The Dragon in the Cliff (11 page)

Hearing this figure that was less, much less than I had hoped for and less than Miss Philpot offered, my face reddened and I was upset, though I tried to remain calm.

Seeing my response, Squire Henley cleared his throat. “No, I think twenty pounds is too little, twenty-three pounds would be a better price.”

And twenty-three pounds it was. I could do nothing but accept, since he claimed that it came from his land. I was angry at myself for allowing him to get the better of me, and for allowing myself to get carried away with empty dreams. What a fool I had been!

I heard that Squire Henley bought the crocodile on behalf of Bullock's Egyptian Hall, a giant exhibition hall in Piccadilly Circus in London. People come there to see the wonders of natural history that Mr. Bullock has collected from the South Seas, North and South America, and Africa. My fossil is their most popular exhibit.

A CHANCE MEETING

Discovering the crocodile had a profound effect on my life. It not only eased our financial burdens and made me wonder what had happened to the animals whose petrified remains I found, it also led me to become acquainted with a class of people whom I would not ordinarily know, like the Philpot sisters. This, in turn, has led to a coolness in my relations with my neighbors and old acquaintances in town and a rift between Lizzie and me. But I am getting ahead of myself now. Painful though it may be, I have to describe as honestly as I can my meeting with Henry de la Beche (because my relations with him have cost me dearly).

Not long after Squire Henley purchased the crocodile, sometime during the spring of 1813, I was working alone on an isolated ledge in the area of Black Ven when I had a queer, prickly feeling that someone was watching me. I turned round and started at the sight of a tall, well-dressed boy, about seventeen years old with sandy-colored hair, standing behind me. “Hello, Mary,” he said. His deep blue eyes sparkled with merriment.

Who was this strange young master, and why was he laughing at me, I wondered. I knew he was a gentleman by his clothes—tight-fitting trousers, rather than breeches, a white shirt, and a striped vest, topped by a navy coat. Realizing that I did not remember him, he introduced himself as Henry de la Beche and reminded me that Dr. Carpenter introduced us once when he came to see the crocodile. Then I remembered that he was the young man whom everyone in Lyme was gossiping about. They said he was to come into an income of three thousand pounds a year. A fabulous sum!

He told me that he heard the ring of my hammer when he was down on the beach and climbed up to see who it was. “I've been meaning to call on you for some time. And now, luckily, I've bumped into you here.”

“Oh,” was all I could think of to say. For a moment there was an awkward silence during which we stood there and looked at one another until it occurred to me to ask why he wanted to see me.

“Geology and fossils,” he replied without hesitation. “What else?”

I do not know what it was except perhaps coyness that led me to say, “Oh, there are many other things, sir,” but that is what I said. I am embarrassed by it even now!

“Not with you, I am told,” he countered. “Your industry and keen eye are the talk of the town. And what I have seen convinces me that what they say is true. I have been standing here for several minutes watching you, and you did not even know I was here.”

He smiled at me, shaking his head in wonderment, and suddenly I found myself confessing to this stranger that I often lose myself when I am working. I even told him about being caught by the tide and having to climb the cliffs to escape, a story that I had been ashamed of until that moment. I made much of the danger and hardship, but I did not mention smuggling, or losing my tools.

As I was telling this story, I noticed that he was peering over my shoulder at the cliff where I had been working. When I finished my tale, he asked, “Do you have another crocodile here?”

“Sir, I do not know what it is,” I said.

A smile played at the corner of his lips. “You are being mysterious.”

“No, not at all, sir,” I insisted. “It seems like it might be a bone, but I am not even certain of that.” I traced the outline with my chisel for him.

His face grew serious. “I don't know how you saw that it was there. I know I would have walked by and seen nothing. No wonder you found the crocodile.” He offered to help me break the fossil out of the cliff.

It was so strange an offer coming from a young gentleman like him that for a moment I thought that he might be having fun at my expense, but before I could think of how to respond, he said, “I am strong even if I am not skilled.”

