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Post by Jenny on Jan 27, 2008 15:28:43 GMT -5
Esmé softly, laughed, and her daughter wasn't sure whether the humour was rightly placed. 'Oh, my darling,' she said softly. 'She doesn't hate you.' she ruffled her daughter's hair affectionately. 'And Violet and Klaus have every reason to hate your father, and to hate me, I suppose.'
'I'm sure this is just a tiff, Emma. Friends hate tiffs, some all the time,' she knew relatively little about it--her main experience with this was with her and the future Beatrice Baudelaire, which could hardly be described as a tiff in any case.
'We've never argued before,' Emma reminded her mother. 'We always get on so well.'
'I'm sure she must understand why you became protective over your sister and Nero's relationship,' Esmé said quickly. 'After all, I'm sure she would react the same way if you implied anything less than wonderful about Violet or Klaus.'
Emma glanced down at her hands, folded before her on the table. 'I don't think so,' she whispered.
Esmé was about to reason with her again, but Emma looked up, a couple of tears lingering at the corners of her eyes.
'I don't think she would get so angry,' she said quietly. 'I got so angry, mother. I could hardly control my temper--I've never, ever done that before.'
Esmé smiled, though she didn't feel inside like smiling much.
'It's just you didn't like her saying things about Nero,' she convinced. 'I'd be angry too.'
Emma sniffed. 'Jerome wouldn't get that angry, ever,' she said in a whisper.
It took Esmé a second to figure out what she was implying. 'Oh, darling, no!' she said, and placed her hands over her daughters. 'I don't think it's got anything to do with....to do with your father, Emma. Not at all.'
'Not at all?' her daughter asked.
Esmé couldn't very well retract her previous statement, so she simply shook her head. 'No, not in the least.'
Did it, though? Could Emma have inherited some of the less desireable wualities of her parents, regardess of her upbringing?
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 27, 2008 16:37:47 GMT -5
[Sorry this next post is kind of angsty. I hope you don't mind.]
“Then why… why do I feel so guilty?” Emma asked.
“Emma, darling, don’t be silly,” Esmé tried to assure her. “You and Beatrice had an argument… friends have arguments. It’s not anything you should feel guilty for.”
“If Jerome was my father, then maybe I wouldn’t have to, Mother.” Emma hadn’t meant her words to come out sounding hurtful or even angry, but the expression on her mother’s face was enough to indicate that she knew exactly what Emma had been implying.
“That is enough, Emma.” As Esmé spoke, she could feel her own temper beginning to rise. “If this is how you are going to speak to me, then I refuse to have this discussion with you.”
“Then maybe you should have stayed with Jerome!” Emma snapped, and she clenched her fists just as two tears slipped from her shiny, shiny eyes. “I could be his daughter instead of—”
“Emma!”
Esmé and her daughter turned just in time to see Jerome standing in the entranceway of the kitchen, accompanied by Violet and Klaus. Jerome looked positively horrified, while the two Baudelaires looked concerned.
“Where do you get off speaking to your mother that way?”Jerome demanded. It was really the first time he had ever raised his voice to his goddaughter, and he was trying very hard to control his temper. But the devastated look on his wife’s face was making such a thing very difficult.
“Jerome, please,” Esmé said softly. “I have the situation well under control. And Emma didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, I did!” Emma shot back defiantly.
“Emma!” Jerome shouted, and everyone but Emma jumped. Violet and Klaus exchanged looks of confusion, for this was the first time they had ever seen Jerome come this close to arguing. “Lower your voice this instant, and stop shouting at your mother.”
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Post by Jenny on Jan 28, 2008 12:33:42 GMT -5
Emma burst into tears at that, simply at the uncharacteristic anger from Jerome aimed at her. Her mother, she knew, had her own tendencies to become angry and her own specific way of doing things--but Jerome had shocked her with this reaction. She wiped her eyes quickly on her sleeve, and looked up defiantly.
