Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables nor any charater from V. Hugo...
a/n: This is my first attempt at writing a story like this. Read it and tell me your thoughts. I could use the help. P.S. The story takes place a year or two before Javert's suicide.
As the lazy afternoon sun shone on the market venders, tiny beads of sweat started to glisten on Margo's forehead. Whether it was because of her previous long walk or perhaps the weather was going to be a repeat of yesterday, she wasn't sure. One thing she did know, she was hungry and needed something quick to satisfy the dull ache in her stomach. Margo wasn't the loveliest girl to look at, passable yes, but no head turner. Her mother had more then once remarked on what a pity her eyes were so dark. Neither did Margo care for humid days. Her chestnut hair became an unruly mess in the humidity, in spite of her attempts at taming it back in a ribbon. The bustle of people blocked her path. The raunchy cry of drunks staggering back into their cramped homes only added to the tension. Her tongue glided over her parched lips. What to buy? I only have a few sous left Margo thought. Like the cool breeze that blew on her forehead, she found her answer.
Steadily she weaved through the crowd ignoring several venders selling their wares. She closed in toward the pear stand. Ah! How she loved pears! She came to an abrupt stop and eyed her quarry. All of the juicy pears were stacked very neatly in eight rows. The biggest ones wore a patch of red. Margo picked up the largest pear that sported a rosy tint, brought it to her nose, and inhaled. She closed her eyes. It sure was a relief to her unlike the pungent stench of wet horse manure, overly ripe vegetables, raw meat and ale that wafted in the air. Her left hand eagerly fingered through her coat pocket making sure the sous stayed put. It wasn't the first time she lost a coin due to the hole in her pocket. Her right hand picked up another ripe pear. Margo asked the haggard looking woman behind the stand how much for it; however, before she could finish her last word, an image caught her eye. Leaning back and a bit to the right, Margo saw a boy and an older man in a scuffle. The old gentleman had grabbed the gamin by the arm while the child kicked and squirmed trying to free himself. The boy seemed about 12 years old, but probably was younger due to the fact he was so gaunt. The boy had pick pocketed the old gent and now began to howl like a caught animal, cussing all the while. In the meantime, the old woman had lost patience trying to get Margo's attention. She reached over and snatched both pears out of Margo's hands. At that instant, Margo shot back an annoyed look at the old woman and snapped, "Why'd you do that for?"
"What you wait 'in for Moi'selle? Gonna buy it or snatch it up like that gamin did to that ol' gent?" croaked the woman.
"No, no of course not!" Margo stammered shaking her head.
She quickly took the sou out of her pocket, which in turn produced a look of relief on the worn woman's face. Only then did Margo get her pears back.
"Thank you" Margo said, more to herself then to the old woman.
She turned and stuffed one pear in her pocket and began eating the other while crossing towards the middle of the square. The cool juice ran down her chin and into her hand. She cared little of fine etiquette; instead, she wiped her hand down the side of her brown dress. She looked about trying to find the pilfered old man but could not see him. Margo shrugged it off musing to herself how the gamin put up such a fight before he fled. As she was thinking on these things, she by habit placed her left hand upon her right wrist to turn her bracelet. But the bracelet was not there.
"No, Oh my God, not again!" she cried.
Margo glanced down her brown eyes, eagerly scanned the dirty cobblestones, left, and right, but it was nearly impossible for all the people there. Too many legs.
"Come on, find it!" she cursed herself. No use trying to get help, it was too chaotic. Frantically, she ran back and forth around carriages and idle customers, even pushing some to get back to the old woman's pear stand.
As soon as Margo arrived at the stand, she saw an old man. He wore a faded black gardener's hat while tending the pears. She had not noticed him before. The old man's wife was sitting further back behind the stand adoring a silver string in her hands. It gleamed in the sun.
"Madam?" Margo asked, leaning forward a little, then catching her breath, continued, "I just lost my bracelet now, and noticed your holding one in your hand…it's mine."
"Eh?" the old hag scrunched up her lined face.
"What you say Mademoiselle?"
Margo cleared her throat and spoke more confidently. "Madam, You're holding my bracelet, I can see it now, and I lost it while I was paying for my pears. I dropped it by mistake."
Margo fully expected her bracelet back, proudly extended her right palm upward, and said. "I'd like it back now."
Instead, the old man quipped back, "What? That bracelet belongs to me wife, I got that fer her, your sadly mistak'n" as he shook his head.
"I beg your pardon, Sir!" Margo shot back, surer now that she saw the engraving on the chain , but continued, "My bracelet fell as I was buying pears, just now."
Turning to the old woman, "You do remember me, don't you?" Her eyes glanced from the bracelet in the old hag's hands to the rummy man's eyes, back to the aged woman's face.
"Missy, I've ner' saw you b'for, ever. Don't know what yer talk'ng about." The old woman explained.
