"Remarkable Creatures" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chevalier Tracy)

9. The lightning that signaled my greatest happiness

It was only by luck that I saw her go.

Joe got me up. He come to stand over me one morning when Mam was out. Tray was lying next to me on the bed. “Mary,” he said.

I rolled over. “What?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked down at me. Anyone else would think Joe’s face was blank, but I could see he was bothered by me staying in bed when I weren’t ill. He was biting the inside of his cheek, little bites that tightened his jaw if you knew to look for it.

“You can get up now,” he said. “Miss-Mam is fixing it.”

“Fixing what?”

“Your problem with the Frenchman.”

I sat up, clutching the blanket to me, for it was freezing, even with Tray’s warmth beside me. “How’s she doing that?”

“She didn’t say. But you should get up. I don’t want to have to go back upon beach again.”

I felt so guilty then that I got up, Tray barking his joy. And I was relieved too. After a day in bed it had got dull, but I felt like I needed someone to tell me to get up before I would do it.

I got dressed and took my hammer and basket and called to Tray, who had stayed with me while I was abed and was eager to get outside. When Colonel Birch give him to me, just before he left Lyme forever, he promised that Tray would be faithful to me. He’d been right.

I stepped outside, my breath turning to fog round my face, it was so cold. The grey sky threatened snow. The tide was in, and Black Ven and Charmouth cut off, so I went the other way, where a narrow strip of land would still be uncovered by the cliffs at Monmouth Beach. Though I had rarely found monsters in those cliffs, sometimes I carted back giant ammonites, like them that were embedded in the Ammo Graveyard, but prised loose from the cliff layers. Tray run ahead of me along the Walk, his claws clicking on the frozen ice. Sometimes he come back to sniff at me and make sure I was following and not going back home. It felt good to be outside, no matter the cold. It was as if I had emerged from a fuzzy fever into a hard, crisp world.

When I drew opposite the end of the Cobb, I saw the Unity docked there, being loaded for a journey. This weren’t unusual, but what caught my eye amongst all the men rushing about were the silhouettes of three women-two wearing bonnets, the third an unmistakable turban stuck with feathers.

Tray come running back, barking at me. “Shh, Tray, hush now.” I grabbed him, fearful they would look over and see me, and I ducked behind an overturned rowboat used to ferry people out to anchored ships.

I was too far away to make out the Philpot sisters’ faces, but I could see Miss Margaret handing something to Miss Elizabeth, which she put in her pocket. Then there were hugs and kisses, and Miss Elizabeth took a step away from her sisters, and there was a break in the men running up and down the plank that led on board, and then she was walking up it, and then she was standing on deck.

I couldn’t recall Miss Elizabeth ever going on a ship or even a little boat, despite living by the sea and hunting so often on its beaches. Nor had I but once or twice, for that matter. Though they could go by ship to London, the Philpots always chose to go by coach. Some people are meant for water, others land. We were land people.

I wanted to run along the Cobb and call out to them, but I didn’t. I stayed behind the rowboat, Tray whining at my feet, and watched as the crew of the Unity unfurled the huge sails and cast off. Miss Elizabeth stood on deck, a brave, straight figure in a grey cloak and purple bonnet. I had seen ships leave Lyme many times, but not with someone on board who meant so much to me. Suddenly the sea seemed a treacherous place. I recalled Lady Jackson’s body washed up from a shipwreck years before, and wanted to call out for Miss Elizabeth to come back, but it was too late.

I tried not to fret, but to go about my business. I did not look in the papers for news of shipwrecks, nor word of the plesiosaurus’ arrival in London, nor of Monsieur Cuvier’s doubts about it. This last I knew was not likely to be in the papers, as not being important to most. There were times I wished the Western Flying Post would reflect what mattered to me. I wanted to see announcements like “Miss Elizabeth Philpot Safely Arrived in London ”; “Geological Society Celebrates Lyme Plesiosaurus”; “Monsieur Cuvier Confirms Miss Anning Has Discovered a New Animal.”

One afternoon I run into Miss Margaret outside the Assembly Rooms, going in to play whist, for even in winter they played cards there once a week. Despite the cold she wore one of her outdated feathered turbans, which made her look the part of an aging eccentric spinster with a strange hat. Even I thought that, who had admired Miss Margaret all my life.

When I wished her good day, she started like a dog when its tail is trodden on. “Have you-have you heard from Miss Elizabeth?” I asked.

Miss Margaret give me a funny look. “How did you know she was away?”

I did not say I had seen her ship embark. “Everybody knows. Lyme’s small for secrets.”

Miss Margaret sighed. “We’ve not had a letter, but the post has not got through for three days, the roads are so bad. No one has had letters. However, a neighbour has just ridden from Yeovil and brought a new Post. There is news that the Dispatch ran aground near Ramsgate. That is the ship before Elizabeth ’s.” She shivered, the ostrich feathers in her turban quivering.

“The Dispatch?” I cried. “But the plesiosaurus is on it! What happened to it?” I had a horrible vision of my beast sinking to the seabed and being lost to us forever-all of my hard work, as well as the one hundred pounds from the Duke of Buckingham, gone.

