Cold Angels, Chapter 8
Gentleness was not a quality that came naturally to Javert. Strength and fortitude, he could command. Determination? Most definitely. And he was an expert in devotion to duty. But the closest he had come to tenderness since taking Cosette beneath his wing had been two cases of financial leniency in the form of pastries. (Which was no small thing, to him, considering how tidy he normally kept his budget.) However, he thought he had done well the night before.
With an internal feeling somewhere near brief, harsh laughter he recalled the pretty thing, head resting softly on his knee. Ever trusting, ever naïve; wholly unaware of the war that waged behind his eyes. There was time, yet, to secure some manner of true affection from her, if it was not budding there already.
Why on earth affection had suddenly become such a high priority to him, Javert had no idea. Perhaps it merely seemed uncharitable, condemning such a lovely girl to a cold marriage…It would be a horrible waste. No. He was determined, for the sake of her virtue, her youth and beauty, to be a husband to her in every sense.
“Inspector?” came the voice of the secretary expectantly.
“What? Oh, yes,” he rose and followed him out.
Meanwhile, at home, Cosette was sitting in the parlor with Mme. Jules, embroidering little lengths of ribbon onto a scrap piece of lawn. It was an odd scene, servant and lady, side by side, but as Cosette had no other companions, it was logical, in the least, if improper.
“What did he mean…expectations?”
“Your duties, I suppose,” the woman was working a tambour hook, “After all, you were raised in a convent. I assume you haven’t the slightest clue what you will be doing.”
Cosette gave her an apologetic look.
“Well, foremost, you will be in charge of me. We will discuss menus, tidying, that sort of thing. ”
“And may I direct you to make dessert?” she smiled slyly.
“Alas, I shall still be bound by whatever budget he gives us.”
“Of course,” with a sigh, “So, what else?”
“Well, at any functions, which are few and far between, believe me, you will try your best to reflect well upon him.”
Cosette nodded.
“Though, perhaps, of the utmost importance are your…unspoken…duties.”
“Unspoken?”
“Monsieur the Inspector, or, should I say, Monsieur the Deputy, leads a very difficult life in a hazardous occupation. On top of that, every kindness he has shown you has not been due to you at all. The very, very least you can do, Cosette, and I do mean the very least, is to be receptive to him.”
When met with a blank stare, Mme. Jules rolled her eyes. “Convent girls,” she muttered, “Be warm in his bed. As women, my dear,” she thought back for a moment on her late husband, “We have a great responsibility. There will be nights Monsieur Javert will come home in poor humor. There may even be nights he comes home injured.”
“Injured?”
“It has not been unknown.”
“And what am I to do, in these circumstances?”
“You have instincts, my dear. It will come to you, when you should use them.”