"I was thinking of doing a crown effect of braids around the top and back of your head, Mademoiselle, if that pleases you," Toussaint said softly, and Cosette just stared at her reflection and realised that this would be the last time Toussaint would dress her and ready her, the last time anyone would call her Mademoiselle . She and Javert had discussed the fact that he had no distinct given name or surname, that even his official paperwork from the government and his employer identified him by the mononym Javert. She would take that on as a surname, they'd agreed, though he had happily offered for her to keep the name Fauchelevant . Cosette had finally settled on having the mairie make her new official name Cosette Fauchelevant Javert. It was strange, perhaps, and a bit clunky. A series of falsehoods, in a way, especially given that her own name at birth had actually been Euphrasie. But she did not care, not really. She and her Papa had shifted and morphed who they were for many years now. Enmity had turned to alliance. Did names really matter?
"Mademoiselle Cosette."
She jolted as Toussaint squeezed slightly at her shoulders. When Cosette met her eyes in the mirror, Toussaint gave Cosette a knowing look and smiled warmly.
"You have much on your mind today," Toussaint acknowledged. "Are braids behind the curls all right?"
"Oh. Yes. Of course. I'm sorry," Cosette whispered in a rush. She sat still then as Toussaint carefully pinned her tight ringlets into place to frame her face, then braided the rest of her long blonde hair into four plaits that she crisscrossed like a crown. Then Toussaint reached for Cosette's veil with its purple silk flowers, and she gently pushed the tortoiseshell comb into one of the braids to secure it. Cosette's breath hitched as she took in the sight of herself in the mirror. Her lavender satin wedding gown with its cream lace seemed twice as lovely today as it had felt in Madame Claire's atelier. She felt lush in this dress, in this veil. She was a bride, no doubt about that whatsoever.
Suddenly Cosette's mind swirled with distant whisps and whispers, hauntings of horrific years spent barefoot and cold under a yoke of cruelty before her Papa had come to save her. She thought of all the time in the convent, the sound of calm Latin prayers reverberating in her mind. Then she thought of walks in the Luxembourg Gardens, of briefly touching her lips to Marius' and thinking her wedding would be to him. She thought of meeting Inspector Javert for the first time and being unexpectedly bewildered. She thought of the astonishment she'd felt as he'd kissed her and touched her to completion… and then she realised she wanted nothing more in all the world than to become Madame Cosette Fauchelevant Javert today, shock to everyone's systems though that must be.
"Your gloves," she heard Toussaint say, and Cosette jolted as she nodded as she accepted her cream lace gloves, brand new and made by Madame Claire to match her wedding gown. She slid them onto her hands, and then her eyes went wide as Toussaint proudly held up Cosette's small but pretty bouquet of flowers that had come from the nearby florist just an hour or so earlier, delivered to the house by a scrawny boy of ten or twelve. The bouquet consisted of some cream roses and purple sweet peas, with the stems bound together by cream silk ribbons and secured with little pearled pins. Cosette took the flowers from Toussaint, her fingers shaking round the ribbon, and she brought them up and breathed in deeply. Toussaint reached for Cosette's bottle of lavender oil as perfume, but Cosette touched at Toussaint's wrist and shook her head.
"Rose," she insisted softly. "Javert prefers the scent of rose."
Toussaint smiled a bit and nodded, her hand moving to pick up the small container of rose fragrance. She helped Cosette dab some upon her inner wrists and below her ears. Then Toussaint looked Cosette up and down and nodded. "Perfect."
Cosette opened her mouth, ready to thank Toussaint for everything, to promise that she would be back all the time to visit, but before she could, there was soft knocking on her bedchamber door. Feeling just a bit confused, Cosette furrowed her brow until she heard her father's voice call out,
"Cosette, my child, I wonder if you are decent enough for you and I to speak for a moment before we depart for the mairie."
Cosette glanced at Toussaint, who curtsied quickly and then crossed the bedchamber and opened the door. She bowed her head and murmured a greeting to the Monsieur, who stepped aside and allowed Toussaint to go. Cosette started to rise from her boudoir as her father came in, but he gestured for her to stay sitting. She eyed him with a soft little smile and murmured,
"How handsome you look, my dearest Papa."
Her father curled up his lips as his pale eyes crinkled. He crossed the bedchamber door slowly, looking very formal in his black tailcoat and neatly tailored black trousers with a silver waistcoat and silver pocketwatch over his brand-new white shirt and black silk cravat. He set his top hat upon Cosette's bed and cleared his throat softly, looking a bit nervous, and then he told Cosette,
"It is as I told Madame Claire. You are the finest bride in all of France, my darling… daughter…" His voice crackled a bit then with emotion, and she watched his eyes water heavily. He licked his lips and seemed to steel himself as he reached into the pocket of his tailcoat and pulled something out. Cosette frowned deeply when she saw that he'd extracted something small and black, a glittering string of some sort. She tipped her head, giving her father a curious look as he closed the gap between them. His voice was very thick then as he informed her,
"I can not let you do what you intend to do today, Cosette, without knowing a few vital truths. I have no intention of attempting to dissuade you from marrying Inspector Javert, nor attempting to convince you that he is a brute or a villain. Still… for you to be properly informed, I think it is critical that you know and understand and… possess… several things."
Cosette just frowned and shifted on her cushioned boudoir bench, staring up at the man she had known as her father for nearly a decade now, at the man whose name she now knew to be Jean Valjean. She pinched her lips, feeling quite anxious. For his part, he dragged over the small upholstered wicker chair from the corner of Cosette's bedchamber, bringing it before her and carefully sinking down until he was staring right at her, his eyes still wet and his features serious. He nodded.
"I was with your mother the moment that she left this world to be with God. It was I who witnessed her last trembling breath, and it was I who shut her eyes. And, erm… Javert was there, as well. He was standing in the room."
Cosette gasped a bit, gripping her flowers with a sudden clamp of her fingers as she shook her head. "No."
Her father sighed, fingering the black object in his hands nervously. He lowered his eyes. "That was a day of very great conflict between Javert and myself, I'm afraid. It is complicated. You see… Javert was convinced that I, masquerading as Monsieur Madeleine and acting as the Mayor of Montreuil, was the very same escaped convict, Jean Valjean, that he had been chasing for years. And, as it happened, he was right. It all culminated right there; he was trying desperately to take me into custody, and I was resisting. But it doesn't matter now, Cosette, because both he and I did your mother terrible injustices. If I had not allowed her to be sacked from my factory, if I had not been negligent, she would not have suffered so horribly. And Javert has made it extraordinarily plain to me, privately, many times now, that his dreams are haunted by visions of Fantine, by the sound and sight of your mother."
Cosette felt her breath quiver in her nostrils as heavy, hot tears burned her eyes. She brought one lacy glove up and swiped the tears away roughly, growling at her father in an uncharacteristically cruel voice, "Injustice. Yes. That is the correct word, isn't it? For all of it! The man who is my real father, whoever he was… he abandoned my mother and me, leaving us destitute, forcing her to deposit me with the most cruel people the Devil himself has ever sent to Earth! And they tricked my mother, that's what you've told me! They lied; they kept telling her they needed money for me! And you, you let her get turned out onto the street from your factory. I can figure now what happened to her. It was a pimp that bashed in Javert's face with a bottle. Yes, Papa. I'm certain I know what my dear mother did to herself to try and help me."
