Chapter 19 – La Conciergerie
Run—run faster, Enjolras. His feet pounded the ground and the air burned in his lungs. He glanced over his shoulder; Doctor Beaufort was far behind. Leave him—just run. He wasn't fast enough, he was never fast enough. His Mére was there, but he was not racing to her this time.
She called out to him. "Run, Enjolras, before it's too late!"
He tried to go faster but he couldn't. He fell to the ground. The barricade had risen before him and was covered with blood—his hands were covered with blood.
"Forgive me," he cried.
He was pulled up to his feet by Combeferre and Courfeyrac.
"Now is not the time to wallow in despair," said the first.
"There are higher things at stake," said the second.
"Run!" they both cried.
Once again, he was running. His feet pounded against the pavement and his heart pounded in his ears. He had no idea what he was running to. Not Mére, not revolution. Something was on the horizon; he could feel it but not see it.
He was so close, a little bit further and he would be able to see what it was.
Just a few steps left... Something stepped into his path, sending him falling backwards...
He jolted awake to find himself in the same bed where he had gone to sleep a few hours previously. The pale light of early morning was filtering through the window and a bird was singing its hopeful tune outside. Everything surrounding him seemed to be calm as Enjolras sat wiping sweat from his brow.
He had not dreamed since the fall of the barricade. Truthfully, he had only started sleeping properly at all in the last few days.
He swung his legs out of bed and got up, trying to shake the lingering emotions from his mind. He was never one to believe in nonsense such as the meaning of dreams, but he couldn't help feeling that his subconscious was trying to tell him something that he had not yet figured out.
He crossed the room to the small desk scattered with papers and books. He tried thinking about the dream and its significance. Helping Joly was the reason he was alive, and that had to be the cause of the dream.
If he could help Joly, that would mean he survived the barricade for something. It was the only reason he was allowing Eponine to use her contact with the Patron-Minette, despite the fact that it went against his better judgement. It was also the only reason he now pulled a piece of paper toward himself and did one of the few things he swore he would never do—he composed a letter to his father, asking for money.
He hoped the letter would ease the troubling thoughts in his mind, but it did not.
He had been shut up inside for too long; he needed fresh air in order to get his mind to think clearly. Taking his coat and hat, Enjolras made for the door. He heard no noise from the girls' room as he crept past. It was early, and Musichetta would not be up for work for another hour. He could be back before they even knew he had gone.
As he walked, Enjolras let his mind wander. For once, he wasn't planning a better France, a revolution or a republic—he just let his thoughts drift.
He remembered times with his friends—the memory of Courfeyrac and Combeferre so fresh in his mind from his dream the night before. They were the guide and the centre of their group, and they each played their part in keeping their band of friends together.
He remembered how Courfeyrac and Marius used to tease each other—in fact, how everyone used to tease Marius. He remembered how Bahorel claimed to be a student, and yet everyone was surprised when he actually turned up to class.
It was the thought of Grantaire that tipped the balance, though. The drunkard who Enjolras used to scorn and yet who had been there at the end of the barricade had taken the bullets meant for him. A few tears began to slip down his face. He brushed them away and realised that he had subconsciously arrive at the Café Musain.
For a while he stood outside the building and stared up, basking in the warm glow of the pleasant memories of his friends and the times they had shared together inside.
Eponine was right—he was sorry for his friends' sacrifice, but he was proud of them too. They had given up everything for the cause, and he swore to himself that their deaths would not be in vain. The fact that he was alive meant that he could still make a difference. In the name of his friends, he would continue the fight.
But he knew that, right now, the most important thing was to help Joly. That is what they would have wanted most. With that in mind, he turned on his heel and headed home.
~X~
"Are you certain?" Musichetta asked later that day.
"Quite certain," Eponine replied, unceremoniously pulling pins from the girl's hair, causing the wheat gold waves to cascade around her shoulders.
"What is it?" Musichetta asked, seeing Eponine's expression in the mirror.
"It's your hair."
"What's wrong with it now?" she asked self-consciously, curling an end round her finger.
"It looks too nice if you let it down. You'll stick out like a sore thumb. No gamine would have hair like this—it would have been sold to the wig makers years ago."
"Your hair is long," Musichetta pointed out.
