The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl by Leigh Statham

that you?”
    The girl shot up and screamed out a howl fit for a banshee.
    “It’s me!” Marguerite tried to reach out to her, but Vivienne stepped back and screamed again. Marguerite fumbled in her pocket for the cricket and poked its belly until the light came on. “Look! Vivienne! I swear, it’s me! What in the world are you doing?”
    “Ah!” Vivienne’s eyes grew wide. “It is you! I thought a ghost had got me for sure!”
    “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death of cold. And why are you dressed like that? What is going on?”
    Marguerite’s light shone right in the other girl’s face now. Her cheeks were scarlet from crying and the rush of surprise. But there was another color there, a purplish blue just across her left cheek. Marguerite came closer to inspect it.
    Vivienne touched her cheek protectively, knowing the next set of questions about to be unleashed.
    “It’s nothing, I was just, sad … I … couldn’t sleep, decided on a walk.” Vivienne dipped her head in shame and turned away from the bot and lady staring at her in disbelief.
    “And I’m on a moonlight stroll to visit my dead mother’s grave.” Marguerite’s sarcasm and impatience weren’t hidden in the least. “Who did this to you?”
    “What are you doing here?” It was Vivienne’s turn to realize all was not in the norm.
    “If you must know, I’m running away to New France!” Marguerite was thrilled to finally be able to tell someone the plot she’d been cradling like a newborn in her heart.
    Vivienne turned back to look at her friend, her face flat when she asked, “Whatever for?”
    “Vivienne. Do you really think I’m going to let them haul me off to Lyon? And I’m certainly not going to marry that pompous bag of air Delacourte, although, I sort of told my father I would so that he’d cancel the trip to Lyon and celebrate with me.” It was Marguerite’s turn to hang her head in shame.
    “You wicked thing!”
    Marguerite couldn’t tell if Vivienne was serious or not. “What happened, Vivienne? Please tell me?” She was softer now, realizing more and more the amount of stress the girl must be under to be injured and wandering the path between their homes at this hour. “Please let me help you?”
    “You can’t help me. No one can.” Vivienne began to cry again.
    Outil spoke up then. “If I may be so bold … ” She waited for Marguerite’s response.
    “Yes, what is it?” Her arm was around the sobbing girl’s bent shoulders now.
    “It is common knowledge among servants and automatons that Vivienne’s father is fond of ruling with the fist and spares no one in the household his rage when it is kindled.”
    “Outil! You old gossip!” Marguerite turned back to Vivienne. “Is this true? Did your father hit you? Did he turn you out?” Her pitch was rising with incredulity.
    “No, no. I mean, yes.” She gasped for air between sobs. “He did hit me. We were discussing my coming-out ball and the plans and suitors and he just went into a rage with my mother about the cost and the fact that I … ” She sobbed again. “I wasn’t worth it.”
    “How could he think … ” Marguerite trailed off.
    “He said that no decent suitor would come for me and why bother with the expense? He wants to save the money for my little sister’s coming-out party next year.”
    Marguerite had no idea that Vivienne’s family situation was as lopsided as all this. She had never liked her parents on the few occasions she’d had to meet them, and Vivienne’s timidity and simpering bothered her in the extreme, but for a father to favor his younger (and much more annoying) daughter was just unthinkable.
    “Why did he hurt you, Vivienne?”
    She sniffed and wiped her face on her nightshirt before continuing, “Because I couldn’t help myself. I … I lost my temper. I’ve never done that before with him. I just snapped. I told him it wasn’t fair!”
    Marguerite had a hard time imagining the tiny