“But, it’s not time yet, right? What do you want me to do?”
Louisa groaned. “Get your hands scrubbed and fold up a quilt for me on the floor.”
“Yes, clean hands. Of course.” Marguerite ran to the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves, then scrubbed at her hands furiously in the bucket of left over water.
Outil came down the ladder from the loft with a clean quilt. “She wants it folded on the floor for some reason?” Marguerite told her.
“Yes, m’lady,” Outil said.
Just for good measure, Marguerite filled a pot with water and set it to boil on the fire next to the stew, then she joined Outil in the bedroom. Louisa was kneeling on the quilt by the side of her bed. Outil was gathering up the soiled linens and asking in her calm automaton voice, “Do you require anything to drink?”
“No,” Louisa groaned. “My back hurts horribly. It feels like I’m on fire. Can you just push on it, please?”
Marguerite looked at Outil who shrugged her silvery shoulders in confusion. “Of course,” Marguerite said. And she got down on the floor behind the laboring woman and put two hands on her shoulder blades.
“No, lower, at my waist,” Louisa commanded. Marguerite moved her hands lower and pushed gently. “Push hard. Please,” she groaned again. “Oh, Lord have mercy on us all. Lord save us. My mother died giving birth to my baby sister. I don’t want to leave Claude alone. I can’t leave this baby alone. Save me, Lord.”
Marguerite’s chest tightened, and she felt tears involuntarily well up in her eyes at overhearing this private prayer.
“I’m so sorry,” she offered.
“Save it for someone else and just push!” Louisa snapped back.
Claude arrived with the midwife one hour later. A frantic Outil met them at the gate carrying cleaning supplies from the wash house. “There is a baby, Master Claude! You have a baby!” The trio entered the house and was greeted by the screams of a newborn infant. Claude looked worried, but the midwife, an old Iroquois woman, assured him. “This is good! Strong lungs means a strong baby.” Marguerite heard them enter and stuck her head out of the bedroom door. She was grinning from ear to ear and had a mess of blood and who knows what else smeared all over her dress.
“It’s a baby!” she beamed.
“I should hope so.” Claude raced past her. “How is Louisa?”
“She’s much, much better.” Marguerite jumped out of the way and watched as Claude knelt by his wife’s bedside. He kissed her hand, then the baby’s head. The old midwife pushed her way past Marguerite and joined the little family at the bedside.
“This is a very healthy baby,” she pronounced smiling.
“It’s a girl.” Louisa smiled and cuddled the baby to her chest.
“Well, it is a hungry girl. Let’s take care of this cord and get her eating,” the midwife said with authority, shoving Claude out of the way.
Marguerite took that as her cue to leave. She looked one last time at the happy group and the tiny little miracle in Louisa’s arms. She knew that she would never forget this day. Something inside of her had come loose, something she didn’t know existed. Claude smiling at Louisa, the tiny wailing infant in her arms, was the perfect picture of happiness, and for the first time, she ached for that kind of happiness. She scrubbed herself as best she could in the washbasin and joined Outil outside.
“You did a fine job, m’lady,” Outil said.
“Thank you. You weren’t so bad yourself,” Marguerite replied. They watched the birds fly in great throngs around the tops of the budding trees. The fresh spring air danced around them carrying the smell of fresh, green life, and Marguerite thought about how strange life could be.
“I want to make sure Jacques has a ride home if he wants it. There is a good chance that he may not want it after the way I behaved, but I need to know that as well. Do you think I will ever learn to slow down and be wise, Outil?” Marguerite kicked at a stone in the ground.
“There is a chance that you might,” Outil said. “However, I suspect you will be in the grave by then.”
“Outil! Are you teasing me?” Marguerite laughed at the bot, incredulous at the unexpected humor.
“Possibly,” Outil turned and patted her mistress on the shoulder. It was a very human gesture for a bot, and seemed to fit the magic of the afternoon perfectly.
