A/N: A concept that I've wanted to jot down for a while. So we know about Enjolras' relatives, but what about Eponine's side of the family?
The Children of Conniving
1834
"Ponine, there's another letter for you!"
Eponine nearly dropped her pen but managed to catch it before it could leave ink blots over the page she'd just finished translating. She glanced at her watch, which read nearly six in the evening- "Why, has the postman made another round?" she asked Gavroche, who was leaning against the doorjamb of the study, holding an envelope between two fingers.
"No, there's a messenger," Gavroche said, wrinkling his nose as he handed the message over. "Tobacco would make a better perfume."
'Those new rose papers don't hold their scent too well,' Eponine mused silently as she took the missive. She was not sure who had started off the idea of perfuming stationery, but she was pretty sure that this innovator was regretting this move especially considering how many complaints people had about scented letter lending a less than welcome odor to the rest of the mail in a neighbourhood. "That messenger is still at the door?"
"She's a messenger unless you make her a caller," Gavroche replied. "She's clucking and saying she's our aunt Veronique."
Eponine's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Are you sure?"
Gavroche stuck out his tongue. "I'm only being a colourful parrot." He stopped to scratch his nose. "She wants to come inside."
"I'll speak to her in a little bit. You boys stay out of the sitting room unless I say you can come in," Eponine instructed. She glanced towards where Laure was napping in her cradle, having just been fed a few minutes ago. 'If I'm going to talk to her it might be best not to have all the little ones about,' she thought as she gingerly broke the seal on the letter. She had to hold back a sneeze as she smoothed out the scented paper on a corner of her desk so she could read these words.
December 7, 1834
Paris
My darling niece Eponine,
Please let this letter serve to remind you of your dearest Aunt Veronique, your father's adored sister. I hope to see you at the soonest possible time, to speak with you on family matters.
Sincerely,
Veronique Neuilly nee Thenardier
Eponine bit her lip as she set the missive aside. "I s'pose this is partly Papa's doing," she said as she donned her gloves, which she'd taken off prior to sitting at her desk. As far as she knew her father still resided in Paris, though it was likely that his habits or fortunes might have already caused him to forsake his fine lodgings at the Rue d'Aligre. 'I do wonder what stories he might have told her this time,' she thought, now trying to remember what had transpired the last time her relatives had chanced to meet.
1824
"Girls! Come here and greet your Aunt Veronique!"
Eponine reluctantly set aside her doll and glanced at Azelma. "Should we go now?"
Azelma merely shrugged. "Maman never likes asking again and again." She tugged nervously at her long braids. "We've never had aunts or uncles visit before."
"Maybe they live far away," Eponine suggested. "I hope she's nice."
Her sister merely nodded before they walked down the hall to the taproom. This room was mostly empty; the inn had not been doing much business this summer, but their father was seated at the largest table conversing with a sumptuously dressed woman whose raven hair was elegantly knotted and adorned with two large feathers. Mme. Thenardier had her back turned to them as she placed the kettle on the stove, but it was clear to Eponine that her mother was listless, even ill at ease with this new visitor.
She stood up straight as she entered the room. "Maman? Papa?"
M. Thenardier stopped in mid-sentence as he looked towards the doorway. "Now there are my angels. This is my eldest, Eponine, and here is my younger daughter Azelma," he said as he motioned for the girls to come closer. He scooped up Eponine and placed her on his lap. "They are right and proper little ones, as I told you."
"Charming," Veronique replied. She seemed taller than M. Thenardier, but perhaps it was because of her upturned and long nose that gave her an air of always looking downward. "I heard another child crying in this house."
"Oh that boy, my wife's youngest brat," M. Thenardier scoffed. "Aren't you going to do something about him?" he snapped at Mme. Thenardier.
"Bah, what do you want me to do? I have no use for him, he has no use for me," Mme. Thenardier said.
"Now, now, that's no way to talk of Nicolas' son," Veronique chided. She patted Azelma's head before peering closely at Eponine. "You have your mother's hair," she observed.
Eponine smiled for this was not a comment she had heard before. "She thinks it's very pretty."
"Pretty is as pretty does," Veronique said with a cool smile. "Now tell me what use you have for them?" she asked Mme. Thenardier.