'I wasn't shouting at her!' she fired back at him. 'We were just having a discussion. And it's got nothing to do with you!'
Jerome did lose his temper then, and Esmé couldn't say it was a part of his personality she particularly liked--it reminded her, almost, of his late father, Maxwell Squalor.
He stepped forward, and it felt at once like he was back with Carmelita when she had been so troublesome as a young girl. However, he had never become this angry with her for anything--after all, she had merely argued with Esmé over small things, such as not finishing her meals. Emma's arguments were more serious, and ultimately made Esmé far, far more upset.
'Go to your room,' he bellowed, and there was no sympathy in his voice, even for the tears in her eyes.
'Jerome! I was saying that I wished you--'
'No, Emma!' he interrupted, and moved to put an arm around his wife, who's hand had begun to softly shake. 'I don't want to hear it!'
Emma let out a small sob and ran out then, heartbroken.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 28, 2008 13:28:45 GMT -5
Klaus turned just in time to see Emma disappear around a corner, and a few moments later there was the echo of a door slamming. Violet stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, frowning. “Is there anything we can do?” she asked. “Would you like some tea?”
Jerome reached over and retrieved a napkin from the holder on the table, and handed it to his wife. She wiped gently at the tears streaming down her cheeks and then looked up at Violet. “Thank you,” Esmé said. “That would be nice.”
Klaus was standing halfway between the kitchen and the hallway, his eyes still focused on the corner which Emma had turned. He could feel the tension of the situation rising every second, and he couldn’t say he wanted to get involved.
While Violet retrieved the tea kettle from one of the above cabinets and switched on the sink, Jerome tightened his arm around his wife. He could feel her entire body trembling, and he frowned. How could Emma do this? How could she be so careless with her mother’s feelings after all that had happened? Did she want Esmé to throw herself down the stairs a second time?
Jerome turned his gaze away from Esmé long enough to speak to Klaus. “Klaus,” Jerome said, “it’s all right. You can come sit down. I’m not going to shout anymore.”
Klaus couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed with Jerome for taking some initiative for once, and the younger man couldn’t help but recall the conversation the two of them had partook in thirteen years earlier at Café Salmonella about how useful arguing could be in certain situations.
“Would you like any help, Violet?” Klaus asked.
“Thank you,” she replied from where she had just set the kettle down on the burner of the stove. “You can get some mugs out of the cabinet and bring them over to the table for me.”
“All right.”
While Klaus was doing that, Jerome finally let go of Esmé and slid down into a chair beside her. She was still trembling slightly, and there were tears sliding down her cheeks, but otherwise she didn’t appear to be in too much distress. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep a close eye on her. Leaning forward a bit, he kissed away a tear on her cheek, and for a moment simply chose to rest his lips upon it.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 1, 2008 15:57:09 GMT -5
Esmé sniffed, and turned to her husband, catching once again Violet looking down at him with that slightly strange expression.
'Please check on Emma,' she asked her husband, who looked slightly surprised at the command. 'She's upset, Jerome. It's not her fault,' she said, and folded her arms across her chest. Her husband simply smiled down at her, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her teary eyes.
'That doesn't make it yours,' he said quietly, and on that note stood up and removed his tie (Esmé knew he hated them) and left it on the back of one of the chairs before heading down a hallway into Emma's room.
He knocked on her door softly, already catching a few quiet sobs from behind the door.
'Emma?' he enquired. 'Can I come in?'
'No,' came the immediate answer, and Jerome sighed to himself. It wasn't his imagination that she had become considerably more difficult over the past few years--he hoped it was merely the fact of her nearly becoming a teenager, not by the fact of her unfortunate parentage. He creaked open the door anyway, and then quickly shut it behind him.
She made no effort to turn from her position at her desk, shoulders moving slightly from her tears.
'I wan't doing anything wrong,' she muttered tearfully. 'I'm not sorry.'
