I was lost in wonder.
Then a wave of fear passed through me. The sun had dipped. The sea was menacing up the shoreline, snapping her great jaws at my ankles. I was late. Maybe too late!
I ran for all I was worth, clutching my prize. Up and down the slippery path, clambering up the bank into the churchyard, pleased to feel solid earth beneath my feet. As I rounded the last gravestone, I smacked straight into the billowing skirts of a lady and dropped my treasure! Dropped it on her foot!
She gave a little yelp but I also heard another sound. A snigger. A little stifled laugh. I looked round, furious and no doubt red with embarrassment. Who was laughing at me?
‘Mercy me, child! You are in a rush!’ said the lady, in kind tones.
‘Begging pardon, mistress,’ I muttered, staring all the while at her feet.
‘Now! What have we here?’ The lady stooped to pick up my find. ‘Well, well! What a pretty thing! Where did you get this?’ she asked.
I looked up at her. A grand lady, no doubt about that. Quite young. Clothes that must have cost a pretty penny. A grave expression on her face, which I thought mighty suitable since we were in the churchyard.
‘I didn’t steal it,’ says I, as I snatched it back from her.
‘Did I say that you did?’ she returned, with a smile on her lips and in her eyes. She seemed kind enough.
‘I found it. Back there. On Black Ven. Don’t you be like to go and look there, though. Tis too dangerous for the likes of you. And’ – here I looked at her very pretty leather shoes – ‘very muddy. Very muddy indeed. And the tide’s coming in.’
She laughed. ‘What a funny creature you are! I have no mind to risk my life or my shoes, I can assure you. But I do have a mind to own this pretty thing. How much will you take for it? A shilling?’ She stared intently at me. ‘Ah, I see by your face that a shilling will not do it. Half a crown, then? Will that persuade you?’
Half a crown! I could see in a flash that this lady’s half-crown could work all sorts of magic. First, it would buy some much-needed food; second, it would make my father proud; third, it would make Joseph jealous; and last and best of all, it would buy me peace from Mother, who would have been like to give me such a hiding for going to Black Ven in the first place but could scarce punish me now.
‘I’ll let you have it for that sum,’ I said. ‘But only because it dropped on your foot and I am sorry. Otherwise it would be five shillings.’
An audible gasp came from the bushes and I looked sharply in their direction.
The lady seemed not to have heard this interruption to our dealings. She laughed again, in a quite unladylike fashion, her head thrown back and her white teeth flashing, before reaching into her little silk pouch and drawing out the large silver coin that would be the ransom due my mother.
‘Here you are, child. You are quite the little businesswoman! You’ll go far, I am sure!’
‘Father could split it in two and polish it... like this one.’ I pulled out my treasure from under my scarf and showed her.
‘Oh no, I like it just as it is. True to itself. Just as the Lord made it and you found it.’
‘I doubt it was this dead stone when the Lord made it,’ said I. ‘Must have been a creature in it, like a snail or some such.’
‘Nevertheless, I shall enjoy it as it is. Thank you. Who are you, child?’
‘Mary. Mary Anning. The first Mary was burned up in a fire. I am nearly ten. I was struck by lightning and survived.’ I don’t know why I told her all that, but it seemed to amuse her.
‘My! What a story, Mary! No wonder you are such a spirited thing! Take care that that spirit of yours does not lead you into danger!’ With that she patted me on the head rather as if I was a dog (which made me somewhat vexed) and was gone.
‘Now, villain!’ I turned my attention to the bush. ‘Come out this instant!’
That very same blond hair appeared, atop a pink and white face that betokened some rich child accustomed to much soap and water. A boy in a blue velvet jacket. Older than me by two, maybe three years, but still a boy. Wide-eyed as a rabbit or a mackerel. He stood gawping, open-mouthed as any idiot. And then he fled. Again.
‘Coward!’ I shouted, for the second time that day.
I should have felt a little cowardly myself as I sneaked in the back door and took off my muddy boots.
