A/N: I don't own Les Misérables in any of its forms.
This story is a sequel to "To Love Another Person", which I posted in January/February. For those who haven't read it, feel free to do so, but full explanations will be given in future chapters.
Feedback is always welcome and reviews make my day.
Paris, January 1837
The chill winter's day was drawing to a close. The clouds hung so low that they filled the streets with mist and a fine rain as cold and sharp as needles. Workers hurried home to escape the bitter weather and no-one remained outdoors for pleasure.
The young stationer in the Rue de la Verrerie glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten to six. It was nearly time to close his shop, and in such weather it was unlikely that he would have another customer that day. He carried his lamp to the workbench at the back of the shop, removed his coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and commenced work on a half-finished picture frame.
As he planed the wood smooth, he became aware of a dark shape at the door to the shop, as though someone were peering through the glass to see whether anyone was within. He quickly fastened his cuffs, pulled his coat on and approached the door. A figure in a long, hooded black cloak, the face invisible, was leaning against the doorframe.
He opened the door and the figure stumbled inside. A woman, to judge by the height. For a moment, he could have sworn that he had seen two pairs of feet beneath the cloak.
"The shop is open, Madame, if I may be of any assistance to you," he said courteously. The woman reeled and nearly fell. He swiftly drew a chair forward from behind the counter and helped her to sit.
"Please... I must not be seen." He could scarcely hear the faint voice issuing from within the black folds. The hood moved as though the speaker were looking towards, and shrinking from, the feeble light issuing through the shop windows.
He quickly came to a decision. "Wait here, please, Madame. I will close the shop and put up the shutters." Another movement within the cloak indicated a nod, and he briskly went outside, hooked the shutters into place, locked them, returned inside, and locked the door. The shop was now dark apart from his lamp, which he fetched from the workbench and placed upon the counter beside them.
"Now, Madame, will you please tell me how I may assist you?" He crouched before her and tried to speak reassuringly. Inwardly he was uneasy. Was this a trap of some kind? In the past, his life had been one in which fear was frequently known and appropriate, yet everything had been so quiet of late.
"Am - am I in the presence of Monsieur Enjolras?" she whispered.
"You are, Madame," he replied, astonished.
A deep sigh. "Thank God. My husband told me to come to you if ever I needed help, and God knows that I need it now."
"Your husband?" His beautiful brow furrowed. "Do I know him?"
"You did." The woman pushed her hood back to reveal the loveliest face in the world, haggard and streaked with tears, framed by masses of golden hair. She opened the cloak to reveal nestled in its folds a golden-haired boy, no more then three years old, who looked up at him with wide blue eyes. "You see before you the widow and son of Baron Pontmercy."
"Marius?" The shock was so great that he could barely speak. "Marius is dead?"
She nodded, exhausted. "He is dead. And, may God help me, I am accused of his murder."
After the tragedies he had known, and caused, less than five years ago, he had thought himself inured to grief, but he was utterly stunned by this unexpected blow. Whomever else he had lost, he had been able to console himself with the thought that at least Marius was safe and happy.
One thought overwhelmed him. How can I tell her?
"Then you are - Cosette?"
She nodded again. "I am. And this is our son, Jean, Marius's heir. If we are found, I will be arrested and my son will be taken from me and given into the keeping of the man whom I believe to be responsible for my husband's death. In the name of my dear, dead husband, who was your friend, I beg of you to help us."
"You have no need to ask," he said gravely. "We will protect you. The Amis of the ABC still look after their own."
"We?"
As if in answer to her question, his wife called from the landing of the stairs leading up to their living quarters above.
"Closed already, Léon? You're early. Supper will be ready soon - Oh!" She had advanced down the stairs and seen the tragic little group below.
"We have guests, my love," Enjolras called back. "We must bring them upstairs at once."
She hurried down and approached them. Cosette looked up at a beautiful young woman with long chestnut hair and liquid brown eyes.
"Éponine?"
"Cosette! What's wrong?" Éponine knelt beside her and took her hand.
The boy piped up. "Maman, who are they?"
Cosette turned brimming eyes on her son. "They are your uncle Enjolras and your aunt Éponine. They love us both very much." From within her cloak, the boy solemnly bowed to them.