She glared at Jean Valjean then, her voice full of venom, sniffing hard as she rubbed her tears away again. His mouth fell open in surprise, and he shook his head a little as he whispered a bit helplessly,
"I promise you, Cosette, if I had had… any idea… what would have happened to her… you must know that she was given fifty francs in my name and turned out on the street. I knew nothing of any of it. I knew nothing of you. Not until she was already lost to misfortune. And then, when I did know, when I learnt what had happened, I became singularly focused on your wellbeing. Please. I beg you to forgive me for your mother's tragic end."
Cosette choked out a helpless little sound and shrugged. She thought of being very young and sitting in quiet rooms with her Papa, eating until her belly was full - what a novel sensation! Playing with dolls and learning to read. Peace at the convent. Quiet here on rue Plumet. Finally, she leaned forward and seized her father's elbow and whispered,
"There is nothing to forgive. I am quite certain she looks upon you with gratitude beyond measure, my dear Papa. As do I."
As a lone tear wormed its way down his cheek, unchecked and dripping freely onto the leg of his wool trousers, her father murmured,
"You should also know, Cosette, that the reason Javert was a half second from leaping into the Seine the night the barricades fell is because his mind was tormented with reconciling the complexity of the world and his place in it… with his own past and with what his future might be. How could it be that a convict, a thief, an imposter, might also be a decent man who demonstrates love and mercy? How could it be that your mother, who had, as you now know, become a woman of streets in desperation and in violation of law, been truly innocent and have been deserving of compassion? For all the decades I have known Javert, the law and authority have been his steady comfort. Now, Cosette, you will be that steady comfort for him."
He raised his eyes to her, and she felt confusion wash over her as she rubbed at his arm and shrugged. "Surely you must still despise one another. The both of you."
But her father shook his head, looking oddly peaceful. "No," he mumbled. "No. I can not absolve Javert of his past deeds and he can not absolve me of mine; only God can do such things for either of us. But we can come to an accord of respect, and we have. Javert is a man of duty of honour who has always made order out of chaos in a way I… well, I've always envied him that."
He smirked a little at Cosette and reached with one hand to stroke gently at her cheek. Then he sighed and continued,
"Now, though, where once Javert saw only blinding white and dark that would swallow you whole, with nothing in between, I think he can see shades of silver. Grades of subtlety. And I do very much believe you are responsible for him seeing that silver, Cosette. You will make him a very happy man, and he will protect you and care for you. And thus I could not possibly bear him one iota of animosity henceforth. We are family, all of us, now. Unforeseen circumstances, to be certain, but joyful, nonetheless."
Cosette nodded frantically, but found herself utterly unable to speak. Suddenly she found herself in the same position she had been in when she had shown her father this lavender gown in Madame Claire's atelier. She wanted to thank her father for the years of love and happiness he had given her. She wanted to wrap him up in an embrace until neither of them could breathe. But she just sat there, a bit paralysed by her emotions, and then it only became more overwhelming, because her father held out his hand and she saw what was in his palm. He passed over a bracelet of jet beads with a silver clasp, and Cosette carefully held out her right gloved wrist. He let out a shaking breath as he looped the bracelet around her small wrist and clasped it shut, patting it affectionately.
"Jet beads," Cosette noted, a bit confused. She stared at him. "Mourning beads?"
Her father licked his bottom lip and informed her, "The factory I owned and operated… as Monsieur Madeleine, of course… in Montreuil-sur-Mer… the factory made jet beads. Mourning jewellery. It was the same factory where your mother worked for a little over a year, and it is where I earned the money I needed to keep you and I safe and protected for so long. I have had this bracelet for more than nine years. I thought I would give it to you on your wedding day. Obviously, it is the product we made at the factory, but also… yes, mourning jewellery. For Fantine."
"Oh." Cosette could no longer stave off her tears then, nor could she keep herself neatly seated. She set her bouquet of flowers on her boudoir table and rushed to fling herself against her father, and he immediately wrapped her up in his arms. She felt him shuddering beneath her, and she knew he was not doing terribly well at keeping from crying, either. Cosette buried her face in the crook of his neck and whispered desperately, "Papa… Papa, if ever I have been an ungrateful little wretch, I am so sorry…"
"Never," he replied stoutly. He pulled her face back and kissed her forehead. He started to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks, then smiled a little and reached into his pocket to extract his handkerchief as he admitted, "I fear we shall be using this quite a bit today."
Cosette finally laughed a little at that, letting him daub away her tears with the lace-trimmed linen handkerchief. She had a memory, suddenly, of falling down the stairs in this house when she'd been a little younger. She'd hurt her ankle a little and had cried badly about it. Her Papa had not scolded her or teased her, but instead had wrapped her up in blankets before a fire, for it had been wintertime, and he'd brought her tea, and he had dabbed away her tears with a handkerchief, kissing her forehead. Damn whatever cur had betrayed and abandoned her mother and Cosette so many years earlier, she thought. This man, Jean Valjean, was the only father she had ever known and the only father she could have ever asked for.
"Thank you, Papa," she whispered, and when her eyes met his, she nodded, and she knew he understood that she was thanking him for everything . He took her lacy gloved hand in his and kissed her knuckles, and he replied,
"It is I who owe you my thanks, my dearest Cosette, for now, I understand precisely why I was put upon this Earth. Now. Breathe deeply and steady yourself. Go fetch your flowers. The cab will be here any moment, and then we shall meet Inspector Javert and mairie so you can begin your new life."
As Cosette was helped by her father out of the cab at the town hall of the 15th Arrondissement, she felt properly like she would be sick on the cobblestones. She froze, unable to take another step with her dark purple velvet slippered feet whilst her father paid the coachman. Her flowers shook in her hands, and she shut her eyes where she stood.
"Cosette."
She snapped to rights to see her father before her. But he did not seem at all concerned. He gave her a warm little smile and shook his head. "You have no doubts. That much I can clearly discern. Nerves about such a great change as this are more than expected. Come. Lean upon me, and I shall guide you until a stronger man than I takes over."
Cosette gave him a grateful little look and threaded her right hand through beneath his elbow. They walked up the few steps to the entrance of the staid stone building, and once they were inside the grand foyer, Cosette looked about rather frantically. She and Javert had agreed just the day before that he would be accompanied by one of his colleagues as their second witness so that there could be no doubt at all about the marriage. And, anyway, she was marrying him under the surname Fauchelevant. Finally, she saw him, and, very much on instinct, she let out an excited little squeal and bounced a little on the balls of her feet. Her father chuckled beside her and leaned down to whisper,
"Go to him."
Cosette did at once, practically dashing across the marble floor of the lobby as Javert stared at her in open-mouthed surprise, a shorter, pudgy man standing beside him looking a bit awkward. Cosette came to a rather unladylike halt in front of Javert, completely forgetting propriety and not curtsying to him, let alone to the witness beside him. She just grinned broadly and laughed a little as she twirled in a little circle and asked,
"Well? What do you think of Madame Claire's dressmaking?"
Javert flicked his eyes to the stout man beside him and then back to Cosette. He huffed a breath and suddenly seemed to abandon any sense of shame he might have had in front of his colleague, and he bent far down to kiss Cosette's cheekbone, murmuring,
"I think you are so lovely that everyone in this building is ogling you, and rightly so. I find myself puffed up with arrogance, wanting to seize your hand and shout at them all that you are about to become my wife."
