Chapter 88: Whispers of the times before
There's always a choice. We say there is no choice only to comfort ourselves with a decision we already made.
Madame Krasnicky, polish widow of considerable wealth and connections, resided in an apartment that covered a whole floor of one of the large, impressive Saint Germain buildings. The whole building was owned by one of her compatriots and hosted, beyound Madame herself, a considerable community of noble polish emigrees that had earned the building its name in the quarter „Little Warszaw".
The inhabitants of the building formed the nucleus of what had become Madame Krasnicky's salon, and although their circle had widened substantially as time passed, it was, in its heart of hearts, still a place that very much belonged to the polish emigree community.
Feuilly had been included courtesy of Janusch Kossakowski, polish noble from a family that had originated from around Vilnius. They had found common ground in the admiration of republican ideas, and Janusch had not only introduced Feuilly to the genius that had been Tadeusz Kosciuszko, but also to the salon, which sprouted quite a number of the revolutionary's former followers.
Katyuschka, of course, although not living in Little Warszaw, had found here by the simple fact of her heritage, and although her mother did not necessarily approve of the philosophies that Madame followed, the ties of their patriotism, common origin and existance as a sort of alien in this country had always been stronger, and Katya had always been free to go here as she pleased.
Going there, he was unsure of how the inhabitants of the salon would react to the presence of Cosette, but Katya had laughed it off once, and he was sure she would do so another time if presented with the chance. So he decided to trust her judgment in the rules and regulations of her world and let her handle matters as she saw fit.
They climbed up the stairs to the second floor to stop in front of the familiar wooden door with the intricate carvings and found themselves greeted by Madame herself, who had just invited in another one of her guests and chose to stay at the entry as she saw Feuilly and the ladies arriving.
„Katyuschka", she greeted Katya first, and with considerable warmth she kissed her on both cheeks with fondness. „So glad you could come." She was a woman in her fourties, age starting to show in her face, but she was bearing it with grace and good humor. Her impressively thick brown hair tumbled down in elaborte coiffure.
Katya clasped her arms in a half embrace, returning the greeting. „Ciocia", she said, and Feuilly both knew that this literally meant she was calling her her „aunt", and that this was more an expression of fondness than a reference to real blood kinship.
Madame turned towards him and shook his hand firmly, inviting him in with grand gesture. „Monsieur Feuilly", she acknowledged him, significantly more serious than before, and nodded. „I'm glad you could come." The words carried more meaning than Feuilly usually received from her, and the knot in his stomach that had begun to ease slightly tightened itself again as he was painfully reminded that this time, his visit was neither social call, nor leisure.
„Ciocia, this is Cosette", Katya broke into his thoughts before they could begin to show in his face and demeanor. „I'm sorry I did not announce her beforehand.. this was a bit of a spontaneous decision." She gave a careful, self-deprecating smile. „She's from Maurice's circle, and you'll find her quite insightful. I thought she might be a good addition to our round."
Cosette, nervousness showing on her face, none the less dropped into a small, polite curtsey.
„Euphrasie Fauchelevent", she introduced herself. „Although, as Mademoiselle Woroniecka has said, I often go by Cosette."
Madame Krasnicky considered the young woman for a moment pensievely, but then she nodded with a smile.
„Bienvenue then, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent", she said with easy friendliness. „I'm honored to have you."
„The honor is all mine", Cosette answered, well mannered, and the hostess stepped aside to invite them in.
The entry hall, which was the first room that one stepped into when entering Madame's apartment, was a place of sunlit glory. Large windows went out east, opening the view on the road below, framed by heavy yellow curtains and decorated with selected plants.
Furniture was sparse here, and the guests that lingered in the space stood in groups of threes or fours, engrossed in light conversation as they sipped coffee, the smell of which was already heavily wafting through the air.
Cosette's step slowed as she took hin her surroundings, her gaze clearly wavering between timidity and an underlying curiosity that made him think that maybe Katyuschka had seen something he hadn't, and bringing her here might actually have been a good idea.
Not, that he was surprised at this, of course.
They turned to the left towards the sunlit living room. The morning light filled every corner of it and the air waving in from the wide open doors going out to the balcony carried the smell of the flowers of the small garden below.
The usual buffet had been placed in the middle of the room and Katyuschka, with a mischievous smile, stepped towards it quickly to sneak two of his favourite cheese pastries into his hand.
