XIV: The Bishop
"We're moving," Gérard said as September neared its end and October was starting to begin. Summer had ended uneventfully after Javert's departure. Aimée had grown busy studying. She picked up any books she could and read them cover to cover, even writing down certain topics that interested her in order to branch off once she exhausted a subject. She had grown very fond of reading about travels in Africa and the Mediterranean, picturing Javert clinging to the ropes of a tossing ship or walking through bazaars filled with spice powder.
"What?" she asked as she looked up from a book about the ancient Romans. Her quill hovered over a scrap of parchment, the word Caesar scrawled out in her loopy, slanted hand.
"I said we're leaving Toulon," her father repeated as he sat down next to her at the table. Anna was out shopping for dinner.
Aimée sat back in her chair after setting the quill down on the table, ignoring the drip of ink that soaked into the wood. "Why? When?"
"I'm being hired by an up and coming businessman in Montreuil. He needs a book man as well as a financial guide." Gérard clapped his hands together as he explained, suddenly excited. "Isn't that exciting?"
Aimée tried her best to smile, "Yes…very exciting…what's Montreuil like?"
"I don't know…I'm assuming it's larger than Toulon, this man is offering to pay me triple than what I make here, even working for Beaudet."
His eyes flashed like coins and he blinked. "We'll leave after Christmas, but I'll be traveling to Montreuil to find a house and start getting books in order."
Christmas…that was only a few months from now. Aimée was already digging out a large piece of parchment to start writing a letter. "What's the business man's name?" she asked, trying to make the question appear casual.
"Monpedite. Arthur Monpedite," Gérard said as he stood up from the table and swung his coat over his shoulder. He didn't notice Aimée scribbling down the man's name. "He's in his twenties I think, surprisingly young for a businessman." He turned and smiled at Aimée in a way that she didn't like. "Who knows…maybe he's a bachelor."
Gérard quickly left before Aimée could respond. She stood from the table, gathered up her parchment, quill, and ink in her arms and quickly climbed the stairs. Once safely in her room, she closed the door and swung open the windows, relishing the early autumn crispness that hung in the air. Kneeling by her bedside, she pulled out a small wooden box and opened it gently. Inside were a bundle of letters, her name and address scrawled out in a slanted font, the corners of letters pointed and the pen flourishing on certain loops and lines. Javert's handwriting was surprisingly neat.
Aimée had received her first letter only about a week after he had left. Javert didn't speak about the fight they had had before he left, but instead of trivial things. He made sure he had included his new address and news on his promotion. Javert even took the time to tell Aimée what he thought of the people of Paris. Ever watchful, he enjoyed studying people, and secretly delighted in sharing his findings with his young friends. Aimée was unaware of just how much her letters kept his loneliness at bay.
Aimée's heart lifted every time she saw her name scrawled across an envelope. She had worried that he wouldn't write at first. Doubt clouded her that first week before Anna had handed her the letter.
Now as they grew used to writing, Javert grew comfortable enough just to send a curt message when he couldn't afford to write a wordy letter. Aimée pulled out the most recent note scrawled on a scrap of paper and read the words again.
Aimée,
Caught wind of Valjean traveling a road in the country. Will be heading out to follow shortly. Letters will be scarce. I will write when I return.
Hope you are well and safe and happy,
Javert
She had smiled when she first read it, noticing how very like him it was. Short, courteous, and to the point. However, he always ended his letters in the same way: Well and safe and happy. Aimée was starting to believe that the man was a creature of habit. She liked that, made him special.
Dipping the tip of her quill into the ink, she spread out her parchment on the floor and started to write, biting her bottom lip gently as the words etched their way across the paper.
Javert,
Father says we will be leaving Toulon after Christmas, he has a new job offer. An up an coming business man has hired him for a financial advisor, or something like that. I can never understand his work. The man's name is Arthur Monpedite, I was wondering if you knew him.
You will no doubt be overjoyed to hear that Anton has finally left Toulon. He was traveling to Paris next, so maybe you'll meet him. If you do, please hit him as hard as you can. He has been prowling the streets here and has come up with quite the notorious reputation already. Beaudet finally caught enough sense to send him home.
Speaking of Beaudet…the man has had another party. One for no reason. I went for a while, but soon grew bored. I had no one to talk to. Thanks for leaving me alone in a room full of military jackets and snooty women, Javert. I like to remember the fireworks that we saw, those were fantastic!
I've been reading more and more, almost running out of books…now I'm studying the Romans. Maybe I'll get a chance to show you what I've learned. I've been thinking about learning Latin, but it seems so harsh and complicated. You seem like a man who would know Latin.
