The front receiving room was large with many chairs, none of which were comfortable. It was meant to house large groups that occasionally came for meetings or welfare. Marguerite couldn’t imagine who she would find waiting for her there. She half expected it to be Jacques, even though she’d made her feelings quite clear before disembarking in Montreal. At least, she thought she had. It surprised her how little she had thought of him in the past week. She hadn’t really thought of anyone but herself. Now, pausing before entering the room, she wondered about him with the armed guards, wondered for a moment if he was all right.
“Outil.” She reached out to stop the bot in front of her. “What happened to Jacques? Why did he leave the ship with guards?”
Outil turned back and whispered, “He was accused of treason for turning over the Triumph to the pirates. He was questioned and jailed for several days.”
“But he didn’t turn it over! I helped him destroy it!” If Jacques was in prison then she really had no idea who could be waiting for her. “Is he still in jail? Must we testify?”
“No, miss.” Outil held out a hand indicating that Marguerite should calm herself. “The judge ruled him innocent. There was more than enough evidence gathered to prove he followed protocol and destroyed the pirates and the Triumph.”
“What sort of evidence?”
“Debris mostly, ma’am. I expect it’s him waiting for you in there.” She motioned to the room ahead.
Marguerite approached the door slowly, preparing what she must say to Jacques. She was relieved that he was no longer in jail, and annoyed with herself for being so, but she had to make sure that he knew she did not love him. Claude or no Claude, she was not in love with Jacques and could not separate the memory of being held in his arms from Vivienne’s death. She was steeled, she was determined. She gently pushed open the door.
But Outil couldn’t have been more wrong. Sitting in a chair facing the door, looking quite nervous but extremely handsome in his uniform, was Claude.
“Claude!” Marguerite couldn’t help herself. She threw the door open the rest of the way and ran to him, tears streaming down her face.
“Marguerite! And Outil!” He grinned at them both, taking her gladly into his arms. “I can’t believe you are here! When I got the telegraph I couldn’t believe it!”
“So you got my message after all? I wrote to you as soon as I boarded the Triumph.”
“No, I never got anything from you. A naval officer wrote saying he was connecting new arrivals with acquaintances. I still can’t believe you were on the Triumph! I can’t believe anyone lived, much less you!” He pulled back from their embrace and looked at her with something like admiration. It was a new feeling between them. Then he noticed her bandages and let go of her.
“My word, are you wounded?”
“Yes, but I’m healing well. Just got over a bit of a fever.” She blushed at the understatement, glad no one but Outil was there to raise their eyebrows. She hugged him again and exclaimed:
“I knew, in the garden, I knew you would come back for me, but my father and that wretched Pomphart were trying to marry me off to Delacourte. I tried to tell them that we had spoken, that we had an agreement, that I was waiting for you. But they wouldn’t listen, so I just came! Just like that! But oh, Claude! Vivienne!” In the heat of the moment her emotions caught up with her again and she lost her words to sobs and tears. Being with Claude made all those childhood days as a threesome come back to her like a steam engine hitting her in the chest. Vivienne was gone forever and it was all her fault.
“I was so selfish!” she finally gasped.
“What are you talking about? They told me she died from injuries during the battle and that you tried to save her. It’s a terrible, terrible loss, but not selfish.”
Marguerite was too upset to explain, so once again Outil stepped in with her calm voice and quickly told the story.
Marguerite finally looked up at him. He was ashen.
“I’m sorry. I have to sit down.” Claude took a step back and sat in one of the small wooden chairs. Marguerite sat next to him, under control again and dabbing her face with a hanky. “You’re telling me her father beat her so badly she bled internally?”
Marguerite nodded and Claude said something she never expected.
“How is that your fault? You were trying to get her out of there. I would have done the same thing.”
“You would have? Really?”
“Of course.”
“And now you’re here!” She smiled brilliantly at him through her tears. Her relief in seeing him was so great she almost forgot about the story of his match. She looked quickly at his hand. No ring. Dare she hope?
“Yes, I had to come see for myself if you were really here, if you’d really survived the Triumph. It’s legendary, you know. The whole story. You must give me a firsthand account.”
“I will!” She grasped his hand and squeezed tightly, so grateful that he was real.
“Do you have plans? Could you come with me back to Lachute? I know Louisa would love to meet you and hear your story as well. I’ve told her so much about you.”
Marguerite's chest felt like an aership envelope folding in on itself. He’d punctured the very heart of her.
“Louisa?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes, she’s so wonderful. I know you’ll be fast friends.”
Marguerite let his hand slip from hers and took a deep breath, staring at the floor.
“Oh no.” Claude leaned in. “Marguerite, when you said we’d be together, did you mean you came here to marry me?”
The muscles in her chest tightened even more. Why was he always so direct? She couldn’t speak.
“Marguerite … ” It was his turn to take a deep breath. “I told you, in the garden, it couldn’t work. We are not meant to be together in that way. It just doesn’t feel right to me. It never has.”
She closed her eyes. She wished she could put her fingers in her ears like she did when she was a small child and run and hide, but after facing death more times than she cared to remember in the past two weeks, she couldn’t let Claude see her crumbling at a disappointment caused by her own stupidity.