Cosette brought her gloved hand to her lips and tried desperately not to giggle like a madwoman. She felt wild and silly just now, overcome at the sight of Javert in what seemed to be a brand-new formal outfit he'd acquired for the wedding. She gestured up and down as she took in the sight of him in his immaculately tailored black frock coat with its satin lapels, his white shirt and black satin cravat and waistcoat, his breeches that fit him just so in a way that made Cosette shiver with want, and his knee-high dress boots polished to a slick shine. His grey hair had been perfectly combed back and oiled a little, his sideburns perfectly trimmed. He smelled like citrus and vetiver, clean, like he'd bathed twice in a row. Cosette gulped hard and said rather unabashedly,
"You look wonderful."
Suddenly his face went a bit red, but his lips quirked up playfully and he tipped his face a little, folding his hands in front of his coat as he nodded his thanks at her. Then he glanced behind her and seemed to see that Cosette's father had caught up to her, and he bowed with a level of deference and respect that Cosette had not yet seen expressed from Javert toward her Papa.
"Monsieur Fauchelevent," Javert said in a quiet, almost gentle tone. "How can I ever thank you for this day?"
"The promises you have made me, if fulfilled, Inspector, are thanks enough," said Cosette's father. Javert gave him a crisp nod. His eyes settled on Cosette's right wrist for a moment, on the jet bead bracelet that her father had put there at the house on rue Plumet. His face went steady and serious for a little while, as if he were remembering something. Cosette knew that Javert would have been very familiar with her father's factory in Montreuil, having served in the police force there. She shifted where she stood and tried to think of something to say, but then the stout man beside Javert cleared his throat loudly, and Javert startled.
"Oh. Erm… Inspector Phillippe Martin. Please allow me to introduce the delightful young woman who will very soon be my wife, Euphrasie Fauchelevant, called Cosette, and her father, Monsieur Jean Fauchelevant."
Cosette pinched her lips as she thought for a brief moment about just how many pseudonyms and false lives she and her father had lived. She did not know where she had been born. Her mother could have birthed her near Waterloo, for all she knew. Perhaps her father had been some grand hero of that battle. How could she know? She would never know. She had been given the name Euphrasie; Cosette was a pet name from her mother. Her father was Jean Valjean; his prisoner number had been 24601 for nineteen years. Monsieur Madeleine the Mayor… then Fauchelevant at Petit-Picpus. He had gone by the rather ugly and awful name of Urbain Fabre, with Cosette being called Ursule when they were occasionally in public, for some time at rue Plumet. Always hiding. Always changing.
No longer, she thought now. Henceforth, the running ceased. The hiding ceased. But for just this moment, just to keep her father safe, she flashed a winning look to Javert's colleague and dipped into a respectful obeisance, her lavender satin skirts and her tulle veil billowing dramatically about her.
"Monsieur l'Inspecteur," she said quietly to Martin. "Thank you so kindly for witnessing our marriage."
"It is no trouble at all, Mademoiselle," said Martin in a prim sort of voice. He gave Javert an odd sort of look as he said, "I admit, I was surprised to hear that a young woman of such a respectable background wanted such a very small and unassuming ceremony, but at the end of it, it's whatever pleases the bride, eh, Javert?"
Martin had come dressed decently, though not nearly as formally as her father or Javert; he was wearing a dark blue frock coat and a burgundy waistcoat with dark grey trousers and rather ordinary shoes. Actually, Cosette thought distantly, it seemed just the slightest bit disrespectful to witness someone's wedding dressed in such a way, unless one was poor, and she did not suspect that a Paris police inspector was poor. She glanced between Martin and Javert and suddenly discerned, just from the way the two men were standing rather far apart from one another, that they did not like one another very much. So why had Javert asked Martin to witness the wedding, then? She frowned a bit and tipped her head up, wondering if she was being brash and impulsive as she reached quickly for Javert's hand and insisted,
"I do not need a crowd, or loud clanging bells, or a grand party. All that matters to me is that I am allowed to exchange rings and vows and to become the wife of this man."
Javert seemed halfway between amusement and genuine emotion at that, staring straight into her eyes and dragging his thumb over her lace glove. Cosette looked to Martin, who seemed very surprised by what Cosette had said. He visibly gulped and nodded quickly, telling Javert,
"A lucky man you are indeed, Javert. More so, even, than we all gave you credit for."
"Indeed." Javert was still gazing straight at Cosette, and finally, she heard her father tell her gently,
"The clock tells me, my dear, that it is just about time to go wait in the antechamber for the ceremony to begin."
Cosette felt a little flicker of panic then as she squeezed Javert's hand and fretted, "The papers! I forgot to -"
But he shook his head. "I filed everything this morning. Arrived early. Identification, certificates of residence, and proof of eligibility. I filed it all the moment they opened the doors."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Well. Of course you did."
She was still holding his hand, she realised. Her father and Martin seemed to notice, too, and Inspector Martin seemed a little uncomfortable and… jealous? Was he jealous? But Cosette's father smiled a bit contentedly and asked Inspector Martin in a light tone,
"I spot a wedding ring upon your own finger, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. Many happy years for you, I hope?"
Martin pinched his lips and shrugged. "Happy enough," he said in a rather grumpy voice. "Like Javert, I am more married to my work than anything else in my life."
Cosette's father quirked up half his mouth as he flicked his eyes to Cosette and Javert, and he said a bit slyly, "Hmm. Yes. That was certainly the case for Inspector Javert for many years."
"You've known one another a long time?" Martin raised his brows, and Javert finally tore his gaze from Cosette to say casually to Martin,
"We are old acquaintances, Monsieur Fauchelevant and I."
"Ah." Martin nodded. Then his eyes went to Cosette's father's own left hand, as if studying the bare fourth finger there, the lack of a wedding ring, and his own brows went up with a silent, judgmental question. Cosette's father gave the man a calm smile and said in a patient tone,
"Cosette's poor mother joined the angels in Paradise when she was just a little girl. I like to think she is watching her daughter with delight today." He turned then and touched his fingers very gently at one of Cosette's perfectly arranged ringlets as he noted, "Your hair is precisely the same golden shade that hers was. Your mother's."
Cosette reached for his fingers and kissed them. "Toussaint has often said the same thing. That you speak of my hair as being the same shade as my mother's hair. I only wish to make you proud, Papa. You and my dear Mama."
"You always have. And you always will." Her father's voice grew thick again then. He lowered his hand and turned to Javert, who released Cosette's hand and glanced to the large clock suspended from one wall. He nodded.
"It is our time. We should go."
Cosette flashed him a nervous grin and adjusted her hold on her flowers again as she laced her arm through her father's, and she let her Papa lead her toward the antechamber.
Cosette stood in the ceremony room, flanked by her father on her left and Javert on her right. Inspector Martin stood to Javert's right, and she had set her bouquet of cream roses and sweet peas, along with her cream lace gloves, on the little table off to the side of the room with the gentlemen's top hats and leather gloves. The room was large enough to accommodate a civil marriage ceremony with several dozen guests, and so there were rows of chairs with velvet upholstery in midnight blue that matched the painted walls and the grand gold-tasselled curtains. But there were no guests today, so the room felt a bit empty. Cosette did not mind.
She stood before the mayor's large desk of polished walnut with inlaid darker designs, a beautiful piece of furniture befitting occasions such as this, and she stared up at the large portrait on the wall behind the desk. King Louis-Phillippe gazed down upon them, and her stomach twisted just a tiny bit as she thought of how Marius Pontmercy and all of his friends had really and truly thought that their politics and their rebellion would spur the people of France to overthrow the King and lead them to undertake a second massive revolution. What fools they had been, Cosette thought. The rebels who had fought and died in June had been painted by the press and the government as wicked and violent extremists in the wake of the rebellion, and it seemed that, for the most part, the French people agreed with that sentiment. King Louis-Phillippe had never been widely reviled like Louis XVI. Even seasoned veterans of multiple revolutions like the Marquis de Lafayette had helplessly had their pleas for calm gone unheeded by the rebels in June… Marius among them. But if Marius had not gone to the barricade, if he had not suffered a festering gunshot wound and died, if Cosette's Papa had not freed Javert from his captivity among the students and then wrestled him off the Pont au Change, she would not be getting married today.
