“I know. I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t want to trouble you, but I’m so happy here, and I didn’t know how to explain by letter. I feel like I’m finally using my brain and my talents. People respect me because I’m working hard and doing well, not because I’m your daughter or because I have money.”
She knew this wasn’t all true, but it fell off her tongue so quickly and easily, and it just sounded right. She was happy. And wasn’t this what a father would want to hear? Not that his daughter was laughed at and tormented because of who she was and where she came from?
“Well, money is something we must discuss.” His tone turned dark. He looked her up and down. “Please explain this clothing. I arrived last night, and I haven’t seen one other lady wearing anything of this sort. However, I have seen several young men in similar.” His glance was accusatory and suspicious.
“When our ship went down, I lost everything I brought.” She hesitated before explaining further. It was still hard to think back on that day. “My gown was soaked in seawater and blood. All they had for us to change into on the rescue ship was a flight suit. It was so warm and comfortable, and such a relief to get the soil of the wreck off, I couldn’t resist. I suppose it’s become a symbol of my new life.”
“Darling, it’s been several months,” he said with eyebrows raised again. “You must know that there are rumors … er … more than just about you leaving home. Now that I see you face to face, I’m beginning to worry these rumors are not without substance.”
Outil appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray and followed by Jacques. Suddenly the tiny space felt close to bursting.
“I see the automaton survived. Curious,” her father said.
“Lord Vadnay,” Outil dipped low, balancing the tray perfectly.
“At least you aren’t without a servant.” He did not acknowledge her piety. “And you. Explain yourself.” He looked at Jacques, who seemed just as stunned as Marguerite to see her father this early in the morning, two days ahead of schedule.
“Sir,” Jacques stood tall and offered a small bow in greeting. “I am an instructor in this school and an acquaintance of your daughter, as you will remember from the ball at your home several months ago.”
Marguerite noticed that he left off the part about being the captain of the ship that was bested by pirates, or the fact that he blew it up and was investigated by a formal inquiry.
Her father’s face grew dark nonetheless. “Oh, yes. I know who you are.” He turned back to his daughter. “Marguerite, I’d like you to move into my quarters for my duration in New France. I can send a man for your … things.” He looked around the room with disdain once again, his eyes rested on the humble meal Outil was carrying. “And we will get you some proper food.”
Marguerite’s stomach jerked in upon itself as she fought to get the words out she knew she had to speak. Defying her father in the middle of the night with no one watching was a far cry from openly disobeying him to his face.
“Father, I … ” she began.
Jacques stepped forward. “Lady Vadnay actually has a very important examination that will keep her engaged for the rest of the day. She is required to report to the lecture hall within the hour and will complete the exercises sometime in the afternoon.”
Within the hour … the words made her stomach even more upset. It was almost time. She was almost finished. She just had to get past her father first.
“Marguerite?” Her father looked at her, his hands on his hips and his chest puffed out. “What is he talking about?”
“It’s a school, father. I’ve been learning aeronautics and steam engineering. Today is my final examination before I am assigned my own ship to pilot.” She took a deep breath and suddenly felt five years old again, begging for a mechanical pony. “I’m going to be a pilot, father. I’m going to fly!”
He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. He took a deep breath.
“Sir, she has attained the top place in her class—academically,” Outil added without mentioning the test flight disaster. “She is the brightest student in the history of the school.”
“Outil is correct … ” Jacques tried to add.
“Enough.” He cut them off and then looked at Marguerite. She thought she saw tears welling in his eyes, but he spoke with the authority of a king. “My man will collect your belongings from this closet. You will report to my home immediately.” His voice was even and deadly serious. Marguerite set down her book, picked up her cape, and stepped past him into the hall by Jacques and Outil.
“Father, I will meet you for supper this evening at any location you choose. Outil will take down the address and escort me. If you wish for me to live in your rooms, I accept, gladly. I have many things I wish to discuss with you as well, but only after my examination. I’ve worked very hard to learn this material. I’ve paid my own money for this experience. I will see it through to the end.” She dipped low in a curtsy, made ridiculous by her flight suit, and turned to walk down the hall.
“You are just like your mother! Stubborn and hard headed!” He hollered after her. Marguerite did not look back.
Chapter Five
Her hands twitched and trembled as she tried to hold the pen steady and scrape it on the edge of the ink well. She blotted it carefully and began to write. The more she lost herself in the technical details of the questions, the more she felt the drama of the morning melt away.
Her thoughts began to flow more easily, and the knowledge she’d pored over for the past few months all came together. There was even a portion of the test that she knew she bested simply because of her time on Jacques’s ship, The Triumph.
They had a small break for lunch. Marguerite was a bit saddened that Outil and Jacques were not waiting for her in the dining room, but she ate quickly and sped back to the lecture hall, giving herself time to stretch and think and breathe deeply before the second half began.
