Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Osprey Enters the Lark's Nest
A/N: So a note of explanation so you understand where everybody is at in terms of recognising each other: in the brick there isn't that scene from the musical where Marius does the whole, "Dearest Cosette, my friend 'Ponine, Brought me to you, showed me the way!" In the first place, he and Éponine did not have the friendship that they do in the musical, and he is actually quite cold to her, but Hugo assures us it's only because when people are super in love they not only forget to be bad, but also forget to be good. M'kay.
In the second place, he and Cosette, sitting blissfully in the garden, have zero idea about the burglary that was just thwarted a few feet away from them, because Éponine doesn't even have to scream in the brick. She just *threatens* to scream, gives a heartbreaking and incredibly brave speech, and then sits down and starts humming and watching the gang of flabbergasted men "with a calm and savage air." And Brujon, who has a reputation of never backing away from anything AND LITERALLY BROKE INTO A POLICE STATION THAT VERY DAY is like "nah, this is super bad news. Let's get the heck out of here." It's pretty awesome. And Éponine follows to make sure they actually leave, so by the time Marius leaves the garden there's no sign of her or the gang, and Marius and Cosette are never the wiser.
So Cosette never knows that Éponine was involved in any of that, or even that she's in Paris. Éponine, for her part, may or may not know about Cosette. Despite Hugo's tendency to over-explain, there are many things with his side characters that are left tantalizingly ambiguous, and this is one of them. When Valjean and Cosette come to their tenement in response to one of Thénardier's...well, basically original scam emails, Thénardier recognises them and after they leave he tells his daughters to get out and kind of offhandedly rebukes them for not noticing who that was, then fills his wife in on who the visitors were after the girls are gone. So one could presume Éponine and Azelma never know, HOWEVER, this whole scene is in Marius's POV, watching through a hole in the wall like the creepy cinnamon roll that he is. We never actually get to see inside Éponine's head. And if we back up to when Cosette and Valjean were in the room—again, from Marius's POV—we see "the elder Jondrette girl [Éponine] had retreated behind the door and eyed the velvet hat darkly, along with the silk mantle and the lovely, happy face." So is she just feeling envious because that's not her life? That's what it would look like to Marius, not knowing the shared history. But, is it possible (and this is what I think) that there's another layer to that dark look. Does she, like her father, start to recognise that this is Cosette and that man who came and took her from the inn? Is she seeing, not just any bourgeois girl, but this profound role-reversal from their childhood? Is it not lost on her that she herself is now shivering in rags and bare feet, and Cosette is happy and well-cared for and well-dressed? I've chosen to believe that she does recognise, because I think that's just FAR more interesting and layered. As readers, we see that role reversal, and Mme. Thénardier gets to have a moment of outrage over it. But I think it's fascinating if Éponine, standing silently in the corner, got to process that too. The way she does in the musical ("We were children together. Look what's become of me.") Especially because Thénardier just assumes the girls didn't recognise the visitors, but like, he didn't ask or really give them a chance to say. And that's kind of just his whole M.O. of assuming he's the only smart one in the room at any given time. Anyway, interesting, so that's what I go with. Oh, and Valjean doesn't tell Cosette what went down with the ambush (when he goes back alone later) or where the massive burn wound on his arm came from, so SHE doesn't know that family they brought charity to were the Thénardiers.
So yeah. Basically: Marius knows Éponine, and at this point knows she's a Thénardier, but he doesn't know Cosette's history with the Thénardiers besides that brief encounter in the Gorbeau tenement. Éponine knows who Cosette is, but Cosette doesn't know that Éponine is in Paris now or that she knows Marius. That's where we're at in this scene. Did I explain, or did I make it more confusing? Who knows.
"Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle? We're here."
Éponine didn't realise she'd fallen asleep. She had a little trouble getting her legs to work as she exited the fiacre. She paid the driver with an apologetic smile (and that was it, she hadn't any money now), and then looked up at the imposing façade of the house. It was a far cry from the Gorbeau, but much more befitting a baron, that was for certain. She felt a squeezing feeling of apprehension in her chest, but she made her way to the door, and taking a deep breath, she knocked.
A rather rotund and wheezy man answered the door.
"I'm here to see the Baron and Baronne Pontmercy, please."
"Who should I say that it is?"
