46

"Inès," Éponine said, later on that evening, "Could you help me with something?"

They were back in Éponine's flat, and Inès looked up from yet another game of chess she was playing with Gavroche to stare at Éponine with raised eyebrows.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Yeah, we're in the middle of a game," Gavroche said, scowling. "I'm winning –"

"You are not," Inès scoffed.

"I just need your help," Éponine said. She was curled up on the sofa behind them, and had been pretending to read a romance novel for the past hour whilst she actually worried about something.

"Yes, what is it?" Inès said, her voice a tad impatient.

"Well," Éponine said, setting her book to one side. She gestured down at herself. "I've had this dress since I got here..."

Inès nodded. "I had noticed you always wore the same one," she said with a sniff.

"I'd like to have another one," Éponine said. "Or a few more – I'm not sure – I've done shawls before, but –"

"Clothes can be trickier," Inès said, cocking her head to one side. "If you want them to look right, I mean – the detail can be a bit fiddly. Fantine..." Inès paused for a moment and then carried on. "Fantine was always very good at it."

"It's just that – Clémence wore a really beautiful dress," Éponine murmured, thinking of miles of ivory lace. "She looked lovely. And Éléonore..."

"Oh, Éléonore loves clothes," Inès said, flapping a dismissive hand. "But she gets them from like – our version of seamstresses – people who make perfect clothes...She's not actually very good at conjuring things, you know. So what do you want help with? It's not any different to conjuring a chair, really, but like I said, if you want anything complicated..."

"I'm just – struggling to think of clothes," Éponine frowned. "It sounds silly, but my clothes when I was alive were – well, it was just rags. It's been years since I've had proper dresses – this was the first," she finished, plucking at the skirts of her dress.

Inès stared at her for a few moments, and some creases appeared between her eyebrows as she began to frown. Then her forehead smoothed out. "I can help conjure you some more clothes if you want me to," she said.

"But our game," Gavroche protested.

"It can wait," Inès said, decisively. "And don't cheat by moving my pieces around whilst I'm out of the room, I will notice."

Inès clambered to her feet and brushed off her skirt. "Come on," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Let's get you some more clothes."

OOO

The next morning, Éponine put on the one dress that the two girls had managed to conjure up together.

They had put so much effort into this one dress that they'd been too tired to bother making anymore, so Inès suggested that they could go shopping together for more dresses in the next few days, if Éponine still wanted more clothes.

The dress was made from a pale green fabric and had a fuller skirt than any dress Éponine had ever owned; the sleeves were full and puffy around her upper arms but tightened from her elbows downwards, and the sleeves were slightly too long, stretching out onto her hands. Éponine didn't mind this mistake so much as it more or less covered up her injured hand. It had a wide neckline curving down into a rounded V-shape, and it was tucked in at the waist and clung to her upper body.

Éponine had been quite satisfied with the dress how it was but Inès hadn't. The other girl began to make alterations – adding paler green lace around the hem of the skirt and the neckline and along the sleeves, and sitting there for hours as small flowers were embroidered all over the dress in a green a shade darker than the rest of the dress.

Éponine stopped her before she started conjuring tiny pearls around the neckline on top of the lace, thinking that the design was becoming complicated enough.

Now she was wearing it, and looking at herself in the mirror, Éponine found she quite liked the final product. The skirts were quite heavy, and it was a little too tight in a few places and she was a bit embarrassed by how skinny her upper body looked, but she was thankful that the large, full sleeves hid some of the boniness of her arms.

She was glad that the skirt almost skimmed the floor because her boots certainly did not match, but she fished out one of her many shawls – a plain ivory one – to drape around her shoulders and left her hair loose, as usual, because she wasn't sure what else to do with it.

Enjolras and Courfeyrac had told her to come to their flat when she was ready, so as soon as she had knotted the shawl she left her room and told Inès she was welcome to continue sleeping in her bed if she wished (Inès promptly scrambled off the bed and scuttled into Éponine's room without complaint).

She then left her flat and walked to Enjolras and Courfeyrac's apartment, mentally reminding herself of the route to Clémence's house as she walked. Éléonore hadn't offered to come with them this time, and Éponine wondered whether it would be rude of her to take the two men to the Guardian's building first and ask Éléonore to be an escort.

She decided against this as she knocked on their front door, reminding herself that Éléonore often put a lot aside to help Éponine and it wasn't fair on the other woman.

Courfeyrac answered the door and did a double take. "You have a new dress," he said, his eyes skimming over her body. She felt like squirming beneath his scrutiny and was grateful when Enjolras showed up at Courfeyrac's shoulder.

"Let her in," the blond man sighed. "I'll just get my jacket."

Courfeyrac stepped aside with a little flourish and a bow. "May I say your dress is a delight for the eyes?"

