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by Therese
Chez Therese officially opened on Friday afternoon, and of course, Clopin was first in the door. He was early, in fact; so early, he had to come in by way of the kitchen to get any attention."If you're not here to work, get out of the way," was Madame Darbois' greeting to him. She and Anne were both flying around the kitchen, chopping, stirring, tasting, their faces flushed red from the several varieties of smoke and steam emanating from the fire, and from the pots cooking over it.
"What's that you have? Lamb stew?" Clopin poked his nose in one of the pots as Anne lifted the lid. "Mmm, smells delicious!"
"Anne, give him a dish of that so he'll leave us alone," Madame ordered, grabbing a platter, herself, and tossing some bread and cheese onto it for him.
"As long as I'm staying for lunch," Clopin hinted, "I wouldn't mind trying a bottle of that wine Phoebus brought around."
"Go sit down, and I'll bring you something," Therese shoved the platter into his hands, took the hot dish of stew from Anne, and plopped that onto his tray, as well. "I'm serious," she scolded, noting the grin on his face, "we're very busy, and I don't have time to play. Now, go on!"
Chuckling at her, Clopin carried his lunch into the tavern and began to scout out a location for the new Royal Throne from which he would hold court. The ideal spot seemed to be against the wall opposite the bar, at the point where the atmosphere shifted from the cheerful, windowed front half of the room, to the darker reaches of the back half. Here, he could socialize with his friends, who would prefer the shadows, and still keep an eye on the door.
Clopin rearranged the nearby furniture to his satisfaction, and sat down with his back to the wall. He was just blowing on his first spoonful of stew when Therese came bustling out of the kitchen with a cup and bottle.
"See what you think of the Chambertin," she set the wine on his table. "Is this your spot, then?" Therese asked, taking the time to smile at him. "Shall I hang the ‘reserved' sign here, or are you still looking around?"
"Oh, I think this will do," he considered. "And you needn't hang a sign, Madame; none of your patrons could read it, anyway."
"In that case, a picture of you holding a noose might do the trick," she suggested.
"My dear Madame," he laughed, "you are in a fine good humor today."
"I'm glad to be working again," she admitted. "Anne and I have prepared a ton of food, and I've hired a few of the neighborhood girls to help out. We're hoping for a big crowd."
Clopin thought, at first, that Madame's hopes were too ambitious. Traffic was slow at first, once she opened the door. Several familiar faces popped in and out, all promising to return later. Among them were both David brothers, and Esmeralda, with Phoebus in tow. The Sun God was properly introduced to Madame Darbois, who thanked him for his gift. Phoebus and Therese spent a good bit of time discussing the merits of the various wines he had sent her, while Clopin sat at his royal table, making a broad and comical show of alternately mimicking and ignoring them. Phoebus had his back turned to this display, but it did not escape the notice of Therese, who couldn't resist teasing Clopin about it, once her guest was gone.
"Honestly, he's a very pleasant gentleman. I can't imagine why you dislike him so much. Unless, of course, you're jealous," she hinted.
"I?" he scoffed. "Clopin, the King of Hearts, swooned for by the most beautiful ladies of Paris, jealous of that yellow-headed buffoon? Hah!"
"You have to admit," now Therese was simply harrassing him, "he is handsome, in that big, rugged, manly sort of way."
"You're lying, Madame," he accused with a grin. "Why, you can't even keep a straight face!"
Therese was laughing at her own words, but she said, more sincerely, "But, he is a good enough fellow. I can see why Esmeralda would like him."
"I can't." This was Anne, who had brought Clopin a fresh plate of sliced ham and bread. Blushing a little at how this sounded, she explained, "I mean, I suppose he's nice enough, but I don't see anything special about him. If I were Esmeralda – " she blushed again, gathering the dirty dishes from Clopin's table, "well, he's not what I would have chosen, that's all."
When Anne had disappeared back into the kitchen, Clopin nodded after the girl and muttered under his breath, "Quasimodo's carving a sewing box for her, did you know that?"
"They're good friends," Madame answered his suggestive look. When he went on regarding her with that "wait and see" smirk, she added, "She could do worse for herself, you know. She could end up with what I had, or God forbid, a male Madame Gruyere. Believe me, she could do a good deal worse."
