They give her watch duty.
It's strange how quickly this crew seems to accept her. True, she has not given them any reason to distrust her, but she has not proven her loyalty, either.
Cosette is more than halfway through the book of poems, and eager to discuss; from the time Éponine sits just outside the door, Cosette does not turn a single page.
The discussion of poetry. Absurd seeming, perhaps, but a valid excuse should any come by and hear the low murmur of words between a gamin and a lady of the bourgeoisie. Impersonal, too – she risks little in the pretense of weighing one poet's rhythms against another's.
This is how she learns that the man she passed on the stairs was likely the one named Courfeyrac. Cosette tells her that he had been a willing conversational partner for a short time, which evidently displeased the captain, who was watchful against any information given to the lady. "He didn't tell me much, but that was the end of that," Cosette sighs.
She is interested to hear of the others, one of the few subjects in which Éponine can best her, and especially in the 'passionate leader' – Cosette's words – of the band.
("I see most've 'em around," Éponine remarks. "Can't tell what some are up to. Doesn't always seem the same, either."
"They are too young and too pleased," Cosette lilts, "they don't seem to act very much like pirates."
"More like kids than sailors," Éponine scoffs, and this gets her a laugh.)
Cosette understands the need for camaraderie with the Amis; she understands the need to seem distanced from herself; she even understands why Éponine dresses herself as she does.
But she does not understand the desire Éponine expresses to work.
Éponine hears this with a measure of frustration, any yet she… wants to explain, though she cannot say exactly why.
Pity is a factor, she supposes, and so she speaks. "You have your upbringing, mam'selle, and pretty speech and looks, but I have pride – " and it's all I've got. "Got nothing if I don't work for it."
"You've got more than that," is the quiet response.
"That's… kind of you to say," Éponine mutters, because this lady cannot understand, but she does not wish to argue.
So she begins the outlines of a plan, instead; a much more pleasant prospect.
The basics are simple – to steal ashore when they dock, on a night when Éponine has the watch.
Cosette, although eager to be reunited, is wary of the dangers, and made hesitant by the simplicity. So she is hesitant – but less so when Éponine does not wave away her concerns, but gives them answers instead: that they will dock soon, owing to how close the Cyclamen had come to home already; that they will need to dock, based on how few supplies Éponine spotted below. As for how she knows that they will give her watch duty then, Éponine is almost grinning as she explains that it's as simple as ensuring Cossette creates troubles for anyone but Éponine.
Éponine is detailing potential routes to Paris depending on where they stop, when she cuts off.
"Mon dogue, ma dague, et ma digue," she mutters. Cosette may be unfamiliar with the phrase in the usual context, but through repeated use, she seems to have figured out that Éponine has heard footsteps nearby.
Éponine settles her back more fully against the wall, and waits.
She is not disappointed – but she is surprised. Down the steps comes the captain himself, in strides quick enough that she only has time to catch the nod he gives her before passing, and then he is closing the door quietly behind him.
To an onlooker, Éponine is the essence of nonchalance. Her back is resting against wood paneled walls, her arms are folded lazily, and her eyes slowly look about the hall, but her fingers clutch too tightly at her arms, until the grip is painful. What she hears brings her no comfort.
'Pontmercy' is the first she hears, and what follows is no better.
A letter. He wants Cosette to write a letter. A letter explaining the situation and listing demands, written in her hand as proof of her well-being.
No…
She is struck by confused terror, cold fingers tracing lazily up her spine until she is awash in with the sense that what little she controlled.
If they are waiting for a ransom, they will not be lax in their rounds. They cannot be. And she will not be able to slip away if they are all waiting for something like that – it would never work.
She shakes herself back into false boredom when the door creaks open.
Enjolras nods to her, a book bound in dull red held loosely in one hand. He moves as though to continue on, but pauses.
He regards her intently before speaking, and Éponine digs her fingers into the wood of the chair. "You found this, didn't you?" He doesn't need to gesture for her to know what he refers to, and she bobs her head weakly. "Good work." A small smile appears on his face.
Éponine gets the feeling he does not often give out praise, and her stomach sinks. Would that she had not. "Seems a Monsieur Gillenormand was kind enough to detail the last of the information we needed."
And then he is off. Éponine lets her head fall against the wall again.
"…it's my fault," is what she says at last. "The book he found that in, I brought that, and it's my f—"
"No." The response is spoken firmly, and Éponine stops short. "It is not your fault," Cosette continues from within. "Not anyone's. And… they only want me to write a letter. We might alert Marius to how to find the ship, if we are careful."
Éponine wants to bite out a retort, shout that no, they cannot, doesn't she realize how impossible it is, doesn't she know that no one ever comes?
But Cosette is hopeful, and Marius – Marius would be different, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he come, if he knew?
And if she gains their trust – couldn't she lull them into security? Couldn't she make it easier?
She is Éponine Thénardier, and of course she can.
It's been… some time since she's worked on a scheme with someone else, and longer since her safety hinged on it's success.
She can't say she missed it.
A/N: 'Mon dogue, ma dague et ma digue': 'my dog, my knife, and my wife.' "The ambiguous phrase by means of which Montparnasse had warned Gavroche of the presence of the policeman, contained no other talisman than the assonance dig repeated five or six times in different forms. This syllable, dig, uttered alone or artistically mingled with the words of a phrase, means: 'Take care, we can no longer talk freely.'"
As always, thank you so, so much to everyone for the reviews. I'll be making a concentrated effort to be replying more, and I apologize for not having done so sooner.
(And this is an É/E fic, I swear. Enjolras will have more of an appearance soon…!)