„I think you need fortification", she said with a twinkle, and thus reminded him uncomfortably of the expected meeting this morning, but before he could dwell on it, he heard his name from a place near the exit to the balcony and found Janusch Kossakowski striding towards him.
Feuilly felt a smile creeping onto his face.
Janusch was as good a fried as he had ever had outside of Les Amis de l'Abbaisse. He'd been a customer, at first, ordering a fan for one of his many – many – love interests, but a few cautious questions from Feuilly about his polish heritage (to this day he still wondered where back in the day he had found the courage) had been enough to drop some measure of the usual difference in standing between a young nobleman and a craftsman.
At least, if both of them were as easy going as Janusch and him.
The polish man had been in Paris nearly all his life, which seperated him from many of his community who had fled after the upheavals in the aftermath of Napoleon's expeditions, but he had clearly, for reasons of his own, thrown in their lot with them.
„Good to see you", he greeted Feuilly, and they clasped hands as they usually would, the easy manner of long friendship. Janusch turned to Katyuschka to greet her with a slightly more respectful „Mademoiselle Woroniecka" and a bow. She took it upon herself – still more comfortable with these social gatherings than he was – to introduce Cosette, and Janusch bowed to her as well, even more deeply, insolence sparkling only dimly in his eyes. „Mademoiselle Fauchelevent", he greeted her elegantly. „What a lovely addition to our round, if I may say so."
Feuilly saw Cosette squirming slightly as she thanked him, a tinge of uncomfortable red showing on her cheeks, but Katya intervened before he could.
„Behave yourself, Kossakowski", she said, by way of jest, but he knew her well enough to recognize the steel below, and so did Janusch, but he was unfazed.
„I am telling you what I tell everyone here", he continued, with less ardour but still the charm that came natural to him, „we are all friends at Madame Krasnicky's. I hope you will enjoy the morning."
And Feuilly wondered if he would ever be capable to save himself so elegantly from a misplaced comment as that.
They spent a few moments in easy conversation, Janusch, despite his first words, now followed Katya's advice to „behave". He was a good conversationalist and capable of getting along with all sorts of people. He always seemed a little lax, his posture a little less erect and dignified, his gestures slightly less pointed than the respective surrounding should afford, but Feuilly and, as he guessed, most of those present, knew, that this was nothing but a display that he made for reasons of his own and because he could afford it, not because he was incapable of acting with the manners his station requested.
Feuilly felt himself relaxing slightly, despite the looming conversation that still terrified him, and he could see that also Cosette's manner eased up a little as Janusch gently probed for topics that might be of interest for her.
They ended up on the subject of literature and Cosette was in the middle of a surprisingly lively summarization of her favourite parts of Girardin's „Emile", when finally one of Madame Krasnicky's servants stepped up to them, unobtrusively making sure that he caught Feuilly's attention.
„Monsieur", he then said, „pardon the intrusion, but you are wanted in the tea room."
This caught his attention instantly, and not only his, but the rest of his little group as well.
Katyuschka took a deep breath and stepped at his side, making good on the promise that she had made to him. He briefly felt Janusch clap his shoulder, and his „go forth with the song of angles" carried some earnest feeling under the thick veil of sarcasm that was almost inevitably accompanying such a statement.
And just as they started to leave, Katya turned towards Cosette who was still standing slightly uncertainly where she had ended her tale.
„Aren't you coming?" she asked.
„I'm not sure", the young woman replied. „This is... not really my affair. And I do not want to endanger your undertaking."
Katya shook his head, all of a sudden, her easy manner waned somewhat, to be replaced by a measure of seriousness in her eyes.
„You won't, Cosette"; she said. „Trust me."
And given the effect Kataczyna usually had on people, she did.
Despite the early hour, the meeting place in Rue des Brodeurs was already in full operation. It was sunday, so university was only in low operation and the craftsmen in their ranks enjoyed the day off from their usual work.
Church, these days, did not seem in high demand today given the amount of revolutionaries already loitering about the place.
In the manner of smart young people with a lot of rampant creativity and means to their hands, the place was already starting to show the traces of being made into their own, and Eponine found she liked it. She made a small round of inspection – given that she, somehow, was the representative of the actual landlord she kind of felt entitled to it.
While the apartment had initially mainly consisted of one big room, people had carried in paravants and curtains, allowing for the back portion of the place to be divided up into different compartments. The Barriere du Maine cell had dragged in a couple of chairs and a table and were sharing a hearty breakfast between them, while the Saint Antoine group had brought a couple of picknick blankets and the corner of the Cougourde even featured a veritable couch, currently only occupied by the lone figure of Stephane Barilou who was enjoying a smoke and gave her a wink as she passed by.
