Chapter Eight
It was two days later, in the late afternoon, when Violet started to not feel well. Ursa was still around and had made a nasty comment about the bruise on Violet's face and so she tried her best to keep to herself, avoiding anyone outside of Alec. Count Olaf seemed content acting as if he'd never lashed out on her and so Violet played along.
The chore list was lengthy, as expected. She was out in the backyard, chopping firewood under Count Olaf's careful supervision, when she started to not feel right. Not wanting to speak with him, however, she said nothing and tried to ignore the warm feeling that had flushed over her.
The following morning, when Violet awoke, the first thing she did upon being let out of their suffocating pantry was remove the rag around her ankle. She intended to clean it the best she could, both the wrapping and the wound, then continue on her day. However, when she unwrapped her leg, she was disgusted to see yellow pus both on the wound and her bandage. The outside of the wound was so pink that it was nearly red and she had a few faint stripes starting to crawl up her leg.
Violet wasn't sure what it meant and wished she had Klaus with her. Klaus seemed to know everything. The skin around the cut was inflamed and warm to touch. Violet had never had a bad cut before and she wasn't sure if this was normal or not. All she could do was hope it was. She disposed of the rag she'd used and cut up a new one, securing it as she had the first after cleaning the wound the best she could.
Two days after that, Lucia returned to give her final fittings on her dresses. The night before, Violet had hardly been able to sleep. All she could do was toss and turn, the little pantry stifling hot. From the time she woke up, there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and at the nape of her neck.
"Is something wrong, lovely girl?" Lucia crooned, kneeling beneath her to check the length of her hem. "Your face is quite flushed."
Violet felt beyond flushed. She felt like the entire house was filled with steam. "No, I'm quite alright," she assured the seamstress. "Just nervous about my date."
That seemed to get the woman on a new tangent, providing Violet with makeup tips as her questioning eyes scanned the bruise across her cheek.
Violet's flushed expression was not brought up again, which she was thankful for. That night was another spent tossing and turning, miserable in the heat that had overtaken her body.
The next day, while Count Olaf was outside supervising Alec as he pulled weeds, Violet took the opportunity to change her bandage again. Once the bandage was removed, her nose was filled with a sour odor which smelled sickly. The lines had crept farther up her leg, nearing her knee, and had darkened. While she was changing her bandage, a sudden dizzy spell took her over and she nearly fell if not for the kitchen table to balance herself on.
Violet continued on her day as if nothing was amiss. Though a terrible heat had overtaken her, it was the day of her date with Oswald and she was looking forward to getting out of the house. That evening, after Count Olaf coated her in stage makeup to cover the bruise, Violet was attempting to put on one of her new dresses and nearly fell again.
Waiting in the living room sat Count Olaf and Alec. The boy eyed the rumpus room, making sure Violet wasn't near. He would have said something earlier, but he had to wait for that ugly Ursa to leave and run a few errands.
"Count Olaf," he said quietly, peeking again into the rumpus room. All he earned in reply was a grunt. "I think Violet needs to go see a doctor."
Olaf turned and gave the boy a quizzical look. "And what makes you say that?" he asked.
Alec turned to him, brow tucked. "She's been burning up. I can hardly stand to lay next to her in bed," he started. "She tosses and turns all night."
Count Olaf thought this over, then told his little butler, "She's just homesick." It seemed the easiest way to explain the girl was wrought with agony for her lost loved ones.
"It's not that!" Alec insisted. "She was fine the first night, but it keeps getting worse. I don't want her to die!"
At this Olaf couldn't help but snort. "No one ever died of a broken heart," he told him. "If she needs to go to the doctor, she can tell me herself."
The last sentence was muttered in irritation. Violet had not spoken a single word to him since he'd stuck her.
Speaking of the devil, as they say, they heard her footsteps coming through the rumpus room. Immediately, they both grew quiet. Violet stepped through the door, as lovely as ever. Her new dress was a deep purple and cinched in at the waist. The skirt bellowed out, falling just above her ankles. The three-quarter sleeves seemed crisp and smart.
Count Olaf didn't think she looked ill at all. Silly boy. The two bid goodbye to the young butler and shared a silent ride to the bank.
That boy, Oswald, was waiting outside the bank at six sharp. Violet left the car without a word and went to join him, taking his arm with a smile. It made Olaf furious. When they'd rounded the corner, he put the car back into drive and followed them, not taking any chances with Violet. She'd tried to pull a fast one on him last time and he wouldn't give her the opportunity ever again.
As the evening wore on, Count Olaf grew rather bored. He had a clear view of the two through the window, but nothing interesting was happening whatsoever. They had dinner and dessert, talked for a while, then stood up to leave. Hurrying, Count Olaf put the car in drive and drove around the block, back to in front of the bank.
