It's a long way to Paris from Montfermiel, and Eponine's feet are aching before the winter sun even rises. To the pampered little girl, it feels like the family have been walking for ages – no, that she and her Papa have been walking for ages, for her Mama sits on the trap, driving their old horse, and Azelma sits beside her, hiding her pale face in the folds of her Mama's skirts, away from the biting cold.
Eponine isn't cold. She's hot hot hot. Sweat drips down her face, and she longs to take off at least one of the six dresses she wears beneath her winter cloak. But every time she mentions it, her Papa glares and Eponine stutters into silence. He gives her the look that he used to reserve for that horrible Cosette. Is she the new Cosette?
Eponine can feel her eyes closing and she puts her hand on the back of the cart to steady herself. She feels exhausted. She feels another's touch, brief and gentle, and something crumbly being pressed into her hand. She opens her eyes, surprised. Papa had said no food until breakfast time, and goodness knows when that would be. But there in her hand was a hunk of dark plum cake, moist and rich. And it was Gavroche who had put it there, that tiny little boy, who, almost forgotten, had been bundled into the back of the wagon with the table and two odd chairs they had managed to salvage, and their remaining food from the kitchen. And Alphonsine. Eponine had made sure to bring her old doll. Funny that she had thought of that doll over her own brother.
She looks down at the cake in her hand. If Papa sees her with it, he'll shout and Gavroche will be in trouble too. Papa shouted at her a lot these days. But now he's at the front of their little procession, trying to urge the horse along; little good it will do them; the poor animal's half starved and is struggling with the heavy load, and anyway, if they go any faster, Eponine knows she won't be able to keep up. Still, whilst he's distracted, she crams the handful of cake into her mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly, before licking her lips and wiping her hands carefully on the back of her dress. There. Nobody would ever know now.
Papa had changed. He's not as fat as he used to be – not fat; cuddly. He used to have a pudgy belly that Eponine liked to lie her head on and pretend was a pillow, that Papa always grumbled at her good naturedly for bringing it up. But now his belly sags, empty but flabby. Food hadn't been good since Cosette had been taken away by that man. Or, it had been alright at first, but gradually, as less and less people frequented the inn, so the food grew less too.
Eponine had watched from the stairs as her Mama and Papa shouted at each other like they had shouted at Cosette. Hate was stamped by their hobnailed boots as they circled one another, arguing about debts and bills and giving it all up. Mama's complaints had got worse; she calls Papa all manner of horrible names now, and little Eponine blushed to hear some of the vile slurs that fell from her Mama's mouth.
Until, at last, one night, he had hit her. Mama, not Eponine. He shouted and he yelled and then he hit her. Madame Thenardier had fallen, but she was soon on her feet again, he cheek flushed. Eponine had thought her Mama was crying at first; she was making such peculiar noises, but then Madame's hand had shot out, as suddenly as the toad croaks in the gloom of the woods, and it was Papa who had fallen that time, right over the back of his chair. Eponine had laughed then, stifling her giggle by stuffing her fingers into her mouth.
But that was the last time Eponine had laughed. After that, there had been more arguing, and their voices rose so much that Azelma and Gavroche awoke and cried, and Eponine had had to run back before she was discovered.
They stayed in the inn for about six months after Cosette left. Papa drank the left over beer and sat in his chair by the fireplace, whilst Mama dismissed the old cook and sold off most of their furniture one piece at a time. Gavroche cried and played, the same as usual. He was but a child; he didn't know what was happening, and as long as he kept out of the way, his parents didn't care what he did. Azelma stuck more closely to Eponine than ever before. And Eponine… well, she tried to keep her siblings out of trouble. She had cried the first few times her Papa had hit her, right in front of him, which usually earned her an extra smack. She had learned, even in that short time, to keep her tears for her pillow.
The family trudge and trudge. The sun rises high in the sky and still Paris doesn't seem to be in sight. They stop for a picnic, and Eponine sits down, thankfully stretching out her aching legs. Gavroche hides the rest of the plum cake for him and Eponine to share later; there's no point in getting it out and showing it to be half eaten. That would just result in him, and perhaps Eponine too, ending up with a sore bottom.
Madame Thenardier blames it on her husband. She shouts at him, right there in the middle of the forest, where anybody could hear her.
"You stupid git, you. More interested in falling asleep, you are. Look at you, you great brute. Left my nice plum cake on the sideboard. I can see it now. The National Guard in MY kitchen sat on MY sides – eating – " and here, she takes to smacking her husband with her leather satchel, "-eating – MY – plum cake."
Eponine has to make Gavroche turn away so that they can hide their laughter. Azelma looks on at the two jealously. She doesn't like them having secrets without her. But the parents don't notice their children.
Eponine eats as much as she can, and she eats slowly, trying to draw out the time she is allowed to rest before she is pulled to her feet and made to continue on the trek again.
It's turning to dusk by the time the family reach the outskirts of Paris, and Eponine is exhausted. She has fallen asleep several times, and in the end, it was Gavroche who was made to walk, so that Eponine could have a rest. Poor little boy; he must have walked miles and miles on his little toddler feet and all Eponine could offer him was handfuls of fruitcake and comforting smiles.