Éponine turned away from him before he could see how her cheeks flushed. "You may," she muttered.

Enjolras was stood by the sofa, frowning at Courfeyrac and shrugging on a red jacket. His eyes flickered to her.

"I just fancied a change," she blurted.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Enjolras said with a shrug. "Shall we get going?"

Any awkwardness Éponine had felt initially slipped away due to Courfeyrac's inability to keep quite for more than five seconds at a time; the three of them ambled along, listening to Courfeyrac chatter, until they reached Clémence's house.

The sight of it didn't fail to take some of Éponine's breath away once more.

"Ah," Courfeyrac said, his tone happy as they walked up the gravel path, "It feels like home. Almost. In a way that is completely unlike my childhood home. Do you all know what I mean?"

Éponine shook her head, but Enjolras scoffed under his breath. "Houses like this are a waste –"

"I doubt it cost her anything," Courfeyrac interrupted in a light and pleasant voice. "We can conjure things at will here – which begs the question, why isn't everyone living in luxury like this?"

"Because in death people's minds seem to become limited and boring," Clémence's voice cut in from somewhere behind them. "Which is a shame, but it admittedly feeds my ego when I'm one of the only people to have a house such as this."

Both Courfeyrac and Enjolras spun around to stare at the newcomer whilst Éponine's movement was much slower. She knew what to expect, after all – or she thought she had. She wasn't expecting Clémence's outfit to be so – well, daring, although she didn't know why she was so surprised seeing as Éponine had almost seen her breasts the day before.

Today, Clémence wore trousers in a pale cream colour, with a mint green waistcoat over a frilly lace shirt. Her hair was arranged similarly to how it had been the day before – in little plaits arranged into various loops and circles around her head. She wore black leather boots that reached her knees.

She was flanked on either side by her male servants in their purple and gold uniforms. The servants were carrying lots of books in their arms.

"Éponine," Clémence said, bowing her head at Éponine in greeting. "Would you like to introduce your friend?"

"This is Enjolras – the one you wanted –" Éponine began; Clémence flapped a hand and she fell silent automatically. The two servants walked around them and carried on up the path.

"I know who he is," Clémence said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I meant your other friend."

"I am Courfeyrac, mademoiselle," Courfeyrac said, giving her a small bow.

"If you insist it is actually madam," Clémence said. Her face looked completely unimpressed with Courfeyrac's attempts at politeness. "But I really hope you won't insist – Clémence is fine. You are not my servant, after all."

If Courfeyrac was put out by this, he recovered very fast. "I did not intend to cause any offence – if any offence was caused, of course."

Clémence ignored what Courfeyrac had said and instead came out with, "No, you do not have any particularly remarkable powers."

Courfeyrac's eyebrows flew into his hairline. "How did you know that's what I wanted?"

"Ah." Clémence tapped her temple. "I know a lot of things." She now looked towards Enjolras, who had his hands clasped behind his back and seemed to be feeling incredibly uncomfortable. "As do you, Enjolras," she added in a quiet voice.

She stepped past them. "Let's go inside," she said.

Clémence led them through the same long corridors until they reached the conservatory. The door was shut this time, but Clémence strode ahead and opened it.

"I think that Enjolras and I should take a walk together," she said, over her shoulder. "If you don't mind, Enjolras? I find my gardens more peaceful than my house."

Enjolras hovered by the door that led from the house to the conservatory. "What do you want to see me about?" he demanded.

"Oh, I just want to give you some friendly advice," Clémence said. "I'm very worried about what is going on inside that pretty little head of yours, and I think you need to talk to someone who understands a little bit of what you're going through. As you might have guessed, that person would be me. So come along, Enjolras."

Enjolras looked like he was going to argue again, so Éponine reached out and put her hand on his elbow, gently pulling him forwards.

"Just go," she said, in a low voice. "Courfeyrac and I will be right here."

She nudged him again and this time he actually started walking, even if his jaw was set in a way that suggested he wasn't happy in the slightest about what was happening.

He and Clémence disappeared into the garden and Éponine hovered near one of the windows, watching their forms grow smaller and smaller until they were out of view.

When she turned around, Courfeyrac was sprawled over one of the chairs around the table.

"Well, she's certainly an interesting woman," Courfeyrac said, ruffling his dark hair. "I wonder who Monsieur Lefebvre is?"

Éponine frowned at the question. His curiosity about Clémence's possible husband irked her and she didn't know why. She cleared her throat. "I have no idea," she said, and dropped into one of the other chairs.

"I almost wish I hadn't bothered coming," he added, heaving a dramatic sigh and letting his head drop backwards. "I don't even have special powers."

"It's really not that good," Éponine said, staring down at her lap. "I just feel a bit – well, I don't like it. I just wish I was like everyone else, I suppose."

