I fear I can barely continue this sad tale, as the events which follow from this point until the end are so packed with misery and woe that I can scarcely believe it real. Even as I sit here with only my typewriter in the highest room of the north tower of the castle of the Duke of Ipswich, I feel the sadness of this story closing in all around me. The tale of the Baudelaire children is sad, that is true, but the tale of the Baudelaire parents, the luminous Beatrice, and the dastardly Count Olaf of El Ojo may just prove to be the saddest and most miserable of all. But, the hour grows late, and I must finish this portion of their terrible tale in time to think of a way to escape before the Duke has summoned his men to take my head.
It all started the night that the Count of El Ojo, now an official member of V.F.D., asked his dear friend Beatrice to accompany him to the theater. "Theater has always been a passion of mine, and there's going to be a little production by a local theater troupe downtown," Olaf told the blushing beauty. And, not knowing any better, Beatrice accepted his offer.
Lemony Snicket had been growing more and more jealous and the friendship between the mysterious Count and his girlfriend blossomed, and he had nearly reached the cracking point. He had almost sunk so low as to ask his brother Jacques for help, but he knew that would only serve to complicate things further.
For his part, Jacques was staying in the background, observing Beatrice and the Count from afar, biding his time, making his plans. Although most people associated with V.F.D. had friends only within the group, Jacques had made it his business to know as many people outside the circle as possible, and it seemed that his friendships had paid off. Esme Rifflebean was a fabulously wealthy up-and-coming actress, and she would be appearing in the play "Eyes on You" by the playwright Tao Floc Nu, a popular Asian writer. Coincidentally, this also happened to be the play that Olaf and the lovely Beatrice were going to see on the evening of The Trouble. Esme just happened to be one of those people whose friendship was going to come in handy.
"Why darling, I've never heard of anyone named Count Olaf Augustus of El Ojo, and I've heard of nearly everyone," she had told him on the phone the night before the start of The Trouble.
Esme, at this point in her life, just happened to be the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor, and she had a rather big head about it. Jacques chose to ignore her comment and continued.
"But you will go through with the plan, right?" He asked her urgently. He looked over his shoulder nervously. One might think that this was because he did not want his nasty plans to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he was wearing a pair of lacy pink underpants, and he didn't want anyone to walk in on him while he was getting dressed. It was, of course, laundry day, as Jacques was very masculine and would not have worn lacy pink panties in a normal situation. This would explain his nervousness, and also why he continued to look over his shoulder until he had his pants securely fastened.
"I would do anything to help you, dear, but I don't quite understand what you want me to do," Esme purred. Jacques couldn't see her, but Esme looked quite sophisticated that evening. She was dressed in the latest fashion, a long purple dress with a bunch of sparkly sequins. She moved her hand, which was holding a martini, this way and that, admiring the diamond ring she had forced her fiancée, Jerome, to purchase for her.
"If you don't buy me a ring and propose to me, you can forget me making you macaroni and cheese ever again!" She had threatened, and Jerome had known she was serious. And as he liked macaroni and cheese very much, while not having the faintest inkling of how to make it himself, he did as Esme had asked. Esme had been elated, a phrase which here means "was very happy that her status as the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor and her ability to make macaroni and cheese had gotten her an expensive ring and a handsome fiancée." Esme had even bought him his own sparkly sequined purple dress to show her appreciation. She couldn't have her future husband looking so horribly out of style, could she?
"I need you to detain this Count person," Jacques whispered to her. One might think he was whispering because he did not want his dastardly dealings to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he simply had a sore throat from singing along too loudly to the V.F.D. theme song that morning at breakfast. Normally, Jacques didn't sing very loud, but he had been in a very good mood that morning, and besides he just felt like singing. This would explain why he was whispering as he spoke over the phone to the future Esme Squalor.
"Yes, yes, darling but how?" Esme sipped her martini loudly. Slurping was "in."
Jacques rolled his eyes at the phone, which really served no purpose as Esme could not see him.
"I don't care how you do it, Esme. Beatrice is very important to me and I don't like this Count Omar one single whit, not one whit!" Jacques whined. Esme smiled deviously.
"Don't worry dear, I promise, it will be taken care of," Esme assured him, smiling deviously. She hung up. Just then, I shudder to say, one of Esme's fellow actresses entered Esme's dressing room. She made her way cautiously over to Esme, who was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bare room with her hair in rollers, clutching the telephone. Furniture was "out." This dastardly thespian extended a hand to help her friend off the floor, using the other hand to pat more powder on her already white face.
"Esme, you must hurry, it's nearly time for the dress rehearsal."
"Yes I know, I'm coming," Esme told the powder-faced woman.
Esme picked up her belongings and began to follow the woman, but she was quickly joined by none other than her future husband, Jerome.
"Good evening darling. You look absolutely wonderful," said Jerome, admiration evident in his face.
"I know," Esme told him. "Listen Jerome, there's something I'm going to need your help with. My dear friend Jacques needs my help distracting some Count who is supposedly attending our show tomorrow night. Can you find out where he's going to be seated in the audience?"
Jerome, who didn't want to miss out on his nightly macaroni and cheese, nodded nervously. "I'm sure I could sweetpea. Do you know the name the reservation is under?"
"Yes, dear, Jacques told me. It's not the name of the Count, it's under the name of some other V.F.D. Riffraff. Oh, what was it again?"