As evening came on, the new tavern began to fill. Maurice David came back with his wife, gaudily pretty and much younger than he was. Giles eventually joined them, as did Jean Mamiel, the old man who lived upstairs and kept an eye on the house when Maurice wasn't around. They gathered at a table by the front windows, and ordered a great deal of food. Giles asked specifically to sample some of Phoebus' wines, which led to a boisterous but good-humored argument between the brothers. When Phoebus and Esmeralda came back, Phoebus was instantly dragged into refereeing their wine-tasting debate. Halfway across the room, Clopin was laughing into his last mug of Chambertin.
The first of the new crop of Penniless Students wandered in around sunset, as well; three of them, this time, pushing and shoving each other. They, too, stopped in the front half of the room and called for one of Therese's hired girls to fetch some ale. The girl, one of Clopin's tribe, read them the ‘money first' rule, and one of the lads handed over the needed coins, flirting clumsily with the gypsy girl as he did so. She laughed and pushed him back in his chair, and his comrades hooted and razzed him. It wasn't long before the Students noticed Esmeralda sitting by the window, and began to whisper and nudge each other. "That's her, that's the one," the young fellow who had paid for the drinks was insisting, while his friends shook their heads. "How can you tell, anyway?" one of the others challenged, "They all look alike." The first one gave the second one a shove for this remark, and got to his feet. "That's what you think. I'm going to ask her."
With only half a cup of ale in him as yet, the young man had no trouble making his way to the table by the window. "I beg your pardon," he made a grand show of courtesy, briefly glaring back at his friends. "But, aren't you that girl who was nearly burned to death? Esterilla or something?"
"Esmeralda," corrected Phoebus, drily.
"That's right, thanks," the young fellow nodded, not taking his eyes off her. "I'm Laurent, by the way." He squeezed onto the bench beside her. "Gosh, your eyes are green. Buy you a cup of something?" he offered, working an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. Esmeralda was trying hard not to giggle too much.
Getting up, Phoebus took the kid by the wrist and detached him from the lady, pulling him to his feet as he did so. "I'm sorry, Laurent," Phoebus was twice as thick and quite a bit taller than his opponent, "Esmeralda's a little busy right now."
"Oh, yeah?" Laurent tossed his head. "And who might you be? You're too ugly to be her brother." At this point, his two friends came running to grab him before the Big Tough Blond Guy could throw him through the window (although Phoebus had done nothing yet but smirk at him). The gypsy waitress interceded as well and lured him back to his own table with a wink and a hand on his shoulder. "That was her," Laurent informed his friends proudly, referring back to Esmeralda. "I told you that was her."
More familiar faces began to trickle in. Clopin's old friend, Marin the boatman, turned up and sat down at the royal table at the King's invitation, and Madame brought him some supper. "Where's Oudarde?" she inquired after Marin's wife.
"Waiting," the man answered shortly.
"With Nerine," Clopin explained. "I should be an uncle yet again, oh, any time now. René's promised to come round with the news. I've never seen him so excited," Clopin chuckled. "And this is his second child! I can't imagine what he must have been like when Faria was born."
Anne was first to spot the next old-timer who came in, and she reacted to the sight of him by dashing into the kitchen.
"Where's Chinon?" she asked Madame, who was pulling a casserole off the fire.
"I don't know, outside I suppose. What's the matter?" she asked, as Anne looked out the back door.
"Herr Von Detten just walked in," said Anne, with a frown. She'd never liked the grim German.
Therese looked surprised. "I thought he was dead. I could swear someone told me he died in the fire. When they burned the old neighborhood." She chuckled a little. "I suppose it would take more than a little smoke and flame to do him in."
"I don't want him anywhere near Chinon. He eats cats, you know," Anne reminded her mistress, with a horrified expression. "He said so, himself."
"Herr Von Detten says a lot of things," Therese dismissed this. "He likes to upset people."
"Well, I'd better not catch him so much as looking at her," insisted Anne, sounding remarkably like her mistress.
Madame found the German by the fireside, boots on the hearth as if he'd never budged from his usual spot at the Goose and Grapes, but had been magically transported to the same spot in the new tavern without moving a muscle. He gave her what was, for him, a friendly twitch of his head as she brought him a tankard of ale. Therese had never been bothered by him. He liked to tell gruesome stories, liked to make himself seem dangerous, but he always paid his bills, and she had never personally known him to kill or eat anyone, human or feline. Therese suspected he was mostly talk, and was not afraid of him.