A jolt of anger went through her godfather at that. 'You should be sorry, Emma,' he lowered his voice here and sighed. 'You know how your mother can take things sometimes. You shouldn't talk about your father to her, not when you're fully aware she isn't fully stable on the subject....'
'Well, how long will it take her to become 'stable' on it?' his goddaughter asked. 'It's been so long now, Jerome! Who else could I ask? Not you, not the Baudelaires, not my mother? Fernald Widdershins?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 1, 2008 16:50:30 GMT -5
“No, Emma,” Jerome said, and sat down on the bed across from her. “I’m more than willing to answer any questions you may have the best way I can. And you can always ask Carmelita or Nero. But you’ve got to do it in a calm and orderly way, meaning you can’t shout.”
“Is Mother terribly angry with me?” Emma asked.
Jerome shook his head. “Not in the least,” he replied. He stopped himself from adding “Though she has every reason in the world to be after the way you spoke to her.” “In fact, she insists that it wasn’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t trying to upset her, Jerome. Honest. I don’t want her to throw herself down the stairs again!” Emma bit her lip, feeling fresh tears gather at the backs of her eyes at the very thought.
“I know you don’t, darling. But in order to ensure something like that doesn’t happen, you’ll have to be considerate with your mother’s feelings.” Jerome found himself repeating a speech he had given to Carmelita the time she had run away. Esmé had been so upset when they couldn’t find her that he’d been forced to give her a tranquilizer. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that again.
“Where is she now?” asked Emma.
“In the kitchen,” Jerome said. “Violet is making her some tea.”
“Violet’s nice. I like her.”
That made Jerome smile, and he felt himself relax a little. “The Baudelaires are a splendid family. I’m very glad you’re getting the chance to know them.”
Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening and closing sounded from down the hallway, and Emma knew Sunny and Beatrice had returned. Emma also knew that she would have to confront them on the matter that had occurred between the three of them in the elevator. She couldn’t say she was looking forward to it, however.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 1, 2008 17:30:20 GMT -5
Jerome noticed how uncomfortable she had become hearing the door shut, and smiled. 'Let me guess--a bad day at school?'
'You could say that,' Emma sighed, and then she was looking up at him again. 'And surely--' she cut off, but he nodded for her to continue. '--surely you don't know much about my father, Jerome.'
He laughed. 'Oh, I know enough,' he said. 'I wrote a book that man partially inspired, after all. It wouldn't have been possible without a bit of research.'
Emma nodded, and finally she began to wipe her eyes. Before this the idea that she might cause her mother to throw herself down the stairs again ever was so awful that she wasn't able to think straight about anything else.
Emma bit her lips. 'Do you like the Baudelaires?' she asked.
'Of course,' Jerome replied gently.
A longer hesitation follwed. '....Do you like Violet?'
'Of course,' Jerome said, and Emma thought she heard a cross tone in there somewhere. For Jerome's part, he had long ago figured out where she had been heading with the conversation. Why did everyone think Violet Baudelaire had some sort of crush on him? To Jerome, the idea was ridiculous.
'No, Emma, not like that. You and Esmé are both imagining things.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 1, 2008 19:25:29 GMT -5
Emma’s eyes widened at the mention of her mother’s name. “You mean Mother’s noticed it, too? What did she have to say about it?”
“Nothing,” Jerome replied. “She thought the idea was very silly, just like I do.”
“But you love Mother— don’t you?”
“With all my heart.”
“And you would never do anything to hurt her— would you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not like she hurt you,” Emma pointed out.
“That’s all in the past now, Emma,” Jerome said firmly. “Why not leave it there?”
Emma nodded, lowering her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, Jerome. You’re right.”
“Why not come with me into the kitchen for some tea?”
“Do I have to apologize?”
“Well, I’m not going to force you,” Jerome said. “But I think you owe it to your mother, don’t you?”