The arrival of Enjolras seemed to generate attention immediately, and as she returned back to the front part of the room, Eponine saw Stephane pushing himself up from his lounging place, and a bit further down she was joined by Vincent Griollet from Picpus, as well as the Sellers, all three of which offered her a quick nod of acknowledgement.
For a moment, the feeling of being known and surprisingly accepted among those people gave Eponine a short-lived, but almost violent sense of vertigo, but she reigned it in immediately. There was no time for such sentiments here and now.
They gathered around a table laden with papers, notes and a big map of the city that Eponine had been unable to learn where it had came from and exchanged greetings, sharing a moment of informal, seemingly careless chit-chat before the work began.
Eponine, part of the group, and yet not familiar enough with their customs and cues to join in effortlessly, stood on the sidelines and watched, until her thoughts were interrupted by a small, polite cough coming from a few steps beside her. Curious, she turned around, and to her surprise, she found herself faced with the slender, still somewhat lanky, but impeccably coiffured and dressed figure of young Don Alessandro.
This was something, she decided, that immediately required attention, and it required attention by her, so she stepped up to him, subtly straightening her frame as she greeted in with her best manners.
He responded with a smile and a greeting of his own, and his dark, attentive eyes wandered around the room assessing the situation.
„I see you have made this place your own very quickly", he commented on the overall status of affairs, and from his tone, Eponine was unsure whether this was appreciation or criticism.
She decided to confidently assume the former and moved on.
„That's what happens if everyone is motivated", she commented, having a quick look of her own at the assembly, before she turned back to the visitor and asked „is there anything I can do for you, Don Alessandro?"
He let a thumb run over his moustache and gave her a slight smile.
„Well, in all honesty, I am here to get the lay of the land."
Eponine frowned. That was unexpected. While Cortez had obviously been intrigued at their endeavours, what he had had in mind hat seemed to be something of a silent sponsorship. He had seemed a man who would want to be in the good books of either side of the conflict to ensure good business in the future, and she had interpreted his offer in the end as an investment in a potential future that was, if not likely, at least a possibility.
But sending his son here could essentially mean two things – either he was worried and wanted to keep a close eye on them. Or he was more interested than he had let on.
In any case, they were in too deep with respect to the man to be coy now. Eponine was certain that even without Don Alessandro being here, the walls had eyes and ears, so having him and providing him the insight he was obviously looking for was only officializing something that she had to factor in anyhow.
And thus, it would not hurt to be polite.
„That's unexpected", she admitted, trying to keep gruffness out of her voice. He smiled again. Somehow, she realized, he seemed a lot more confident wihtout his father around.
„Is that so?" he asked. „That is surprising. A little disappointing, even, maybe."
„I simply didnt know you were so interested", Eponine responded, „Not that it's unwelcome."
„I should hope so", Don Alessandro answered smoothly, but without sting. „This, after all, is our place. Our investment."
Eponine nodded. The tit-for-tat reminder was nobler and more careful, but it was still prominent and she knew how to read it.
„I hope it lives up to expectations." she quipped lightly and Don Alessandro gave a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
„I can see things happening, for sure", he answered. „Although it is hard to tell from a distance."
That was not subtle at all, and Eponine fully understood the half sung song. Don Alessandro wanted to understand better what they were doing. Was it curiosity, risk mitigation or any more complex reason was difficult to tell, but either way, there was less risk in denying him than allowing him acces.
„Well then", she offered. „Want to come join the discussion?"
„By all means", he said, and both of them stepped up to the table where Lionel Sevret from the Sorbonne had just started to give a recount of the last night's events as far as he had been able to piece it together from other studients and rumors on the street.
Enjolras, alerted to the motion, gave her a small frown and a questioning gaze, but there was little she could say to his unspoken question, and so she shrugged slightly, her whole reasoning put into a single gesture that was intended to say 'what else should I do?'
He looked at her for a moment, blue eyes intently watching her (are you sure?), and she nodded. He pressed his lips together and gave her a brief nod of his own, as if in confirmation.
He let Sevret finish his tale, but when he had ended, and before the discussion began or further accounts could be given, he turned towards their guest.
„Don Alessandro", he said, and as if someone had pulled a lever, Eponine could see, could feel the magnetism pouring out from him in generous measures as he stepped up to the man resolutely. It felt like a punch in the gut, and, surprisingly, a tug in her heart.
