Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (6 page)

Marguerite was speechless. She nodded a bit and stood. The dean stood as well. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your time and insight. I will keep all of this in mind. Might I call on you later to inquire as to the position on the ship?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I will send a pigeon in a few days.” He opened the door for her and Outil.

“One other thing.” Marguerite had almost entirely forgotten. “Do you suppose I could retake my flight test this week? Is there any chance of that? As a special favor?” She smiled prettily.

“I’m sorry. We really can’t do that. I’d love to, but really, I can’t. There is another test in two weeks time. If this position doesn’t work for you, then we’ll have you set to retake then. Never fear, m’lady. You will not go to waste in New France. We will keep you engaged.”

Engaged.
Marguerite shuddered at the word but smiled and thanked the dean again before leaving. Once they were safely out of earshot, Marguerite turned to her bot, smiling. “That went rather well, don’t you think?”

“Yes, m’lady. Very interesting. Congratulations on passing your exams.”

“Oh, I knew all along that I would pass. It was just a matter of finding out for certain. Now all I need to do is make things good with Father. And that begins with new clothes. Where shall we spend our money today?”

The two spent the afternoon patronizing two dressmakers and a corsetiere. The result was a much more refined Marguerite and an Outil with very little energy in her reservoir.

“Father, we are home!” Marguerite cried as she entered the towering double front doors, leaving Outil to pay the driver. Faulks came stomping into the hall. “Welcome home, m’lady.”

“Where is Father?”

“In his study. Will you be dining with us tonight?”

“Of course.” Marguerite hurried past the bot, anxious to show her repentance by attire and to discuss her plans with her father. She found him in the study, as Faulks had said. Only he wasn’t reading. He was fast asleep in his armchair, a copy of “The Hundred Years’ War and its Follies in Weaponry” lying precariously on his lap. She regarded him for a moment. He looked so much older like this. So grey, and so very lined about the face. Her heart softened a bit as she regarded him.

“Father?” She asked quietly.

“Huh?” He jumped from his sleep with a start. The book slid from his legs and to the floor with a loud
thud
. Marguerite bent to pick it up. “My dear, what are you doing? What are you wearing?” He seemed confused, still on the edge of dreams and reality. She set the book on his bureau and spun so he could fully appreciate her new emerald green dress.

“I have a waist, Father. Aren’t you happy?”

He rubbed his face and smiled in admiration. “You look amazing. Thank you. What is the special occasion?”

“Just that I missed seeing you smile when I came into a room, and I have good news.”

“Of course. Please, sit down and tell me about your day.”

Marguerite sat on the edge of a comfortable chair and leaned forward. “I have spoken with the dean of the school, and he has told me that I passed all of my exams. I even scored perfect marks in some of them.” She smiled triumphantly.

“Well, then.” Her father hesitated. “I suppose that is wonderful news.”

“Yes. It is. It proves that I have more than just fluff in my head.”

“I never thought that of you.” He leaned forward, his face earnest.

“I have proof that it isn’t true now, for anyone who does.” She sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

“What is the next step for you then?” Her father stood and picked the book up off his bureau. He placed it carefully on the shelf.

“That is precisely what I wanted to talk with you about. I have a few opportunities ahead.” Marguerite formed her words carefully as she watched her father align the book spines on the shelf with the precision of a watchmaker.

“Go on,” He spoke without looking at her.

“Father, the last time we tried to make plans together, it ended badly. I would like to avoid that this time, but I’d also like to retain my independence.” The words came out in a rush.

Lord Vadnay turned and regarded her now. “It ended badly because you ran off in the night.”

“Yes. I know. No need to bring that up. Except that I would like to avoid a repeat performance.”

“At least we agree on that.” He took a seat across from her and sat forward listening intently. “What do you have in mind?”

Marguerite had to take a moment to compose herself. It occurred to her that this was the first time her father had asked her that—what she wanted. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to mess this up. “You know that I want to fly. And that I have the intelligence and strength to serve in His Majesty’s aerguard.”

“Marguerite, dear. If all you want is to fly, I can buy you a dirigible. We can get your papers in order, and you can fly to your heart’s content.”

“That’s just it. I fear I will never be happy with my own little dirigible. I want to be part of something. I want to—well, I suppose I want to help people.” Marguerite’s words surprised her. She thought about what she’d said as she watched her father mull it over as well. Did she mean it? Or was she just saying this to get her way?

After probing her heart a bit further, she decided she did mean it. Working alongside Jacques to save
The Triumph
had been the highlight of her life. Losing Vivienne had been the worst moment of her life, but she knew she’d helped countless other girls that night. She wanted to do that again. She wanted to make a difference.“You want to
help
people?” Her father was still considering her sincerity.

Marguerite decided to explain what she had only just discovered herself. She’d never told him what she had been through before. The short telegraphs merely assured him of her safety and happiness. Sitting in the library with him now, she felt it was time to open up and recount the whole story. How she’d fought pirates, saved passengers, taken charge of evacuation, and helped to destroy the ship to keep it from falling into enemy hands. Her father sat at attention, his brow furrowed, taking in every word.

Marguerite’s hands were sweaty and her heart racing as she finished her tale. A piece of hair had fallen out of place and covered one eye. She tucked it behind her ear quickly without thought to her appearance and waited for his reply.

“That’s what I want, Father. Not necessary hand-to-hand combat, but I want to make the world a better place. I want to serve in the aerguard, and I want to help France.”

Lord Vadnay shook his head and looked down at his feet. He splayed his fingers, pushing the tips together as he leaned forward, forearms to knees. He didn’t speak. “Father?” Marguerite braced herself for an explosion of temper.

