The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl

by Statham, Leigh

  “That sounds good.” Marguerite smiled and turned to leave.

  “Marguerite?” he called as he unlatched the giant doors.

  “Yes?”

  “I am very proud of you, and so glad you are alive.”

  “Me too.” She smiled warmly, knowing it was the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Marguerite awoke feeling more like herself than she had in weeks. Her arm still ached, but it was mobile and her head was clear. She got out of bed quickly and took her dressing things to the baths. She scrubbed off the filth of the past week. A nun helped her bandage her arm and brushed her hair thoroughly. She dressed in the flight suit that had been laundered for her in the night, most likely by Outil. She would have to be sure to thank her. Funny, she thought, it had never occurred to her before to thank a bot for anything. But Outil was more than a bot. She was more than a lot of things to Marguerite.

  She teared up again. This was no good. It was time to focus and go over the facts: Vivienne was gone, she couldn’t bring her back. Claude was going to be married to some girl he’d barely met, but he seemed genuinely in love, there was nothing she could do about that. She was a free woman in a land where women could do anything. She just had to make a go of things on her own.

  But she wasn’t truly alone; she had Outil.

  She took a few deep breaths and headed for the kitchens. None of the remaining girls at the convent were awake yet, but most of the nuns had been up for quite a while. They all gave her warm pats on the back and said sweet things about her heart mending quickly. No one mentioned her choice of clothing or the fact that she’d just spent the past six days locked in her room while they fed and cared for her. No one made her feel guilty or foolish, and for that she was extremely grateful.

  She knew she wanted to be out of the convent before Delacourte and Pomphart came back, but she didn’t want to hurry the next step.

  “Excuse me, sister?”

  “Yes?” It was the sweet older nun from her first day in Montreal.

  “I’d like to say goodbye to Vivienne if you don’t mind. I think I will be leaving today. I want to thank you for your hospitality and kindness as well.”

  “Think nothing of it. It is our duty as servants of God to serve our fellow men, and that includes His daughters. If you need us again, you can come here for any reason.”

  She led Marguerite down a dark hallway and down a set of stairs to a locked door. She produced an ancient-looking set of keys and fiddled around until she found the right one.

  “Please wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  It only took a few moments before she returned and beckoned for Marguerite to follow. Inside, the temperature dropped by at least twenty degrees. The walls were hung with reflectors attached to wires flowing up to the ceiling and across like tentacles, exiting the top of the door they’d just entered. Solar light piping, Marguerite thought. Brilliant. It cast a bluish light on the whole eerie scene.

  A series of nine tables filled the room. Five stood empty and three were obviously holding the remains of a few unfortunate souls covered in white shrouds. The remaining table, closest to the door, was covered with instruments of all shapes and sizes that Marguerite had no desire to learn about.

  On the table next to the instruments, the shroud had been pulled back and Marguerite could make out the light blue face of her friend, golden hair spilling around her like a halo of sunlight, even in this basement, in the cold.

  Marguerite took a few steps closer and gingerly touched her frozen cheek. She looked the same, but also so different. Marguerite tried to remember how she’d looked on the night they had been found, but it was too painful.

  She started to cry again, wondering if she would ever be able to stop.

  “I’m so sorry, my friend,” Marguerite whispered. “So sorry for everything.”

  The little nun patted her on the back. “It’s hard to let them go, but it’s not our fault. And from what crumbs of gossip I’ve gathered, you gave her more than anyone else ever had. It’s time to let go of the guilt—not the love or the memories, but the guilt needs to be left frozen in this room.”

  Marguerite nodded her head and dabbed at her eyes with her ever-present hanky. It had become a fixture in her pocket along with the cricket. How did ladies ever do anything without pockets, she wondered. Vivienne would have been appalled at the idea of pockets and she would have given Marguerite as much of a lecture as she was capable of if she’d seen her in this outrageous clothing. Marguerite chuckled out loud at her own thoughts.

  The nun tipped her head, curious.

  “You’re right,” Marguerite agreed with her. “It’s time to go.”

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to leave all of her guilt in the room that day, but she left a portion of it, and she felt lighter for it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Outil was waiting at the top of the stairs. “Master Claude is here.”

  It was still quite early; Marguerite was surprised he had come already. She said a few more quick goodbyes to the nuns and promised to send word when she had settled somewhere.

  “But your trousseau, dear?” one younger nun asked.

  “I won’t be needing it, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re not even going to try for a new match?” She seemed genuinely disappointed.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure I’m the marrying type.” She tried to smile it off, but the nun was clearly deflated.

  “I have to go now, Claude is waiting and I don’t want to see my other visitors again.” She smiled and took a deep breath before leaving the security of the convent.

  Claude was standing on the wide stone front porch. He grinned and shook his head when he saw her arrive with nothing but Outil and a carpetbag, wearing the same flight suit from the night before.

  “What?” She laughed at herself as well.

  “You’ve just changed so much.” He snickered. “I hardly recognize you.”

