A Valiant Effort

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Misérables.

Monsieur Bamatabois was absolutely horrified by this turn of events. He had been called upon to serve his community as a juror and met this task with equal parts annoyance and pleasure. The annoyance, of course, was because of the great inconvenience involved with reporting all the way to Arras and sitting through the trial (something which was taking far too long in his opinion given the obvious conclusion and had, indeed, dragged on so long that Madeleine had turned it completely on its head). The pleasure was because being a part of the body that decided a man's fate and helped the government to function was a rather heady feeling and just reinforced his own sense of importance. Not that he was in particular need of reaffirming here but it was nice nonetheless.

It had been a rather pleasant little affair. It hadn't been a murder so there was no potential to be disturbed and it was so strong a case that they should have only been there a few hours. With cases like these, the trial is really just a mere formality and Bamatabois often wished that they could just do away with trials altogether in this case. But he supposed that the government had to spend their tax francs on something.

And then Madeleine had shown up and ruined everything. Four witnesses! There were four witnesses who swore positively that Champmathieu was Valjean! Four of them! How could four men be wrong? And even if three of them were mere convicts (and one of them an idiot on top of that), Bamatabois had long-since learned to respect and fear Javert's incorruptible dedication to the law. It was why he had scampered off after that what's-her-name harlot had randomly attacked him. He hadn't done anything wrong but you just never knew how someone like Javert might misinterpret things, now did you?

It had taken nearly an hour (another hour wasted! He may not have had any pressing business but he certainly had more pleasurable business) before the court had calmed down after Madeleine's absurd claims. Despite himself, Bamatabois had found himself rather amused by the way that the mayor had just insisted he was Jean Valjean and ought to be arrested and then he had simply left while everyone else was staring stupefied. Not that he blamed him, really. If he could leave he…well, he never would have shown up in the first place.

And now he was in the back with the other jurors deciding a matter that nobody had actually cared anything about in the first place and now cared significantly less about.

"This is just dreadful," one of his fellow jurors, a man with a rather prominent moustache, was saying, dabbing nervously at his brow with a handkerchief. "Monsieur Madeleine, a convict? I respected him!"

That was what Bamatabois had been afraid of. The word 'convict' had the remarkable effect in rendering everything it touched, no matter how pure or good before, to be filthy and vile. Already people were turning against Madeline.

Bamatabois didn't care for Madeleine's sake; he had liked the man as everyone else did but only in a vague, superficial sort of way and he wouldn't mourn his loss. Besides, even if his feelings had been deeper this was clearly something Madeleine wanted which made him think that there might have been something to the initial suggestion of madness.

No, Bamatabois had a far more practical reason to oppose this change. He had lived in Montreuil all his life and Madeleine had not been in town long enough for him to have forgotten what things were like then. To have Madeleine denounced as a convict and removed from his position as mayor and factory owner could very well send them all straight back to where they were eight years ago, especially as Madeleine had no natural successor. And while all of Madeleine's little charity cases did not interest him, his own prosperity – which had greatly risen in recent years – did and he would be damned if he let anyone, even the man responsible for it in the first place, ruin this for him.

There were three possibilities, as far as he could see. Madeleine was a convict, he was mad, or he was seriously taking his desire to save everybody ever far past the point of reason.

He did not know if Madeleine was actually a convict. He did not care. He was a thief? Well he had never stolen from him and these days he'd never need to.

He did not know if Madeleine was mad, either, and he was similarly apathetic. They had never actually spoke so he was unlikely to be affected by it. This sort of madness didn't seem to be dangerous to anybody except anybody who depended on Madeleine to stay put and not throw his life away and maybe it was a passing fancy. Or even if this was a recurring madness, if they could stop this now any subsequent confessions would be taken with a grain of salt and maybe disbelieved entirely.

He did not know if Madeleine just really had a problem with trying to save everybody. Everyone knew that he had installed some tart up in the hospital and behaved as though she were a countess. It wasn't too far a leap to imagine that there was literally nothing he would not do to save somebody that he felt deserved it. And while Bamatabois would hardly call the crude half-wit Champmathieu 'deserving', he did wonder at the difficulty the prosecution had had proving that the apple theft had occurred in the first place.

"I agree, this is most dreadful," a juror with a droopy eye concurred.

"I know that we are supposed to debate the matter first but since we all know that Champmathieu is innocent, I say that we should just vote now and save ourselves some time," a ginger juror suggested.

Moustache frowned consideringly. "Well, that is quite against the procedure they told us but since we are all going to vote to acquit, I don't see the harm in saving time. Discussing the matter when we all agree will hardly change anybody's mind."

Bamatabois cleared his throat and waited until all eyes were on him before he spoke. "I intend to do no such thing."