"But where's Marius?" Éponine asked. Cosette bowed her head, and Enjolras's sad gaze told her all she had to know. "Oh, God, no..." She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle a sob while tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Enjolras pulled her into his arms, buried his face in the curve of her neck for a moment as he tried to steady himself, then looked directly at her.
"I'm sorry, my love, but we must mourn later. They are in danger and have come to us for protection. Take Jean, and I will help the Baroness."
Éponine nodded, wiped her eyes, and forced herself to address the wide-eyed child. "Hello, Jean. I'm glad to meet you. Come with me, and you can have some supper. Do you like bread and milk?"
"Yes," the boy whispered. She held out her hand to him and he took it. They went upstairs hand in hand, and Enjolras extinguished the lamp, picked up Cosette in his arms, and followed them. She was watching her son with wonder.
"He's always afraid of strangers," she whispered as they ascended the stairs. "But he loves her at once."
"My Éponine has that way with her. She had three younger brothers," Enjolras murmured fondly, setting her down at the top of the flight.
Had. Exhausted as she was, Cosette could catch at that and store it in her memory. She had known only of Gavroche, who had been a small child when she left the Thénardiers' tavern, and whom Marius had mourned. There must have been others after him, who had also died.
She swayed, and Enjolras had to catch her and lead her away from the stairs.
"Pardon me, but when did you last eat?"
"Yesterday morning," she groaned. "Before he - " She could not say more.
"Then before anything else, both of you must share our supper," he said briskly, "and then Éponine will put Jean to bed. Then we will need to talk."
He removed her wet cloak, hung it on a peg, led her into a small, warm kitchen with a table where Éponine was already laying two extra places, sat her in a chair, and drew up an extra chair for himself and a small cabinet upon which Jean could sit. Already she felt strangely comforted. She and Jean had been alone in the darkness, but now this charismatic young man was competently taking charge of the situation. She understood why Marius had revered him as a leader and loved him as a friend.
Éponine's beef and vegetable stew, doubtless a recipe learned in her tavern days but now made with superior ingredients, was delicious. The amount would have been generous for two but was meagre for three, and Cosette was guiltily conscious that she had been given by far the largest portion, but her attempts to remonstrate were gently brushed aside. Certainly by the time she had finished, she felt more able to face what promised to be an evening of discussion. Jean tucked into bread and milk, and nearly fell asleep with his face in the bowl when he had finished.
"You and he will have our bed for tonight," Enjolras said softly.
"Oh, but I cannot displace you - "
"Éponine and I can make up a pallet in the parlour with our spare quilts and blankets," he said gently but firmly. "We have done so before, when friends have stayed with us. "
"Come with me," Éponine whispered. Jean had now fallen asleep, and she picked the boy up and carried him from the room with Cosette following. Cosette was not at all sure that she would have felt strong enough to carry Jean herself. Éponine would always be slight of build, but her sparrow-like figure had filled out since Cosette had last known her, and she had a steely inner strength.
The small bedroom consisted mostly of the double bed, with a wardrobe and chest. Cosette undressed her unconscious son while Éponine rummaged in the chest and unearthed one of Enjolras's oldest shirts, which she gave to Cosette as a nightshirt for Jean. They tucked him into the warm bed and crept back into the kitchen, where Enjolras had cleared the table and stoked the small fire in the grate. He gestured to them to sit, Éponine at his side and Cosette across the table from them.
"Now, Baroness - "
"Cosette, please."
"Thank you, Cosette. I know that this will be hard for you, but so that we can decide how best to help you and Jean, can you please tell us exactly what has happened, that you have had to flee your home and throw yourselves upon our mercy?"
She nodded. "I know that I must. I owe you both no less. Already I owe you more than I can ever repay."
"Nonsense," Enjolras said warmly. "As I have already told you, the Amis look after their own. You and Jean are members of the Amis now."
"Thank you," she whispered, overwhelmed. "Well...
"Marius was never completely well after the Revolution. You'll know that I nursed him back to heath, but he was overcome by grief and guilt because he had survived and so many of his friends had not. We married in February 1833, and at once our happiness was clouded by the death of my beloved father on our wedding day. My heart was broken. It was for my Marius to bring me through my grief, and I think that my need of him helped to save him from continuing to dwell upon his losses. But it meant that our marriage was seldom free of mourning.
