It didn't sit well with Courfeyrac that Grantaire was going out of his way to inquire about Sansa, especially when she seemed to feel adamant she had to stay hidden. While he could understand his friend's reasons for his suspicions, his motives didn't seem right. So what if she wasn't quite what she made herself out to be? She was still a maid in distress and they as a group felt some obligation to help her as much as they could.
The issue troubled him so much that he found himself confiding in Jehan and Combeferre, telling them what the artist had planned.
"He's convinced she is a doxy? Where would he get such an outlandish idea?" Combeferre frowned, alarmed by just how far Grantaire was prepared to go to discredit the girl.
"I don't know, but he was pretty set on the idea. I tried to dissuade him but he wasn't listening to me at all." Courfeyrac shook his head.
Jehan thought, torn between his doubt about the situation and his sense of justice. For what it was worth, he liked the girl. "We don't know anything about her really. We've had to take what she says on trust. I don't like this any more than you do but something is going on. I wish she would tell us the truth. How bad can it be?"
"We've guessed she's court-bred that much is certain and she was lost during the riots at the docks. But in truth that's all we know." Combeferre mused. "What's at the root of this, do you think?"
"Jealousy-" Jehan said firmly.
The other men stared at him disbelievingly but Jehan was quietly observant and he stuck to his convictions.
"Grantaire has always been very..." he cast around for the right phrase to use about the painter and their leader. "- well, we all know he idolises Enjolras. Hangs onto his every word, craves even the slightest hint of approval from him. Enjolras is his god, his sun. The thought that there might be a rival for his affections-"
Grantaire's efforts threatened to open up a can of worms and they had to minimise the damage his inquiries could do.
"He's determined to find out the truth about her-"
"He's determined to discredit her, you mean?"
The students looked at each other deciding how to tackle the problem.
"I'll talk to Enjolras, and you tackle Sansa. Can I trust you to do that, Courf?" Combeferre told Courfeyrac, making a decision. "At least if they know they're forewarned."
Courfeyrac looked for his chance to speak to Sansa whilst she was at work. She was behind the bar with Musichetta, polishing some pewter tankards. He looked at her appraising the girl, wondering if there was anything in it. Had Grantaire any reason to feel envy of her and Enjolras's relationship, or was it just another misunderstanding?
There was no denying she was a remarkably beautiful girl – that fair complexion, her limpid blue eyes and the glory of her red-gold hair made her stand out like a stray flower in their humble surroundings. It would be difficult for her to pass as anything but what she seemed to be, a high-born maiden gone astray. Really, you couldn't blame a man for falling for her, poor Combeferre was smitten, though he knew full well it was pretty hopeless and a maid like that was out of his league.
But Enjolras? He simply wasn't into women. Courfeyrac had never met someone so dedicated to their work and the cause. His friend lived breathed and slept revolution and social reform. He was single-minded to the point of obsession. There was no room for anything else in his life but his work. So far Enjolras had shown no sign of being discontent with his lot, but ever since this vulnerable young maiden had arrived in the midst seeking their help, he had to admit that his friend acted differently around her. Sure they argued and had their disagreements, Enjolras seemed to enjoy antagonising the girl about her birth and background, but he was tender towards the girl in a way he wasn't with other women.
Could it be that Grantaire had a point feeling threatened by the hold this innocent girl was developing over their leader?
She was definitely interested in him, there was little mistaking the admiring look in her eyes when she talked to Enjolras, as if he was the Warrior or the Smith reborn. She was entranced by his golden good looks and the force of his personality. But did that mean she was falling in love with Enjolras, and was the feeling reciprocated?
He addressed the girl, hoping to put her at her ease. "Do you have a moment, Sansa? I'd like to have a word, if you please. In private-"
She bit her lip, her gaze darting to Musichetta. "I- I'm at work, ser."
"Please, this won't take long I promise. It's important-"
Musichetta didn't look impressed but he gave her his most charming smile hoping to persuade her to let him talk to Sansa privately.
"Very well, go into the back room. Don't keep her long, we've the lunchtime rush to get through, Courf!" she told him.
Sansa followed him into the back room, eyeing him warily. "What is this all about?" she asked as soon as they were alone.
Courfeyrac looked so awkward and suspicious her instincts were aroused instantly. What did he want now?
"Look, I don't want you to take offence, but-" he stopped running a hand through his unruly dark curls. "Gods, this is so damned awkward!"
Whatever this was, Sansa didn't like the sound of it. She had done nothing to arouse their suspicions. She'd kept her head down and focused on her work. Keeping an ear out for the chance to get help to escape north. What more did they want from her?
"Courfeyrac, what is it? Why should I not be offended?"
He hesitated as if he were reluctant to speak but she was fed up of all this pussyfooting about. If she was going to be accused of something else she would rather have it out in the open where she could refute the charge. "Is there something that I should know about?"
"Grantaire is making inquiries about you, at his new job at Chataya's" he said in a rush, plainly trying to get this over with as soon as possible. "He thinks you'd fled -"
"Fled from where?-"
Courfeyrac spilled the beans unable to take any more and just wanting the whole thing to be over. "He thinks you've escaped from one of the pillow houses on the Street of Silk."
The colour drained away from her face leaving her pale and peaky looking. She stared at him in consternation, her big blue eyes wide with shock and appalled horror. " Pillow Houses? You thought I was one of those unfortunate girls?"
Courfeyrac fidgeted, hastily trying to backtrack as he belatedly realised just how insulted she must be. "Erm...I-"
Sansa was so stunned and offended she didn't know what to say. Her face turned crimson with mortification.