An engine roared in the distance. Marguerite stood from the spot where she’d leaned on the fence and walked to the lane, trying to see who might be approaching. As soon as she saw the single front wheel and the long black hair flowing behind a goggled face, she took a step back and wondered what she should do with herself.
“Who is coming?” Outil asked as she joined her.
“It’s Otetiani,” she answered. They both stepped back as not one, but four men on three steam cycles rolled into the yard. All of them were striking to behold. They were the very embodiment of power and pride in their leather clothing, which in the daylight, Marguerite could now see was decorated with beads of all colors. They propped up their cycles, removed their goggles and retrieved parcels from the backs of their rides.
“Lady Marguerite,” Otetiani walked up to her and gave a short bow. “It is good to see you with both feet on the ground, although I do not wish to know whose blood is on your dress. Have you killed a bear this day?”
Marguerite blushed as she looked at her mess of an outfit. Was this very serious man actually teasing her? She decided to pretend like she was wearing her best ball gown and held her head high as she nodded back at him. “I happen to have delivered my first baby today, thank you very much, Monsieur Otetiani.”
“I did not realize you were a midwife as well as a pirate and a Lady of France.” His face did not break a smile, but he was definitely teasing her.
“I most certainly am not a midwife, nor a pirate, but I would like to know how I can help you. Monsieur Claude is busy attending to his wife at the moment.”
The other men gathered around with their paper-wrapped parcels, a few of them grinning at her, another looking confused at this high speaking woman covered in blood questioning their leader. “Forgive me, Lady Vadnay, these are my brothers. We have only come bearing gifts for the baby.” He motioned to the men and their packages.“That is quite lovely of you. Let me send Outil to see if they can receive you yet.” The whole group followed the bot to the front of the house, but Otetiani reached out and put a hand on Marguerite’s shoulder.
“Lady Marguerite, forgive my forwardness. I find you to be an interesting person, and knowing that you are here with only a pack of food and a pistol, I brought this for you.” He handed her a paper-wrapped parcel.
“Oh, my, thank you.” She took the bundle and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a simple dress, made of soft brown leather with delicate white beads sewn on the neckline. “This is so lovely, thank you, Otetiani.”
She smiled at him, and he nodded back, stone-faced as ever. Looking up at his lovely chiseled face, Marguerite saw the bright blue sky behind him and a wisp of white clouds float by. Behind the cloud, a splotch of brown suddenly appeared. Marguerite all but forgot her companion and her manners as she jumped for joy and called, “Outil! They are here! Daddy got my letter. They are here!”
The Henrietta drifted closer into view and began to give up altitude. She dropped anchor and Lucy, Louis, and Captain Butterfield waved from the deck.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I will agree to take you on this trip, but only if you swear on your mother’s grave that you will behave yourself.” Captain Butterfield sat across from Marguerite on a stool in the barn. “I only came this far because I’ve heard a bit about this Claude of yours. Word travels fast in New France. I wanted to see his handiwork for myself. Not much to look at, eh?”
Marguerite looked around the barn that served as a smithie shop and sighed. “He really does deserve more. That’s why I asked my father to send you with the money. You have it, right?”
“I do, and plenty more to pay for your passage to North Carolina. I hope you appreciate this father of yours. Not many wild young aristocrats have daddies who support their rescue missions.”
“Father is fond of Captain Laviolette, and he understands how the military works—always leaving men behind,” Marguerite stood and walked over to a broken clock on the wall, and flicked carelessly at its exposed cogs. Captain Butterfield stood.
“We need to get going. Are you ready or—” The Captain looked Marguerite over from head to foot. She was still wearing the blue cotton dress smeared with the evidence of the afternoon.
“I’m just going to change. I haven’t wanted to go in the house and disturb them,” Marguerite pulled at the dress.
“Your father sent a trunk of clothes. You can change on the Henrietta if you’d like.”
“Oh, I think I will just jump in the washroom and slip into this.” She lifted up her brown paper package and made to leave the barn.
“You know, Lady Vadnay, I didn’t think much of you after your shenanigans out there—fool-brained rich girl—but this is the right thing to do. You keep your nose clean this time, and my opinion will be repaired.”