Much to her relief, Outil was waiting for her at the end of the day. If the automaton had been anything softer than brass gears and panels, Marguerite may have fallen into her arms and wept for joy. She was exhausted, but also confident that she’d passed without a flaw. This was her passion. This was her talent. It was just a shame, for her father’s sake, that she hadn’t been born a boy.
“M’lady, congratulations!” Outil used the most excited version of her mechanical voice for this exclamation. “There is an autocart waiting to take us to your father’s home. He has already removed your belongings from the school.”
“Thank you, Outil. How does he seem?”
“He is not in good spirits.”
“That’s not surprising.”
Outil adjusted a button on Marguerite’s shirt that was about to come undone. “I believe that although he did not wish to, he may have enjoyed the tour of the city Master Laviolette and I took him on today.”
“You took him on a tour? With Jacques?” Marguerite was incredulous. “That’s a small miracle, Outil. I was sure he would have you sent out for scrap and me chopped up for chum after this morning.”
“Excuse me for saying so, but I believe he loves you much more than that.” Outil motioned down a path to their left. “This way.”
“What is it they say? Out of the gearbox, into the oil,” Marguerite mumbled.
The cab was the latest model from Paris, of course. Marguerite had seen a precious few on the streets of Montreal up to this point. She wondered if her father secured it as a rental. or if he’d brought it with him on the ship.
The rear seat was plush and comfortable and made from the softest velvet. Marguerite caught herself running her hand across it, longing for her own room at her childhood home filled with similar fabrics and softness. It had been close to a year since she’d slept on a feather bed with real satin sheets and a duvet that didn’t smell like it was made from a yak. Independence was nice, but so was luxury.
The driver looked at the pair in the rear mirror with
a smirk but drove through the streets overflowing with horse-drawn carriages, autocarts and those on foot, without comment. A short drive along the St. Lawrence River brought them to a formidable brick home with modern lights flanking a huge mahogany door. “Lovely, of course,” Marguerite commented. “Where is Jacques now?”
“He had an engagement to attend this evening. He wanted me to assure you that he would call on you tomorrow at your father’s home.” The driver pulled to a stop, got out, and opened the door for the ladies. They stepped from the autocart and walked to the front door. It opened before they touched the knob. An automaton stood at attention, beckoning they enter.
“M’lady, your father awaits.” Its voice had none of the sweet inflection or lilt of Outil’s, but his gear work was magnificent and his metal shiny and new.
Marguerite walked past, taking him in, followed by the grand foyer beyond. Outil replied, “Thank you,” and followed. Fresh flowers stood on delicate tables lining the walls of a round room with a vaulted ceiling. Windows lined the top of the space, each covered with a rainbow of stained glass. An elegant staircase clung to the wall, winding its way to the second floor.
“Your room is at the top of the stairs. I will show you there if you will please follow me,” the bot croaked before stomping up the stairs in a very ungraceful fashion. Marguerite looked at Outil, who rolled her metallic blue eyes. The gesture was so human and so appropriate for the moment; Marguerite burst out a little giggle as they ascended the stairs behind the clomping bot.
“There you are.” Her father’s voice filled the rotunda and bounced off the gilt ceiling. Marguerite looked down at him from halfway up the stairs to the second-floor balcony. This welcome was decidedly less warm than the previous one. She was going to have to figure out how to apologize for ignoring his orders without giving up her hard-earned independence.
“Yes, here we are,” she answered and walked down the stairs.
“Faulks will show you to your room. Please rest and change for dinner. We have much to discuss, and I’m hungry enough to eat a brass elephant, so we’ll dine early.”
“Yes, sir.” Marguerite’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but her father didn’t seem to notice. After all these months successfully navigating life on her own, she found it ridiculous to have someone telling her how to dress and when to eat.
The room at the top of the stairs was gorgeous. Deep, ocean blue draperies flanked floor to ceiling windows. The bed filled most of the floor with four posts, a duvet that matched the curtains, and a mountain of pillows. Outside, Marguerite had a view of the city gardens and the river. It was truly glorious.
Her father’s bot, Faulks, opened the doors to a towering wardrobe in one corner of the room. The trunk from her school and all of her books sat at the other side of the room. “These were brought in for her Ladyship this afternoon. We apologize for the lack of selection and possibly ill-fitting styles; we will do our best to update your wardrobe as soon as possible.”
“That will do.” Marguerite waved the bot away and flopped on the bed in a very unladylike fashion. Faulks didn’t react. He nodded his shiny silver head and clomped out of the room. Outil shut the door. “Ah! This bed is like a cloud!” She spread her arms out and closed her eyes. “Outil, see if there is anything decent I can stand to wear tonight. I suppose I have to do something for Father.”
Outil sifted through the contents of the closet and pulled out a light blue dress of fine linen and helped Marguerite dress for the evening. They left the room together and made their way down the stairs.“Best keep to yourself tonight. Father doesn’t like automatons with opinions.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Outil answered.