Ginger started. "You're not going to acquit Champmathieu? But…he's clearly innocent!"

Bamatabois crossed his arms and mentally prepared himself for what was sure to be a very trying ordeal that Madeleine would probably not even appreciate anyway. "How is he clearly innocent? Weren't you listening to the prosecution's case about them both being tree pruners from wherever that was and how his name is some sort of bastardization of Valjean's given name and his mother's surname? That can't possibly be a coincidence."

Droopy eye scratched his head irritably. "I do agree that the prosecution made a strong case and this sort of coincidence is very unlikely but that was before Madeleine explained everything to us."

"Be reasonable," Bamatabois said persuasively. "No one wants to let a convict go or waste taxpayer time and money so do you really think that they would claim that Champmathieu was Valjean unless they were absolutely certain? Do you want to believe that we live in a society where such a terrible case of mistaken identity was possible? I know that I wouldn't and so I do not believe it. I cannot believe it."

His words were clearly unsettling his fellow jurors, none of them wishing to believe such a thing either. Maybe it was out of concern for the kind of poor wretch who might get their identity mistaken like Champmathieu but more likely because they suddenly feared that they would find themselves in such a position. It was unlikely, though. Important people like those called upon to serve on juries did not have such things happen to them.

"But why would Madeline claim to be Valjean when he wasn't?" Mustache asked, flabbergasted.

Bamatabois shrugged. "I confess that I cannot be completely certain. If I had to guess, though, I would say that…We all know of Monsieur Madeleine is a veritable saint. He has taken it upon himself to singlehandedly save everyone he meets. Clearly he has heard of Champmathieu and, tenderheartedly if misguidedly, he has taken pity on a what he sees as a simple man and is trying to spare him from his just punishment."

"I know Madeleine's reputation well," spoke up a bald juror. "But that seems excessive, even for him."

Bamatabois shrugged. "I would have thought that as well but it seems that his generosity, which we have all seen to be boundless, really is without bounds and goes far past the point of reason. Do you know he's installed some…prostitute in the Montreuil hospital free of charge and is treating her like a countess? If he'd do that then who knows what he would do? I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to claim that he killed that horrible woman's baby, either. And maybe those two English princes."

He was beginning to convince them or at least sow seeds of doubt into their mind. That was good, that was very good.

"It's just common sense," he continued. "Monsieur Madeleine is a saint. He helps even those who least deserve his help and we have all benefited from his kind heart and his shrewd management. Jean Valjean is a vile convict and an idiot peasant. It's just impossible for one to have ever been the other. And that apple-stealing idiot Champmathieu is so clearly Valjean that it's ridiculous that we are even considering this. I would not go so far as to call Monsieur Madeleine mad but someone should really sit down and teach him a little something about the limits of reasonable behavior in his desire to help people."

"I've seen plenty of convicts in my time," Ginger said slowly. "They're miserable sots, they are. I don't see how anyone who was ever one of them, let alone one for nineteen years, could become someone as great as Monsieur Madeleine."

"The whole reason that convicts are made to carry their yellow papers with them everywhere is because everyone knows that they can never change and if Valjean and Madeleine were to be the same person he would have had to change so much as to be a completely different person," Moustache said consideringly. "He's right, there's just no way."

Back when Madeleine had initially made his claim, everyone had believed him. Everyone. Of course they had all sympathized and thought him noble, too, (someone had even opened the door for him!) and that impression had quickly faded so why not the other? No one wanted to believe such a thing could happen and so, if given an out, they would take it. All Bamatabois had to do was give them one.

Still, Baldy wasn't certain. "But how could he know those things about those convicts? Maybe one coincidence or bit of foreknowledge I could believe but he was three for three!"

"He also said that Javert would recognize him," Bamatabois said, trying to buy some time to think. "And Javert has served with Madeleine for years now and did no such thing as well as positively identifying Champmathieu."

"That does weaken his claim," Droopy Eye argued. "In my heart, I do not believe that they could be the same person. I don't believe that I ever truly did but I was so overwhelmed by this seemingly inexplicable conversation that I wasn't thinking clearly. Thank you for slowing us down and preventing us from maybe committing a terrible miscarriage of justice and bringing down a great man. But I simply cannot understand how else he could have known those things about those convicts?"

That speech had given Bamatabois sufficient time to come up with something. "Well, what did he say? He mentioned a detail about the clothing that one of them wore once but we have only the convict's word that that detail is correct and his word is worth so little he cannot even swear an oath!"

"But why would he lie?" Ginger asked, puzzled.

Bamatabois just stared at him.

"Oh, right, because he's a convict," Ginger realized, abashed.