"Shortly after we married, he told me that he had learned that two of his comrades were alive. That must have been you."
"It was," Enjolras agreed.
"I cannot tell you what a difference that made. It was as though someone had lit a lamp inside him. I think that knowledge saved his life. He did not tell me any more at that time, he said that it would be dangerous for me to know."
"There was danger, then," Enjolras said quietly. "I will explain later. Please continue."
"Jean's birth that December united us more closely than ever and brought us our greatest happiness. But Marius's health continued to be poor, and he had trouble sleeping. Our doctor prescribed laudanum, but he would never take it because he feared that he might become addicted to it. We led a very enclosed life in his grandfather's great, echoing house in the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. His grandfather owned the house and had an apartment on the first floor, and he turned the second and third floors over to us, with the idea that we would need additional space for our family and to entertain guests. He doted on us, and we all lived as a single household. At the time of our marriage, Marius had hoped that I would become a leader of society, but his illnesses and our mourning stopped all that.
"Then last January, his aunt died suddenly of a chill. She was the half-sister of Marius's mother and lived with Monsieur Gillenormand, Marius's grandfather. Monsieur Gillenormand was shattered. He was so very old that he could not have expected to outlive another child. He had always been so proud and strong, but all at once he began to dwindle before our eyes. Of course, he still had Marius and I, and Jean, and he adored all of us, but Marius had quarrelled with him before we met and had been absent from his life for some time. Mademoiselle, as we all called her, had been a constant in his life, and now she was gone. He declined very quickly, and poor Marius blamed himself, as he always did. He was convinced that if he had not quarrelled with his grandfather in the past, he would in some way have been able to save him."
"Do you think that was true?" Enjolras asked gently.
"No - I'm not sure, but I think not. Monsieur Gillenormand was over ninety, he could not have lived for ever. It was just that he had always seemed so indomitable, and then suddenly he was so listless. He died in June, and once again Marius was devastated.
"But it was not until after his death that we discovered how much Monsieur Gillenormand had been protecting us, even when he was so weak. The funeral was barely over when we were visited by Marius's cousin, Théodule Gillenormand. He was a captain of Lancers when we married, but an injury had just forced him to resign his commission. He's the only relative we have. He had been Mademoiselle's favourite, but Monsieur Gillenormand had never had much time for him. He had described Théodule to me as a high liver and a frequenter of bad company, and soon enough we found out that he was right. Creditors started turning up at our door expecting Marius to cover Théodule's expenses. Marius made some inquiries, and he discovered that Théodule was living beyond his means and had huge gambling debts. Mademoiselle had once been very rich, but we found that she'd been paying off his debts for years. She'd left him all she still had, but he'd run through it very quickly. We guessed that he must have heard how wealthy our family had become and hoped that he'd get an inheritance from Monsieur Gillenormand's will.
"Of course, none of the money belonged to Monsieur Gillenormand. It was my Papa's fortune, which he settled on Marius and I when we married. Théodule was obviously disappointed when Marius explained that to him, but he made no attempt to leave.
"Marius always tried to think well of everyone, and he suggested to me that we could pay off Théodule's debts this time, on condition that he left and never came near us again. But we were both afraid that if we paid Théodule once, we'd never be rid of him. He would keep coming back for more. I didn't feel that we were safe with him in the house. For Marius, the final straw came when Théodule went out one evening and came back with three of his gambling friends, and they sat up all night playing cards in our parlour, expecting us to accomodate them and cover his losses. Marius told Théodule that we were in deep mourning for his aunt and grandfather and could not be expected to entertain his guests, and he asked him to leave. And at last, he did.
