61
It was three days after Éponine's party that the girl showed up at Éponine's door.
She was young, with pale brown hair arranged in a plaited bun at the base of her skull. She wore a dress made from a pale purple fabric shot through with golden stripes that shined when they caught the light. She had her hands enclosed in white cotton gloves, folded together on her abdomen.
"Good morning," the girl said. "My name is Agathe. I work for..."
"Clémence Lefebvre," Éponine finished for her. "I recognise the uniform."
Agathe smiled. "Madame Lefebvre is inviting you to lunch this afternoon," she said.
Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Is this an invitation, or an order?"
"Madame Lefebvre told me to say that if you would rather she came for lunch here, that will be suitable," Agathe said, with another smile.
Éponine thought of the elegant, extravagantly dressed Clémence in her apartment, and shook her head. "I should be able to make it," she said.
"Very good," Agathe said, and did not move.
"Are you going to go and tell her?" Éponine said.
Agathe shook her head. "Afternoon is not so long off, Madame," she said. "I can walk with you."
Éponine sighed, and retreated into her apartment to fetch one of her favourite shawls, one of ivory lace, and to tell Gavroche where she was going.
The walk to Clémence's home was long, and not particularly interesting; Agathe was not interested in her conversation, Éponine found, so it was very dry and boring. She was glad when the ornate gates of Clémence's home came into view.
Agathe led her through all of the corridors and into the brightly lit conservatory, overflowing with green plants. Clémence was sat at the table, but the chair she occupied had been pushed away so she was not right at the table's edge. Her red wine hair was loose and gently waving down her back; she was wearing a dress of shining, midnight blue with tiny yellow gemstones sewn over it; the sleeves were long and flowing, covering her hands. She had a corset made from gold hugging her waist and encasing her breasts, and it made her sit stiffly in her chair. Éponine imagined that if they were alive Clémence would be struggling to breathe.
"Éponine," Clémence murmured. "How nice of you to join me."
"I'm not a dog," Éponine said.
"Thank you for informing me, but I had noticed that myself," Clémence said, raising her eyebrows.
"What I mean is, I am not here for you to give commands," Éponine said, taking a seat at the table.
"I'm sorry if you found my invitation offensive." Clémence shook the heavy fabric away from her hands so that she could reach for the jug of water that sat on the table. She filled a large goblet with the water. The glass itself was a thing of beauty, a rainbow of different glass colours twisting together. There were two of them, but there were subtle differences in the patterning and shades of colours. Clémence filled one and then paused when she was about to fill the other.
"Yes, please," Éponine said, answering the unasked question.
Clémence poured, and then pushed the goblet towards her.
"Food won't be long," Clémence promised.
"What do you want to talk about?" Éponine said. "I'm assuming you want to talk about something in particular, and this isn't just a social visit."
"Yes, there is something." She set down the jug and then sipped from her goblet.
At that moment, two male servants came in carrying platters of food in each hand, closely followed by two female ones with more platters. They set them down on the table, left, and then they returned with empty plates, cloths, and cutlery which they placed in front of Éponine and Clémence.
"Would you like anything else to drink?" Clémence asked. One of the male servants halted in the doorway as the other three left.
"No thank you."
Éponine looked towards the platters. It was all savoury; there was a selection of cheeses on one platter, with crackers and breads to go with it; bowls of little potatoes, pastries with more cheese and vegetable fillings, thin slices of ham and wedges of chicken.
Éponine helped herself to one of the pastries with what looked like a plain cheese filling, and took a small roll of bread. She didn't have much of an appetite, and found herself ripping apart the bread roll with her fingers. She ate the soft insides rather than the crust, and found that the bread itself was sweet, rather than savoury as she had been expecting. It was a pleasant surprise, but the taste didn't sit right with her. She put down the remains of the roll and reached for the goblet of water.
"You seem nervous," Clémence commented as she swallowed a mouthful of the bread and ham she had been eating. "What do you think I am going to say to you?"
"I'm expecting something about Courfeyrac, or Enjolras," Éponine said with a shrug.
"A wise guess." Clémence put down her food and wiped her hands on one of the cloths that the servants had left behind. "Have they been popular topics of conversation as of late?"
"The most popular," Éponine said, sipping the water. It was good and cool, washing away the cloying, claggy taste of the bread on her tongue.
"Yes, Enjolras is not handling himself as well as I'd hoped." Clémence drew her thumb around the rim of her goblet. "I wish to have a word with him about it."
"You haven't sent Agathe to collect him, too, have you?" Éponine asked.
"Not today," Clémence said. "Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe you could..."
"Not your dog," Éponine reminded her. "What is it you want to say?"
"I'm going to ask you to be careful," Clémence said.
"About Courfeyrac? Or Enjolras? Which one?"
"Both." Clémence began to eat her bread and ham again, and when it was finished, she began to talk again. "I say both, because they are both involved. Enjolras' behaviour is making you unhappy..."
"They have sorted it out," Éponine said.