“The cliff is hard and dry, and I was just about to give up,” I said.

“You're afraid that I will hurt it,” he guessed.

“Oh no, sir. It's not that,” I protested. “I really must get back to prepare some curiosities for the shop before the coach arrives tomorrow.”

He seemed to be genuinely disappointed, and all of a sudden I felt sorry that I didn't let him help me. “If you are going my way, sir, perhaps we can go back to town together,” I suggested.

At this his face became animated. “Perfect! That will give me a chance to pick your brains. You see, I have become fascinated by geology since my return to Lyme,” he said. “Dr. Carpenter has been kind enough to let me read his geology books. It was he who suggested that I could learn a great deal from you.”

“That is most kind of Dr. Carpenter,” I said, “but I'm afraid he might be overestimating how much I know.”

“No, you are being too modest. I have heard from others that it would be well worth my while to go fossil hunting with you. I shall pay, of course.”

I told him that I do not charge people for coming collecting with me. I like the company. But he insisted that he would pay for whatever we found when we were out together, despite my protestations.

As we made our way down the cliff, scrambling from ledge to ledge, there was one ledge that seemed too far above the next one to descend from. We both hesitated. Henry jumped first, landing on his feet. He offered me his hand. I was self-conscious about taking it, my hand was so rough and callused. “Take my hand and jump,” he urged. “You won't fall. It only looks far.”

I reached for his hand, and with my eyes on his face, jumped. I turned my ankle in landing and grimaced in pain. I took a step, trying to act as if nothing had happened. Seeing that I was in pain, Henry insisted that we stop. We sat down on the dirt, and I stretched my leg out in front of me. “I should go fetch some help,” he said.

“Please don't,” I replied. “It will be fine in a minute.”

He suggested that we bind my ankle to lend it support. I protested, but he insisted. Taking a fine, white handkerchief out of his pocket, he folded it into a bandage and, kneeling beside me, wrapped it around my ankle and instep. I was painfully conscious that my stockings were coarse with washing, and that they had been darned many times. “That was clumsy of me. I am glad that you were here,” I said.

“If I hadn't been here distracting you, you would not have hurt yourself,” he retorted, getting back to his feet. He turned away from me to look out to the bay.

What an awkward mess our meeting had turned into. He must have been sorry that he ever came looking for me. I sat there in miserable silence until my eyes fell on a piece of paper sticking out of his knapsack. Trying to cover the awkwardness of the situation, I asked him what it was. “A sketch of the cliffs,” he told me. I asked to see it, saying that I had been learning to sketch fossils.

He took the drawing from his knapsack and unrolled it. It was a rendering of some of the layers of rock in the cliffs along the coast between Lyme Regis and Charmouth. “Do you really think it's good?” he asked, when I told him that I was impressed. Though he smiled, his eyes were serious. “I have been thinking of taking up geology. I like to be out of doors, and I have always been interested in different kinds of rock formations. Now that I am no longer training to be an officer, it seems like a good thing to do.” (The gossip in town was that he was dismissed from the Great Marlow military academy for insubordination.)

“Yes, I think it's very good,” I said, “but you've already heard that geology and fossils are all I think about.”

“Is there anything else worthwhile?” he asked, and we laughed.

“Actually that is why I came to see you,” he confessed. “I would like to map the strata of the cliffs around Lyme, and I need to know what fossils are found in each strata.”

I didn't know what “strata” were, nor did I know another word he used to describe the rock of the cliffs, “sedimentary,” but I guessed at their meaning rather than reveal my ignorance. When I was at home I wrote them down, determined to keep a list of such words and to learn their meanings. My list now fills several pages.

He told me that some geologists believe that fossils are a clue to the comparative ages of the different rocks and their history. Here he was a beginner, yet he was already in touch with the greater world of geology. I was envious and I wanted to impress him with my knowledge. “I can point out things as we walk back,” I offered, getting to my feet.

