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Chapter Two: The Mysterious Man
One of my chores, the following day, consisted of picking up a package at the post office in town. The list warned me that if I dared open the box, it wouldn't be good. The man who looked like either a man or a woman was supposed to take me, just in case.
The reason why Count Olaf didn't completely forbid me from going into town at all was because, although there was news reported that an orphan had been kidnapped, the article in the Daily Punctilio had so many flaws it was surprising. They got my name wrong and somehow got Janelle from Jane and Robertson from Rumary. They didn't include a photo of me either and most of the description provided was horribly incorrect too. It said I was 4. 6 feet tall when I was actually 4.9 feet tall, they said I had red hair, and dark blue eyes. The only reason I knew it was my news article was because they interviewed Mr. Lance, the school's principal, who was the person that gave them the description.
Olaf's associate waited outside as I went into the post office to retrieve the package. The doors to the post office swung open as I was about to leave and I collided with someone who clearly hadn't been paying attention. I bumped into him and dropped the package.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the man said. "I didn't see you there." He bent down to pick it up.
"I-it's okay," I said, looking up at him with squinty eyes. The man towered over me, wearing a top hat on his head that concealed his eyes. I could make out sandy hair underneath the hat and he appeared middle-aged. His large coat made him look mysterious. Although I didn't know this man, there was something about him that seemed familiar like from a distant memory.
The man had paused to study me as well, frowning in thought as he did so.
"If you don't mind me asking," I said, "do I know you from somewhere?"
I couldn't read his expression as he stiffened and made a noise like he was coughing. "No," he said, very serious all of the sudden, "I don't think I've met you before. But I apologize for running into you like that. Well, good bye."
He adjusted his hat, pushing it farther down before walking away. I exited the post office and met Count Olaf's associate outside. He looked at me puzzled but gave me a warning look as if he expected I was up to something. I ignored him and began heading down the street. As I glanced back, though, I saw the man again. He was standing near the supermarket, a block away. He stared at the two of us with wide eyes.
The next day, one of my chores included cooking for Count Olaf and his troupe. Forty dollars was taped to the list for me to spend. I nearly groaned when I found it last on the list. I didn't know how to cook anything. I could barely cook toast without burning it. The only thing I knew for sure, was to never cook pasta puttanesca and I did remember the dish Count Olaf had wanted was roast beef.
So I made up my mind to make roast beef…if only I knew how to make it. I wished Klaus were here so I could maybe ask him for a cookbook. I knew all too well that the last thing Olaf would have in his house would be a cookbook. Also, even if I did go out and purchase some groceries, how would I be able to afford it with only forty dollars? A roast beef big enough to feed six people as well as myself cost a lot more than that.
I left the house and walked to the town again. Hopefully I could find a really cheap roast beef and borrow a cookbook from the library.
I found the supermarket and found out that the cheapest roast beef was forty five dollars. It was very disappointing. I wandered back outside and stopped when I saw a bookstore a few stores down. I stared through the glass windows at the hundreds of books stalked in the shelves, waiting to be read.
It jogged my memory of Klaus again which made me turn away, so as not to start crying like I did often when I was reminded of him. I sighed and sat down on the curb, miserably. I knew if I chose anything else to make, it wouldn't be enough.
After a while, a man with sandy hair and a top hat was passing by. It was the same man from the post office. When he saw me he paused.
"Hello, again," he said, tipping his hat. It was odd, yesterday he'd been very uptight but this morning he acted friendlier. Maybe he had been having a bad day yesterday.
"Hi," I said, shyly.
He looked up and down the deserted street as if someone were watching.
"Are you here by yourself?" the man asked.
I nodded.
"Well, I'm a little tired from all the work I've been doing. Do you mind if I sit?"
I shrugged. "Go ahead. It's not my curb."
The man sat down a decent distance away on the curb beside me. He was silent for a moment.
"I'm afraid I never got the chance to introduce myself the other day." He began, "My name is Monty." He held out his hand for me to shake, "Monty Kensicle.
I hesitantly held out my own hand and shook his.
"I'm Jane," I replied, "you're name reminds me of someone." I'd thought of poor Uncle Monty. "I had a guardian with that name."
Monty nodded. "Where are your parents?"
"They, uh, well…passed away," I mumbled.
"Ah, of course," he said, looking sincerely apologetic, "losing a loved one can be very hard, especially at such a young age."
"I was one years old when I lost them," I continued, "so I barely remember what they looked like. But I was given a photo of them by Mr. Poe." I grimaced, "it's really the only thing I have left of them. Mr. Poe told me they were killed in a car crash."