  “I haven’t changed that much, have I, Outil?”

  “I prefer not to comment.”

  “Outil!” Marguerite feigned shock as the three stepped out into the early morning light.

  Claude reached over and patted her head. “I’m glad they at least gave you a bath and combed your hair. You were quite a sight yesterday.” He laughed mischievously.

  This wasn’t at all how Marguerite had envisioned being with Claude in New France. Nothing had gone as she planned it. She felt a bit out of control, and a few lingering twinges of sadness, but mostly excited. She had a plan, and she still had Claude’s friendship.

  “Wait.” Claude pulled her aside before they left the yard for the street ahead. “I have something for you.”

  “You’d better hurry, I want to get out of here before Delacourte shows up.”

  “I know, it will only take a second. I just didn’t want the whole world and convent watching.”

  They were standing between a large hedge and a few mature maple trees. Claude reached into his own satchel and pulled out a bundle wrapped in burlap and tied with twine. Marguerite started to open it.

  “No, don’t. Put it in your carpetbag,” he hissed. “We’ll go straight to the bank when it opens. It’s your share of the diamond. I sold it this morning.”

  “What do you mean my share? Who in the world buys diamonds before sunrise?”

  “Never mind about that. You’re going to need some money. If you aren’t getting married you have to make your own way, and you can bet your father’s not going to pay for you to fly around New France wearing trousers.”

  He had a good point. Still, the idea of Claude giving her money seemed very strange.

  Was it possible to get used to surprises? She stood lamely staring at the parcel.

  “Blast it, Marguerite! Please just put it away. It’s a lot of money,” he insisted while looking around nervously. “Just keep it and use it and be happy, all right? Let me do this for y
ou.”

  “He has a point.” Outil was scanning the street as well, standing guard without even being asked, as usual.

  She looked up at Claude’s sweet face, so earnest, so kind. She felt deep inside her heart and asked again, Isn’t this the man I want to be with forever? Shouldn’t I fight for him?

  No.

  The answer was simple and quick. It fluttered to the surface of her heart with lightning speed. Now that she was face to face with her childhood friend, she realized he was just that: a friend. He had been right all along. They were not meant to be together as husband and wife. She would never be happy managing a farm and children in the wilds while he worked and invented. How had he gained so much wisdom before her? Hadn’t they grown up in the same place, with the same people?

  She tucked the packet in her bag and hugged him quickly. “Thank you. But are you sure you still have enough for your plans?”

  “Yes, there’s more than enough. Besides, you were the unaware smuggler.” He grinned at her. “I’ve got to pay you something for your troubles.”

  Marguerite felt sick for a moment. “But what if I’d lost it on the ship? Or left it in France? You would have never gotten it back.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t lose it. Granted, I didn’t think you’d bring it to me; that was quite a stroke of luck. But I knew that when and if I needed it, you were the one person I could count on to keep it safe and get it to me. And look! Here we both are benefitting from your hard work. Now let’s get going. Bank and school will be opened soon enough.”

  He pulled at her good arm and the two walked into the streets of Montreal as if not a day had passed since they were side by side on the estate in France.

  Marguerite couldn’t help but admire the budding town. The buildings were beautifully crafted in the latest architectural styles. There were businesses bustling with early morning deliveries, bakeries puffing delectable odors into the air, and businessmen in suits, shining and well-oiled bots, as well as workmen in common clothes walking side by side into their days. It seemed to be a thriving little place. Marguerite liked it immediately.

  The bank was their first stop. They waited with a few others while watching auto-carriages roll by. Marguerite had seen a few similar styles back home, but at least two seemed to be hand-built and were quite ingenious, with steam clouding the air around them and beautiful gears turning in the sun as it peeked over the horizon. The town clock struck the hour and a mechanical bird popped its head out of a small door over the bank entrance and began to sing. Delighted, Marguerite watched with the anticipation of a child, never noticing the strange looks she was getting from those eyeing her jumpsuit.

  When the bird finished its song and tucked itself back behind its doors, the bank entrance slid open on its own and the lobby filled with people eager to complete their transactions at the start of day. They waited in line and then easily opened an account in Marguerite’s name using the paperwork the nuns had collected for her while she mourned. She had started to refer to her seven-day crying fit as The Week of Wallowing, and Outil had agreed it was a fitting name.

  Marguerite’s heart started beating out of her chest as they left the bank and Claude turned to her to ask, “Flight school should be open; are you sure you’re ready for this? This is what you want?”

  “Yes.” She’d thought about it all night and all morning; it had been a tiny seed in the back of her mind bouncing around at the speed of light. Now it was slowing down and she could almost wrap her heart around it and watch it sprout into something real. She could hardly contain herself.

  “Good, because I think it’s an excellent idea.” Claude smiled.