"You n'ver came an' bought no pears!" yelled the old man, "You came to see me wife's bobble and want it fer yerself, that's it, isn't that right?"
"No. no! that's not true." Margo replied, stunned at what was happening.
The old man sensing he was losing ground, suddenly grabbed the half-eaten pear from her hand.
"Hey! Give it back!" shouted Margo. While the old man wrestled the pear from Margo's hand he caught hold fast her other wrist.
"Laurie, go an' git the 'gendarmes, we's got a thief!" called the old man to his wife.
Margo's heart sank within her. She was determined to get free from his wretched grasp. As they struggled, what ever remained of the pear was quickly squashed. It dropped in the mire below. Bystanders started watching her.
"Here she is!" cried the old woman in glee, pointing an arthritic finger at Margo. As if Fate itself was against her, Margo swung around, her heart beat faster. Trying in desperation to free herself from this old man's tight grasp, she heard footsteps. As the sound of footsteps and clanking metal came closer, the bystanders gave way. Two gendarmes accompanied a figure in a dark overcoat. The tall middle-aged man dressed in a long black coat came forward. He shooed the remaining bystanders away. His authoritarian voice seemed to match well with his scowl and bushy growths of hair on either side of his cheeks.
Turning towards the old man the dark man said abruptly, "What is going on here?"
"Monsieur, Inspector Javert" began the old man, who slightly bowed, in a voice imitating sweetness, "this 'ere girl, demanded me wife's bracelet, an' said it was hers. We n'ver saw her before. Wad we did see was the pears she swiped from us in 'er hand, that's what!"
"I didn't swipe your pears, I bought them, it's you who stole from me, you old goat!" Margo shouted.
"We n'ver sold ya pears, Missy, watch yer tongue!", snapped the old woman.
Just as Margo twisted her arm free from her captor, a pear fell out of her pocket onto the ground.
The old hag bent down, picked up the pear, and exclaimed in triumph, "Hah, 'eres proof, Monsieur Insp'ctor! Here's me prized pear!"
The old man clasped his hands. In vain, Margo searched her pockets for the other sou for proof she had the money to buy the pears, but none showed up.
"Oh, shit", she murmured. It must have fallen in the struggle,she thought.
"Where is this bracelet?" asked Javert.
"'ere it is!" the old hag declared who proudly held it high.
Javert admired the silver bracelet for a moment in his fingers, gently moving the tiny chain links that glistened in the light. He turned the chain over, read the engraving, then glanced from Margo, to the old woman, and then back to Margo again. Swiftly he dropped the bracelet in his coat pocket explaining to the old couple the procedure of them having to make a further report at the station. In addition, the evidence would have to be looked over more thoroughly before the jewelry was given to its rightful owner. Pointing to the gendarme on his left, he ordered him to handcuff Margo and put her in the fiacre. Upon hearing this, both the old man and his wife were relieved that justice had been done, yet saddened at the temporary loss of their jewelry. Javert excused the second gendarme to his post, and then dismissed the few remaining gawkers. After which he turned on his heel and climbed into the fiacre. A gendarme climbed up the fiacre to sit at the driver's seat. He gave a sharp whistle, which perked up the horses' ears. The fiacre lurched forward.
In the carriage ride to the police station, Margo rubbed her sore wrists. She spoke up first.
"I didn't do it, Monsieur Le Inspector." Margo said, as she glanced up at Javert through her dark eyelashes.
Javert didn't notice her, he was busy writing down something on a small pad. As he glanced up at her, his head moved side to side slowly as the fiacre moved along the uneven road, but his eyes were steady on her.
"State you full name." he said in a stern voice.
"Margo." Came the reply.
"What is your surname?" Javert asked.
"de Nunez" Margo answered, glaring at him.
"As in N-u-n-e-z?" Javert's voice hinted at surprise.
"Yes, you know Spanish?" she asked.
Javert was too busy writing to answer, without looking up he asked.
"What is the date of your birthday?"
"Summer." Came the reply.
Javert was growing impatient with the one-word answers. He continued in a firm voice.
"What month and year?"
"August, but I'm not sure of the exact date." Margo said.
Javert let out an aggravated sigh, and frowned at her.
"Really I don't know, Monsieur," Margo further explained, "I was born the day before my father turned 31."
"What does that mean to me? I am asking you your birthday, do you or do you not you know when you were born?" Javert tone darkened.
"Monsieur", Margo drew in a breath, "please let me explain, my mother only knew my father for a winter. She didn't remember exactly what day he said he was born on, either the 23rd or the 24th of August."
"What year?" Javert asked again.
"1810" Margo answered.
"Where did your family come from?"
"My mother's family came from a little town called Costa Brava. Spain."
"Where were you born?"
"In Figueras, near the border." Margo replied.
