Marrying Christopher by Michele Paige Holmes Page B

paper.
    “Are both parents living or—”
    “Deceased.” Saying that didn’t hurt as much as it used to. Soon she would no longer be alone in the world.
    So long as he lets me go, that is. He was looking at her suspiciously, as if having deceased parents made her somehow less than worthy of this journey.
    “Are you in possession of all of your teeth?”
    “Yes,” Marsali said, insulted he would think otherwise. Must lack of money always be associated with lack of anything else, including caring for one’s hygiene? She forced an overbright smile, showing off as many of her teeth as possible.
    “Open your mouth,” he said. She obeyed, and he pressed a small, flat stick of wood on her tongue to hold it down. “Mmm. Very good. No sign of infection.”
    Of course not. She’d been blessed with very little illness her whole life— a good thing, as her aunt and uncle quite certainly would not have paid to have a doctor care for her.
    “I have always been very healthy,” Marsali assured him.
    “We’ll see,” he said, sounding as if he believed the opposite to be true. “Breathe in deeply, please.”
    She did, then held her breath and exhaled when he instructed her to. He listened intently, a frown upon his face the whole while.
    What ?she wanted to ask. What is wrong ?Her heartbeat quickened, and she willed it not to, lest he think something amiss with her heart, too.
    Please let me go. Please , she chanted silently in her head.
    He examined her arms and hands. He snapped his fingers in the air near each of her ears, after which Marsali turned to him, not knowing whether to laugh or express irritation. Perhaps one becomes a medical inspector when he does not do well enough in school to become a physician.
    He stepped close and peered into her eyes. “Can you read at all?”
    This was too much, and his insult overtook her fear that he might make her stay. Marsali took a step back and looked directly at him. “I read. I write. I can figure sums in my head. I am fluent in three languages, enjoy reciting poetry, play the pianoforte reasonably well, and can sing better than most.” Or she used to be able to sing. Until her aunt had forbid it. “Are those qualifications satisfactory enough to allow me to sail on this ship?”
    “Perhaps,” he said, annoyance in his tone. “Most fortunate for you that humility is not a requirement.”
    This infuriated her more, and she fumed inwardly. She’d not been trying to boast but merely prove a point— that she oughtn’t be treated any differently from the other passengers simply because she was traveling under indenture. Wealth, or lack thereof, does not make a person good— or bad.
    “What other language do you speak, aside from English and French, I presume.”
    “Gaelic.” Marsali loved her late grandmother’s language almost as much as her native French.
    “Hmph.” The inspector snorted. “That is no longer a language.”
    “Simply because one may be ignorant of something doesn’t mean that it does not exist.”
    This earned her another shrewd look. “Take your hair down.”
    “What— why?” Marsali demanded. This seemed an entirely inappropriate thing to ask. She might no longer be aware of each and every one of polite society’s rules, but she knew enough to realize she was of an age when she ought to wear her hair up and that any man who asked her to take it down was not one she wanted to be near. She looked past him toward the door, trying to decide what she should do.
    “I’ve got to check you for head lice,” he said impatiently.
    “I haven’t any,” Marsali said. As much as her aunt loathed her, she would have loathed having lice in her house even more, so Marsali had at least been afforded the privilege of bathing regularly.
    The medical inspector folded his arms across his chest and gave her a hard look.
    “Oh, very well,” Marsali grumbled. At least no one else was in the common room to see. Her fingers searched for her hairpins and