„Messieurs", he said, and then, with a nod to Eponine and Jeanne Sellers, who had found her way to the table as well, „Mesdames, I think you have not all yet had the opportunity to make the acquaintance of Don Alessandro, who has played no small part in facilitating our stay here in this abode. Bienvenue Monsieur and thank you again for your generous hospitality." He placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, subtly steering him towards the card table to afford him a better view. „We are just recounting the events of last night to plan a course of action during the next days."
Don Alessandro nodded.
„I hear the city's authorities were busy indeed", he offered, and Jeanne Sellers chipped in.
„For all we know it was centered in Faubourg Saint Antoine", she said, „although I have heard that other parts of the city were also targeted. But the complete Quarter around Rue de Faubourg Saint Antoine and Rue de Charonne was raided. The area is full of wine shops, cafes and restaurants, and it is probably the liveliest part of the quarter." Don Alessandro nodded, obviously familiar with the lay of the land.
„Also the unruliest", her husband supplied, the english in his french thick. „Some of our group have been targeted as they were in the area trying to listen to conversations and steer opinion, although all of them have been freed by morning."
„That's not true for all of them, though", Jeanne continued. „Christophe and Gilles, who were released in the early morning, told me that there were still quite a lot of people imprisoned when they were left out. Mostly, interestingly, people who are not really connected to any of us, it seems."
„I see." Vincent Griollet slowly stroked his chin. „I understand the tactics", he said, and Eponine saw Enjolras nod slightly in agreement. „They are trying to frighten those that are not yet convinced of taking sides with us."
A grim smile crept on Enjolras' features.
„Which in turn means they take us seriously. If they are moving from attacking us directly to damage control, this is the first sign of the avalanche that will roll them away."
Eponine was not quite so convinced but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Instead she listened as the conversation flowed from a synthesis of last night's events to more concrete plannings of the day of insurgance. Someone from the Sorbonne had gotten hand on a large map of the city, and it was spread out as the revolutionaries started planning the insurgence in earnest.
Eponine, who had not been part of yesterday's proceedings, was surprised at how far and how, for lack of a better word, military the plannings had gotten. They were not discussing rallyes and speeches any more. What she saw now was a network of places of government power, military barracks, and, then, on the other side, barricades, spheres of influence.
She tried to follow the discussion but her heart was not in it. It felt as if time was ticking mercilessly somewhere in the half buried parts of her consciousness. She was terribly aware that there was precious little time before Montparnasse would realize that she had no intention of following his demands. And she wanted to be prepared as best as she could.
She was about to wonder how she might make her excuses when she felt a cautious tip on her shoulder, and whirling around she found herself in front of Jean Combeferre. She had seen him enter the premises from the corner of her eye a moment ago, but they had exchanged no more than a nod in the steady comings and goings of the morning as he moved further in.
„Eponine", he said. To her surprise, he looked less tired and overwrought than she would have expected after a night of working in Le Globe. In fact, it seemed as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Eponine wondered whether this had something to do with Helene de Cambout.
„Yes?"
„I am aware that you have probably many things to do, but seeing as you are here; I think there is someone that you should meet."
Eponine frowned.
„Is it important?" Laden with meaning, knowing that he knew what she was actually intending to do. And because he was Combeferre, he gave it a moment's thought. But then, he nodded.
„As a matter of fact yes", he answered. „I think it is."
Eponine hesitated for moment but then decided to play along. She followed Combeferre into the back part of the attic, where the Picpus group had dragged in a set of cushions and blankets to fashion a comforting corner that did have some oriental feeling to it. A low table in the middle with ornaments that looked somewhat unfamiliar hoisted a can of coffee that probably had been brewed in the small kitchen area of the attic appartment. It smelled heavenly.
Assembled around it was a small group of people, but four among them raised their heads as she was coming into view. Eponine felt a short pang at seeing Marius, but it felt more like an echo than everything else, and to her surprise, as she smiled to him and nodded a greeting, not even one of the usual butterflies that normally seemed to roil around in her stomach at his sight made an appearance.
He seemed genuinely pleased to see her and invited her to sit, pushing a cup of coffee to one of the empty places at the low table.
He was in the company of Laurent Abati, the dark-skinned doctor of the Picpus group, and another of the Picpus men. Eponine had seen him around – dark hair, round spectacles, and large, watery eyes that were prone to very frequent blinking which gave him a slightly twitching air – but could not remember his name.
