Beatrice - At night I lie awake and dream of you. But you only lie in your grave.

On with the show!

It may conjure up an image in your mind of a theatre. Perhaps some of you may envisage a theatrical man in a top hat with an overly twirled moustache and orange hair clashing with the crimson of his coat.

The expression can refer to a literal performance or it can just refer to life itself. It is related to the saying the show must go on, a phrase meaning that the main event must continue no matter what disaster is happening behind the scenes. You may say on with the show even though the prima ballerina has broken her leg. Or you may say on with the show when you've burned the very fancy dinner you spent a long time preparing and can now only offer a box of crackers.

My dear Reader, I can only apologise for being so absent. My only excuse is that regrettably I am on the lam. A phrase here which means constantly having to run for your freedom. Fortunately and unfortunately I have managed to return to my sorrowful task of documenting the tragic lives of the three Baudelaire's. My escape included rusty prison bars, bread too hard to eat and a rather helpful penguin who was able to offer me a disguise. My penguin friend, if you are out there I remain indebted to you for letting me pretend to be your brother.

Enough about me. My life is not so interesting and instead revolves around investigating the lives of three children I desperately need to find so I can raise them myself, just as their parents had intended.

On with the show...

Sunny was refusing to see Violet. When Klaus had told her he had found their big sister she was full of excitement and took him by the hand, pulling him to take her along to see her.

However, Klaus knew he had to tell Sunny about Violet's condition in advance. It wouldn't be fair on either of his sisters to see that thrust upon them. When he explained there was a baby in Violet's belly, Sunny was understandably confused. When he explained that the father was their wicked guardian Count Olaf, she was furious.

I am sorry to tell you that poor Sunny had wailed until she was red in the face, tears streaming down her angry crimson cheeks as she clenched her her eyes and kicked her legs. Klaus had never seen his little sister act this way before and felt completely helpless. Little did he know that Sunny Baudelaire was also feeling helpless.

She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Violet had decided to be a mummy to another little one. She was her Violet. Memories of their parents were fading every day for Sunny, and Violet was the closest thing she had for a mother. Sunny simply wasn't ready to share her with anyone else.

Not only that, but Violet had chosen to have a baby with a terrible villain who wanted them killed! It felt like a hideous betrayal.

So when Klaus would visit Violet, Sunny would stay behind and play cards with the white faced women. How the latter two hadn't realised where Klaus was disappearing to every day was beyond him.

At each visit, Violet's ice queen persona would melt a little more and having the company again had lifted her spirits. Yet every day she would ask.

"Where's Sunny?"

And every day Klaus would have to lie and say the white faced women always kept her too busy and would grow suspicious if both of them went missing.

And every day Violet would pretend to believe him.

Sometimes Klaus would bring books so the pair could escape to other worlds where they didn't have to think about their problems for a time. He'd come across a dusty trunk full of various novels, encyclopedias and biographies. They'd come to the conclusion the collection must have belonged to someone else. They couldn't imagine Count Olaf having the slightest interest in reading.

Violet was absorbed in Anna Karenina while Klaus was reading a book he'd normally stayed away from.

"Did you know the baby is roughly the size of a mango?"

The siblings hadn't spoken about the baby since Klaus had first discovered Violet. For Klaus he was too embarrassed, and for Violet it seemed like the idea was too draining to spend time thinking about. However to his relief she looked curious.

"A mango?"

Klaus nodded and pointed to the page. "Next month it will be about the size of red cabbage."

"Does it say anything about backache?" She grimaced. "It's been terrible. I've hardly slept."

"As your baby develops you may experience backache, indigestion and an increased in appetite." Klaus read. "Some women may even experience swollen hands and feet."

Violet wrinkled her nose. "I hope not."

He waited her for to say something else, but she'd returned to her book.

"Violet," he began cautiously. "It may be helpful for you to start getting ready for this baby."

His sister stayed hidden behind the book. "I still have time."