"In October, Marius was caught out in the rain and suffered a bad attack of bronchitis. It can't have been helped by the fact that we had the master bedroom on the second floor, and it faces east. The doctor had him moved to the Green Room, which had only just been redecorated and is much cosier, and kept a kettle steaming there all the time to loosen the phlegm. It worked, but the constant coughing had drained Marius's energy. He had trouble breathing and felt nauseous. He was so weak that he could hardly ever leave his bed and suffered terrible pains in his stomach. Our doctor tried everything he knew and sought second opinions, but nothing seemed to help. He was wasting away and there was nothing any of the doctors could do to stop it. I was frantic with worry. And in the middle of it all, Théodule came back. He was absolutely different from what he had been. Before, he'd been very arrogant and confident, a dandy, a man of the world. Now, he was very sober and quiet. He apologised for the trouble he'd caused us before and explained that he had sold everything he had to clear his debts and wanted to start afresh. He had no money for lodgings and offered to stay with us to act as our secretary and deal with callers. He must have realised that I was fully occupied with looking after Marius.
"I still didn't trust him an inch. He frightened me, like a jackal circling a corpse, and his servant was no better."
"He'd sold everything, couldn't pay for lodgings, and he kept a servant?" Enjolras interrupted.
"Yes, that made me suspicious, too. He said that the servant, Jacques Mortaine, had been his orderly before he resigned his commission, but he didn't look much like a former soldier to me. I just wanted them out of the house, and Théodule kept saying that he would go as soon as he could find a position and somewhere else to live, but of course he never did. I keep telling myself that I should have tried harder to get rid of them, but I was so preoccupied with Marius, and constantly exhausted, it was all I could do to keep going at all. I made sure of keeping Marius's study and his desk locked, and kept the keys myself, so that Théodule had no chance of rummaging through our papers. Short of summoning the police, there seemed to be no way of forcing him to leave. He kept himself very much in the background, always apologetic about being any trouble to us and offering to help, but Mortaine seemed to be everywhere. He was underfoot wherever I went, and I was convinced that he was spying for his master.
"Marius became very frightened and wouldn't trust anyone but me. He became convinced that someone was trying to poison him, and would only eat food that I'd prepared for him. Whenever I was cooking for him, it took me out of his sickroom, but I was afraid to leave him alone for too long. He became so fretful when I wasn't there. I had to leave Jean almost entirely to his nursemaid. He was like a little ghost. Eventually Marius couldn't keep any food down, he was either vomiting or refusing whatever was put in front of him. I would brew him tea, and the sugar and milk I put in it were the only things keeping him alive."
"And still the doctor didn't know what was causing it?" Enjolras asked.
"He was convinced that Marius must have a virus in his stomach, which was draining his energy and stopping him eating. I couldn't see how anyone could poison him when I was preparing all his food and drink, but I was so terrified that somehow he was right and he was being poisoned after all."
"Did you and he trust the doctor?"
"Oh, yes, Doctor Fortier has treated the family for years. It was he who brought Marius through his fever after Papa rescued him from the final battle at the barricade. He had every reason to want Marius alive and none at all to want him dead.
"A week before he died, Marius had barely been conscious for some days, but he briefly rallied and whispered to me that he wanted me to send for his solicitor, Monsieur Lontenay, to change his will. Monsieur Lontenay has one copy, and the other is in a safe deposit at our bank. Marius gave me the key to the safe, and I still have it. He said that he has left everything to me to pass on to Jean. But now he was afraid that my having all the money could put Jean and I in danger. I knew that he was thinking of Théodule prowling around us. He said that he wanted to leave me an income of ten thousand francs a year and to put the rest into a trust fund for Jean to inherit when he comes of age, with the proviso that if we both die before Jean comes of age, the money would be divided between the hospitals of Paris. I wrote it all down as he dictated it. But almost as soon as he had finished speaking, he lost consciousness again. I sent a note to Monsieur Lontenay, and when he came the following morning Marius was still unconscious. I gave him a copy of what I had written down, and Monsieur Lontenay promised to re-draft the will, but he warned me that it would not be valid unless Marius revived enough to sign it. But Marius only recovered consciousness again for a few seconds, the next day, not long enough to sign anything or have it witnessed. That was when he told me to come to you if I ever needed help, and where you could be found. Thank Heaven he did.
