Chapter One
1823
Jean Maximilien Lamarque was a man who spent most of his life reflecting upon his past decisions. Every choice, whether it led to a good or bad solution or situation, was analyzed to death. Every single memorable mistake was torn apart, bit by bit, so that he would have an understanding on why it had been erroneous. To those who knew him personally - and there were few, as he was a secretive man - it was a habit of his they were rather fond of.
To the general public, he was regarded as a terribly wealthy man who never hesitated to press a spare franc into the dirtied palm of a street urchin on his way from church. Despite his family's prestigious position in the bourgeoisie community, he would oftentimes be found conversing with those well below his class. It was strange behaviour for a man of such grandiose fortune, but nobody was bold enough to question his motives.
Lamarque did not flaunt his wealth either. Instead of living in a pretentious estate with polished marble flooring with a battalion of formally dressed wait staff, he resided in a cozy hovel a good walking distance between his favorite book shop and his favorite patisserie. His furniture did not boast any sort of wealth as much as they did of jutting nails and rough textures.
He was also notable for taking nightly walks. No one dared rob him, even as he walked past the most dangerous alleys of France, as he was widely regarded as "the people's man" and had saved many a thief from starvation by his charitable habits. He unwillingly possessed a kind of authoritative power that had even the dirtiest of street scum bowing to him as he walked past.
He had no wife nor a child waiting for him in his hovel, as he had no interest in obtaining either in his earlier years. At the age of fifty-two, however, he regretted that decision immensely. He longed for a child of his own whose love for him would be unconditional, whom he could protect and pass on his burdening fortune when he himself passed. But it seemed too late.
So, instead of spending his nights in front of a fire with a wife and a child by his side, he paced around the streets near his home. A street gamine would approach him and he would send them away with some pocket change, but he would remain deep within his mind, analyzing every mistake he'd ever made. Every time he remembered how he'd turned down a woman who had offered him a chance at the family he had once thought he would never need, he'd shake his head at himself and mutter, "You fool."
The people's man talked to himself quite a bit out of loneliness. But the general public didn't know that. They assumed that he was planning another eloquent speech to deliver to the public.
Little they know.
On the eve of Christmas, Lamarque was in the midst of his evening walk when a cry of pain alerted him. He stormed into the alley where it had come from and discovered the cause of the wail. A thin young woman clutched her side painfully as he approached. She whimpered painfully as an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. From afar, Lamarque could see her quaking shoulders and hear her chattering teeth. Her clothes barely covered the essentials, and she was far too exposed to the biting wintry air to be at optimal health. He also noted with dismay that she looked to be no older than thirty.
"Good gracious, Madame," he said cordially, slowly pulling his coat off of his shoulders. "What has happened to you?"
The woman finally looked up at him. Her large green eyes were overflowing with tears. He watched her gaunt face as she prodded a few spaces in her mouth where teeth were missing before responding croakily.
"M-Monsieur, I have a child waiting for me. She sorely needs me to - to live."
Lamarque stepped closer to her and draped his coat around her shaking shoulders. His sleeved arm brushed temporarily against her choppily cut black hair. She eyed the coat on her shoulder with a mixture of confusion and contempt before continuing.
"The money I've been earning is for her, b-but I've been robbed, and without that money she will d-die." She sobbed. "And I will not make it through this evening either!"
Lamarque knelt down beside her and looked her in the eye. "Where is your child, Madame?"
She wiped her tears away with a dirtied finger. "With an innkeeper in Montfermeil. The man's name's T-Thenardier."
Lamarque nodded as he slid one arm underneath her knees. The other one went behind the small of her back. She whimpered painfully, but he ignored it. With slight difficulty, he got up onto his feet and lifted her. He found that she was lighter than a feather. He began to carry her out of the alley. The moonlight hit her as soon as they stepped out of the shadows, placing a spotlight upon the bleeding gash in her side.
"What happened to you, Madame?" he asked worriedly as he headed for the hospital. "Who are you?"
The woman groaned in pain. "My name is Liesel Bellamy." She inhaled sharply and added, "I infuriated a man I was hoping to have as a customer. He robbed me of my savings."
The realization of the frightful situation dawned on him. "Madame, as soon as you are well, you will never resort to that type of work again," he vowed. "I will take you and your child in. Neither of you will want for anything ever again. I will send for your child immediately to prove this."
The woman remarked then, in an airy voice that worried Lamarque greatly, "Her name is Annemarie. She's nine. Her father abandoned us soon after she was born."
"Shh," he said soothingly. "As soon as you are under the care of a doctor, I will personally retrieve your Annemarie."
