, white when tired, and a pretty paisley pattern when it was bored. Sunny's favorite was an enormous snake, thick and coal-black, with fierce-looking fangs, called the Incredibly Deadly Viper. They first were acquainted when the Incredibly Deadly Viper escaped from its cage on the Baudelaires' very first tour of the Reptile Room. The fearsome snake, who was so mean-looking with its narrow gaze and green eyes that it would inspire terror in even the largest grizzly bear, crept up behind the unsuspecting orphans, let out a great hiss, and promptly bit Sunny on the chin.
In many if not all forms of science, if one discovers something new, one gets the right to name it. It is a certain glory that makes up for lots of time spent researching in sometimes unfavorable conditions. Many scientists are very serious, for they are very tired from all that time spent researching, and as a result, there is not very much humor in the scientific world.
Klaus was horrified on behalf of his tiny infant sister, who liked to bite but had never been bitten. "Is that snake dangerous?" he demanded of Uncle Monty in a panic.
"Dangerous? Why, that's the Incredibly Deadly Viper."
This statement, as you can imagine, did nothing to calm Klaus's frazzled state. "Frazzled" of course means "he was quite beside himself with terror for his little sister, and beyond that, he had no idea what to do."
To his great surprise, however, the Incredibly Deadly Viper released Sunny's chin. Sunny squealed, and bit the viper in return. At this, Uncle Monty absolutely laughed with delight. "Attagirl, Sunny! They bite you, you bite them right back!"
At this, Klaus started. "Isn't she in danger? I thought that was an Incredibly Deadly Viper."
"It is!" Uncle Monty said cheerfully. "I discovered the snake and named it myself. 'Incredibly Deadly Viper' is a misnomer. A misnomer is when you name something what it isn't. The Incredibly Deadly Viper is the least harmful snake in the world."
Just then, the Incredibly Deadly Viper sat in a coil around young Sunny, and licked her face, much like a dog would. Klaus realized that Sunny's squeals were that of joy.
"Uncle Monty, why would you give the Incredibly Deadly Viper a misnomer?" Klaus wondered aloud.
"What a marvelous prank it would have been, scaring the Herpetological Society by having an Incredibly Deadly Viper escape its cage." Uncle Monty winked, and Klaus chuckled appreciatively. You will note, readers, that I did not say that all scientists were without humor.
"Now, in order to prepare for our journey to Peru, I'm going to need Klaus here to read all about Peruvian snakes, and for Sunny to bite this long coil of rope," Uncle Monty waved his hand at a thick, messy pile of rope, "into workable bits."
"Ropo!" Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of "I will be glad to!"
"Wonderful," Uncle Monty said, who didn't understand Sunny's babble as well as her siblings did, but could guess from the smile on her young, sweet face. "Well, now, there's much to learn about the Reptile Room — and I daresay that I'll teach you the most important things first, so that you'll always be safe in here — but the next stop on our tour is the upstairs hallway. You'll need to pick out your rooms!"
"Our rooms?" Klaus said.
"Of course. I certainly don't expect you to sleep on the floor."
Klaus and Sunny said nothing, only glanced at each other, both remembering the horrid room they'd had to share at Olaf's.
"You'll each get your own rooms, of course," Uncle Monty continued. "Independence is good for character-building, and it will help you grow."
They were already thinking about Olaf's house, and "independence" made Klaus and Sunny think of being independent of Violent, and of Violet being independent of them. They both grew very quiet, and Uncle Monty squatted down to look at them with a serious expression. "Mr. Poe has told me all about Count Olaf's evil deeds," he said, "and about your sister. I know you're very concerned, and you have every right to be. Count Olaf is a nasty character, and Violet is no safer with him than we'd be right in the middle of a Fangorious Rattler's nest." His words, you can imagine, didn't do much to put the Baudelaire's minds at east. "But I trust that Violet is just as smart as you two are, and she'll make the very best of her situation." With a wistful smile — "wistful" of course means "he wished, as did Klaus and Sunny, as do you and I, that things could be much different" — he patted Klaus on the head, and led the orphans out of the Reptile Room.