He kept talking. “I think you just panicked. You were trapped back there. You were being forced into a life you wanted nothing to do with. And look at you! In a flight suit no less!” He grinned at her clothes, trying to lighten the heavy air surrounding them. “You escaped them all on your own, and you escaped pirates too! Not many girls of your status could say that.”
The words panic and girl stuck. He thought she was a silly, panicky girl. He thought she came flying across the sea, forsaking her inheritance, and braving pirate battles, to find him and marry him and work in the field like a commoner. The worst part was that he was right.
She was trying to catch her breath and think of a solid reply when there was a loud banging on the front doors.
Claude stood. “Do you often get visitors this late at night? I thought I was intruding but couldn’t wait till morning.”
The interruption gave her the distraction she needed to collect herself. “No, it’s usually very quiet here in the evenings.”
Claude made his way to the latch as a nun scurried in behind him to see who was calling. Marguerite wondered how far away she’d been and how much she overheard.
As Claude pulled back the large wooden door, it blocked Marguerite’s view. She took a moment to wipe her face again and pat her eyes.
She turned quickly when she heard Claude exclaim, “What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to collect Lady Mousseau and Lady Vadnay.” The voice was so familiar, and yet, she couldn’t place it. It reminded her of a curled lip somehow. Dancing? How strange to have other memories conjured around a voice, but not the face from which it came.
She stood and walked around the chairs to get a better view just as the visitor stepped past Claude and the nun into the full li
ght—Delacourte.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Right on his heels, in all her sour splendor, was Pomphart. She brushed off her skirts and stood in her most unnaturally erect position, then spotted Marguerite and smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Ahh, the runaway.” Pomphart didn’t even try to hide her joy at having caught Marguerite off guard. “You didn’t expect to see me here tonight, did you? I’m assuming this is the no-good smithy we are to blame for this tragedy?” She turned her sour gaze on Claude.
“No!” Marguerite stepped toward him, touching his arm in a protective gesture.
“Madame Pomphart.” Delacourte was stern but always the perfect gentleman. “I’m sure no one is to blame for what has happened and I’m sure Marguerite has been through quite enough. We have an ugly task ahead of us. Let’s not make it any uglier.”
For a second Marguerite swelled with gratitude at the verbal lashing Delacourte didn’t hesitate to pour out on her governess. It was probably the first time anyone had stood up to Pomphart for her. Maybe she had misjudged him.
“Marguerite, you must be completely at ends.” He turned to her with the kind of expression one gives a small child who’s been lost in the woods and missed supper. “With no more than one bot to serve you in this primitive dwelling—and what have they got you wearing, my dear? Never mind. I have rooms at the Cog and Sprocket, best hotel in Montreal, if you’d like to come with us and freshen up. I can send my man for a new wardrobe first thing.”
No, she hadn’t misjudged him at all.
In another time and place, the old Marguerite would have gladly accepted this offer of shelter and fine food, even on the arm of someone she did not respect. But the new Marguerite, the one who had run away, fought pirates, blown up an aership, and watched her childhood friend die, looked at Delacourte directly with her head held high and said, “No thank you. I’m quite comfortable here. I don’t need more than Outil to serve me and the company is most pleasant.” She motioned to the nun staring at them all with wide eyes as the scene unfolded. “Plus I’ve come to enjoy trousers. I think I might just wear them all the time.”
“Proud! Rebellious child! Ruining your father’s life! I’ll teach you a lesson!” Pomphart flew at her with her arm raised, but both men and Outil intercepted her. Marguerite took two steps back.
“That’s enough, Pomphart!” Claude was the first to cry out. “You’ll not touch a hair on this girl’s head again!”
“You think you’ll be able to keep her happy? You think she’ll go with you and live happily ever after in the wilderness? You are as much a fool as she is.” She spat out her last words with venom.
“She’s not going anywhere with me. I’m engaged to someone else. Now I think you’d better take yourselves to that fancy hotel and get some rest.”
Pomphart cackled loudly. “Already engaged? Already engaged! You must be joking! Did you just find that out, sweetheart?” She was laughing openly at Marguerite. “All of your hopes and dreams dashed by the bumpkin? Oh, Daddy will be so pleased when you come crawling home!”
“Yes, I agree,” Delacourte spoke quickly, cutting off the scene Pomphart was making. “It is time we retired for the night. We merely came to verify you were, in fact, alive and well. I’m very glad to see this is the case. We will return first thing in the morning to collect your things and … ” He paused. “Lady Vivienne, of course.”
Marguerite couldn’t help but notice a certain gleam in Delacourte’s eyes as he smiled at her. Was it because her plan had failed so tremendously? Did he think she would come running to him now? The conquering hero with evil governess in tow arriving to save the damsel in distress?
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“What do you mean? Don’t be silly.” Delacourte seemed amused.
“I’m staying right here, in New France.”
“What could you possibly want here in this third world?” Now he seemed annoyed.
“I’m going to … ” She faltered and looked at Outil. The answer came instantly. “I’m going to flight school. I want to be an aership pilot and here in New France women can do whatever they want.”
