by Sheila Cole
Surprised by our response, Joseph repeated, “I gave Jim Greengrass such a scare he won’t steal any of our fossils again. Nor will anyone else when they hear.”
“When they hear? If you’ve a brain in your head, Joseph, you’ll keep your mouth shut so people won’t hear unless you want more trouble,” Mama warned him.
Poor, poor Joseph! How confusing it all must have been for him. Being straightforward and loyal, he understood that a wrong had been done and he wished to right it. Not understanding anything else about the situation, he expected us to be grateful and to treat him like a hero. Instead, what he got for all his trouble were some cuts and bruises and a scolding from Mama. Not even I, whose honor he was defending, could be glad for what he had done, though I felt sorry for him and loved him deeply for having done it.
THE END OF A FRIENDSHIP
Lizzie came to visit the next morning. She sat on Papa’s stool and sewed, as she often did when she dropped by, while I worked on the fossils. I was telling her about what happened on the Cobb, and said, “I wish Joseph hadn’t taken matters into his own hands like that—it will just cause more trouble. And I don’t think it will stop anyone from taking my fossils, especially now that Jim Greengrass has sold it. He sold it to someone in Charmouth, admitted as much to Joseph. But he doesn’t know his name.”
Lizzie looked up from her work. “Your fossil? I thought it was Henry de la Beche’s.”
“No, it was mine, Lizzie. I found it, Henry was to have paid me for it.”
“Jim Greengrass stole the curiosity from de la Beche,” Lizzie said. “That’s what everyone is saying.”
“So then it’s fine, just fine to take it. Is that what they say?” I asked heatedly.
“No, not exactly, Mary. It didn’t belong to Jim Greengrass. But he didn’t know he was taking it from you. He thought he was taking it from that rich young dandy.”
“Henry de la Beche was with me. I was taking him out, showing him.”
Lizzie fastened her gray eyes on me. “You and him. Everyone is talking about the two of you. Everyone, Mary. I try to defend you. I tell them that Mr. de la Beche is interested in geology and that you are showing him where you find curiosities. But no one believes me. My own mother called me a fool when I told her that.”
My face was burning, and Lizzie saw it. She said, “I’m only telling you this because we are friends. It is for your own good, Mary. People think it’s not right for you to be alone with him.”
“Alone? Lizzie, I am not alone with him. I am out on the beach where everyone in the world can see us. Sometimes we are out at Black Ven, but anyone who likes can come there. I am teaching him where to find curiosities, and he is paying me for what we find. I don’t understand what they are talking about. Some people just don’t like my hunting curiosities. And they are jealous of my finding the crocodile.”
“All I am saying, Mary, is people do not think it is proper for you to be out there with him. They think that young Mr. de la Beche is taking advantage of you, and if he hasn’t yet, he will soon enough.”
I managed a forced, hollow laugh.
Lizzie’s gray eyes glinted like steel. “It is not a laughing matter, Mary. You have always thought you were better than us, even when you were in chapel school. But finding petrified monsters that the gentry pay for does not excuse you from behaving properly or put you above the censure of your friends and neighbors. You are still one of us. You are still subject to the same standards of conduct.”
“Small, narrow standards enforced by slander and gossip,” I replied bitterly, trying to keep my voice down so that Mama did not hear.
“Slander? Come now, Mary. Is there not something else going on besides collecting between you and Henry de la Beche? I have seen you and de la Beche. I have seen the way you look at him, and I am not the only one who has. That is why they are gossiping. All I am saying, Mary, is watch yourself, if you do not want to be the object of scorn!” She gathered up her sewing, got off the stool, and left, while I stood by not knowing what to say to stop her.
Too late I called out to her, “Oh, Lizzie, don’t you think badly of me.” But she had closed the door behind her and could not hear me.
HOPES, DREAMS, AND A LONELY REALITY
Lizzie’s words ring in my ears to this day. Who can be insensitive to such accusations? I tried to avoid Henry de la Beche. I did not go fossil hunting with him. I made polite excuses so that he did not suspect anything. I dreaded meeting him somewhere on the beach or in town and having to explain myself to him because I was afraid that I would lose my resolve, which is exactly what happened.
One morning on my way to buy provisions for the house I stopped to join the crowd watching a group of acrobats on the edge of the marketplace. I was applauding one of the troop who had just done a backward somersault over the bodies of four volunteers, when I heard a voice in my ear, “Hello, Mary.” I turned round and there was Henry. My heart leapt. I could not be unfriendly, I was too happy to see him. We talked for minute or two, and before I knew it, we had made arrangements to meet at the far end of Monmouth Beach when the tide turned later that day. It is a secluded place where we were unlikely to be seen by others.
He must have known, had he given it any thought, that I was putting my reputation at risk by meeting him on the beach. But perhaps he did not know how serious the consequences were for me, not at first. He knew little about Lyme and could not imagine how gossip is used as a weapon here.
I met him that day and many times after that—all through the summer and into the autumn—taking care each time that we were not seen by people who would talk. I met him, knowing that others disapproved and that my reputation was being harmed, because I could not bear to stay away. I lived for those meetings, thirsting for them as a plant thirsts for water.
