“Yes, miss, my apologies, but I was forced to … uh … ” the bot faltered, completely out of character.
“Outil? What is it?” Marguerite wasn’t used to anything less than a direct response from a bot.
“I had to steal it, miss. I am not proud of that fact.” Outil ducked her head in shame.
“Why on earth did you have to steal food?” She had never heard of anything so preposterous in her life.
“Bots are not generally allowed in the dining areas and food is not allowed in the suites or cabins.”
“Well, why not? That’s ridiculous! Who serves the food if not bots and servants?”
“No one does, m’lady. Each person serves themselves. The human servants ate lunch with the passengers.”
Just then the sound of pouring water ceased and Marguerite heard a door open in the bedroom. “I suppose I should have guessed as much after that speech Laviolette gave.”
“Yes, Captain Laviolette asked me to deliver a message to you. He said: ‘The food is much more palatable when you accept it graciously rather than sending a servant to steal it.’”
“The nerve! Who does he think he is?” Marguerite’s body tensed all over as she tried to control the pressure pushing up from her stomach. “He is so … so!” She started to pace the cabin. “You’re not even a servant either! You’re just a bot!”
Outil stood quietly to the side while her mistress ranted. Presently Marguerite stopped and picked at part of the meat pie. “Never mind what he says, Outil, however you acquired this doesn’t matter. Just keep bringing us whatever you can find. We’ll be off this ship soon enough.”
She flopped down in a chair at the table and took a larger bite of the pie. She was hungrier than she thought. The common country food tasted fairly decent, although not good enough to melt her icy mood, especially considering it was cold and congealed around all the edges.
A knock at the door drew her attention. Outil took two large strides and peered through the peephole. She turned to Marguerite. “It’s the steward with a bot and two trunks.”
“Very well.” She sighed. “Let him in.”
The steward announced himself formally and declared, “I am here to deliver your official trousseaus on behalf of King Louis XVI. You should find everything you might need for your journey and to set up house in New France enclosed in these trunks. His Majesty wishes you the very best of luck and gives you his blessing as a Daughter of the King.” Marguerite rose to peer at the funny man while he delivered his speech and nodded congenially at him as he bowed low at the end.
“Very pretty speech, steward. You may put them in the bedroom. I believe there is space against the wall below the porthole.”
“Yes, m’lady,” the bot answered in a very deep male voice that caught Marguerite off guard. Outil stood back and let him enter. As he paused, holding both trunks balanced in one hand, and opened the bedroom door, an ear-splitting scream filled the suite.
“Oh dear, yes. That would be Vivienne.” Marguerite kept forgetting about her companion. “Vivienne dear!” She walked to the doorway and peered in. “It’s just the bot delivering your clothes. Do not be alarmed.” She sighed again. Would this day be full of nothing but sighs?
The steward and bots left and Vivienne dressed herself from her new trunk of clothing sent by the King. She came to the doorway and smiled at Marguerite, then twirled to show off her dress.
“Isn’t it lovely?” She beamed with pride but stumbled as she came full circle.
“You need to eat.” Marguerite motioned to the chair next to her. “Look at this feast Outil scavenged for us.” She tried not to stare at Vivienne’s black-and-blue face. Instead she fanned out her arm in a grand gesture over the humble fare. Vivienne took it all in with dull eyes.
“I’m not very hungry actually.”
“You must eat something. You had a terrible night, a long morning, and there is a big week ahead.”
“I guess I might try a bit of toast.” She reached for a slice of cold, hard bread. “Have you been out? Have you seen the ship? What’s it like?”
“I went to a meeting this morning. It seems we are the only girls of any noble blood on the whole vessel. We are also not allowed to eat in our room.” She snickered at her joke as she popped another bite of cold meat pie in her mouth. “And apparently Captain Morreau is not our captain but merely a stowaway on this trip.”
“He’s not? That’s strange.”
“No, it’s actually Captain Laviolette.”
“What? The man from the street? From your ball?” Vivienne flushed at the edges of her bruise with the excitement of the gossip.
“The very same.”
“Are you vexed?”
“Very. I don’t plan on leaving this room until we reach Montreal.”
“Good heavens. How long will that be?”
“Four days. Are you with me?” Marguerite was eager for someone to join her in her protest.
“I suppose.” Vivienne turned back to her toast and nibbled it a bit. “Honestly, I don’t feel much like going anywhere anyway.” Vivienne seemed on the brink of saying something else but it took a long while to get it out. “I have an ache in my back and side,” she finally spit out in a whisper, almost apologetically.
Marguerite looked at her friend closely then, as if she just realized she was in the room and possibly needing attention. Her small, thin frame was bent over, elbows leaning on the table in a very unladylike way. Her hair was damp from the washroom and her dress, while pretty and of good quality fabrics, seemed as if it would swallow her up any second. Her dainty little face looked strange with the swelling, almost grotesque.
“Outil,” Marguerite said, turning to the bot, “have we any tea?”
