18
Title: "Rescue," Chapter Eight
Author: Darkover
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One.
Summary: Javert is saved from suicide by Valjean, but it becomes more complicated than that, especially as it is not always clear who is saving whom.
~ooo0ooo~
Chapter Eight: "This Is All I Have Lived For"
M. Gillenormand was not at home, but he had left orders that if "M. Fauchelevent" came to call, he was to be admitted. Thus, when Valjean appeared at the door, the servant admitted him at once, although he did politely ask Valjean to wait in the foyer until the "young master" could be brought down to the parlor to receive him. After an interlude of some minutes, Valjean was at last shown into the parlor, where he saw Marius propped up on a chaise lounge, waiting. The young man did not seem as enthusiastic to welcome his visitor as his grandfather might have been; he barely glanced up as Valjean entered, and said only listlessly, "Good morning, Monsieur."
"Good morning," the older man replied. He was uneasy, to put it mildly. He was not sure just how much young Pontmercy recalled of the events of the night of the uprising, nor was he sure how much he wanted Marius to remember. He stood there uncertainly, hat in hand.
"Please sit down."
Valjean did so. Marius' gaze skimmed over him with no sign of recognition. "Forgive me, Monsieur, but I do not believe we have met."
Valjean understood the unspoken query; who are you, and why are you here? "We have never been formally introduced," he admitted. "I am here on behalf of my daughter, Mademoiselle Cosette Fauchelevent. She is concerned—"
Marius' head snapped up at that, and some color entered the pallid face. "Cosette? You are her father, sir?"
"I am. She is concerned about your health."
"Believe me, Monsieur, if anything could improve my health, it would be hearing from Mademoiselle Cosette," Marius said, sitting up eagerly. "She is well?"
Valjean nodded. "Very much so." He was about to add unwillingly that Cosette wished to visit, but evidently young Pontmercy had tried to sit up too quickly, for the blood left his face as suddenly as it had arrived; he gasped and sank back onto the chaise lounge.
Valjean, alarmed, stood up and took two rapid steps forward, instinctively putting forth a hand in concern. "Marius?"
The young man blinked several times, glanced from the hand on his shoulder to the older man standing over him, and then something seemed to trigger a faint memory. Frowning, he said; "I—I have seen you before…"
Valjean gazed down at him, uncertain of what to say.
"I remember you!" Marius said, sitting up abruptly and pulling himself free of Valjean's touch. "You killed that Inspector of Police! You murdered him!"
"No! I did not!" Valjean stepped back, away from the younger man's accusing stare. He was at a loss for words, and could think of nothing to say except to repeat helplessly, "I did not."
"I wish for you to leave, Monsieur," the younger man said coldly. "The servant will show you out."
Valjean bowed his head. "I apologize for disturbing you," he said softly. "I wish you a full recovery, Monsieur." He put on his hat and made his departure.
A moment later, Javert glanced over as Valjean exited the Gillenormand house and made his way slowly toward the street. One look at the older man's face told the Inspector that things had not gone well. "What is wrong? Is the boy still unconscious?"
"No," Valjean answered, sounding subdued. "He is awake. He recognized me."
"As Cosette's father? As the man who saved his life?"
Valjean shook his head, looking pale. "He…he believes I murdered you."
Javert's brows rose. "You corrected his misapprehension, did you not?"
"I tried, but…he did not wish to listen. He believes I am a murderer, and ordered me from the house."
"WHAT?" the Inspector thundered. "Just a moment."
He strode past Valjean and through the gate, ignoring the other man's exclamation of protest, and tried the front door. It was unlocked; the Inspector walked right in and past the servant, who was hurrying forward in an attempt to curtail his abrupt entrance. "Monsieur! I must ask you to wait!"
Javert's glare stopped the man in his tracks. "I am Inspector Javert of the Paris Police. Take me to M. Pontmercy at once."
The servant visibly flinched, and stammered, "Th—this way, M. l'Inspecteur."
As the Inspector entered the parlor, the young man looked up. "You!"
"Indeed. I am Javert, Inspector of Police," the older man responded in a chilling tone. "I see that you remember me. Astonishing that you recognize me, but not M. Fauchelevent."
Marius made a gesture of indifference. "Is that his name? I sent him away. I do not wish to see him. I thought you dead, Inspector."
"As you can see, I am very much alive. You owe M. Fauchelevent an apology."
"I do not believe you understand, M. l'Inspecteur. I believed the man had murdered you."
"You have scruples against murder then, do you, M. Pontmercy?"