"I'm surprised to see you," she remarked to him. "I'd heard you were burned out with the rest of us."
"I was. It was quite an experience." He sounded as if he'd enjoyed it. Reaching to hand her a coin, he paused and glanced at the door. "Is that who I think it is?"
Therese looked, too, and said lightly, "Oh, I was wondering when he'd turn up."
Von Detten remarked, fascinated and impressed, "He's more hideous than I'd heard. How interesting he is."
"He's a nice young fellow," Therese scolded. "And I don't want you bothering him."
"I?" the German looked surprised at the suggestion. "I never bother anyone, Madame."
"Pfft," said Therese, at Von Detten's taut, humorless smile, and went to fetch his supper.
She waved at Quasimodo as she crossed the tavern to the kitchen, and he waved back. Esmeralda had already motioned for him to come and sit with her and Phoebus. In the kitchen, Therese found Anne, crouched just outside the back door, talking to and petting Chinon. "I found her," she noted, when Madame came in. "She's fine."
"Of course she's fine, no one's going to eat her," Therese shook her head at the girl. "Quasimodo's here; why don't you take him some supper. Take something for yourself, too," Madame added. "You haven't eaten yet, either."
Anne loaded up a big tray with some of nearly everything in the kitchen and hauled it out to the table where Quasimodo was sitting with Esmeralda and Phoebus. The Davids had gone, and Jean Mamiel had moved to join some of the other tenants from upstairs who had come down, and the four of them had the table to themselves. Anne shared the tray of food with the others, and Phoebus passed around another bottle of his favorite wine. Quasimodo said everything was delicious, and Anne bashfully pointed out the dishes that were mostly her own work.
They were still eating dinner when René Trouillefou burst through the door, breathless and beaming. With one quick scan of the room, he found his brother and made a beeline for him. Clopin had already spotted him and was on his feet, swiftly closing the gap. There was a hasty exchange of words, laughter and back slapping, then René, one hand still resting on Clopin's shoulder, drew closer and spoke to him in a more confidential tone. They weren't too far from where Anne and her friends were sitting and, knowing what all the excitement must be about, the four of them were eagerly observing the conversation. It was Esmeralda who finally called over to them, "Well, don't keep us in suspense! What is it?"
René and Clopin, both still grinning, joined the table, and the proud papa announced, "It's a girl! She's beautiful! Nerine's fine, everyone's fine. Anne," he sat down beside her, "could I ask you something? I need your opinion…"
The next time Madame Darbois came out to the bar, Clopin spotted her at once and nudged René, and the two brothers jumped up and made their way to her. "Good news, Madame," declared Clopin, when they had reached her.
"Nerine had the baby?" Therese surmised, smiling at René. "How are they?"
"Fine, both fine," he beamed again. "It's a little girl, she's wonderful."
"Well, congratulations. This calls for a round of something, to celebrate." She was reaching to take down some cups from Quasimodo's rack, but René stopped her.
"I can't stay, really, I promised I'd come right back."
"Then take a bottle of something with you. I'm sure Nerine could use a drink about now," Madame remarked.
"You're very kind, Madame, thank you," said René.
"My brother has something to ask you," Clopin put in, giving René a nudge.
"Yes, well," he looked rather unsure of himself, but plunged in. "I'm the youngest in the family, you know, and, the trouble with that is, when you're the youngest, by the time you start having children, all the good old family names are taken, and, well, Nerine and I were talking and -- if it's all right with you -- we'd like to call the baby Therese."
Madame Darbois stood, speechless, for a moment, then cast a suspicious eye on the baby's uncle. "Clopin, did you…?"
"Not I," he protested.
"Seriously, Madame," René nodded. "It's a pretty name, and you are a friend of the family."
"And you must admit," said Clopin, "Therese Trouillefou does have a nice ring to it."
Therese made a face at him for this dig, then reached across the bar and laid her hand on René's. "René, I'm very touched, I truly am. And I'll give you my blessing, on one condition."
"Anything," he promised.
