V: Fear the Night Brings

The party continued well into the night. The strong tones of midnight church bells wove their way through the dark and over to Beaudet's estate. The crowd had thinned, however the mayor's mansion was still filled with celebrating patrons. Beaudet himself had consumed too much drink, and was now staggering around his own home slurring things that most could only partially understand. But, his laugh was strong and a smile never left his face.

Aimée herself was starting to feel a light giddiness behind her eyes as she consumed more spirits. Her vision was starting to shallow and her smile was unsteady. She had danced more than she ever had, and her feet were starting to ache in her shoes, but she ignored the discomfort as Anton continued to shower her with complements and handsome smiles. Aimée had no idea where her father had wandered off too, probably to snoop around Beaudet's library.

"It's midnight, Aimée," Anton said, boldly wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to his side.

She giggled and brought a hand to her face. "I guess it is."

"Would you care to accompany me on a walk? It's getting so stuffy and rowdy in here, no place for a beauty such as you." The fox raised an eyebrow as he looked at his little duckling.

She paused scanning the crowd. "Um…I don't know. I don't know where my father is," she said, chewing on the inside of her lip.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind," his smile was closer to her neck as he leaned over, "I'll protect you from the dark, mademoiselle."

Aimée stifled back a giggle again and finally nodded, taking his arm as they threaded their way through the crowd. The night greeted them with a puff of cool, damp air. It chilled the back of her neck where sweat had started to bead and she tipped her head back a little.

"This is much better," she murmured, closing her eyes and swaying a little on her feet.

"I agree. Shall we look at my uncle's gardens? I hear they are quite beautiful."

The grass was starting to dew, and Aimée briefly worried about the hem of her dress. Soon, the thought easily slipped through her spinning head. Anton's hand was strong against her back and he looked quite handsome in the moonlight, albeit a little thin. It wasn't too often that Aimée observed thin men. Her own father was starting to get some extra pounds in the middle and Mayor Beaudet was in no way fit. Even Javert had broad shoulders and some meat on his bones. But Anton looked as if he could slip through a crack.

The roses were just starting to bloom, and a couple white petals had unfurled from the center of the flower to gleam in the moonlight. A trickling fountain sat at the center of the mayor's garden, surrounded by four foot tall hedges that provided privacy. The two sat at a bench, wrought iron and wood, and listened to the dripping water. Above them, the stars glittered brightly, almost as if they were celebrating with the rest of Toulon.

Through the fabric of her dress, Aimée felt Anton start to rub her back smoothly. His hand traveled up and started to knead at the base of her neck. She had to prevent herself from stiffening. Never had she been touched like that before, and she knew not how to respond. Even in her tipsy haze, Aimée knew that they were not officially courting. Were men supposed to respond this way before courtship?

"You are very beautiful, you know that?" Anton murmured. She turned to look at him, almost not recognizing this new deepness in his voice.

She was about to respond to his compliment when his lips pressed against hers in the night. Shocked, she sat motionless at first, but as he got more persistent, she felt her eyes fall close and she began to respond. His lips were warm, a little chapped from the dry salt air of Toulon, but not unpleasant. Aimée dared to smile though the kiss.

Anton brought up his hand to her face, pushing himself into her. He deepened the kiss, and soon it grew forceful. She opened her eyes and put her hands against his chest and gave him a light push. He ignored her as he broke the kiss and moved down to her neck.

"Anton, this isn't right." Soon, any trace of champagne had left her system. She tried to stand up. "Please stop." He ignored her and wrapped his arms around her tightly, making it near impossible to move. She felt his lips press against her exposed collarbone.

Aimée started to grow frightened. "Stop!" She stood up as best she could, but Anton grabbed on to her and she stumbled, falling into the dewy grass. Before she could struggle to stand, he was on top of her, his weight making it hard to breathe. Anton clapped his large hand over her mouth.
"You've led me on all night," he hissed, "you'll like this."

Her eyes widened in fear and she struggled, thinking of all the stories her mother had told her in warning. Look out for men in the dark. The dark is kind to them but harmful to young ladies like you, Angel.

Aimée's cries were muffled and scared little tears started to well up in her eyes as Anton reached down with his free hand and tried to lift the excess of her skirts. Her eyes clenched shut and tears rolled down her face as she felt his soft palm rest on her leg. His fingers curled around the soft flesh of her thigh through the thin fabric of her undergarments. Anton's grip turned possessive and she screamed a muffled scream of pain through the hand that was over her mouth.

Thinking as fast as she could, she sank her teeth into the flesh of Anton's palm. He yowled in pain as blood started to seep out of his wound.

"HELP!" she screamed, struggling and kicking. Anton reared back and punched her square in her face. Her head crumbled to the side, whimpering. She tried to open her eyes, but the night swirled around her. Soon, it grew solid around her eyes and she became unconscious.