“I’m so glad, Captain. That is very nice to hear,” Marguerite smiled as she skipped quickly on her way to the washroom. A few moments later she was ready to go—buckskin dress and boots on, hair braided and pack set to go. She noticed the handsome Iroquois men appreciating her new outfit. She smiled and turned round for them. It was soft and warm and beautiful, in a simple way. The only thing it was missing was pockets.
Claude came out of the house to see them off, with Outil close behind. He stopped short when he saw Marguerite’s new outfit. “Well, this is unexpected,” he remarked.
“It was a gift from Otetiani. He noticed I didn’t have any clothes—unlike other men around here.” She laughed and shouldered her bag.
“Listen, I’m so sorry for the mess you walked into here. You must come back when things are settled. Louisa is doing very well, thanks to you and Outil, and the baby is going to be just fine. We just can’t thank you enough.”
Captain Butterfield approached them as they spoke. “Here’s the paperwork you asked for, Lady Vadnay.”
“Give it to Claude. It’s for him anyway,” she gave him a hug and looked for Outil. The automaton was talking to Otetiani and looking at his steamcycle closely. Claude took the papers and stuck them in his pocket, before he took Marguerite by the arm and started to walk her to the Henrietta’s lift.
“I just want you to know that we named the baby Francine Marguerite,” he said quietly and gave her hand a little squeeze.
Marguerite looked at him sideways. “Oh, Claude. Please, you don’t have to do that. Louisa doesn’t need to have any reminders of me hanging around. You should let her call the baby whatever she wants.”
“But it was her choice. She agrees with me. She’s grateful for your help and feels terrible about the way she’s acted.” He was earnest.
She hugged him again. “Just make sure you two are happy.”
“Be careful. And take this with you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small gun.
“What is this?” Marguerite took it and admired the fine workmanship her friend always brought to his projects. Little brass gears turned as she moved the weapon back and forth in her hands. A weight inside shifted with the movements, and fine filigree decorated every inch of free space.
“It’s a gun, but it doesn’t fire traditional projectiles. The sliding weight inside creates friction as you move, which turns the gears and loads the energy tanks. The natural movement of your body will keep it loaded, and you can fire a stunning shot of power to anyone within close range. Simply shake it vigorously for a second shot in thirty seconds. Not very handy at long range, but more than adequate in a hand-to-hand altercation. Just don’t point it at anyone you like. There is enough potential energy in a full reserve to knock a person out for several hours if you hit them in the right spot.”
“Oh, Claude! Thank you.” Marguerite tucked it in her pack and climbed into the lift with Butterfield and Outil.
“Stay safe,” Claude called again.
“You too!” Marguerite watched as Claude opened the papers her father had prepared. She let a smile spread across her face as the realization dawned on his.
He suddenly looked up and yelled to her. “Marguerite! You are ridiculous, you know that, right?”
“My behavior is absolutely justified. Go do something amazing, will you?” she called back.
Outil leaned over and asked, “What did it say, m’lady?”
“It was a statement of finance. Father has agreed to be Claude’s benefactor, and he transferred the rest of the money I had from the cricket treasure to Claude’s name. He should be able to make himself a real steam forge and some bot helpers now.”
“That was very good of you, Lady Vadnay,” Outil replied with surprise.
Otetiani stood at Claude’s side and lifted one arm in a farewell gesture as his companions climbed on their steamcycles and prepared to leave.
“You never introduced me to that one. Does he like to fly? We should bring him with us.” Captain Butterfield elbowed Marguerite in the ribs and pointed to Otetiani.
“He is quite magnificent, but no, I doubt it would be a good idea to bring him with us, even if he would come.” She couldn’t imagine being able to think straight with the possibility of running into Otetiani around every corner on the ship. She needed to focus on Jacques. On deck, Lucy and Louis were waiting to greet them with smiles and pats on the back. Captain Butterfield called to the crew to pull anchor and head out.