I wish you the best of luck in finding the convict. When you do I shall throw you a massive party in congratulations and bake you a cake bigger than a table!
Staying safe, but missing my friend,
Aimée
"There, that should do it," she muttered to herself as she picked the letter up and blew gently on the slick ink She reached underneath Javert's letters and pulled out a fresh envelope and wax stick. Holding the wax over a candle, she waited until it softened. Folding the letter and stuffing in inside the envelope, Aimée drizzled the wax and pressed a stamp to seal it, a little mockingbird clutching an olive branch. Her mother had always loved birds.
Once the wax cooled, she flipped the envelope over and quickly wrote down Javert's address, already memorized perfectly in her mind.
The downstairs door opened and shut and Anna's voice called up to her. "I'm back, is chicken good enough for dinner tonight?"
"Yes," Aimée called down as she tucked her letters and writing supplies back underneath her bed. Getting up, she listened as her floorboards creaked in protest before she left her room and quickly descended the stairs.
A plump chicken was sitting on the kitchen table, the skin pink and loose from a recent plucking. Anna was shoving the spit through it and covering it with herbs before she moved it to the roasting fire. Then she set to work peeling potatoes with a sharp little knife. Anna had aged in those few months, her eyes slightly tired from the amount of work she had taken on for the Lamenté's. Gérard had noticed and felt slightly guilty, so he had given her Sundays off. Amazingly, that one day would seem to give the young maid the energy to continue her work. Yet, as tired as she seemed, she was never short or unhappy. She had been adopted into the family as easily as a duck floats in water.
"If I peel potatoes for you, could you send this letter?" Aimée said, holding it out to Anna as the dark brown peel was skinned away to reveal the white starchy center.
Anna looked over the pile before she sighed and nodded. "Hurry up though, that chicken will take a while to cook. Keep rotating it while I'm gone too," she added as she untied her apron and handed over her paring knife. Aimée quickly tied the fabric over her own dress and set to work, not peeling as fast as Anna had, but still efficiently.
When the housemaid returned, she was surprised to see all of the potatoes cleaned and scrubbed and sitting in a pot of water over in the corner of the cooking hearth, away from the roasting chicken.
"Did you send it?" Aimée asked eagerly from her new spot in the living room, curled up on the armchair with a book in her lap.
Anna smiled as she removed the towel from the bread dough to check how high it had risen. It had blossomed well and she leaned over and put it in the oven. "Yes, I sent your precious letter…again to that Javert fellow?"
Aimée blushed, although she didn't quite know why she had. They were only friends sending letters about their day.
"When are you two going to get married?" Anna teased as she started to wipe the kitchen table with a rag. She had some time while the food was cooking and she hadn't pestered her dear little Aimée in quite some time.
"What?" Aimée asked, abashed at her words.
"He's quite a bit older, but then again it's not unheard of. Handsome in that uniform, he is." Anna filled the tea kettle up with water and nestled it over the stovetop. "You want tea?"
Stop it! That's ridiculous. And tea before supper?"
"I won't tell if you won't." Anna smiled as she pulled out a little flask from the waist of her petticoat. "Little shot of brandy won't put you off your supper."
Aimée wasn't a virgin to alcohol, but she was unused to it to be sure. However, she trusted Anna and agreed to have a little shot added to her tea once it was done steeping. They both sat down at the table and pretended to be sisters for a while.
"I'm only half-teasing, Aimée," Anna said, sipping at her hot drink. Aimée decided she liked the biting warmth the brandy added. It was strong enough to shoot down to her toes. "I watch people every day," the servant girl mused, " and every day I see couples. I've seen men look at their wives with distaste, boredom, and unimaginable affection. When I was invited to that dinner, I saw how he looked at you."
Aimée's heart swelled and she stopped mid-sip, setting her teacup down on the platter and watching Anna intently. That night, the night of her mother's funeral, was not a fond one. Aimée barely remembered anything at all…she was so numb that night. Anna paused for a moment, reminiscing and drinking and Aimée wanted to shake her to get her to continue.
"I saw the way he looked at you, and it wasn't like anything I'd seen before. It actually gave me chills, Miss, as I sat there and watched you both."
Aimée found herself leaning forward. "What do you mean?"
Anna grew thoughtful as she propped her chin up with her hand, her elbow resting on the table. "It was like you were the only thing he could bare to look at…the only thing he could see." Anna got up and grabbed the tea kettle and added more to her cup. She refilled Aimée's too, and added a dollop of the sweet-smelling brandy. Her head was shaking as she sat back down and traced her finger along the edge of a swirled knot in the wood.
