“She doesn’t even think she saw Count Olaf,” Klaus agreed sadly. “She thinks she saw Captain Sham.”
Sunny nibbled halfheartedly on Pretty Penny’s head and muttered “Poch!” which probably meant “You mean Julio.”
“Then I don’t see what we can do,” Klaus said, “except keep our eyes and ears open.”
“Doma,” Sunny agreed.
“You’re both right,” Violet said. “We’ll just have to keep a very careful watch.”
The Baudelaire orphans nodded solemnly, but the cold pit in their stomachs had not gone away. They all felt that keeping watch wasn’t really much of a plan for defending themselves from Captain Sham, and as it grew later and later it worried them more and more. Violet tied her hair up in a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes, as if she were inventing something, but she thought and thought for hours and hours and was unable to invent another plan. Klaus stared at the ceiling with the utmost concentration, as if something very interesting were written on it, but nothing helpful occurred to him as the hour grew later and later. And Sunny bit Pretty Penny’s head over and over, but no matter how long she bit it she couldn’t think of anything to ease the Baudelaires’ worries.
I have a friend named Gina-Sue who is socialist, and Gina-Sue has a favorite saying: “You can’t lock up the barn after the horses are gone.” It means simply that sometimes even the best of plans will occur to you when it is too late. This, I’m sorry to say, is the case with the Baudelaire orphans and their plan to keep a close watch on Captain Sham, for after hours and hours of worrying they heard an enormous crash of shattering glass, and knew at once that keeping watch hadn’t been a good enough plan.
“What was that noise?” Violet said, getting up off the bed.
“It sounded like breaking glass,” Klaus said worriedly, walking toward the bedroom door.
“Vestu!” Sunny shrieked, but her siblings did not have time to figure out what she meant as they all hurried down the hallway.
“Aunt Josephine! Aunt Josephine!” Violet called, but there was no answer. She peered up and down the hallway, but everything was quiet. “Aunt Josephine!” she called again. Violet led the way as the three orphans ran into the dining room, but their guardian wasn’t there either. The candles on the table were still lit, casting a flickering glow on the business card and the bowls of cold lime stew.
“Aunt Josephine!” Violet called again, and the children ran back out to the hallway and toward the door of the library. As she ran, Violet couldn’t help but remember how she and her siblings had called Uncle Monty’s name, early one morning, just before discovering the tragedy that had befallen him. “Aunt Josephine!” she called. “Aunt Josephine!” She couldn’t help but remember all the times she had woken up in the middle of the night, calling out the names of her parents as she dreamed, as she so often did, of the terrible fire that had claimed their lives. “Aunt Josephine!” she said, reaching the library door. Violet was afraid that she was calling out Aunt Josephine’s name when her aunt could no longer hear it.
“Look,” Klaus said, and pointed to the door. A piece of paper, folded in half, was attached to the wood with a thumbtack. Klaus pried the paper loose and unfolded it.
“What is it?” Violet asked, and Sunny craned her little neck to see.
“It’s a note,” Klaus said, and read it out loud:
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny—
By the time you read this note, my life will be at
it’s end. My heart is as cold as Ike and I find
life inbearable. I know your children may not
understand the sad life of a dowadger, or
what would have leaded me to this desperate akt,
but please know that I am much happier this
way. As my last will and testament, I leave you
three in the care of Captain Sham, a kind and
honorable men. Please think of me kindly even
though I’d done this terrible thing.
—Your Aunt Josephine
“Oh no,” Klaus said quietly when he was finished reading. He turned the piece of paper over and over as if he had read it incorrectly, as if it said something different. “Oh no,” he said again, so faintly that it was as if he didn’t even know he was speaking out loud.
Without a word Violet opened the door to the library, and the Baudelaires took a step inside and found themselves shivering. The room was freezing cold, and after one glance the orphans knew why. The Wide Window had shattered. Except for a few shards that still stuck to the window frame, the enormous pane of glass was gone, leaving a vacant hole that looked out into the still blackness of the night.