As Klaus shifted Sunny from one hip to the other and followed Uncle Monty up the stairs, he thought about the last time he'd seen Violet. I can tell you readers what little I know of the wedding itself. In researching Violet's time as Countess, I found an ill-kept scrapbook of Count Olaf's. Understand that when I say scrapbook, I mean that I found a collection of yellowing newspaper clippings acting as a coaster for a broken coffee cup. The firs paper of which, I am sorry but not at all surprised to say, was an article on the fire that desecrated the Baudelaire mansion and launched the unfortunate events plaguing the children. The next two in the stack were the reviews of the most recent works of Al Funcoot (starring Count Olaf), the dreadful One Last Warning to Those Who Try to Stand in My Way, and The Marvelous Marriage. Both reviews were by Geraldine Julienne, and both spoke high praise of Olaf's over-the-top acting. Julienne did not find much to say positively regarding Violet's turn as a dismal bride, saying that she much preferred the previous lead actress of Olaf's troupe, but the review did come with a photo of the performance. Count Olaf, as always, is a greasy individual who looks like he just rolled out of bed (a bed of garbage, perhaps), but Violet looks magnificent, though she is a girl about to sign away her life. Her hair in the photo is sleek and shiny, and her face is rosy from the stage makeup, and she does not look as thin as she was from living on the meager portions Count Olaf had provided, and perhaps she is thinking of far more pleasant times, because there is a hint of a smile on her young face. Yes, she indeed looked quite lovely for someone on the eve of a life so wrought with sadness, and it was this image (though from a different angle, and not as grainy) that Klaus had burned into his brain, wanting to remember his sister as she was then, beautiful and brave.
This was the image he curled himself around as he crawled into his bed that night. Uncle Monty had given them their pick of a hallway full of empty rooms. Sunny had chosen a room with a small, short bed that she could get out of easily without hurting herself (though Klaus or Uncle Monty would have to put her in it), and had decorated it with small, hard objects for biting.
Klaus had chosen the room next door, with a large, comfy armchair for reading in, and a series of bookshelves on which to keep things to read. At the moment, however, there were only books on Peru and reptiles and Peruvian reptiles.
Both orphans, though comfortable and relaxed for the first time in awhile, were not yet happy, and thought desperately of their sister. How was Violet doing? they wondered. Was she fed and warm? Was she as safe from Count Olaf as she could manage?
In the miserable estate that Count Olaf called home, Violet was worse off as a wife that she'd been as an orphan. This did not come as a surprise to her, but it was a better situation than being dead, and at least she had the small comfort of knowing that no matter where Klaus and Sunny were, they were safer and better off than they would be with Olaf.
He had an impressive list of chores, but Violet no longer had two siblings to share the burden with, nor did she have any siblings to commiserate with. "Commiserate" is of course a word that means "complain about how evil Count Olaf is, in order to feel better." And though Violet's mind often whirred with ideas, she found that she had very little time or supplies with which to invent. Count Olaf kept her quite busy, making the house look "presentable" while he shouted orders at her from the next room, red-faced from expensive and potent liquors. Her first day as Count Olaf's wife went as she suspected many would follow (and unfortunately, beloved readers, she was right).
Count Olaf was still a great, rude, drunken brute with an inflated ego. However, every bad trait of the Count had multiplied tenfold since becoming the owner of the vast Baudelaire fortune. He was ruder, as many rich people are, thinking that having a greater sum of wealth made him a better person than everyone else. He was drunker, because the money enabled him to buy drinks far more potent than the foul wine he'd long been accustomed to. And his ego had grown to a gargantuan level, because as wealthy as he now was, he had even more sniveling henchmen telling him how wonderful he was and bowing to his every whim. He'd told the three Baudelaires upon their arrival that he would put their fortune to good use fixing up the place. All he had done with the money that Violet could see, however, was buy a lot of liquor and make plans for what promised to be the first of many extravagant parties. It was this party that Violet was on her hands and knees for, fully caked with filth and wearing a white mask over her face as she scrubbed feverishly.
"I'm going out to fancy myself up for the soiree," the Count announced grandly, with elaborate sweeping hand gestures. He furrowed his one long eyebrow at Violet, leaning in close as if to threaten her with the combined toxins on his breath. Violet was very grateful for the cleaning mask. "Don't forget to cook a fantastic meal for my scores of friends," he cautioned before exiting. At least this time she'd been properly warned, she couldn't help but thinking.