The woman sitting next to them was completely unfamiliar. She was older by a good deal than the rest of them, her hair a reddish blond that in her youth probably had been vibrant. Freckles dotted her nose and ran down her face and neck. She was slender, almost haggard, a face that still showed a memory of a young woman that was maybe not beautiful, but remarkable looking, but time had dug lines into it that gave her a slightly harsher note.
Her eyes were the most piercing, astounding green.
„Eponine." Marius sounded slightly cautious as she sat down at her coffee. „I'm assuming you know Laurent Abati and Martin de Sye from the Picpus group", he began. „And this...", he hesitated, and his voice seemed to move forward only carefully when he continued, „is Elizabeth Moussant."
Eponine frowned. The name meant nothing to her. But the woman herself, voice tinged with slight impatience, chipped in.
„In former days", she said, and her french was accented with the harsher, slightly guttural tone of the flamish tongue, „Elizabeth Paulekerk."
And suddenly, Eponine understood why Combeferre had wanted her here. And she was somehow happy that she had already sat down. Because that name brought a set of altogether unwelcome memories.
Because that name evoked the specter of a letter she had been shown. A letter telling the tale of a monster in human form, preying on the vulnerable in France's northernmost province. A monster in human form, that had also preyed on her.
It evoked the specter of whispers and smells, and the feeling of being trapped, both literally, and in her own body. It evoked the specter of fingers in her hair.
„Oh", she managed, with difficulty. „I see."
It was only now that she realized Marius was holding the nefarious letter in his hands. Since she had last seen it it had been folded and folded again until the creases had become deep and the paper worn.
She wrapped her hand around the cup of coffee, if only for sustenance.
„He's had you as well, hasn't he?" Elizabeth obviously was not one to mince words but went straight to the point. Somehow, Eponine found, this was soothing.
„Yeah", she said. „More luck than anything that I came out of that."
„Too many didnt", Elizabeth answered. „Count your blessings. Don't think about maybes. That leads nowhere."
The statement was almost gruff and forbidding. And spoke of a lesson learned the hard way. And Eponine nodded. She had figured out that part as well. And she had almost been successful. Until Elizabeth appeared on the scene, that was.
„The letter?" Marius placed the piece of paper in front of him and smoothed over it in an almost rueful gesture. „Is that accurate?"
Elizabeth took the sheet and began to read. She was a slow reader, Eponine realized, and was struggling visibly with the script, but neither did she give up nor ask for help. A frown deepened on her face and the lines around her mouth became more prominent as she read on.
After having finished, she stared at the page blankly for a couple of moments.
„More or less", she said, after a while. „Or rather, this is what was known when he was convicted."
She folded the paper and handed it back to Marius.
„The notion that the man who wrote this has is true. We three were not the only ones that he attacked. In the aftermath... well. When he had been imprisoned, I tried to retrace his steps. Call it stupid...", she gave a small, self-deprecating smile, „because, all things considered, it probably was. But somehow I couldn't let go. Not so easily. You get that, right?"
Eponine nodded mutely.
„For all I could find out, I learned of twenty-seven unexplained disappearances over the course of two years, before he finally took me. There were twelve bodies that were found, the rest are unaccounted. For all I can tell", she said, softly, „I was the only one that got away. Well." She interrupted herself and looked at Eponine. „It seems that we were." The last gave a personal nod to what had been a surprisingly cool and composed tale, brought forward in an almost professional manner.
„Were there no investigations made?" Marius asked, incredulously. „So many deaths..."
Elisabeth shook her head.
„Yes and no, Monsieur", she answered. „You have to understand, it is a rural area. There are a few larger municipalities – Etables, Montreuil-sur-mer, and then, further away, Berck and Boulogne-sur-mer. But between them there is little except for sand and small farmer and fisher villages. It was his misfortune that I got away and ran into an inspector who took matters seriously instead of accusing me of misdemeanor, as it so often happens. He was quick enough to catch him before he was able to cover his tracks, and he was solidly placed behind bars, thank god."
A quick smile wandered over her face that completely transformed it and took years out of the deep lines that life had left on her features. „He became my husband, later on, and he understood that I could not let go. He could have dismissed it, but he didnt, and my quest became his as well. Not that it was well received with his superiors, mind you. They saw it as a waste of money. No more attacks occured once Rebucy was behind bars, so what use was it to stirr up old wounds?" She snorted derisively. „Obviously, families wanting answers is irrelevant."
