Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (3 page)

Jacques’ jaw hardened as he spoke. “Your pride is the only thing standing in the way of your dreams. No man. No society. Just
you
. Certainly not me. Maybe if you’d been paying attention during your flight test and hadn’t started showing off you might have passed,” he shot back at her. Then added, “And I am no Claude. If you would just pay attention to men a little more carefully, you would have seen that he never loved you that way, but I always have.”

“Love, love, love. It’s easy to say sweet things and buy presents, but when it comes right down to it, you march away without a backwards glance. That is not love, Jacques.” Marguerite forced herself not to consider his words. They were pricking at a very soft place in her heart, tempting her to cry, but she would not let herself give in.

“That is my job, my dear.” He stood and made a move to take her hand. She pulled away. “I’m an aeronautic officer. I have to leave when I am called.” Then more quietly, “There are very few exceptions.”

A million retorts filled her head; everything from accusing him of being a very poor officer—letting his first ship get blown up—to begging him to resign. It was all ridiculous. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need
any
man.

“Fine then. Go chase your pirates. Enjoy your battle. Kill a few hundred people and try not to get blown up this time.” She started to walk away, then turned back to finish. “No, go ahead and get blown up. I have the perfect flight suit to wear to your funeral.”

“Marguerite! You don’t mean that!” He called after her.

“Yes, I do.” She marched resolutely to the wood doors of the chapel and pushed them open. “Come on, Outil. I’m famished.”

The bot followed dutifully. “Yes, m’lady.”

“I could use a decent meal myself,” Jacques ran to catch up to them just outside the chapel.

After a course of soup, mutton with roasted vegetables, and fresh bread from the nunnery down the street, Marguerite felt much less cantankerous. She still fumed about Jacques’s news, though, and resolved herself to finding a way around his stubborn attitude and the rules.

A young boy approached their table, his voice loud. “Lady Marguerite Vadnay?”

A chorus of chortles erupted at the other end of the hall—the other school girls enjoying the boy’s announcement that a
lady
was serving alongside them in a government-run institution. The rumor was that her father had disowned her for having an affair with Jacques. Marguerite and Jacques both ignored the idol gossip, and Marguerite made sure she was at church each week and on good terms with the priest. The last thing she needed was a guilty conscience on top of the stress of living in a new world with all of these commoners.

“I have a missive for you from Paris. Came in just an hour ago.” He puffed his chest and handed her a slip of paper, obviously proud of himself for finding her and delivering the important message.

Normally she would have tipped him handsomely, but the last six months she’d been living on the money Claude set aside for her from his family jewels, and she didn’t want to waste one franc. Instead, she smiled prettily at him, handed him the last coins from her pocket, and said, “Excellent work. Thank you.” The boy smiled back and made a tight military turn before leaving the dining hall.

“Who is it from?” Jacques leaned over the table, trying to catch a glimpse of the formal lettering on the page. Marguerite read the lines quickly, her face pinching slightly. Then she had a thought. She sat forward and looked him in the eyes using her most serious voice.

“Help me get a commission on your ship, and I’ll tell you what it says.”

Jacques leaned forward and answered in his most serious voice, “Marry me, and I will.”

Marguerite rolled her eyes and sat back to reread her message.

“What? Most women around here think I’m a fine catch.” He leaned back and smiled at a group of girls at the next table, nodding his head slightly. They actually tittered and turned away. “See?” Jacques whispered.

Marguerite gave up her game of blackmail and handed him the page. “It’s from my father,” She said, “He’s coming to see me.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Jacques cried.

“Not necessarily,” Marguerite said as she poked at the leftover carrots on her plate.

“How could it not be good news? You have been wondering about him all these months, and how he felt about your wild wanderings. This is wonderful. If he were going to disown you, he wouldn’t do it in person. That’s much too messy for the aristocracy.”

“You don’t know the Vadnay aristocracy, Jacques. He could very well be coming here to spank me with his own hand.”

Jacques laughed, and Outil approached the table from the corner where she waited as chaperone. “M’lady, I doubt that your father will come all this way to administer corporal punishment. You are much too old for that, and it goes against the dictates of refined society,” Outil said with concern.

“I was exaggerating, Outil. He is unpredictable at best. Who knows what Pomphart told him about me when she got back to France.” Marguerite’s mind flashed to her horrid governess who’d followed her across the Atlantic only to be thrown in jail for threatening to kidnap Marguerite, or worse.

“You really think he visited her in prison?” Jacques asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“Well, cheer up. He can’t possibly get here for another few weeks. You’ve got exams to worry about, and I’m sure he’ll be most impressed when you pass with top marks.” Then he quickly added, “And learn to land correctly.” Jacques was always trying to put a positive spin on situations she was sure would be positively dreadful.

