Chapter Fourteen

A/N: Thank you to MissFiyerabaMeponineSherlock, IceQueenForLife and Smiles1998 for reviewing the last chapter.

It had not yet become light the next morning when Marielle was woken by a loud crashing sound beside her bed. She shot upright, as she had always used to do during thunderstorms; the sound was not so different to the booming sound of a thunderclap. But no sooner had her eyes come into focus than she saw Madame Charbonneau standing beside her bed, a large metal pan held beneath her arm, still vibrating from its being hit against the wall.

"Get up, girl." The instruction in Adelaide's voice was clear enough and its harshness left no room for argument. Marielle sat for a moment or two in shock, before the pan was struck against the plaster once again. "I said up! Move!"

Marielle did not pause for another moment, hauling herself to her feet before her step-mother could strike the pan against the stone a third time. She had barely brought herself to standing before the woman was pushing her forwards, towards the doorway. Marielle stumbled, but caught herself quickly enough, moving swiftly down the staircase as she was steered towards the parlour by the iron grip of Madame Charbonneau.

No sooner had they reached the room than she was thrown down beside the fireplace, her head nearly smacking against the marble of the mantelpiece. As she raised her head, carefully, so as to avoid coming into contact with the fireplace, she saw that a woven basket lay beside her, filled to the top with wood. She glanced toward her step-mother in confusion, but received only an icy glare in return.

"Well, come along." Adelaide instructed clearly, clapping her hands together only a few inches from her step-daughter's face. "There isn't all day. Build the fire and be quick about it."

"But Madame," Marielle protested weakly. "I don't know how to build a fire."

"How difficult can it be, you foolish child? Do you not know anything at all?" the woman asked furiously, but made no move to assist her and gave her no instruction on what to do.

Tentatively, the child reached for a log and placed it in the grate, then another, then another, arranging them carefully so that they balanced specially. She had thought that she was doing well, until the woman behind her tutted and swatted her on the head. Marielle winced slightly with the pain, but bit her lip to stop herself crying out as her step-mother's ring caught the edge of her ear, leaving a harsh red mark where it had cut her.

"It looks like I'll have to do this myself, just as I do everything else." The words were regretful, but her sigh was malicious, filled with anger and loathing. Marielle had to do her best not to wince, knowing that it would only make her more angry.

"I'm sorry." she offered, hoping that it would help to quench the flame a little. It seemed all she had done was given air to the embers, for the blaze was burning bright now, even brighter than before. Another blow came to her head, this one harder than the first.

"Well, that simply isn't good enough, is it, my dear?" Marielle had to bite her lip to hold back her whimper as she heard her step-mother address her by the same affectionate term as she addressed both her own children. But the way she said it made it sound like an insult, like she was speaking of something disgusting which she would never have let into her home by choice.

'But then again, that's all I am to her, isn't it?' Marielle thought bitterly. 'I'm not a child to her, not like her own son and daughter are. I don't belong to her, only to her husband, and all I am is a constant reminder that Clement Charbonneau loved another woman before he loved her.'

"I'll keep doing it until I get it right." the young girl told her step-mother and for the first time, she thought she saw a hint of approval in her eyes. It was only for an instant, before her icy mask had been righted again and she frowned at the child sat at her feet.

"Well, you'd best learn quickly, or else you won't have time to complete the other tasks you need to do before the rest of the house wakes." the woman instructed. "You need to thoroughly clean the pans, dishes, cutlery and glassware from the dinner last night and light the stove, not to mention building all the other fires. Then, once my husband has gone to work and the children are up, you will make the beds and build the fires in preparation for this evening, when you shall lay the table before dinner, wash the dishes afterwards and light the fires in the bedrooms. Is that absolutely clear?"

Such a long list of chores could never be utterly clear to one so young as Marielle, but she nodded nonetheless. Madame Charbonneau did not wait to receive the gesture, for she had already swept out of the room in a rustle of skirts before Marielle had made it.

Once the woman was gone, the child sighed in disbelief at the mammoth task set before her. She glanced at the window, where the sun had not yet risen in the sky, and thought back to her old life in Paris, when Marius had risen at the crack of dawn to go to work. Despairing at the fact that her father would probably rise around the same time, Marielle turned herself to the task at hand.

As she worked, she had naught to do but think. She found herself wondering what it would have been like if Madame Charbonneau had accepted her as her own daughter, if she could have been truly happy in the presence of a mother who was not truly her own.

'But of course I could be.' she told herself, and she could hear the regret in her statement even in her mind. 'For the time I spent with Marius and Cosette was the happiest time in my life. Perhaps it's the only happiness I'll ever feel again.'

A/N: Please review!