Miss Margaret frowned. “The paper said both passengers and cargo are safe and are being transported to London by land. There’s no need to fret-though you might have a thought for those on board first rather than the cargo, however precious it is to you.”

“Of course, Miss Margaret. Of course I’m thinking of the people. God bless them all. But I do wonder where my-the Duke’s-plesie is.”

“And I wonder where Elizabeth is,” Miss Margaret added, tears welling. “I still feel we should never have let her onto that ship. If it is so easy to run aground as the Dispatch did, what might have happened to the Unity?” Now she was weeping, and I patted her shoulder. She did not want comfort from me, though, and pulled away, glaring. “ Elizabeth would never have gone if it hadn’t been for you!” she cried, before turning on her heel and hurrying into the Assembly Rooms.

“What do you mean?” I called after her. “I don’t understand, Miss Margaret!” I couldn’t follow her into the rooms, however. They were not for the likes of me, and the men standing in the doorway gave me unfriendly looks. I lingered near by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Margaret in the bay window, but she did not appear.

That was the first I knew that Miss Elizabeth went to London on account of me. But I didn’t know why until Miss Louise come to explain. She rarely visited to our house, preferring living plants to fossils. But two days after I met Miss Margaret she appeared at the workshop door, ducking her head because she was so tall. I was cleaning a small ichthyosaurus I’d found just before discovering the plesie. It weren’t complete-the skull was in fragments and there were no paddles-but the spine and ribs were in a good state. “Don’t get up,” Miss Louise said, but I insisted on clearing a stool of bits of rock and wiping it clean before she sat down. Tray come then and lay on her feet. She did not speak right away-Miss Louise never were a talker-but studied the heaps of rocks ranged round her on the floor, all containing fossils waiting to be cleaned. Though I always had specimens all round me, now there were even more from waiting while I had been getting the plesie ready. She said nothing about the mess, or the film of blue dust covering everything. Others might have, but I suppose she was used to dirt from her gardening, and from Miss Elizabeth’s fossils.

“Margaret told me she saw you and you wanted to know about our sister. We had a letter from her today, and she has arrived safe at our brother’s in London.”

“Oh, I’m so glad! But-Miss Margaret said Miss Elizabeth went to London for me. Why?”

“She was planning to go to the Geological Society meeting and ask the men there to support you against Baron Cuvier’s claim that you fabricated the plesiosaurus.”

I frowned. “How did she know about that?”

Miss Louise hesitated.

“Did the men tell her? Did Cuvier write to one of them-Buckland or Conybeare-and they wrote to Miss Elizabeth? And now they’re all talking about it in London, about-about us Annings and what we do to specimens.” My mouth trembled so much I had to stop.

“Hush, Mary. Your mother came to see us.”

“Mam?” Though relieved it was not from the men, I was shocked Mam went behind my back.

“She was worried about you,” Miss Louise continued, “and Elizabeth decided she would try to help. Margaret and I could not understand why she felt she had to go in person rather than write to them, but she insisted it was better.”

I nodded. “She’s right. Them men don’t always respond quick to letters. That’s what Mam and I found. Sometimes I can wait over a year for a reply. When they want something they’re quick, but they soon forget me. When I want something…” I shrugged, then shook my head. “I can’t believe Miss Elizabeth would go all the way to London -on a ship-for me.”

Miss Louise said nothing, but looked at me with her grey eyes so direct it made me drop mine.

I decided to visit Morley Cottage a few days later, to say sorry to Miss Margaret for taking her sister away. I brought with me a crate full of fossil fish I had been saving for Miss Elizabeth. It would be my gift to her for when she come back from London. That wouldn’t be for some time, as she was likely to stay there for her spring visit, but it were a comfort to know the fish would be there waiting for her return.

I lugged the crate along Coombe Street, up Sherborne Lane, and all the way up Silver Street, cursing myself for being so generous, as it was heavy. When I reached Morley Cottage, however, the house was buttoned up tight, doors locked, shutters drawn, and no smoke from the chimney. I knocked on the front and back doors for a long time, but there was no answer. I were just coming round to the front again to try and peer through the crack in the shutters when one of their neighbours come out. “No point looking,” she said. “They’re not there. Gone to London yesterday.”

“ London! Why?”

“It were sudden. They got word Miss Elizabeth is taken ill and dropped everything to go.”

“No!” I clenched my fists and leaned against the door. It seemed whenever I found something, I lost something else. I found an ichthyosaurus and lost Fanny. I found Colonel Birch and lost Miss Elizabeth. I found fame and lost Colonel Birch. Now I thought I’d found Miss Elizabeth again, only to lose her, perhaps forever.

I could not accept it. My life’s work was finding the bones of creatures that had been lost. I could not believe that I would not find Miss Elizabeth again too.

I did not take the crate of fossil fish back to Cockmoile Square, but left it round the back in Miss Louise’s garden, by the giant ammonite I’d once helped Miss Elizabeth bring back from Monmouth Beach. I was determined that she would one day sift through them and choose the best for her collection.