“No, miss. I’m sorry. I was only able to procure the bottle of cider.”
“Right.” She turned back to Vivienne and poured her a glass of the juice. “Have a sip or two of this and why don’t you go back to bed.”
Vivienne took the cup graciously and sipped at the edge of it, pausing for a moment to smile at Marguerite’s attention. Marguerite felt a definite pang of sadness for the girl, but also a touch of annoyance. Why was she not as enthusiastic as Marguerite? Where was her adventurous spirit? Marguerite remembered a time when she and Claude were heading to explore the forest to the east of the estate. They couldn’t have been more than nine or ten and Vivienne found them along the way.
“Where are you going?”
“To the haunted woods!” Marguerite cried.
Vivienne’s face paled immediately. “You can’t go there!” she wailed.
“Why not?” Marguerite demanded.
“Because you might die! Mummy says it’s full of all sorts of nasty creatures and evil witches who will steal your blood!” The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“How does your mummy know that? Hmm? Has she been out there collecting blood herself?” Marguerite taunted.
“Marguerite!” Claude was always first to reprimanded her.
“I’m sorry, I’m just teasing you, Vivienne.” Marguerite was annoyed with both of her companions now. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Claude spoke up again, “I really don’t think it’s haunted, Vivienne. It looks lovely and cool in there though, and I’m sick of this summer heat.”
Vivienne looked from Claude to Marguerite and then shook her head. “No, I’m going home.”
“Chicken,” Marguerite whispered under her breath as Vivienne ran away.
“Marguerite!” Claude gave her a sharp look. “Why are you so mean to her?”
“She bothers me.” Marguerite stomped forward toward the shade of the woods ahead. “She’s so slow and always so scared and her hair is so stringy all the time, like no one brushes it for her at night.”
“Well, maybe no one does. Have you ever thought about that?” He asked the question gently, but it was still pointed
enough to sting the young Marguerite.
“No.” She paused and looked at him. “That’s just silly though, why wouldn’t anyone brush her hair for her?”
“Dunno.” He tromped ahead of her. “You never know what someone’s home is like until you’ve lived there, eh?”
“I suppose so.” Marguerite thought about this for a moment. What it would be like not to have her servants dressing her and taking care of her. True, she’d never known her mother, but she’d always been well cared for. Even at the age of nine she could recognize this and be the smallest bit grateful, if not very prideful about it. “I suppose I could be nicer to her.”
“That would be kind of you.” Claude smiled back at her. “Race ya!”
“No fair!” The two ran off into the dark shadows of the woods in Marguerite’s memory as Vivienne rose from her chair in the aership looking pallid and exhausted.
“I think I will go back to bed now. I am not feeling myself at all.”
Marguerite stood as well. “Well, let me go with you and at least brush your hair before you lie back down. We don’t want it to be a complete rat’s nest.”
Vivienne smiled gratefully. Marguerite swallowed hard. She must send word to Claude as soon as she got Vivienne back to bed. Her heart suddenly ached for his reassuring company, and her lips for his touch.
Chapter Fourteen
The dining hall was filled with loud music, laughter, and warm bodies spinning and prancing in all directions. Marguerite had planned on asking Outil to send the telegram to Claude for her, but in the end felt the tiny suite walls closing in and decided to go herself. She looked through the clothes sent by the King for something less conspicuous but found none of them were designed with the secret pockets she felt she couldn’t manage without. She resolved to not let the looks and comments bother her. She’d send her message and come right back.
Finding her way back to the dining hall was easy. Even if she’d never been there before all she would have had to do was follow the steady flow of foot traffic or the sounds of revelry.
As she passed the doors she peered in cautiously at the partygoers. She felt surprised to see a few automatons joining in the revelries, moving their mechanical bodies in jerks and dips to the rhythm of the music. It did seem like a very jolly event, however, it was a bit more raucous than she was used to. She continued on to the lighted sign ahead indicating a telegraph station and prepared her message.
Although she’d never needed to send a telegram on her own before, she had no trouble maneuvering the machine. She quickly entered her credentials and personal information then pieced together what she felt was most important to say.
To Soldat Claude
What surname would he use in the military? She had not thought about this before. He had his own surname, that was certain, but when his parents had died he became her father’s ward and used their surname for official purposes. She couldn’t, for the life of her, remember his family surname.
“Oh bugger.” She swore under her breath.
“It isn’t polite for a lady to speak in such a manner in public.”
The dark voice behind her was all too familiar. Marguerite jumped a bit before whirling around to face the speaker.
“Laviolette.” She did not speak his name with any pleasure.
“Yes! Fancy meeting you here. How are you enjoying my ship?”
“Your ship is lovely I suppose,” Marguerite chuckled softly.
“You suppose?”
“If one enjoys sharing a bedroom and eating in packs like an animal, then yes, it’s lovely.” Marguerite instantly felt shame at focusing on such petty things when they were talking about such an amazing ship. She was actually quite taken with the Triumph and her curious mind wanted to know more about the state-of-the-art engines and navigation systems. But her pride stopped her from admitting that to Laviolette.
