“Drink.” She said, her voice, a soft velvet whisper in his ear. “You’re running a fever. This’ll make it better.” A hot, burning liquid poured down his lips, and into his throat as he swallowed. A shiver passed through him, struggling not to cough out the medicine. Such a warm, pleasant sensation. It felt like poison to him. It made him drowsy. “I-..I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. It was never my intention to have the lady of the house assist me.” Thick scarlet liquid trickled down his pale lips— a trail of blood flowing down a path melting of snow.

“Oh, nonsense, young Maverick.” She scolded. “You gave all of us a fright out in the garden. And we were having such an enjoyable time too. Your cousin Mina tells me you’re quite gifted when it comes to playing the piano forte. We have one in the drawing room. Surely you could play a piece to entertain your beloved mother and I— a duet maybe? Once you recover, of course.”

“ Mademoiselle Baudelaire—“ He coughed.
“Chandelle. Please call me Chandelle, monsieur. There is no need for all those formalities in my household.” She placed the cork back in the small vial of medicine, and set it back in the beautifully ornate wooden box containing at least a dozen more vials of red liquid. “Please, monsieur Jan, there is no need for you to sit up. You’re sick. You should be resting. You really frightened little Mina, and the rest of us, losing consciousness just like that. This medicine should make you feel better in no time. Hopefully by supper time? I hear the Chef will be cooking duck a’lorange this evening. Your brother’s catch, I believe.”

A coughing fit overcame the young man as he sunk further into the covers, and set his head against the vividly embroidered pillows, a hand trying to cover up the cough, or at least make it sound less horrid. Lady Chandelle looked at him in slight horror, and attempted to assist him. “I beg of you, Lady Baudelaire, please leave me to my sickness, and delight the others with your presence. You’ve been here long enough, and they must be wondering if they should start getting concerned. It’s nothing more than a minor chest cold, I assure you. There’s no need for a medic. We already have enough with Mother being ill, and my sisters being unable to assist her. It’ll pass. Please don’t make a big fuzz about this little cough of mine. I dread the family will add another worry to their already endless list of—…Gardenias?” He blinked. His eyes had caught a glimpse of the bouquet of white flowers set in a glass vase beside him on the wooden night table.

“Your favorites, are they not?” Lady Baudelaire asked, looking at the flowers herself, and noticing the fallen petals for an instant. He began to cough once again, only allowing a couple of nods to serve as his poor reply to her inquiry. Yes, Gardenias. So beautiful. So delicate. So pure. Wait. How did you know? “You have very beautiful eyes, if you don’t mind my saying so, young Maverick. Your mother agrees in spite of her poor eyesight. Such a cold, icy blue. Yet, they differ from your twin’s. Not in color, or shape, of course. You two are identical in that sense, no doubt about that. There’s a…a certain innocence in your eyes, which Joseph lacks. Warmth— something untainted, and naive. Much like these flowers.” A soft giggle escaped those red-tinged lips, hints of a smirk almost visible on either corner of her delicate mouth. There's something almost angelic about them...

“Oh, but I digress, monsieur, and you must be sick of me already. The others must be tired of waiting too. Please forgive my idle prattle, but I do so much enjoy having someone to talk to. It’s been years since I’ve had company in this lonesome estate.” It’s a pleasure caring for your mother. I love her dearly. Mina as well, that precious little darling.” She continued to speak as she walked about the room. She seemed to be heading towards the door, now; the lower layers of her pompous silken dress dragging behind. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. The servants will come lend a hand in whatever it is you require. They’ve been instructed to do so. As long as you remain in my estate, you’ll be treated not as a guest, but as an actual member of the Baudelaire family. The same goes for Lady Maverick, Joseph, and Mina.”

To Be Continued...