I wanted to hop on the next coach to London, but Mam wouldn’t let me. “Don’t be a fool,” she said. “What help could you be to the Philpots? They’d just have to waste their time looking after you rather than their sister.”

“I want to see her, and say sorry.”

Mam tutted. “You’re treating her like she’s dying and you want to make your peace with her. Do you think that will help her to get well, with you sitting there with a long face saying sorry? It’ll send her to her grave quicker!”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. It was peculiar but sensible, like Mam herself.

So I didn’t go, though I vowed one day I would get to London, just to prove I could. Instead Mam wrote to the Philpots for news, her hand being less upsetting to the family than mine. I wanted her to ask about Cuvier’s accusation and the Geological Society meeting too, but Mam wouldn’t, as it weren’t polite to be thinking about myself at a time like this. Also, it would remind the Philpots of why Miss Elizabeth had gone to London, and make them angry at me all over again.

Two weeks later we got a brief letter from Miss Louise, saying Miss Elizabeth were over the worst of it. The pneumonia had weakened her lungs, though, and the doctors thought she would not be able to return to live in Lyme because of the damp sea air.

“Nonsense,” Mam snorted. “What do we have all those visitors for if not for the sea air and water being good for their health? She’ll be back. You couldn’t keep Miss Elizabeth away from Lyme.” After years of suspicion of the London Philpots, now Mam were their biggest supporter.

As certain as she seemed, I weren’t so sure. I was relieved Miss Elizabeth had survived, but it looked like I’d lost her anyway. There was little I could do, though, and once Mam had written again to say how glad we all was, we didn’t hear anything more from the Philpots. Nor did I know what had happened with Monsieur Cuvier. I had no choice but to live with the uncertainty.

Mam likes to repeat that old saw that it don’t rain but pour. I don’t agree with her when it comes to weather. I been out upon beach for years and years in days where it don’t pour, but spits now and then, the sky never making up its mind what it wants to do.

With curies, though, she were right. We could go months, years, without finding a monster. We could be brought to our knees with how poor we were, how cold and hungry and desperate. Other times, though, we would find more than we needed or could work on. That was how it was when the Frenchman come.

It were one of those glorious days in late June when you know from the sun and the balmy breeze that summer has come at last and you can begin to let go of the tightness in your chest that’s kept you fighting against the cold all winter and spring. I was out on the ledges off Church Cliffs, extracting a very fine specimen of Ichthyosaurus tenuirostris-I can say that now, for the men have identified and named four species, and I know each one just from a glance. There were no tail or paddles but it had tightly packed vertebrae, and long, thin jaws reaching a point, with the small, fine teeth intact. Mam had already written to Mr Buckland asking him to tell the Duke of Buckingham, who we knew wanted an ichie as company to the plesie.

Someone come to stand near me as I worked. I was used to visitors looking over my shoulder and seeing what the famous Mary Anning were up to. Sometimes I could hear them talking about me from a distance. “What do you think she’s found there?” they’d say. “Is it one of those creatures? A crocodile or, what was it I read, a giant turtle without its shell?”

Though I smiled to myself, I didn’t bother to correct them. It was hard for people to understand that there had lived creatures they could not even imagine, and which no longer existed. It had taken me years to accept the idea, even when I had seen the evidence so plainly before me. Though they respected me more now I’d found two kinds of monsters, people were not going to change their minds simply because Mary Anning told them so. I had learned that much from taking out curious visitors. They wanted to find treasure upon beach, they wanted to see monsters, but they did not want to think about how and when those monsters lived. It challenged their idea of the world too much.

Now the spectator moved so that he blocked the sun and his shadow fell on the ichie, and I had to look up. It was one of the burly Day brothers, Davy or Billy, I wasn’t sure which. I laid down my hammer, wiped my hands and stood.

“Sorry to bother you, Mary,” he said, “but there be something Billy and me need to show you, back by Gun Cliff.” As he spoke he glanced down at the ichie, checking my work, I expect. I’d got much better over the years at chiselling out a specimen from the rock, and didn’t need the Days to help so much, except sometimes to carry slabs of rock back to the workshop.

Their opinion mattered to me, though, and I was glad to see he looked satisfied with what I’d done so far. “What have you found?”

Davy Day scratched his head. “Don’t know. One of them turtles, maybe.”

“A plesie?” I said. “Are you sure?”

Davy shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, it could be a crocodilly. I never knowed the difference.” Recently the Days had begun sea-quarrying in the Blue Lias, and often found things in the ledges off Lyme. They never wanted to understand what they dug up. They knew it made me and them money, and that was all they cared about. People often come to me to help them with what they found. Usually it was a small bit of ichie-a jaw bone, some teeth, a few verteberries fused together.

I picked up my hammer and basket. “Tray, stay,” I commanded, snapping my fingers and pointing. Tray come running up from the water’s edge, where he had been chasing the waves. He curled his black and white body into a ball and lay his chin on a rock next to the ichie. He was a gentle little dog, but he growled when anyone come near one of my specimens.