Mother was in the kitchen, peeling turnips, her face as black as thunder.
‘And where’ve you been, miss?’ She slammed the blade of the knife down on a poor turnip as if she’d like to murder it.
I held out the coin. It shone like a mirror. It shone like something magic, because Mother’s face cleared like the sky over the Cobb when the dark clouds are chased away by the wind and the blue returns.
Then the thunder was back.
‘Where’d you get that, then?’
I felt a little thrill of pride and defiance go through me.
‘Sold a treasure! Sold a treasure of my own finding.’
‘Have you no shame to be doing business on the Sabbath?’ Mother thundered.
‘I had quite forgot and so had the lady. A great lady. She did not mind at all. She was very pleased and she said that I would go far!’
‘Oh, you’ll go far, all right,’ retorted Mother. ‘Far out to sea and into Davy Jones’s locker. Tis your father’s fault! I knew he should never have taken ’e to Black Ven and given ’e a taste for it. There’ll be tragedy. You mark my words!’
‘Not tragedy... just treasure! Half a crown, Mother! Now is that a tragedy? Tomorrow, shall I go and buy a bit of mutton for our tea? I’m good at bargaining.’
Mother could not help smiling, though I could tell she was fighting to stay fierce. ‘Very well. Maybe that customer of yours was right! But when you go, mind you don’t get distracted by any treasures on your way! There isn’t a scrap of mutton to be found on Black Ven, is there, madam? And don’t you go telling me of sheep fallen over the cliff, neither. Now. Make yourself useful and clean all that mud off the front step.’
The next day we had a mutton stew as tasty as you like and all thanks to me and my treasure. I was indulging in the sin of pride and did I care? I did not!
My pleasure was short-lived. As we washed and dried our bowls, Joseph started nudging me in the ribs and winking. It seemed my own brother was a spy himself. When Mother was distracted, he hissed in my ear, ‘You’ve got an admirer!’
I was about to give him a good dig with my elbow but he just laughed and went outside, forcing me to follow him to find out what he knew.
He said he had seen my spy following me around like a lovesick spaniel and then he started to talk all sorts of nonsense which I tried with all my might to ignore. Did I like the velvet finery? Was I taken with the boy’s golden curls? Did I want to kiss him? As Joseph well knew, I never had time for fancy clothing and have always thought that boys in silk and frills look even sillier than the girls. And as for kissing – ugh! I gave Joseph a thump for his talk of kissing and told him I neither knew nor cared about the creature who hid in bushes and spied on me and knew nothing whatever about him.
I made my fiercest face at Joseph and drew my finger across my throat as Mother came out to see why we were neglecting our chores.
Joseph just smiled and winked again.
Boys are so annoying!
5
HOW TO CATCH A SPY
Did I really know nothing about the mystery boy? I knew from his uniform that he was at the school for young gentlemen way up the hill, away from the stink of the nets and the lobster pots. It had crossed my mind that he might have wanted to take away my treasures – or the money I’d been making from them – but why would a rich boy have need of my few pennies? Besides, there was no means to discover what he intended because every time I caught him spying on me, he ran away. He was a coward. No doubt about it.
Or mad.
I determined to catch him and make him spea
k to me. He was older than me, that much was clear, so he should have been the braver but he wasn’t. What a chicken! Did I have three heads? Did I breathe fire like a dragon? I did not. What fun it would have been if I could, though! Imagine!
I had to set a trap.
I thought about how to confront him all the time I was awake. Joseph tapped the side of his nose and winked at me every time I caught his eye. It made me very cross indeed to think that he might be able to read my mind.
Sunday came, and I found it hard to concentrate on schoolwork when, in my head, I was working out how to catch the creature.
I was sitting next to Hettie Bowditch. She was pink-faced and yellow-haired, not unlike my spy. I could hear her humming away as she made her letters slowly, slowly, her tongue sticking out between her teeth and the tune of a dance coming out of her nose, seemingly. It was the first warm day of spring and a huge bluebottle fly, its body as shiny as a piece of sea glass, kept crashing into the window, too stupid to find a way out, its noisy buzzing mixing with Hettie’s humming. It fair made my head explode.