She sighed.
„Martin and I did what we could but there was not much to be done officially. The man was under lock and key, sentenced to life, so what was the point." She sighed, folded her hands in her lap. „Or so we thought..."
Eponine felt her stomach clench at that, but Marius beat her to it.
„What do you mean by that?"
„My husband occasionally inquired after the man. Less for his peace of mind, more for mine. I needed to know he was still locked up." She shuddered, and Eponine understood it so well. „He's dead for sure, right?" she said, looking at Eponine directly, and she nodded, fully understanding the need of the older woman to know.
„For sure. I saw him. That's a face I'll never forget."
She saw some tension shift inside Elizabeth's shoulders, as she continued.
„Be that as it may", she continued, „Three years after he had been imprisoned, Martin heard that he was dead. Died in prison of some fever or other. Just that..." She shrugged. „Well. It seemed odd to him, since none other seemed to be ill that shared a cell with him. So he started asking around. Calling in some favors, if you get my drift. And, well. If it was a fever, then it was a mighty short one. As in, merry as a lark one evening, stiff and dead and vanished before opening of the cells in the morning."
„That's a pattern right there", Eponine said grimly. „I think that sort of thing also happened here in Paris some time back."
„Martin didn't dare breach the matter wiht his superiors", Elizabeth continued. „He was sure that there was something wrong, but no one seemed to care. I drove myself crazy for the better part of two years, until i had convinced myself that wherever he was now, he had found new hunting grounds."
Eponine nodded glumly.
„Paris", she said darkly. „Maybe with some steps in between. Who knows."
„We have had many indications that the matter of these assassins that we are facing has been supported from within the system", Laurent Abati said, hands carefully placed against each other. „People have been vanishing from prisons, but have certainly also enjoyed protection that is difficult to explain otherwise."
Silence settled around the table and Eponine sipped her coffee. This part of the story was less disturbing to her than to others. She had known for long that the police had informants and protegees inside the system. Just the scale of it was larger than expected, but so was more or less everything else she had been dealing with lately.
Listening to Elizabeth Paulekerk's tale, it brought back the memories of her imprisonment with Rebucy. His whispers in her hair. Hands along her body.
She shivered, and found the flamish woman looking at her intently. A short nod indicated a moment of sisterly companionship.
„I've been wondering", it was Marius, who finally broke the silence, „if you have any idea on who the writer could be?"
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, but then continued.
„It is... speculation", she admitted, „so please treat it as such, and not as something solid. Martin and myself have been asking ourselves the same question when Monsieur de Sye appeared, and we spent some time going over the local events of the area. It may be nothing but... back in the day, the Major of Montreuil-sur-Mer vanished under pretty dubious circumstances, a couple of years after Rebucy was imprisoned. I don't exactly know how this came to pass, but it seems that the man, who went by the name of Monsieur Madeleine, was actually a former convict on the run. He's come into money, probably through theft, and managed to get at the head of several of the Montreuil factories. Well. All of that ended when he was found out, and he ran, we're not quite sure where to."
„Do you know the name of the convict?" Marius was sitting, all tension, his attention fixated on the woman in front of him. Of course, Eponine realized, belatedly. This was all connected to Cosette, on top of things.
Elizabeth shook her head, read wisps of hair wavering aroudn her face.
„Apologies, Monsieur. I can't remember, and neither could my husband."
„Could you describe him maybe? Did you ever see him?"
„I did", Elizabeth answered, „but from afar, and remember, it was a long time ago. He was pretty heavyset, brown hair..." she broke off and shrugged a little helplessly. „I'm really sorry, but that's all I can remember. I know it's not much."
„Don't worry", Marius said, sounding slightly distracted but not unkind. „I understand."
„There's one point", Elizabeth continued, „that my husband remembered. There was an inspector, who, back in the day, was appointed to Montreuil as Martin was appointed to Etaples. He was the one that seemed to remember the convict from his earlier days, and he was very intent on putting him behind bars. He and my husband had few dealings, but it seems the man may have gone to Paris some time after Madeleine was uncovered. He might know more, although Martin remembers him as quite an inapproachable fellow. His name was Jaret, or... Javre... something like this."
Eponine blurted out before she could help herself.
„Javert?"
Elizabeth weighed her head. „Could be. It would be my husband who knows. But it sounds close enough."
And Eponine wondered how many more ways a gamine could find to get herself and hers into trouble.