"Do you remember their names?" he asked, "maybe I knew them."
"Why do you think that?" I asked, curiously.
"'It's a small world,'" Monty said with a chuckle.
"Okay," I said, "their names were Henry and Abigail."
"I beg your pardon?" Monty asked, looking at me oddly.
"Abigail and Henry Rumary," I repeated.
"Ah, Rumary," Monty said, looking away across the street, "I don't believe I know them."
"No one does," I muttered, "it's as if they never existed."
Monty was silent and he seemed to be focused on something going on across the street. Two women were bickering to each other about something.
"What are you doing here?" he asked after a moment.
"I'm trying to buy some roast beef at the supermarket," I explained, "but I don't have enough money and I don't have a cookbook."
"Cooking?" Monty Kensicle asked, curiously.
I nodded. "I've been doing chores all day for my guardian," I said, "and he wants me to cook for him and his acting troupe. According to my friends, he's very picky and if I don't do it right, well, I'll get into a lot of trouble."
He narrowed his eyes. "Who is this guardian?"
"I-I can't say," I said, quietly, "that's one of his rules. Actually, I'm breaking one right now by talking to you. But what should it matter when I don't make dinner. He hurt my friends when they messed it up, except, in their defense, he never told them he wanted roast beef. They made pasta puttanesca and so far that's the only thing I know not to make…"
"Italian food is not enjoyed by villainous people," Monty commented, "as it is a noble dish."
"Sorry I'm dumping all my problems on you," I sighed, "I just have no one to talk to about this. It feels silly that I'm telling a stranger all of this. You probably don't care…"
"I've had to deal with so many problems that I think one more couldn't hurt," Monty said, "actually, I just might be able to help you out."
I raised my eyebrows. "Really?"
He gave me a small smile. "I'm sure I can find you a cookbook and I don't mind buying the ingredients you need."
"Oh, thank you," I said, gratefully, but then I frowned. "But, I can't accept that. How will I repay you?"
"Christmas is soon isn't it?" Monty said, "Just think of it as a Christmas present."
"A present that I'll be giving to horrible people," I muttered, "but I guess it's okay."
Monty started to get up off the curb and waited for me to do the same. He looked confused when I stayed where I was.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"Well, I just…I just realized…I barely know you," I said, "how can I know you're telling the truth? I mean, what reason would you have for helping me? It seems wrong for me to be so trusting, especially since you could very likely be one of Count Olaf's associates."
Monty stared at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Because…I do know you," he explained, talking slowly as if he were carefully choosing his words, "there was a fire a few months ago at a mansion where I had been inside along with my dear friends. And out of nowhere, I saw a girl about your height, with the same blond hair and eyes come inside. I remember pulling her from the fire. It took me all last night to realize it was you. I hope I'm right. It is not always good to make wrong assumptions about people and it can easily get you into trouble."
I recalled the fire at the Baudelaire mansion when a mysterious man saved me from my own stupid life-risking actions. I gaped.
"I do remember," I said, brightening, "and um, thanks again for uh, saving my life."
He nodded. "So, you do remember," Monty said, "well, I mean you no harm at all."
"You knew the Baudelaire's?" I asked, my eyes wide.
"I did," he replied, "though I never really got to know the children."
"I was staying with the Baudelaire's at a boarding school before I was brought here," I explained, "I miss them awfully bad. It felt like I was losing more than just a few friends."
"I understand," Monty said, sounding suddenly distraught, "well we should hurry, you probably don't have much time."
I nodded.
So Monty led me inside the bookstore and I found a cookbook with a decent looking roast beef recipe. Then, we went to the supermarket so I could pick out some roast beef and a few more ingredients including some grease. I bought some corn too as a side dish. I hoped it would do. Monty purchased the items and soon I had everything I needed.
"So, now all I need to do is make it," I said, "and hope I don't burn anything."
He flashed a small smile. "If you need anymore help with ingredients," he said, "feel free to ask me but I'm afraid I can't be of much assistance with cooking. I'm a terrible cook, though I used to know someone who was fine at such a thing. She'd always say that it was the presentation of the meal that mattered more than the taste."
"Well, they seem to be carnivores," I said, "so it probably wouldn't matter how bad it tastes as long as its meat."
Monty chuckled. "I hope everything works out for you."
"Thank you very much," I said, politely, "Bye."
He waved and started off in the opposite direction, down the street.
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