Marrying Christopher by Michele Paige Holmes Page A

everywhere, barking instructions about checking the mooring lines and the sails and asking repeatedly for a final measuring of coal. More than once Marsali heard a bit of murmuring from his men, wishing the captain would trust them to see to their tasks themselves.
    But he cannot , Marsali surmised. This ship was his life, and its future and Captain Gower’s largely depended upon the next twenty-five days.
    Only twenty-five more days, and I shall see Charlotte. Marsali looked to the west, enjoying the cool breeze and once more anticipating the promises of her new life.
    “Captain Gower, those clouds do not bode well.”
    Marsali glanced behind her toward the unfamiliar feminine voice and caught her first glimpse of the woman who had to be Lady Cosgrove. She stood beside Captain Gower near the wheel, one gloved hand extended, finger pointing toward the western horizon. Marsali followed her gaze and noticed the clouds for the first time. As it was not yet midday, they weren’t blocking the sun, but their dark grey did appear rather ominous. The wind picked up, blowing wisps of hair about her face, and she realized the breeze was turning to something more serious.
    “The wind may not be blowing favorably,” Captain Gower said. “But for us that is of no consequence. We can make headway regardless of any ill wind or weather.”
    Lady Cosgrove’s pout showed clearly that his words had not comforted her. She allowed her hand to drop, where it hung limp at her side. Marsali resumed walking and wandered toward the back of the ship, where additional coal— as ordered by the captain this morning— was being loaded.
    A stout, well-dressed man strode up the gangplank, spied her, and promptly smiled. “Miss Abbott, I presume.” He carried a black medical bag.
    “Yes,” she answered, at once wary.
    “You had the captain quite worried last night. I daresay you’re his most valuable passenger.”
    Marsali didn’t see how that was possible, as she was his only nonpaying passenger. But she refrained from saying so. “And who might you be?”
    “Medical inspector.” He held up his bag. “Promised the captain I’d return today, and so I have. I imagine he was mighty glad to see you. He has to deliver you to a Mr. Thomas in America, I believe.”
    “Yes.” Did everyone know of her situation? That this stranger knew of it bothered her. But Charlotte had mentioned a brief medical examination in one of her letters telling Marsali what to expect of the crossing. I will answer his questions, and he will be on his way, and that will be that.
    “What do you wish to know?” Marsali held her chin high and looked at him unwaveringly. He was her last obstacle to leaving England. She thought herself very healthy, but if, for some reason, this inspector did not, he could force her to stay.
    And what would I do then? It did not bear thinking of. Silently she prayed that he was honest and that her aunt and uncle hadn’t somehow met and coerced him into doing their will, as they had the coachmen yesterday.
    “Shall we go into the saloon?” he asked, then led the way. Marsali followed, her unease growing by the minute. According to Charlotte, this should be but a cursory examination, to ensure she hadn’t the morbid sore throat or measles or lice. Could not all of that have been determined outside?
    The inspector held the door open for her, and as she had the previous night with Captain Gower, she preceded him into the long room. She stopped at the first table, wanting to be near to the door and not anywhere near her cabin with this stranger.
    The arrangement must have been satisfactory, for he set his bag on the table and got right to work. “Name, please.”
    “Marsali Elise Abbott,” she said, thinking the question ridiculous when he’d already ascertained who she was.
    He wrote her name on a form of some sort. “Country of birth.”
    “France.”
    The inspector’s brows rose at this, but he recorded her answer on the