‘How in the world is a person to think!’
Most unfortunately, that thought came out and out loud without me even realising I’d said it.
Miss Evans, the schoolmistress, looked up from her book in alarm and then displeasure. ‘Mary Anning! Cease your interrupting!’
‘I have ceased,’ I said, for I was no longer speaking and, therefore, no longer ‘interrupting’ (as she would have it) when she bade me stop. Some people speak no sense and they speak it more often than not, in my opinion.
‘Out! Out! You rude child!’
The whole class started to snigger, and then to giggle and then to laugh out loud. Miss Evans went redder than the reddest gurnard. (That’s a fish, if you didn’t know.)
‘I don’t understand, miss,’ said I, for, in truth, I did not understand why she had become so cross. ‘I only said but a few words and ceased before you felt obliged to tell me.’
‘Wilful child! Will you answer me back?’
‘I will if you wish it!’ I replied and, really, I could not for the life of me fathom out what she wanted, as she was very far from being logical and I was too busy with my plan to have the time to work her out.
Miss Evans strode towards me, cutting a passage through the little gap between the desks, knocking Billy Stickland’s slate off and stepping on Andrew Hallett’s foot. She ignored his squeak. Her face was as dark as Black Ven itself.
On reaching my desk, she grabbed me forcibly by the arm and marched me out of the room. ‘You can return to the classroom when you have mended your manners. Be thankful that this is your only punishment and let it be a warning to you.’
She slammed the door and left me with my thoughts.
I quickly realised that I would not be mending my manners that afternoon since I had not broken them in the first place. Miss Evans had done me a great injustice but she had done me an even greater favour, for I could now spend the rest of the day setting a trap for my spy!
It was tricky enough to get past Mother when she was at home busy with a baby. It was even trickier when she had no baby to distract her. There was but one door, and even if I could get through that unnoticed, the stairs creaked like a ship breaking up in a storm and Mother had the ears of a hare.
I knew enough to be sure that Mother would not think I had done the best thing by escaping school, but I couldn’t even make up a story about it to please her for I cannot lie. I simply can’t. Father and Joseph berated me many times for my truth-telling when they would have me cover up their mischief with a lie. They had a habit of forgetting that I cannot do anything but tell the truth.
Once, Joseph begged me to say that I had seen him slip over and split his nose when I had seen him fighting with Ethan Coombs... and beating him, I might add. Mother took a dim view of fighting and Joseph was in fear of the consequence.
‘How did you come to be in this state?’ she asked, as she scrubbed the blood from his face.
‘Slipped and fell, Ma. Mary saw me, didn’t you, Mary?’
‘Well, Mary? Is your brother telling the truth?’ Mother demanded.
Joseph turned his puppy-dog eyes on me, wide and watery as any grand lady’s spaniel. He mouthed the word ‘please’ but it was no good. The truth will always out... when it comes out of my mouth anyway.
‘He is not. He made fun of Ethan, and then Ethan punched him on the nose and then Joseph punched him so hard that Ethan lost his senses. And Joseph won,’ I added, confident that that would make everything all right.
‘Mary!’ shouted Joseph in exasperation. ‘Can you never help your poor brother out?’
Mother growled at him. ‘If you told the truth in the first place, there’d be no need to call on Mary. Your father will have something to say about this, Joseph. I’m ashamed of you! Brawling! At your age! Here, you can peel these potatoes. Not that you’ll be eating any of them, mind.’
Joseph pinched me hard on the arm but I did not squeak nor did I tell Mother what he did for she never asked me. I won’t be a telltale if I’m not asked but I cannot help but tell the truth if I am.
