Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Some other stuff had come up, but I'll always make time for our dear Aimee and Javert. Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews always welcome
XXIX: Legrande
"Father's driving me up a wall," Éponine huffed, leaning over Aimée's counter. Aimée looked at her as she made her way around the shop, putting up bouquets in the shelves and adjusting the furniture.
"Why?" the older woman asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and rolling her eyes when she was sure 'Ponine wouldn't see.
"He wants me to keep robbing, but I don't want to. I'm done with that petty stuff."
"You're moving on to bigger and better crimes?" Aimée teased, settling down in the sofa that sat in front of the hearth. It was a large fireplace, keeping the shop warm and welcoming even in winter. The heat was nice, allowing the flowers to survive longer. The ashes in it were stale, it hadn't been lit for months. The early summer was comfortable.
"Let me help you smuggle," Éponine begged, standing up and hurrying over.
Aimée looked at her and noticed how young she looked, barely a woman. She remembered herself at that age, pining over the stern and harsh man fate had taken from her so many times. Éponine's wide, brown eyes were eager and pleading.
"No," Aimée said, picking up a book and opening it.
"Oh come on! Why not? You let that kid help you."
"That kid is your brother, or have you forgotten?" Aimée asked, turning the page calmly.
"He ran away to the streets when he was young, I barely got a chance to treat him like a brother. And besides, why do you let him help you, but not me?"
"Because Gavroche doesn't have anyone else, Éponine. He's a child of the streets, he has no obligations to anyone but himself. And besides, he looks like he could be my son. He doesn't cause suspicion."
Éponine crossed her arms. "So? I'm pretty much your daughter."
Aimée closed her book and pinched the bridge of her nose with her slender fingers. "Éponine, I took care of you for a few years. I'm not anywhere near a mother." Éponine had a habit of doing this, trying to play Aimée's heartstrings like her very own harp. Aimée was patient, the young brunette probably wasn't aware of what she was doing. She was admirable, strong-willed, quiet, beautiful, and smart. However, Aimée was unsure of how she should feel. After all, the Thénardiers were cruel, disgusting people that helped Aimée's father destroy her life.
'Ponine hadn't liked Aimée's words, no matter how true they were.
"I just want to help. I'm tired of picking pockets."
"What about that boy you like? What was his name?"
"Marius?"
"Yes, Marius. What about him? I'm sure he'd have something for you to do. Why are you so keen on helping those want-to-be revolutionaries anyway?" Aimée asked, inspecting her nails.
Éponine was quiet and Aimée glanced up in time to see her bite her lip and look down. "Marius has yet to look at me with anything besides friendship."
"But he cares about you?"
Éponine nodded, "At least, I tell myself he does."
"This is the real reason why you want to start smuggling with me, isn't it?" Aimée asked, standing up and giving the young woman a knowing smile. "You want to seem dangerous and romantic. Involved with the rebellion Marius wants to start."
The blush that swarmed Éponine's cheeks was fierce. "What if it is?"
"Then that's not a good reason," Aimée said, walking past the young woman and standing behind counter. She brought out a basket and stepped to the side room, taking out bundles of flowers.
"Why not?" Éponine yelled after her.
"Because. You're doing it for someone else," Aimée explained coolly, picking out and inspecting some cherry red tulips. "That means that, god forbid, you fail or something happens to you, someone would know. Someone else would get hurt."
"Is that why you do it? Because you think you're all alone? Because you think that if you die or get arrested, no one would care?"
Aimée was silent, focusing harder on her flowers. She started to arrange them in the basket.
"Because you're wrong, Aimée."
Her jaw clenched with Éponine's words. She closed her eyes and heaved a very weary sigh.
"Éponine."
"At least let me help with the rifles. You'll need more than Gavroche."
Aimée ran a hand over her face, smelling the green scent of the flower stems. "Fine. You want to help? Fine."
Éponine gave an excited squeal and clapped her hands, something very uncharacteristic of a weapon's smuggler. Aimée shook her head, slightly annoyed, but didn't deny the small smile that graced her lips.
"This is going to be exciting. We have to be more careful, especially that Chief Inspector Javert is back in the city," Éponine said hurriedly, biting her lips.
The basket fell to the floor, the flowers spilling out from inside. Aimée's head snapped up, eyes wide and her mouth hung slightly open. "What did you say?"