I followed Davy Day round the bend that hid Lyme. The sun lit the houses piling up the hill, and the sea was silvery like a mirror. The boats moored in the harbour were strewn about like sticks, abandoned however the water set them on the sea bed at low tide. My heart brimmed with fondness for these sights. “Mary Anning, you are the most famous person in this town,” I said to myself. I knew very well I was too full of pride, and would have to go to Chapel and pray to be forgiven my sin. But I couldn’t help it: I had come such a long way since Miss Elizabeth first hired the Days for us so many years before, when I was young and poor and ignorant. Now people come to visit me, and wrote about what I found. It was hard not to get a big head. Even the people of Lyme were nicer to me, if only because I brought in visitors and more trade.

One thing did keep me from swelling too much, though, and were a little needle in my heart. Whatever I found, whatever was said of me, Elizabeth Philpot was no longer in Lyme to share it with.

“It be here.” Davy Day gestured to where his brother was sitting, holding a wedge of pork pie in his big paw. Near him was a load of cut stone on a wooden frame they were using to carry it. Billy Day looked up, his mouth full, and nodded.

I always felt a little awkward with Billy, now he was married to Fanny Miller. He never said anything, but I often wondered if Fanny spoke harsh words about me to him. I weren’t exactly jealous of her-quarrymen are not considered suitable for any but the most desperate women. But their marriage reminded me that I was at the very bottom of the heap, and would never marry. Fanny was getting all the time what I experienced only the once with Colonel Birch in the orchard. I had my fame to comfort me, and the money it brought in, but that only went so far. I could not hate Fanny, for it were my fault she was crippled. But I could not ever feel friendly towards her, nor comfortable round her.

That was the case with many people in Lyme. I had come unstuck. I would never be a lady like the Philpots-no one would ever call me Miss Mary. I would be plain Mary Anning. Yet I weren’t like other working people either. I was caught in between, and always would be. That brought freedom, but it was lonely too.

Luckily the ledges gave me plenty of things to think about other than myself. Davy Day pointed at a ridge of rock, and I leaned over and made out a very clear line of vertebrae about three feet long. It seemed so obvious I chuckled. I had been over these ledges hundreds of times and not seen it. It always surprised me what could be found here. There were hundreds of bodies surrounding us, waiting for a pair of keen eyes to find them.

“We was carrying a load to Charmouth and Billy tripped over the ridge,” Davy explained.

“You tripped over it, not me,” Billy declared.

“It were you, you dolt.”

“Not me-you.”

I let the brothers argue and studied the vertebrae with growing excitement. They were longer and fatter than an ichie’s. I followed the line to where the paddles would be and saw there enough evidence of long phalanges to convince me. “It’s a plesiosaurus,” I announced. The Days stopped arguing. “A turtle,” I conceded, for they would never learn that long, strange word.

Davy and Billy looked at each other and then at me. “That be the first monster we ever found,” Billy said.

“So it is,” I agreed. The Days had uncovered giant ammonites, but never an ichie or plesie. “You’ve become fossil hunters.”

In unison the Days took a step back, as if distancing themselves from my words. “Oh no, we be quarrymen,” Billy said. “We deal in stone, not monsters.” He nodded at the blocks of stone awaiting their delivery to Charmouth.

I was astonished at my own luck. There was probably a whole specimen here, and the Days didn’t want it! “Then I’ll pay you for your time in digging it out for me, and will take it off your hands,” I suggested.

“Don’t know. We got the stone to deliver.”

“After that, then. I can’t get this out myself-as you saw, I am working on an ich-a crocodile.” I wondered if I were imagining it, but it seemed that for once the Days weren’t in complete agreement. Billy was more uneasy about having anything to do with the plesie. I took a chance then at guessing the matter. “Are you going to let Fanny rule what you do, then, Billy Day? Does she think a turtle or crocodile will turn round and bite you?”

Billy hung his head while Davy laughed. “You got the measure of him!” He turned to his brother. “Now, are we going to dig this out for Mary or are you going to sit with your wife while she holds your balls in her claws?”

Billy bunched up his mouth like a wad of paper. “How much you pay us?”

“A guinea,” I answered promptly, feeling generous, and also hoping such a fee would stop Fanny’s complaints.

“We got to take this load to Charmouth first,” Davy said. That were his way of saying yes.

There were so many people upon beach now looking for fossils, especially on a sunny day like this one, that I had to get Mam to come and sit with the plesie so no one else would claim it as theirs. Summers were like that now, and it was partly my fault, for making Lyme beaches so famous. It was only in winter that the shore cleared of people, driven away by the bitter wind and rain. That was when I could go out all day and not meet another soul.

The Days worked fast, and got the plesie out in two days, about the same time I finished with my ichie. As I was just round the corner from them, I could go back and forth between the two sites and give them instructions. It weren’t a bad specimen, though it had no head. Plesies seem to lose their heads easily.

We had just got both specimens back to the workshop when Mam called from her table out in the square, “Two strangers come to see you, Mary!”

