A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Chapter 7: On Old Gents and Fine Ladies

Once again Gavroche woke up to a gray, chilly dawn. 'A fine day for terrible questions,' he thought as he hurriedly made his toilette and changed into a cleaner set of clothes. As he went down to the boulangerie to purchase a roll for breakfast, he found himself mulling over the dire events of the previous day, particularly Glorieux's present state. 'How does one spin a thread from a weeping man?' he wondered silently as he handed over a sou for his bread.

The baker pocketed the coin before pointing up to an awning. "See that big cat there?" he whispered.

Gavroche turned to see an oversized tabby nimbly clambering up to a roof. "That one has a perfect pair of slippers."

"Yes. Now watch," the baker directed, following the cat's route with his finger. "You think a man could get up that way? I heard something heavy on the roof last night."

Gavroche paused only to stuff the bread roll into his coat sleeve. "At what hour?" He set down another sou, which the baker immediately pocketed. "I'll have a brioche for that."

"At about ten, before you came in," the baker replied as he handed over another piece of bread. "He scampered off when you came walking up the square."

Gavroche nodded as he pocketed the brioche. "Many thanks, Citizen." For a moment it occurred to him to also scale the wall in order to scout this strange vantage point, but a quick look at his watch was enough to dissuade him from the idea. He ate the soft roll as he walked to the Rue du Pontoise, and had to pause to brush the crumbs off his clothes before stepping into the Prefecture's door.

He immediately headed for the holding cells, where he saw Glorieux seemingly staring out into space, his eyes still red-rimmed with grief. The former convict was handcuffed, but he had been given a clean smock and a pair of rough trousers. "Good day. I have brought half a breakfast," Gavroche greeted.

Glorieux cracked a smile on seeing the bread in Gavroche's hand. "Brioche. You have good taste." He took a bite of bread and chewed noisily. "So it's La Force from here, I see?"

Gavroche shrugged. "You didn't do it. You would have run if you did." He met Glorieux's surprised look. "You could have taken on everyone in that alley but you didn't."

"Wouldn't have changed a thing. She was gone, so was our boy." Glorieux shook his head. "You don't have a little one of your own, I am sure of it. You don't know how it would be-" He clenched his fists before hanging his head again and biting back a sob. "If there is something wrong I've done, it wasn't doing what I should have to protect them."

Gavroche remained silent for a few moments until Glorieux could regain his composure. "Why were the neighbours saying it was you?" he asked.

Glorieux gave him a withering look. "It's always the man's doing, so they say." He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "They must have seen me running-after the killer. I heard Victoria screaming, I heard the furniture breaking, and I ran in and saw her done for."

"You saw who did it?"

"That's all you bobbies care about."

Gavroche was silent as Glorieux turned away from him. For a moment it seemed as if all words had failed him before this deep grief, but the sound of the dead woman's name spilling from the grieving man's lips suddenly brought a memory to mind. "She would have told by now," Gavroche blurted out. "She was a tigress, like my mother."

Glorieux jumped to his feet and would have lunged Gavroche if not for the manacles also around his ankles. "Don't speak of her!"

"I remember her when she lived with Magnon and the boys. She could keep even Brujon in line," Gavroche goaded as he took a step forward. "She had a good eye, she would have seen-"

"He had a knife and he went for me too!" Glorieux bellowed, rattling the manacles. "A tall man, dark cloak-a coat a bit like yours but that might have been the light, dark hair, a monocle-what more?"

Gavroche turned and motioned to the guards outside the cell to stay where they were. "That's every other man in Paris. No good for a painting."

Glorieux swore as he sat down once more. "Do you really want to know, little Thenardier? You'd take off that uniform of yours if you did." He spat on the ground. "When Claquesous was alive we had little to fear from you bobbies. They kept their hands well out of our business."

"A different page!" Gavroche said. He turned at the sound of the cell door opening. "Good morning Inspector," he said, saluting Bahorel.

"At ease. I'll take it from here," Bahorel said as he doffed his hat. "I am deeply sorry for your arrest yesterday. My condolences for your loss," he told the convict.

Glorieux took a deep gulping breath. "You're a father, you understand," he said in a low voice. "I've seen your lady around with your boys. You're lucky to have them."