"That time is getting shorter by the day." He swallowed. "Before you know it the baby will be here. Do you even know what to do in labour?"

There was a pause. "No." He heard his sister admit. "Please, Klaus. Enough. I don't want to talk about it any more."

They had been sitting opposite ends of the room. Klaus crossed legged on the floor and Violet curled up on one of the blankets. She never sat on the bed. He wandered over to her and sat down.

"You're the best chance this baby has." Klaus said bluntly. "I can't see Count Olaf doing anything difficult. It's in your best interests to be prepared too. If you know what to do it won't be so scary."

"Of course it will be scary." Violet whispered from behind the book. It sounded like she was crying. "Klaus, I'm about to become a mother at fifteen years old with a man I hate. But it's not the knowing what to do that scares me."

"What is it then?"

Violet lowered the book, her eyes swimming with tears. "I'm scared I won't love this baby." She said honestly, her bottom lip trembling. "I'm scared that when I look down at it I'll just feel loathing and hate because of who it's father is. I'm scared it will have a terrible life because I'm unable to love it."

Klaus Baudelaire was a remarkably intelligent boy, thanks in part to the many books he had read. As such, very often he knew the answers to all sorts of very difficult questions. I'm sorry to say that in this instance, this was not the case.

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The following day he'd left Sunny experimenting with cooking in the kitchen and began the long climb up to the tower. Perhaps he shouldn't have left a baby to her own devices in a kitchen, but he trusted her enough to be sensible.

Violet asked her usual. "Where's Sunny?"

And he responded with his usual. "The white faced women have kept her busy."

And as usual Violet pretended to believe him.

He wasn't prepared to carry on the conversation they'd had yesterday. Klaus still felt completely hopeless when it came to offering his sister any advice or reassurance. He could only hope that something in a book might inspire a suitable response.

"That was certainly tragic." Violet set the book down. "She died for love."

Klaus wrinkled his nose. "I thought Tolstoy wrote it as a warning?"

"I suppose so. But-" She froze suddenly, her eyes wide with shock.

Instinctively Klaus turned around, expecting to see Count Olaf standing there. But it was just the same empty space.

"What is it?"

"The baby is kicking." Violet breathed. Her hands softly went over the bump blossoming under her nightgown. "I can feel it moving."

Her cheeks were flushed pink but she didn't look upset. She looked happy. Her dark eyes which had been so wide with fear were now wide with amazement as life grew inside her. Klaus could only remember a few years ago when his mother had felt Sunny kicking for the first time. He remembered her laughing in delight and calling for their father.

"Come here." Violet spoke softly, as if not wanting to startle the baby. "Come and feel."

In Klaus' life there were a few precious moments he would never forget. There was the first time he read aloud to his parents in the sitting room and beaming with pride as they whooped and cheered for him. There was the time he beat his father at chess. There was the time he felt his niece or nephew kick.

"I'm so frightened." He heard his sister confess.

At first he assumed she was talking to him, but that did not seem to be the case. He took her hands in his.

"I'll get us all out of here." He promised. "Count Olaf will never get us."

Those doleful eyes had returned. "He's the baby's father." She said sadly. "Even if they do annul this marriage, he can claim parental responsibility. There'll be nothing I can do."

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As Klaus was trying to get the grime off the taps in the downstairs bathroom, he heard the shuddering scream of a car engine and the piercing shriek of the wheels skidding onto the driveway.

Count Olaf had returned.

Sunny glanced up at him worriedly. "Iamquid?" What now?

"I don't know." Klaus said honestly as he wiped his greasy hands on the old rag. "But I'm going to confront him about Violet. Father always said you can't plan properly if you don't know what your opponent is thinking."

"Zugzwang"

I wouldn't blame you for thinking that this was yet another one of Sunny Baudelaire's made up words. However, the youngest Baudelaire was actually referring to a situation in chess, a game which the youngsters would frequently play with their parents. Zugzwang is when it is your turn to move but every option puts you at a disadvantage. In the rules of the game you are compelled to move and cannot pass your turn, therefore you must try and predict which of the damaging options will cause the least amount of damage long term.

