56
That evening, Éponine tried to sleep, but she found that her mind was plagued with thoughts of Courfeyrac and Enjolras and the bitter twist to their words when they spoke to one another. She woke the next morning feeling restless and bedraggled. She donned her older, comfier dress, and knotted a shawl around her shoulders, before leaving the flat, a decision made very firmly in her mind.
She was going to speak to someone. It crossed her mind that this was a situation she was probably advised to speak to either Courfeyrac or Enjolras about – face it head on – but she wanted to speak to Combeferre first and get his perspective on it, before she rushed into making accusations that were false.
It was fairly early, the sky milky white and turning green around the edges, and as expected, only Combeferre was awake when she arrived at their apartment. He wore just his shirt and trousers and stockings on his feet, and his hair was slightly ruffled as if he had not yet thought to brush it. She found him in the middle of eating an éclair, a smudge of cream on his lower chin.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said, linking her fingers together. She wasn't really that sorry, but the words had spilled out automatically. "I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk."
He raised his eyebrows. "Is everything all right, Éponine?"
"Not particularly," she said. "I'd like to speak to you about something."
His expression turned grave.
"I think you know what I'm wanting to talk about," Éponine continued.
"Yes, I think I have an idea." He gestured to himself. "I'll just go and get dressed properly."
He disappeared into his bedroom and Éponine sank onto the sofa he had now left unoccupied, her mind drifting to the evening before. When he and the other two had finally caught up with them at Éponine's apartment, the atmosphere between the three men was incredibly tight and uncomfortable. They spoke to each other in clipped voices and they'd had to call an end to the evening much earlier than any of them had expected they'd have to.
Just as the earlier interactions had, the end to their evening had weighed heavily on Éponine's mind, and she suspected that it had weighed on Combeferre's, too.
A door opened, but it was not Combeferre's; it was Enjolras'. His hair was ruffled and his clothes looked like they had been thrown on hastily. "I thought I heard voices," he said. His voice was thick and sleepy, and he stifled a yawn as he struggled towards the end of the sentence. "I thought something was wrong – it's so early."
"It really isn't," she said, linking her fingers together. He looked at her curiously.
"Is everything all right, then?"
"Not really, no," she said.
Concern made Enjolras' brow furrow, and he took what looked like an involuntary step towards her. "What's the matter? Is it Inès? Her family?"
"No," Éponine said. "It's you, and Courfeyrac."
The concern disappeared and was replaced by a stony expression Éponine swore she had last seen on the barricades. It made her feel uncomfortable, and reminded her a little bit of gunshots. She shook her head.
"I don't want to talk to you about it," she said. "I don't know what on earth is going on between you two, but you're making matters very uncomfortable for everyone and it needs to stop."
"I've already heard this from Combeferre," Enjolras said.
"Then you should be listening to him," Éponine advised, as the door to Combeferre's room opened and he emerged, his clothes now arranged properly and his hair combed neatly. He was shrugging on a dark brown jacket, and he looked at Enjolras with some trepidation.
"Enjolras," he said, warily.
"Good morning," Enjolras said, looking between them both. "What are you doing?"
"We're going for a walk," Éponine said, rising from the sofa. "Alone. Just the two of us. There are things we need to talk about."
"You're referring to Courfeyrac and I," Enjolras said. "Aren't you?"
"Yes," Éponine said, honestly.
"That's not fair," Enjolras said. "It's not fair to talk about us and not let us –"
"With all due respect, Enjolras, right now, I don't particularly care whether you think it is fair," Éponine said, turning her back on him and walking towards the door. "Yours and Courfeyrac's terrible moods ruined yesterday evening, and Combeferre is clearly stuck in the middle of you two, and he needs to talk to someone about it that is not you or Courfeyrac. So, we are going for a walk."
She opened the door and looked over her shoulder in time to see Combeferre sent Enjolras a somewhat apologetic glance, before he walked across the room to leave the apartment with her.
Out on the street, they walked in silence for a few moments together before Combeferre cleared his throat. "Éponine..." he began, but she interrupted him.
"I want your opinion on something, and I would like it very much if you were honest with me," she said.
"You're not in the mood to be argued with, are you?" he observed. "What do you wish to ask?"
"The arguments that Enjolras and Courfeyrac have been having," Éponine said. "Are they about me?"
It took Combeferre a long time to answer, and she was just about to prompt him to speak when he finally did.
"Yes," he said. "They are."