"I was not allowed to sell mine. It was in my father's interest to keep myself and my sister presentable. Oh look, this will do," Eponine said, changing the subject and reaching into Musichetta's scrap fabric basket. She tied a headscarf around Musichetta's head like a bandana. Eponine twisted the glorious locks at the nape of Musichetta's neck and pinned them in place, securing the headscarf underneath.
"Better." She smiled.
"I still do not understand the need for the disguise," Musichetta said, scrutinising Eponine's work in the mirror.
"Because—we do not know who we will have to cross to see Joly. They may happily take our bribe but turn us in later. It's safer if they cannot give an accurate description."
Eponine finished stuffing some fabric into the toes of a pair of Joly's boots. She pulled them on, tucking in the trouser ends that were too long for her. She pulled a large jacket on to hide the curves that had become more prominent after two weeks of having three square meals a day. She stuffed her hair into a cap and tried to ignore the sickly feeling in her stomach. She would take Musichetta to Joly and then she had her own task to carry out.
She had woken early that morning and slipped out to the tavern she knew was frequented daily by the members of the Patron-Minette, leaving a note for Montparnasse to meet her at Notre Dame after dark. She prayed 'Parnasse would be the one to get her message and not her father.
"Are you okay, Eponine? You look terribly pale." Musichetta laid her hand on Eponine's arm.
"I'm fine, thank you," Eponine smiled. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Musichetta said firmly.
"Mademoiselle," Eponine laughed, holding her arm out to her friend.
"Monsieur," Musichetta giggled, taking hold of it. They walked out of the bedroom arm in arm.
Enjolras was waiting in the living area. He had changed his clothes from the day and was dressed similarly to Eponine. He wore an unbuttoned beige waist coat and had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He wore a cap over his blonde curls and had tied a red neckerchief around his throat in the place of a cravat.
Since last night her heart had begun to thump slightly every time she saw him, which confused her greatly. She had concluded that it was nothing more than physical attraction brought about by enforced close quarters. She was not going to spoil their relationship by letting such feelings get the better of her. It made no difference she reminded herself; she loved Marius and always would. Although, she dwelt on him less often over the last few days she reassured herself that it was simply because she had so much on her mind- wasn't it?
Musichetta, picked up a small pouch from her pocket, the coins inside it jangled as she turned to Eponine. "Are you sure this will work?"
"I've done it hundreds of times," she said confidently as the unlikely trio made their way onto the streets. She didn't feel it wise to add that she had never tried it at La Conciergerie.
Since her family had come to Paris, Eponine had been made all too aware of how the prison system worked. She had done time inside herself before, and she knew how poorly the guards were paid. A little bribery had gotten her in to see Maman or Papa before. As they reached the end of the Saint Michel bridge that lead to La Conciergerie,
she motioned to Enjolras and Musichetta to stop.
"It's just down this road. Wait here and I will go and see if I can bribe our way in."
"I'll come with you," Enjolras said, stepping forwards as Musichetta handed over the money.
"No, it will be too intimidating if we both go. Wait here with Musichetta; I won't be a moment."
"It's not safe," he protested
"Please, I've done this often enough," she said, trying to smile reassuringly at him and not be irked by his protectiveness. "Plus, I am disguised as a man so I won't get into any trouble."
~X~
Without waiting for his reply, Eponine was gone. Enjolras could not help staring at her retreating figure. She did not look like a man to him; even in her disguise, it was obvious that she was female. The breaches alone showed off her shapely legs and her…
Enjolras tore his gaze away in embarrassment and cleared his throat awkwardly. He felt the blood rushing to his face.
"Are you okay, Enjolras?" Musichetta asked gently, placing a hand to his cheek. "You look flushed—I hope you are not getting a fever."
"Thank you, Mademoiselle, but I am quite well."
Musichetta seemed satisfied with his answer and returned her pensive stare to the Seine.
He hadn't meant to stare; he was simply noting what anyone else looking would have seen—that her disguise was ridiculous. He paced restlessly until Eponine returned with a triumphant smile on her face.
"Come quickly—there will be no guard outside Joly's door for the next half hour. I will show you the way."
