Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miz or Jane Eyre.
A/N: The rest of the story will be written in Cosette's POV.
"The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mamma in the drawing room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she dispensed from the group…" –Jane Eyre, page one
As I read through the first few chapters of Jane Eyre, memories from my own childhood couldn't help but come to mind. I hardly remember my mother. My recollections of her consist mostly of snippets of whispered lullabies and a glimpse of a long lock of strawberry blonde hair dangling over my face. Of my real father I know nothing.
When I was very young, my mother had brought me to the Thernadiers' inn. All of my memories become far clearer beginning there. I remember my mother dressing me up in my best clothes and then giving most all her money to the cab driver to take us to the little town. Repeatedly during the cab ride, I asked where we were going, and mother would turn away from me and give a whimpering sound. Finally we pulled up at the inn, where a lanky old man, a fat, middle-aged woman, and two little girls who looked about my age greeted us. My mother said something to the effect of, "Thank you so much for taking care of her."
The old man replied gruffly, "The money, Madame?" My mother quickly crossed his hand with a few coins. The woman seemed enthralled with each circular piece, and she watched over her husband's shoulder as he counted it.
My mother then turned to me and made me promise to be good for Monsieur and Madame Thernadier.
"Where are you going?" I asked anxiously. "Are you leaving me here?" With another whimpering sound, she hurried off towards the cab.
"All right, show's over," the man who I assumed to be Monsieur Thernadier, grumbled. The family trudged inside the inn and I followed. One of the two little girls, starting eyeing up my dress.
"What a pretty dress," she mused.
The woman who I understood to be Madame Thernadier asked, "Do you like it, Eponine?"
"Very much."
"Then you shall have it." My eyes widened in shock.
"It's my dress!" I snapped at Madame Thernadier. "You have no right to give it away!"
"Hold your tongue!" Madame Thernadier cried, slapping me across the face. My hand flew to my cheek. I had never been hurt like that. Tears began to well up in my eyes. "You will have to learn your place here." She turned to the other girl and said, "Azlema, go down to the cellar and fetch something for the ragamuffin to wear." She obeyed and, a few moments later, returned with a tattered skirt and a dirty woman's blouse. Madame Thernadier thrust the pitiful excuses for clothing into my arms and ordered me to go into the back room and change. I carefully slid off my beautiful frock and dressed myself in the ill-fitting rags. Then I thought of Madame Thernadier and her daughters. They couldn't have what was rightfully mine! Well, if I couldn't have it then neither could Eponine. Frantically, I reduced the dress to a pile of fabric and lace. I stood triumphantly over the shards. Soon, though, Madame Thernadier came into the back room, brought by the sound of ripping fabric. Seeing my handiwork, she beat me till I was black and blue. That night, I learned to be submissive.
" 'Come, Miss Jane, don't cry,' said Bessie, as she finished." –Jane Eyre, page twenty-three
Unlike Jane Eyre, though, I had no Bessie to comfort me when the Thernadiers beat or bullied me. That was how my wild spirit was tamed. Eventually I learned that to do exactly what the Thernadiers asked of me was the easiest way to protect myself from further bruises or cuts. Eponine and Azelma could even command me, and I would do their bidding. I became a slave to the Thernadiers and taught myself never to show my emotions (in public, at least). On the outside, I was like the living dead.
Of course, though, the living dead still have dreams. At first, I hoped that one of the guests at the inn would take pity on me and whisk me away to a better life, but that dream faded away quickly. I went from table to table, taking their empty plates and refilling their cups with meager amounts of wine, and they took absolutely no notice of me. Then I let my fantasies take wing. After my work was completed for the night, I would hide away in my little corner in the darker end of the great room and daydream. I invented a "castle on a cloud" where there were no rowdy guests to serve, floors to sweep, tables to clean, or any sort of work. It was a place where I had rooms filled with the toys, even more beautiful than any that Eponine and Azelma could ever think of owning. My mother was there, too, and she would cuddle me and kiss me. Then someone would call for me and I would spring out of the corner and go do my duty.
Years passed and I neither heard nor saw anything regarding my mother. I felt betrayed. She had left me in this limbo and didn't care! Whenever I got angry, I would take it out on my mother. Then, one night, I was sent to fetch water from the well. I stumbled through the dark, frightened out of my wits, but eventually found the well and retrieved the water. When I returned to the inn, I saw a note on one of the tables. Curious, I picked it up. I was almost totally illiterate at the time, though, and couldn't read it. Azelma strolled up beside me.
"Do you want to know what that note says?" she asked with a sugary-sweetness.
"Yes!" I immediately replied. Azelma laughed.
"Did you actually think I'd do something nice for you?" she threw the note into the crackling fire. As the paper burned I could make out two of the few words I could read "Cosette" and "mother". I wept, for I knew that the note was from my mother to me. As much as I was angry at her sometimes, I missed her.
A/N: Please R&R!