Tracy Chevalier - Remarkable Creatures

I looked for a long time in silence, circling the table to inspect the skull from every angle. It was still entrapped in stone, and would need much attention from Mary’s blades, needles and brushes-and a good bit of hammering too. “Take care you don’t break it when you clean it, Mary,” I said, to remind myself that this was work, not a scene from one of the gothic novels Margaret enjoyed scaring herself with.

Mary twisted her face up in indignation. “Course I won’t, ma’am.” Her confidence was just for show, however, for she hesitated. “It’ll be a long job, though, and I don’t know how best to go about it. I wish Pa were here to tell me what to do.” The importance of the task seemed to overwhelm her.

“I’ve brought you Cuvier as a guide, though I am not sure how much it will help.” I opened the book to the page with the drawing of a crocodile. I had studied it earlier, but now, standing next to the skull with the picture in hand, it was clear to me that this could be no crocodile-or not a species we were aware of. A crocodile’s snout is blunt, its jaw line bumpy, its teeth many different sizes, its eye a mere bead. This skull had a long, smooth jaw and uniform teeth. The eye sockets reminded me of pineapple rings I was served at the dinner at Lord Henley’s when I discovered how little he knew about fossils. The Henleys grew pineapples in their glass house, and it was a rare treat for me, which even my host’s ignorance could not sour.

If it was not a crocodile, what was it? I did not share my concern about the animal with Mary, however, as I had begun to on the beach, before thinking the better of it. She was too young for such uneasy questions. I had discovered from conversations I’d had about fossils with the people of Lyme that few wanted to delve into unknown territory, preferring to hold on to their superstitions and leave unanswerable questions to God’s will rather than find a reasonable explanation that might challenge previous thinking. Hence they would rather call this animal a crocodile than consider the alternative: that it was the body of a creature that no longer existed in the world.

This idea was too radical for most to contemplate. Even I, who considered myself open-minded, was a little shocked to be thinking it, for it implied that God did not plan out what He would do with all of the animals He created. If He was willing to sit back and let creatures die out, what did that mean for us? Were we going to die out too? Looking at that skull with its huge, ringed eyes, I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff. It was not fair to bring Mary there with me.

I laid the book down next to the skull. “Did you have a look for the body this morning? Did you find anything?”

Mary shook her head. “Captain Cury was nosing about. Not for long, though-there was a landslip!” She shivered, and I noted that her hands were trembling. She picked up her hammer as if to give them something to do.

“Is he all right?” Although I did not care for William Lock, I would not have him killed, especially by the falling rocks that terrified me and other hunters.

Mary grunted. “Nothing wrong with him, but the croc’s body’s buried under a pile of rubble. We’ll be a time waiting for it.”

“That is a shame.” Behind this understatement I hid my disappointment. I had wanted to see the body of such a creature. It might provide some answers.

Mary tapped at the edge of the rock with her hammer, knocking off a sliver attached to the jaw. She seemed less bothered about this delay, perhaps because she was more used to having to wait to get even the most basic things: food, warmth, light.

“Mary, Lord Henley has paid me a visit and enquired after the skull,” I said. “He would like to see it, with a view to paying you for it.”

She looked up, her eyes bright. “He would? What will he pay?”

“I expect you could get five pounds for it. I can agree the terms for you. I think he rather expects me to. But…”

“What, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I know you need the money now. But if you wait until you find the body, and unite it with the head, I think you’ll be able to sell the whole specimen for more than if it’s in two parts. The skull is unusual as it is, but it would be spectacular if united with its body.” Even as I said it I knew this was too difficult a decision for Mary to make. What child can look beyond the bread that will fill her stomach now to the fields of wheat that may feed her for years to come? I would have to sit her mother down and discuss the matter.

“Mary, Mr Blackmore wants to see the croc!” Molly Anning shouted down the stairs.

“Tell him to come back in half an hour!” Mary called back. “Miss Philpot ain’t done yet.” She turned to me. “People been stopping by all day to see it,” she added proudly.

Molly’s feet appeared on the stairs. “Reverend Gleed from Chapel is waiting too. Tell your Miss Whatsit there be other folk wants a look. Anyone would think this were a shop with new frocks just come in,” she muttered.

That gave me an idea for a way the crocodile head could bring in a bit of money to the Annings if they were prepared to wait for the body. And they would not have to take the skull up to Colway Manor for Lord Henley to see it.

The next morning Mary and Joseph and two of his stronger friends carried the skull over to the Assembly Rooms in the main square, just around the corner from the Annings. The rooms were used little for much of the winter, to Margaret’s lasting despair. The main room had a large bay window that looked south out to sea and let in suf?cient light for the specimen to be clearly displayed. A steady stream of visitors paid a penny to look at it. When Lord Henley arrived-I had sent a boy with a message to invite him-Mary wanted to charge him a penny too, but I frowned at her and she lapsed into a sullen silence I fretted might put Lord Henley off an eventual sale.

I need not have worried. Lord Henley cared nothing about what Mary thought. Indeed, he hardly noticed her, instead making a show of examining the skull with a magnifying glass he had brought with him. Mary was so curious to use the glass herself that she came out of her sulk and hovered at Lord Henley’s shoulder. She did not dare ask him for the glass, but when he handed it to me to use I let her have a turn. Similarly, he directed questions about where the skull was found and how it was extracted to me, and I answered for Mary.

Only when he asked about the whereabouts of the body did she respond before I could. “We don’t know, sir. There were a landslip at the site, and if it’s there it’s buried. I’ll be watching for it. It just needs a good storm to wash it out.”

Lord Henley stared at Mary. I suppose he wondered why she was speaking; he had already forgotten she was involved. Then, too, she was not very presentable, to a gentleman or to anyone: her dark hair was matted from all of her time outdoors and the lack of a brush, her nails were ragged and rimmed with clay, and her shoes were caked with mud. She had grown tall in the last year without having a new dress, and the hem of her skirt was too high, and her wrists and hands shot out from her sleeves. At least her face was bright and keen, despite her wind-burned cheeks and the grubbiness of her skin. I was used to her looks, but seeing her from Lord Henley’s eyes made me flush with shame for her. If this was who was responsible for the specimen he was already claiming for his own, Lord Henley would indeed be concerned for its well-being.

“It is a splendid specimen, is it not, Lord Henley?” I interjected. “It just needs cleaning and preparing-which I shall oversee, of course. But think how striking it will look when reunited with its body one day!”

“How long will you require for the cleaning?”