Bahorel nodded slowly. "How long did you and Citizenness Hastings lodge together?"

"Three years." Glorieux sniffled. "You police do not think much of us but I had a place down at the quays. The lady took in some stitchery before we had the baby. No con can be seen in a place of grand carriages," he added sourly.

"So some would say," Bahorel muttered before tapping Gavroche's shoulder to call the young man's attention. "There is an inquiry you must make today. The masons of the Barriere du Maine have a major commission at the Odeon; it's for one of Prouvaire's plays." Bahorel cleared his throat. "You're to find one among them a man you know as Barrecrosse, but going under the name of Sylvain Laffite."

Glorieux snorted at this. "What a fine name!"

"For a terrible profile," Gavroche remarked, recalling now one of the most rugged and marred visages he had ever seen in this city. "Should I invite him back here?"

"If you can without undoing the stonework," Bahorel replied. He turned at the sound of more footsteps approaching the cell. "A message?"

"You are both called to the Prefect's office," the messenger said. "Right now."

It was all that Gavroche could do not to cringe more so when he saw Glorieux's nonchalant shrug. "Wonder what he's got to scrub now," he groused as he followed Bahorel upstairs to Delessert's office. 'Someone's thought to give the lamps a brushing,' he thought, noting that the room suddenly seemed brighter than when he'd last been summoned to it.

Delessert motioned for Bahorel and Gavroche to sit down. "A friend of mine has an interest in making your acquaintance," he said, nodding to a gentleman seated near the desk. His thinning yellow hair betrayed his age but nevertheless he was still of an imposing build that was only accentuated by the lines of his greatcoat. "Citizens, meet my colleague Inspector Beaufort, recently returned from Rouen. Beaufort, may I present two of my agents Inspector Bahorel and Detective Thenardier."

"So an excellent storm blows into Paris," Bahorel said as he shook Beaufort's hand heartily. "I remember clearly you once worked here in the Paris Prefecture."

"Yes, a number of years ago. It's a pity I was not able to be of assistance in your apprehending the counterrevolutionaries during your first investigation," Beaufort answered warmly. "You have certainly made great strides since those days."

Delessert cleared his throat. "Bahorel is the inspector in charge of the case I have appealed to you for. Thenardier is the agent we have on the field."

"In their capable hands I am sure it will be solved readily," Beaufort remarked. He nodded cordially to Gavroche. "I had thought that you would be more inclined to politics or art, given your upbringing."

"I'm not stepping on my sisters' toes," Gavroche replied dryly.

"Thenardier has recently graduated from the Sorbonne with a licentiate in law. We are lucky that he has decided-" Delessert trailed off as a messenger rushed into the office with a note. He quickly got up from his seat. "I have a quick trouble to attend to. My apologies."

"We do what we must do," Beaufort said with a long suffering sigh as he moved to let Delessert head to the door. "I do not intend to offend anyone in your circles, but I have always believed that a more forceful approach on the streets would be more effective in quelling crime instead of leaving it to the courts," he said to Bahorel and Gavroche. "A mere vacation in La Force or Saint-Lazare is hardly a deterrent to crime."

"Are you advocating the return of the galleys or the guillotine?" Bahorel asked testily.

"Not those measures," Beaufort said, his tone taking on a shade of bitterness. "Never mind that though. You have a suspect in hand by the alias of Glorieux. What has he confessed to?"

"Nothing. He did not kill anyone," Gavroche replied. He saw one of Beaufort's eyebrows shoot up. "He and the lady had set up house together. He was no burglar."

"Well that makes it a domestic dispute, and nonetheless dastardly," Beaufort argued disdainfully.

"If it's a matter only in the house, then it has nothing to do with the streets," Gavroche pointed out. "He saw the culprit as he was fleeing-"

"Unlike you, Detective, I have found little good in readily placing my confidence in known agents of disorder," Beaufort cut in as he put his gloved hands on the tabletop. "You of all people should be aware that the streets are oftentimes a law onto themselves, and oftentimes are in conflict with the interest of public order."