"He was absorbed in you, Aimée. I mean, he would glance around to Beaudet or your father, but it was like he didn't care about them, he couldn't see them, eyes glazed over, you know. But the second he looked at you, sharp as glass. I can usually tell what some people feel by the looks in their eyes, but his were filled with so many things. A worry, a kind of sadness, but also happiness and light, but only when he looked at you."
Aimée felt like if she was holding on to her cup, it would've slipped from her fingers and shattered to the ground.
Anna smiled and met her friend's eyes. "He cares something for you, Miss, and as I said before, there are worse looking people in the world. He's strong looking, isn't he? All broad shoulders and strong jaw. If you don't marry him, I will!" The maid's laughter was high and happy and warm.
Aimée laughed her shocked chills away, Anna's words resonating an unknown hope deep within her chest.
Javert's horse stomped a hoof on a cobblestone, snorting and tossing against the reins. Beaudet had given away Ombre as a permanent gift and the coachman had even hitched the horse up to the carriage on their departure, the dark animal pulling better than the other carriage horses. Javert had grown to like the beast; it's strong, slightly stocky legs and short muzzle. Ombre was slightly smaller than the average mount, yet stronger and enduring.
And it had shown. The newly promoted Inspector Javert and a group of three other officers were climbing high into the foothills of the French mountains searching for a small village. The footing was rocky and slow-going and the other horses grew tired quickly, as did the other officers, used to nighttime patrols only around the Paris streets. Javert, however, was as strong as stone and Ombre had plodded onwards, leaving the others miles behind the road. The climb had taken a while, so stars were already shining in the mountain sky by the time the village came into view.
So he was going about his investigation alone.
Javert was standing outside an inn. His lip curled as he heard the bawdy laughter of drunks and the tapping of mugs on wood. Swinging his leg over Ombre's saddle, he dismounted and stood for a moment as the blood returned to his feet, pins and needles pricking at his toes. Adjusting the collar that hugged his neck, he strode in.
The inn was busy, men crowded around a rough-sawn bar, their faces red and lips glistening. Their fingers shone with the grease of roasted meat and the scared little bones of a chicken sat between their flagons.
The barkeep behind the counter wasn't handsome, nor was he hopelessly ugly, an average man in an average place. When Javert entered the door, he glanced up from the glass he was polishing, noticed his crisp uniform, and hurried over, slinging his rag over a shoulder.
"Can I help you, sir?" the innkeeper asked, his beady eyes scuttling over Javert's hat and badge. "Inspector?"
"Are you the owner of this establishment?" Javert asked, removing his wide hat and settling it under his arm.
"Yes."
"I'm looking for a man. A convict. He would be a few inches taller than I am, a heavy beard, shaved head. His name is Jean Valjean."
Javert's eyes brightened when the man nodded.
"Yeah, he stumbled in here maybe a month or so ago. Kept sitting by my fire, wouldn't give me his papers when I asked. So I told him to get out. Looked like he was heading towards the church when he left my door."
"Where is this church?"
"Other end of the town. Little place. Can't miss it, only place the road will lead. The bishop is a night owl, he should still be up."
Javert nodded and thanked the innkeeper, but politely declined the man's invitation for a meal and a drink. "I should get going," he had said before he turned and left.
Ombre's hoof beats were loud in the quiet hilltop village. The church was tiny and ramshackle, once beautiful for its small size, but now crumbled into a little house of worship. The graveyard was crumbling stone walls and skinny wooden crosses. Sprouts of unruly grass sprung between the stone of the walkway.
Javert's knocks boomed against the wood door and filled the night.
The man who answered was a smiling bishop in maybe his sixties. White hair, jowls, and eyes that glinted with a secret youth.
"Hello, my brother, welcome. Are you searching for a place to stay? We have warm beds, warm food, and cool wine…"
Javert held up a hand cutting the priest short.
"No thank you, Father, I am not staying for long. I've come to ask if you remember meeting a man, a convict, by the name of Jean Valjean."
The bishop was a clever man, Javert knew, cleverer than any normal man of faith, but he didn't hide the flash of recognition in his aged eyes. Or, perhaps he had, but Javert was used to looking in the eyes of liars.
"I have not seen any convicts in my house or church," the bishop said. After a moment, he thought and added, "Only men and weary travelers."
Javert started to grow angry with the priest. He knew that the man was choosing his words too carefully for them to be truthful.
"Any travelers recently? Within a month or two?"
