The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (13 page)

Both girls giggled and turned back to stare at Laviolette as he finished his speech.

“As I close, I’d just like to remind you that here, on the great ship Triumph, we are all equals. Each of us has a unique history and we all have our own assignments to fulfill, but we are bound for a land that is like nowhere you’ve ever been before. It is a land where women and men of all social stations work side by side to carve homes out of the wilderness, where servants and masters share dinner at a common table, where we band together, not only for survival, but also for strength and the common good of France, our great Motherland. I’m excited to share it with you and hope that you come to love it as I do.” He bowed deeply to the crowd as the room thundered with applause and shouts.

One of the girls at Marguerite’s table turned to her. “He may not be a good dancer, but he knows how to excite a room full of women.”

Marguerite rolled her eyes and shifted on her tiny stool. She was rolling Laviolette’s speech around in her mind. Surely not all of New France was as he described—a wilderness needing to be carved out. Montreal was said to be a beautiful and very cosmopolitan city, as were other cities along the coast, or so she’d heard. They must mean for all of these farm girls to marry common soldiers and tackle the edges of the frontier lands. But as she thought more about it, she realized that she wouldn’t mind eating dinner with the servants if it meant that Claude was at the head of the table in their own home.

She watched Laviolette stop briefly to whisper something to Captain Moreau before he exited the stage. Moreau nodded and took the speaking device back.

“Ladies and gentleman, in an effort to celebrate this beautiful new ship and our new home before us, Captain Laviolette has suggested we stage a ball after evening meal here in the dining room. Please join us in our revelry as we make new friends and enjoy the finest ship that King Louis XIV has to offer!”

The room erupted in the loudest round of applause yet. People leapt from their seats and whooped and whistled. Marguerite found it all very uncouth but stood, clapping demurely all the same, and turned to leave as the rest of the crowd poured into the passageways back to their rooms.

Marguerite followed, her frustration surging as she was jostled about in the crowd. She received several more long stares from other girls, and a few from the crew as well, which only helped to further her bad mood. At the last turn she was relieved to find the passage to her quarters nearly empty. She let out a deep sigh and headed for her door when someone grabbed her elbow.

“Excuse me, miss.” It was the steward who’d initially shown them the way. “Beg your pardon.” He quickly let go of her arm when she glared at him and pulled it back. “The ship’s captain has requested that you dine with him this evening. It’s the custom for the ladies of the upper classes to eat at the captain’s table with the highest-ranking officers.”

“Yes, about that, exactly how many
ladies of the upper classes
are aboard this vessel?”

“Well, yourself, of course,” he said, pausing, “and your companion, miss.”

“I see.” Marguerite realized her folly now. The contract she signed had not been for this voyage, it was for all the nobles who’d ever flown away with the blessing of the King to New France. All of those names scrawled on the paper had actually gone before her. None were here now. The common girls must have had their own documentation, as was the case in the military. “And how long, exactly, is this voyage supposed to take?”

The steward lit up at this question. “It used to take us a full week or more, miss, but the Triumph has been rated as one of the fastest aerships in His Majesty’s fleet and should have us there in five days or less!”

“In that case, we shall take all our meals in our rooms.” She turned briskly and continued down the hall.

“But miss!” The steward chased after her. “We don’t serve meals in the cabins, not even the suites.”

“That doesn’t matter, I’ll send my bot to fetch it for us.” She didn’t turn around but kept marching toward her door.

“But miss—” He was out of breath trying to keep up. “The captain … ”

“The captain will be just fine dining with his fellow officers and the rest of the riffraff on this boat. Good day.” She reached her door and quickly stepped inside, closing it before the little man could bark at her anymore.

“What an ordeal!” She sat, locked the bolt, and lay on the large lounge fanning herself. Outil came from the bedroom and quietly closed the door.

“Is everything all right, miss?”

“No, but it will be in four days.” Marguerite watched the clouds roll by out her port window.

“Lady Vivienne seems to be sleeping peacefully now.”

Marguerite had all but forgotten about her ailing companion. “That’s good. I suppose she was probably up most of the night.”

“Yes, miss, I’m fairly certain she was.” Outil stood at attention against the wall where she could see out the port as well.

“I’m famished, Outil, would you mind heading out and finding me some sort of breakfast? The dining hall and ballroom seem to be the same common space.”

“Yes, miss.”

“And see if there is a library aboard. This is going to be a long four days. I will require some sort of diversion.” Marguerite sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

Marguerite awoke to the sound of water splashing. For a moment she was angry with the servant girl for changing the water in her washstand at this early hour. But then she realized she wasn’t on her bed and sat bolt upright with alarm.

“Outil!” she cried.

The bot was standing in her chosen spot at the window, her head turned to the blue light beyond. “Yes, miss?” She turned her hollow gray eyes toward her mistress, her voice as calm and soothing as ever.

“I quite forgot where I was. I was dreaming about the north field on the estate. It was on fire and we were all working to help put it out and save the orchards. Even I was rushing to help, with all the other servants. We had to carry buckets of water. It was so hot and terrible. Claude was there, he was throwing the buckets onto the flames, but he was too close, I could see his silhouette against the flames but I couldn’t get to him.” The more she recounted her dream the more she began to fret. “Oh, Outil! Do you think he’s in danger?”

“M’lady … ” Outil walked to the sofa and took her mistress’s soft fleshy hand in her own cold, metallic one. “I can assure you that he is most likely out of harm’s way. I have calculated the odds of his being in open combat. Factoring in New France’s recent peace treaties with the local native populations and the fact that he is assigned to a construction regiment, there is very little evidence or probability that he is in any more danger than he would be if he’d stayed on the estate.”