"Oh Gods, I've made a pig's ear of this!" he groaned. "I didn't mean...I'm sorry! Sansa, please don't be upset, I couldn't bear it if I made you cry."
"Made me cry?" There was an icy imperiousness to her voice that made him stop and take pause. There was a flash in her blue eyes that told him she was genuinely angry at what he'd blundered into telling her. Seven Hells, the sweet biddable maid has actually got a temper on her!
"You're angry with me-" Courfeyrac said lamely, in the face of her anger. "I never meant for you to...I didn't mean that I thought you were actually a doxy, but-"
"You think I am one of those girls. You all think it, don't you?" she snapped, her eyes challenging him.
Courfeyrac tried to straighten things out before they got even more snarled. "We don't all think it! I told Grantaire he was being foolish , but he wouldn't listen to me! he's got a bee in his bonnet about you. It's just jealousy, he doesn't mean it personally-"
"What do you mean, jealous? I don't understand?-" she said, thoroughly confused by his mangled attempt at apologising. "Why would he be jealous of Enjolras?"
She had him there. Courfeyrac was starting to regret allowing himself to get involved. Bloody Grantaire and his suspicions had dropped him right in it! No wonder she was mad at him, he'd pretty much called her a whore to her face. What a mess! "It's not that, Sansa, it's just that we don't know anything about you. You appeared from nowhere, for some reason you claim you can't tell us the truth, and there was that whole business with the 'little birds'. You must admit that-"
"Courfeyrac, I have to get back to work. I don't have time for this. If you will excuse me, ser-" there was no mistaking the bob of a curtsey she dipped him as anything less but rude, as she moved to sweep past him.
He reached out to detain her, but shrunk from the fierce look she gave him. "Remove your hand, ser-" she was so cold, so utterly detached and furious, he dropped her arm and let her pass. Her anger was like the bite of cold steel.
Courfeyrac moved to follow her but she didn't even look his way as she headed to the kitchens. Combeferre took one look at the furious line of her mouth, her lip bitten in an attempt not to cry and Courfeyrac's stricken face, and he knew.
Courfeyrac gave his friend a helpless shrug as if to say: I messed up.
"What did you say to her?"
Courfeyrac grimaced. "I think I may have messed up a bit. I didn't mean to say she was a doxy, but-"
"That's what she took from it? Aye, Enjolras didn't take it very well either. I really wouldn't want to be Grantaire when he attends our next meeting, let's put it like that."
The Street of Silk
Grantaire readied himself to meet the ladies he would be painting as part of his commission. Chataya's was one of the most prestigious establishments on the Street of Silk and they were paying a generous price for him to immortalise their beauties in paint, make them so desirable to prospective customers that they would spend a fortune for the chance to sleep with such goddesses made flesh.
The girls lounged idly introducing themselves in husky honeyed tones, eyeing his dark curls and blue-green eyes with interest. He was already looking forward to painting the languid beauty of Marei, with her pale Lyseni blonde hair and pale skin. Chataya and Alayaya had the most wonderful skintones, he couldn't wait to paint their dusky flawless complexions and rich curvy figures
"So which one of us d'ye want to paint first?" Ros asked with an arch little smile, before turning to the young girl with the flagon of wine by her side. "Come Jeyne, top up Master Grantaire's goblet."
"It's Arbor red, my lord. Hope it pleases-" she murmured in a shy undertone, dark gaze flicking up timidly to meet his..
Grantaire's keen ears pricked up at the hint of a northern accent. He looked at her again. Big dark eyes and long dark hair, a pretty face with a tip-tilted nose. An idea was filtering into his head. It might be a fool's errand but what harm might it do to try?
"This one- what's your name sweet maid?" he gave her his most charming smile. Jeyne tried to pull away from the grip of his hand on her wrist but quelled her struggle at a forbidding glance from Ros.
Marei pouted, her vanity wounded by the fact she was not selected first. Passed over for that plain weepy girl Jeyne of all things!
Ros took charge of the situation, sensing an opportunity. "Jeynie here is learning the ropes. She will be more than happy to attend to your every desire. Won't you, sweeting?"
The girl looked at him with fearful dark eyes, Grantaire fancied that she was trembling. She's scared rigid. The girl is terrified. What the hell was going on? There was something going on some strange undercurrent that didn't sit right with him but he had to bury his scruples and play along. It was the only way to get the information he was searching for. She was a northerner, with the same slight lilt to her voice as Sansa, maybe a little less cultured and more pronounced. Was he ever going to get such a clear unimpeded chance to inquire about Sansa and what exactly she wanted with their group?
"I promise I will be nothing but gentle. You'll enjoy yourself." he coaxed, trying to keep eye contact with her and make her smile. Gods, the girl looked like she was being fed to the lions, rather than about to entertain a man.
She bit her lip, looking thoroughly miserable and wretched, but followed him into one of the bedchamber with no further word or sign of protest.
Alayaya frowned at Ros and her interference after the couple had gone. "Do you really think that was wise, Ros? You know Jeyne is still rather jumpy and unsure of herself-"
"We don't know anything about him as customer, just as an artist. What if she panics? the girl might cause a distressing scene-" Dancy fretted. "Perhaps one of us should join in their game, just to keep an eye on her?"
Ros wrinkled her nose. "Jeyne doesn't need mollycoddling! The girl needs training, as much as possible before she gets sent up North. What harm would it do to have her service our virile little artist? After all since Lord Baelish came in and took charge of her training she has been doing so much better, hasn't she?"
Alayaya was not convinced. That's because the poor girl is terrified of displeasing him. This situation stinks to high heaven. I don't like it and neither does mother but Lord Baelish and the Lannisters are paying us a fortune to keep her.
Let's just pray he is a decent man and treats her well.