Javert, bored with standing outside the doors of Beaudet's mansion, decided to go for a walk. He enjoyed the cool air. The dew from the lawn slicked against his black boots, making them appear glossy in the night. As he walked, the laughter and celebration from the birthday party thinned and dimmed away. Soon, he was alone and silent under the stars.

The low tones of the midnight bell lazily made its way to his ears. For the first time that night, he allowed himself to become truly relaxed. His shoulders slumped a little, and he reached up and undid the clasp that kept his decorative collar close to his neck. Javert figured he'd take a walk through Beaudet's property before he allowed himself to make his way back to his home.

He thought of everyone back in the house and wondered how long they would be staying. This was by far the most extravagant party he had allowed himself to go to, one of the only parties, actually, and he knew nothing about how long he should stay.

In the privacy of the night and stars, Javert thought of the young woman, Aimée. She was indeed beautiful, even under the abuse from her father. For the first time in his life, Javert felt sorry for someone. He felt sorry for Aimée, being used as a business pawn by her father. She needed to marry someone rich and kind, not sly and entitled like Beaudet's nephew. Javert liked the mayor, thought highly of him, but the man's young relative did not sit well at all.

She was the first person in a very long time that had spoken with him, or even acknowledged his presence. At the party out of hundreds of people, she chose to have a light conversation with him. It was nothing special, he knew, she probably did it out of politeness and courtesy. He pulled out the handkerchief that he had offered her and saw the red smears of dessert on the fabric. He dared a small smile in the darkness.

Javert walked for some time more. After a while, he found himself atop a small knoll that rose gently above Beaudet's garden. Rosebushes, shrubberies, and a small fountain sat in the moonlight. He looked over the land and felt a pang of jealousy. Not even in his dreams could he afford acres like this. Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was around, Javert sat atop the hill, ignoring the cool dew.

Then, his ears picked up. From down below him, he could hear voices. A woman's…sounding uneasy. He stood and craned his neck forward to try and see through the night.

"…please stop."

Javert cocked his head to the side and took a few steps closer. As he neared, he could see the shape of two people sitting on the bench. A man and a woman. They looked to be courting each other, the man's face buried in the woman's neck.
Ashamed and embarrassed, Javert turned to leave without being spotted. But, just as he was about to turn his back to the young couple, he saw the woman fall to the ground. The unmistakable shimmer of a champagne colored dress cut through the darkness and caught his eye.

Mademoiselle Aimée…

Anton was on top of her, his hand clasped over her mouth. Javert didn't hesitate. He rushed as fast as he could down the rest of the hill. When Aimée's scream for help cut through the night, Javert stumbled in the thick grass. His knee dug into the ground suddenly as he struggled to get back up.

He finally made it to the garden when he saw Anton strike the girl with a closed fist. She crumbled then, her hair splayed and dress ruined. Beaudet's nephew then struggled to rip at the skirts of her dress.

"Stop! What's going on here?" The ferocity in his own voice surprised Javert.

Anton's head whirled around.
"Oh, it's you. Nothing. Leave us be."

Javert neared him, his fists clenched in his white gloves, the cotton tight against his fingers. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Anton seemed to realize he was straddling a young woman. He stood between Javert and Aimée. "The mademoiselle and Iwere trying to enjoy some privacy."

"Stand aside," Javert ordered as he looked at Anton. His green eyes were sharp and his lip was lightly curled, as if the man himself was snarling. Javert leveled his feet apart and lightly bent his knees, ready for a fight. He studied Anton in the night. The young man was taller than Javert, had a farther reach, yet he lacked discipline. Years in the shipyards had prepared Javert for fighting.

"I don't have to take orders from a man like you, my family owns you," Anton sneered, reaching up and swiping a hand over his hair to get it out of his eyes. "You're a guard. How you ever managed to wander out of the shipyards is beyond me."

Javert didn't pay the young fool's words any attention. All he registered was that he was being uncooperative to his order. As fast as a lightning strike, Javert grabbed the fancy silk of Anton's shirt. He pulled him close.

"Get out of here," he growled, his voice sounding like a bear's rumble. "I highly doubt your uncle would want to know you were out here trying to rape the daughter of a close friend."

Anton's eyes narrowed. "That's not what I was doing. And besides, no one would believe you."

"I saw you strike the girl…she will no doubt have a mark. I will say nothing to your uncle."

Anton held up his hands, "Alright…I'll go. I don't know why you're so concerned with her."

Javert didn't answer him as he let go of the young man's shirt. Anton stumbled backwards, away from the guard's commanding presence.

Then…in probably the worst decision of the young man's life, he hauled back and punched Javert square in the jaw. The guard was surprised by the scrawny kid's powerful punch, and he stumbled to the side for a couple steps. Anton yowled, clutching at his now-bruised fist. He had punched with the same hand that Aimée had bit, and he had forgotten about the tender bite-mark that riddled his palm.