"And no doubt he would enjoy bringing down such a great man as Monsieur Madeleine given his own miserable situation in life," Bamatabois added. "Then there's the second one. He claims that the man has a scar from when he tried to remove a tattoo but, despite the ease of proving this, we did not actually see said scar and tattoo. I, for one, find this highly suspicious, especially in light of the other man showing his tattoo."

"So even if they were lying, what about the third man and his tattoo?" Baldy asked. "He knew exactly what it was!"

"Everyone knew who the witnesses were," Bamatabois said indifferently. "Or at least they could if they had looked into the matter, which Monsieur Madeleine obviously has. A man like him, a man who can just enter the courtroom on a whim when no one is allowed in, he has ways. How difficult would it be to find out something about that convict? Who knows, maybe it's all true and he found a piece of information on all of them. It wouldn't be difficult. He just had to talk to someone who was once a guard. Maybe he even spoke with Javert about it, I don't know."

The jurors started murmuring to each other, looking much less grim now than they had when they thought that Madeleine was somehow Valjean.

"And if Monsieur Madeleine is not Valjean then we're left with what we had before," Moustache reasoned. "Champmathieu is Valjean and so must have stolen those apples and robbed that child."

Droopy Eye nodded seriously. "We must not let someone as good and kind as Monsieur Madeleine fall upon his sword for so unworthy of a person!"

Bamatabois sat back, smirking in satisfaction. This may all be true and it may not be but if it was then Madeleine's batterd conscience was hardly his concern. All that really mattered was that he had neatly dispatched with the interruption into his nice, orderly, prosperous life and life could go on as it had before.

Valjean couldn't bring himself to tell Fantine the truth of her child. The way Fantine looked right now, it was doubtful that she would live long enough to see Cosette even if he left to retrieve her right now. And considering what he had just done in Arras, it was unlikely that he would be able to successfully find and retrieve Cosette before the law caught up with him. He would try, of course, and keep trying until he died but he anticipated there would be…delays.

Maybe if he left now…but how could he leave her when she was so feverish, when she was chattering so excitedly about her dear daughter? He couldn't leave her alone.

Suddenly she stopped and Valjean glanced up at her to see that her face had lost all color and she sat still in frozen horror.

"Good God! What ails you, Fantine?" he cried.

Fantine did not reply verbally but instead gestured for him to look behind him.

Valjean turned around and saw Javert, looking terribly triumphant. He swallowed the lump in his throat and focused on maintaining an outwardly calm.

"Monsieur Madeleine, save me!" she begged.

Valjean rose. "Be at ease; it is not for you that he is come," he said, as gently as he could. He turned to Javert. "I know what you want."

"May I speak to you outside?" Javert requested.

That was not what he had been expecting, not at all. But…perhaps even Javert had enough pity in him to not want to cause a scene at the bedside of a dying woman?

Not daring to push his luck and do something to cause Javert to change his mind, Valjean quickly nodded. He managed a smile for Fantine and promised her that she would see Cosette soon. And perhaps, if the truth of his fate was kept from her, she would. It was a possibility.

Valjean followed Javert into the hall.

"It is done," Javert said triumphantly.

What was done? The deception? He supposed that was true but it was such a strange way to say it.

"Yes," he replied in a low, even tone. "It is."

"I have just received a message from Arras. The verdict is in," Javert announced.

Why was he drawing this out so cruelly? Was it in vengeance for Valjean making him doubt his sanity by refusing to admit who he really was? He did not want to be arrested and so he was hardly going to urge Javert to arrest him faster but this uncomfortable in-between, not quite free and yet not quite chained, was not a good feeling either.

"It is?" Valjean asked blandly.

"I was right," Javert continued, looking more pleased with himself than Valjean had ever seen him.

Of course he was. He had known from the very first on some level, hadn't he? That's why Javert had never trusted him and they had never warmed up to each other.

"Yes, you were," Valjean conceded.

"There was evidently some sort of disturbance that complicated matters but in the end Valjean was convicted and he is being sent back to Toulon," Javert continued. "The prosecutor is talking of charging him for the theft of that child right before he disappeared all those years ago but there really is no need since he will be a green cap now."

Valjean started. "I…what?"

Javert frowned, puzzled. "You said that you knew I was right and now you're surprised to hear what I was right about? What did you think I was talking about?"

"I…don't know," Valjean lied, shaking his head. "I'm just tired. I went out of town, you see, and have not had much opportunity to rest. And Fantine is doing so poorly, as well. You say there was a disturbance?"

Javert nodded. "Yes, although the messenger was not clear on what. He just said that the disturbance ended up making the trial take longer but that in the end the verdict was still what it was always going to be."