“Take her as high as she can go, steamers. We’re heading over the border. Going into Brit country, then pirate land. You can thank Lady Marguerite for the wages. Let’s keep the sail up and the motors running. Up and out!”
The crew cheered, and Lucy pulled on Marguerite’s arm. “I can’t believe you survived! You are a wicked crazy thing. Come on, you get the benefactor’s quarters this time around. I’ll show you where they are.”
The ship sailed into the aether as Marguerite descended the stairs with Lucy to a much larger cabin with a much nicer bed than she’d had the last time on the Henrietta. A giant trunk was waiting at the foot of the bed as well. Marguerite opened it up and found a letter from her father on top of several dresses of different styles. On top of all of this sat three of her special order flight suits. Marguerite’s heart filled with gratitude.
My Dearest Marguerite,
Thank you for bringing young Claude’s predicament to my attention. He is a talented man, and I am most interested in seeing his abilities come to their full fruition. I fully expect you to return to me whole and happy with an expanded reservoir of wisdom from which to draw upon for future endeavors. My heart goes with you, as does a significant amount of my liquid assets. I pray you will not squander either. I pray for Captain Laviolette as well. It is a godless people he has fallen into. Do not assume to undertake this errand without assistance. Captain Butterfield has offered to guide you and protect you as best she can once you reach Cape Feare. Please be cautious and remember that you carry my heart in your chest.
All of my love,
Lord Vadnay
Marguerite smiled at the sweet words coupled with the formality of the signature. They truly had come a long way since the days of bickering over suitors and boarding school. “What does he say?” Lucy bounced on the balls of her feet as she stood next to Outil, both waiting for Marguerite to finish.
“He says we must come home alive,” Marguerite smiled as she folded the paper up and tucked it into her pack with her goggles. She added the small gun to the collection and then turned to her companions. “Now! We need to make a plan!” She clapped her hands and looked from one to the other.
“I thought you had a plan,” Lucy said.
“Lady Vadnay’s only plan is to fly south and
get Captain Laviolette,” Outil offered.
“Right, but we need to work out some details, like how we find him once we are actually there,” Marguerite said as she looked out her little porthole.
“That would be a good idea,” Outil said.
“I’d suggest we meet with Captain Butterfield then,” Lucy said as she joined Marguerite at the window.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” The wild green and blue landscape below them was crowned with white clouds and glowing with bright spring sunlight.
“Yes, it most certainly is. There is nothing quite as wonderful as flying. Let’s get above deck and find the captain.” The three made their way back to the deck and found Louis scampering around with the other deck boys and a bot, trying to keep the ship’s course on track.
“Hello, Louis,” Marguerite called. “Where is Captain Butterfield?”
“Hello, m’lady! She’s down on the bridge now. Calling up orders on the pipes,” he smiled broadly as he answered. “Might I say, m’lady, that I watched you bounce off the envelope of that ship and get caught by the pirates, and I’m mighty glad you survived and that you weren’t set on fire.”
“You may say that, and I will join you in the sentiment. I was very grateful not to be set on fire as well.” Marguerite felt the chill in the air growing as the ship rose into the aether, and she took in Louis’s lack of a proper deck jacket. She would have to rectify that as soon as possible. The boy was already too thin. He needed a layer of fat and a layer of wool on his bones to do his job properly.
“Louis, is there anything you need? We are heading to the bridge,” she asked.
“No, Lady Vadnay, but it is ever so kind of you to ask,” he replied with a moony kind of look in his eyes.
Oh dear, Marguerite thought, time to leave. “Very well, we will see you in the mess.”
The bridge was one level below deck and at the bow of the ship. Windows lined the walls, providing a clear view of their course. Instrument panels were crammed into every space available. Most looked to be made of spare parts and added on after original construction as an afterthought. Captain Butterfield sat in an overstuffed blue parlor chair in the center of the whole mess and was calling out orders to the bots and women manning the controls. A black pipe extended down from the ceiling above them. The Captain leaned over and called into it off and on. Marguerite guessed this was the pipe system Louis spoke of.
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 17