"You give that little girl a middle name, as well, and make it Anne."
"Done, Madame!" he grinned.
With this settled, they went to get Anne's approval, as well, and Madame fetched them the bottle of Corton-Charlemagne with which to toast the health of baby Therese-Anne. René, taking the bottle, and paying Madame Darbois for it with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, promised to bring his family around for a visit as soon as was practical. And twice more in the next quarter hour or so, Therese, still in a glowing good humor, made a point of remarking to Clopin, "You tell René and Nerine, I truly am honored."
The hour grew later and later, until the crowd in the tavern had dwindled to perhaps a dozen. Quasimodo had gone, but Esmeralda and Phoebus were still there, sitting in the corner near the window, with their arms around each other. Jean Mamiel was playing cards with another, gray-haired tenant from upstairs. Marin's wife, Madame Oudarde, had come in after seeing that Nerine and her baby were comfortably settled; the gypsy girl who had been waiting tables, having been paid and excused by Madame, bought a little wine for herself and Oudarde, and the two of them were chatting and taking a rest. Clopin had finally abandoned his Royal Table for the night, and was sitting by the fire at the back of the tavern, with Von Detten, and Marin. A couple of Von Detten's new neighbors, looking about as prosperous and respectable as he did, had ventured in, on his recommendation, and had joined the group, as well. Therese had brought them supper, and marked them down as a pair of interesting additions. One spoke nothing but a rough tongue she could hardly understand, but still recognized from her Normandy childhood as English. The other she had first caught speaking Romani to Clopin, but he was pale, and plainly dressed, and looked nothing like a gypsy. He had addressed her in polite and fluent French, but she'd noticed him speaking German to Von Detten, and English to the Englishman (for whom he seemed to be the sole translator). "Herr Garroutte," Von Detten had identified the man to her. "An interesting man. Very useful to know." In Von Detten's alley, where few of the neighbors were native speakers of French, she supposed he would be.
Anne was washing dishes in the kitchen, and Therese was cleaning up behind the bar. It was this late, and the tavern this sparsely populated, when the door opened to admit one more person. Madame Darbois looked up when he came in, and it took her a moment to recognize the tall, husky figure, dressed as he was in plain clothes, his bald head uncovered. She felt herself tense just a bit as he came to the bar.
"Good evening, Madame," he addressed her in a quiet voice.
Keeping her own voice low in reply, she noted, "Captain Montblanc, isn't it?"
He tried a bit of a calming smile as he said, "I'd rather you didn't use the title here. I'm off duty. And I wouldn't want to alarm your patrons."
Therese had already noticed, even from a distance, that Clopin had seen and recognized the man, and was keeping an eye on him.
Montblanc looked around the room; she saw him catch Clopin's eye and move on, then he said, "Isn't Anne here?" When Therese showed just a moment's hesitation in answering, he hastened to add, "There's no need to hide her from me, Madame, I'm not here to arrest her." Again, he made an attempt at an expression of good humor, and Therese began to sense that he was as uneasy about this meeting as she was. This was the first time she'd seen the man since they had met, the day she'd found him talking to Anne in this very room -- and that was before she'd known what he was after. Her imagination had painted him into quite a monster since then, but here, without his armor, his melancholy blue eyes regarding her with an uncertainty – almost shyness -- that went completely against his stature, he was much less frightening than she'd expected him to be.
"She's in the kitchen, washing up." Madame started to suggest that he have a seat in the tavern, then she changed her mind, and did something she almost never did. "Go on back," she motioned around the bar toward the kitchen door. "She might have some supper left for you, if you're hungry."
Montblanc found Anne crouched on the kitchen floor, scraping leftover stew into a dish, for a little, gray tabby cat. The cat mewed when it saw him, and Anne looked up to see who had come in.
"Captain Montblanc!" she got to her feet. With a slight, worried frown, she asked, "Does Madame know you're here?"
"Yes, it's all right," he assured her. "She said you might have some supper for me."
"I -- I think there's still some casserole. Here," she placed a stool beside the work table. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll see what we have left. We've had a very busy evening," she informed him proudly.
Montblanc felt something touch his leg, and looked down to see the cat, stretching up to put her paws on his knee. "Who's this?" he asked, with a smile.