The bishop shook his head, "Many people come to me when in need and I've grown to be an old man. My memory does not serve me like it used to, I'm afraid."
"The police around this village told me that they saw a man leaving this church with a bag full of silver, were you robbed?"
"No, God does not favor those with trivial riches, my dear brother," the priest said as he started to retreat farther back into the church. "God bless you and your search, Inspector."
The door was blocked by Javert's strong arm. "Father, I am a man that respects God as well as fears Him," he said lowly, leaning forward and smelling the candlewax that filled the church, "why protect a criminal?"
"Because we are all criminals," the bishop replied coolly, "And where would we be if there was not someone who would treat us differently than what hides inside? We would all be in damnation."
Javert's eyes darkened.
"I have seen the man you are looking for, I'll tell you that much, Inspector," the bishop continued, calmly grabbing a hold of Javert's arm and removing it from his door. "But I would plead you end your chase. I have seen Valjean as he was touched by the spirit of our Lord. He is no longer a criminal."
"Men do not change," Javert said, stepping back away from the door and clasping his hands behind his back.
"Then you're life will be dust," the bishop said, raising his hand and marking a cross in the air, "I hope you reconsider for the sake of your happiness." The door thumped solidly in Javert's face as the priest shut it.
Craning his neck upwards, Javert could make out the silhouette of the cross panned out against the stars. A man of the Lord should not hide a fugitive or keep information from the law… Javert thought bitterly, adjusting his riding gloves and turning on his heel to stand by Ombre. He pressed his hand against the horse's strong neck and heard distant clopping of horses. He turned to see his other men, the one at the front holding a lantern.
"Sorry we fell behind, sir, that horse of yours is quite the worker," the officer with the lantern said, a mustached gentleman by the name of LaPeir. LaPeir lowered his lantern to look at Javert's hard face. He dismounted, as did the other two.
"Instructions, sir?" the officer to LaPeir's left asked. He had sandy blonde hair that was cropped close to his head under his hat. Once a championship boxer on the Parisian streets, he was strong and burly, with a name to match. Officer Mattox.
"Search the place." Javert said, placing a hand over the flint pistol that sat at his hip. "It's obvious that the man here is a false priest. He has information about Valjean, but refuses to share it."
"A bishop is obstructing justice?" asked the third man, a chestnut-headed tall young man named Variees.
"Bishop is a strong word for him. Go. I said search the place," Javert ordered coldly. Mattox and LaPeir hurried forward, glad to take advantage of their authority, but Variees hesitated when he saw the burly ex-boxer open the door with his boot, the wood splintering.
"I suggest you join your fellow officers, Variees. You're a good man, I'd hate to sign you to the gallows for insubordination," Javert growled. The man was lost in his own power.
With a sickly paling of his skin, Variees quickly followed the shouting of the other men. A crash sounded from within and Javert heard the irate yelling of the bishop as he swung himself onto Ombre's back and watched the shadows glance across the clouded windows. His face was as cold as ice covered stone. Minutes later, the priest had hurried out, his once mischievous eyes burning like the fires of the hell he preached against.
"You're mad!" he yelled, waving his hands into the night air, "How dare you desecrate the house of the Lord like this?"
"I am not ruining nor stealing anything, Father," Javert replied unfeelingly, "I'm having my men search. If you're words are true, then you have nothing to worry about and we'll be finished soon."
"You're a monster in your own power, Inspector!" the bishop raged, Javert's words doing nothing to calm him. "Have you forgotten that a man of the law is supposed to protect the citizens, not accuse them?"
Javert's eyes darkened, yet his voice was still even. "I do not tell you what it means to be a priest, and you do not tell me what it means to be the law."
The bishop started to shake in anger. Two nuns hurried outside and stood by the door, staring at the church with their hands to their faces. One crossed herself and the other looked around, trying to see through the opaque windows.
"You will regret this," the bishop said darkly.
"A Father threatening? Perhaps you don't belong in the House of God after all," Javert responded, turning and looking down at the priest.
"I am comfortable in my faith and my actions in the eyes of the Lord. I am not threatening you, just warning you that you should be cautious, Inspector. God does not look upon corrupt pride well."
Javert's men filed out of the church empty handed. Javert scowled as they apologized to the nuns and swung themselves up onto their horses.
"Seems like I had nothing to hide after all," the bishop said, turning from the church to look at Javert's green eyes. He brought his two fingers up and crossed Javert. "God bless."
Inspector Javert yanked hard on Ombre's reigns and galloped off into the night, his men turning and following quickly. The priest watched them go before he turned and ushered the nuns back inside.