“Oh no, this note was not from Paris. It was sent by ship-to-shore wireless telegraph. He will arrive in three days.”

“That is not much time, m’lady,” Outil said. “And that is right in the middle of your first written tests.”

“Exactly, Outil. I’m going to have to figure this out.” Marguerite folded it carefully and put the paper in her pocket.

“I would offer to help you, or meet him at the docks, but I’m afraid I may not be available next week,” Jacques said.

“Why not?”

“My ship leaves next week.” He smiled but did not look happy.

“So soon?” Marguerite felt her anger bubble up again, but she didn’t want another scene, especially not in front of her ridiculous classmates.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I will return to you.” He stood from his seat and made a low bow, sweeping up her hand and kissing it.

“That’s
very
reassuring.” She was trying to be mature and more level-headed these days, but sarcasm came so easily. Jacques liked a bit of her coquettish, spoiled rich girl side, but he could only take so much. Then again, she wondered why she was even concerned with what he did and didn’t like.

“And now I must bid you lovely ladies farewell. You need to study, and I need sleep. It’s going to be a long week for us all.” Jacques crossed to her side and placed a kiss on her cheek before leaving. The other girls in the room fanned themselves and whispered giggles into each other’s ears.

He
was
rather dashing. Marguerite couldn’t deny that.

She spent most of that evening and all of the next day in her dingy room with Outil, going back and forth over the facts of the semester.

“What is the fastest possible speed of an aerschooner?” Outil asked.

“Cargo, passenger, or warship?” Marguerite asked.

“Each, m’lady.”

“It obviously depends on weight and design. The schooner is the fastest of the aerships because of its combination of sails, motors, and envelope, but a heavy load will slow even the sleekest of vessels. Whether that be passengers, goods, or guns.”

Marguerite stared out the window at the golden spring weather. Other girls were congregated on the lawn with their books and papers. The scene pulled at her heart a bit. Outil, poring over the facts and figures, reminded her not to get bogged down in the details, but to give concise and complete answers. Marguerite, however, was preoccupied with memories of sitting in the grass with her friends, Claude and Vivienne, back in France.

It had been several months, but the rot of guilt still ate at her gut when she thought about how her childhood friend Vivienne had died crossing the ocean with them.

“You are tired and distracted.” Outil’s voice cut through the moment.

“Yes, I am,” Marguerite replied.

“Would you care to tell me what bothers you?”

“I was just thinking of Vivienne.” Marguerite continued to stare out the window. “It’s strange. I don’t feel as bad about her death as I do about the way I treated her when she was alive.

“I mean, I wish she were still here, of course. She would love the thought of a husband, a little farm, and babies crawling all over her. I can’t help but think that if I’d actually paid attention to her back at home, that she might not have suffered so much. She might still be alive.” Marguerite’s voice trailed off.

“M’lady, at that time you did not yet understand many of the aspects of true friendship that you understand now. You were never required to sacrifice or to give much of yourself. Please forgive me for speaking more openly than is appropriate, but I do so to prevent you from punishing yourself for a situation that was beyond your control.”

“That’s just the problem, Outil. I did have control. I could have paid more attention and been kinder, and then I might have seen what she was going through. I might have helped her sooner.” Marguerite stood from the end of her bed and shook out her hair. It hung loosely in long dark waves down her back. “Never mind. It’s done now. If I ever get the opportunity to make a friend again, I will just have to do a better job. Even if she is the most obnoxious girl on the planet, I will be a good friend.” She folded her arms and held her head high as her resolve sunk into her chest like a pebble to the bottom of a lake.

“Now, would you fetch me some supper? I’m starved, and I don’t feel like dealing with those imbeciles in the dining hall.” She nodded toward the girls outside gathering their materials for dinner.

Outil sighed an automaton sigh, shifted uncomfortably but answered dutifully, “Of course, m’lady,” and left the room.

Sunday was long and tedious. Marguerite’s brain kept jumping between test questions, and what her father was going to say when he arrived. She was starting to formulate a plan for getting her way with Jacques, but she had no idea what to expect from her father or the exam. The fact that she crashed and nearly died on her first solo flight test meant she had to do that much better on her other tests, so she barricaded herself in her room and studied until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

The next morning Marguerite was up before the dawn, poring through her books one last time. She wasn’t due in the main lecture hall until late morning, but she felt there were still a few subjects she could brush up on; propulsion was a big one, and so was maritime aerial law. Plus, she’d never taken an examination before in her life. Her father always provided her with the very latest publications and occasionally a competent tutor. She wanted to get it right and get her failure behind her.