“Lord help us, it’s too crowded here,” I muttered. I thanked the Days and sent them out to be paid by Mam, and called for the visitors to come in. What a sight met them! Two monster specimens laid out in slabs on the floor-indeed, covering so much of it the men couldn’t even step inside, but hung in the doorway, their eyes wide. I felt a little jolt of lightning run through me, one I couldn’t explain, and knew then that they could not be ordinary visitors.

“My apologies for the mess, gentlemen,” I said, “but I’ve just brung in two animals and not had a chance to sort them out yet. Were there something I can help you with?” I knew I must look a sight, with Blue Lias mud all over my face and my eyes flaming red from working so hard to get the ichie out.

The young one-not much older than me, and handsome, with deep-set blue eyes, a long nose, and a fine chin-recovered himself first. “Miss Anning, I am Charles Lyell,” he said with a smile, “and I bring with me Monsieur Constant Prévost, from Paris.”

“ Paris?” I cried. I could not contain the panic in my voice.

The Frenchman gazed at the riot of stone on the floor, and then at me. “Enchanté, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing. Though he looked kindly, with curly hair and long sideburns and wrinkles round his eyes, his voice was serious.

“Oh!” He was a spy. A spy for Monsieur Cuvier, come to see what I was up to. I stared at the floor, looking at it as he must see it. Laid out side by side were two specimens-an ichie without a tail and a plesie without a head. The plesie’s tail was detached from its pelvis and could easily be moved to complete the ichie. Or, I could take the ichie’s head, remove some vertebrae from the neck of the plesie, and attach the head. Those who knew the two creatures well wouldn’t be fooled, but idiots might buy them. From the evidence in front of him, it was easy enough for Monsieur Prévost to reach the conclusion I was about to join the two incomplete monsters together to create one whole, third monster.

I wanted to sit down with the suddenness of it all, but I couldn’t in front of the men.

“I bring greetings from the Reverends Buckland and Conybeare,” Charles Lyell went on, oblivious that he was adding fuel to the fire by mentioning their names. “I was Professor Buckland’s student at Oxford, and-”

“Mr Lyell, sir, Monsieur Prévost,” I interrupted, “I can tell you now I’m an honest woman. I would never fiddle with a specimen, whatever Baron Cuvier thinks! And I will swear on a Bible to it, sirs, that I will! We don’t have a Bible here-we had one once for a bit but had to sell it. But I can take you to the Chapel right now and Reverend Gleed will hear me swear on it, if that will do any good. Or we can go to St Michael’s, if you prefer. The vicar there don’t know me well, but he’ll provide a Bible.”

Charles Lyell tried to interrupt me, but I could not stop. “I know these specimens here ain’t whole, and I swear to you I will set them as I see them, and never try to swap parts. A plesiosaurus’ tail might fit onto an ichthyosaurus, but I would never do that. And of course an ichie’s head is far too big to fit onto the end of the plesie’s neck. It would-n’t work at all.” I was babbling, and the Frenchman in particular was looking perplexed.

Then it all started to come down on me, and I had to sit, gentlemen or no. Truly I was ruined. Right there, in front of strangers, I begun to cry.

This upset the Frenchman more than any words could have done. He begun rattling away in French, with Mr Lyell interrupting him and speaking his own slow French, while all I could think of was that I wanted to call out to Mam to pay the Days just a pound, as I’d been too generous and we would need the extra shillings since I would no longer be able to hunt and sell monsters. I would have to go back to the piddling curies, the ammos and bellies and gryphies of my youth. Even then I wouldn’t sell so many, as there were that many more hunters selling such things themselves. We would grow poor again, and Joe would never get to set up his own business, and Mam and I would always be stuck on Cockmoile Square and not move up the hill to a better shop. I let myself cry over my future until my tears were spent and the men were silent.

When they were sure I was done crying, Monsieur Prévost pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Leaning across the slabs so that he wouldn’t step on the specimens, he held out the hankie to me like a white flag over a battlefield of stone. When I hesitated, he gestured with it to encourage me, and gave me a little smile that dug deep dimples in his cheeks. So I took it, and wiped my eyes on the softest, whitest cloth I’d ever touched. It smelled of tobacco and made me shiver and smile, for the lightning struck again, just a little. I made to hand it back, now smeared with Blue Lias clay, but he would not take it, indicating that I should keep it. It was then I begun to think maybe Monsieur Prévost were not a spy after all. I folded the handkerchief and tucked it away under my cap, for that was the only place in the room not filthy.

“Miss Anning, please let me speak,” Charles Lyell begun tentatively, perhaps fearful I would burst out crying again. I did not; I was done. I noticed then that he was calling me Miss Anning rather than Mary.

“Perhaps I should explain to you what we are doing here. Monsieur Prévost kindly hosted me last year when I visited Paris, introducing me to Baron Cuvier at the Museum of Natural History and accompanying me on geological expeditions in the area. Thus when he wrote to say he was coming to England, I offered to take him to some of the most important geological sites in the southern parts of the country. We have been to Oxford, Birmingham and Bristol, and down to Cornwall and back, via Exeter and Plymouth. Naturally we were keen to come to Lyme Regis and visit you, to go out on the beaches where you collect fossils and to see your workshop. Indeed, Monsieur Prévost has just said he is most impressed by what he sees here. He would tell you himself, but alas, he speaks no English.”