After Olaf's departure, Violet set about to start his meal before finishing her scrubbing. She was fairly certain that as awful a man as the Count had proven himself to be, she hadn't seen the worst of him. Nor did she want to, readers, nor do you and I. She still remembered Count Olaf's terrible reaction over the pasta puttenesca, but once again, Olaf had failed to inform her what he wanted. Violet thought that the roast beef she'd denied him what seemed like so long ago was a safe bet, but she was lacking the necessary supplies.
Master of quick thinking that she was, Violet decided the best course of action would be to return to Justice Strauss's lovely home next door. Like before, she hoped to borrow a cookbook, and Justice Strauss's assistance at the market.
Justice Strauss answered the sweet ring of the doorbell, but she immediately looked away when she realized who it was on her doorstep. Unbeknownst to Violet, Justice Strauss was still so upset and ashamed about being the pawn in Count Olaf's dastardly scheme that she couldn't bring herself to look the young Countess in the eye or say much to her. "The market?" she said once the plight was explained. "Oh. Dear. I'm not sure If I'd be of any use. Perhaps you'd be better off going on your own." She shut the door, and Violet was left standing there, confused and sad. She wasn't sure now what she was supposed to do without Justice Strauss's help. This of course hurt more than it helped, because in addition to everything else, Violet felt like she'd lost a dear friend.
May I remind you that Violet, before she was a Countess, was a Baudelaire. And the Baudelaires — the three children in particular — were extraordinarily clever. Since already she'd managed to survive being an orphan, being an only child, and being a wife, Violet decided going to the market would be a very simple task.
Inside Dickens' Grocery, Violet was faced with aisles upon aisles of all sorts of foods. It would have been easy to find whatever she was looking for, had she actually known what she was looking for. She approached the man behind the butcher's counter, and said, "Excuse me."
The butcher was a tall man with messy black hair that looked like it itched. He had a very kind smile. "How can I help you?" he asked, then, as he leaned closer to peer at her, "Oh, my. You're that poor girl from that dreadful play, aren't you?"
Violet nodded grimly — "grimly" of course means "she wasn't particularly proud, and wanted to avoid thinking about the whole situation altogether, if at all possible" — and introduced herself.
"Well, Violet, I'm Mr. Dickens. This is my grocery store. My butcher is ill today, so I'm filling in here. How can I help you?"
"I need to feed Count Olaf," she said, quite without thinking, and then realized how rude it sounded. "My—my husband," she almost choked on the word, "is throwing a dinner party tonight, and I think he wants roast beef."
"How many people are you feeding?" Mr. Dickens asked.
Count Olaf hadn't specified. "At least twelve," Violet guessed, for she figured there must be more members of the acting troupe than the hateful few she'd met.
"Violet, my dear, I will do my very best to help you," he promised.
A good salesman makes you feel like the most important customer in the room, but a good friend makes you feel like the most important person on the planet. Mr. Dickens had a recipe in mind, which he hand-copied for her, in addition to getting all of the supplies she would need, and he joked around the entire time. Violet had spent the day thinking she might never smile again, but Mr. Dickens had her laughing within minutes.
It saddens me to note what a pleasant time was had with Mr. Dickens, because Violet's return to the estate was anything but. It was quite hot, with a large dinner roasting in the old oven. Sweat dripped off of Violet as she chopped vegetables for the suggested side dish, and the delicious smells were beginning to make her ravenous. ("Ravenous" of course means "Count Olaf fed her so little that even the smell of food made her powerfully hungry.")
There was an enormous crashing sound from somewhere outside the kitchen, and Violet took that to mean that her husband was home. The meal was almost finished, so she went to set the table and perhaps catch a glimpse of Count Olaf's party. ("Party," of course, can mean both "a delightful get-together, with balloons and cake," but it can also mean "a group of people." Both meanings apply here.)
Count Olaf's friends were loud, rude, drunk, and loud. For the next few minutes, while Violet set dingy plates, drab glasses, and dreary silverware for the thirteen heads she'd counted, she was forced to listen to an off-key version of "God Save the Queen" by a group of people who had no concept whatsoever of harmony. Her inventive brain had concocted the idea of putting bits of dried sponge in her ears to block out the sound, but she didn't get the chance to put that thought into practice. Dinner was ready.