They were just coming around the corner when Olaf saw Violet sway and clutch onto Oswald's arm. For a moment it looked as if she were about to pass out. Oswald grabbed a tight hold on her and stood her up, allowing her to lean against a light post. Olaf was halfway down the block and couldn't see well, but he could see Violet telling him something with a smile. Then Oswald closed the gap between and reached up, brushing the hair back from her face. Olaf tensed, foreseeing what was to come next. Violet looked up at him and grinned, then Oswald bent to meet her lips.
The kiss was short and chaste, but it still twisted Olaf's chest in a mess of jealousy. He should have kissed her the other night by the phone instead of striking her. Whose stupid idea was this to let her go out on dates with this boy? Why would he tell her to woo him?
Olaf was furious with himself. The whole time they walked back to the car, he stared daggers at the boy. When they reached the door, Oswald popped open the door and leaned inside. "She nearly passed out on me," he said with a cheeky grin. "Don't work her so hard!"
Always the actor, Count Olaf beamed and gave a believable laugh. "She's a hard worker," he said with a smile. "Wouldn't take a break if I made her."
The two men chortled and Oswald helped Violet into the car. With one last fleeting glance, he shut her in and made his way to his own car.
"Nice girls don't kiss on the first date," he said in a rather nasty tone, not bothering to cover his moodiness. Olaf's foul mood only grew when she didn't reply.
The car ride home, as it had been to the bank, was spent in silence. Violet was breathing in rather shallow huffs and more than once he turned, eying her next to him. Her forehead lay against the cool glass, but she appeared to be asleep.
Perhaps Alec was right. But, as he'd said earlier, if she needed a doctor, she would damn well ask him herself.
Once they were home, Violet stumbled straight in to bed and collapsed on her mattress without bothering to change clothes. The fever reached up and grabbed at her mind, dragging her into the blackness.
"Olaf," Ursa muttered the next morning, prodding him in the ribs with her elbow. "Those brats need something, they're driving me insane."
It took several more times to wake the man, but eventually he sat up and swiped at his face, as if this would wake him up. "What?" he muttered, becoming vaguely aware of the banging noises from down stairs.
"Count Olaf, please!" he heard, then sat bolt up. It was the boy. Again, there was a loud banging and he could hear his butler crying. "Please open the door!"
"He's been banging on that damn door for a half hour," Ursa groaned, rolling back over and closing her eyes. Olaf wanted to strangle her. His eyes shot to the clock, seeing it was just after six in the morning. Outside, the sun was still struggling to rise.
Olaf grabbed a robe and threw it over his bare shoulders. As he descended the stairs, the pounding on the door grew more urgent.
"Alright, alright," he yelled, making his way through the rumpus room. Poor boy probably had to use the bathroom. But when he entered the kitchen and slid the lock on the pantry, the door flung open and Alec flew out, clinging to Count Olaf's leg.
The boy was hysterical, his face red and swollen with tears, and all Olaf could make out from his blurred words was, "She's dead! She's dead!"
Olaf stilled, an icy chill freezing his veins. At once, he flung the boy from clutching at his legs and peaked into the pantry.
"Violet," he muttered, earning no response. It was so dark in the room that all he could see was her feet in the light of the kitchen. "Violet," he repeated, her name wanting to stick in his throat.
Alec stood in the doorway sobbing and Olaf felt a terrible pity for the boy, who'd been afraid and locked in the room. He tried calling her name a third time, his stomach sinking to the silence that answered him. He knelt and crawled onto the small mattress. The heat near her was unimaginable and once he was able to reach her face, he felt out and let his hand meet the side of her neck. The fever scalding her skin was unbelievable. It didn't seem as if she were breathing, but he leaned an ear close to her mouth and could hear a small huff every now and then. Olaf's hands felt for her wrist and he located her pulse point, revealing a frantic – but faint – heartbeat.
"Go upstairs and grab the keys from my dresser," he ordered over his shoulder. "She's still alive, but I need to take her to the hospital now."
Because if she died, there went the Quagmire sapphires, the Langdon fortune, and perhaps the rest of the Baudelaire inheritance. He hadn't thought that far ahead.
He would be lying, though, to say that was the only thing that prompted his haste in getting her to medical attention. When he picked her up in his arms, he couldn't help but feel the shape of her body pressed against his and gave a deep shudder. Olaf carried her through the house to the front hall, where Alec was already waiting with the door open. The boy followed outside and opened the back door to the car, watching miserably as Count Olaf laid her inside and shut her in.
"Take care of the house," Olaf said, giving the boy a stiff pat on the head and taking the keys from him.
Alec watched, stricken with tears, as Olaf sped down the street and out of sight.