Marguerite squeezed the bot’s fingers and stood, letting the cold hand fall from her lap. “I must telegraph him, all the same. I shall go find one of those wall ports they were speaking of in the introductory meeting.” She paused then. “Where is that water sound coming from?”

“The water closet, miss.” Outil stood and pointed toward the bedroom. “It is of a most creative design, very convenient for humans. Water flows from a spigot in the ceiling and the temperature is adjustable according to your preference.”

“Are you serious?” Marguerite was truly amazed. “Is that Vivienne in there now? How is she doing?”

“She seems to be a bit better. She awoke and asked for a sip of drink and to wash herself. I just finished showing her how to operate the controls. She should be finished shortly.” Turning to the small table at the other side of the room, she added, “It is well past traditional luncheon time, would you care for a meal?”

“Yes! I am famished!”

On the table before them was a modest collection of odds and ends: some toast, a meat pie, a bottle of cider, and what appeared to be a bowl of pickled fish mixed with green olives. Marguerite lifted her nose in disgust. “Was this all you were able to procure?”

“Yes, miss, my apologies, but I was forced to … uh … ” the bot faltered, completely out of character.

“Outil? What is it?” Marguerite wasn’t used to anything less than a direct response from a bot.

“I had to steal it, miss. I am not proud of that fact.” Outil ducked her head in shame.

“Why on earth did you have to steal food?” She had never heard of anything so preposterous in her life.

“Bots are not generally allowed in the dining areas and food is not allowed in the suites or cabins.”

“Well, why not? That’s ridiculous! Who serves the food if not bots and servants?”

“No one does, m’lady. Each person serves themselves. The human servants ate lunch with the passengers.”

Just then the sound of pouring water ceased and Marguerite heard a door open in the bedroom. “I suppose I should have guessed as much after that speech Laviolette gave.”

“Yes, Captain Laviolette asked me to deliver a message to you. He said: ‘The food is much more palatable when you accept it graciously rather than sending a servant to steal it.’”

“The nerve! Who does he think he is?” Marguerite’s body tensed all over as she tried to control the pressure pushing up from her stomach. “He is so … so!” She started to pace the cabin. “You’re not even a servant either! You’re just a bot!”

Outil stood quietly to the side while her mistress ranted. Presently Marguerite stopped and picked at part of the meat pie. “Never mind what he says, Outil, however you acquired this doesn’t matter. Just keep bringing us whatever you can find. We’ll be off this ship soon enough.”

She flopped down in a chair at the table and took a larger bite of the pie. She was hungrier than she thought. The common country food tasted fairly decent, although not good enough to melt her icy mood, especially considering it was cold and congealed around all the edges.

A knock at the door drew her attention. Outil took two large strides and peered through the peephole. She turned to Marguerite. “It’s the steward with a bot and two trunks.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “Let him in.”

The steward announced himself formally and declared, “I am here to deliver your official trousseaus on behalf of King Louis XVI. You should find everything you might need for your journey and to set up house in New France enclosed in these trunks. His Majesty wishes you the very best of luck and gives you his blessing as a Daughter of the King.” Marguerite rose to peer at the funny man while he delivered his speech and nodded congenially at him as he bowed low at the end.

“Very pretty speech, steward. You may put them in the bedroom. I believe there is space against the wall below the porthole.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the bot answered in a very deep male voice that caught Marguerite off guard. Outil stood back and let him enter. As he paused, holding both trunks balanced in one hand, and opened the bedroom door, an ear-splitting scream filled the suite.

“Oh dear, yes. That would be Vivienne.” Marguerite kept forgetting about her companion. “Vivienne dear!” She walked to the doorway and peered in. “It’s just the bot delivering your clothes. Do not be alarmed.” She sighed again.
Would this day be full of nothing but sighs?

The steward and bots left and Vivienne dressed herself from her new trunk of clothing sent by the King. She came to the doorway and smiled at Marguerite, then twirled to show off her dress.

“Isn’t it lovely?” She beamed with pride but stumbled as she came full circle.

“You need to eat.” Marguerite motioned to the chair next to her. “Look at this feast Outil scavenged for us.” She tried not to stare at Vivienne’s black-and-blue face. Instead she fanned out her arm in a grand gesture over the humble fare. Vivienne took it all in with dull eyes.

“I’m not very hungry actually.”

“You must eat something. You had a terrible night, a long morning, and there is a big week ahead.”

“I guess I might try a bit of toast.” She reached for a slice of cold, hard bread. “Have you been out? Have you seen the ship? What’s it like?”

“I went to a meeting this morning. It seems we are the only girls of any noble blood on the whole vessel. We are also not allowed to eat in our room.” She snickered at her joke as she popped another bite of cold meat pie in her mouth. “And apparently Captain Morreau is not our captain but merely a stowaway on this trip.”

“He’s not? That’s strange.”

“No, it’s actually Captain Laviolette.”

“What? The man from the street? From your ball?” Vivienne flushed at the edges of her bruise with the excitement of the gossip.

“The very same.”

“Are you vexed?”

“Very. I don’t plan on leaving this room until we reach Montreal.”

“Good heavens. How long will that be?”

“Four days. Are you with me?” Marguerite was eager for someone to join her in her protest.

“I suppose.” Vivienne turned back to her toast and nibbled it a bit. “Honestly, I don’t feel much like going anywhere anyway.” Vivienne seemed on the brink of saying something else but it took a long while to get it out. “I have an ache in my back and side,” she finally spit out in a whisper, almost apologetically.