Gavroche's brow furrowed at this condescending tone but before he could say anything he saw Bahorel shake his head by way of warning. The young detective sat up straight and squared his shoulders as he met Beaufort's piercing glare. "Well then we ought to do more listening to the first, if we are to solve the case. No one got murdered within the Prefecture walls, so I've been told."

"More than most, if not all other agents here in Paris, my colleague here has practical knowledge of these streets. Without him we would not have much headway in our investigation," Bahorel chimed in.

"Perhaps. However Detective Thenardier here was only a child when the worst of Patron-Minette and even the republican societies ran loose on these streets. Shadows have their ways of protecting the innocent," Beaufort pointed out.

Bahorel laughed. "Being among the chief fighters at the barricade of the Rue de Chanvrerie is hardly the work of an innocent."

"Is that so?" Beaufort asked after a moment. "Perhaps Detective Thenardier would like to regale us with a story about how he picked out bullets from the National Guard, or ran with messages to Saint Merry and Les Halles."

"I had a musket, and when I did bring a message it was to the Hotel de Ville, to meet with Lafayette," Gavroche replied. He then got up and saluted to Bahorel. "I will return with my report."

"Do be careful, Gavroche," Bahorel said, giving him a serious and knowing look. "I will expect you to return by sundown."

Gavroche nodded before donning his hat and heading downstairs and into the street. The day had grown warm enough to allow him to walk through a labyrinth of side roads leading to the wide Rue Saint Jacques, which he then traversed to eventually arrive at the Rue Racine, which opened out onto the Place de l'Odeon.

A foreman standing on the theater steps glowered at Gavroche. "Coming to search my men? I've got no drunks and rabble rousers here, Officer."

"I'm only making a call," Gavroche said as he tipped his hat.

"No calls! It's a workday!" the officer growled.

"Not up in the gallery seats," Gavroche retorted as he sauntered into the lobby. He walked right into the theater's main hall, from where he could hear the rising din of a tiff in the orchestra pit between the conductor and a lead violinist. Regardless of this rehearsals were still underway on the stage, with a group of men reading parts under the direction of a young man who was suspended upside down by means of a harness attached to the waistband of his trousers.

As Gavroche tiptoed towards the stage he caught sight of a small, delicately built boy clambering over a row of seats to reach him. "This is no place for mice, even if they could jump," he greeted as he caught the child.

Maximillien Prouvaire wrinkled his nose before shaking his light brown hair out of his eyes. "Maman and Papa said I could watch." He glanced towards the man who was still suspended by the harness. "Papa is trying something new."

"Looking like a fly on the wall," Gavroche quipped as he hoisted little Maximillien onto his shoulders and adjusted his greatcoat such that his face was hidden in the folds while Maximillien's head and shoulders poked above the neckline. Gavroche carried Maximillien up to the wings and stepped out just enough to be seen by the man in the harness. "Good day Citizen Prouvaire,' he greeted in a deep voice.

"Good day to you-oh what are you doing there?" Jean Prouvaire greeted before suddenly twisting about in the harness. He muttered something in Occitan before just managing to extricate himself and landing on the stage with an awkward thump. He laughed sheepishly amid the guffaws of the company before getting to his feet and then tying his long hair away from his face. "Who's brought you up here?" he asked as he went to his son.

"A pair of fast feet," Gavroche replied impishly as he finally showed himself and took off the greatcoat. "Fancy flying you're doing there, and with pretty words for wings."

"The opera requires it," Prouvaire said affably as he picked up Maximillien off Gavroche's shoulders. "How may I help you?"

"Is Uncle Gavroche going to help get rid of the bad men on stage?" Maximillien chirped.

"No, the knights are already practicing for that, and you already know the ending to that story," Prouvaire said. "We've been rehearsing a battle," he explained to Gavroche. "It's no ordinary battle, since it takes place during a masque."

Maximillien suddenly wriggled out of his father's arms. "Maman! Look who's here!" he called as he ran up to a slender woman who was rolling up the sleeves of her lavender dress.

"Your uncle Gavroche is always full of surprises," Azelma Thenardier-Prouvaire remarked as she smoothed down her son's hair and brushed some dust off his clothes. She then straightened up primly and tucked a stray raven strand back behind her ear. "Opening night isn't for another month," she said to her brother. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to speak to one of your stonemasons," Gavroche replied, directing these words both to her and to Prouvaire. He glanced towards where a troupe of men was measuring a rough column. "Have you got a fellow named Sylvain Laffite?"