"Of course!"
"Forgive me if I express surprise," the Inspector said icily, "as you displayed no such moral compunction at the time. What exactly did you think your friends were going to do to me? But it was all right to murder me in the name of 'the People,' was it?"
Marius flushed. "I didn't—"
Javert held up one hand, palm outward. "Spare me your rationalizations, Monsieur. I am alive, no thanks to you, but very much thanks to the man you ordered from your presence as if he were a dog. I am going to call him back in here, and then you will apologize to him. You should also thank him for your own life."
"My life?"
"Yes. Clearly someone carried you home, and you and he were the only ones to survive that last battle at the barricade. Simple logic should thus indicate that M. Fauchelevent was your savior."
Marius blinked but said nothing. Javert added in the same cold tone, "And if that is not enough, Monsieur, he is the father of the young lady whom you profess to love. If your intentions toward this young lady are honorable—and if they are not, you will answer to me as well as to M. Fauchelevent—then it would be not only proper, but sensible for you to make a good impression upon him." Javert eyed the younger man. "Assuming you are capable of doing so."
Marius blushed again. "Yes, of course, M. le Inspecteur. Please, if you will ask M. Fauchelevent to return, I shall do whatever is within my power to express my apologies, and approach him most humbly for the right to court Mademoiselle Cosette."
The Inspector gave him a curt nod, left the parlor without another word, crossed to the front door, and opened it. Valjean, looking pale, stood just outside. He looked anxiously at the Inspector. "Javert?"
In a tone far more civil than the one he had used to Marius, the Inspector answered, "Go on inside. Young Pontmercy has something he wishes to say to you. I shall wait for you out on the pavement."
Valjean went past Javert without a word, closing the door behind him. The Inspector left the house. It was not until he had exited through the iron gate and stood on the pavement outside that he realized he had entered and exited the house through the front door, and not through the tradesmen's entrance, as he automatically would have used in the past.
That young man is a baron, Javert thought, and then realized that fact did not impress him as much as it would have…before.
Everything about my life is now "Before" and "After." The point of demarcation between the two is that night at the river, and what Valjean stopped me from doing. It is affecting my actions now. Before, I would never have spoken to a baron in such a fashion, nor would I have entered his home through the front door. I am a policeman, and while I would never allow social constraints to interfere with my duty, I have never believed that an inferior such as I should question his social superiors. To do otherwise is to tear at the very fabric of society, and that way leads to disorder and chaos. Or so I have always believed. Perhaps I no longer believe that, at least not to the extent that I once did. My actions today demonstrate that I have changed, at least somewhat. Is that good or bad? Have I changed for the better or the worse?
His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door to the Gillenormand home, and Valjean's exit from it. The latter placed his hat on his head and walked to where Javert stood on the pavement before the front gate. The Inspector noted that the former convict appeared, if not exactly happy, rather more relieved.
"I trust that the young fool apologized," Javert growled.
Valjean gave him a faint smile and nodded. "He did. Most profusely. And thanked me equally profusely for his life." The smile vanished as the older man added, "And then he asked me with all humility if I would give him permission to court my daughter, Mademoiselle Cosette."
"And did you?"
Valjean sighed. "I have no unselfish reason to refuse, so of course I said 'yes.' I am sure that Cosette will wish to visit him on the morrow."
Javert emitted a derisive snort as the two men started the walk back to Valjean's home. "Perhaps that is true, but had I been in your place, I would have made the arrogant puppy fidget for a moment or two."
The older man looked at him. "I saw no need. And really, Javert, while talking to Marius, I received the impression that you berated him rather harshly. That was hardly necessary; he is only a boy."
"You and I clearly have different definitions of 'necessary,'" the Inspector said shortly. "And that 'boy' should dispense with his arrogance and his schoolboy ideals, and grow up. If he is old enough to seek to court and marry a young lady, not to mention taking part in fomenting revolution, then he is old enough to act like a man."
"His politics do not matter to me. I have no great love for any particular political stance. Either way, revolution or oppression, life is much the same for the poor, the needy, the innocent, and the helpless. People are oppressed, imprisoned, beaten, degraded, starved—and for what? To make them better? To make a better society in some unseen future?" Valjean spoke as if to himself; he seemed to be mostly thinking aloud, but Javert answered him anyway.
"That is why we have the Law. It is the only protection any of us have from chaos." The Inspector paused, momentarily subdued as he considered the last sentence. "At least, that is what I have always believed. That is why I have dedicated my life to serving the Law. I have always wished to see justice done."