"Marius sank lower and lower, and it was clear he was dying. Doctor Fortier took up permanent residence in our home, and neither he nor I left Marius for a second. I slept in a chair by the bed, he on a sofa, and meals were brought in to us. All I could do by then was to hold Marius's hand and talk to him, trying to reach him in some way. Then yesterday..." She was unable to continue for a minute, and Éponine, who was crying silently, reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
"Yesterday morning I woke from a short sleep to find that Marius was still unconscious and gasping for breath, and Doctor Fortier told me that the end was near. I had Basque, our servant, send for a priest who administered the Last Rites. He left, and our breakfast was brought, and although I couldn't bear to think of food, Doctor Fortier told me to eat, as I would need all my strength for the hours ahead. All my senses felt so, so sharp, I was trying to capture every moment of those precious last hours and store them in my mind.
"The hours wore on, with me holding Marius's hand, talking to him, telling him how much I love him, how I'll bring up Jean to be a man he'll be proud of. My throat was getting dry with all the talking, and someone gave me a cup of tea, I was beyond noticing whom, but I thought it must be Doctor Fortier. Then my exhaustion must have caught up with me at last. I felt overcome by the need for sleep while fighting to stay awake because Marius needed me, and everything became terribly dreamlike and unreal. I sent for Jean, and held him tightly while I tried to explain why his Papa was having to leave us, even though he loved us both so much.
"Night fell, and Jean had fallen asleep in my arms while Marius still fought for breath. I suddenly became aware that I hadn't seen Doctor Fortier for a long time, and called out for him, but it was another doctor who answered me, one whom I hadn't seen before and didn't give his name. He said that Doctor Fortier had had to leave and that he was deputising for him. I couldn't believe that, I knew Doctor Fortier would stay with us when Marius was so near to death, or at least would tell me why he had to leave, and I asked for an explanation, but this other doctor only said that I should not argue now but only wait for the end. And shortly after that my poor dear love stopped gasping and slipped away from me. The doctor bent over him, felt his pulse, and said, "Your husband is dead, Madame," and I burst into an absolute river of tears.
"I don't know how long passed, it could have been hours, the bed curtains had been closed around us and I sat, holding Jean, with my head on Marius's chest while I cried and cried. Then I heard voices outside the bed curtains, and I forced myself to stop crying and listen. One of them was Théodule and the other was the new doctor.
"I heard the doctor express his condolences to Théodule for his cousin's death, and then he added, "But I deeply grieve to tell you, Monsieur, that the Baron did not die a natural death." I simply froze with horror. Théodule asked what he meant by that, and the doctor replied, "I regret to inform you, Monsieur, that in my opinion the Baron has been poisoned. All the symptoms he displayed in his closing hours point to this. I advise you to place this matter in the hands of the police as soon as possible." Théodule asked him what evidence he had for saying such a thing, and the doctor replied, "From my study of Doctor Fortier's notes on this sad case and examination of the deceased while the Baroness slept, it appears to me that his system had been weakened over a long period by the administration of small doses of poison over a prolonged period, possibly several months, and that today he was administered a fatal overdose of opium. A bottle of laudanum by his bedside table was untouched earlier today but now is half empty. So large a dose could easily kill a man in his debilitated state." And Théodule replied, "I must thank you for this intelligence, Monsieur. With regret I must inform you that the only person who has prepared the Baron's food and drink these past three months is the Baroness herself, and that she must therefore be under suspicion of this terrible crime. You are correct that I must inform the police without delay. Her young son, my cousin, is heir to the Barony, and he may be at risk. I must move for the courts to award guardianship of the boy to me for his safety while this dreadful affair is investigated."
"I could hear their voices going further away as they moved down the corridor, and I sat there, shaking. I didn't know whether or not they had known that I was there, whether Théodule was trying to frighten me, who this doctor was that he dared to make such claims, all I knew was that I had to get Jean away at once. If it had not been for the need to protect him, I would have stood my ground, answered my accusers, challenged them to prove their allegations. I told you, Marius never took laudanum, and God knows that I never gave him anything to harm him. But I had prepared all his food and drink, and I knew how bad it would look for me. The bourgeoise who married into an aristocrat's family, who wanted rid of her ailing husband to have sole control of his money through her son.
"It could not be a coincidence that Marius had been ill and died while Théodule was in the house. How he had managed to kill him I do not know, but if Théodule could have me convicted of murdering my Marius and gain guardianship of Jean, he would have control of our fortune. Jean would not live to inherit it. Théodule would make sure that he suffered some convenient accident.