"What, about Javert? Haven't you heard of him? Oh, I guess not, you never had an issue with the law before. You just hid here in your shop," Éponine laughed. It took all of Aimée's self-control not to grab a hold of her and shake the information from her mouth. Éponine spoke again. "He issued out justice ruthlessly, cruel man. He left around two years ago for some kind of anti-crime campaign or something. He actually almost caught me once or twice when I was slipping pockets."
"What-What does this man look like?" Aimée asked, coming slowly from around the counter, one hand brought up to her neck.
Éponine looked uneasily down at the spilled flowers. "Um…beard, angry eyes, tall, sturdy. Like an ox."
Aimée almost choked.
"And he's back? Back in the city?"
"Yes. Aimée, are you alright? Why the questions?"
"I just…want to know what we're dealing with, that's all," Aimée said quickly, waving her hand. She noticed that her basket had spilled and hurried back behind the counter and scooped them back up. "Do you think he's going to be a problem?"
Keep asking questions related to business. Keep calm.
"Javert? He could be. He's spoken out against smugglers before. In fact, now that I think back, that was the reason he left Paris in the first place. Hunting down smugglers. But he won't suspect two women. We'll be fine." Éponine gave Aimée a smile and she tried to return it, but it almost came out as a grimace.
Inside, Aimée's stomach was tied up in knots. Javert. Nine years. Nine long years since Aimée had seen him. She hadn't thought about him in so long, he had become almost like a dream. Something Aimée herself began to wonder actually existed. Now he was here, in this city. He could be just down the street!
"I have to get back to the parents," Éponine said, giving Aimée one more quizzical look. "You'll be alright? You seem a little off."
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'll be alright. I think I'm just getting a little hungry. Go on home," Aimée said, waving her hand.
Éponine shrugged and headed towards the door.
"Éponine?" Aimée called before the door could click shut. "Don't tell the Thénardiers that you're helping me."
Her nod was serious before her dark hair disappeared through the door.
"Sir, fight in the streets," Hoight muttered, riding up to Javert and pointing. Javert turned and looked. He was issued a new uniform now that he was back in Paris, black coat with silver garb. He would never admit how stifling hot it was in the early summer sun. His hat shaded his eyes, the brim turned at a different angle with different rank.
"Degenerates," Javert muttered, swinging himself off of his horse and hurrying over. He heard a woman scream his name, loud and shrill, and he wasn't surprised that they knew his name, but the scuffle continued. Two full-grown men with bystanders. A blonde-haired young woman with a day bonnet watched, horrified and another haggled woman clutching at a lumpy bundle covered in rags screamed at the men.
"What's going on here!?" he demanded. Upon hearing his roar, the fighters broke apart. One stared at him, skinny and sick, with a festering, tangled wig frizzing form his head. The other kept his back to him. Javert saw a grubby child rush past him, trying to flee the situation He quickly caught up the dirty little pup and hoisted him up in the air. "Tell me, what's the story?" He set down the child when he saw all the dirty men line up obediently. He recognized the one with the wig.
"Well, look at all of you, here. Quite a sight. I recognized you," he said, pointing to Thénardier. He looked around and noticed one less person. "Where'd that other one go? The man who was fighting? Why on earth would he run?" Javert asked, not helping his lip curling in anger.
Thénardier slunk forward like a cat trying to please a large dog. "Ahem, Monsieur Chief Inspector. That man, long ago, stole my daughter from me when he was running from the law. Nine years."
"Running from the law?" Javert's eyes narrowed.
"Aye, Sir," Thénardier gave a little smile, knowing that he had a piece of information that Javert wanted. "Valjean, his name was."
Javert felt his hands curl into fists. "Jean Valjean? Stole your daughter?"
"Aye, Collete"
"Cosette," the woman, Thénardier's wife, corrected.
That night so long ago, when Javert was chasing the convict through the winding Parisian streets, he remembered the child. A little girl.
"So, he's still here," Javert murmured, his attention gone from Thénardier. "Still in this city, still a criminal."
I'll find him. He can't be far away. I almost had him!
"Monsieur, since there's no victim here…and I gave you some good information...would
there be any sort of reward, perchance?"
Javert looked at the sewer rat and noticed how disgustingly close he was standing. Thénardier smelled like death, dirty and filthy and rank. Clenching his jaw, Javert took a few measured steps away.
"Clear this garbage off the street, Thénardier," Javert said, turning to leave. Hoight was still sitting with the horses a few steps off.