Valjean looked at him. "Perhaps," he conceded after a moment. "I admit that I do not know how to address the larger problems of society. I do believe that if we tried less to force improvements, as we sometimes call them, upon the world or upon other people, and concentrated more on improving our own individual conduct instead, then perhaps there would not be so much pain and strife in the world." He smiled slightly. "And as individuals, maybe we can give each other a helping hand along the way, as best we can."
"If everyone could be counted on to do that, then perhaps the Law would be unnecessary. But very few people are inclined to live that way," the Inspector countered. "So someone must protect the innocent and maintain order. I am a policeman, I *must* worry about the conduct of others—including that young fool whose life you saved. Pardon, but allow me to point out that for the sake of everyone involved, not least of all Mademoiselle Cosette, it would be wise for you to make it clear to the young baron that if he wishes to court your daughter, then he must put her interests and future above his own absurd obsession with politics. He must treat her with the utmost respect and affection at all times. The young lady deserves nothing less." There was an infinitesimal pause. "As do you."
Valjean gaped at Javert for an instant, but the Inspector pretended not to notice. Neither man paused in his walk, but a real smile appeared on the face of the former 24601, and with occasional glances at Javert as they walked, he aimed that smile at the other man. The Inspector again did not seem to take any notice, but his own features visibly relaxed and became less severe.
Javert has changed, Valjean thought, feeling almost ludicrously happy. Of course, so have I. I am walking down the street with the Inspector whom I feared more than any man on earth! God works in mysterious ways, indeed!
A moment later, they encountered a young gendarme walking his beat. He was a young man with curly dark hair, one of the two gendarmes who had come to their aid when two thugs had attempted to rob Valjean and his daughter. Valjean fought to show no alarm and just remain where he was, but it was difficult. His fear of the police was almost visceral, notwithstanding his new attitude toward Javert. In the past Valjean would have been sharply watchful for the approach of any policeman, and would have crossed the street or gone down an alley rather than risk an encounter with any representative of the law. Today he need not have worried, for this gendarme paid him no particular heed. The young man removed his hat and bowed slightly. "Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"
"Dubois," Javert greeted him.
"I am glad to meet up with you, sir. We have been questioning the two hooligans who attempted to rob you and this gentleman—" young Dubois nodded at Valjean—"and to molest his daughter. M. le Prefect believes these hooligans may have ties to other criminals, but not surprisingly, they will admit to nothing. We have had no luck getting them to answer our questions. M. le Prefect recently expressed the opinion that he wished you were there to conduct the interrogation."
The hint was obvious, and Javert, ever mindful of his duty, picked it up. "Then I shall do so. Resume your watch, Dubois." The young man nodded, tipped his hat to the two older men, and resumed walking his beat.
Valjean was troubled, but he waited until the young gendarme was out of earshot before he spoke. "Javert…"
The Inspector glanced at his host. "I should return to work. It is time. And as I was a part of the incident, I can write the report myself. I know of no reason why you or your daughter should need to be involved," he added quietly.
Valjean nodded, but to Javert's surprise, the older man did not look any happier.
"Very well. I understand why you believe you must go. But I trust you will return to have dinner with me and Cosette."
"I shall," Javert muttered. He still had conflicting feelings about being the guest of Jean Valjean, the man he had hunted for so many years. But for the time being at least he had agreed to be Valjean's guest, and he was also mindful of the promise he had made to this man's daughter. Moreover, if truth be told, while he had no wish to be indebted to any man, least of all a former convict, he felt more secure in the house of his former adversary than he did anywhere else. His reasons for feeling this way were not ones he could easily explain, even to himself, so he was actually rather relieved to receive this call to return to duty. Arresting criminals and questioning them was something with which he had experience. Aloud, he said only; "But we must part ways for the present. I must do my duty, and you should return home to notify Mademoiselle Cosette that her young man has regained consciousness and is asking for her."
Valjean nodded without enthusiasm. "Yes, Javert. Please return as soon as you can." Javert wondered at the faint note—of pleading?—in that last remark, even as Valjean continued; "Cosette will be pleased that Marius is conscious. She will want to visit him soon." He spoke the last sentence heavily, as if reminding himself of that fact.
And that is not something you wish to encourage, Javert thought, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy. But he did not speak the words aloud, merely nodded, and the two men went their separate ways.