"For now," Clémence said. "Unless Enjolras reigns himself in, it is a dispute that may rumble on for some time. You know it; I know it...But I am asking you now to be kinder to Enjolras about the matter. It is difficult for him." She helped herself to one of the pastries. "When I think of the boy I see now, I see nothing of the person I knew him to be when he was alive. He has lost his fire, and that is a shame. He doesn't know how to behave here, how to react, and this is a completely alien situation to him. Acknowledge that. Do not be too harsh, and tell Courfeyrac to do the same."
"Why?" Éponine set down her glass, which she had been cupping in her hands.
"I've just told you why."
"Apart from his struggles to adjust and whatnot," Éponine said, flapping a hand. "Why should I?"
"Because," Clémence said, slowly, "It is complicated."
"Nothing is that complicated that it can't be explained to me," Éponine said. "I am sick of no one telling me anything."
"People have told you things," Clémence objected. "Courfeyrac has confided in you about Enjolras' feelings for him..."
"But that's not to say that's the problem now," Éponine retorted. "Feelings change. Does he still have feelings for Courfeyrac? Romantic ones?" Because if anyone would know it, it would be Clémence, who could see it all.
"That is not for me to say," Clémence said.
"Oh, it's not for anybody to say," Éponine said, disgusted. "Seeing as I'm at the centre of all this, or at least that's how it feels, I would appreciate it if people started to be more honest with me. How can I be kind to Enjolras, understand how he is being, if no one will tell me why I should be this way?"
"Enjolras is reacting this way based on two things, two...results, for lack of a better word. One is the result of your relationship with Courfeyrac, and the other is the result of...time, I suppose. He knows what is going to happen, but it hasn't happened yet, and that is confusing him because he doesn't know how you are all going to get to that point." Clémence put her hands together, as if she was praying. "Can you imagine knowing you will love somebody one day, even if it conflicts with actions that are happening right now? Can you imagine knowing you will love someone, but not knowing how or why? When that person is a friend, maybe someone you have never thought of in that way before?"
Éponine stared at her. "Is that it?" she said, sitting back in her chair. She hadn't realised that she had been leaning forwards until then.
Clémence cocked her head to one side, and didn't answer.
"Enjolras will fall in love with me?" Éponine said. "That's it? That's...that's why he has been acting so strange?"
Clémence still didn't answer; instead, she took a long gulp from her glass of water.
Éponine felt sick. The sweet bread she had eaten definitely didn't sit right with her, and she wondered if it was possible to vomit when you were dead. Judging by the way her stomach was churning, it might just happen.
"I need to speak to Enjolras," Clémence murmured, but the words sounded distant, like Éponine had dunked her head beneath water.
"Why didn't he tell me?" Éponine demanded, when she eventually surfaced.
Clémence looked sad. "It's an impossible decision," she said, and drank more water.
Éponine felt like slapping the glass out of her hands, just to see it break and shatter against the pristine marble floors. She felt a scream tearing up her throat but bit it back.
"I am an old woman," Clémence said. "I'm just trapped in the body of a young one, that is all. I died so long ago – back when my country was invaded by the Romans, that's when I died, and I ended up here. I have seen this place change, I have seen it grow, I have seen people give it a proper structure, I have seen it improve. I have seen everything. So listen to me, Éponine, and listen well: this is an impossible decision for someone to make. There is no correct decision."
"He should have told me," Éponine insisted.
"And what difference would it make, hearing from me or from him?" Clémence shook her head. "He will be angry with me, I'm sure; he obviously doesn't think it will help you to know."
"And you do?" Éponine said.
Clémence shrugged. "You think you ought to know," Clémence said. "That was good enough for me. If you can't handle the truth, the fault lies at your door, not at mine. You're old enough to make these decisions for yourself, it's not my job to protect you, and it isn't his either."
Éponine's hands still itched to break something, so she twisted them together, almost wishing that she could feel pain.
Clémence drank more water, drained the glass, and then pushed it away from her. "I once knew a man," she said. "Loved him – God, I loved him. I love him, actually. And he loved me. We were so very happy together. I had waited for so long..." She trailed off. "But I knew, the moment I set eyes on him, that it wasn't to last. I knew I was going to stay here, for thousands of years, as I already had, and he was going to move on without me. But I couldn't stay away from him. So I took what time we had, and I enjoyed every moment."
She pressed a hand to her forehead, so it obscured her eyes. When she lowered it, Éponine saw her eyes were red and damp, but no tears fell. "He was killed by a stab wound to the heart," Clémence said. "One day, I looked at it, and I knew it was beginning to heal. That's how it goes. I knew his body better than I knew my own, so there was no doubt in my mind about what was happening. It began to close, and I knew I was going to lose him. It was only a matter of waiting."
She reached for the jug of water. Her hand was shaking. Éponine watched her lift the jug, watched it waver in her hands, watched the water tremble. In the end, she put it down rather than try and pour it. Her hands disappeared back into her voluminous sleeves and she set them on her lap.
"I told you, it's an impossible decision," Clémence said. "I didn't have a choice, I had to see it. And I often wonder, what would have been better? Not knowing? It would have been a shock, but maybe easier to deal with. Or knowing all along, and not having anything in your power to change it?"