Violet cleared her throat several times, a polite way of getting one's attention. But Count Olaf and one of his associates (the hook-handed man) were weeping theatrically over the bald man's rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," despite the fact that none of the lyrics were correct. Violet then tapped a spoon against a glass, for that is an acceptable method of getting attention, particularly at a dinner party. However, the tinny "ting" sound had little effect. A frustrated Violet retreated into the kitchen, and returned with a large cooking pot and a wooden spoon, which she banged together. The guests quieted down, and Count Olaf stared at her under the hood of his one eyebrow. "Violet," he said, "there are other ways of getting someone's attention."
Though she very much wanted to throw her large pot at Count Olaf's head, Violet instead said, "Dinner is served."
"Not your awful vomit-sauce again, I hope," Count Olaf said, sharking a smirk with one of the two white-faced women.
"No," Violet said tightly. "I made roast beef."
"Ah!" The Count clapped his hands together, beaming at his party. "You see, friends? Having a wife is like having a dog. They both need a little training, but they can learn!" Count Olaf's associates laughed cruelly, and Violet flushed with both anger and shame.
Count Olaf placed a long and wretched hand on Violet's shoulder. "You will go and wait in the kitchen while we eat," he instructed. "Understood?"
There was enough food to feed Violet as well, and she burst out, "When do I get to eat?" Without Klaus around, she found it a lot harder to keep her anger in check.
The acting troupe laughed at this comment as well, but Count Olaf silenced them by raising his hand. He stepped dangerously close to Violet, towering over her. "You get to eat when I say you do."
"And when is that?" she challenged. One of the troupe gasped.
A cold smile made Count Olaf seem more sinister than ever. "Certainly not tonight," he said. "Now, run along and wait for me to call you." He brushed past her, following the smell of the delicious meal she'd prepared.
The bald-headed man lagged behind. "Lagged" of course means "he waited to make sure everyone had left the room before he spoke to Violet." What he said to her to this day still gives me a chill. "Now that Count Olaf has the Baudelaire fortune, he has no need for the Baudelaires. Nor would anyone much miss three useless orphans, or search for them should they go missing. I'd listen to what he says if you want you or your siblings to live."
Violet very much wanted her siblings to live. There was no doubt in her mind, nor is there one in mine, that Count Olaf might go looking for Klaus and Sunny in order to make Violet behave. She decided in that very moment that she would obey Count Olaf as best she could, no matter how ill it made her, to keep her family safe.
And, oh, readers, how it pains me to tell you this, how it truly makes me ache to deliver the awful news of precisely what lengths she had to go to keep this vow. Violet had already suffered the loss of her wonderful parents, her childhood home, and most recently, her younger siblings, for whom she felt responsibility. She was now the wife of a man possessing a foul personality and a foul stench. But Violet had not been expecting, nor had she been prepare for, the night that Count Olaf relocated his Countess to his bedroom. I shall spare you the gory details, readers, for it will make you weep as hard as I do for recounting it, and as hard as Violet did that first dreadful night. Know only that Count Olaf was a greasy, vile, and unwashed man, with little care for those around him; and Violet — for all of her advanced intelligence and recent independence — was really just a young girl. Know also that Count Olaf's bed was small, and Violet was forced to curl on the floor afterwards, cold and scared, with only Olaf's wretched snores for company.
But you may rest assured that Violet Baudelaire is a stronger person than most, and for all of the bad things in her life, she refused to let herself get down. I should here add that I do not mean she refused to let herself get funky, but rather, she refused to let go of hope, and the idea that some day, life would get better. Therefore, on her nightly visits to the Count's decrepit bedroom, she would tie her hair up. As anyone close to Violet knew, putting her hair back with a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes, was how she thought best. She spent that time crafting inventions in her mind, not that Count Olaf much noticed the difference.
So perhaps, and this only a slight perhaps, it could have been much worse. For Violet did some of her very best inventing when she was trying to redirect her train of thought anywhere else. Most importantly of all, though she did not know precisely where her siblings were, she knew that as long as she agreed to do whatever Count Olaf wished, Sunny and Klaus were quite safe. And though that dreadful matter was far from over, it is the last I will comment on it. It is not yet too late to go and read about animals skipping in the forest.