What strange Providence God bestowed upon His children sometimes, Cosette thought with wonderment, still staring at the portrait of the King.
"Is everyone ready?" asked the mayor in a quiet, fussy little voice, and Cosette nearly jumped from her skin at the way his speaking had shattered the complete silence of the large, empty ceremony room. She nodded vigorously at where the mayor was sitting. Mayor Roussel was rather short and very thin, a fastidious-looking man around the same age as Javert, his thinning brown hair peppered with grey and parted to try and cover balding spots. He wore wire-rimmed brass spectacles, over which he peered to glance from Cosette to Javert and then back down at the official papers before him. Cosette felt a huge swell of anxiety then, like a cold ocean wave barreling toward her, and she started to tremble. Suddenly there was a little touch at her right hand, Javert's fingers brushing against hers, and she shut her eyes for a moment as she took a few slow breaths and let the sensation of his skin against his calm her.
"Distinguished guests," read Mayor Roussel from his script, and Cosette could not help but open her eyes and look up at Javert to flash him a hint of a smirk, for they had no guests to speak of. He kept his eyes forward, but she saw his lips quirk up a bit. She saw again how carefully he had combed his hair back, the way he had used a fine black ribbon laced several times around his hair to ensure it was secured very tightly before he'd knotted it just so. She realised she was staring unashamedly at Javert, at the profile of his features, as she heard Mayor Roussel continue,
"We have gathered on this day to bear witness to the union of two souls in the eyes of God and the law in the name of His Majesty King Louis-Phillippe I, King of the French. Inspector Javert. Mademoiselle Cosette. You have both indicated your consent to enter into the bond of matrimony, and I remind you of the solemnity of this commitment."
He turned the page of the book before him then, but his fingers were a little clumsy, and he appeared to go too far, to flip too many pages at once. He made an irritated sound and adjusted his spectacles, quickly flicking backwards until he found his place again. Cosette tried very hard not to react, not to laugh at the mayor, though she thought the sight quite amusing. Against her fingers, Javert's hand twitched a little. Finally, Mayor Roussel carried on in his prim voice.
"Does anyone present himself to give away this young woman?"
"I do."
Cosette turned her face at the sound of her father's voice. She watched as her father nodded firmly, making eye contact with Javert and holding it for a moment before whispering, "What promises you and I will have made and kept, Javert."
Cosette felt her eyes go wide at that, but before she could react, her father cleared her throat and said crisply to the mayor,
"I, Jean Fauchelevant, present my beloved daughter, Cosette Fauchelevant, to be wed on this day with the fullness of my blessing."
"Very well." The mayor appeared to be writing something on a paper with his elegant white quill pen, and Cosette's heart raced as she turned to her father again and whispered to him, much more quietly than she'd done at rue Plumet,
"Thank you, Papa."
"Now, I ask first of the bridegroom, known by the sole name Javert, do you solemnly vow to take this woman, Cosette, as your wife, to be wed in the eyes of God and the law, and in the name of the King? Do you pledge to cherish and protect her in times of joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, sickness and health?"
"I do so vow," Javert said immediately, so stoutly and resolutely that he almost growled the words. Cosette raised her eyes to him, expecting that he would keep his gaze locked forward once more, but he was already staring down at her. She felt her eyes boil up at once, felt a smile cross her face as she fought off the urge to grasp at his chest and beg him to take her home this instant.
"I now ask the bride, Cosette Fauchelevant, do you solemnly vow to take this man, Javert, as your husband, to be wed in the eyes of God and the law, and in the name of the King? Do you pledge to honour and support him in times of joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, sickness and health?"
Cosette opened her mouth, intending to answer just as earnestly as Javert had done. But somehow the words got stuck in her throat. She gulped hard, struggling to speak, feeling properly overwhelmed. She meant the vow, every word of it. She nodded desperately, feeling a tear stream down her cheek. Finally, Javert tipped his head and gave her an amused little look, reaching up to brush away her tear as he whispered,
"The Songbird is silenced by shock, it seems."
She finally did laugh then, shaking her head at his jape, and she finally managed to choke out through her emotion,
"I do so vow it. Yes. A thousand times, yes."
Suddenly Javert was blinking quickly, rapidly, and he turned his face away as if trying to distract himself. She watched him shut his eyes and take a few long, deep breaths. Cosette wondered, abruptly, if he'd been hit with a dagger of panic and regret, but then he seemed to compose himself, and he quickly nodded and gave her a reassuring expression. But his eyes were visibly damp and red-rimmed, and he cleared his throat quite roughly.
"Will the witness present the rings?" asked Mayor Roussel in a stiff voice. Cosette watched as Inspector Martin reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two plain gold rings, passing them to Javert wordlessly. Javert nodded his thanks and handed Cosette the larger of the two. She had already seen them, and in fact, had already tried hers on to ensure it fit. The wedding bands were simple, just yellow gold markers of marriage, but she had no need for ostentatious finery, and she knew Javert would only want something plain for his work. She turned Javert's ring over in her fingers, studying its gleam in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows and feeling the cool metal against her skin, listening as Mayor Roussel said,
"The rings you hold now represent the lasting bond you share in your marriage. May they serve as everlasting symbols of your commitment. Exchange them now as a sign of your devotion to one another."
Cosette wasn't certain who was meant to go first, so she hesitated for a moment, but Javert did not. He reached confidently for Cosette's hand and pushed her little gold band onto her fourth finger, securing it snugly up against the pretty engagement ring he'd bought for her, with its floral design of small sapphires and the Champagne pearl in the centre. Once he'd put the band there, he took a little moment to caress her fingers with his thumb, and he sighed a little. Cosette raised her eyes to his, keeping her gaze locked on his face as she took his left hand. For a brief moment, she was frozen, just standing there staring at him, feeling the roughness of his calloused palm and suddenly wanting him to touch her. But finally, she found the willpower to push his ring onto his finger, and she watched as he opened and shut his hand a few times, seeming to experiment with the way the ring felt there as he flexed his fingers.
"Not so horrid a shackle, eh, Javert?" joked Inspector Martin, and Cosette watched Javert's face crumple with irritation. He squared his jaw and muttered,
"On the contrary, Martin; it is a diadem worthy of royalty."
Cosette grinned at him then, flicking her eyes to see that Martin's face had flushed a bit red. She and Javert turned back to face the mayor, who stood from his desk and held up his arms as he announced,
"It is my pleasure, then, to declare you man and wife; you may seal your union with a kiss."
Cosette gnawed her lip and gave Javert a questioning look. She knew it was difficult for him to kiss her properly when they were standing; he absolutely towered over her. And, anyway, the only witnesses to this wedding were Cosette's father and Javert's colleague. Surely he wasn't going to -
But he did.
He reached down and threaded his right arm around her, slithering his fingers between her tulle veil and her satin dress and flattening it between her shoulder blades. He put his other hand on her nipped-in waist, and on instinct, Cosette reached for his broad shoulders and went up onto her toes. He caught her mouth with his and just pushed his lips firmly against hers, and for a moment, Cosette contemplated parting her lips. But this was not the place for real kisses, serious kisses. So she just let him hold her and she held him, and she knew that later they would be together in their bed, and they would be together in bed forever every night thereafter.