Emma thought this over for a moment and then nodded. “I suppose,” she said. She stood up, and Jerome put his arm around her shoulder. As they were heading toward the door, she asked, “Jerome, do you think I resemble my father in ways other than just the ones you can see?”
He knew exactly what his goddaughter was referring to, and he suddenly wished Carmelita was with them. She always knew better than he what to do in these types of situations.
As they headed back down the hallway, Jerome replied, “Of course not, sweetheart. Don’t be silly.” He hated lying almost as much as he hated arguing, but the last thing he wanted to do was to suggest that she was turning out to be even remotely like the man responsible for her mother’s current state.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 3, 2008 16:01:39 GMT -5
Emma knew her godfather wasn't telling her the exact truth from the light blush that crept up into his cheeks, and the way he bit his lip just slightly. In what other ways could she be similar to her birth father? She considered it. She knew he hadn't been an entirely savoury character--simply from her knowledge of the crimes he commited while alive--but what had he been like, what had his personality been like? She sighed, following Jerome down the long corridor on the way to the kitchen. Her godfather wouldn't know that, even if she ever did get him to admit any similarities. Emma daren't ask her mother, for the havoc it would cause--Esmé being so touchy over things involving Emma's father.
A thought struck Emma, and her pretty blue eyes widened as she thought about it.
Could she ask the Baudelaire's? She accidentally looked up at Jerome, and then back down again incredibly quickly. Violet was the nicest of the two, perhaps it would be possible to have a conversation with her about it? Would Klaus--temperamental and a little weird, she thought, remembering the time she'd woken up with him attempting get out of her room--have to be involved?
They arrived at the kitchen, and Emma felt a wash of relief that the younger Baudelaires hadn't headed there upon arrival. Her mother looked up, and smiled gently. Emma felt all the guilt come back for upsetting her.
'Mother,' she stepped forward instantly. 'I'ms orry about what I said, I didn't mean to upset you, I know I shouldn't have brought it up, any of it, I just--'
Esmé grinned, and held up a slim, pale hand.
'It's OK, sweetheart,' she said. 'Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it.'
Emma felt like arguing. She had meant every last word, but she didn't want another dispute, didn't want Esmé to ever be upset enough again to want to go anywhere near 667's spiral staircase.
Emma sat herself down, and vaguely listened to the pleasant conversation around the table. Suddenly, though, she slowly reached over and touched Violet's arm, to gain attention. The eldest Baudelaire looked over quickly, a small smile on her lips.
'Yes?' she said quietly.
'May I speak to you, in a moment?'
'Of course,' Emma decided she liked Violet even more now that the young woman had made sure not to draw attention to their conversation in any way--even though Klaus was looking over, quietly suspicious of their actions, but not willing to say anything about it.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 3, 2008 17:54:01 GMT -5
Emma sipped her tea, watching the faces of everyone around her closely. Jerome seemed to be keeping a particular close eye on Esmé from where he was seated beside her. Emma knew the reason why, but she didn’t say a word about it.
“Jerome,” Violet asked, and Emma saw that she was meeting Jerome’s eyes once again. “Do you know if Sunny and Beatrice have returned home yet?”
“Why, yes,” he replied. “Emma and I heard them enter through the front door a few minutes ago.”
“That’s strange,” Klaus said. “Usually when the girls arrive home from school, they inform us.”
Emma lowered her eyes to her cup of tea. Esmé took notice of her daughter’s behavior, and stepped in before Klaus could comment. “I’m sure they’ll be along any minute,” Esmé said. “They probably just wanted to change out of their uniforms.” She smiled. “I know that’s the first thing I always did when I got home from school.”
Emma smiled at her mother, grateful for her quick assistance. Emma knew that Esmé had as much reason to want to avoid arguing with Klaus Baudelaire as she did.
They soon finished their tea, and after Klaus went off to check on his younger sisters, and while Esmé and Jerome cleared away the mugs, Emma turned back to Violet. The eldest Baudelaire didn’t have to say a word. The two of them sneaked out of the kitchen and into a sitting room that was a good distance out of earshot.