We walked toward town slowly, stopping often as I pointed out where I find different kinds of fossils. My ankle hurt, but I tried not to let it show. By the time we reached the path from the beach, he seemed to have forgotten all about my ankle and ran ahead, expecting me to follow. But the pain made the climb up the steep path difficult for me. When I reached the top, Henry was standing a little way from where the path turns off, chatting with three fashionably dressed girls with short curls around their faces whom I did not know. The way they laughed led me to believe they were friends.

Henry broke away from the group and came toward me. Evidently he had seen me limp because the first thing he said was, “I completely forgot about your ankle. Please forgive me for leaving you behind and rushing ahead.” He glanced over to the group of girls. “I have been telling my sister and her friends about my good fortune in finding you out on the cliffs today. They would like to meet you.”

Dirty and disheveled as I was from my work, I did not wish to be introduced to them then and I insisted that I had to get home, saying that I would like to meet them some other time.

We arranged to meet the next day to hunt for fossils. He returned to the group of girls and I continued on my way, careful not to call attention to myself by hobbling. I could hear Henry's voice, probably explaining to the girls why I would not come over to be introduced. Then one of the girls said something I couldn't hear, and they all laughed. It is silly I know, but I felt as if they were laughing at me.

The next morning Mama suggested that I try to stay off my feet. But I had been thinking of nothing else but Henry de la Beche since I left him, remembering every look that passed between us, every smile and word. I wanted to see him again. I told Mama that my ankle did not hurt. But when I could barely walk back from the pump with the pails of water, I was forced to admit that she was right, I was in no condition to go down to the beach. I sent Henry a note telling him that I was unable to meet him.

The morning seemed to drag by as I sat on a stool at the workbench cleaning an ammonite. I stopped every time someone passed by on the street outside, and I waited expectantly, but no one came into the shop.

After waiting this way all morning, I decided that he would not come. Several hours later while I was absorbed in prying away the dried shale that covered the feathery head of a sea lily, I heard a rustle and looked up to see him standing there. He shook his head and smiled broadly, “This is the second time I have come upon you unawares.”

“I told you,” I said, returning his smile, “I often forget myself when I am working.”

He apologized profusely for leaving me behind on the path and insisted that it was because of him that I sprained my ankle. “I was so happy finally to have a chance to talk to you that I forgot myself. I was thoughtless. Will you forgive me?” His eyes held mine for a fraction of a second too long, and I felt my face grow hot.

To change the topic, I asked, “Could I show you some of the fossils I have in the shop?”

“I would like nothing better,” he said, “especially if you tell me where you found them so I can mark it on my drawing of the cliffs.” He was on his way down to the beach and had the drawing with him.

We cleared the workbench and spread the sketch out on it, weighing its corners down with fossils. I got up to fetch a fossil to show him, but when he saw me hobble, he suggested that he bring them to me while I sat. “You don't know where anything is,” I objected. But he would have it no other way, and I gave in.

He brought me almost everything I had in the shop to identify, including a large crocodile vertebrae.

“I don't think the creature was actually a crocodile,” I explained, picking up the vertebrae from the table. “We only call the fossil that because we do not know what else to call it. Miss Philpot says that it should be given to a comparative anatomist who can determine what it was, but I don't think it will be. Squire Henley bought it for a London museum.”

“I shall buy the next fossil like that you find and make it available for study,” he said.

His easy assumption that there would be another one and that I would sell it to him irritated me. “First it has to be found,” I retorted.

He held up another vertebrae, seeming not to notice the edge in my voice. “Well, it seems as if you are working on another one,” he said.

“No, it is not the same. At first glance it seems to be, but if you look closely you will see there are differences.” I had him bring me a vertebrae like the ones from Henley's crocodile, and with the two side by side I pointed out the differences.

He suggested that it might be another type of crocodile. I was immediately jealous that it was he who had thought of that possibility and not I. “We need to have more of it to tell,” I said.