~ooo0ooo~
It was mostly satisfaction that Javert felt when he finished the interrogations of the two hooligans, and his report concerning their attack, and departed the police station to return to the house at Rue de l'Homme. The two hooligans had not made as full a confession as he would have liked, but as usual Javert had been able to get more information and more of an admission of guilt than any other interrogator, which had not only pleased M. le Prefect but had made certain that neither of the two thugs would be getting out of jail anytime soon. At first they had continued to deny everything, but after separating them and submitting them to the relentless questioning of Inspector Javert, they had admitted to attempting to rob the man, although both still denied they had intended to violate the girl. The latter remark had been seemingly contradicted when one thug started to say that the girl had been the primary target, which made no sense if they had not had an intention to molest her. He had started to claim that the attack was not random, that they had been hired—he implied by a woman, which meant he was probably making up at least part of his story—but at least there was enough evidence against the two of them to make certain their only home for the immediate future would be a prison cell. And as Javert had been the chief witness against them and had reported all the details, M. Gisquet had agreed that there was no reason to expect a respectable gentleman like M. Fauchelevent, or the latter's daughter, to become any more involved with the case.
Javert felt rather better. Not only had the case been satisfactorily resolved and his superior pleased, but when he had truthfully said that he was without a truncheon because he had lost it that night at the barricades, he had been issued a new one. So, as if appeared he could still do some good as a policeman, he was at least physically equipped to take up his duties once more.
Then he turned the corner and approached Valjean's house. The front door stood wide open.
Feeling his heart begin to pound, Javert gripped his truncheon and entered cautiously.
The house seemed deserted except for the middle-aged woman whom he recognized as Valjean's only servant. The woman looked up as he entered. "Oh, M-M-Monsieur l-l-l'Inspecteur! Thank the B-B-Blessed M-Mother you are here!" Inexplicably, Toussaint burst into tears.
"What is wrong? Where is your employer? Where is Mademoiselle Cosette?" Javert demanded.
"Sh-she is g-g-gone, and the m-m-master too!" Toussaint sobbed.
It took some minutes to learn the entire story, as Toussaint's agitation made her stutter even worse. But when necessary Javert could be as patient and as inexorable as Death itself, and he was able to coax out of the servant what information she possessed. It transpired that while the master of the house and the Inspector were out, a fiacre had arrived, bearing a young man with a message for Mademoiselle Cosette, a message that ostensibly was from M. Fauchelevent. The young man informed the girl that Monsieur Pontmercy had taken a turn for the worse, and that the fiacre was sent by her father to take her to the bedside of the young baron before it was too late. So Cosette, without a thought, had simply thrown on her shawl and hat, and gone with the man. When a short time later M. Fauchelevent had returned home and learned of his daughter's departure, he had become very upset, because he had sent no such fiacre. His concern was even greater when just a few minutes later a gamin knocked on the door, bearing a note. M. Fauchelevent read it and turned pale as a ghost—it was a ransom note! The master had gone into his bedroom, taken fistfuls of money, and run out of the house! Toussaint had not seen either him or the young lady since, and please, M. l'Inspecteur, help them, find them both!
Javert had become deadly calm. "Do you have the note still?"
"Ohhh, y-yes, M-M'sieur l'Inspecteur!" Toussaint held a piece of paper out to him. Javert quickly took it from her hand.
WE HAVE THE GIRL. IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN, BRING FIVE THOUSAND FRANCS AND GO TO—here a nearby address was given—AND STAND BENEATH THE MILITARY STATUE. THERE YOU WILL BE APPROACHED AND TOLD WHAT TO DO. WE KNOW YOU WON'T SUMMON THE POLICE.
Javert stared down at the crumpled note in his hand, thinking furiously. The note itself was on ordinary paper: no clue there. Clearly the kidnappers knew Valjean by sight, and they also realized that appearances to the contrary, he was a rich man who would have five thousand francs on hand. They also knew at least something of his and his daughter's business, for they had used Cosette's concern for the Pontmercy boy as a lure to draw her away. Javert recognized there was something about the last line of the note that was significant. It did not say, "Do not summon the police." It stated, "We know you won't summon the police." Why would a kidnapper phrase a ransom note that way? There was an underlying sneer in it, almost as if…
As if it was written by someone who knew Valjean was a convict.
"The young man who took Mademoiselle Cosette away in the fiacre. Was he handsome? Well dressed?"
"Y-Yes, M-Monsieur l'Inspecteur! Q-Q-Quite the d-d-dandy, and almost t-too pretty for a m-m-man!"
Abruptly, Javert said, "How long ago did M. Fauchelevent depart?"
Toussaint told him. Javert cursed once under his breath and bolted from the house.
TBC…