"Chinon, what are you doing, you silly girl?" Anne scolded playfully.
"She's all right," Montblanc chuckled, as the little cat leapt into his lap and, purring, nudged her head under his big hand to have her neck scratched. "Aren't you?" he addressed the cat, stroking her.
"Well, if that isn't something," the girl marvelled. "She usually runs and hides from strangers."
"Maybe she doesn't think I'm a stranger," Montblanc smiled at Anne. "Or maybe she just knows I don't mean her any harm."
Anne brought him what was left of the casserole, with a bit of bread and a cup of wine, and they chatted while she dried dishes.
"Your mistress is a fine cook," he remarked, enjoying his supper.
"Actually," Anne blushed a little, "I made that, myself."
"Did you? It's very good," he told her, and added, "Your friend thinks so, too," offering Chinon a bit of ham with his fingers to keep her from putting her face in the dish.
"There's something I've wanted to ask you," Anne said at last, putting aside her towel and coming to sit at the table with him.
"Yes, Anne?"
"Did Juliette -- did your sister's child have a name?"
Montblanc paused, and took a drink before he answered. "I'm sure she must have had one. But I never could learn what it was. By the time I found the people who had taken her in, so many of them had died, or gone away… There was an old man, who remembered so many different things, it was difficult to sort out what part of it was true. And a boy, who had been too young at the time to recall many details. How did you get the name Anne?" he asked her.
"The people who took me from Notre Dame. At least, that's what I've been told. Why?" she asked, noting his thoughtful expression.
"Well, I know that you -- that she, the baby, was born in the summer and left at the cathedral that winter. And, you know, St. Anne's day is in the summer, five months before Christmas. So, I suppose Anne is as likely a name as any for--" He hesitated between ‘her' and ‘you.'
Anne smiled and finished the sentence. "For me." This time, she did not hesitate to reach out and lay her hand on his. "I do want to believe that we're family. And I do want us to be friends. As long as you understand…"
"This is your home, I know," he nodded, patting the hand she had given him. "And Madame Darbois is your family, as well. She -- well," he lowered his voice a little, "I can't blame her for being distrustful of me. I hope she and I can be on good terms together, for your sake."
"She let you into her kitchen," Anne pointed out; "that's a good start already."
When Montblanc had finished his supper, he and Anne went back out into the tavern. She showed him the beautiful, carved rack on the wall behind the bar, and pointed out the little figures of herself, and of Madame. Only after he had sufficiently admired the work did she tell him where it had come from. "Quasimodo made it for us. He carved it all himself."
"He's a skillful artist," Montblanc admitted, examining the details again.
"You see, I think you underestimate him. It isn't just you," she hastened to add. "Most people do, until they know him. He's a very interesting person, really."
"I think he must be," Montblanc nodded, this time as if he believed her.
Of course, the new Captain of the Guard had to be presented to the old one, and re-introduced to Esmeralda, and he ended up sitting at their table, long enough at least to trade a few soldiering stories with Phoebus. When Montblanc got up to leave, he said good night to Anne, then stopped at the bar for a word with her mistress.
"Madame, you won't mind, I hope, if I come around from time to time. To say hello, have some dinner."
"As I said, my establishment is open to everyone," she reminded him. Her tone was pleasant enough, but he was not entirely surprised when, as he turned to go, she followed and said, "May I walk out with you?"
The two of them stopped outside the tavern door. "Captain, I appreciate your discretion," she gestured at his common dress. "Many of my customers have learned to distrust the Guardsmen here, and knowing how things were under Claude Frollo, I can't say I blame them."
"I'm not working for Claude Frollo, Madame," Montblanc noted, and she detected a touch of offense in the tilt of his chin.
"All I'm trying to say is, I've always made a point of serving anyone who wants to buy from me, and you'll find an odd mix of customers in my house -- as you will in this neighborhood; in most of Paris, in fact. Most of them are good people, who only want to be allowed to go about their own business. Remember that, when you come here."
"I don't intend to make trouble for you," he assured her. "Or for your honest patrons. Even a Guardsman has to eat and drink, though," he smiled at her, the best one he'd managed so far, and she smiled back.
"You're not a bad fellow, Captain. I hope we can be on friendly terms with each other. For Anne's sake, if nothing else."
