I look at this man that I’ve heard so much about. He’s tall with a demanding presence and a deep voice. His hair and beard are steel gray as are his bushy eyebrows.
“How do you do?” I say. Though I’m standing at attention, I say this as if we’re about to have tea. What a silly phrase.
“Please be seated. I hope the journey from Calcutta wasn’t too arduous?” Dr. Scott says pleasantly, as if I’m on a social visit.
“We didn’t encounter any major storms,” I say as I sit carefully on the chair that has been designated for me, “so the journey was quite pleasant, thank you.”
“What ship were you on?” Dr. Phin looks at me intently, though he sits with a slight stoop.
“The S. S. Britannia from the Anchor Line,” I answer politely, though these pleasantries are making me nervous. Surely, they are avoiding the topic and have something terrible to say. “Excuse me for asking,” I blurt out, “but yesterday Mrs. Stevenson said you wanted to ask me questions about some letters Miss Smail wrote.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Pigot.” Dr. Scott responds calmly. “Did you discuss them with Mrs. Stevenson or any of the Ladies?”
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