After what felt like an eternity and three seconds but was probably somewhere in between, Cosette felt herself being gently pulled down by Javert's large hands, and he gave her a bit of a cheeky look as he raised his eyebrows and dragged his thumb over his lip. He flicked his eyes past Cosette, and she knew he had surely caught the glance of her father. Javert's cheeks went visibly red, and he just turned quickly to the mayor and asked,
"The marriage certificate still needs to be signed, surely? The witnesses were not here earlier when I filed all of the paperwork."
"Yes, of course. I have that here." Mayor Roussel dipped his white quill pen into his inkwell and said, "Inspector Javert, if you'd like to come and fill out your section first."
Cosette stood back as Javert approached the desk. She looked over to where Inspector Martin appeared more than a little perturbed, and now, suddenly, Cosette knew why Javert had chosen him as a witness. The night that he had come to Cosette's room drunk on wine, Javert had said that his colleagues had trapped him into drinking to question him about his marriage. A few days later, Cosette had been sitting with Javert in the garden at the house on rue Plumet, talking about all manner of things, and he had revealed that some of his colleagues were envious of how Javert was happy about his marriage and was to have a young, pretty wife. So now, as she eyed Inspector Martin, she fully understood why Javert had opted to bring in this colleague to see his wedding unfold happily. Cosette felt herself rather beaming then, until she heard Javert murmur from the mayor's desk,
"I, erm… I was not aware that this particular section was to be included on the marriage certificate. Is this new? I am a police inspector… I have never seen this included on such certificates before…"
Javert sounded irritated, but his voice was soft enough that Cosette could read what was rumbling underneath in his distinct baritone. Embarrassment. She shifted where she stood and glanced over to her father, whose jaw tightened as he gazed at the mayor's desk. Her father seemed to know, somehow, what the problem was. Cosette's heart picked up speed as Mayor Roussel sniffed and adjusted his spectacles, informing Javert,
"All marriage certificates since 1830, since the accession of the new King, have been a bit more involved, I'm afraid. Believe you me, Inspector, I do miss the old, less complicated paperwork. I'm sure you understand. In any case, if you'd just fill out the form, please. I do have quite a full schedule today."
Javert sighed heavily and leaned forward a bit. Cosette could hardly hear him then as he informed the mayor, "On the matter of parentage, and… several of these questions… erm… my wife and I may not be able to provide complete answers, and some of them are rather complicated, so…"
"Kindly simply fill the form as completely as possible and write in the word Unknown wherever the information is… unknown. Please do bear in mind that dishonesty or conscious omission is a violation of the law." The mayor seemed impatient now. Javert just nodded and put the quill pen to the form, quickly filling out his section of the certificate but looking visibly tense as he did. Finally, he handed the quill back to the mayor and stood upright, rigidly, so quickly that it was almost like he'd snapped to military attention. He bowed his head to the mayor and turned around, stepping back giving Cosette a strange look with his lips pursed and his brows furrowed. She felt her lips part in confusion, but then he informed her stiffly,
"I signed my section and the line at the bottom for both spouses. I filled out all of the information in your section. All you need to do is sign both places."
Now Cosette was extraordinarily confused, and she looked quickly from Javert to her father. Both men seemed to know something she did not. She looked up to the desk to see that the mayor was cautiously placing a small bit of parchment over the part of the certificate containing the information about Cosette and Javert. He said briskly,
"If I may just get both witnesses to sign, and the Madame will finish things out. Thank you."
Inspector Martin gave Javert a sceptical, quizzical look as he stalked up to the desk and practically snatched the inked quill pen from the mayor, who pointed to a line on the covered form. Martin glanced over his shoulder at Javert, looking him up and down, and said quietly,
"Congratulations, Javert. Madame."
Cosette could say nothing at all, still feeling puzzled. She watched as Inspector Martin scribbled his name out on the line where he'd been told to sign his name. Then Cosette's father walked up and did the same, wordlessly and efficiently and without showing a single bit of emotion. Cosette still had to sign the certificate, she knew, and she thought her father would want to see her do so, so she was very surprised when he went over to Martin and put his hand between the man's squat shoulders. He gave Javert's colleague a very patient smile and said,
"As the father of the bride, I am most grateful indeed for you agreeing to witness this ceremony, Inspector Martin. Please, may I take you for a meal to thank you?"
Martin hesitated for a moment, and Cosette scrunched up her face in a pout as she asked,
"Papa, were we not planning a celebratory meal back at -"
"It is your wedding day, my dear," her father interrupted her quickly, so quickly that it startled her. "I could not possibly interfere any further than I have already done. Please. Go home… home… to your lovely new house on rue de la Croix-Nivert. Celebrate your wedding with your new husband. I'd wager you did not sleep a wink last night for excitement, hm? And all of us will gather in a few days' time for a fine little feast."
Cosette prepared to protest, but her father looked from Javert to Cosette and then insisted in a quiet but firm voice,
"I promise."
Cosette watched him guide Martin from the ceremony room then, speaking jovially about where they would dine. Once they'd gone, she wanted to burst into tears as she snatched at the front of Javert's tailored coat and hissed almost inaudibly up at him,
"Is my father turning himself in to that police officer, Javert?"
He shook his head, giving her a stoic look. "No. He is not. Please, Cosette. Go sign the certificate."
She released her hold of him and staggered back a step, trembling as she went up to the mayor's desk. Mayor Roussel slowly dipped the white quill pen into the inkwell, his earlier urgency about backed-up appointments seemingly forgotten. He slid away the paper he had been using to conceal what Javert had written on the marriage certificate, and he sank into his chair as he said in a voice much more gentle than he'd used thus far,
"If you will simply sign your name and then here, Madame. Congratulations on your marriage."
Cosette gave him a baffled look and then read the certificate in its entirety. It began with the date and identified where they were and what the certificate was for. Then, almost immediately, Cosette saw what the problem was.
Apparently, Javert had been meant to fill out his forename and surname , his date of birth, his place of birth, his occupation, and identify himself as the son of a specific mother and father. Of course, Cosette knew that some of this information was completely unknown to Javert, whilst some of the other information was utterly damning for him. So it was small wonder that the mayor had covered the certificate. Javert had not anticipated Inspector Martin seeing this information. Perhaps, Cosette thought, that was why he had come alone right when the mairie had opened this morning to file all of the other paperwork. She dusted her fingertips over what was written. Under the heading announcing that this paper solemnized a marriage was the paragraph giving information about the bridegroom.
Javert (no forename given at birth), born the Second of January, 1778 in Brest Prison, Brittany. Profession: Inspector of the Prefecture of Paris Police. Residing at 27 rue de la Croix-Nivert, Paris. Son of Zoya (mother) and Unknown Father.
Cosette's fingers shook around the quill pen. Zoya. His Gypsy mother's name had been Zoya. The woman who had birthed him in a prison. Cosette's lip shook a little. They came from ignominious pasts, the two of them. She was about to sign her name without even looking at what Javert had written about her, but then she realised she barely recognised any of the words in the section of information regarding her life, and she froze, feeling frigid.
Euphrasie, called Cosette Fauchelevant, born the Third of March, 1816 at 15 rue Saint-Jacques, Paris. Residing at 27 rue de la Croix-Nivert. Daughter of Fantine (mother) and Félix Tholomyès (by birth); Jean Fauchelevant of 55 rue Plumet (by adoption).
