Ivy vines covered the walls of the arched entry way he now found himself in. His horse, tied to a post in the distance, pawed the ground nervously, but his mare would have to wait. Javert made his way to the thick paneled door, eyeing the iron grated window, shut closed to visitors from the inside. He knocked vehemently, having finally found the convent on the Rue de Bac. He panted, out of breath from having to search the street, having taken hours looking for just one building.
No answer. He knocked again, this time with all the strength that remained within him.
Before his hand even hit the wood a second time, the small window opened inward, and the aged but kindly faced of a nun peered back at him. Her smile, her wrinkles and her eyes were framed in the white folds of her wimple. "Yes, Monsieur?" she asked, her voice quiet and kind.
"I am Chief Inspector Javert of the Paris Police. I am in search of a member of your order, I believe," he began, almost mechanically, an introduction he had given countless times in his career.
"Is that so, Monsieur?" the nun's voice grew distant. "Surely not to accuse for a crime? Our order is very protected, very few of us leave, and no stranger," she paused her to scan him up and down with her brown eyes, "certainly no man enters."
Javert nodded as politely as he could. "I am seeking one of your order who would have been out in the slums last night, perhaps offering charity to the… " he paused, struggling to find a more appropriate word for 'criminals'… "less fortunate."
"Why should you require this information, Inspector?" the Sister asked, and Javert could sense her growing distance.
He gritted his teeth. If only she would let him in. "A woman stands accused of murder, and the only witness to prove this woman's innocence is a certain Sister Clémence from your order, the Sisters of Charity. You see why it is so important that you let me in to find her?" his voice struggled to maintain his typical composure.
The Sister shook her head, wagging the wings of her wimple back and forth. "I can offer you the information that I do know, but letting you in or letting one of our sisters to come with you or to even speak with you is forbidden."
"But Sister," Javert began, his hand now gripping the wrought-iron bars that stood between the two of them.
"Inspector," she chastised. Even while cautioning him, she kept a semblance of gentility to her words. "Our rules have protected us for years against violence, revolution and death. We allow only one man behind these walls, and that is the Lord. However, I may be able to help you with the Sister that you seek." She looked him straight in the eyes. "We do not call ourselves the Sisters of Charity lightly, Monsieur, each night, some of our order takes it in turn to go out into the world to share the love of Christ to those who suffer in this world. However, we do not seek acclamations for our work, and we do not value our time outside of our walls. For our protection and to be sure we do not fall into the sin of pride, we each go by the name of Sister Clémence while ministering."
Javert paused, his brows slowly furrowing and his gaze darkening. "What?" he spat as her meaning sunk in.
"We are each Sister Clémence, Inspector," she replied, "Only in the outside world. We each go out to minister when we feel as though the Lord is calling us to work His mercy, unbeknownst to our fellow Sisters. So, as you see, there is no guarantee that one of our order was even out last night, and it is next to impossible for me to tell you who your Sister Clémence could have been."
Desperation and hot anger began to edge his voice, "But surely there is some way to ask the other nuns about who would have spoken to a woman in police uniform last night outside of Madame…"
"I am sorry, Inspector," the Sister interrupted, "but we are sworn not to share our encounters with anyone but God." She began to close the little door to end their conversation. But Javert forced his fingers between the bars to stop the fateful planks from closing.
"Stop Sister," he snarled, "it is within the power of the law for me to break down this door and attain the evidence I seek."
The nun's face grew stern in the little frame of the window. "Take a moment, Inspector, and think about just what you are saying. While I do not want to condemn a woman to her fate, you must have another means by which to prove her innocence. In the meantime, is this woman worth the damnation of your soul by desecrating a house of God?"
The darkness in his gaze intensified, and his glower deepened, but he withdrew his hand from the door, just as the bells of the church began to chime the hour. Quarter to six. In the moment of his distraction, the little door had shut on him, and Javert fought the urge to add cursing to his list of sins.
He paced towards his horse; if he hurried, he would return to the Préfecture with time to spare. Mounting his mare, he pushed her forward through the streets, the pace of his animal matching the rapid succession of his own thoughts.
Without a statement from Sister Clémence, he had no evidence with which to return. Perhaps she did not even exist, he scowled. And if she didn't exist, then Cécelie had played him for a fool, toying with his determination and his devotion to the law. If there was no proof of her innocence, then Javert could only conclude her guilt, damning her and damning himself in the process. His hands turned white from gripping the reins so tightly. He kicked his horse too hard to make it speed even faster through the street, and it let out a pained whinny.
Could she have been so clever? he wondered to himself, extinguishing the faint spark that she had placed where he thought his heart could have been. Could a woman as cunning as she have manipulated him better than he had attempted to do with her? He ground his teeth, thinking of how she had set him on this path of slowly burning desire. Had she known him so well that he would resort to sex to control her? He snorted in derision. Perhaps, perhaps not. He barely knew it himself that possessing her would work as well as it had... or as well as he thought it had.
His mind raced back to the first moment he came across her in her cell, how that defiant gleam in her eyes burned even then…. How she cursed her husband and his tempters with every breath… How she had become the perfect pawn in his plan and how her anger had bargained her way into his control…
His memories began to turn to the little things she had said, suddenly realizing just how damning her statements had been all along…
He remembered her standing beside him in Génot's office… "Well, believe me, Monsieur le Commissionaire, when I say that… love… for my husband would never have been a motive…" she had said right in front of him and his superior. Small wonder the Commissioner saw through her deception first.
Recalling the seductive gleam in her eye and heat to her touch… "You understand I would do to bring this man to personal justice…" she growled to him when first presented with the plan to arrest Tournot. Idiot Inspector, he cursed himself.
And after the deed was done and Tournot was in chains, had she not yelled at him and warned him… "I hope you regret your words, Inspector Javert…" Yes, she made sure he regretted his lack of affection in just the right way. He regretted every kiss, every thrust of his cock, every breath they had shared. All those lies about loyalty and forgiveness and feelings…
As much as he absolutely loathed it, Tanville and Commissioner Génot must be correct. He had much he must do now to make amends for his mistakes.
He drew his heaving, lathering horse to a stop just outside the stables of the Préfecture. How could he have let her piercing blue eyes, her pure white breasts, her noble title, and fierce spirit distract him?
Damnit Javert, he swore at himself, you know this isn't the first time you have been blinded to crime and fooled into trusting someone with status or a title… a title like Monsieur le Maire…
Javert physically bit his tongue at the memories of his failure with 24601… with Valjean. It had been too late to bring that thief to justice, but he still had time to correct the error of his ways with Cécelie… with number 3072.