The trouble with Count Olaf is that he is a man of an extremely unpredictable nature and has been since he was a small boy. His moods change so frequently they can never be patterned and planned for. I have only known one woman to truly hold him in her grasp.

"Orphans fetch me an aqueous martini!" The shrill voice of Esme Squalor echoed through the house.

The woman I was thinking of was not Esme Squalor.

As Klaus and Sunny hurried to the kitchen and began to prepare the drinks, Klaus tried to consider all the different things he could say. There was no use appealing to his good side, because Klaus wasn't even convinced he had a good side.

"Oh love of my life, you were miraculous." They heard Esme say to Olaf in the lounge. "A real defining point in your career I think."

"I agree." The smooth drawl of Olaf made the hairs on the back of Klaus' neck stand up. "And when I have the fortune my fame will only rise further."

"Oh darling," it sounded like she was pouting. "I've told you. You don't need a fortune, you have mine! I'm the richest woman in the city. I have so much money I don't know what to do with it. Who needs another fortune when we could be going after the sugar bowl? Forget about the brats fortune and throw them down a well."

"My little turtledove." Olaf cooed as Sunny mimed being sick. "You wouldn't ask me to do that to my little wifey now, would you?"

Esme's tone which had been nauseatingly twee changed to as brittle as bone. "She's not really your wife, Olaf." She snapped. "On a piece of paper, nothing more. That's what you said. Less even than Jerome and I."

As Olaf made shushing noises, Esme screamed out for the aqueous martinis and the younger Baudelaire's hurried in.

Not for the first time, Klaus wondered if it were possible for a couple to grow in looking more devious and wicked every day. Each wore a rather severe looking pinstripe suit more suited to 1920's gangsters. While Count Olaf clearly never bothered with personal grooming, the same could not be said for Esme. She'd chosen to go a shade of so luminous blonde she could have glowed in the dark. The pair were draped over the sofa as if they had done something terribly exhausting while Olaf's troupe busied themselves unpacking the suitcases.

"Here!" Sunny held up the glasses.

Olaf took a swig and promptly spat it out. "What the hell is this?"

Esme looked appalled. "An aqueous martini, dearest. The innest drink all around. If you want to be rich and famous like me, you better get used to drinking them. Until they're out that is."

"They taste just like water." Olaf grumbled.

"Aqueous means water." Klaus volunteered.

The nefarious couple turned to look at him as if he were a rather inconvenient piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe, which they would rather like to hack off with a carving knife.

Klaus decided to go in for the kill first.

"I've seen Violet."

Esme barely registered what he said, focusing instead of the olives in her glass. But Count Olaf had gone a little pale.

"I hope she's stopped that wailing." Esme commented. "It kept me awake."

"I'll have her gagged if she starts again." Olaf had recovered as he purred at Esme. "Anything to make my sweetheart sleep better."

"I know you got her pregnant."

There was a pregnant pause is a very useful expression to use here. The term does not mean a pause is pregnant as this would be impossible, nor does it mean the pause has to relate to pregnancy, it can be related to all sorts of things. Instead it refers to a great length of time before someone speaks again.

There was a pregnant pause.

The henchpeople were still bent over their tasks, but suddenly frozen as they waited to eavesdrop.

Olaf also seemed to be frozen. He reminded Klaus of a snake. A blank face masking a mind that is getting ready to strike. His amber eyes had darkened to a sharp black onyx, hiding his calculations.

It was Esme Squalor that broke the silence.

Her bottom lip trembled as she rose from her seat. "What?" The woman's eyes seemed to bulge out of her head until she managed to compose herself. "Orphan, don't be absurd." She scoffed. "A life of villainy may be in but orphans lying to their superiors certainly isn't in."