Javert recovered quickly. He lowered his center of gravity, and lunged with a blow to Anton's chest. A crack resounded somewhere in his ribs and Javert followed suit with another punch across his opponent's cheek. Anton's own teeth clenched down on the inside of his mouth and blood spattered against Javert's white glove.

Anton turned to the nearest shrub and retched into the leaves. He sounded horrible as he tried to reclaim the air that had been punched out of his lungs. When his desperate gasping and heaving had died down, he whirled around, blindly swinging.

Javert easily sidestepped and dodged every punch he threw. Anton flung a desperate right-handed haymaker, and Javert blocked it against his forearm. Wrapping his other arm around Anton's head, Javert kicked his knees out from under him and slammed the young man's face into the damp earth.

"I told you to get out of here!" he grunted as Anton tried to struggle. He was on top of his opponent, his knee digging into Anton's lower back. "I don't want to harm you any further, but by the grace of God, I will if I have to."

"OK!" Anton shrieked past a mouthful of dirt and grass, "I'll go!"

"Wise choice," Javert grumbled, bracing himself as he got up. Anton lay on the ground for a few moments, struggling to catch his breath as Javert's weight was lifted from him. When he finally got up, he gave a look, now filled with more fear than anger, to Javert. Turning, he hobbled as quickly as he could back through the night.

When Anton had disappeared into the darkness, Javert turned and knelt over Aimée. Her dress was ripped, showing more of her legs and cleavage than what was appropriate, and Javert unbuttoned his stiff dress coat uniform. He wrapped it around her as best he could and lifted her up into his arms. She was heavier than he expected. A healthy weight.

Her head lolled back in her unconsciousness, and through the moonlight, Javert could see the bruises on her cheek and cradling her eye. Javert bit his lip, and realized that blood was trickling out of the corner of his mouth from Anton's first strike.

As he made his way back to the mansion, she murmured. The word weren't understandable, but as she struggled to come to, she tucked her head up against his chest. Javert stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. He had never really held a woman this closely before. His arms were tight and protective around her, and even though the fight had left him drained, he made it back to Beaudet's estate. As he neared, he heard the booming voices.

"Aimée!" they called, "Aimée!"

"Here, she's over here!" Javert yelled, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. He looked down at the young woman he held in his arms. "We're almost there," he murmured softly, hoping that this was some kind of comfort, "Almost there."

"Javert, is that you?" Beaudet's voice was suddenly clear, and Javert wondered how a man could sober up so quickly."

"Yes, some one help me," Javert gasped as he struggled to climb the hill towards the house. After fighting and carrying a woman over acres, he was exhausted.
The shapes of Beaudet, Aimée's father, and a few servants found him. Gérard hurried and scooped his daughter from Javert's arms.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for finding her! Anton came back, said that they were attacked, I was so worried!"

So the man actually cares for his daughter, Javert thought as he bent over and braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His white undershirt was damp with humidity and sweat.

"Put her inside, my nurses will look after her," Beaudet said to Gérard. Aimée murmured something, but he was already starting to carry her away. The servants followed them.

"Here, Javert, drink," Beaudet said, once they were gone. He handed the guard a heavy leather flask.

Javert swallowed large mouthfuls of acidic red wine and felt it bite at the base of his throat and nose as he drank. "Thank you," he said, handing the drink back to the mayor.

"Javert, Anton told us that he and Mademoiselle Lamenté were cornered in the garden by a gypsy bandit. He was attacked and he ran back here to alert for help." Beaudet's eyes shone in the darkness. "But I'm no idiot. I know what happened."

Javert stood up fully now, his heart in his throat for a terrifying second. After all, he did kick most of the life out of the mayor's own nephew. "You do?" Javert was back to being stiff, rehearsed.

Beaudet nodded and looked up to the sky. "I'm no fool. I know my nephew is not a romantic. In fact, he'd rather hassle prostitutes than court a woman as beautiful as Aimée Lamenté. When he was gone, I feared the worst for the young woman."

Javert swallowed back his fear momentarily as he listened to what the mayor was saying.

"He has raped before, my money has covered it up. But this… the daughter of a close friend…I can't believe the little idiot would try anything as shameful as this."

He turned to Javert and clapped him on the back again. "You are a good man, Javert. Never convince yourself otherwise. You did the right thing. She'll be kept here for a week or two, my nurses will see to her. When she's feeling better, I'm sure she'll want to thank you." The mayor's eyes twinkled in mischief, "Don't worry about being punished for harming Anton. It was about time the boy had a good ass-kicking."

And, in spite of the unfortunate end to his birthday celebration, the mayor threw his head back and laughed.