Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

“My man will collect your belongings from this closet. You will report to my home immediately.” His voice was even and deadly serious. Marguerite set down her book, picked up her cape, and stepped past him into the hall by Jacques and Outil.
    “Father, I will meet you for supper this evening at any location you choose. Outil will take down the address and escort me. If you wish for me to live in your rooms, I accept, gladly. I have many things I wish to discuss with you as well, but only after my examination. I’ve worked very hard to learn this material. I’ve paid my own money for this experience. I will see it through to the end.” She dipped low in a curtsy, made ridiculous by her flight suit, and turned to walk down the hall.
    “You are just like your mother! Stubborn and hard headed!” He hollered after her. Marguerite did not look back.

Chapter Five

     
     
    Her hands twitched and trembled as she tried to hold the pen steady and scrape it on the edge of the ink well. She blotted it carefully and began to write. The more she lost herself in the technical details of the questions, the more she felt the drama of the morning melt away.
    Her thoughts began to flow more easily, and the knowledge she’d pored over for the past few months all came together. There was even a portion of the test that she knew she bested simply because of her time on Jacques’s ship, The Triumph .
    They had a small break for lunch. Marguerite was a bit saddened that Outil and Jacques were not waiting for her in the dining room, but she ate quickly and sped back to the lecture hall, giving herself time to stretch and think and breathe deeply before the second half began.
    Much to her relief, Outil was waiting for her at the end of the day. If the automaton had been anything softer than brass gears and panels, Marguerite may have fallen into her arms and wept for joy. She was exhausted, but also confident that she’d passed without a flaw. This was her passion. This was her talent. It was just a shame, for her father’s sake, that she hadn’t been born a boy.
    “M’lady, congratulations!” Outil used the most excited version of her mechanical voice for this exclamation. “There is an autocart waiting to take us to your father’s home. He has already removed your belongings from the school.”
    “Thank you, Outil. How does he seem?”
    “He is not in good spirits.”
    “That’s not surprising.”
    Outil adjusted a button on Marguerite’s shirt that was about to come undone. “I believe that although he did not wish to, he may have enjoyed the tour of the city Master Laviolette and I took him on today.”
    “You took him on a tour? With Jacques?” Marguerite was incredulous. “That’s a small miracle, Outil. I was sure he would have you sent out for scrap and me chopped up for chum after this morning.”
    “Excuse me for saying so, but I believe he loves you much more than that.” Outil motioned down a path to their left. “This way.”
    “What is it they say? Out of the gearbox, into the oil,” Marguerite mumbled.
    The cab was the latest model from Paris, of course. Marguerite had seen a precious few on the streets of Montreal up to this point. She wondered if her father secured it as a rental. or if he’d brought it with him on the ship.
    The rear seat was plush and comfortable and made from the softest velvet. Marguerite caught herself running her hand across it, longing for her own room at her childhood home filled with similar fabrics and softness. It had been close to a year since she’d slept on a feather bed with real satin sheets and a duvet that didn’t smell like it was made from a yak. Independence was nice, but so was luxury.
    The driver looked at the pair in the rear mirror with a smirk but drove through the streets overflowing with horse-drawn carriages, autocarts and those on foot, without comment. A short drive along the St. Lawrence River brought them to a formidable brick home with modern