Father said there is such a thing as a white lie for when you get asked a question and it would be rude or hurtful to give a truthful answer, but I cannot do that either. So, if Mother asked us if we were enjoying our supper, I could not help but say that I was not and was only eating it because I must eat something and there was nothing else. This did not make Mother happy. She told me that if I could not think of anything nice to say, I should say nothing at all, so I was mostly silent, which quite suited me. A lot of talk just fills up space and is of no use whatsoever.
Anyway, there I was at the door, knowing full well that I couldn’t sneak past Mother and couldn’t lie to her if she asked me why I was not at school; so it was best to get it over and done with.
It was quiet as the grave in the house. No pots bubbling away. No cross mutterings from Mother as she cleaned or washed or mended clothes. She was not at home. What a piece of luck!
I found my hammer and then collected up my little sack of curiosities. I was going to need them for my trap! It would be worth parting with a few to catch my spy.
I was waiting to hear the coward’s footsteps behind me until I realised that it was too early in the day. My spy would still be sitting at a table, sticking his silver knife and fork into the finest roast beef or capon or spooning up a posset. I could feel my excitement at catching him vanishing like a sea mist. I had a plan and now it made no sense to put it into action. I had set a trail of treasures, but now it might have been found and taken by others and I would have had to wait so long and it would have been so very dull. I never like a change in plans and even the thought of a spell of treasure-hunting was not enough to lift my spirits. I began to remove my carefully-laid trail.
There was a freshly dug grave, all the earth piled up in a great heap and I stopped to read the name on the little wooden cross. Amy Martin. She was not known to me. Seventeen years old. No doubt it was the wasting disease took her off. Or maybe childbirth. A shiver ran down my spine. I should be more than halfway through my life if I were to die when she did. How little time that would be. Too little time to waste trying to catch a silly spy too chicken to show his face. I gathered up the last of my treasures from the path.
‘I’m not that stupid! I know you don’t find such things lying on the grass!’
The voice behind me made me jump near clean out of my skin and I dropped two Devil’s toenails in my fright.
I wheeled round, making my face as fierce and as furious as I could. ‘How dare you! How dare you sneak up on a body! In a graveyard!’ I shouted, before I realised who I was shouting at.
My spy!
He was laughing. That is something I will not tolerate. I charged at him like an angry bull, hitting him full in the chest with my head and knocking him down.
He stopped laughing as he fell. He flaile
d his arms instead, but they could not stop him. There was a nasty thud when he hit the ground and, as he did so, he closed his eyes. It all happened so quickly and so slowly at the same time.
I’ve killed him.
That was the first thought that came into my head. He had struck his head so hard that he was dead.
I have killed him. I have killed a rich boy who did me no harm beyond annoying me and I have killed him stone dead.
I would be deported or hanged, for sure!
6
FRENCH HENRY,
WHO ISN’T FRENCH
I was standing over the body of a rich boy. A rich boy I’d killed.
His face was pale as a seagull’s chest. His hair was fanned out like a mermaid’s curls.
I didn’t know what to do.
Then the body started to shake. The eyes crinkled at their edges. The shoulders started to jump up and down and then a massive snort, like to that of a pig, burst out of his nose.
His eyes opened. Very blue. He sat up and started picking grass out of his hair.
‘Fooled you! Ah! Revenge! So sweet!’
Did I tell you that I do not like to be made fun of? Well, I do not. Not at all. I was minded to hit him again. Really hard this time. He saw the fury on my face and smiled, holding out his white hand.
‘Henry De la Beche, at your service, ma’am. Go on! Shake!’
‘I’ll never shake a Frenchie’s hand,’ said I, and no more I would. Everyone had heard the tales from the war with old Boney Bonaparte who called himself Emperor and was about three feet high and we were all reminded nearly every day to keep a lookout for spies who sneaked onto our shores in the dead of night, pretending to be fisherfolk or our own sailors.
He got up and dusted himself down. ‘I’m as English as you are. My family goes back generations in England.’
‘Sounds French to me! And you sneak! You sneak around and hide yourself. You hide yourself and then you run away. You are a spy! A coward and a spy!’
Lightning Mary Page 3