The dining room was through the main lobby and around a corner. It was just as opulent as the rest of the home. Her father sat at one end of a huge table with only two place settings. He rose when she entered the room.
She decided on the spot to be kind to him. After all, she already knew she wasn’t going to do anything he said. She might as well let him down easily. If there was a relationship to be saved without ruining her plans, she would save it.
“Hello, father. This is a wonderful home.” She offered her hand and curtsied slightly. He took it and kissed it, a broad smile spreading under his mustache. She noted that it had much more grey in it than the last time she’d seen him.
“This is the daughter I’ve been longing to see.” He beamed again and gestured for her to sit. As her father sat across from her at the end of a very long table, a human servant entered the dining room and served them the first course, a creamed soup with tiny bits of truffle and carrot.
“My dear, I want to tell you that I am not as horrible as you might think. I was took ill when I heard you’d run away. And when I got news of The Triumph going down, I was even more devastated.”
Marguerite had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something sarcastic about him not caring enough to actually come help her; instead sending Madame Pomphart and a slick suitor. They’d traded letters a few times over the past few months, but only in the form of checking in to make sure the other was still alive.
“Now that we are together at last, and your schooling is out of the way, we should revisit our plans and start over fresh,” he said with a smile.
To anyone else, that would sound like a perfectly lovely way to reconcile, but Marguerite knew it was a thinly veiled way to let her know he was still in control and had come to clean up the mess she’d made of her life. She opened her mouth to rebut him in the kindest way she knew how, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “First things first. We are going to have to find you a suitable match here, since you seem to prefer it to France. I purchased this home with the idea of staying here until you are settled, then passing it along to you and whomever the lucky man is you choose. I hear that’s how it is done here in the new world.”
Marguerite was actually touched by his effort to meet her halfway, but she paused before speaking, “Thank you, that is very considerate, and yes, that is how it is done here in New France. But what do you mean you bought this home?”
“I also spoke with Captain Laviolette today. He is quite taken with you, but I made it clear that my aspirations for you are much higher than an aership captain who can’t keep his own ship from blowing up.” He was playing cat and mouse. She was obviously the mouse.
“I know you don’t approve of Jacques, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to get married, Father. We are not engaged; he is just a dear friend. Perhaps when I do decide to marry, it would be to someone like him, but for the time being, do not ignore my question. What do you mean you bought this house?”
“Well, if that is your attitude, then it’s just as well that I’ve leased out the estate in France. I’m here to stay, my dear. There is no reason for us to be apart. We are the only family left to each other.” Marguerite’s heart dropped. This could ruin everything. She would have to put her plan into action first thing in the morning if it was going to work. Otherwise, her father would embed himself into the society and start dragging her around to balls again.
She thought of the last ball she attended and shuddered. She’d rather risk her life in the aether.
Chapter Six
Marguerite rolled over and dramatically pounded the bed with her fists. “Men make me furious, Outil. Who do they think they are? They can’t plan my life for me.”
“If you will excuse me, ma’am, I am not sure I understand why you are so upset this morning.”
“I was up half the night thinking of all my hard work being thwarted by the men who claim to love me.”
“I am sorry, but I don’t see how anyone is thwarting you, m’lady.” Outil pulled open the curtains to let the sunshine fall on Marguerite’s bed and spill down to the floor.“Jacques thinks he can tell me when and where I can serve, and my father just moved halfway around the world to try and salvage my love life.”
“I believe your father moved here to
try and salvage his relationship with you, m’lady. And Jacques is correct about the rules of the Royal Fleet. You cannot serve on the bridge unless he calls in many favors, and that would not be favorable for anyone.”
“But I could still serve on the ship. Why does he think I spent this whole year at school if not to serve on an aership? He thinks he can keep me here safe and sound while he goes off and has all the fun, but he is dead wrong.” Marguerite sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Come, we’re going to the school. I can’t wait for the post to determine my future either. All I must do is get my test scores and my own post. Neither my father nor Jacques need to know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Outil set to work taming Marguerite’s hair while Marguerite continued to grumble about men in general. Eventually, she was presentable, and the pair set off down the street, a breezy Montreal spring welcoming them. At the school, Marguerite proceeded straight to the dean’s office. She knocked firmly on the door three times. “Yes?” A voice from the other side answered.
Marguerite walked in and pronounced loudly, “Dean Beaumont, I am Lady Marguerite Vadnay here to speak with you about my future at this school and as an aership pilot.”
The stout man with the neatly trimmed beard and immaculate dress stood slowly but didn’t look up from his papers immediately. Marguerite had always admired him from afar for his high standards of dress and decorum; however, she’d never had to speak one-on-one with him before. She was starting to feel uneasy with his silence, when he finally put the paperwork down and looked at her properly. Then he motioned for her to take a seat across from him. Outil took her place standing behind Marguerite’s chair.
“Yes, of course. What seems to be the matter then, Lady Vadnay?” He asked, looking at her fully now, taking in her strange flight suit and perfectly styled hair.
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 3