"Hmm." When she looked up, Courfeyrac was watching her with a speculative look on his face. "I suppose I should listen to someone who has experience, then, shouldn't I?"

"You don't want to have special powers," Éponine said, firmly. "It's – it's not very special at all. Remember, because of these powers I'm trapped here for the rest of my life which, now I've had time to think about it properly, I don't actually want to happen."

Courfeyrac moved suddenly, straightening up in his chair and planting his feet properly on the ground. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

Éponine blinked in surprise, and glanced towards the conservatory door which was still propped open. "I don't know," she said, a little doubtfully. "Clémence never said..."

"Let's go for a walk," Courfeyrac repeated, getting to his feet. He adjusted the front of his jacket and then held one hand out towards her.

She hesitated for a few moments before putting her hand in his. She realised too late that it was her injured hand and immediately began to retract it, but Courfeyrac held on tight and pulled her out of her seat.

He let go of her hand once she was on her feet but offered his arm to her. "Shall we walk, mademoiselle?"

OOO

The gardens were just as beautiful as the first time she had seen them – they almost seemed even more colourful than before, but that might have been because the sky was brighter that day.

They walked with Éponine's hand tucked into Courfeyrac's elbow for a while, but eventually they walked apart, her clasping her hands in front of her and he clasping his behind him against the small of his back.

"What do you suppose Clémence wanted to give Enjolras advice about?" Courfeyrac wondered.

"I honestly have no idea," Éponine said, letting one of her hands drop to skim her fingertips against the flowerbeds. "Presumably about seeing the future."

"How much advice could one give about seeing the future? Surely you just see it and there's not much you can do about it," Courfeyrac replied, watching Éponine out of the corner of his eye.

The path up ahead widened out into a circle, and in the centre of this circle was a large stone fountain, spraying water up into the air that pattered back down into the high-walled basin below. As they drew level with it, Éponine stopped walking and stared down into the rippling water. There was a pattern in the tiles on the bottom of the fountain but because of the way the water was trembling it was hard to discern what picture it actually showed.

Her thoughts were broken by a huffing sound and an elbow clad in brownish-red coming into her line of vision as Courfeyrac sat on the edge of the fountain almost right in front of her.

"Is there anything this house doesn't have?" Courfeyrac said, as Éponine turned around and perched beside him on the edge of the fountain.

"I expect there's a lot more in the house that we haven't even seen," Éponine replied.

"You're probably right," Courfeyrac said. "Do you think we could get her to give us a tour later?"

"I doubt it," Éponine giggled, twisting her body to dip her fingers into the water. It was almost warm, so she let her whole hand go under, watching how the water distorted her hand and made it look larger than it was. She wiggled her fingers. The water rippled from the movement as it rushed past her fingertips.

She raised her head to find Courfeyrac's hand holding a blue flower very close to her face. Startled by the suddenly close proximity, she jerked backwards.

"Éponine!"

Hands gripped her waist and righted her before she could fall backwards into the water.

Her heart was beating almost a little too fast and Courfeyrac still had hold of her. His hands were warm against her waist through the fabric of her dress, and he was very close.

"I only wanted to give you a flower," he said, and her eyes flicked to one side to see the flower floating in the water behind them.

"In future, I would appreciate it if you did not pick flowers from my garden," Clémence's voice cut through their moment, her tone as harsh as the crack of a whip.

Éponine turned her head to see Clémence and Enjolras stood a few feet away. She hadn't even heard their approach, but she noticed now that there was a stony expression on Enjolras' face.

Courfeyrac released her quickly, as if he had been burned, and got to his feet, brushing his hands over his front.

Éponine stayed sat down, wondering why Enjolras was looking at them both like that. Then her eyes strayed to Clémence – the other woman's face was colder than Éponine had seen it before, and there was something near to hostility in her eyes.

"I'll call for a servant to come and see you out," she said, her words clipped. Éponine exchanged a slightly incredulous glance with Courfeyrac before snapping her attention back to Clémence when the other woman spoke again. "Remember my advice, Enjolras," she said, before turning on her heel and walking away from them.

Éponine stood. "Is everything all right, Enjolras?" she asked.

The blond man nodded. "Yes. But I think we should leave."

"We don't really have a choice," Courfeyrac muttered, before ducking down to fish the blue flower out of the water. He handed it, dripping water everywhere, to Éponine and closed her fist around it. Droplets caused the fabric of her dress to darken here and there, and the flower felt awfully fragile beneath her fingertips. "You might as well have it," Courfeyrac said, his voice gentle. Then he cleared his throat. "Now, let's go before Clémence has us physically removed from her home."

As he had done earlier on in the day, he offered his arm to Éponine, and this time, she didn't hesitate at all before slipping her arm through his.