"Valjean was just here," Javert grumbled, getting back up in the saddle and steering the massive horse away from the Thénardiers.
"Who?"
"Jean Valjean, an old convict," Javert said, looking down at the people he passed, Hoight's horse plodding on next to him.
"Oh, that one that tried to run the rosary factory in Montreuil, weren't you stationed there?"
"Yes," Javert growled.
Hoight decided not to speak again.
The din of the city clouded Javert's ears, filled him with the creak of wagons, shouts of people, and clop of hooves. He let his mind wander back to Montreuil, as he so often did. The handkerchief felt heavy in his pocket, almost like a sheet of iron, and it took some self-control to keep his hands on the reigns. Javert found himself glancing at every woman he came across, his eyes following them if they had blonde hair. If Valjean was still living in Paris, there was a chance that Aimée had found her way here. She wasn't anywhere else, he had looked and looked. Whenever he left Paris, he kept an eye out for her, searching for a woman with dusty blonde hair and eyes that raged like the cool ocean. He thought of the little velvet box he kept with him in his bag. The sapphire and diamond inside sparkled, even after all the years Javert had kept it hidden away. The ring was hopeful, pushing Javert onwards.
Javert turned his horse down a different street and Hoight followed him. His partner finally spoke again. "Where are we headed?"
"I'm getting a layout of the city," Javert said, blinking, but keeping his eyes forward as they patrolled, "I haven't been in Paris for two years. Many things have changed. Then I'm going back to the Palais, I have to meet with someone who can tell me where to stay. Probably the Chief Justice."
"Ah, very good."
The sun shone down on the two men, but Paris still looked washed-out and gray. Children scurried to and fro like packs of rats, quick and sneaky. There was a group of children swarming towards a depleting elephant statue that stood on the very grounds where the Bastille once stood. Javert watched as the children scuttled around the statues pillar-like feet before he turned his attention back to the people. Women kept their eyes averted, looking down or away when the officers rode through. Some men nodded, but most just stared past them. Others, younger men, it seemed, gave Javert and Hoight dark looks. Javert's brows furrowed and his jaw set when he remembered why he was here. These young boys reeked of rebellion.
Hoight and Javert made their way across the arched bridge that stretched over the grey river Seine. Across the bride and up the road was the towering giant of the Palais de Justice. Javert was in no hurry, but he did hope that he would be stationed back in his old home. Where he stayed the first time he had left Aimée….
Javert groaned. Why must everything come back to her? Everything I see or think…it's all her.
"The Palais is certainly a handsome building, isn't it?" Hoight asked, reaching up and scratching his chin. Javert turned and looked at Hoight's ugly face just in time to see him run his tongue along his teeth.
Javert's nose wrinkled and he looked at the towering building in front of them. "Yes, I suppose it is. Solemn. Appropriate I think, the law is unforgiving and the people need to see that."
"Do you think of anything else besides the law, Javert? Good food? Fine wine? The warmth of a lady-friend?" Hoight gave an obscene laugh.
"That is far from appropriate, Officer Hoight," Javert said, momentarily taken aback from his partner's boldness. The shock dissipated into annoyance and Javert spoke again. "When you dedicate your life to the law as much as I have, you don't have time for anything else."
Hoight's laughter died away, "You're as human as a statue, Inspector."
"Officer Hoight, we are not friends, and I do not appreciate your lack of maturity. I think you should remind yourself who I am and who you are," Javert growled.
"Understood."
Javert's mood darkened by the time they arrived at through the guarded, wrought iron gates of the Palais de Justice. He was rude to the clerk who opened the door.
"I need to speak with the Superior Commander of the Courts," Javert demanded.
"Do you have an appointment?" the clerk asked, a little timid. He then noticed Javert's uniform and quickly nodded, "Never mind. Of course, Chief Inspector."
Javert removed his hat and turned behind him, looking at Hoight, "Stay here." Hoight sighed, but nodded.
"This way, Chief Inspector," the clerk said, leading Javert down the ornate hallway of the Palais. Javert had never liked the building. He thought it was too flashy, too ornate, for a place of the law. He liked the courthouse in Montreuil, small but strong, with dark wood walls and brick exterior. This, this was just too much. But then again, Paris liked its décor.
The room that Javert was led to was a courtroom, empty, safe for an older man hunched over some papers on the back bench. The clerk gave him a little bow, which went unseen, and cleared his throat to announce Javert.