  The school was only a few blocks away. It was a beautiful building on the banks of the St. Lawrence River. Two small dirigibles were tethered to the roof, making it easy to pick out from blocks away. As they approached, they were greeted by double gates that opened onto a large courtyard in the middle. There were three rows of girls inside doing some sort of morning exercise routine amidst a garden of beautiful shrubberies and thick, soft grass. None of them were wearing trousers. Marguerite was slightly disappointed.

  The main office was marble-clad and filled with women of all ages bustling around with papers and ink wells. A few bots were here and there doing menial tasks. They stepped up to the front desk and a woman approached. “May I help you?”

  Marguerite looked at her blankly. Claude poked her gently in the arm and cleared his throat.

  “Oh, yes!” She realized she wasn’t going to have anyone doing any of this for her. She was on her own. “I’d like to register for flight school.” She could barely contain her teeth, she was smiling so broadly.

  The woman chuckled at her. “Well, you’re in the right spot, but I’m afraid you're a bit late. The new semester just started and we won’t take any more students until the New Year.”

  “What?” All of her insides deflated. “But … ”

  “Let her in.” A deep, familiar voice from behind filled the empty moment. “She’ll have no problem catching up with the others. She’s probably light years ahead of them in engineering anyway. You won’t be sorry.”

  Marguerite turned and found herself face to face with Jacques.

  “Captain Laviolette, so glad to have you back.” The woman behind the counter beamed and twittered at him. All women beamed and twittered at him. “I’ll take your recommendation straight to the headmaster and be back in a few minutes.”

  “Good. Thank you.” He motioned for Marguerite to reply as well.

  “Yes,” she called after the woman. “Thank you.”

  “So you’re the famous Captain Laviolette?” Claude seemed genuinely interested in meeting him. He stuck out his hand.

  “Yes, I am. I take it you are the famous Claude Durand?”

  The two shook hands firmly while Marguerite stared in amazement.

  Claude saw Marguerite’s verbal hesitation and jumped in, ever the gentleman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you have an affiliation with the school?”

  “Yes, I taught here for a few months in between commissions and I’m hoping to do so again.”

  “You’re an instructor here?” Marguerite was beginning to rethink her plan.

  “Not officially, not yet.” Jacques seemed to search her face for something. “I still have ties here, however, and it won’t be a problem making sure you can start this week. If this is what you have decided to do?” He looked questioningly from Claude to Marguerite.

  “Yes. It is.” She stood a bit taller, even though between these two men she felt very small and more than a bit awkward. She glanced at Outil for reassurance. The bot seemed to be smirking, if it were even possible for a bot to smirk.

  “I heard you were arrested?” she asked. Stupid. What a stupid thing to say in public. Why had she said that?

  “Yes, unfortunately there was a bit of a misunderstanding.”

  “I’m glad to see it was all cleared up.” She paused for a moment then added, “I’m sorry I was not available to testify on your behalf.”

  “It wasn’t necessary. Please do not worry. It’s all in the past.”

  At that moment a very pretty girl walked by and chirped, “Captain Laviolette! It’s so wonderful to have you back.”

  He smiled and chatted with her warmly, patting her hand delicately when it was offered. Marguerite took special note of the fact that he had not been that warm when he greeted her. But why should he? Better yet, why should she long for him to smile and pat her hand the way he just did with a stranger?

  You’re jealous, she told herself.

  Ludicrous! Do not be jealous.

  Oh, but you are, and your heart is filling with something warm right now while you look at him. It’s longing.

  Stop it. Stop longing. It’s not fair to Vivienne.

  “Miss, er … Lady Vadnay?” The woman was back at the counter.

  “Yes?” Marguerite pulled herself away from h
er inner battle.

  “I’ve had a word with the headmaster and as long as we have Captain Laviolette’s guarantee, you are welcome to start classes tomorrow. We’ll get you a spot in the dormitories today and help you set a schedule and acquire books.”

  “You have my word. She will make you proud. I’m sure of it,” Jacques responded before the woman was even done speaking. Then he turned to Marguerite. “Is there anything else you two require? Mr. Durand?”

  Something occurred to Marguerite then. “How do you know his last name?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How do you know Claude’s last name? I told you it was Vadnay.”

  “Captain Laviolette is the one who telegraphed to tell me where you were and that you were alive.” Claude stated the fact as if it were common knowledge. “Must have done it from a bleeding jail cell. Very good of you. Can’t thank you enough!”

  “It was nothing. Just a little research.” Jacques seemed to be embarrassed. It was not a state Marguerite could ever remember having seen him in.

  “You are a very lucky man,” Jacques blurted out quickly and shook Claude’s hand again before turning to leave. “Please excuse me. It seems I need to apply for another commission. Good day.”

  And with a quick bow and a few strides he was gone.

  “What do you mean he wrote to you from jail?” Marguerite was still trying to put it all together.

  “That’s how I knew where to find you. I thought you knew that?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “He also wrote to Vivienne’s parents and your father.”

  “I thought the nuns had taken care of all that.”

  “No, miss,” Outil chimed in now. “They said the military informed the families.”