"Laffite? I remember he was here yesterday; perhaps he's around today but at another part of the set," Prouvaire said. "I'll check with the foreman."

Azelma remained silent until Prouvaire was out of earshot before bending to kiss Maximillien's brow. "Run along, Max. Go after your Papa," she instructed.

Maximillien nodded and kissed her cheek. "What about Uncle Gavroche?"

"I need to talk to him," Azelma answered. She put her hands akimbo as she looked at her brother. "What are you poking into now?"

"Only a question."

"You might scare some of the men here."

"I'm surprised you haven't seen him, with those wide lookers of yours. His name is Barrecrosse," Gavroche said. For a moment he saw a flicker of astonishment play across his sister's face. "You saw him working here, I'm sure."

"He goes with the masons; the theater employed them for this job and others," Azelma retorted shortly. "I've been watching him, don't you worry about it."

"The Prefecture has him in its sights too," Gavroche informed her. "It's about what happened in Toulouse—"

At the mention of this town Azelma shook her head vehemently and grabbed his arm. "Not a word about it here!" she hissed. She looked around furtively before speaking again. "If people know why we have to do with him besides this masonry work, what will they think?"

"Depends if it's Barrecrosse or Laffite that they meet," Gavroche replied. "Now since when did you get those cat claws?"

Azelma let go of his arm and stepped away. "Please, just go. I can't have you poking about these affairs right here."

"You could turn your back while I talk to Laffite," Gavroche suggested. "Sweep it behind you."

"I won't have trouble," Azelma said flatly. "It's supposed to be over and done with, seven years ago."

"People still dig up the graveyard after thirty or fifty years, centuries too."

"You could be just as bad as Papa sometimes with all the things you plan."

"I'm not getting any sous for it. That's the difference between me and him," Gavroche pointed out. 'She's the one who's spent the most time with him, she'd know,' he decided.

"He'd call you a fool for saying that. Even for just being in the police force." She wrung her hands as she met Gavroche's gaze. "He said worse when Jehan and I last saw him at a party, when we asked for his consent to our marriage. He would have knocked me down but Jehan and I weren't going to allow him."

Gavroche snorted at the thought of their father turning livid while stranded in the middle of a well heeled gathering. "Not a peep since then?"

Azelma nodded. "I think he's still in Paris. You know him, never could stay away from events, like us."

"Where is he now?""

"Last I heard, on the Rue de Aligre. But this is not Montfermeil, so I doubt he has that address," she said before waving to Prouvaire, who was walking up with Maximillien in tow. "What now?"

"The foreman said that Laffite did not sign in for work today," Prouvaire replied apologetically as he balanced Maximillien on his hip. He gave Gavroche a knowing look. "Laffite left his address at the Rue de Biron, Number Fifteen."

'What a far way to fly just to chip at rocks,' Gavroche noted silently. "Do I still get a ticket to the opening night?" he asked at length.

Azelma clucked her tongue mockingly. "That's all you care about eh? But if you get enough friends in with you we can get you a box."

"That would be a sight for pickings," Gavroche remarked. "Today though the tree is bare. Good day to all of you," he added before bowing with a flourish. He could hear some chorus girls and seamstresses giggling as he passed to the rear of the hall, but he allowed himself only a smile at them especially given the hour. 'It should not take me long to reach that street,' he decided as he left the theater and headed down in the general direction of the Luxembourg, knowing he could cut across this promenade in order to more quickly reach the south-western borders of the city. He entered the park by way of the Palais des Pairs and crossed a narrow walkway opening to the garden's main lane.

As soon as he had crossed this pass he caught sight of a lovely woman dressed in delicate pink silk, strolling down the path. At the sound of Gavroche's footsteps she stopped and turned. "Why, Citizen Thenardier! Just the man I wanted to see today!"

Gavroche felt his mouth go dry but all the same he cleared his throat and managed a deep bow. "How is that possible, Citizenness Debault?" he asked as he met Minette's dark eyes.