Cosette stood utterly numb, tears streaming unbidden down her cheeks. She dropped the mayor's quill pen right onto his desk, watching ink splatter from its nib. She nearly collapsed; her knees nearly gave out from underneath her. She gasped for air, but it didn't come. Her lungs did not fill. She felt Javert's left arm around her waist then, propping her up and then cradling her against him. He rubbed her forearm through the satin sleeve of her gown and bent to kiss the top of her forehead as he murmured,
"This was… not even vaguely the way I'd intended…"
"How long have you known?" Cosette stared up at him, feeling her face twist with ten emotions at once. She shrugged. "How long have you known all of this, Javert? My real birthday? I'm younger than I thought? You know where my mother gave birth? You know who he was? That horrid man who abandoned us? How? How do you know all of this?"
She shoved at him a little then, right there in front of the mayor, right there in her wedding gown, but Javert stayed patient and calm as he gave her a moment to catch her breath and said softly,
"I am an inspector with the Prefecture of Paris Police, Cosette. I wished to be as honest as possible when filing all of our paperwork for this marriage, and… most especially when filing paperwork to make you the beneficiary of my pension and my will. Again, I am an inspector with the police. I have access to all manner of information and documents. It was not nearly as difficult to figure it all out as you might think."
Cosette wanted to scream then. She felt like she'd burst, like she would stamp her foot like a small child and toss something heavy at the glass window. Instead she just whispered at Javert, her voice cracking,
"Is he still alive? That wretched beast? Félix Tholomyès, whomever he is. Where is he?"
Javert sighed and said patiently, "I will be more than happy to discuss all of this with you once we get home." He flicked his eyes to the mayor. "In private. Now. Please. Will you sign the certificate, if you still have any intention of marrying me?"
Cosette sniffed and went to touch at her face, but then she made an exasperated sound, because her cheeks were covered in tears and her nose was running badly. Javert quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain but clean linen handkerchief, passing it over at once. Cosette nodded her thanks and cleaned herself up quickly, tipping her chin up and demanding in a bit of a petulant tone,
"Kiss me, please."
"Every single time you ask," Javert whispered, not at all for the first time. He bent down low and brushed his lips very gently against Cosette's, and she was still shaking badly as he whispered against her mouth, "I am so very sorry, my Songbird, to see you cry on your wedding day instead of hearing peals of your lovely laughter. I have spoilt it, haven't I?"
He kissed her a little harder then, but when he pulled back and stood, Cosette shook her head and said firmly, "No. Nonsense. What a ridiculous thing to say. As if a silly thing like paperwork could ruin the happiest of my life. Aren't you always telling me that paperwork is drudgery, anyway, Inspector?"
He shut his eyes and nodded at her, and Cosette huffed a steadying breath as she turned to the mayor's desk again. The mayor had cleaned up the spilt ink, and Cosette painted a little grateful smile on her face as she accepted the white quill pen from him again. She did not hesitate one bit as she signed the marriage certificate then, both times with the name she intended on carrying for the rest of her life - no more running, no more pseudonyms, no more hiding.
Mme. Cosette Javert
"You were right," Cosette murmured, setting down her fork and knife and staring across the dining room table to where Javert sat. He gave her a questioning look, sipping from his crystal goblet of red wine and shrugging a little as Cosette clarified,
"Isabelle is a very fine cook."
"Oh." Javert nodded. "Yes. She agreed to make more complicated meals now that you are here. I, erm… I never asked for much. I have historically possessed an unsophisticated palate."
He flashed Cosette a bit of an awkward and self-deprecating smile. She flinched. In the hours since they'd come back from the Mairie, things had felt tense and clumsy between them. He had carried her into the house and up the stairs and kissed her, but he had seemed distracted, and then he had disappeared into the library for an hour whilst Isabelle helped Cosette out of her beautiful lavender wedding gown and into the special wrapper that Madame Claire had made for Cosette's first evening at home as a married woman. Like her wedding gown, it was lavender with cream lace trim, but the wrapper was muslin with mother-of-pearl buttons. Isabelle had helped Cosette scrub herself clean and brush out her hair before braiding it, and then had dressed her in a nightgown with the wrapper over it.
Now Cosette sat at the dining room table and just stared at Javert, who, she noticed, had remained quite formally dressed. He drummed his fingers on the lace tablecloth, and then Cosette glanced at his plate of coq au vin and his sliced potatoes with cream and garlic. He'd hardly touched anything. She pouted at him and demanded,
"Are you not hungry?"
He shook his head a little. "Erm… saving room for cake."
Cosette scoffed. "I have known you to devour many courses at dinner, Inspector, including -"
"I am your husband. Please do not call me Inspector when we are dining alone together." Javert's voice was sharp then, almost aggressive, and Cosette heard herself gasp. She shook her head, licking her lips, and whispered,
"I'm so sorry. I won't."
Javert shut his eyes and squared his jaw very tightly. He looked like he was about to say something, but just then, Isabelle came rushing into the dining room with a small blue and white china platter in her hands. Atop the platter was a round cake, just tall and wide enough for Javert and Cosette to enjoy it themselves. Cosette felt a fresh swell of emotion as she found herself wishing again that her father was here to celebrate with them. Isabelle grinned broadly as she set the cake down on the table, gesturing proudly at it and then reaching up to adjust her cap and patting her apron.
"I made two practise ones first," she admitted, "but I'm happy with this one. I do hope you like it, Madame. Monsieur. Many congratulations."
"Thank you, Isabelle," Cosette said with a little smile, and Javert nodded crisply. Isabelle's wild joy seemed to fade a little as she picked up on the obvious unease in the room, but she curtsied and then hurried to clear the plates from Cosette's side of the table. When she got to Javert, she asked cautiously,
"Was the food not to your liking, Monsieur? I can make you something else if you like."
"It was not your cooking, Isabelle, but thank you." Javert shrugged. "I'll cut the cake."
Isabelle glanced to Cosette, concern painted on her features, but Cosette gave her a reassuring little smile and nodded, and Isabelle hurried out of the room. Javert was silent then as he moved the cake, which smelled of nutmeg and was dusted with powdered sugar, toward himself. He used the large knife Isabelle had set down to slice up the cake and put the slices onto small china plates, and he passed one to Cosette. She murmured her thanks, and once he had his piece, she picked up her fork and was about take a bite when he shocked her by saying,
"Cosette, you must not stay married to me."
Cosette just stared. She said nothing at all. She did not move a muscle on her face. She set down her fork. Javert vigorously shook his head and croaked out,
"I have not… been a good man, Cosette."
Cosette shrugged and whispered, "You are good to me, Javert."
When he raised his eyes then, they were rimmed red like they had been at the mairie. He actually sniffed, as though he - he , Inspector Javert of all people! - were damming back real tears. Cosette's mouth fell open in utter surprise. He said a bit sternly to her,
"I promised to protect you. I did. And I made that promise for several reasons… first of all, because I am helplessly in love with you, fool that I am, unworthy of you though I am. And also because I have committed sins against you that I could never possibly repay, and I -"
"The past is past. That is what Papa says all the time," Cosette huffed in irritation. Javert snarled a strange, low noise through gritted teeth that almost frightened Cosette, but she gripped the edge of the table and reminded him, "Whatever happened between you and my father, or whatever negligence you committed towards my mother, it did not directly victimise me, Javert, and I -"
"Oh, yes it did! " he roared. He flew to his feet, sending the dishes on the table clattering. He glared at her, looming over the dining room like a horrifying beast, and Cosette cowered backwards where she sat as she shook. She stared up at him and whispered frantically,
"Please sit down; you are frightening me terribly."
