The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (28 page)

“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,” Outil 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.

“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.

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.

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.