"I thought so." Éponine swallowed. "Is...Does...Does...Is Enjolras jealous?"
Combeferre's mouth twisted. "Unusually, yes, it would seem so. Something along those lines, at least; he won't be very honest with either of us. We both know him well enough to know he isn't telling us the full details, but for now, it would seem he is jealous."
"Of – of Courfeyrac and I?" she said, wanting to clarify. The phrasing of Courfeyrac and I sounded odd in her mouth.
"Yes," Combeferre said. "And that is, naturally, causing tensions between them both."
"I see." She swallowed. "I'd thought as much. Or more...dreaded that might be the case. As you said the other day, you consider them brothers, and I don't want to be the person who would come between such a strong bond –"
"Éponine, it is hardly your fault if they are both foolish enough to let this ruin their friendship," Combeferre interrupted with a shake of his head. "At the moment, tensions are running very high, and we have all been struggling to adjust to living here – to the fact we're dead, I suppose. It's not easy, and it has changed people. This is just a sign, I think, of their struggling to adjust."
"Where is Enjolras' anger coming from, though?" Éponine linked her hands together in front of her. "Aside from – I know he's jealous...Or we think he is..."
"Yes, jealousy is playing a part," Combeferre agreed. "I think we both know that jealousy can do strange things to a person. But, there's something else there. I think he's worried."
"About Courfeyrac?"
"About you," Combeferre said. "From what I gather, he is worried more that Courfeyrac will hurt you – at least, that is what he is saying."
"I thought you said he was jealous?"
"That is Courfeyrac and I reading between the lines," Combeferre said. "All that Enjolras has said on the matter is that he doesn't want Courfeyrac to hurt you."
"And do you think Courfeyrac will?" Éponine asked, before she could stop herself. It was a worry that she knew should have been niggling at the back of her brain this whole time, but she had managed to push it away before it could take root. Now, though, the worry twisted at her stomach. "Hurt me, I mean?"
Combeferre didn't answer for a long time. The worry beginning to knot and tangle in Éponine's stomach only grew tighter.
"What did you know of Courfeyrac before, when we were alive?" he said, finally.
"I know he lived with Marius, after Marius left," Éponine said. She thought about it. She remembered his face, remembered seeing him occasionally, thought he was quite a cheerful fellow, but she hadn't put much more thought into it than that. She may have known his name.
"Courfeyrac was not the most well-behaved of men," Combeferre said.
"Well-behaved?" Éponine echoed, her mind immediately jumping to breaking into houses and threatening people with knives. "Surely he never broke the law?"
"Gods, no, I'm referring to – well, more...intimate matters," Combeferre said, the touch of a blush on his cheeks.
"Oh!" Éponine bit her lip. "Well, that doesn't surprise me."
It hurt, a little, even though she knew it was stupid – it wasn't like she was an innocent, either. But still...
"Courfeyrac had a bit of a reputation amongst us," Combeferre said. "He – he knew a lot of women, I suppose; and there was never anything malicious in it, that's not in Courfeyrac's nature, but...I never think he would intentionally hurt you, Éponine."
"But you still think he might," Éponine said.
"I think he has the potential to," Combeferre said. "It depends on how deep his feelings for you actually are and, of course, on how deep your feelings for him are."
"And that is what Enjolras says he is worried about happening?" Éponine said.
"Yes," Combeferre said. "And to some extent, I think it is just that. But, I cannot help but think that there is something he is not telling us." He paused, and then said, "This is a strange situation."
"In what way?"
"In all the years I have known Enjolras, he has only ever shown a romantic interest in another human being – once – and I thought...I thought he had moved on from that," Combeferre said, clearly hesitating. "But that's not my place, I can't talk about that – it's a difficult subject for him."
"So what do you think I should do?" Éponine prompted.
"He needs talking to," Combeferre said. "Both of them do, but when they talk to each other these days it only seems to lead to arguments, and when I've tried, it hasn't gone much better. But maybe..." He looked at her thoughtfully out of the corner of his eyes.
"You think I should talk to them?" she said, her fingertips reaching up to brush over her chest as she spoke. She flexed her hands.
"Yes," he said. "This kind of talking only does so much good – neither you or I have a genuine insight onto how their minds are working; we can only guess...But the real issue here is Enjolras. Courfeyrac is merely reacting to Enjolras' hostility..."
"So I should talk to Enjolras about this," Éponine surmised. She frowned. "That doesn't sound so easy."
"I could be with you when you did it," Combeferre offered.