Javert seemed to snap out of a trance when she said that, and he took a few quivering breaths before he slowly sat down and sipped from his wine. He shut his eyes for a moment as though summoning strength from the ether, and he finally met Cosette's eyes and informed her in a murmur,
"I did not just stand idly by whilst your mother was punished. I personally arrested her. I dragged her to the police station. People outside were gathered round, ogling, finding great amusement and spectacle in her downfall and suffering. In situations like Fantine's, at that time, in towns like that, men like me got to decide exactly what discipline to mete out to prostitutes. Your mother was arrested for attacking a private citizen. I told her she would have six months in prison and I would hear no more of it. She pleaded for mercy. Begged me not to send her to jail. She said your name. Cosette, she said, over and over. Oh, my Cosette! The man whom she had assaulted, she said, had called her ugly because she had sold her hair and her front teeth to send money to Montfermeil for you. He had put snow down her back. She was just defending herself, she said. Still, I would not listen. My heart could not be moved for her. Oh, my Cosette, she pleaded with me. And when Monsieur Madeleine - Jean Valjean - came to intervene to grant her freedom, I argued and argued and argued with him about it until he angrily dismissed me from the room. And that is but one time, Cosette, that I have been a demon. So. How could you possibly want to be my wife?"
Cosette did not cry. Somehow, it felt like she had run out of tears today. That had happened often in her childhood, she knew. She had run out of tears sometimes at the horrid inn. She just picked up her fork and began to eat her cake. Her wedding cake. It was delicious, she thought. It was moist and dense and tasted of nutmeg and cinnamon and vanilla.
"What on Earth are you doing?" demanded Javert, and Cosette spoke inelegantly with a mouthful of food as she replied simply,
"I am eating cake."
Javert sounded frustrated then. "What do you have to say about what I have told you?"
Cosette swallowed her bite of cake and set down her fork. She took a sip of wine and shrugged as she asked him quietly,
"Would you do such a thing again? Not just to my mother. To anybody?"
Javert scoffed and shook his head almost violently. "No! No. No. Of course, I would not! Don't you realise how profoundly sorry I am… that your mother haunts my nightmares? No. I would not do such a thing again. In fact… it was not so long ago that I directly defied the orders of my Commissaire on a similar matter. I was told to round up diseased whores on a specific street and arrest them; instead, I've been taking them to hospital. It could get me sacked. I suppose I do not much care."
Cosette raised her eyebrows and nodded, remembering what her father had said about the way Javert had been nearly driven to suicide by contemplating the complex interplay of good and evil, the nuance between crime and righteousness, of mercy and flaw. She took another bite of cake and ate it in silence, and still, he seemed baffled as he prompted her,
"Cosette."
"Yes?" she swallowed her bite of cake, and he tossed his hands up expectantly. He looked perplexed as he asked her,
"Do you not hate me, knowing what I did to her?"
But Cosette just smiled weakly at him and shook her head. "No. How could I possibly hate you when I love you so ferociously?"
Javert seemed then like he was unsure of what to say. Finally, he whispered, "Someday, I shall earn that from you. Or… I shall try. I promise. It is one of many promises I do my very best to keep, if you'll allow me the chance."
"We are married," Cosette shrugged. She dragged her fork over her cake and sighed a little, wondering. "What promises did you make my father? He mentioned that matter several times today."
"To maintain, for as long as I possibly can, the very same vow he made to your mother," Javert said simply, "which is a promise I owe her ten times more egregiously than he ever did. That is, quite simply, to ensure you are safe and happy and cared for. Jean Valjean did so by raising you through your childhood, by feeding you and clothing you, and getting you an education. Showing you parental adoration after you had suffered years of the cruellest abuse. And I shall carry on our promise to Fantine… to protect and love you, each of us in our own way. I shall do so as your husband, adoring you, getting you pretty things and trying to make you happy, pleasing you…"
He trailed off then, running the pad of his finger around his wine glass. He stared at Cosette for a very long moment, and now there was nothing at all she could do to stay stoic and steady. She snatched her napkin from her lap and rubbed so roughly at her face that she worried she was being abrasive. She sniffed and fretted,
"The two of you. You and Papa. Always making me cry."
"I assure you that is never our intention," Javert told her quietly. Cosette huffed a breath then and finally asked,
"Why did you go looking for the information about my past, really? You could have put false information, or nothing at all. You said my name was Fauchelevant, and that is a lie. Why not lie about everything else? Why did you use your access to documents and your skills as an inspector to find all of that information out, and why did you put it on the certificate?"
Javert let out a long, contemplative breath and glanced away for a moment. Finally, he cleared his throat and explained,
"It actually is true, believe it or not, that inaccurate biographical information about you on the forms for my pension and will might result in you not receiving money when I die. So… it was necessary for that purpose. Genuinely, it was, because I promised your father, and through him, I have promised your mother, that I will do everything I can to protect and care for you. That meant having every bit of complete and accurate information. Why I put everything I could on the certificate…? Well. I did not want our marriage to be a complete farce. The surname Fauchelevant I can concede, to keep your father out of prison. That much I can give. It is but a surname. But to pretend that I had no idea… to submit a practically empty… Cosette, I wanted our marriage certificate to demonstrate the fullness and validity of our actual marriage. I am sorry for any pain that resulted. If I had known that the form was going to ask for all of that, I would have discussed it with you in advance."
She nodded. "I appreciate your apology. Inspector. "
He actually smirked at her then, at her bit of cheek since he'd been cross about that earlier. He rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table as Cosette asked him softly,
"Zoya? Your mother's name was Zoya?"
He just nodded at her. "Yes. She died when I was very young. Jail fever… spread like wildfire; she was gone in three days."
"I'm sorry," Cosette whispered, but Javert shrugged a bit and said,
"They released me when she died."
Cosette frowned deeply at that, feeling horror to hear such a thing. She gulped, unsure of what to say. She took a small bite of her cake, though suddenly it was not as delicious in her mouth as it had been before. She finally gathered the courage to ask again, as she'd done at the Mairie,
"Do you know if that man is still alive? Félix Tholomyès. You put on the certificate that he was my father by birth. What did you find out about him?"
Javert seemed to hesitate, but finally, he nodded. "As it happens, there were not very many girls by the name of Euphrasie born in France in the years 1814, 1815, or 1816… and only one with a mother called Fantine. It is a name I had never heard before. Fantine. I think it is some sort of invention. As for her, I can find no birth record whatsoever, and no surname. I do not know where she was born, your mother. It seems she came to Paris to work when she was fifteen or so. You were born illegitimately, but there was indeed a birth certificate filed for you here, in Paris. The mother's name was listed as Fantine and though the father was listed as one Félix Tholomyès , his signature was absent, and you were not given his surname, it seems."
Cosette sniffed, feeling a little indignant. She shrugged. "I wouldn't it, anyway."
Javert scoffed and cocked up an eyebrow, glancing around. "We are both bastards. No need to feel proud, nor ashamed. Anyway. This Félix Tholomyès was much easier to track than your mother. He was indeed living in Paris at the time of your birth, but he came from a wealthy family in Toulouse. It seems he was some sort of poet, or… aspired to be a poet. He was around thirty at the time of your birth. He is still alive, yes. He is a lawyer by trade."