Violet sat down on the sofa and watched Emma close the door quietly. When she turned back, Violet saw that Emma’s small, pointed face had not faltered in its seriousness that she had first noticed it take on back in the kitchen.
“What is it, Emma?” Violet asked the little girl as she seated herself across from her.
“I have some questions I’d like to ask you,” Emma replied.
“What sorts of questions?”
“Well…” Emma looked to the right, then to the left, before finally setting her eyes on her lap. It was a characteristic she had picked up from Jerome, who had a tendency to avoid a person’s eyes when they were getting ready to argue with him. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with Violet, even though she was hardly the sort of person Emma would suspect to want to argue. “They’re about my father.”
“You mean Jerome?” Violet asked, though she knew Jerome was not the man Emma was referring to.
Emma shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I mean my real father. Count Olaf.”
Violet had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to prevent herself from screaming. After a moment, she said gently, “Don’t you think this is a conversation you should be having with your mother?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she isn’t… she isn’t stable enough to handle answering questions about my father.”
“What do you mean, Emma?”
Frowning, Emma forced herself to meet Violet’s eyes. “Something happened after I was born,” explained Emma. “Jerome and Carmy say Mother was a different person before she had me. After I was born, Mother was diagnosed with something called postpartum depression. Then, six months ago, she… she…” Emma paused, biting down on her lower lip. “She threw herself down the spiral staircase outside our apartment. Jerome says not to ask her any more questions about my fa— about Olaf, or else she might do it again.”
“I see,” Violet said. She was stunned by the very thought of someone like Esmé Squalor, who until recently had always been as sick and twisted as Olaf to Violet and her siblings. But as his daughter sat there before her, pouring her heart out so willingly, Violet saw something in Emma that she had never seen Olaf. The concern reflected in her eyes for her mother was so great that it made Violet want to cry in spite of all the terrible things Emma’s parents had done. For she cared for her mother just as Violet, Klaus, and Sunny had cared for their parents long ago.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 8, 2008 16:22:44 GMT -5
'Emma,' she said quickly, and then had to take a breath to steady herself. 'Emma, it just isn't my place to tell you.' She folded her arms unhappily. 'I'm too biased, Emma. I can't tell you much about your father, because I don't understand him myself.'
'But you met him!' Emma cried. 'You must know him, a little....!' She stopped, and waited until Violet looked on her again. 'I'm afraid,' she said quietly. 'Afraid, I suppose, that I'm like him, or that I look too much like him, that I act like him, that I'm anything like him. I just want to know, Violet.'
Violet shook her head. 'Emma, no,' she said sternly. She couldn't get mixed up in this, not when it was such a sensitive subject for everyone around them--inclusive of Esmé--obviously--Jerome and her brother.
She convinced herself it was that, and not that she was afraid that Emma was a little like her father after all.
What could a mix of Esmé and Olaf be like, for Goodness' sake? Violet shuddered at the thought. The Esmé she had known before was so selfish, so bad tempered and utterly without a conscience, and Olaf had simply been eveil (well, until the very end, and she still wasn't sure what she felt about that exactly.)
'Did he ever love my mother?'
It was a strange question, and one Violet wasn't sure how to answer. She doubted it--severely--but how could she say?
'I don't know Emma,' she said simply. 'Sorry,' she added as an afterthought. 'I just can't say that for sure.'
'Was my mother truly a bad person?'
Violet choked on her words, and then swallowed.
'Not anymore, Emma,' she answered nervously. 'Not anymore.'
'But what about--'
'I can't answer your questions, Emma.' she said quietly. 'I'm sorry.'
Emma threw herself down onto a couch, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks now. Violet could barely stand it. 'What else can I do, Violet?' she demanded. 'How else could I know?'