"Éponine Jondrette." It was the name Marius knew his old neighbours by, if she remembered right. She intended to tell all, once she got in, but she was afraid if Cosette heard the name Thénardier, she might turn her out before even hearing her. Rightfully so. Éponine probably would, if their places were switched, and Cosette had been awful to her the way she'd been to Cosette.
The servant let her into a salon, and told her to wait.
Éponine sunk into a chair and closed her eyes for a moment, not even stopping to gape at how nice the place was. She didn't feel so well at all.
"Come with me, Mademoiselle. They regret they shall have to receive you in their room. Monsieur le baron is still not fully recovered, you know. Come this way."
Éponine pulled herself to her feet and followed, clutching her valise in front of her. She was shown into a very elegant little chamber where Marius was lying propped up on a chaise longue and Cosette was perched beside him in a chair, though the chair was pulled so close, and she sat so far to the edge of it, that she may as well have joined him on the couch. They were gazing at each other adoringly, all lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows. It was such a beautiful and loving picture, and it made Éponine's heart hurt.
There was only one person she would ever want to share such a look with. And he was all by himself in the dark, now. As for her, she had to be brave, and try to live on her own, up here in the light.
When they noticed Éponine walk in, Marius, understandably, looked at her as if she was a ghost. Cosette, for her part, looked as if she almost might know her, but wasn't sure where to place the memory.
"Éponine? Is that really you?" Marius finally said.
"Yes. It's all right, I thought I was dead too." She laughed. "Can—can I sit down?"
"Of course, I'm so sorry—Basque, can you bring her a chair, please?"
The servant, called Basque, brought a chair, and Éponine smiled gratefully, falling into the chair with a little less grace than intended. God she felt faint, and she didn't think it was just nerves.
"Éponine?" Cosette asked carefully. "That's an unusual name. I used to know a girl called Éponine."
She couldn't meet Cosette's eyes. "Yes. That was me. Sometimes I'm Jondrette, but really my name is Thénardier. And yes, I know who you are, too."
Marius looked confused. "The two of you know each other, then?"
Éponine ventured to glance at Cosette for a brief second, then back down at her lap. She would let her tell the story however she wanted to tell it. Tell Marius just how awful they had all been.
"I lived with her family for a while, when I was a very little girl," Cosette said hesitantly. "But, how do you know each other?"
"All of those happy hours we spent together in the Rue Plumet, that was all thanks to Éponine! I never would have known where to find you. She was my neighbour, and she offered to find your address, and then she brought us together." Marius squeezed his wife's hand and gazed adoringly at her lovely face as he spoke. His voice was warm, but more so from the memories that the two of them shared, and less so from anything to do with Éponine. It was an odd sort of feeling; Éponine was aware that a short time ago this might have really hurt her. She did not have any feelings for Marius any more, but there was this murky and difficult to sort through mess of emotion, seeing their happiness and hearing the words spoken about her own role in it, both instrumental and insignificant at once.
"Oh!" Cosette exclaimed, and upon glancing at her face, Éponine saw such pure, joyous gratitude there that it made her feel profoundly guilty. Cosette truly had no idea about anything, or she wouldn't look at her that way.
"And then, she saved my life at the barricade. She took a musket ball meant for me." He shuddered. "I don't understand how you—I really thought..."
Saving him from his struggle of trying to find a polite phrase for, "I thought you were dead," Éponine jumped in with: "But I didn't die, so now I need to find a way to live. And I thought...I hoped..." She wasn't prepared for how uncomfortable this would be. "Well, I thought, maybe, you might have need of a maid. Give me all the worst jobs, I don't mind. I can work for food and a place to sleep, it's all the same to me."
Cosette sprang up from her chair and flitted over to Éponine, grasping her hands genially. "What? When I have you to thank for my present happiness? No, never! You will stay here as a friend, I insist upon it."
Éponine shook her head vehemently, unable to meet the other woman's eyes. It was impossible that anyone was really as pure-hearted as this, and would be so grateful for things that Éponine had certainly not done with Cosette's happiness in mind, that she would eschew the opportunity to exact revenge for their childhood, in a very fitting turning of tables. "What kind of friendship could it be, when you live in a grand place like this and I haven't a sou? I won't be an object of charity. Please, just let me be useful. Let me feel right about it."
"Cosette is right," Marius said. "We owe our present happiness to you, and I never really thanked you. Besides, you're a Thénardier."
That last statement, which Éponine couldn't have comprehended at the time, as her name should certainly count against her rather than in her favour, did not really register in the moment.