"Your mother's first name?" Javert quizzed.
"Isabella" Margo replied innocently.
Javert's pencil that had been writing since the beginning of the questioning suddenly stopped. He re-read what he had wrote. Then once more. The fingers on his left hand gestured very slightly as if counting. Margo wondered why he was asking more about her family and not about her side of the story. His next question seemed hesitant, rhetorical. When he did speak, he cleared his throat, and asked, "What is your occupation?"
"I used to work with my mother, as a seamstress, washer woman or whatever jobs we could find." Margo explained.
"She passed away last winter," Margo added, looking out the side window closest to her.
Javert starred at her, his lower jaw twitched. As Margo continued, the only sound was the horses hoof beats and the occasional clank of the metal chain from the handcuffs.
"Some of our closest family came to the funeral, but they've since moved on. "
Her voice trailed off, as she wiped a tear from her eye and turned to look into Javert's face. He didn't seem as grave as before. Why the change? She once saw that look. But where?
Javert lowered his dark eyes and resumed. "Where was your father from and what occupation?"
Margo questioned herself, What is with wanting to know all about my family? She did not want to ask him just yet, but decided she had to. When she did, he chided her," You're in no position to ask questions, your job is to answer them!"
Margo shivered then looked out the window again, and tried to answer his question.
"I never knew my father; he left my mother shortly after I was born. That is what was told me. Only thing I know is that he left my mother with nothing, not a sou. He never came back. Ever.
Margo tried to conceal her laugh," he was too busy to be bothered by her. We struggled, she scrimped and saved just to feed and cloth me, many nights she did without dinner" Her family would not take her back because she had a child out of wedlock. She had no place to go, nowhere. Said he'd always love her" Margo's voice trailed off. In a sarcastic laugh Margo continued, "Yeah, right!" Nodding her head. "he loved her so much that all that was important was to shack up a girl and leave her with the pieces to pick up, 'cause the law is more important!" Pain cracked in her voice. In boldness she turned her head from the window and snarled, "An ideal model of a father wouldn't you say?"
Upon that last statement, Javert shot back a look that would have sent shivers down any hardened criminal. Instead, he shivered. Margo had said that sentence so empathetically filled with anger and hurt that in looking into her eyes he saw his very own eyes stare back at him. It was if an invisible hand had just slapped him coldly across the face. He took it full force, and swallowed hard. As his eyes lowered to read the paper, what he had written spoke volumes. He shut his eyes quickly before they betrayed his true feelings, questions he often thought of in the night in the haunted quietness of his room, questions he never voiced, from which he could not escape. For across from him sat the answer.
Perhaps it was the sun moving behind a twilight cloud, that made his face darken, and showed the lines in his furrowed brow. In a grave voice to hide his shock, he spoke slowly,
"You would dare speak of your father like that?"
"I have no reason to speak otherwise! Besides, I would want him to know exactly what I think of him. Of what that selfish blackguard put my mother and I through, you wouldn't know!" Margo glared back at him; her face flushed with anger, then in embarrassment for her rash tongue. Javert for the first time in his life kept his mouth shut.
The fiacre slowly made a turn towards the station, the horses breath labored.
Inside the carriage time stood still. Minuets passed by. Neither stranger spoke for a long time. Slowly, Javert pulled out of his right side pocket a string of silver. He let it fall between his slender fingers. He held it gently then broke the silence.
"Where did you get this? He asked. His voice was quiet.
"My mother." Margo looked away, then said, "She gave it to me before she died."
"Do you know who gave it to her?" he quizzed.
"No, she never told me." Margo sighed.
Between Javert's thumbs, he read silently the inscription on the silver chain. He was lost in thought. Suddenly, Javert leaned sideways and replaced the bracelet in his coat pocket. He picket up his notepad and started writing again. After some length, he flipped shut the notepad with his long fingers and shoved it into his side coat pocket. He cleared his voice and said. "That'll be all for now."
Margo's hands went up, the chain clanked, shaking her head in utter disbelief. It was all too much to bear, in a tumble of words Margo cried, "Monsieur Inspector Javert, don't you want to hear my side of the story? Do you? Aren't you going to ask me what I did? Why did you arrest me and not the real thieves? They are the ones at fault!"
Javert let out a sigh, crossed his arms over his chest, and said," Alright, tell me your side of the story".
Margo proceeded to tell Javert the whole story, from her entering the market square to when they both met. At length she caught her breath and asked Javert, "Do you believe my side of the story, Monsieur? Now, can you honestly say I'm at fault?"
The gendarme pulled the fiacre to a stop and jumped down from the driver's seat. Meanwhile, Javert leaned forward and grasped Margo's manacled wrist. How strange, thought Margo, that the feel of his warm hand would send a shudder down her spine. Javert paused a little, looked into her dark eyes, and replied," I already know who is at fault."