As Mr Lyell was speaking, the Frenchman squatted by the ichthyosaurus and run a finger up and down its ribs, which were almost complete and beautifully spaced like iron railings. I could no longer just sit while he was crouching with his thighs so near to me. I picked up a blade, kneeled by the ichie’s jaw and begun to scrape at the shale clinging to it.

“We should like to examine the specimens you have found more closely, if we might, Miss Anning,” Mr Lyell said. “We would like also to see where they have come from on the beach-they, and the plesiosaurus you found last December. A most remarkable specimen, with its extraordinary neck and head.”

I froze. His bringing up the most worrying part of the plesie sounded suspicious. “You seen it?”

“Of course. I was there when it arrived at the Geological Society offices. Did you not hear of the drama of it?”

“I heard nothing. Sometimes I feel I could be the man in the moon, for the little I hear of what’s happening in the scientific world. I had someone who was going to keep me informed, but-Mr Lyell, do you know of Elizabeth Philpot?”

“Philpot? No, I have not heard that name, I’m sorry. Should I know her?”

“No, no.” Yes, I thought. Yes, you should. “What was it you was saying-about the drama?”

“The plesiosaurus was delayed in its arrival,” Mr Lyell explained, “and did not reach London until almost two weeks after the Society meeting at which Reverend Conybeare was speaking of it. You know, Miss Anning, at the meeting Reverend Buckland was very complimentary of your collecting skills.”

“He was?”

“Yes, indeed. Now, when the plesiosaurus arrived at last, the men could not get it up the stairs, for it was too wide.”

“Six feet wide, the frame round it was. I know, for I built it. We had to turn it sideways to get it out this door.”

“Of course. They tried the better part of a day to get it up to the meeting rooms. Finally, though, it had to be left in the entranceway, where many Society members came to look at it.”

I watched the Frenchman crawl between the ichie and plesie to get round to the plesie’s front paddle. I gestured with my head. “Did he see it?”

“Not in London, but when we went to Birmingham from Oxford, we stopped en route at Stowe House, where the Duke of Buckingham has taken it.” Mr Lyell, though polite as a gentleman ought to be, made a little face. “It is a splendid specimen, but rather swamped by the Duke’s extensive collection of glittering objects.”

I paused, my hand on the ichie’s jaw. So this poor specimen would go to a rich man’s house, to be ignored amongst all the silver and gold. I could have wept. “So is he-” I nodded at Monsieur Prévost “-going to tell Monsieur Cuvier that the plesiosaurus isn’t a fake? That it really does have a small head and a long neck and I weren’t just putting two animals together?”

Monsieur Prévost glanced up from his study of the plesie with a keen look that made me think he understood more English than he spoke.

Mr Lyell smiled at me. “There is no need, Miss Anning. Baron Cuvier is fully convinced of the specimen, even without Monsieur Prévost having seen it. He has had a great deal of correspondence about the plesiosaurus with various of your champions: Reverend Buckland, Conybeare, Mr Johnson, Mr Cumberland-”

“I wouldn’t call them my champions exactly,” I muttered. “They like me when they need something.”

“They have a great deal of respect for you, Miss Anning,” Charles Lyell countered.

“Well.” I was not going to argue with him about what the men thought of me. I had work to do. I begun scraping again.

Constant Prévost got to his feet, dusted off his knees and spoke to Mr Lyell. “Monsieur Prévost would like to know if you have a buyer for the plesiosaurus,” he explained. “If not, he would like to purchase it for the museum in Paris.”

I dropped my blade and sat back on my heels. “For Cuvier? Monsieur Cuvier wants one of my plesies?” I looked so astonished that both men begun to laugh.

It took Mam no time to bring me down from the cloud I was floating on. “What do Frenchmen pay for curies?” she wanted to know the minute the men had left to dine at the Three Cups and she could leave the table outside. “Are they looser with their purse strings or do they want it even cheaper than an Englishman?”

“I don’t know, Mam-we didn’t talk figures,” I lied. I would find a better time to tell her I were so taken with the Frenchman that I’d agreed to sell it to him for just ten pounds. “I don’t care how much he pays,” I added. “I just know Monsieur Cuvier thinks well enough of my work to want more of it. That be pay enough for me.”

Mam leaned in the doorway and give me a sly look. “So you’re calling the plesie yours, are you?”

I frowned, but did not answer.

“The Days found it, didn’t they?” she continued, relentless as always. “They found it and dug it up, and you bought it off them the way Mr Buckland or Lord Henley or Colonel Birch bought specimens off you and called them theirs. You become a collector like them. Or a dealer, as you’re selling it on.”

“That’s not fair, Mam. I been a hunter all my life. And I do find most of my specimens. It’s not my fault the Days found one and didn’t know what to do with it. If they had dug it out and cleaned it and sold it, it would be theirs. But they didn’t want that, and come to me. I oversaw them and paid them for their work, but the plesie’s with me now. I’m responsible for it, and so it’s mine.”

