Chapter 2: Mayor Madeleine's Secret

Cosette was a shy child by nature. Quiet and reserved, she was the sort of child that most parents dreamed of—gentle, loving, and obedient to a fault. Had she grown up in a more traditional home, such qualities would have been praised, but having been subject to the Thénardiers' particular brand of cruelty, her meekness unfortunately served only to invite further abuse. As a result, the girl had withdrawn further into herself and was so timid when Valjean first took her in that for weeks he could barely get a word out of her aside from the occasional "yes, monsieur." When he'd presented her with a china doll, her eyes had widened in delight, and she'd thanked him profusely…but as soon as they'd arrived at M-sur-M, she'd placed the doll upon a shelf, and he had yet to see her take it down, though she admired it from afar. She was by no means ungrateful; she simply did not know how to play. And she never seemed to smile.

It had worried him at first, thinking that he was doing something terribly wrong and that perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew in agreeing to care for Fantine's child. But children are resilient, and gradually, after months of coaxing, he began to notice a change in her behavior. It was subtle at first—the slight upward turn of her lips at something he said, the way she automatically reached for his hand rather than shying from his touch—little things that would seem trivial to most but made his old heart leap for joy. The day she took the doll down from the mantle, he knew everything would be alright.

And so it was…for a while….

xxxx

"Cosette, I'm going out for a bit. I have a few errands to run. Would you like to come with me or would you prefer to stay here?"

He hated leaving her alone in the house, but there were times when he had little choice. Hiring a maid had seemed too risky in his early years of freedom, and to do so now after years of taking care of himself seemed like frivolous spending. It would, of course, be another job—another way that he could hire someone from the community—but the possibility of being discovered still concerned him. Nevertheless, he thought Cosette could use a female figure in her life, and the poor girl had been doing chores ever since she was old enough to hold a broom. But when he'd approached her with the idea, she had firmly shook her head. Although she had learned to trust Valjean over the past few months, she was still a bit wary of anyone other than the mayor. She was used to being alone, she said, and the thought of a stranger living in the house made her uncomfortable.

The girl looked up from her make-believe tea party on the floor. "I think I'm going to stay here this time, Papa."

Papa. Oh, how he loved that wonderful word!

She pointed to the doll that sat across from her propped up against the sofa. "Catherine hasn't finished her tea yet."

Valjean smiled and chuckled to himself. "Alright, then. I'll be back within an hour or two. Be careful."

Cosette ran over to the door, wrapping his legs in an embrace. "Goodbye, Papa."

He planted a soft kiss on top of her head. "Goodbye, Cosette."

xxxx

Javert had been on patrol all night and most of the morning. He always took the worst shifts—the ones that no one else wanted or was willing to do—so the odd hours were nothing new; however, when his replacement failed to show up on time to relieve him of his duties, he had become rather cross. He had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, and the lack of sleep was beginning to have an effect on him. His nerves were wearing thin, and if he hadn't already earned a reputation as the most intimidating man on the police force, his current sour expression certainly would have done the trick.

It had been several months since his trip to Paris, and he was no further in proving that Madeleine was, in fact, Valjean. He retained his suspicions, of course, but the Prefect had made it very clear that intuition alone would not be enough to bring him in. He still hadn't fully recovered his dignity from that last encounter with his superior officers, and he found it increasingly difficult to continue to address the mayor with terms of respect. It was ironic, really—during his first few months of being stationed at M-sur-M, Javert had noticed that Madeleine took great pains to avoid running into him (another fact that would seem to indicate he was Valjean); now the opposite was nearly true. Of course, some interaction was inevitable, and given the rather unlucky start to his day, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when a smiling Mayor Madeleine rounded the corner and headed in his direction.

The mayor tipped his hat. "Good morning, Javert."

The inspector forced a polite response, returning the gesture. "Monsieur le Maire."

The words were acid on his tongue. This man was no more a "monsieur" than the little gamins on the street. And he was certainly no mayor!

"I trust the streets are safe as usual under your careful watch?"

"Of course." Safe from all except the convict masquerading as the city's mayor.

Madeleine's grin widened. "Nothing gets past you, Javert."