"It broke my heart to have to leave Marius lying there alone, but I knew that I had to place the living before the dead. I kissed my love for one last time, took Jean in my arms, hurried from the room, and went first to my bedroom, where I found a cloak and stout shoes, and then to the nursery, where I dressed Jean. Thank Heaven we did not meet anyone on the way. I dared not go to Marius's study to get any money or secure important documents in case I should meet Théodule and be seized. I took Jean down the back stairs. Luckily for me the porter was asleep at his post, and I had my own keys to the front door. We fled into the night and wandered the streets for hours. I think I was out of my mind with grief and weariness. I knew where to find you, but I dared not come while you might have customers in your shop in case I should be recognised.
"So now you have it. You must both think me very foolish. Fleeing the house as I did will only reinforce suspicion of my guilt. I have brought all this trouble to your door. You would be within your rights to turn me out. All I can do is beg you in Marius's name for whatever help you can give."
"You are not foolish," Éponine said impulsively. "You did what any mother, any loving mother, would do." Cosette understood the nuances behind those words. Marius had told her of the hell that Éponine had endured at her parents' hands.
"Of course we shall not turn you out," Enjolras added firmly. "Marius sent you to us to seek the help of the Amis. You and he shall not appeal in vain."
Éponine looked at her husband with sparkling eyes. "The time is now?"
"Yes, my dear," Enjolras said gravely. "I believe it is."
"Time?" Cosette asked, confused. "Time for what?"
"For the surviving Amis to reunite." Suddenly Enjolras seemed to shine with a fire that was more than mortal. Éponine's eyes glowed with excitement.
"But - but I thought that the two of you and Marius were the only survivors - "
Enjolras blazed. "So many died. But three besides us survived. We have all lived on in obscurity, meeting seldom, awaiting our time to reunite, and now it has come. Not to free the world, but to right a wrong to one of our number. Now, for the widow and son of Marius Pontmercy I can summon Bahorel. Feuilly. Joly."
"And Musichetta," Éponine added gently. "Wherever Joly is, there she will be."
"And Musichetta," Enjolras acknowledged.
Cosette could scarcely speak, as his words took her back to her childhood, when her father would read her stories from a huge book about King Arthur and his knights, who according to one legend slept beneath a hill until the time should come for them to be reawakened to fight the forces of evil. To her weary, dazzled eyes, it was as though Arthur and Guinevere were summoning Sir Gawain, Sir Galahad, Sir Percival and Blanchefleur to fight for her. Not Sir Lancelot, for that would have been her Marius, now gone for ever. Merlin? Ah, that would have been her father, lost to her as well. There should have been another, a knight of the shadows, but he too was long gone.
"Th-thank - how shall I ever thank you?" she whispered.
"By allowing us all to help you, in memory of one we all loved," Enjolras said gently. "That will be thanks enough."
"And what will you do?"
"For tonight, you stay here with us, and I will write letters to all three of them, which I will send first thing tomorrow, telling them what has happened and asking that we meet tomorrow evening. Bahorel is landlord of an inn out at Ménilmontant, where we have met before. I want you to tell them all what you have just told us, then we can all discuss how best to help you. Especially I want you to talk to Joly, who is a doctor, and all the others will contribute. Feuilly is always full of good ideas. You can stay with Bahorel and his wife while we all work to prove your innocence."
"But I cannot pay them. I have no money. All I have now are the clothes on my back."
Enjolras smiled. "No need to worry about that. They will both adore you, and they'll be proud to have Marius's widow and son as their guests. Your only problem will be in getting them to allow you to leave. They have two children who will want to play with Jean."
"He has so seldom had any playmates," Cosette whispered. "He has always been so lonely."
"All the more reason he should start to have friends now," Enjolras said firmly.
"Thank you," Cosette faltered again. "But how did any of you manage to survive? Marius told me that it was a massacre."
Enjolras looked very serious. "It's a long story, and you are very tired. Are you sure you want to hear it now?"
Cosette nodded. "Please. If you will. If I am to meet them all tomorrow, I think I should hear the story from you first. I need a story of survival, tonight."
Enjolras smiled his understanding and looked lovingly at his wife. "Our story begins with Éponine."
TBC