"Well then," Éponine's voice almost couldn't be heard, but she couldn't make the words come out any louder, "if you want to help me, let me work. Let me do something...something honest." There was a throbbing in her head, and she was slumping a little in her chair. She didn't want to keep arguing.
Cosette knelt down, peering anxiously at Éponine's face. "You're not well, you need to rest. We can talk about this later."
Éponine shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it later. She wanted it all sorted out now. She couldn't articulate how important it was, because she didn't fully understand it herself. With as much dignity as she could summon, she said, "If you don't need a servant, I'll go and see about some place else."
Surely, that was not really a possibility. If she knocked on a stranger's door and applied as a servant, they would want to know her background, and they would perhaps look into her record, and they'd never want her anywhere near their house. But she knew she couldn't stay here in the awkward position of being someone who wasn't really a friend, but they nonetheless felt an uncomfortable sense of obligation toward. That wouldn't be any kind of life worth living. She'd just as soon take up residence at the bottom of the Seine, if that was how it had to be.
Marius looked at Cosette, and Cosette looked at Marius, and they seemed to communicate something to each other wordlessly, because finally Cosette turned back toward Éponine and squeezed her arms reassuringly. "Very well, then. If that's what you want. You can start right after you get some rest. Forgive me, I don't mean to sound impolite, but you really don't look well." She stood up, her charming, pink, lace-trimmed dress rustling as she moved. She held her hand out to Éponine, but Éponine pretended not to see. She didn't feel any malice toward Cosette exactly. Honestly, she didn't know what she felt. She was all sorts of mixed-up. Shame and gratitude and pride and envy and embarrassment, oh, who even knew what else? She tried to shut it all away, and it left her feeling cold. And very, very tired.
She stood up, and Cosette beckoned her to follow out of the room. She brought her through a hallway filled with art and fine tapestries, and into a comfortable little room that was very much not meant for a servant.
"Here," Cosette said, walking over to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains and opening it just a little to let in some air. "We furnished this for my father, but he's being so strange, since the wedding, and won't live here." Her lips pouted slightly. "Anyway, lie down and make yourself comfortable."
"This isn't a place for a maid to sleep. You're acting as if I'm a guest, and I told you. I'm not." Éponine's voice came out a little more petulantly than she meant.
Cosette looked apologetic, although heaven only knew why. "I know, but it just doesn't seem right to me. I feel that you should be our guest."
Éponine had to restrain herself from stomping her foot like a toddler. "It doesn't seem right? Really? You were worse than a servant to us. We didn't even give you a bed at all! Don't you remember?"
Cosette glanced down, a pained expression crossing her face. "I don't like to remember. But none of that was your fault."
"You don't remember how nasty I was to you?"
"You were just a child. You didn't know any better." Her face brightened a little, and she met Éponine's eyes again. "That was so long ago. You've changed since then! Helping Marius and I find each other, what you did at the barricade, I can't even imagine... Please, can't we be friends? I'm so grateful to you." She stepped closer to Éponine and moved to take her hands again, but Éponine stepped back.
"Grateful? To me? Friends? But, if I wanted to, I could make you absolutely hate me!" Oh, what was she doing? She was so tired, and she should just lie down and leave this for another time. She was feeling so reckless. The pain in her heart made her feel she had nothing left to lose, and there was little point in trying to build some semblance of a life on a false premise of the gratitude of a woman who ought rightly to hate her.
"What do you mean?"
A very mean-spirited laugh escaped from Éponine's mouth. "Do you know why I helped Marius? I thought I was in love with him, and I was crazy over it! Oh, I knew a fine young man like him could never have anything to do with the likes of me, but I just wanted him to talk sweetly to me, and maybe look a little bit happy to see me sometimes. I would have done anything he said. But all he wanted was to find you. That was the only thing that would make him smile. There."
Her eyes had been roving about the room, everywhere but Cosette's face, as she spoke. But she finally ventured to meet Cosette's eyes, and she saw nothing but warmth there.
"That doesn't make me hate you! What a beautiful, selfless thing to do—that makes me want to be friends even more. Since leaving the convent, I never really had a friend, you know, that was a girl my own age." Cosette moved forward, putting out her arms as though to embrace her, but Éponine stepped back even further. "And then, I suppose, you and I are a little like sisters, in a way."
Éponine laughed again, out of disbelief. "Really? Are we? Well, how's this then? Do you remember when you had to leave the Rue Plumet?"