Violet rubbed her eyes. 'I don't know Emma,' she said and looked away from the younger girl. 'I'm afraid the only person left for you to ask is your mother.'
That prompted a sob from Emma, and she managed to blurt a half sarcastic 'thanks,' before leaving and flinging herself onto her bed, pcovering her face with her pillow.
Why was everything so difficult? Why couldn't people just tell her what was going on? Why couldn't the see that she needed to know?
Emma suddenly sniffed, and had an idea. Could she find out anything about him from books, or a computer? She could ask Sunny and Beatrice to look with her.
Two birds with one stone, it seemed.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 8, 2008 17:57:31 GMT -5
Violet was still deciding on whether to go after Emma or to give her some time to cool off when Sunny and Beatrice appeared in the entranceway of the sitting room.
“Hey, Vi,” Sunny said, and took immediate notice of the downcast expression on her elder sister’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Violet smiled, shaking her head. “Nothing,” she said.
“If it’s about us not coming to greet you the moment we arrived home, we can explain,” Beatrice added.
“You see,” Sunny began, “we had a bit of an argument with Emma earlier— or rather, Beatrice did —and we needed some time alone to decide what we were going to say to her.”
Violet frowned, recalling her own incident with Emma just a few moments ago.
“Is something wrong?” asked Beatrice.
Violet shook her head. “No,” she said. “Sunny, Beatrice, why don’t you go and make up with Emma? She was headed towards her room just a minute ago.”
Beatrice turned to Sunny and smiled. “I don’t think we need to ask which room Emma’s is,” Beatrice replied, remembering the event involving Klaus the night before.
The girls were turning to leave when Violet called them back. “Sunny,” she said, “Beatrice. If Emma asks you any unusual questions, tell her you don’t know anything about it. All right?”
Thinking this request was a little strange, but not wanting to argue about it either, the two youngest Baudelaire sisters nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry, Violet,” Sunny said. “We won’t.”
Violet smiled her thanks and then watched her sisters leave the room.
It wasn’t difficult to find Emma’s bedroom, but not because Sunny and Beatrice knew exactly which one it was. It was her mournful weeping that led them to her.
Beatrice was about to turn the knob when Sunny shook her head. “Emma might not like it if we just walk in on her,” she said, and knocked on the door.
Emma sniffled before replying in a voice cracked from all the crying she had been doing, “Who is it?”
“It’s Sunny and Beatrice,” Sunny said. “Are you all right?”
“If this is about what happened outside Vice Principal Nero’s office earlier,” Beatrice said, “I forgive you. So please don't be upset, Emma.”
“I’m fine,” Emma answered, wiping her eyes as she crossed the room to the door. “And it’s not about what happened at school.” She pulled open the door and smiled a little to see Sunny and Beatrice standing before her, both of them looking very concerned.
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Post by Jenny on Feb 10, 2008 10:09:28 GMT -5
'What's wrong?' Beatrice bit her lip, terrified regardless thats he had done something to upset Emma, excluding the events of that morning. 'Emma, I'm--'
'Don't worry,' Emma interrupted, wiping her tears on her sleeve. 'Really, it's not about you, or Vice Principal Nero.'
'Well, whatever it's about, we'd like to help,' Sunny said quickly. 'I hate seeing you upset.'
Emma smiled at the concern in Sunny's voice, and then quickly deicded to come out with her idea--after all, the younger two Baudelaire's knew nothing about the situation, did they? Besides that, she was in need of someone to assist her in finding out about her father, and Beatrice and Sunny always seemed to have some sort of plan, some way to work things out.
'D'you remember what you said, about researching my father?' Emma started, and Sunny nodded. 'I've decided it's a good idea, seeing as nobody else wants to tell me.'
'Do you want me to check with Jerome, about using the study?'
Of all the rooms in the penthouse there was only one housing a computer, and Jerome had been persuaded to install this only a year ago, due to Emma wanting to research her schoolwork more easily. Jerome rarely ever used it--she was sure he kept in touch with his brother by e-mail, but otherwise she had never seen him use it--and Esmé had no clue how it worked, what it did or even how to switch it on.