The Thenardier inn was more decrepit than Lamarque had expected. The sign that bore its name was on the verge of falling onto an unlucky passerby, the windows were cracked, and it reeked something terrible. The moment he'd walked in, he'd been accosted by a strange woman who seemed hell-bent on stealing his sachet of coins.
The innkeeper, Thenardier, was an obvious con artist. Lamarque had met quite a few of them before, when he was a more naive lad in Versailles, but he had smartened since then. Upon asking of Annemarie's whereabouts, Thenardier's hospitable smile dissipated almost immediately. In its place was a lecherous grin.
"Ah, I see you've spotted little 'Marie during one of her errands! Seems like a hard worker, she does, but she's nothing more than a lazy-"
Lamarque was not interested in hearing Thenardier's spiel. He could tell that Thenardier would not easily give up Annemarie, thus he quickly pulled out a few bills from his purse and held it in front of Thenardier's face, silencing him.
"Are we agreed?" he asked coldly. "Fifteen hundred for Annemarie."
Thenardier's eyes widened at the sight of the papers. "Yes, yes, Monsieur, we have a deal." Grabbing the bills, he added gruffly, "The little brat's in the wood behind the inn."
Lamarque did not have to walk far to find her. Halfway into the wood, he discovered a waifish young girl with matted black hair near a poorly dug well. She clutched a wooden bucket of water close to her as though it would protect her. As he came closer, he saw that she was dressed in rags and her skin was streaked with soot. Clearly she had not been in proper living conditions.
Upon noticing him, Annemarie set down the bucket and ran to hide behind the thick trunk of a nearby tree.
"Do not be afraid of me," he called out to her. "I have come for you in place of your mother."
"Maman?" Annemarie said cautiously, stepping shyly from behind the tree. "What about Maman?" Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She could not remember her mother, but she knew that she existed somewhere out there.
Lamarque closed his eyes tightly. He remembered the gasp that had emitted from Liesel, the way that she had gone limp in his arms, the curt shake of the head from the nurse in the hospital.
"Your mother is with God, dear Annemarie." He heard her cry out in shock and continued with a heavy heart. "Before she departed, she sent for me to save you. From now on, you will live in my protection."
Annemarie stepped closer to him. The moonlight slipped through the spindly branches of the trees surrounding the pair and shone on her. He could see her thick eyebrows and red (albeit chapped to the point of bleeding) lips, both inherited from her mother. She extended a hand to him after a pause.
"Will you be like a papa to me?" she asked quietly.
He knelt down, ignoring the pail of water that he subsequently knocked over. "Yes, Annemarie." He took her hand and smiled. "I will be father and mother to you."
With that, Annemarie and Lamarque were off. In the fiacre on the ride back to his home, she rested her head on his lap. No sooner had her dirty locks brushed against his trousers did he feel a sense of protectiveness over the young girl. He brushed her hair away from her face as she slept peacefully for the first time in years.
Several weeks passed. In no time at all, it became clear to Lamarque that his humble abode was not going to be enough for his new daughter. Annemarie expressed often that she appreciated her new life with him, but he sensed that he wasn't giving her enough. After some deliberation and searching, he purchased a larger home in Saint Michele with a spacious backyard in which she could play and garden in. She was thrilled by the news, which only confirmed his earlier suspicions.
While he waited for the house to be furnished, he bought her trinkets and clothing that he found to be appropriate for her. Annemarie was always delighted by his purchases, as she had not once been spoiled in her life. She detested the discolored rags she had worn day in and day out while under the Thenardiers' "care", and had only a rag doll that the Thenardiers' eldest daughter had grudgingly given her during her first night in the inn. She was pleased to see the rags go.
Promptly after the estate on fifty-five rue Plumet was furnished, they moved in. Annemarie was delighted by their new home, especially because the garden housed dozens of butterflies in various colors. She adored the outdoors, but Lamarque feared that she, like her late mother, would be tainted by the sinful ways of the world, and thus kept her away from the public. He ventured out alone for groceries and business only when she was safe and asleep in their gated home, and returned as quickly as possible.
One day, she asked him if she could accompany him to the town square. Lamarque was already dressed and prepared for the unpredictable February weather, and was slightly put out by her delaying him.
"Absolutely not, Annemarie," he responded sternly. "It is dangerous out there, and you are too young."
"When will I get to go with you?" she asked insistently.
Lamarque thought for a moment. "When, pray tell, is your next birthday?" he said.
Annemarie thought for a moment. "Maman and I used to celebrate it on the last day of May."
"Then you may come with me on the last day of May," Lamarque promised, albeit grudgingly. "But for now, it is time for your nap."