If anyone were to spy on us while we were out together they would have been most disappointed. Our behavior gave little cause for disapproval (except for the disapproval that was already attendant on our meeting and on the fact that I was engaged in such an “unfeminine” pursuit as curiosity collecting). It was only my thoughts that were scandalous. Lying in my bed at night, I sometimes imagined Henry taking me in his arms and gazing longingly into my eyes and making passionate vows of love to me. But in actuality, he never did. When we were together we talked not about love, but about geology—fossils, strata, crocodiles, and small-headed creatures. We did not embrace or kiss, we looked for fossils together, finding among other things a fossil brittle starfish in good condition, a couple of fish, (hybodus and dapedium) a new kind of ammonite, and a few fossil bones of the crocodile.
For Henry I was little more than a guide to fossils. That may be harsh, but I must face it. It was I who dreamt of him. There was no sign that he dreamt of me. That is not to say that he did not like me. There were a few times when he almost said something personal, but he quickly caught himself and turned the situation round with a joke so that we were soon laughing. It is Henry’s way to poke fun and tease when things are in danger of becoming serious.
That is why I found it strange when, one day, as we were walking west along the shore toward Pinhay Bay talking about sea lilies that we hoped to find there, he said without warning, “You know, Mary, you are the only person I can talk to honestly. I am always pretending with others, always talking about things I am not interested in. It is only with you that I can be my real self.”
I blushed and looked away so that he would not see. My heart was pounding, and I did not know what to say. But he did not seem to notice. “My family is treating me as if I still am a willful, ungovernable boy. They think my passion for geology is misguided and will pass. They planned on my being in the army and were disappointed when I left Great Marlow. They have no idea what to do with me now. They are insisting that I come with them to London.”
With a sinking feeling, I understood that he was being sent away, away from me.
“I tried to convince my mother to stay, or even to leave me behind h
ere in Lyme, but she would not hear of it. I must go, and that is all there is for it.” His voice rose as he said this as if he were trying to convince me.
I was not convinced. How could he leave in autumn, the best time for collecting? How could he leave me? Mama and Lizzie said that he was just using me to pass the time while he was in Lyme. I had to admit that they might be right. Soon he would be in London, and he would not give me, the fossils, or Lyme another thought. A sea gull called. It sounded like a cry.
“When are you leaving?” I asked, turning back to look at him.
“Tomorrow,” he replied.
My eyes met his for a second, and then I turned away again. I did not want to be there with him. It was as if by saying that he was leaving, he had already gone and left me behind. And if I was not with him, I did not know why I was there at all. After a while, I made some excuse and started for home.
I had not walked far, when he caught up with me. “I shall be back for Christmas,” he said, falling in step beside me.
“That will be nice,” I replied, afraid to say more.
Not seeming to notice my emotion, he said, “In the meantime, please keep me informed of your finds. I was looking forward to winter and its storms and to fossil hunting with you then. You know, Mary, I still have crocodile fever, and I still plan to discover what the beast was. Going to London is only a distraction … but one I must give in to now. They will see soon enough that I am passionate about geology and will leave me to pursue it.”
My heart eased. He was being forced to leave against his will. His family insisted that he go. Then I despaired again as it became apparent to me that even if this was the case, our friendship was doomed. His mother insisted that he go because she had heard the town gossip. She was afraid that he had become involved with a village girl from the laboring class, a cabinetmaker’s daughter, an inappropriate choice for a young man with a fortune. She was trying to get him away from me and from the fossils. She thought that London with its amusements, society, and eligible young ladies would distract him, and he would forget about geology and fossils, and that he would lose interest in me.
We parted on the beach far from town as had become our custom. I walked back along the beach to Lyme by myself.
I did not mention Henry’s departure to Mama. Believing that I no longer was meeting him down on the beach when I went fossil hunting, she did not realize that things had changed. I still went down to the beach to hunt fossils, still cleaned and prepared them in the workshop, and I still sold them to the travelers, though there were few travelers at that time of year. These were the things that had occupied me before. But after Henry left I was lonely. I missed our meetings on the beach, the excitement of finding things together, talking about them, wondering what they were as we worked to break them out of the rock. More than anything I missed the laughter.
In the past I had always confided in Lizzie. We talked about everything and nothing—other girls, dresses that we wanted, clothes that we had seen, the behavior of the boys in chapel, how her sister Catherine was being visited by a certain young man from Axe with refined manners who was a journeyman smith, the Reverend Gleed’s sermon, the peculiar way that Mrs. Hale had of snorting like a horse when she disapproved of something, how Mrs. Gleed managed to wheedle her way into people’s confidence so that she knew everyone’s secrets. We wondered together about the state of our souls and whether we would find favor in God’s eyes. Now she, too, had gone from me. She had not stopped by the shop since that day she had warned me about Henry. When we met, she still greeted me, but it was not the same. She did not ask me to stop by her house, nor did she invite me to sit with her at meeting. And if she did, would I have gone? Perhaps. But I knew that it would not be the same. I could no longer tell her what I was thinking about or doing. My friendship with Henry and my growing interest in fossils had made us distant. I had no one my own age to talk to, and I was lonely.