The cold night air rushed through the hole, rattling the bookshelves and making the children shiver up against one another, but despite the cold the orphans walked carefully to the empty space where the window had been, and looked down. The night was so black that it seemed as if there was absolutely nothing beyond the window. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny stood there for a moment and remembered the fear they had felt, just a few days ago, when they were standing in this very same spot. They knew now that their fear had been rational. Huddling together, looking down into the blackness, the Baudelaires knew that their plan to keep a careful watch had come too late. They had locked the barn door, but poor Aunt Josephine was already gone.
CHAPTER
Five
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny—By the time you read this note, my life will be at it’s end. My heart is as cold as Ike and I find life inbearable. I know your children may not understand the sad life of a dowadger, or what would have leaded me to this desperate akt, but please know that I am much happier this way. As my last will and testament, I leave you three in the care of Captain Sham, a kind and honorable men. Please think of me kindly even though I’d done this terrible thing.
—Your Aunt Josephine
“Stop it!” Violet cried. “Stop reading it out loud, Klaus! We already know what it says.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Klaus said, turning the paper around for the umpteenth time. The Baudelaire orphans were sitting glumly around the dining-room table with the cold lime stew in bowls and dread in their hearts. Violet had called Mr. Poe and told him what had happened, and the Baudelaires, too anxious to sleep, had stayed up the whole night waiting for him to arrive on the first Fickle Ferry of the day. The candles were almost completely burned down, and Klaus had to lean forward to read Josephine’s note. “There’s something funny about this note, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Violet asked. “Aunt Josephine has thrown herself out of the window. There’s nothing funny about it at all.”
“Not funny as in a funny joke,” Klaus said. “Funny as in a funny smell. Why, in the very first sentence she says ‘my life will be at it’s end.’”
“And now it is,” Violet said, shuddering.
“That’s not what I mean,” Klaus said impatiently. “She uses it’s, I-T-apostrophe-S, which always means ‘it is.’ But you wouldn’t say ‘my life will be at it is end.’ She means I-T-S, ‘belonging to it.’” He picked up Captain Sham’s business card, which was still lying on the table. “Remember when she saw this card? ‘Every boat has it’s own sail.’ She said it was a serious grammatical error.”
“Who cares about grammatical errors,” Violet asked, “when Aunt Josephine has jumped out the window?”
“But Aunt Josephine would have cared,” Klaus pointed out. “That’s what she cared about most: grammar. Remember, she said it was the greatest joy in life.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough,” Violet said sadly. “No matter how much she liked grammar, it says she found her life unbearable.”
“But that’s another error in the note,” Klaus said. “It doesn’t say unbearable, with a U. It says inbearable, with an I.”
“You are being unbearable, with a U,” Violet cried.
“And you are being stupid, with an S,” Klaus snapped.
“
Aget!” Sunny shrieked, which meant something along the lines of “Please stop fighting!” Violet and Klaus looked at their baby sister and then at one another. Oftentimes, when people are miserable, they will want to make other people miserable, too. But it never helps.
“I’m sorry, Klaus,” Violet said meekly. “You’re not unbearable. Our situation is unbearable.”
“I know,” Klaus said miserably. “I’m sorry, too. You’re not stupid, Violet. You’re very clever. In fact, I hope you’re clever enough to get us out of this situation. Aunt Josephine has jumped out the window and left us in the care of Captain Sham, and I don’t know what we can do about it.”
“Well, Mr. Poe is on his way,” Violet said. “He said on the phone that he would be here first thing in the morning, so we don’t have long to wait. Maybe Mr. Poe can be of some help.”
“I guess so,” Klaus said, but he and his sisters looked at one another and sighed. They knew that the chances of Mr. Poe being of much help were rather slim. When the Baudelaires lived with Count Olaf, Mr. Poe was not helpful when the children told him about Count Olaf’s cruelty. When the Baudelaires lived with Uncle Monty, Mr. Poe was not helpful when the children told him about Count Olaf’s treachery. It seemed clear that Mr. Poe would not be of any help in this situation, either.