"Yes?"
"Your—father..." Éponine was quite sure the man was not her father, but she didn't know whether Cosette knew that, and the only devastating revelations she wanted to give this afternoon were the ones belonging to herself alone.
"Yes, well, he's my father, but not really, ."
Éponine nodded. "Anyway. He decided to leave so suddenly because he got a note, telling him to move out."
"But why?"
"Because there was trouble."
"I don't understand."
"Never mind that. But he got a note all the same, and I know because the note was mine, and I gave it to him."
"Why?"
"I said, never mind that." She didn't really want to explain about her father and the Patron-Minette, and her thwarting their burglary. Cosette might think she had to be grateful about that too. "Anyway, do you remember when you wrote a letter to Marius?"
Cosette eyebrows came together, and her lips pursed. "How do you know about that?"
"Do you remember the boy you saw, outside in the street? You gave him five francs to deliver the letter to the Rue de la Verrerie. Oh...number sixteen, it was. You see? I don't forget an address."
Cosette's jaw was slackened now, and she simply stared wordlessly at Éponine.
"I know, because it was me."
"That...that was you?"
She nodded. "I went to the Rue Verrerie, but not to give it to him. And I met his friend there, and he said they were building a barricade. So I thought, that's it then! I was so stupid and silly and mad, and this is the part you're going to hate me for."
"I don't think so, but go on." Cosette's voice was grave as she tried to make sense of it all.
"I went back to the Rue Plumet, because I knew you were all gone and Marius didn't know, and would be there. And I told him—he didn't know me, it was dark and I was dressed up like a man—I told him his friends were expecting him at the barricade in the Rue de la Chanvrerie. So there. Now you know."
Cosette looked blank. "I don't understand."
"I wanted him to come and die with me there. Do you see? It was the only way we could be together."
"But...you saved him."
"I...I saw the musket aimed at him, and I put my hand over it." She looked down at the hand in question. "I knew he was going to die but I didn't want to see it happen. I didn't want him to die before I did."
"But he did get my letter, he told me that."
"When I was dying—well, thought I was dying—I gave it to him. I didn't want him to hold it against me. But I thought it was too late, anyhow."
Cosette's face was unreadable. Éponine forced herself to look, so that she could finally see the hatred, disgust, anger, coldness, outrage...all the many things she deserved to see in the pretty young face. But there was nothing decipherable there.
"You see? It all came out right, I suppose, because here you are. But if it hadn't, it would have been all my fault. You and Marius would never be together, and there would be one person to blame. Do you understand now? You really oughta hate me. I didn't even know, then, what it really meant to love someone. Stupid." Éponine laughed a little. "But now—well, a lot has happened. And if there was a person I could hate for...for how everything has ended up..." She sucked in a shaky breath and bit down on her lip. She didn't know, when she'd started talking, that this was where she would end up. She put her hand over her face. She wasn't going to cry now, was she?
Then, Cosette's arm timidly encircled her shoulders, and gently led her toward the bed. "Come and lie down. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to hate you. I want us to begin again, and let the past be the past."
She helped Éponine sit on the bed. Éponine took off her shoes, lay down on top of the bedspread and stared up at the canopy. Almost no sooner had she lain down than she started to fall asleep. She heard the soft click of the door closing, and then she knew nothing more.
—●—●—●—●—
When she woke up again, it was dark outside the window. She wasn't sure how late it was. Should she get up, or try to sleep some more? She got off of the bed and softly walked over to the door. She opened it as quietly as she could. The hall was lit with candles, and there was more candlelight spilling out of a room where she could hear voices and the clinking of silver on china. By the pangs of hunger in her stomach, Éponine was made aware that she still hadn't eaten anything since the night before, when she and—well, the night before, that was all. It was probably part of why she felt so poorly, too.
She timidly walked out into the hallway, taking her valise with her, and stood in the doorway of the dining room, where Marius and Cosette sat at a table with two old people Éponine had never seen before, a man and a woman. A couch had been pulled up to the table in place of a chair, so that Marius could recline. He looked pale and very unwell, and he wasn't eating, and just listened as the old man animatedly told a story. When Cosette glanced up and saw Éponine in the doorway, the old man followed her gaze.
"What's that, Cosette, that has caught your pretty eyes?" the old man spied Éponine then. "Oh! I might ask who you are and demand who let you in, except you're so lovely that I have no objections."
