Author's Note: A little Les Miz through the eyes of one the most observant people in the world, a servant. This little beauty popped into my head at one in the morning and wouln't leave me until I wrote it out. Hope you enjoy, and for the love of _____ review would 'ya?!
Shadows of Doubt
"Will that be all Monsieur le Mayor?" The maid fidgeted slightly with her apron. Madeline looked up distracted from the piles of paper on his desk, obviously engrossed in whatever activity he was pursuing.
"Yes, that will be all for now; oh and if you would tell Sister Simplice to keep an eye on Mademoiselle Fantine while I am at the factory." His dark head once again bent over the desk, knowing she would leave as quietly as she came.
"Yes Sir." She bobbed a curtsy and closed the door sighing. What an enigma that man was; tirelessly working on behalf of those who could not help themselves, but with no close friends. He was the patron saint of the working man, but outsider to all men. She quirked her eyebrows at her own ridiculous meditations, what did she care if he was a saintly hermit? It made her job easier, usually. She turned at the hallway and headed toward the kitchens, meanwhile thinking of the groceries needed for the coming week.
She needed to go to the marked but didn't relish the idea of braving the outside world or its inhabitants. It would mean playing nice with the town matrons, something she abhorred, not to mention having to haggle over the price of the roast meat with the butcher. He took advantage of her age and the fact that the smell, not the sight of blood made her queasy. But at least she could wander into the café and have a quiet moment to herself.
She frowned at this; quiet moments were getting rarer these days. It seems she was designated not only as a maid and nurse, but as a companion to the aging sister as well. The sister was nice enough, but she couldn't find much she could talk to the stern woman about that didn't relate to the Church, work of the house, or the miserable young woman in their care. Such a wretched creature she was, slowly turning to dust before their very eyes and always about her daughter! Her neediness seemed like a repugnant stench to her. She didn't know what it was, but she couldn't stay more than a few minutes in her presence. She was such a victim. A stab of guilt accompanied this thought, it's not like the poor woman asked for any of this to happen to her, yet. . . .
No! She would not pursue this ungracious line of thought. Was it not her duty and honor to tend to the sick as the Lord commanded? Were they not all wretched creatures in His sight? But what was it that disgusted her so? She scrubbed her hands raw to get rid of the soot and grime of the day, or doing penance for her traitorous thoughts whispered a small voice. The young maid shivered. She stared at her red hands and gave another deep sigh, a swell of pity sweeping through her. Maybe it was crueler to keep the wretch alive, clinging to false hope of a long life filled with her daughter's laughter. What a loathsome lie. Why did the Master tell it to her? They all knew she wouldn't last the winter, why? She set her jaw and firmly set these thoughts aside as she put on her shawl. These were thoughts for the dark of night not when there was work to be done, with that she grabbed her basket and headed to the Square the shadows of doubt clinging to her.