“You are just like her,” he whispered.

“Like who?”

Lord Vadnay sat up and looked at his daughter, tears in his eyes. “Like your mother. She wanted adventure as well. She wasn’t quite as bold as you, and she was never dedicated to helping others. She just wanted out of France. I, on the other hand, wanted a beautiful companion and lots of children running free on the estate.” He pulled a hanky from his waistcoat and wiped roughly at his face. Marguerite didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen her father like this before.

“I fought with her about it for years. She ran off once, but then she came back.” Marguerite thought of the letters she’d found in the trunks of the estate back in France, her mother begging for forgiveness.

“So, I brought her home. We were happy for a while, and you were born, making our joy complete—or so I thought. But she grew restless again. She blamed me for her isolation and dull life. She called me a jailor. She lost interest in you, and all things eventually. I was afraid she would harm herself. I consulted doctors and specialists. They prescribed all kinds of ridiculous tonics and therapies. Then one day, she was gone. You were just shy of two years old, and she disappeared into the night.”

A lump formed in Marguerite’s throat. If only she’d known this story a year ago, she might not have run off into the night.

“At first, I resolved to find her and drag her back. It was my right as her husband to do so, but I knew it would just lead to more of the same, so I gave up. I focused my attentions on you. Such a tiny little thing with no mother to care for you now. My heart turned to you and there it has stayed.” He wiped at his face again and cleared his throat.

“I had no idea.” Marguerite stood and walked to her father’s side, gently laying her arm on his shoulder. He was suddenly strong again. All emotion swept aside.

“I know. I didn’t see the need to bring that kind of shame to your pretty head. The trouble is all my doing. I should have faced the truth long ago. You are your mother’s daughter.”

Marguerite felt taken aback at this statement. “I am not.”

Lord Vadnay laughed out loud and patted her hand. “I don’t mean to say that you would torment me to such extremes, but you have tormented me some.”

“Yes, I have, but had you told me of her and how she broke your heart, we may have avoided a few things in the past year. We might not have wasted so much time being angry at one another.”

“Yes, well, that is all in the past now, isn’t it?”

“Where is she now?” Marguerite wasn’t going to let this point fade into the background. Her mother didn’t die like he said she had. “It’s a fairly terrible thing to tell a child their mother is dead when in reality, they are just off gallivanting somewhere.”

“I don’t believe she is gallivanting anywhere. I told you she died because I believe she has. After she left me, her choices were not conducive to a long life. I tried to keep up with her for a few years, but it soon became evident that this was pointless.”

“But you don’t know for certain?” Marguerite felt silly and small asking this question, like a child clinging to a favorite toy.

“No, but I have compelling evidence to suggest as much. When we return home to the continent, I will show you all the documentation I have and some likenesses that were painted before you were born. It’s time I did at least that much for you. For now, tell me what you plan to do.”

He smiled at her, and she hesitated. This was a lot of information to consider all at once. Then again, she finally had her father’s attention. He wanted to hear her out. He wanted to support her. She could push him to answer more questions about his shadowed past, but that could push him far away again. She felt his smooth old fingers hold her own young ones and felt a rush of warmth in her chest as she looked at his lined face, then Marguerite told him her plan.

The letter came by street post three days later. It had been a long three days, but also quite enjoyable for Marguerite. Her mind had been hovering on the possibilities the next week would bring, but her heart was resting in lazy days spent with her father.

He begrudgingly agreed to support her scheme, even though it was dangerous and altogether unbecoming for a wealthy young girl to pursue. This made their time together even less strenuous. They spent time in the library of their new home. They took the autocart out for drives every afternoon, and one day they even hired a private steamship to take them up the St. Lawrence River for the afternoon.

Marguerite was true to her word and invited Dean Beaumont to tea. He and her father got along swimmingly. This helped to ease the burden of guilt she carried when she thought of leaving him once again. At least he would have a friend to chum around Montreal with for a bit.

The evening after the boating holiday, an automated pigeon dropped in through their aermail slot carrying a rolled parchment bearing Marguerite’s name. She just happened to be walking through the entryway when the clicking and cooing mechanical bird landed on the guest perch and dropped its cargo on the table.

“What a sweet little thing you are.” Marguerite patted its shiny grey back and pulled an oil can from the table’s hidden drawer. She gave the bird a couple of pumps of oil in each wing then bid it farewell, as it hopped to the swinging exit window and flew back into the street.

“Outil!” Marguerite shouted, “It’s here!” She eagerly peeled off the wax seal and unrolled the thick off-white paper. Her automaton came up behind her and placed a shining silver hand on each of Marguerite’s shoulders, peering over to the words below. “What does it say, miss?” the bot asked quietly. Marguerite read quickly then let the paper snap closed again in her hand. She turned to face Outil, biting her lower lip.

“What is this racket?” her father cried.

“Father, I have an assignment on
The Renegade
!” She was breathless with excitement.

“I’m hoping that’s the name of an aership?” Her father puffed into the entryway, Faulks and a human servant trailing a safe distance behind. “It is!”

“And is it Laviolette’s ship?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“And this is what you wanted?” His voice was lower now, despite the acoustics in the vaulted room.

“Yes, Father. It is.”

“Well, then, I suppose we must celebrate.” Marguerite shoved the letter in the pocket of her dress and threw her arms around him in a very un-ladylike embrace. He grumbled and grunted and patted her back, then started barking orders at the servant to prepare a feast for dinner that evening.