“Ahh … I had no idea the upper-class levels were so wild!” He grinned wickedly at her. “I must arrange for you to take a tour of the rest of the ship before we arrive. It really is quite remarkable.”
How does he know me so well? She seemed always to be one step behind this man. She decided to confront his assumptions head on. “And how do you know I would even be interested in something such as that?”
“Because you spent every minute of your time in La Rochelle gazing at the latest gadgets from foreign lands and your house is filled with the newest technology your father can buy or design himself.”
Drat. He wins again. Marguerite was tired of the banter. She wanted to send her telegram, eat more of Outil’s stolen food, and go to sleep in her tiny little lump of a bed. “Very well then, you are right. I would very much like a tour of the ship.” She thought for a moment while he smiled triumphantly, then added, “But only if it includes the engine rooms.”
“Ahh, but of course! That is the most amazing part!”
As he began to dive into an explanation of the latest modifications made to the steam engines aboard the flying vessel, a group of female passengers accosted them.
“Captain Laviolette! You are missing all the fun!” They twittered and giggled to each other and watched him with upturned faces and batting eyelashes, waiting for his response.
“That I am!” He smiled and patted the nearest one on the back. “Will you be joining us, Lady Vadnay? The food is much better when it’s eaten in the dining hall where it is allowed.” Surrounded by all of the common girls in their new clothes from the King made his beautiful smile look more like a shark to Marguerite.
She stiffened. “No, I’m rather tired. I must send this telegram and get back to my suite. My companion is not well.”
“Your suite?” One of the girls cried, “I thought we was all equals on this vessel. I’m not sleeping in no suite!”
“Ladies, we are all equals, but some of us aren’t used to the simple life as of yet. We have to ease the gentry into their new roles one step at a time. Let’s go enjoy ourselves while the night is young, shall we?” He winked at Marguerite and used his arms to herd the pack of giggling women back to the dining room.
He turned back to her before he was too far away. “Tomorrow, then?”
Marguerite had already returned to the telegraph machine and the problem at hand. “I suppose.” She made sure she was loud enough for him to hear but did not look at him, trying to maintain her self-respect.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye and was relieved to see the group pass into the dining hall without giving her a second look. She took a deep breath and focused on her letter.
To Soldat Claude Vadnay:
She would use her family name. It was the name he’d used the majority of his life. Surely he would keep it and the connection it provided to her. Now for his regimen, she had no idea whose command he was under or the number. She cursed herself again for not having done more research before she left. Then again, who was left that could have told her his specifics? No one.
His Majesty King Louis XVI’s Royal Army
Corp of Engineers
On Route To New France Stop Plan To Join You Shortly Stop Travelling Aboard The Triumph Stop Please Respond As Soon As Possible Stop
What else? She didn’t want to spill out too much of her heart in a missive the entire world between them would be able to read. She decided to end with an endearment that would not allow him to mistake her intentions.
With Love Marguerite
“There!” She glanced over her handiwork, making sure she had filled in all the required fields, and took a deep breath before locating the option to send.
She realized it was a long shot, but she had no way of finding out more specific details for his location or even his name. She felt a bit ashamed at not having asked him in person when she had the chance. She had been so wrapped up in her ball and her father and her life. She didn’t even know which engineering group he had joined.
She pressed the submit button gingerly an
d listened as the machine sprang to life, clicking and tapping out her note. Marguerite was not a religious person by nature; her father had never taken her to church on a regular basis, only when good manners demanded it, but while watching the machine whir and buzz she said a silent prayer that wherever Claude was now, he would soon be reading her words and his heart would thrill at the reality of their future just as hers did.
She stepped lightly to the beat of the music on her way back to her wing. The song was winding down and ended with thunderous applause. She hadn’t reached the end of the passage yet when the next song began. It was an old country tune, a slow waltz, her father’s favorite. When she was a child she remembered him plucking her from the ground and setting her feet upon his feet, then holding her close as they would dance around the ballroom at home. It must have been when Mother was still alive because everyone said he never danced or welcomed music into the home after she died. Which was true. But Marguerite couldn’t remember her mother at all, only her father.
She stopped at the end of the corridor and turned back, almost running to the telegraph machine. She quickly entered her credentials again and then picked out her message on the shining alabaster alphabet-labeled keys:
To Lord Vadnay
La Rochelle, France
All Is Well Stop I am Safe Stop Please Forgive Me Stop Will Send Word Soon Stop Love Marguerite
She drew in a breath as she sent the machine ticking and tapping again and willed the tears in her eyes to retreat back to the deep recesses they had boiled up from.
The waltz ended as she walked, firmly this time, back to her suite. She reminded herself with a will of steel that she had chosen this path. No one had forced her into it and she would deal with the consequences, no matter how painful.
The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl Page 10