By the time they get to Paris, it is she who is walking again, and she clings onto her Papa, though he tries to shake her away.
To Eponine, Paris looks terrifying. It's a tangle of murky streets; high buildings all crammed together, lit sparsely by gas lights. People hurry through the streets; boys and girls, some as little as Gavroche, run barefoot, each one more scantily clad than the next. Eponine watches them in bewilderment. Where were their parents? Why had they no clothes? Almost unconsciously, she draws even nearer to her Papa.
There were rich people too; not many, just three, getting into a fine carriage, edged with gold. Eponine stares. The lady looks like a doll, just like that doll that that man gave to Cosette. The doll that should have been hers. The doll that started all of this. Eponine looks away, sick.
She watches the people, and the people take no notice of her, or her Papa, and only just seem to notice the cart enough to skirt around it. After a few minutes, she tugs on her Papa's sleeve and asks,
"Where shall we go, Papa?"
"Shut up, 'Ponine." Her father pushes her away. He himself is pacing, muttering, and Eponine falls into step beside him.
"Left is the Rue Valaire and then the Rue Jardinier… and right, the Rue Declomier… I think. Where to go, though… Where to go?"
"Papa? Have we not a room here?" Eponine's voice trembles a little. She remembers her lovely little room at the inn, with her lovely bed, and their pictures and the dear little table holding the gas light she was NOT allowed to touch until three months ago when her Mama lost interest in lighting it.
"EPONINE!" Thenardier turns on his daughter, hand raising automatically to catch her on the cheek. But he stays himself, even as she cowers a little in front of him. "Didn't I tell you to SHUT UP and LEAVE ME BE? I'm working it out, ai'ght? Tell your mother to come 'ere."
Eponine flinches but nods, glad that he's only yelling her name and not hitting her. She delivers her message, and goes to stand back by the cart, running her hand up and down the horse's nose as her mother scrambles down. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a boy staring at her. He's a little older than her, and he's dressed in the most peculiar assortment of clothes. A cravat, far too large for him, and, Eponine is amused to see, tied in a double bow to try to hide the length, a too-tight waistcoat, trousers so worn that the velvet had rubbed away to the furry underside in places and – most ridiculous of all, a yellow dandelion tucked into his waistcoat button. Eponine giggles, not bothering to hide her laughter. She's secure in the knowledge that her hair has been brushed into a neat plait, and her clothes, though she wore six dresses, were good, She was better than this boy.
He, on the other hand, doesn't take kindly to Eponine's laughter, and comes closer to the cart. Close up, she can see his blue eyes and his full, cherry-red lips. He is about the most handsome boy Eponine has ever seen, and she blushes a little.
"Not so cocky now, Eponine." The boy smiles, showing brilliant white teeth.
"How do you know my name?" Eponine slides around to the other side of the horse, one hand on the horse's nose still.
"Everyone knows your name now, Eponine, thanks to that man yelling it out. Or they will, when I tell 'em."
He grins at Eponine, who simply stares at him. What a strange boy.
"And who are you, if you know my name?" She puts on her haughtiest voice, pulls herself up to her full height. The boy hides a smile at that. She's going to be fun, this one.
"Ah, well, I'm called different names, I am. Don't even remember me real one no more. Might not ever 'ave 'ad one for all I know. But they call me Montparnasse. 'Swhere I go, a lot. 'S where I take me pickin's."
"Oh." Eponine doesn't know what else to say. She doesn't know what Montparnasse is talking about. Montparnasse, on the other hand, smirks. It is evident to him that this Eponine is as green as the grass she has apparently walked on for the last eight – ten, maybe? years. He makes his mind up, right there and then that he is going to show this Eponine the ways of the world. Make her do what he says. He spots Azelma hanging out of the cart, watching her sister talk to him with alarm, and he turns with a smile to Eponine.
"She's pretty." He jerks a thumb towards Azelma, amused to see Eponine clench her fists and glance away. She says nothing though.
"Well you listen to me, Eponine. You're new here, aren't you? You come here when you want showing around and I'll show you Paris."
He glances off, and suddenly, Eponine is aware that she's being watched. She follows Montparnasse's gaze and spots a tall man in the shadows, thick set, with huge sideburns and stubble all over his thick neck and his face. He nods at Montparnasse and the young boy nods back.
"I have to go, Eponine. Meet me here tomorrow."
Montparnasse is gone as quickly as he had come, and Eponine shakes her head. She's tired and confused and just wants to sleep. She climbs onto the cart and curls up on the seat.
"Who was that, Eponine?" Azelma asks. Eponine shrugs. "Why were you talking to him?" Azelma presses.
"Because he talked to me. He seems nice, 'Zelm'. Maybe Paris won't be so bad?"
She looks up, in time to see her Mama and Papa return to the cart.
"You. Off." Thenardier beckons at his older daughter, and helps Madame back onto the cart in Eponine's place.
"We're moving. Keep close, 'Ponine. Your Ma won't forget me if I get you lost in this stinking city on the first day."