Mam rolled her tongue over her teeth. “You been saying you ain’t had recognition by the men, who call the curies theirs once they bought ’em. Do that mean you’ll tell the Frenchman to put the Days’ names on the label along with yours when they display it in Paris?”

“Of course I won’t. They won’t list me on the label anyway. No one else ever has.” I said this to try to distract from Mam’s argument, for I knew she was right.

“Maybe the difference between hunter and collector ain’t so great as you been making out all these years.”

“Mam! Why are you going on about such a thing when I’ve just had good news? Can’t you leave be?”

Mam sighed and straightened her cap as she prepared to go back out to customers at the table. “All a mother wants is for her children to settle into their lives. I seen you worried about recognition for your work these many years. But you’d be better off worrying about the pay. That’s what really matters, isn’t it? Curies is business.”

Though I knew she meant it kindly, her words cut. Yes, I needed to be paid for what I did. But fossils were more than money to me now-they had become a kind of life, a whole stone world that I were a part of. Sometimes I even thought about my own body after my death, and it turning to stone thousands of years later. What would someone make of me if they dug me up?

But Mam were right: I had become part not just of the hunting and finding, but of the buying and the selling too, and it was no longer so clear what I did. Maybe that was the true price of my fame.

What I wanted to do more than anything was to go up Silver Street to Morley Cottage and sit at the Philpots’ dining room table spread with Miss Elizabeth’s fossil fish and talk to her. Bessy would bang a cup of tea in front of me and slump off, and we would watch the light change over Golden Cap. I looked up at a watercolour Miss Elizabeth had made of that view and given me not long before our argument-trees and cottages in the foreground, the hills along the coast washed in soft light as they backed into the distance. There were no people visible in the painting, but I often felt as if I were there somewhere, just out of sight, looking for curies on the shore.

The next two days I was busy with Mr Lyell and Monsieur Prévost, taking them upon beach to show them where the beasts had come from and teach them how to find other curies. Neither had the eye, though they found a few bits and pieces. Even then my luck were with me, for in front of them I found yet another ichthyosaurus. We were standing on the ledge near to the other ichie’s site when I spotted a length of jaw and teeth almost under the foot of the Frenchman. With my hammer I chipped off slices of rock to expose the eye, the vertebrae and ribs. It was a good specimen, apart from a crushed tail which looked like a cart wheel run over it. I confess it were a pleasure to wield my hammer and bring the creature into sight before their eyes. “Miss Anning, you are truly a conjurer!” Mr Lyell exclaimed. Monsieur Prévost too was impressed, though he could not say so in English. I was just as happy that he could not speak, for it meant I could enjoy being in his company without having to worry about what his pretty words might mean.

The men wanted to see more, so I had to fetch the Days to dig out that ichie while I took them to the Ammonite Graveyard at Monmouth Beach, and on along to Pinhay Bay to hunt crinoids. Only once they’d left to go to Weymouth and to Portland were I finally free to return to the plesie. I would have to clean it fast, for Monsieur Prévost planned to leave for France in ten days. I would be working day and night to get it ready, but it would be worth it. That was how this trade was: for months every day would be just like the last, but for the changes in weather, with me hunting upon beach. Then along come three monsters and two strangers and suddenly I would have to stay up all hours to finish preparing a specimen.

Maybe it were because I was in the workshop all the time till the plesie was done and the men gone that I didn’t find out until everyone else in Lyme already knew. It took Mam shouting at me from her perch at the table one morning to get me outside. “What, Mam?” I grumbled as I wiped my hair from my eyes, leaving clay on my forehead.

“It’s Bessy,” Mam said, pointing. The Philpots’ maid was heading up Coombe Street. I run after her and caught up just as she was about to go into the baker’s. “Bessy!” I called.

Bessy turned, and grunted when she saw me. I had to grab her arm to keep her from ducking inside. Bessy rolled her eyes. “What you want?”

“You’re back! You’re-Are they-Is Miss Elizabeth all right?”

“You listen to me, Mary Anning,” Bessy said, facing me fully. “You leave ’em alone, do you hear? The last person they want to see is you. Don’t you come anywhere near Silver Street.”

Bessy had never liked me, so it were no surprise what she was saying. I just had to work out if it were true. I tried to read her face as she spoke. She looked bothered, and nervous and angry. Nor would she look at me direct, but kept turning her head from side to side, as if hoping someone would come and save her from me.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Bessy.”

“Yes, you are!” she hissed. “You stay away from us. You’re not welcome at Morley Cottage. You almost killed Miss Elizabeth, you did. We thought we lost her one night at her worst, the pneumonia were that bad. She would never have got it if it hadn’t been for you. And she ain’t been the same since. So you just leave her alone!” Bessy pushed past me into the baker’s.

I went back along Coombe Street, but when I reached Cockmoile Square I didn’t go over to Mam behind her table. Instead I turned into Bridge Street, crossed the square past the Assembly Rooms and the Three Cups, and started up Broad Street. If I were going to be kept away, I would hear it direct from the Philpots rather than from Bessy.