'No, don't worry. He won't mind.'
Emma was relatively sure that might be true--as long as Jerome thought they were doing schoolwork and not researching Olaf he was bound not to even ask what they were doing.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 10, 2008 20:13:31 GMT -5
Emma led the two youngest Baudelaires down the hallway and passed an assortment of rooms until they reached the study. Just as she had suspected, there was no sign of her mother or godfather anywhere in sight.
After flicking the switch on the side of the wall by the door and flooding the room with light, Emma stepped inside, followed by Sunny and Beatrice. While the two sisters went over to a nearby table and retrieved two chairs, Emma switched on the computer monitor.
As she waited for the computer to boot up, she plopped herself down into the chair in front of it. She was soon joined by Sunny and Beatrice, who placed a chair on either side of her and sat down.
“I know you said Jerome doesn’t mind you using the study,” Sunny said to Emma. “But maybe it would be a good idea if one of us stood watch. You know… just in case someone happens to be passing by.”
“Or,” Beatrice said, “we could lock the door.”
Emma turned to her friend and shook her head. “No,” she replied. “Except for the bathroom, locking doors is the one thing I’m never allowed to do. In fact, it’s the only rule Mother has ever enforced.”
Since Emma’s discussion with Esmé and Jerome the night before, a lot of things had taken on a much clearer view than ever before. Emma had always wondered why Esmé had flown into such a rage the time Emma had locked herself inside the pantry when she was seven after an argument she’d had with Jerome. The reason had long since faded from her mind, but she could still picture her mother shaking her frantically by the shoulders and shouting: “What if there had been a fire, Emma? What then?!?”
“No offense,” Beatrice began carefully, “but that is sort of strange that your mother would make a rule against locking doors.”
“It’s because she’s afraid there might be a fire,” Emma explained calmly as the computer started up.
“Has there ever been a fire in the penthouse?” asked Sunny.
Emma shook her head. “Nope, not a single one. In fact, there’s never been a fire in this whole building ever since it was built back in the 1800’s.”
“I like your mother,” Beatrice said, hoping Emma wouldn’t take her words as personally as she had taken the ones at school. “She’s a lovely person.”
Emma smiled as she laid her hand on the mouse. “Thank you,” she said, and moved the arrow up to the Internet Explorer icon, which she clicked twice. A window opened, and the website for Café Salmonella filled the screen. “It was Jerome’s idea to make this our homepage,” Emma explained. “He likes to keep up-to-date on all the new dishes Carmelita creates.”
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Post by Jenny on Feb 13, 2008 16:56:07 GMT -5
Sunny smiled at that--she was happy to see how close Emma's family was, with so much support between them for each other. It reminded her of her own family, in a way, and it was refreshing to be around them after such an awful event recently in their lives.
Emma quickly found a search engine, and paused. What should she search? She knew she wanted to find out about her father, but she was wary of what her findings might be. Instead, her fingers begun typing, and she searched 'Esmé Squalor' first.
'That's you mother's--'
'I know,' Emma softly interrupted, scrolling quickly over the results. There were more than she suspected there might be, mostly articles with her name included--mostly by Geraldine Julienne. She clicked on one of them, and settled down to read it.
Her lips hung open a little as she scanned it, her eyes wide. The articles didn't know much, it seemed, and most of them were from years an years ago, before Emma was even born.
Notorious, it claimed, and cruel.
'Ran off with a violent criminal', well she'd known that before--but violent? Her heart skipped a beat or two. Emma hoped so badly that they were wrong, that she wasn't related to any sort of monster.
She hoped the fireman story might be true after all.
'In Auction,' she caught sight of, and then she stopped, shocked.
'Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire' she read, and then gasped aloud. Sunny had seen it too, and her eyes were wide to match the younger girl's.
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