"Grandfather," Marius said, "this is Mademoiselle Éponine Thénardier. She was my neighbour, once upon a time. Éponine, this is my grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand."
"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur," Éponine said. "But I'm not Mademoiselle anything, seeing as I'm to be a servant here."
"A servant?" M. Gillenormand bellowed in horror. "But we already have one Nicolette, and there cannot be two at once, can there? Besides, surely my grandson's republican ideals will never allow it! Really, you would dethrone the monarchy without also enthroning beauties such as this? What, pray tell, is the point of liberté if not to liberate such graces from the scullery? What do you mean by égalité, if not that a charming neighbour of any station should not be adored rather than put to work? And what is fraternité if we cannot invite the lovely Mademoiselle Éponine—Fénardier, was it?—if we cannot invite her to dine with us? Well! I almost lost my grandson, so that magnificent creatures like this will still be relegated to scrubbing floors? No! I won't stand for it! Marius, I wish to file a complaint!"
Éponine didn't know whether she was allowed to laugh or not at the absurd but somehow endearing man. He had kindly eyes and a harmless air about him. She smiled at him, before seeking Cosette's eyes. "Tell me what I should do. I'd like to get started right away, please."
"Can't you sit down and eat with us?" Cosette implored. "Just for one night."
"Absolutely! I demand it. My grandson is master of the house now, for I have abdicated to a very worthy young man and his resplendent bride. But! For one night only, I take my rights as Grandfather back, and I insist that you join us, Mademoiselle. Look, this chair beside me is empty. It's yours! It has been waiting for you to ornament it. Oh, do come and sit."
The rather prim-looking older woman continued to say nothing, but she cast very judgemental and appraising eyes at Éponine, and fiddled fretfully with the high collar of her dress.
Cosette joined in with M. Gillenomrand, imploring Éponine to come and sit down. Then, turning her attention to Marius, she said, "Husband! You must make Éponine dine with us. She cannot refuse all of us!"
Well, Éponine thought, it wasn't going to be all of them, because they were never going to get that formidable, scowling old woman to join in their plea.
Marius turned to look at Éponine, a little awkwardly, and Éponine remembered that the last thing she'd said to him had been that she was a little bit in love with him. It wasn't true any more, but for all he knew, she still felt that way, and was still the same pathetic girl who he'd done his best to avoid. He was now in the uncomfortable position of not wanting to encourage that, but not wanting to upset his wife and grandfather, either. It was a desire to put an end to this discomfort that made Éponine decide to take the seat next to the old man, leaving her valise in the doorway.
"There!" M. Gillenormand was triumphant. "These are ideals that I can get behind."
Éponine hardly knew what she ate, because she just felt so uncomfortable and inconvenient. But both Cosette and M. Gillenormand seemed so determined to put her at ease, and almost counterbalanced the combination of how quiet Marius was being and the icy glares from the woman that she soon put together was Marius's aunt, M. Gillenormand's unmarried daughter.
She made it through dinner, and then, thankfully, Cosette rose from the table and beckoned Éponine to follow her. "Are you sure," she said, when they went through a hallway and down some stairs, "that you won't be convinced to stay as our guest?"
"I'm sure."
Cosette paused on the stairs and turned around. She smiled charmingly, her large eyes imploring. "Can you at least tell me why? I'll never drop this until I understand."
Éponine sighed. "Only...I've been staying with someone ever since the barricade. And before that, we were just—you know how it was, or I think you know. I don't know how much you paid attention, you were always looking so sad and keeping your eyes on the floor. But we were just a bunch of crooks, and it got worse when we came to Paris."
How could she explain? How could she make someone like Cosette, who just radiated goodness in a way that would have been sickening if it had not been so clear that it truly permeated her entire being and was not a mere act, understand the concept of being so thoroughly disgusted with yourself and everything you had ever done in your entire life? How desperately Éponine wanted to truly earn something for once? It was all down to herself now. She had no one else in the whole world, and there could never be anyone ever again. If she was to be on her own forever, she needed to be able to live with herself. Otherwise, she would simply have to die. "I can't explain it to you. You can never understand."
Cosette frowned. "Everyone is always telling me that! I want to understand. I wish you would let me."