As Christmas drew near I found myself thinking about Henry. I expected him to return to Lyme for the holidays. Would he come by the shop? Perhaps he was no longer interested in geology and fossils. What then? What if I made a fool of myself by presuming that he cared about fossils when, in fact, he did not? No, no, that could not be, I decided. He meant what he said, he did care. But he did not come to Lyme at Christmastime.
In January, I found an enormous crocodile skull in the area of Black Ven. I wanted to tell Henry, but I did not know where he was. I would not dream of asking anyone for his address. Instead, I sent word of my find to Miss Philpot. She came to examine the fossil just as I discovered that I could see the bony plates of the opposite eye though the nostril.
“See,” I showed Miss Philpot, “there is no bony separation between the creature’s two nostrils.”
“There wasn’t one in the skull of the first one either, was there?” she remarked.
“No, but we thought it was missing or broken,” I said. “But now I can see that the creature did not have one.”
“Do all air-breathing creatures have such a bony separation? Do crocodiles?” she asked.
I did not know. We speculated about what the absence of a bony separation between the nostrils might mean and whether the fossil breathed air or water. When she left that afternoon I realized that I had not made any effort to see her or her sisters after I met Henry. I felt ashamed. She and her sisters had been so kind to me, and I had neglected them. I promised myself that never again would I forget my old friends for a new one, no matter who that may be.
Miss Philpot returned a few days later to make me an offer for the crocodile skull. I accepted, and she invited me to come home with her to tea. Mama did not say anything about my going. I think she must have known how lonely I was and was happy to see me out in company. She did not even remark when I described the silver tea service and the china cups so thin you could see the light through them.
A GREAT DISTANCE BETWEEN US
Henry did not return until the spring. It was Joseph who saw him first. He mentioned it to me in passing, and unable to contain myself, I asked in one breath, “Did Mr. de la Beche say anything about stopping by? How long has he been in town? How did he look?”
Joseph sighed and gave me a knowing look. “I did not talk to Mr. de la Beche, Mary. He was deep in conversation with Dr. Carpenter and only nodded in my direction. He looked”—here he chuckled—“he looked quite the young gentleman.”
I waited for some word from Henry. I expected a message asking me to meet him on the beach somewhere. I imagined that he might even slip it to me himself, bumping into me as if by chance on the street. I knew it would come. And I knew when he saw me it would be just as it was. Better, perhaps, I thought, remembering that he said that I was the only person he could be himself with, the only person who truly understood him. I imagined him saying, “I have been away and done what my mother wished and, now she understands that I belong here, that I am serious about geology … about you.” He would look into my eyes when he said this and take my hand in his.
Days passed in which I jumped at every passing footstep. I waited, but no message came.
It was by chance that I saw Henry on Church Cliff beach one day. He was sitting on a rock sketching. He did not see me. I started in his direction, then hesitated. The thought that he might be avoiding me, which I had managed to suppress for so long, seized me with its obviousness. His name died on my lips. At that moment he looked up, and called to me, “Miss Anning, hello.” Not Mary, but Miss Anning. Putting the sketchbook aside, he got to his feet and came over to greet me.
“Mr. de la Beche, you are back,” I said, welcoming him. “How long have you been here?”
“Ten days,” he said. “I was going to stop by the shop, but …” and his voice trailed off as he mumbled something about a family wedding. I said all the polite things one says on such occasions. I felt embarrassed, but I did not know how to break the conversation off. He asked me whether I had found any other crocodiles or pieces of the small-h
eaded creature in his absence. I told him that I found an enormous crocodile skull and some ribs and vertebrae. He promised to stop by to see them.
“That would be nice,” I replied, unable to think of anything else to say, but still I did not go.
Neither did he. He smiled down at me for what seemed like minutes. His eyes looked sad and uncertain. A gust of wind riffled the pages of his sketch pad, and we turned in its direction. “I have to get back to work,” I said. He nodded and ran off to get his sketch pad before it blew away.
He stopped by the shop a few days later. Although he had only been gone for six months, he seemed different, as Joseph had said, more grown-up, more self-assured, more distant. He examined the bits and pieces of crocodile ribs and vertebrae methodically, while I looked on. He did not speculate as he used to. In fact, he said little. He did say that he would like to draw the pieces of crocodile I had. I suggested that he come the next day. “I could do a better job of it at home,” he replied, and I let him take some of it home.
We hunted for fossils over in the clay at Golden Cap. Although it was a long way from town and we were together for hours, there was no running along the beach, no slipping on the pebbles, no dashing between waves, no wild speculations about what we would find. It was serious and businesslike, with many silences and half-finished sentences. I started to point out a bed of belemnites to him and saw by his face that he already knew. We were not successful in the first place we chose to look and were moving on to another site when Henry said, as if he had just happened to think of it, “Did I tell you, I saw our crocodile jaw, the one that was stolen from Black Ven last year? I am certain that it is the same one.”
