Read Online The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl by Leigh Statham - Free Book Online
Authors: Leigh Statham
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goodbyes, and be ready to leave within the week.” With that, he walked out of the dining room, leaving the two women to wallow in polar emotions—triumph and defeat.
Madame Pomphart was the first to speak. “You’ll love Lyon, my dear, never you mind about having to leave your home.” Her voice was snide and soaked with sarcasm.
Marguerite knew one thing for certain, if Pomphart liked the place it was probably a prison for wicked rich girls with cold stone walls and three meals a day of stale porridge and mealworm. She stood from her chair remembering her resolve not to let this woman win.
Her father would always be her father, but Madame Pomphart was just a wicked witch who’d conjured her way into their home. She had no power over Marguerite that Marguerite refused to give. She faced her governess head on and declared: “This is not over.” Then turned on her heel and marched out the door, head held high, slippers barely making a sound as she crossed the polished marble floor.
Chapter Seven
“You can’t be serious!” Vivienne’s face was ashen when she heard the news. They walked casually down the main road, Outil directly behind them.
“Dead serious.” Marguerite had invited her neighbor for a walk to town out of desperation. With Claude gone, the days had felt more empty than usual. She ached for company of any kind and Vivienne was at least obliging.
“I heard so much from my maid, but I told her it was a filthy lie. That your father would never send you away! Much less to Lyon!” Vivienne reached out her hand to pat Marguerite’s. “I’m so sorry! When must you go?”
Marguerite quickly drew her hand back. She did not want to be treated like a victim and she definitely did not want to be consoled by the likes of Vivienne. “Tomorrow. Father’s aership is being repaired. He wanted to send me in the old dirigible yesterday, but I refused. If I’m being sent away the least they can do is provide me with decent accommodations for the trip. Come on.” She beckoned impatiently for the girl to keep up the pace. “I don’t have all day.”
“You seem so brave! Aren’t you scared? I’d be begging to have Delacourte and whatever other man they threw at me!”
“That’s because you didn’t see any of them. You weren’t there.” Marguerite rolled her eyes and put her hand in her pocket, feeling for the cool metal cricket she fingered most minutes of the day. “They were fine as far as people go, but for a husband? How am I supposed to feel good about spending the rest of my life with a stranger in a stuffy suit?”
“They couldn’t have all been bad? Did you really dance with all of them?”
“Until my feet fell off. It was hideous. I hope your ball is much more exciting.”
“Oh, I so wish I could have been there! At least you’ll be able to attend mine. You can warn me off the very worst of the lot.” She smiled her beautifully vapid smile at Marguerite.
“Vivienne, I won’t be here for your ball. Remember?”
Vivienne gasped, “Oh! Oh my, you’re right! Oh Marguerite!”
“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” Marguerite wondered if spending time with her simpering neighbor had been a good idea or not. Still, there was no one else and she did not feel like being alone.
Outil had turned out to be surprisingly good company. Marguerite spent every day that she could with the bot since Claude left. Knowing that she had been constructed for her, by Claude’s hands, seemed to fill the ache in her heart, if only a tiny bit. But Outil wasn’t human and couldn’t quite fill the void he had left in her days, or her heart.
The sky was bright above them, perfectly puffed clouds creeping past the sun on occasion as the birds darted in and out of the tree branches. The girls stopped at the main street to peruse the shops. Marguerite peered in each window with a discerning eye. She saw nothing worth taking with her to Lyon. Anything interesting was too big and
Madame Pomphart was the first to speak. “You’ll love Lyon, my dear, never you mind about having to leave your home.” Her voice was snide and soaked with sarcasm.
Marguerite knew one thing for certain, if Pomphart liked the place it was probably a prison for wicked rich girls with cold stone walls and three meals a day of stale porridge and mealworm. She stood from her chair remembering her resolve not to let this woman win.
Her father would always be her father, but Madame Pomphart was just a wicked witch who’d conjured her way into their home. She had no power over Marguerite that Marguerite refused to give. She faced her governess head on and declared: “This is not over.” Then turned on her heel and marched out the door, head held high, slippers barely making a sound as she crossed the polished marble floor.
Chapter Seven
“You can’t be serious!” Vivienne’s face was ashen when she heard the news. They walked casually down the main road, Outil directly behind them.
“Dead serious.” Marguerite had invited her neighbor for a walk to town out of desperation. With Claude gone, the days had felt more empty than usual. She ached for company of any kind and Vivienne was at least obliging.
“I heard so much from my maid, but I told her it was a filthy lie. That your father would never send you away! Much less to Lyon!” Vivienne reached out her hand to pat Marguerite’s. “I’m so sorry! When must you go?”
Marguerite quickly drew her hand back. She did not want to be treated like a victim and she definitely did not want to be consoled by the likes of Vivienne. “Tomorrow. Father’s aership is being repaired. He wanted to send me in the old dirigible yesterday, but I refused. If I’m being sent away the least they can do is provide me with decent accommodations for the trip. Come on.” She beckoned impatiently for the girl to keep up the pace. “I don’t have all day.”
“You seem so brave! Aren’t you scared? I’d be begging to have Delacourte and whatever other man they threw at me!”
“That’s because you didn’t see any of them. You weren’t there.” Marguerite rolled her eyes and put her hand in her pocket, feeling for the cool metal cricket she fingered most minutes of the day. “They were fine as far as people go, but for a husband? How am I supposed to feel good about spending the rest of my life with a stranger in a stuffy suit?”
“They couldn’t have all been bad? Did you really dance with all of them?”
“Until my feet fell off. It was hideous. I hope your ball is much more exciting.”
“Oh, I so wish I could have been there! At least you’ll be able to attend mine. You can warn me off the very worst of the lot.” She smiled her beautifully vapid smile at Marguerite.
“Vivienne, I won’t be here for your ball. Remember?”
Vivienne gasped, “Oh! Oh my, you’re right! Oh Marguerite!”
“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” Marguerite wondered if spending time with her simpering neighbor had been a good idea or not. Still, there was no one else and she did not feel like being alone.
Outil had turned out to be surprisingly good company. Marguerite spent every day that she could with the bot since Claude left. Knowing that she had been constructed for her, by Claude’s hands, seemed to fill the ache in her heart, if only a tiny bit. But Outil wasn’t human and couldn’t quite fill the void he had left in her days, or her heart.
The sky was bright above them, perfectly puffed clouds creeping past the sun on occasion as the birds darted in and out of the tree branches. The girls stopped at the main street to peruse the shops. Marguerite peered in each window with a discerning eye. She saw nothing worth taking with her to Lyon. Anything interesting was too big and
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