One of the candles burned out in a small puff of smoke, and the children sank down lower in their chairs. You probably know of a plant called the Venus flytrap, which grows in the tropics. The top of the plant is shaped like an open mouth, with toothlike spines around the edges. When a fly, attracted by the smell of the flower, lands on the Venus flytrap, the mouth of the plant begins to close, trapping the fly. The terrified fly buzzes around the closed mouth of the plant, but there is nothing it can do, and the plant slowly, slowly, dissolves the fly into nothing. As the darkness of the house closed in around them, the Baudelaire youngsters felt like the fly in this situation. It was as if the disastrous fire that took the lives of their parents had been the beginning of a trap, and they hadn’t even known it. They buzzed from place to place—Count Olaf’s house in the city, Uncle Monty’s home in the country, and now, Aunt Josephine’s house overlooking the lake—but their own misfortune always closed around them, tighter and tighter, and it seemed to the three siblings that before too long they would dissolve away to nothing.
“We could rip up the note,” Klaus said finally. “Then Mr. Poe wouldn’t know about Aunt Josephine’s wishes, and we wouldn’t end up with Captain Sham.”
“But I already told Mr. Poe that Aunt Josephine left a note,” Violet said.
“Well, we could do a forgery,” Klaus said, using a word which here means “write something yourself and pretend somebody else wrote it.” “We’ll write everything she wrote, but we’ll leave out the part about Captain Sham.”
“Aha!” Sunny shrieked. This word was a favorite of Sunny’s, and unlike most of her words, it needed no translation. What Sunny meant was “Aha!”, an expression of discovery.
“Of course!” Violet cried. “That’s what Captain Sham did! He wrote this letter, not Aunt Josephine!”
Behind his glasses, Klaus’s eyes lit up. “That explains it’s!”
“That explains inbearable!” Violet said.
“Leep!” Sunny shrieked, which probably meant “Captain Sham threw Aunt Josephine out the window and then wrote this note to hide his crime.”
“What a terrible thing to do,” Klaus said, shuddering as he thought of Aunt Josephine falling into the lake she feared so much.
“Imagine the terrible things he will do to us,” Violet said, “if we don’t expose his crime. I can’t wait until Mr. Poe gets here so we can tell him what happened.”
With perfect timing, the doorbell rang, and the Baudelaires hurried to answer it. Violet led her siblings down the hallway, looking wistfully at the radiator as she remembered how afraid of it Aunt Josephine was. Klaus followed closely behind, touching each doorknob gently in memory of Aunt Josephine’s warnings about them shattering into pieces. And when they reached the door, Sunny looked mournfully at the welcome mat that Aunt Josephine thought could cause someone to break their neck. Aunt Josephine had been so careful to avoid anything that she thought might harm her, but harm had still come her way.
Violet opened the peeling white door, and there stood Mr. Poe in the gloomy light of dawn. “Mr. Poe,” Violet said. She intended to tell him immediately of their forgery theory, but as soon as she saw him, standing in the doorway with a white handkerchief in one hand and a black briefcase in the other, her words stuck in her throat. Tears are curious things, for like earthquakes or puppet shows they can occur at any time, without any warning and without any good reason. “Mr. Poe,” Violet said again, and without any warning she and her siblings burst into tears. Violet cried, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and Klaus cried, the tears making his glasses slip down his nose, and Sunny cried, her open mouth revealing her four teeth. Mr. Poe put down his briefcase and put away his handkerchief. He was not very good at comforting people, but he put his arms around the children the best he could, and murmured “There, there,” which is a phrase some people murmur to comfort other people despite the fact that it doesn’t really mean anything.
Mr. Poe couldn’t think of anything else to say that might have comforted the Baudelaire orphans, but I wish now that I had the power to go back in time and speak to these three sobbing children. If I could, I could tell the Baudelaires that like earthquakes and puppet shows, their tears were occurring not only without warning but without good reason. The youngsters were crying, of course, because they thought Aunt Josephine was dead, and I wish I had the power to go back and tell them that they were wrong. But of course, I cannot. I am not on top of the hill, overlooking Lake Lachrymose, on that gloomy morning. I am sitting in my room, in the middle of the night, writing down this story and looking out my window at the graveyard behind my home. I cannot tell the Baudelaire orphans that they are wrong, but I can tell you, as the orphans cry in Mr. Poe’s arms, that Aunt Josephine is not dead.
