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It’s funny how seemingly meaningless words can end up meaning so much more than they ever meant to. When Lemony and Beatrice were young she told him he that she would die for the VFD. So many of his friends and family had uttered these words, it was just another sign of commitment, an empty vow, but even then, hearing it from her broke his heart. Even then he knew she was probably right.
Rain beat down on the two fresh stone graves. Life is full of cliches, thought Lemony, and none of them positive. The graves were all that marked the life of two lovers, a husband and wife, who deserved so much better. The funeral had been and gone week ago. Few people had gone. Not even Lemony had dared show his face. He wasn’t exactly welcome in Beatrice’s life, he highly doubted he’d be welcome in her death. The Baudelaires had been an isolated family for many, many years and those who had known them, the noble and oh so cold VFD, had much more pressing matters to deal with. The children would need training after all.
The thought of the children set a thousand alarm bells ringing. If the graves were all that marked them then the children were all that remembered them. The real them that was. Good people, good friends, good people. Not the version of them that the VFD liked to cling onto. Lemony presumed that the three of them would be safe and sound in the care of their ‘uncle’ Monty. Their training would go smoothly with him. He was one of a rapidly shrinking group that Lemony considered to be truly noble. They would be safe with him, at least so he believed. For years he would wish that someone would walk up to him then and there and tell him how wrong he was.
But this small bit of levity didn’t answer the real question, his main question, the one that had been spinning round and round in his mind for days. Should he try to contact them? Deep down inside he knew the answer: absolutely not. They probably didn’t know he existed and that was for the best. Beatrice didn’t want him anywhere near her family. He was dangerous and as far as everyone was considered technically dead. Showing up at Monty’s door or even sending a letter would certainly blow his cover. That was a risk he was willing to take but the metaphorical set of explosives it would trigger wasn’t worth it. Enough damage had been done already.
Besides even if everything fell in his favour (which they never did), even if he could show up out of the blue and somehow not trigger yet another chain reaction, what could he possibly over them? He wasn’t exactly a positive influence on anyone’s life. He hadn’t been present in their parents lives for so long that he could barely claim to the know them anymore. He could tell them all about the old days. He had plenty of stories that at least sounded more adventurous than neglectfully dangerous (though whether they were or not was an entirely different matter). Even these weren’t particular helpful. They’d just cause more confusion and add to their rapidly mounting pile of questions. The only thing he could offer of use was his condolences and anyone with half of brain could manage that then.
So that was that then. His question had answered itself. He’d stay out of their lives, close his door, and continue pretending he didn’t exist. They’d be safe without him. Well perhaps not safe, no one was ever safe, especially not anyone so close to the VFD, but Monty would stir them clear of the harsher sides of the organisation. Maybe one day Monty would tell them about him and maybe then they’d understand all the decisions their parents made for them. They didn’t need him. They never would.