"No, it's all right," Éponine said, with a small sigh. "I can do it myself."
XXX
Combeferre's offer ran around her head as she let herself into Combeferre's apartment with the key that he had given her.
Combeferre had said that Courfeyrac was supposed to be out today, doing something or other with Bahorel and Prouvaire, but Enjolras should still be in. Still, Éponine knew that there was a very high chance that Courfeyrac had not left yet, and that she might have another very awkward situation on her hands.
That was why she wished that she had allowed Combeferre to come with her, rather than him going to visit Éléonore as he had chosen to.
The front room of their apartment was not empty when she walked in. Enjolras was sat on the sofa, reading, fully-dressed and hair combed, and alone.
He didn't look up as she entered, and also didn't when she shut the door behind her and placed the key onto the little table by the door. He clearly assumed it was either Combeferre or Courfeyrac, and obviously wasn't planning on saying hello for that reason.
She slipped the shawl from around her shoulders and put it on the little able as well, stepping further into the room. The rustle of fabric the slightly lighter fall of her feet seemed to alert Enjolras to the fact that it was not Combeferre or Courfeyrac who had just come in.
He looked up, and his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Éponine," he said. "Who gave you a key? Was it Courfeyrac?"
"Combeferre," she answered. "But is Courfeyrac in?"
Something flitted over Enjolras' face and he shook his head, closing the book in his hands. "He left about fifteen minutes ago," he said, sourly. "Why has Combeferre given you a key?"
"So I could get in," Éponine said, taking another step forwards. "May I sit down?"
"Of course." Enjolras put the book beside him on the sofa and she took a seat on the sofa opposite.
"I wanted to talk to you," Éponine said. "We talked briefly this morning, I know, but –"
"This morning you didn't want to talk to me about it," Enjolras interrupted. "And since then I've come to the conclusion that neither do I. As I said this morning, I have heard all of this from Combeferre, and I do not wish to hear it again."
"True," Éponine allowed. "But I want to know some things, and I'd rather hear it from you than Combeferre's speculation."
Enjolras didn't answer.
"I had worked out for myself that Courfeyrac and yourself have been arguing about me," Éponine said. "And Inès had speculated as to why. Combeferre has similar suspicions."
He still didn't respond, so she ploughed on.
"They are speculating that you have some kind of...feelings, for me, of a possibly romantic variety," she said, speaking slowly and clearly. "And that is affecting your friendship with Courfeyrac, for very obvious reasons."
Enjolras' face was blank, but it twitched a little as she spoke. He shook his head. "I am aware of such speculation," he said. "And it is wrong."
"Is it?" Éponine said, leaning forwards. "Because I can't think of anything else –"
"Remarkably arrogant of you," he said. "Yes, the arguments are about you, but they are not – my worries are not based around any kind of...romantic feelings for you."
His fingers flexed against his knees, and then he said, "I think you should leave."
"But –" she said.
"Éponine," he said, very softly. "Please. This – I don't want to talk about this right now. Another time, maybe. Please, just – just go. Leave Combeferre's key."
She didn't leave immediately, but sat there for a few more moments, just looking at him. He was refusing to look at her again, not meeting her eyes, and it took her back to those days when they first began to talk to one another, and she began to remember things.
Clémence saying, "There is a dead state that can see people's futures, and Enjolras is one of them."
Enjolras telling her, "I have to look people in the eye – and I see flashes – bits and pieces every time. Never a whole picture."
Courfeyrac asking, "You couldn't, say, tell me my future?"
And Enjolras' reply, a very firm, "Absolutely not. That would be...unfair."
"You know something, don't you?" she asked, quietly, a feeling of dread spreading through her stomach. "You know what's going to happen."
"Of course I do," Enjolras said, his voice strange and almost broken. "Please, Éponine."
She stood up, then, and retrieved her shawl from the table by the door. She left without another word, the horrifying realisation that Enjolras knew how her relationship with Courfeyrac would end playing on her mind.
And something else, niggling at the back of her mind.
"Yes, the arguments are about you, but they are not – my worries are not based around any kind of...romantic feelings for you."
He hadn't been telling the truth, she realised, as she shut the apartment door behind her and began to walk away, her head bowed low. That was why he was so uncomfortable, because he was lying, and he knew...He knew she might see through it.
Because if there was one thing Éponine knew about, it was liars – she had grown up with the best of them and the worst of men, and she knew a lie when she saw it.
The dread in her stomach twisted and tightened, and she pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders for comfort as she walked away from him.