Cosette scowled deeply and impulsively stuffed three bites of spiced wedding cake into her mouth before angrily tossing her fork down onto her plate. She struggled to chew all of the food and to swallow it, and as she did, Javert raised his eyebrows at her and warned her,
"You will make yourself sick."
"I don't care," Cosette huffed. She actually crossed her arms then, knowing she must look like an angry child and not caring about that, either. She narrowed her eyes at Javert and demanded, "Would it be a horrible abuse of your power if you went to Félix Tholomyès' house and used that truncheon of yours to beat him to death?"
Javert choked out a laugh then, almost a guffaw, and he shook his head as he gave Cosette a look halfway between shock and amusement. "Erm… yes, it would violate just about every law and oath I can think of. Still, somehow it does feel vaguely like the right thing to do."
Cosette gnawed hard on her lip and studied the lace tablecloth as she muttered helplessly, "I, erm… I am confused about my birth date. My Papa always told me that I was born very near the date of the Battle of Waterloo. I think… that is what he was told when he fetched me at Montfermeil. That is… what my mother told them when she took me there…"
Javert scoffed again, and Cosette looked up angrily, but Javert shook his head.
"No," he snapped. "Thénardier referred to himself as the 'Sargeant of Waterloo' constantly. Even put it on a sign out the front of his inn. He tried to convince everyone who would listen that he had been a great hero at Waterloo, that he had rescued the wounded, had carried them to safety. But I fought in Napoleon's wars as an actual soldier, Cosette. After every major battle, scavengers - rats - like Thénardier would materialise from the ether to pick the fallen clean of everything they could. Teeth. Rings. Uniforms, boots. Ammunition, watches, Every last scrap they could tear from those corpses, they did. That man was obsessed with Waterloo for all the wrong reasons. Your birth almost certainly had nothing to do with Napoleon's defeat."
He sounded disgusted then, and he picked up his glass of wine and finished it off. Cosette blinked a few times and licked her lip carefully, nodding. Finally, she told Javert,
"At the convent, once I was Confirmed… we took Saints' names, you know, and then we celebrated our birthdays from our Confirmation Saints. So I chose St Joan of Arc, and her Feast Day is the thirtieth of May. For the last several years, that is the date we have marked as my actual birthday. The thirtieth of May, 1815."
"Mmm." Javert pursed his lips and studied her, narrowing his eyes. "You will think me an abominable cur, then, for having married you."
"Well, no." Cosette shrugged. "What difference is a few months? Still, it is disorienting."
Javert nodded. He was quiet then as he took a bite of their wedding cake, and Cosette found herself wondering if either of them would be in the mood for proper intimacy on their wedding night. She pinched her lips and determined for herself that, yes, they would. It was their wedding day. There would be intimacy. There simply had to be. That was the way of things. Today had been full of all manner of surprises - shock, even. From when her father had come into her room in rue Plumet and had given her the jet bead bracelet from his Montreuil factory to honour and mourn her mother, to meeting Javert's bitter colleague, from discovering all of the scandalous biographical information on the marriage certificate that had made the room spin to hearing Javert confess his direct role in her mother's despair… today had not at all gone as planned. Still, it was her wedding day, and as Cosette eyed Javert, she found she, like her father, bore him no enmity and that she had no regrets whatsoever about having married him.
He had come from humble origins and had committed some craven deeds throughout his career in the law. But her own father had also sworn to Cosette that Javert's character was rooted in devotion, in duty, in servitude, in morality, in loyalty. He had nearly killed himself because his mind had, for some time, struggled to calibrate the complexity and nuance of the world, but even in her youth, Cosette could sense that Javert was beginning to latch onto the idea that people and things and ideas were not altogether evil or utterly infallible. And to her, to Cosette, he was kind and caring, conversational and warm, sensual and protective. She shivered now, thinking about the way she wanted him. No, today had not gone as planned. But what exactly in Cosette's life had gone as planned? She was as malleable as gold. She always had been, out of sheer necessity. Now was hardly the time to adopt a policy of inflexibility or pouting intransigence.
"Javert," Cosette said softly, after sitting in quiet thought for a while. He looked up at the sound of his name, and at long last, for the first time in hours, she saw warmth in his eyes and watched as his lips curled up a little. She gave him a teasing little look, reaching up to pull her thick blonde braid over one shoulder and toy with it with her hands. "Before my father rushed him out to treat him to a meal, I do think you made poor Inspector Martin a little jealous."
Javert quirked up half his mouth and nodded, tapping the table with his fingertips. Cosette was pleasantly surprised to see the proud little amused sound that escaped Javert's lips then as he declared,
"I do suppose Martin will be fuming and scarlet when the others at the station-house interrogate him about the entire thing… which they will."
Cosette winced. "Will he mention the certificate?"
Javert shook his head and sneered, "No. He knows much better than to spread rumours about my parentage or any such thing as that. It is one thing to gossip behind my back about a thing like marriage. It is another thing entirely to be throwing around words like bastard, and Martin knows that perfectly well."
Cosette felt a strange, unexpected flutter of excitement then as she asked Javert, "And the others, your colleagues, they would never provoke you about such a matter because they are just a little afraid of you? Isn't that right?"
Javert tipped his head, his thick grey eyebrows creeping up. "Yes," he whispered. "As it so happens, they all are more than a little afraid of me."
Cosette shivered a bit where she sat. She reached quickly for her wine glass and gulped inelegantly from it, setting it down and feeling a heady rush of desire that had taken her a bit by surprise. She let out a shaking little breath then as she wondered,
"Do you suppose Inspector Martin will tell the others at the station-house tomorrow when he goes in and you're still on leave, that he is envious of you?"
"Yes. I think he will tell them all what beautiful bride you were, and how wretchedly covetous he felt, and how unfairly lucky a man I am." Now Javert's voice was a low rumble, like thunder, and as Cosette watched him pull himself up from his chair and start to walk around the table, her skin prickled and her breath caught in her throat. She pawed anxiously at her braid and gnawed her lip until she thought it would bleed. Finally, Javert commanded her in his authoritative baritone, "Stop that, Madame."
She stared up at him as he approached her, her hands going still on her braid. "Stop what?"
His large, rough hand found Cosette's face, wrapping carefully around her chin and jaw, and he tipped her face up a little. She could not breathe at all then as he glared down at her and told her,
"If you keep biting that pretty, full lip of yours so roughly, you shall tear it open and it will bleed. And then I will not be able to kiss it for hours on end, as I intend to do."
"Oh." Cosette nearly tumbled from her chair at that. She saw a slight crack in Javert's stiff formality at her reaction; his lips quirked up just a little and his eyes flashed wildly. But then he steadied himself and started to stroke at her jaw with his fingers, and Cosette felt her eyelids flutter shut.
"Songbird," she heard him whisper very softly, and she whimpered a little. She just nodded at the pet name, and then she felt his fingers move down over her neck, his knuckles caressing her throat as he told her gently, "I did not mean to make you cry."
Cosette opened her eyes and then gazed up at him, reaching to pull his hand to her lips. She kissed his fingers a few times and then laced her own hand through his as she informed him quite firmly, leaving no room at all for further discussion,
"Husband, I find myself in utterly desperate need of you. So many things to be done, you have told me. Hands, mouths… and the act itself. Rest in between is needed for men, you have said. Fine. I will grant you whatever rest you require, but know that I am feeling a bit insatiable toward you just now, and it is our wedding. Please, will you -"
She could not finish her plea, because before she could, Javert had yanked her from her chair, dragging her by her hand and making her run to keep up with him as the two of them dashed up the stairs, breathless with want.