It was market day, and the Shambles was busy, with stalls extending halfway up Broad Street. The place was thick with people; pushing through them was like trying to wade through the sea with the tide coming in. I kept going, though, for I knew I had to.

With all of the crowd, it took me a moment to spot her, marching down the hill with her quick little steps and her straight back. It was like seeing a vague shape on the horizon that when it comes closer snaps into the clear outline of a ship. At that moment I felt the bolt of lightning pass through me and stopped dead, letting the market crowd part and push round me.

Elizabeth Philpot was surrounded by people, but she herself was alone, unaccompanied by her sisters. She looked thinner, almost skeletal, the familiar mauve dress hanging from her, her bonnet framing a bony face. Her cheekbones and especially her jaw were more prominent, long and straight and hard like an ichie’s. But she was walking smartly, as if she knew just where she was going, and when she got closer I could see that her grey eyes were very bright, like a light shone through them. I let out my breath, which I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

When she saw me, her face lit up like Golden Cap does when the sun touches it. Then I begun to run, shoving people out of the way and yet hardly seeming to move at all. When I reached her I threw my arms round her and begun to cry, in front of the whole town, with Fanny Miller at a veg stall staring, and Mam come to see what had happened to me, and everyone who ever talked about me behind my back now talking about me openly, and I didn’t care.

We didn’t say a word, just clung to each other, both of us crying, even though Miss Elizabeth never cried. No matter all that had happened to me-finding the ichies and plesies, going with Colonel Birch to the orchard, meeting Monsieur Prévost-this was the lightning that signalled my greatest happiness, in all my life.

“I have given my sisters the slip and was just coming to find you,” Miss Elizabeth said, when at last we let go. She wiped her eyes. “I am very glad to be home. I never thought I would miss Lyme so much.”

“I thought the doctor said you can’t live by the sea, that your lungs are too weak.”

In response Miss Elizabeth took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. “What do London doctors know of sea air? London air is filthy. I am much better off here. Besides, no one can keep me away from my fish. Thank you, by the way, for the crate of fish you left for me. They are a delight. Come, let us go down to the sea. I have seen so little of it, as Margaret and Louise and Bessy won’t let me out of the house. They worry over me far too much.”

She begun walking down Broad Street again, and I reluctantly followed. “They’ll be angry at me for letting you do this,” I said. “They’re already angry that I got you sick.”

Miss Elizabeth snorted. “Nonsense. You didn’t make me sit on a draughty landing for an evening, did you? Nor go by ship to London. Those follies I take complete responsibility for.” She said it as if she weren’t sorry for anything she done.

Then she told me about the meeting at the Geological Society and how Mr Buckland and Reverend Conybeare agreed to write to Cuvier, and Mr Buckland said nice things about me to all the gentlemen gathered, even though they weren’t recorded in the minutes. And I told her about Monsieur Prévost and the plesiosaurus that was going to Monsieur Cuvier’s collection in the Paris museum. It was wonderful to talk to her again, but underneath our words I felt anxious, for I knew I had to do something difficult. I had to say sorry.

We were strolling along the Walk when I stepped in front of her and stopped so that she could go no further. “Miss Elizabeth, I’m sorry for all the things I said,” I blurted out. “For being so proud and full of myself. For making fun of your fish and your sisters. I were awful to you and it was wrong, after all you done for me. I’ve been missing you these many years. And then you went off to London for me and almost died-”

“Enough.” Elizabeth Philpot held up her hand. “First of all, you are to call me Elizabeth.”

“I-All right. E- Elizabeth.” It felt very odd not saying Miss.

Miss Elizabeth begun walking again. “And you need not apologise for my trip to London. After all, I chose to do it. And indeed, I am grateful to you. Going to London on the Unity was the finest experience of my life. It changed me for the better, and I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

There was something different about her, though I could not say exactly what it was. It was as if she were more certain. If someone were sketching her they would use clear, strong lines, whereas before they might have used faint marks and more shading. She was like a fossil that’s been cleaned and set so everyone can see what it is.

“As for our disagreement, I too said things I regret,” she continued. “I was jealous of you, as you said then, not just of Colonel Birch, but of your knowledge of fossils too-your ability to find them and understand what they are. I will never have such skills.”

“Oh.” I looked away, for it was difficult to return her bright, honest gaze. All of our walking and talking had brought us to the bottom of the Cobb. The waves were bursting over it, sending out a spray that made the seagulls wheel up into the sky.

“Do you know, I should like to see the Ammonite Graveyard,” Miss Elizabeth declared. “It has been so long.”

“Are you sure you can go that far, Miss Elizabeth? You mustn’t tire yourself after your illness.”

“Stop fussing. Margaret and Bessy fuss enough. Not Louise, though, thank heavens. And call me Elizabeth. I will keep insisting until you have learned.”

So we continued, arm in arm along the beach, talking until at last we had no more to say, like a storm that blows itself out, and our eyes dropped to the ground, where the curies were waiting for us to find them.