Éponine looked into the kind blue eyes of the other young woman, who, it was true, should have been like a sister to her. That's probably what Cosette's gentle and beautiful mother hoped, when she left her apple-cheeked, lace-adorned little girl at the Sergeant of Waterloo, there in Montfermeil, where Éponine and Azelma were playing blissfully on a swing that Maman had made. They could have been like sisters, if life had been different, if her family had been different, if she had been a stronger, kinder person—good, like Cosette. And it wasn't in her power to make Cosette understand all the mire and darkness and disgust that she held in her black little soul, but she knew, as she looked into Cosette's eyes, that she truly wanted to understand. And it was probably just down to how exhaustingly emotional everything had been lately, and how tired she was, but for some reason it touched her so deeply that she almost wanted to cry.
Instead, she said, "Do you remember your mother?"
Cosette looked confused a moment, then sad. She shook her head. "She's just a beautiful memory that I can't picture. When I try very hard, I think I can almost see her, but then I see your mother instead, blocking the way. My earliest memories are of the inn."
There we go, Éponine thought dismally. Thénardiers, stealing as always. Stealing Cosette's childhood memories, and replacing them with the same ones I have. Only worse, probably. But, maybe she could give something back. "I remember your mother, a little."
Cosette impetuously grasped Éponine's hand, squeezing it. It was well that she hadn't happened to grasp the left hand, or else it would have hurt. "You do?"
Éponine nodded. "I know she was called Fantine. I heard my parents call her that."
"Fantine," Cosette whispered, in such a reverent tone as to make it sublime. "I didn't even know her name."
"And I remember the day she left you at the inn. We were only three, so it's just fleeting pictures in my head, you know. But I remember how she looked. She looked very, very sad. I suppose because she had to leave you behind. She loved you so much, I know. I remember she was gentle and soft, she was a lady—truly a lady, d'you how I mean?"
Cosette nodded.
"She was good. You know. Kind. Like you, I suppose." It was there that Éponine's voice became a little wistful. "I remember she had golden hair, I've never seen hair so fine, never. It looked like it was actually made out of sunlight. It was mostly covered, but it escaped a bit. It wouldn't be hidden, like when the sun fights against the clouds. She was dressed very rough, like a peasant, but she had you all covered in lace and ribbons. Nothing for herself, and everything for her little girl. She had, um. Hmm, how do I say it?" Éponine squinted as though it would help her better see these ephemeral memories of the toddler, interpreted now through the mind of the young woman who had seen far too much in too few years. "She had a line, here, on her cheek. Like she saw what her life should have been, and what it was. But she wasn't dismal about it, she just went," —Éponine demonstrated an ironic smile— "and got on with it. You understand?"
Cosette nodded again, her face shining and her eyes liquid.
"She had eyes just like yours. If you ever want to see your mother's eyes, you can just look in a mirror. And she loved you. I could see it. It was like her love for you ate her up and became everything that she was. Just love. Um. That's what I remember."
Cosette leapt up onto the same step that Éponine was standing on, and they were both nearly knocked down the stairs by the ferocity of the hug that Cosette gave her. "Thank you," she whispered. "All my life, I've wanted to know what she was like. I...Thank you."
Éponine folded her lips together hard, as she tentatively returned the embrace. After what felt like a suitable amount of time, she patted Cosette's back gently, and Cosette released her.
A handkerchief had appeared in Cosette's hand, which she used to dab her tears away. Éponine was just barely managing to keep her own tears from falling. "You're very good with words, Éponine. I can actually see her, now."
Éponine shrugged off the compliment. "I just talk too much, that's all."
"Where is your mother?"
"My mother? She died."
Cosette, inexplicably, looked genuinely compassionate and grief-stricken. "Oh, I'm so very sorry to hear it."
Éponine was so shocked that she actually laughed a little. "She was awful to you. You're not glad? Didn't you hate her?"
Cosette shook her head. "No. I was afraid of her, as a child. But I don't hate her now. And I'm very sorry you lost her. I know how she loved you." She grabbed for Éponine's hand again. Éponine let her take it. "When?"
Éponine shrugged. "Don't know, exactly. But she—she died in prison." Her voice was low and gruff, and she didn't dare meet Cosette's eyes for fear she would cry.
"Oh, Éponine. I'm so sorry."
Éponine took a shakey breath. "That's life, you know? It's just life. We should..." She nodded down the stairs.
Cosette dried her eyes again and tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve. "Right. Come this way."
"Oh!" Éponine remembered. "I left my bag upstairs, in the dining room."
"I'll go up and get it, in a moment. This is the kitchen. Nicolette!"
