Dr. Scott drums his fingers on the table while his colleagues wait for him to speak. “The public nature of this document means our response must be equally public. We’re obliged to announce our findings in the Missionary Journal. Miss Pigot, I regret your name will be associated with our deliberations.”
I take a deep breath and look across at these men, who hold my fate in their hands. What can I say? I feel myself shrinking even as I straighten my back.
Dr. Scott’s voice penetrates my thoughts. “We began our deliberations as soon as the leaflet came to our attention. We’ve been in contact with Mr. Wilson who made further inquiries into the allegations.”
It’s interesting that they didn’t come to me first. Perhaps they don’t expect me to tell the truth. Maybe this is all just a formality before my dismissal. I imagine a headline: ‘Mary Pigot, the Eurasian Who Thought She Was Scottish.’
Someone is speaking to me, but my head is throbbing with thoughts. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
It’s Dr. Scott enunciating his words. “We’ve just a few questions before we come to an official conclusion. Are you up to it, Miss Pigot?”
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