Valjean honestly was not sure what those words made him feel. Was it relief that his life here was not going to be shattered? Was it joy that he could continue to help the people of Montreuil and Fantine and her child specifically? Was it frustration that everything he had gone through to make it to the court in time and all of his agony had ultimately been for nothing? Was it horror at the fate of Champmathieu? Guilt that an innocent – more or less – was condemned to a lifetime of hell in his place? Perhaps it was all of these.

But mostly it was confusion.

How had the jury just ignored his confession like that when he had offered proof? When Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille had all recognized him before he left? When he saw in the eyes of those present that they accepted the truth? How had the president and the prosecutor allowed that? How had the defense attorney who, even if he had not believed Valjean's tale, would be a fool not to introduce it as doubt to free his own client?

"So there is nothing further to be done," Valjean said quietly. "Champmathieu will never leave prison."

"There is nothing in this world that could change that now," Javert confirmed. "Monsieur le maire, you do not seem pleased by this news."

Valjean wasn't. Even if he could not bring himself to completely regret that he had not succeeded in destroying this life that he had built (and it was through no fault of his own since he did not see what else he could have possibly done to make them see the truth), he rather wished that Champmathieu could have been judged on his own merits and not on Valjean's.

"He stole some apples," he said simply.

"It's part of a pattern of convict behavior," Javert disagreed. "And let us not forget that child he stole from eight years ago. And though it was never reported, I believe that he stole from a bishop as well. What hope is there for a man who would steal from a bishop? And by all accounts the Bishop of Digne was a particularly fine example of a bishop."

"That he was," Valjean agreed. "I hear your words, Javert, but I still do not like it. Man can change but no one was willing to give Champmathieu a chance. The minute they heard the words 'Jean Valjean' they made up their minds and would not be swayed by anything. That is a shameful thing."

"Maybe 'Jean Valjean' is all that they needed to hear," Javert suggested. "You are too softhearted, Monsieur Madeleine. You clearly have never seen any of this up close the way I have. A man like Jean Valjean will not, cannot change. Nineteen years in Toulon…the last time I saw him in the prison he was more beast than man and truly a dangerous man. And now he can play the fool so well that his mask never dropped, not even for a second. If any of us had allowed any doubt…Well, perhaps his performance would have inspired such doubt. He is just as dangerous as ever and he has plainly rejected whatever second chance society has seen fit to grant him. Even you cannot expect more of men than the chance Valjean was given."

"Oh, what chance is a convict ever given?" Valjean asked, almost to himself. "But I see that we will not agree and it seems like there is no longer anything that can be done about it in any event."

"No," Javert said, his eyes brightening. "We have closed the book on Jean Valjean and I can rest easier knowing that one more dangerous convict is back where he belongs."

Valjean nodded and rapidly adjusted his plans. He should really have fetched Cosette two months ago but he had been loath to leave Fantine. And maybe he wouldn't have to.

"Javert, I would ask a favor of you," Valjean said slowly.

Javert straightened. "If it is within my power to do so, I will do it. I remain in your debt for retaining my position after I falsely denounced you to the authorities."

Valjean looked at him sadly. He wished Javert would not blame himself for nothing more than being right and he wished even more that, since he apparently could not save Champmathieu anyway, Javert had never told him any of this. But that wasn't Javert's character, was it? He was so harsh on everybody else but he was just as harsh on himself and that was what made such severity tolerable. And, quite unexpectedly, Valjean no longer had anything to fear from him.

"Fantine's child, Cosette, is being held by innkeepers in Montfermeil," Valjean reported. "Money has been sent with instructions to send the child but they have so far refused to comply. I believe that they are taking advantage of the situation and are trying to get as much money as they can since they have, as of yet, refused to just outright name how much Fantine owes. I cannot leave Montreuil right now but I need to have the situation looked into."

Javert nodded. "I will go there presently, Monsieur Madeleine. I have business to attend to in the area as it is."

"Thank you, Javert," Valjean said, surprised to find that he truly meant it. He had somehow come to a place where he could thank one of the men who had held power over him at Toulon and had done his best to expose him here in Montreuil and mean it.

Javert saluted him and then turned to go.

Valjean returned to Fantine's bedside.

She looked hopefully up at him. "Cosette?"

Valjean did not know if Fantine would recover. The doctors were not optimistic though believing she would see Cosette had done her good so it stood to reason that Cosette actually being present would do more good. One thing was for sure, though. She would live to see Cosette returned to her. Javert was on the case and his unrelenting determination would be put to Valjean's use for once instead of his detriment. He would see it done and heaven help the Thénardiers if they tried to prevent him from doing his duty and paying back the debt he believed that he owed.

Valjean smiled at Fantine again and this time it was genuine. "Soon, Fantine."

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