"Chief Inspector Javert to see you, Chief Justice Legrande."
Justice Legrande looked up, and Javert realized that he was strong in his age, maybe sixty, with bright onyx eyes and a very straight nose. He was bald under his judge's cap, but his face was framed with two white mutton chops. Legrande rose and stepped down from his elevated seat. His black robes whispered when he moved. The man stood straight, strong in his age, and he reached for the Inspector. The Chief Justice's grip was strong when he shook Javert's hand.
"Chief Inspector, nice to see you," Legrande said. He didn't smile, but his voice wast easy.
Javert nodded, "Likewise, Justice Legrande."
"The reason behind your visit?" Legrande wasn't a man too fond of wasting time with small talk.
"I was inquiring as to where I was supposed to reside."
"Ah, one must have a home," Legrande said, nodded as he moved past Javert. "Walk with me for a moment, Inspector."
The two left the courtroom and made their way down the hallway. Legrande moved well for his age, long strides, shoulders squared. "All this gold trash, makes it look like a woman decorated the place," Legrande grumbled, waving his hand and scowling at the walls. "This place is supposed to instill fear and obedience."
"I couldn't agree more, sir."
Legrande gave a harsh bark of a laugh. "Follow me down to the cells, Javert, I have to inspect them."
The two located the winding staircase and made their way down. "Where did you stay before? God, how long ago was that?"
"Nearly seventeen years."
"Ah, I was still a judge back then."
"I had a government issued home, but I don't know if it's still empty."
"I'll send someone over to look. If someone is living there, we'll relocate them before night. If you stay on patrol for the rest of the day, I have no doubt your home will be ready for you when your shift ends."
"Thank you sir."
"You've come back because of the fear of rebellion, is that correct?" Legrande asked as the stairs still spiraled downwards. The air around them staled and grew cooler. Javert could see the glimmer of moisture on the stone walls of the Palais's cellar. The glow or torches awaited them in the crypt.
"That's right, sir. My anti-smuggling campaign was complete and I was requested back to Paris."
"Good, we need men like you. This rebellion will be nothing. A bunch of schoolboys hoping to impress their lady-loves."
Javert heard the clank of chains and muttered moans stretched down the underground tunnel. He knew he was in the dungeons now. Legrande clasped his arms in front of him and continued walking. "The cells were over capacity for a few years," Legrande said as the first few jail cells came into view. The smell down there was atrocious, death and despair mixed with the wretchedness of the human body. "The famine was cruel to Paris and it turned the people cruel as well."
"I see," Javert said, looking into a cell to his left. A man inside was huddled up on a dirty pile of straw covered in burlap, he was whispering, grimy hair covering his face and his forehead pressed to the damp cold stone.
"I make a point to look at the cells every week. Make sure the guards are running things correctly, check for deaths, that sort of thing." Legrande reached out and trailed his white fingers along the bars as he walked. "As of now, the cells have been fairly empty. A burglar here or there, but not that much."
"If you don't mind me asking, sir, but why the drop? Times haven't gotten any easier," Javert asked.
"This is Paris, Javert," Legrande said, stopping in the middle of the tunnel and turning to look at him. He looked like a skeleton in the glow of the lamps, hollowed cheeks and black eyes, thin but tough. "If we captured every murderer, every rapist, every thief, there would be no more people of on the streets. We don't have the space. Every now and then we make arrests to uphold the reputation, have the people fear us."
Javert's brow furrowed.
"That's why it's good you've arrived back, Inspector," Legrande said, shifting his weight and looking right into Javert's pale green eyes. "People no doubt know your face. Once you squash this rebellion, the people will be too scared to try anything else."
Javert was quiet as Legrande gave a smile, his thin lips parting in a small grin, "This rebellion won't last long if these children manage to buck up the nerve to start it in the first place. I'm counting on you to end this, Chief Inspector. I will send someone to the house and you may report back there at the end of your patrol. I trust you can find your way back up?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you," Javert gave Chief Justice Legrande a bow and turned to walk back down the lit tunnel. He felt Legrande's eyes on his back until the cells disappeared and he turned back to the stairway. Javert climbed quickly, almost thankful to be back in the filigreed hall of the upper Palais. The fresh air graced his lungs, and Javert realized that the stink of Paris was better than the reek of the dungeon's despair.