"They are my girls. They'll be ladies yet, and will live well," Mme. Thenardier replied stiffly.
Veronique laughed. "That is aiming very high, Lisette. Far too high in this village you've landed yourselves in."
The sound of a footstep broke through Eponine's reverie, prompting her to give herself a once-over before she slipped to the study door and opened it just enough for her to take a peep into the hall. 'If her hair is still so black it may as well be a wig,' she thought as she caught sight of a much wrinkled and rouged face graced with an ebony coif. She slowly pulled the door open and stepped out. "Good day Aunt Veronique."
The visitor turned and smiled widely. "Eponine, my dear! Look how much you've grown!" She held out her arms. "Why, don't you recognize your aunt?"
Eponine obliged by planting a quick kiss on both of Veronique's cheeks. "It's been many years, Aunt. I didn't know you were in Paris."
"I've been here for some time, child, but it's only now I've had the opportunity to make a visit," Veronique replied. Her expression was incredulous as Eponine showed her into the sitting room. "So this is your house-and you have no other manor elsewhere?"
Eponine stopped in her tracks. "I don't s'pose I should have any other. Why, what is the matter?"
"I was surprised to hear from your father that you were residing in this quartier; I thought you'd have a grander address," the older woman said. "Considering who you married-"
"My husband can't be the legislator for the Latin Quartier if we don't live in the neighbourhood," Eponine explained as she took a seat on the settee while Veronique had the best armchair. She bit her lip on seeing how her guest was clearly taking stock of the room's furnishings, and was certainly finding them too simple for her taste. "Have you visited Azelma too? She doesn't live very far from here," she asked after a few moments.
Veronique gave her a quizzical look. "Azelma, your sister?"
"Yes. I don't have any other," Eponine answered. "You also just met my brother Gavroche. He was the one who met you at the door."
"You're the one I came all the way to see," Veronique said as she leaned forward in her chair. "I did some good turns for your parents in the good old days. Now I'm not as young as I used to be, and I could always use some help. You'd do something good too for your beloved aunt, wouldn't you?"
Eponine bit her lip hard at this request. It wasn't the first time she'd been importuned in this manner, but the circumstances and relationship involved now lent a whole new weight to the matter. "My parents never mentioned it—or mentioned you when we were losing the inn, or any time after."
"You know that the place could never have stayed up for long in that small town," Veronique scoffed. "I never could quite get into your father's business."
"It wasn't only business that was his problem, and it wasn't only him who worried," Eponine said more tersely as she got to her feet. The grayness of the Gorbeau hovel flashed before her eyes again, but she willed herself to meet her aunt's gaze. "We didn't have anything-food, money, or even a place to stay warm for the winter. What sort of help did you give in those days, Aunt?"
Veronique's nostrils flared as she sat up straight. "It isn't my responsibility to see to his every need."
"He's your brother and you only remembered that not too long ago," Eponine hissed. "And my mother? Did you think of her at all?"
"Why, what of your mother?" Veronique asked.
"She's dead. She died alone," Eponine retorted. "You didn't know about that?"
"I am sorry for your loss, but there is little I can do when the streets are involved—"
"Now they aren't, so there is little I can do too."
Veronique gave Eponine a long, cold stare. "If you think that you are a lady now, I'd like to remind you that your parents were in ill repute not too long ago-and that your father has been in trouble all his life. Someday, it will show in you too, Eponine."
Eponine shook her head. "I have reason not to."
"That is what he used to say," Veronique said. She looked around as she heard childish laughter from upstairs. "Are those more of your brothers, or your own little ones?" A cruel smile spread over her face when Eponine remained silent. "I'd keep a watch on them if I were you."
"You don't need to get into my business if it will trouble you so," Eponine retorted acidly.
"They are your trouble since they are your father's sons, and you are your father's daughter. So is that sister of yours; I know the news from last year," Veronique said as she got to her feet. "I will not take any leave of you-but I hope to find you in a better frame of mind when I return. Good evening, Eponine."
'You'll never come back here then,' Eponine thought even as she heard her guest leave. Once the door shut, she buried her face in her hands if only to muffle any curse words that threatened to spill from her lips. 'I shall never escape this,' she realized, even as she clenched her twisted hand.