"No." Javert's expression darkened. "Indeed, it does not, monsieur."

The mayor's smile faltered. He looked as though he was about to respond when a piercing scream ripped through the air followed by the sound of gunfire. Without a second thought, both men dashed off in the direction of the disturbance, Javert brandishing his cudgel and Madeleine trailing close behind. Racing down the alleyway, they came upon a very flustered looking young woman.

"Stop! Thief!"

Javert noticed the mayor almost imperceptibly cringe. To the untrained eye, it would have gone unnoticed, but Javert immediately picked up on it. He regarded the man with a slightly smug smile before addressing the lady.

"What happened here, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, Inspector! Monsieur le Maire! A man just stole my purse! My fiancé tried to run after the thief when a second man attacked him! I saw them run this way." She pointed down the alley. "But I lost track of them. Then I heard gunshots!"

Javert nodded. "As did we. I'm certain other members of the police force are already on their way to help. I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, monsieur."

Ignoring Madeleine for the moment, Javert continued to head in the direction he thought the men might have taken. He knew these streets better than anyone and had a fairly good idea of the escape routes most commonly used by criminals, but when they came to a dead end, he hesitated. The path to the right led back to the main road while the path to the left ended near an abandoned warehouse. His instinct told him to go left, thinking that the man would head for the more deserted part of town, but he stopped when he felt the mayor grab his arm and pull him in the opposite direction.

"This way! They won't use that route. It's too obvious. They'll likely head out into the streets in hopes that we'll lose them in the crowd."

Javert started to reprimand him but quickly remembered just whom he was working with.

He thinks like a thief, he reminded himself. He knows how their minds work.

Mentally storing away the mayor's self-incriminating remark for later use, Javert reluctantly followed his lead and ran after him. Within seconds of emerging into the bustling street, however, he began to regret his decision, thinking that perhaps Madeleine—being a thief himself—had taken pity on the scoundrel and intentionally led him in the wrong direction. But then he spotted it—a scuffle between two men heading down a side road. If the thieves' plan had been not to draw attention, they were failing miserably; two or three of his fellow officers were already running toward them. But they wouldn't be fast enough. Shoving the mayor aside, Javert sprinted ahead, arriving just in time to deliver a crippling blow to the head of the man who had pulled a gun on who he assumed was the woman's fiancé.

Panting heavily, the man sat up, lifting the purse victoriously. "Thank you, Inspector!" He gave an appreciative nod, then brushed himself off and headed back in the direction from whence he came when he noticed his bride-to-be waving at him from across the street.

Javert started to handcuff the unconscious man but stopped short. Something wasn't right. They had caught one of the criminals, but where was the man's accomplice? He glanced up.

"Javert, watch out!"

A force more powerful than anything he'd ever felt suddenly rammed into his side, knocking the breath out of his lungs as he slammed into the brick wall of a corner store. The thunderous explosion of a pistol echoed down the alley, and Madeleine fell in a crumpled heap at his feet.

Momentarily stunned, the inspector blinked. Could it be that I was mistaken after all? He shook it off.

"AFTER HIM!"

In the blink of an eye, the police who had gathered scattered like flies, one dragging the half-conscious form of the first crook, the other two racing like mad after the man who had dared to open fire on an officer.

Having seen to his duty, Javert turned his attention back to the mayor, eyes filled with agonizing guilt and remorse. This man who had saved his life could not possibly be who he thought he was. He knelt down, noticing the bright red splotch that had blossomed on the mayor's chest.

"Monsieur le Maire," he whispered quietly, "you need a doctor." He slipped one arm behind his back, intending to help him stand. "I will take you to the hospital."

"NO!" He gasped in pain. "No doctors! Just help me get home."

"Monsieur le Maire—"

"I'll be fine."

The inspector started to peel away the fabric from his chest.

"Javert, please!"

"Monsieur le Maire, you've just been shot! You're blee—"

Javert stopped breathing. There, underneath all the blood-soaked layers of cloth, was a number burned into the skin. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet those of the other man whose face had gone white as a sheet. His gaze hardened.

"Jean Valjean."

And then the mayor fainted in his arms.