"For Anne's sake," he nodded, and bade her good night.
Shortly after this, Madame Darbois declared that it was closing time, and the rest of her patrons cleared out. All but one, of course. Clopin stayed behind, even after Anne had gone upstairs to bed, and helped the tavern-keeper lock up.
"What did I tell you, Madame," said Clopin. "A roaring success."
He was standing with his arms around her, and her back was against the bar. "Phew. I'd forgotten how much work it was," she grumbled.
"But you wouldn't trade it, you know," he teased her.
"I know," she sighed, rubbing his shoulders. "And I hate to do this, but I really am going to have to turn you out."
"You don't mean that," he wheedled, nuzzling and kissing her neck in the exact spot she liked best.
"Yes, I do," she made a half-hearted attempt to push him off. "I'm sorry, sir, but Chez Therese is closed for the night."
"But, I want to come upstairs," he insisted, cuddling her. "I'll sit up in a chair all night and watch you sleep, if you want, but let me stay."
Therese sighed, laughing at herself as much as anything. "All right. I won't make you sit up, but I'm afraid you will have to watch me sleep."
Clopin chuckled at this and kissed her tenderly. "Madame, I do love you."
With a twinkle in her eye, Therese reached up and patted his cheek. "Of course you do."
Morning in Paris, daybreak, orange light, pink clouds, blue sky, and the great bells of Notre Dame, echoing over the rooftops. Quasimodo could tell, looking out of the tower as he worked at the ropes, that it was going to be a beautiful day. He swung to the floor, and was just listening to the last peal of the bells fade away, when he caught the creak of the wooden stairs and heard the light footsteps coming up into the loft.
"Good morning!" a cheerful voice called up to him.
"Anne!" he was glad to see her. She was carrying a big market basket, and he went to help her with it. It was surprisingly light.
"There's not much in it yet," she noted. "I haven't been out long. Madame was still asleep when I left. Clopin's with her," she added, in a mischievous whisper; "I could hear him snoring. Anyway, I thought I'd get a start on the marketing, then I thought, do you know what I would like to do more than anything in the world?"
"What?" asked Quasimodo.
"I would like to eat breakfast on the top of Notre Dame. And so here I am," she beamed brightly, "and there is breakfast." Uncovering the basket in his hands, she pointed out, "I've brought buns, and grapes, and a fresh jug of milk, and there's more than enough for both of us. Can we go out on the roof and eat?"
"Of course," he answered at once.
They emerged from the tower, into the open air, and Anne took a deep breath. "It's so nice up here. I still wish I could find our house, though," she added, scanning the chimneys beyond the river. Giving up, she sat down on the stones beside her host, and unpacked her basket. Quasimodo had brought a pair of wooden cups for the milk, and Anne filled them. Taking a bun from the basket, she began breaking it into small pieces and tossing it out for the pigeons who were already beginning to gather. She took a second one for herself, broke it, and dipped a piece in her milk. They chatted while they ate, about how things had gone at the tavern last night, and about Clopin's new baby niece, and Anne told him about her conversation with Captain Montblanc. When they had finished eating, she got up and went to the stonework railing, to look out over the city again.
"It must have been very strange for you," she mused, "being up here all alone for so long."
"Not as strange as being down there," Quasimodo answered, as he came to join her. "I'm still not very used to it. Being among so many people. It helps to have friends, though."
"Like Esmeralda," Anne nodded.
Quasimodo glanced at her. "And you. You know…" he picked up a piece of bread from where Anne had tossed it before, and held it out to a pigeon on the stonework in front of him, "When I met Esmeralda, I thought she must be the most wonderful person in the world. Because she was kind to me. But, now I know there are other people in Paris who are good, and kind. Esmeralda is my friend, and she always will be. But, she's not the only wonderful person in the world."
It had taken him some time to get through all of this, and he had continued to concentrate his attention on feeding the pigeon as he spoke. Taking the last crust of bread from his hand, the bird fluttered off, and the two of them watched it go. "You're right, you know," said Anne, quietly. "The world is full of wonderful people." When Quasimodo met her eye, she reached out and slipped her arm through his. Gently, he laid his big hand on her small one, as it rested on his arm, and the two of them turned their faces toward the vast sprawl of Paris, spread out at their feet.
THE END