The Paris jail was not a place Claudette Thenardier was unfamiliar with. The cracking stone walls covered in dirt and climbing weeds, the stench of people rotting away in their cells, the cries of those who have gone mad living in a cage of rock and metal bars. Claudette knew it all too well.
Many a times was she put in the Paris jail after getting caught out late with the Patron-Minette. Most of these times were just petty misdemeanors, though. They would lock her and her husband up for the night to keep them off the streets, then let them back out again in the morning.
This time, though, things would be different, Claudette believed. For one thing, she was put in a cell towards the back of the jail, instead of near the front like usual. Another thing that was different than in past circumstances was that Claudette was not put in a cell with her husband. Her husband was sent down a different hallway to a different row of cells. Her two daughters were put near the front of the jail. This was good for them-it meant they wouldn't stay locked up for too long- but for Claudette, her situation was less than satisfactory.
She now shared a cell with an elderly woman with a wrinkled face and two long grey braids that fell haphazardly down her back. She sat on the edge of bench in a curled up ball and only moved twice, so far. Once was to eat her morning stale bread, and the other was to use the small chamber pot in the corner of the stall. Since Claudette's arrival to the Paris jail, yesterday, her cell mate had said not a word to her. Claudette labeled her as mute and decided that she would be having a very lonely time for however long she'd be locked up for.
She didn't know how long she'd be locked up for. It depended on how much the police knew. They showed up in their apartment while her husband and the rest of the gang were arguing over who would go out the window first. But how long had they been watching? Did they even see the old man that was there? How do they know to even come up?
The old man must have escaped to tell the police, Claudette decided. She scowled at the thought of him. It was his fault she was here. It was his fault she wasn't still in Montfermeil as an innkeeper. He came to her home eight years ago and took away from them their little servant girl who had earned them so much money.
They had finally had a chance to earn back that money. They could move out of Gorbeau and buy beautiful things for themselves and their daughters. But her husband blew things out of proportion and now she was in the Paris jail sitting on a hard stone bench staring at a cracking wall and a mute old woman.
Claudette heard a cry coming from somewhere else in the jail and thought about what her daughters where feeling right now. "Poor lonely place," she muttered.
This caused the old woman to turn and look at her. It was the first acknowledgement she had received from the woman and took it as a cue to keep speaking to her. "My daughters are here too," Claudette said. "Eponine and Azelma. Poor babies. They are young. Only fifteen and seventeen." She sighed. "I can remember when I was that young. I used to be beautiful. My hair was a bit lighter then- an orangish bright red. It was long then and always flying all over the place. I had these rosy cheeks then too. They came natural, but sometimes I would take my Mother's rough and brighten them up. It didn't matter to her- she never used it. She never left her house for that matter. She just lied around all day in her bedroom in a drunken state. I hardly even saw her. My sister, Marie, and I were the real mothers of our house. Marie cared for the little ones and made sure there was bread on the table, no matter what I had to do to get it. There were seven of us- Marie and I and five little brothers. I don't know what happened to them all. Marie lives in England as a scullery maid. I ended up as a criminal in Paris."
The old woman nodded but did not say a word. Claudette rested her head on the wall. "Where did things go wrong?" She whispered to herself.
She thought about the answer to the question realized there was no one complete answer. Maybe things went wrong when she was as young as four and her Father was killed by falling bricks. Maybe it was when her Mother had the boys. Maybe it was when Richard left them. Maybe it was when Claudette and her friends took that trip to Montfermeil and she met Beltane Thenardier.
A drop of water fell on Claudette's head from the moisture on the ceiling. A jail guard came to her cell and slid two trays under the bars. "Claudette, Agatha, dinner," he said.
"What happened to my daughters and my husband," Claudette asked the guard, putting her hands on the bars.
The guard shrugged and walked to the next cell with their dinners. Claudette scowled and picked up her dinner. She took it over to her bench and sat down with the tray on her lap.
The old woman moved off of her bench and took her tray from the ground. "So, your name is Agatha," Claudette said.
Agathe looked at Claudette and nodded. Her face was so wrinkly it was difficult to see her eyes. Her lips were cracking and her face was dirty. She had been in the Paris jail for quite some time. She took her tray to her bench.
"I'm Claudette, by the way," Claudette said. "I don't think I ever told you. Claudette Thenardier." She swished around the food on her tray- some sort of brown broth with unidentifiable little pieces of something floating around in it. She tasted one. It resembled a potato in taste so she concluded that that's what it was.
Another drop of water fell on her. "Damn leaky ceiling," she said. "Must be raining outside." She thought back the start of her troubles. It had also been a rainy evening. She closed her eyes and remembered.