"Like Enjolras," Éponine murmured. "But..."
"Like Enjolras," Clémence echoed. "He's known this for a long time, and he has never said a word. And now you know, too, because I have told you."
"Why tell me?"
"I've already said," Clémence said. "You think you have the right to know. I agree. I've made the decision for you, I suppose." She pursed her lips. "Would you like me to try and take it back?"
"You can't," Éponine said.
"No, I can't." Clémence tipped her head back, like she was trying to force the tears back into her head. It didn't work. One fell, trickling slowly down her painted face.
"I don't..." Éponine cleared her throat, not wanting to insult the woman when she was already obviously upset.
"What?" Clémence looked at her. More tears were falling now. "I'm sorry." She groped for the cloth she had used to wipe her hands and swept it over her face, mopping up the tears but taking some of the powder she was wearing with it. "It is silly of me to cry."
"Not at all," Éponine said. "You obviously loved...Him."
"Oh, I did." Clémence allowed herself a smile, but it was broken. "I still do, with all my heart. I always knew I would, when I saw him. I gave in too easily, perhaps...I could have fought it, turned away. Maybe...But I didn't." She reached for the jug again, and managed to pour herself some water. "I can console myself with the fact that we're happy, somewhere," she said. "But it's complicated. And he's not here with me, so sometimes, that method of consolation doesn't work."
Éponine didn't understand what that meant, so she sipped her water and tried to organise what she was about to say.
"I understand why you've told me that story," Éponine said. "But, it isn't the same. Enjolras might love me in the future, but that doesn't mean..."
"Oh, my girl." Clémence put down her goblet. Another tear trickled from her eye. "You haven't..."
"I haven't what?" Éponine said.
"There are other things Enjolras hasn't told you," Clémence said. "Maybe I've already said too much."
"Well, I can realise now why he has issues with Courfeyrac and I..." She trailed off, thinking. "Is that what you mean?"
"In a way." Clémence reached across the table, rising slightly out of her chair, and brushed her hand over Éponine's hair. "But no, not really."
Clémence hadn't said it, hadn't come close to saying it, but somehow, Éponine knew. She'd always known. She'd already thought it, but had pushed it away, dismissed it, but now the realisation came forth like a punch to the gut that she couldn't ignore.
"Courfeyrac will move on, won't he?" Éponine said, her voice no more than a whisper.
Clémence inclined her head as an answer.
"But – but I don't want that to happen," Éponine said.
"Another piece of advice: they don't care." Clémence's voice was suddenly harsh. "Whatever is out there, doing this to us, making these decision, it doesn't care what you want."
Éponine was feeling sick again. She pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling like the sweet bread was going to make a reappearance. She pushed her chair back and bolted for the conservatory door, the one that led out onto the gardens. The sky above was a pale orange today, she noticed, but then she was walking away from the house. She didn't stop walking until she had reached a fountain. She remembered sitting on its edge and nearly falling in, but Courfeyrac had saved her, and he had given her a blue flower afterwards. The memory made her chest ache now.
She didn't know how long she sat there. She did not sit on the edge of the fountain itself, but on the gravel floor around it, hugging her knees to her chest. She was there until the sky had deepened in colour, going from its pale pinkish orange to a shade similar to that of the fruit.
Eventually, she heard the sound of footsteps crunching over the small chipped stones. She looked up; Clémence stood over her, her hands linked beneath the fabric of her sleeves. She stood there and watched as Éponine scrambled to her feet. There was dust from the stones on her hands, and on her dress, her pretty new yellow dress.
"Do you love him?" Clémence asked, her voice calm. Her eyes were now dry and no longer red, and her powder had been reapplied. Her face was back to being steely, the vulnerable woman from before retreated once more.
"Not yet," Éponine replied, knowing she spoke of Courfeyrac.
"Then you have to make an impossible decision," Clémence said, her voice calm.
"And what decision is that?" Éponine said.
"Do you continue falling in love with Courfeyrac, or do you put an end to it?" Clémence said. "You can do that. The future, it can change."
Éponine shook her head. "I don't..."
"That's why it's an impossible decision," Clémence said. "Or it feels like it. And it is also why Enjolras is a kinder person than I. He has been trying to protect you from this decision for a long time."
"I can't," Éponine said, and she hated that her voice broke.
"You can." Clémence took a step backwards. "You must. Whether it is an active decision or not, it will still be made." Another step, stone crunching.
"I don't want this," Éponine said. "I wish...I wish I didn't know."
"Yes, I thought that might happen." Clémence shook back her sleeves and reached out a pale white hand to Éponine, palm facing upwards. "Come. Come back inside."
"I want to go home," Éponine said.
Clémence dropped her hand. "As you wish," she said, her voice low. "I am sorry, Éponine."
"For what part?"
"All of it," Clémence said. "Really, I am. I did not – I did not intend for all of this to come out when I invited you for lunch. I only meant to tell you to be kinder to Enjolras."
You've done that and more, Éponine thought bitterly in her head. But she didn't say it out loud; instead, she brushed dust from her hands and followed Clémence back to the house.