There was a woman in the kitchen, middle-aged, and a very dignified manner about her. She wore a white cap, a bright print gown, and a large apron. "Yes Madame?"
"This is Éponine. She's going to be helping you now, and she'll take Toussaint's bed in your room."
Nicolette eyed Éponine for a moment. Her eyes landed finally on the left hand. "What happened there?"
Éponine clutched her left hand in her right, defensively, and Cosette spoke up, "She was at the barricades, with Monsieur le baron." Cosette spoke of her husband thus, with touching pride. "She stopped a musket ball meant for him." And she smiled at Éponine admiringly.
"A good job! The last thing he needed was another musket ball. You should have seen the state he was in, when they brought him here. I had to use up a sheet as big as the ceiling for lint! But of course, we weren't alone in making lint, because Madame—only, you weren't Madame, then—sent lint every day. I thought he would die for certain, and his poor grandfather with him."
"Oh, Nicolette! Must we talk about that now? It's too dreadful. Come Éponine, if you come through here, and up these stairs..." They went up three flights of a narrow staircase and found themselves in an equally narrow hallway. "That's Basque's room, and this is Nicolette's. You'll have to share with her. She'll be nice, I think, although she was dreadfully mean about Toussaint's stutter. Toussaint left." She said this last part in a conspiratorial whisper, as she opened the door to reveal a tidy little garret room with two small beds, and a chest at the foot of each, and not much else. One of the beds was bare. "I'll have Nicolette make up that bed for you."
"No, I should make it up myself. Just tell me where to find the linens."
Cosette nodded, and had Éponine follow her back down the stairs. Éponine tried to hide how heavily she was leaning on the railing. Her breathing came with difficulty, and she felt she was fading away a little at a time. They went into a storage closet filled with linens in neat bundles and stacks, and Cosette looked around with a thoughtful frown until her eyes lighted upon the ones she sought. "Here! Now, you can go make up your bed, and I'll fetch your valise."
—●—●—●—●—
"Oh, there you are. Éponine, was it?"
Éponine's eyes fluttered open to see Nicolette peering down at her. She had collapsed, fully dressed, on top of the bed after making it. "I'm sorry. I meant to come down and see whether you needed help," she said fuzzily.
"That's all right, you'll start tomorrow, and make up for it then." She was difficult to read, but Éponine thought there was something kind in her eyes. The woman turned and started to get herself undressed for bed.
Éponine got up and, turning the other way, reached around to unhook her own dress. She removed her petticoats as well, and then stopped at her corset. "Sorry...Nicolette?"
"Yes?" Nicolette appeared beside her, wearing a plain nightgown, nightcap, and shawl. "Only, my name isn't really Nicolette, you know."
"It's not?"
"No. When I started here, M. Gillenormand told me I was to be Nicolette from now on. He's a funny old man, but he pays more than I asked, so I'm Nicolette. You know, Basque isn't really Basque, either. I don't even know what his proper name is."
That seemed a very odd arrangement, but it made M. Gillenormand's comment earlier, about how there couldn't be two Nicolettes, make a little more sense. She hoped he wouldn't try to change her name, too. She'd always liked the name Maman had given her. "What's your name, really?"
"Olympie."
"What a beautiful name. Can I call you Olympie?"
"You can call me that in here, as long as I'm Nicolette when we're out there."
Éponine smiled and nodded. "Olympie, can you help me? I can't reach and my hand is so clumsy."
Olympie unlaced her corset for her. "There."
Éponine thanked her and neatly placed her corset, dress, and petticoats on top of the chest at the foot of her bed. She would sleep in her chemise.
"That's very nice," Olympie said, tracing the delicate stitching of the corset. "Nicer than anything you can get with a maid's wages." She eyed Éponine somewhat suspiciously.
Éponine knew what she was probably thinking. But she didn't really know how to explain herself, or if it really mattered that this woman think she had been someone's mistress. Really, out of all the things she'd done in her life, that seemed an odd line on which to try to vindicate herself. So she simply said, "I've never been a maid before, but I learn quickly."
Olympie eyed her with another unreadable look, and then said, "Goodnight." She blew out the candle, and Éponine had to feel her way to her bed in pitch darkness.
A/N: Sorry this chapter was so long, and not exactly what you guys are here for, probably. But I promise it's all to a purpose! Please comment to let me know if you're still enjoying this, lol.