Esme snapped her fingers several times, trying to force herself to remember as she followed Jerome to his office, where he kept the computer. He brought up the reservation file and gazed expectantly at his fiancée. Finally, her mouth formed an O as she remembered the name.
"Baudelaire," she told Jerome confidently. "The Count and his date are coming with a couple by the name of Baudelaire."
It all started the night that the Count of El Ojo, now an official member of V.F.D., asked his dear friend Beatrice to accompany him to the theater. "Theater has always been a passion of mine, and there's going to be a little production by a local theater troupe downtown," Olaf told the blushing beauty. And, not knowing any better, Beatrice accepted his offer.
Lemony Snicket had been growing more and more jealous and the friendship between the mysterious Count and his girlfriend blossomed, and he had nearly reached the cracking point. He had almost sunk so low as to ask his brother Jacques for help, but he knew that would only serve to complicate things further.
For his part, Jacques was staying in the background, observing Beatrice and the Count from afar, biding his time, making his plans. Although most people associated with V.F.D. had friends only within the group, Jacques had made it his business to know as many people outside the circle as possible, and it seemed that his friendships had paid off. Esme Rifflebean was a fabulously wealthy up-and-coming actress, and she would be appearing in the play "Eyes on You" by the playwright Tao Floc Nu, a popular Asian writer. Coincidentally, this also happened to be the play that Olaf and the lovely Beatrice were going to see on the evening of The Trouble. Esme just happened to be one of those people whose friendship was going to come in handy.
"Why darling, I've never heard of anyone named Count Olaf Augustus of El Ojo, and I've heard of nearly everyone," she had told him on the phone the night before the start of The Trouble.
Esme, at this point in her life, just happened to be the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor, and she had a rather big head about it. Jacques chose to ignore her comment and continued.
"But you will go through with the plan, right?" He asked her urgently. He looked over his shoulder nervously. One might think that this was because he did not want his nasty plans to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he was wearing a pair of lacy pink underpants, and he didn't want anyone to walk in on him while he was getting dressed. It was, of course, laundry day, as Jacques was very masculine and would not have worn lacy pink panties in a normal situation. This would explain his nervousness, and also why he continued to look over his shoulder until he had his pants securely fastened.
"I would do anything to help you, dear, but I don't quite understand what you want me to do," Esme purred. Jacques couldn't see her, but Esme looked quite sophisticated that evening. She was dressed in the latest fashion, a long purple dress with a bunch of sparkly sequins. She moved her hand, which was holding a martini, this way and that, admiring the diamond ring she had forced her fiancée, Jerome, to purchase for her.
"If you don't buy me a ring and propose to me, you can forget me making you macaroni and cheese ever again!" She had threatened, and Jerome had known she was serious. And as he liked macaroni and cheese very much, while not having the faintest inkling of how to make it himself, he did as Esme had asked. Esme had been elated, a phrase which here means "was very happy that her status as the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor and her ability to make macaroni and cheese had gotten her an expensive ring and a handsome fiancée." Esme had even bought him his own sparkly sequined purple dress to show her appreciation. She couldn't have her future husband looking so horribly out of style, could she?
"I need you to detain this Count person," Jacques whispered to her. One might think he was whispering because he did not want his dastardly dealings to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he simply had a sore throat from singing along too loudly to the V.F.D. theme song that morning at breakfast. Normally, Jacques didn't sing very loud, but he had been in a very good mood that morning, and besides he just felt like singing. This would explain why he was whispering as he spoke over the phone to the future Esme Squalor.
"Yes, yes, darling but how?" Esme sipped her martini loudly. Slurping was "in."
Jacques rolled his eyes at the phone, which really served no purpose as Esme could not see him.
"I don't care how you do it, Esme. Beatrice is very important to me and I don't like this Count Omar one single whit, not one whit!" Jacques whined. Esme smiled deviously.
"Don't worry dear, I promise, it will be taken care of," Esme assured him, smiling deviously. She hung up. Just then, I shudder to say, one of Esme's fellow actresses entered Esme's dressing room. She made her way cautiously over to Esme, who was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bare room with her hair in rollers, clutching the telephone. Furniture was "out." This dastardly thespian extended a hand to help her friend off the floor, using the other hand to pat more powder on her already white face.
"Esme, you must hurry, it's nearly time for the dress rehearsal."
"Yes I know, I'm coming," Esme told the powder-faced woman.
Esme picked up her belongings and began to follow the woman, but she was quickly joined by none other than her future husband, Jerome.
"Good evening darling. You look absolutely wonderful," said Jerome, admiration evident in his face.
"I know," Esme told him. "Listen Jerome, there's something I'm going to need your help with. My dear friend Jacques needs my help distracting some Count who is supposedly attending our show tomorrow night. Can you find out where he's going to be seated in the audience?"
Jerome, who didn't want to miss out on his nightly macaroni and cheese, nodded nervously. "I'm sure I could sweetpea. Do you know the name the reservation is under?"
"Yes, dear, Jacques told me. It's not the name of the Count, it's under the name of some other V.F.D. Riffraff. Oh, what was it again?"
Esme snapped her fingers several times, trying to force herself to remember as she followed Jerome to his office, where he kept the computer. He brought up the reservation file and gazed expectantly at his fiancée. Finally, her mouth formed an O as she remembered the name.
"Baudelaire," she told Jerome confidently. "The Count and his date are coming with a couple by the name of Baudelaire."