She noticed the little nun’s face first. From the way she was beaming with pride and relief, Marguerite was sure they had all thought she would die of a broken heart in the tiny bedroom.
“You want to do what?” Delacourte was completely flabbergasted. Pomphart looked completely unhinged, her hair standing out in odd angles and her mouth open. Outil still held her firmly by the arm.
Claude piped up in her defense, “She is going to be an amazing aership pilot.” The earlier look of admiration was back tenfold.
“And my father is my business, none of yours, especially now that there is no need for a governess. I’ll thank you to kindly tender your resignation immediately by telegraph or I will send word of your misdeeds to him, which include, but are not limited to, locking me in the cellar and leaving me for dead.” She spoke with such authority it startled even herself. Pomphart didn’t reply.
“Delacourte, there is no need to keep company with her. If you already have passage back you might as well send her on ahead and enjoy this fine city and rest for a day or so before you return.”
Both Delacourte and Pomphart looked put out at being told what to do by an injured girl with a puffy face wearing a man’s working outfit. They were sputtering, but the little nun jumped at their inability to form a rebuttal. “It’s official city curfew in fifteen minutes. You’d all better catch your rides back to your rooms now if you want to make it. We also have a strict no-visiting policy after lights out, which is in five minutes, so we must bid you all farewell tonight. I’ll be sure someone is ready to receive you in the morning to collect Lady Mousseau’s body.” And with that she ushered the wealthiest man in France and the meanest governess in the world out the door and barred it.
“I must be leaving as well then.” Claude stepped forward quickly before she locked him in.
“Oh no, dear,” the nun said with a smile, “I was telling a little holy lie to buy a few more minutes. Lights out is in half an hour and curfew doesn’t exist in peacetime.” She winked wickedly and toddled away.
Marguerite was thoroughly convinced she’d heard all of their previous conversation.
Claude turned to her as soon as the nun was around the corner and hugged her fiercely.
“I'm so glad you’re alive. I’m so glad you are here!” He whispered now, “You were wonderful! I’m so proud of you standing up to them like that.”
Marguerite winced in pain and pushed him back a bit.
“Ah! Your ruddy arm. I’m so sorry.” Claude let her go but kept an arm resting lightly on her good hand.
Marguerite felt her heart breaking all over again. Claude could tell it was more than her arm causing her face to contort.
He released her hand to touch her face. “You are my sister, Marguerite. You always have been. You always will be. I love you.” Please don’t let go of that. I couldn’t live thinking I didn’t have you as a best friend to write to and visit, to share all of my accomplishments with.”
She faced him strongly, a few tears sliding down her cheeks, and nodded.
“You are right. I don’t want to lose you completely. If you have found someone you love, then I’m happy for you.” And dwelling on the idea for just a moment, Marguerite found that she actually was happy for him. She did love him, so much so that she could let him go.
“I have to show you something, though.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the cricket, holding it reverently in the palm of her hand between them. “This little guy saved my life more than one time.”
“Oh, Marguerite!” Claude’s eyes lit up as he took the toy from her hand. “You brought this with you? It survived everything?”
“Oh, yes. It did more than survive; it literally saved my life. I’m not making that up.”
“I can testify to that,” Out
il chimed in quietly. They’d forgotten the bot was still there.
“I can’t wait to hear the story.” He turned the little beastie over in his hands then looked at Marguerite. “I hoped you would have this but I didn’t want to ask you. Remember how I told you I didn’t write up blueprints? Well, there’s a reason. I didn't want anyone to see them lying around and wonder what I was up to.”
He flipped it on its back and took a small metal tool from his coat pocket and tapped gently on the underside of the bug in a sort of pattern.
“I knew that you would keep it in your collection and take good care of it for me. I had no idea you’d actually bring it to me, and just when I needed it most!”
The cricket’s stomach flipped open, revealing the brilliant cog work and hidden crystal cells for power. Nested right in the middle amongst the machinery was a diamond larger than Marguerite’s thumb.
“Claude!” Marguerite gasped, wondering a million things at once. “How on earth? Where did that come from?”
“My mother gave it to me right before she died. It was her grandmother’s and was passed down until it came to me. They called it the family insurance plan. I think my great-grandmother had been noble-born but ran away with a commoner and took it with her to insure against poverty. The story goes that she never needed it, because they were always so rich with love.”
He smiled at her and flipped the diamond out into his palm. “But now Louisa and I have the chance to start our own fabrication shop in Lachute and this is exactly what we need for a down payment.”
He tucked the diamond into his breast pocket, closed the cricket’s belly up, and handed it back to Marguerite. “Outil knows the combination if you ever need to hide insurance of your own.”
Marguerite was exhausted. So many surprises after a week of nothingness. As much as she never wanted Claude to leave her side again, she was feeling the full force of the events overcome her.
“You look so tired.” Claude brushed a stray piece of hair off her forehead. “Go to bed and I’ll come get you bright and early tomorrow morning and show you around the city. I doubt old Pomphart will be here before lunchtime. Heaven knows Delacourte hasn’t seen the sunrise since the day he was born.” He gave her another quick hug, careful to mind her wound this time.
The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl Page 20