Musichetta rushed forwards and the group was quickly walking down the street to La Concierge again. It was a large ugly grey building, built long ago for the purpose of housing criminals. Surrounded by water, you could only reach it via one of six bridges, making escape more difficult. It was the same prison that had housed Marie Antoinette when the old Monarchy had fallen. It angered Enjolras that it now housed someone who had been fighting for a republic, the very opposite ideal to that of its previous occupant.
Eponine lead them along the side and round to the back of the building. There was only a narrow path between the prison and the water's edge. A simple railing was all that separated the building from the footpath.
"He is below the sixth window along."
Enjolras stopped to check there was no one around as Musichetta and Eponine counted the windows until they arrived at the sixth. He caught up to them as Musichetta was leaning over the railings.
"Joly!" she hissed into the darkness.
Enjolras followed her gaze. The building continued about another six feet below the pavement. He could see a series of barred windows without glass in what must have been the basement.
A flurry of skirts caught his attention as Musichetta climbed over the railing and dropped down into the gap below. It was just about wide enough for her to stand in, and when she knelt down, her face was level with the window.
"Joly," she whispered again.
From where he stood, Enjolras could see nothing more of Joly than the pale white fingers that curled around one of the bars and the hand that shot out to cradle Musichetta's
face.
"Musichetta, what are you doing here?"
Enjolras was surprised by the rush of emotion he felt at hearing his friend speak.
"Joly, look at you," she choked out.
"Musichetta, you can't stay here. It's not safe. What if someone sees you?"
"They won't, my love. We bribed the guards and Eponine and Enjolras are keeping watch."
There was a long stretch of silence before Joly spoke. "Enjolras is alive?"
"I helped Eponine drag him from the barricade myself."
"But-but I watched Eponine die! How can she be alive? How can he?"
"Well, you obviously are not a very good doctor my dearest, because neither of them are dead and I can attest to that. They are alive and we are going to get you out of here."
"I-I… I thought… I thought I was the only one left!" Joly sobbed.
"And I thought I had lost you!" Musichetta cried, barely able to choke back her own sobs. "But thank God I haven't. I have found you and I won't let them take you from me again. I won't." She sealed her promise by placing her head against the bars and pressing a kiss to Joly's lips.
Enjolras, swallowing a lump in his own throat, turned his back on the pair and allowed them to have their moment.
Eponine was looking at him as he turned around.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Nothing," she replied quickly. "Will you wait with Musichetta while I go and meet Montparnasse?"
"I thought we were going to go together once we were finished here?"
"Yes, but I don't want to keep him waiting, for he'll leave. He is not the most patient of people."
"I will come with you, then," he said, not wanting her to go alone.
"No, stay with Musichetta. I am meeting him at Notre Dame; no harm will come to me. You cannot leave her here, outside La Conciergerie, by herself. It is not safe. I will only be ten minutes away."
He knew she was right—he could not leave Musichetta, but he did not want Eponine to go alone either.
"You are going to go, even if I ask you not to, aren't you?"
"Yes," she lifted her chin defiantly.
He sighed. She hadn't grown out of her tendency to be stubborn. He knew better than anyone that the more you asked her not to do something, the more determined she would be to do it.
"I promise I will be fine, Enjolras. I will go directly there and will not leave until you and Musichetta come to meet me. It will be easier to ask Montparnasse for help without an audience. It's our best chance."
"Ok," he said, resigned. "We will be along as soon as Musichetta has finished."
She smiled at him before walking away.
"Eponine," he called out.
She turned back to face him; he didn't know why he needed to say it, but he had to.
"Be careful."
"I always am."
A/N – Ok history lesson time. I tried to find records of visits to prisoners in 1800s Paris. Basically I found nothing so I assumed it wasn't the done thing which meant I could use my artistic license for the above (which was much more fun)
La Conciergerie is, of course, a real prison that was used up until 1914 and as Enjolras told you all held Marie Antoinette. Seemed like an appropriate place for Joly to be as a prisoner of revolution. La Conciergerie is a very beautiful building now but it went under a huge renovation in 1858 so does not look as it did in 1832. I've kept the basic structure the same as it is now, with the railings and the basement cells, but as it needed redecorating I have assumed it must have been pretty ugly (unfortunately I couldn't find any pictures or detailed descriptions of how it looked before the renovation) Any historical inaccuracies are all my own fault and I take full responsibility for them
Anyways, I hope you have all enjoyed and as always let me know what you think.