Not yet.
CHAPTER
Six
Mr. Poe frowned, sat down at the table, and took out his handkerchief. “Forgery?” he repeated. The Baudelaire orphans had shown him the shattered window in the library. They had shown him the note that had been thumbtacked to the door. And they had shown him the business card with the grammatical mistake on it. “Forgery is a very serious charge,” he said sternly, and blew his nose.
“Not as serious as murder,” Klaus pointed out. “And that’s what Captain Sham did. He murdered Aunt Josephine and forged a note.”
“But why would this Captain Sham person,” Mr. Poe asked, “go to all this trouble just to place you under his care?”
“We’ve already told you,” Violet said, trying to hide her impatience. “Captain Sham is really Count Olaf in disguise.”
“These are very serious accusations,” Mr. Poe said firmly. “I understand that the three of you have had some terrible experiences, and I hope you’re not letting your imagination get the best of you. Remember when you lived with Uncle Monty? You were convinced that his assistant, Stephano, was really Count Olaf in disguise.”
“But Stephano was Count Olaf in disguise,” Klaus exclaimed.
“That’s not the point,” Mr. Poe said. “The point is that you can’t jump to conclusions. If you really think this note is a forgery, then we have to stop talking about disguises and do an investigation. Somewhere in this house, I’m sure we can find something that your Aunt Josephine has written. We can compare the handwriting and see if this note matches up.”
The Baudelaire orphans looked at one another. “Of course,” Klaus said. “If the note we found on the library door doesn’t match Aunt Josephine’s handwriting, then it was obviously written by somebody else. We didn’t think of that.”
Mr. Poe smiled. “You see? You are very intelligent children, but even the most intelligent people in the world often need the help of a banke
r. Now, where can we find a sample of Aunt Josephine’s handwriting?”
“In the kitchen,” Violet said promptly. “She left her shopping list in the kitchen when we got home from the market.”
“Chuni!” Sunny shrieked, which probably meant “Let’s go to the kitchen and get it,” and that’s exactly what they did. Aunt Josephine’s kitchen was very small and had a large white sheet covering the stove and the oven—for safety, Aunt Josephine had explained, during her tour. There was a countertop where she prepared the food, a refrigerator where she stored the food, and a sink where she washed away the food nobody had eaten. To one side of the countertop was a small piece of paper on which Aunt Josephine had made her list, and Violet crossed the kitchen to retrieve it. Mr. Poe turned on the lights, and Violet held the shopping list up to the note to see if they matched.
There are men and women who are experts in the field of handwriting analysis. They are called graphologists, and they attend graphological schools in order to get their degree in graphology. You might think that this situation would call for a graphologist, but there are times when an expert’s opinion is unnecessary. For instance, if a friend of yours brought you her pet dog, and said she was concerned because it wasn’t laying eggs, you would not have to be a veterinarian to tell her that dogs do not lay eggs and so there was nothing to worry about.
Yes, there are some questions that are so simple that anyone can answer them, and Mr. Poe and the Baudelaire orphans instantly knew the answer to the question “Does the handwriting on the shopping list match the handwriting on the note?” The answer was yes. When Aunt Josephine had written “Vinegar” on the shopping list, she had curved the tips of the V into tiny spirals—the same spirals that decorated the tips of the V in “Violet,” on the note. When she had written “Cucumbers” on the shopping list, the Cs were slightly squiggly, like earthworms, and the same earthworms appeared in the words “cold” and “Captain Sham” on the note. When Aunt Josephine had written “Limes” on the shopping list, the i was dotted with an oval rather than a circle, just as it was in “my life will be at it’s end.” There was no doubt that Aunt Josephine had written on both the pieces of paper that Mr. Poe and the Baudelaires were examining.