"It's a good job I'm telling the truth then." Klaus said fiercely. "Violet's pregnant."

Two red dots had appeared on Esme's cheeks as her jaw clenched. "Well then the little slut has been sneaking around." She turned to Olaf. "Really darling, you ought to have been keeping a better eye on her. This could jeopardise you getting your hands on their fortune."

"I think Count Olaf's been keeping too close an eye on Violet." Klaus said nastily.

It was difficult for Sunny Baudelaire to describe how she felt about Esme Squalor. It reminded her of a story of a man who sat on the roof of his house as the world flooded around him. Every time he was offered help he would arrogantly refuse and laugh cruelly in their face, yet you could see the desperation in his eyes until he eventually drowned. Seeing Esme fight off her fears was immensely satisfying, but it is never nice watching someone drown. No matter how unpleasant they are.

"Darling." Her tone was clipped. Short. "Discipline the brats. Hit them. Strike them. Don't let them talk to us like this."

Olaf didn't even look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Klaus.

He could see Esme wavering. Her skin was flushed and she began to tremble. As her face began to wobble it was like the mask of the beautiful woman was falling apart. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to spill.

"It's not true." She whispered. "I know it's not true, Olaf. This isn't a real marriage. You said you'd never touched her."

"On the contrary." Olaf lightly batted her away and moved to pour himself some whiskey. "You presumed. I never said I hadn't touched the girl. I never said I wouldn't."

Esme's mouth opened in a horrified o as she wiped her eyes, leaving behind a horrible smudge of black mascara down her cheeks. To Sunny she looked like a rather distraught clown.

"How could you?" She looked like she wanted to be sick.

Olaf threw back the shot. "It's not cheating if it's with your wife." He stalked over to Klaus, his leer exposing his yellowing teeth. He looked like a rather gleeful child. "Why, Klaus. I'm surprised you're blaming me. You're old enough to know it takes two to tango by now."

Klaus stood rooted to the spot. He felt if he moved he might throw up.

"You ought to know the expression she's made her bed and now she must lie in it." He continued. "Well she has made her bed. And she lies in it. She chose to marry me to keep you brats safe and this is the price she pays."

It felt like a punch in the face.

"I don't suppose you've ever stopped to wonder," Olaf's eyes flashed with delight, "if your sister enjoys it."

"How could you?" Esme staggering back to the sofa provided a welcome distraction. She sank down as if she were melting. "How could you? She's a child! A child!"

"Orphans, get lost." Olaf shot them a glare as he poured another glass. "Go to your sister for all I care. You know now. We won't have a need to keep her hidden any more."

To Esme his tone was softer, crooning as he knelt beside her. The woman was a far cry from the beautiful sophisticated and cruel creature the Baudelaire children were used to seeing. Her bleached blonde hair had fallen down from its ornate style and stuck to her tear stained face. The pristine make-up she had applied that morning was now so badly smudged she looked like a Picasso. But above all that, Esme Squalor no longer held herself up with pride. She looked like a puppet with its strings cut. Broken.

"Oh my sweet Esme. You know how precious you are to me. My lovely student. My beloved. My absolute treasure. Don't make a scene. I don't like it when people make scenes."

Esme hiccuped. "D-don't leave m-me, Olaf. I - I c-couldn't b-bear it a-again."

He took her shaking hand and kissed it. "I won't make that mistake again, my beauty. You're mine. Don't you worry."

Yet everyone in that house was worried. The hook-handed man worried for his sister who he'd not heard from in a very long time. The white faced women worried about the store closing down that stocked their make-up. Klaus worried that his sisters would never be safe. Sunny worried that they would never escape and she would never grow up in safety and comfort.

As for Esme Squalor, she worried about Olaf's relationship with a young girl and how similar it was to one he'd had years ago. How he'd charmed a young girl to fall hopelessly in love with him. How, even after all these years, she was still that same young girl.

But, as they say, the show must go on.