“How does he explain Mary’s creature, then?”

“He thinks they are swimming about off the coast of South America, and we haven’t yet discovered them.”

“Could that be true?”

I shook my head. “Sailors would have seen them. We have been sailing around the world for hundreds of years and never had a sighting of such a creature.”

“And so you believe that what we were looking at in Bullock’s Museum is a fossilised body of an animal that no longer exists. It died out, for reasons that may or may not be God’s intention.” Louise said this carefully, as if to make it crystal clear to herself and to me.

“Yes.”

Louise chuckled and took a biscuit. “That would certainly surprise some members of the congregation at St Michael’s. Reverend Jones might have to ask you to leave and join a Dissenting church!”

I finished the langue de chat. “I don’t know that Dissenters are any different, really. They may differ doctrinally from the Church of England, but the Dissenters I know in Lyme interpret the Bible just as literally as Reverend Jones does. They would never accept the idea of extinction.” I sighed. “Mary’s creature needs studying, by anatomists, like Cuvier in Paris, or geologists from Oxford or Cambridge. They might be able to provide persuasive answers. But that will never happen while it is masquerading as an exotic Dorset croc at Bullock’s!”

“It could be worse, tucked away in Colway Manor,” Louise countered. “At least here more people will see it. And if the right people-your learned geologists-see it and recognise its worth, they may think it worth studying.”

I had not thought of that. Louise was always more sensible than I. It was a relief to talk to her, and gave me a little comfort, but not enough to stem my fury at Lord Henley.

When we returned to Lyme the following month, I went to confront him, even before I saw Mary Anning. I did not announce my visit, nor tell my sisters where I was going, but strode across the fields between Morley Cottage and Colway Manor, ignoring the wildflowers and blooming hedgerows I’d missed while in London. Lord Henley was not at home, but I was directed to one of the boundaries of his property, where he was overseeing the digging of a drainage ditch. It had been a rainy spring while we were away, and my shoes and the hem of my dress were sodden and muddy by the time I reached him.

Lord Henley was sitting on his grey horse, watching his men work. It annoyed me that he did not get down and stand amongst them. By then, anything he did would have made me cross, for I’d had a whole month during which to fuel my anger. He did dismount for me, however, bowing and welcoming me back to Lyme. “How was your stay in London?” As he spoke, Lord Henley eyed my muddy skirt, probably thinking his wife would never be seen publicly in such dirty clothes.

“It was very good, thank you, Lord Henley. I was astonished, however, by something I saw at Bullock’s Museum. I thought the specimen you bought from the Annings was still at Colway Manor, but I discovered you sold it on to Mr Bullock.”

Lord Henley’s face lit up. “Ah, the crocodile is on display, then? How does it look? I trust they spelled my name correctly.”

“Your name was there, yes. I was rather surprised not to see Mary Anning named, however, nor even Lyme Regis.”

Lord Henley looked blank. “Why would Mary Anning be named? She didn’t own it.”

“Mary found it, sir. Have you forgotten that?”

Lord Henley snorted. “Mary Anning is a worker. She found the crocodile on my land-Church Cliffs are part of my property, you know. Do you think these men-” he nodded at the men shifting mud “-do they own what is on this land simply because they dig it up? Of course not! It belongs to me. Besides which, Mary Anning is a female. She is a spare part. I have to represent her, as indeed I do many Lyme residents who cannot represent themselves.”

For a moment the air seemed to crackle and buzz, and Lord Henley’s piggish face bulged at me. It was my anger distorting everything. “Why did you make such a fuss to obtain the specimen if you were only going to sell it on?” I demanded when I had finally mastered my emotions.

Lord Henley’s horse was becoming restless, and he stroked its neck to calm it. “It was cluttering up my library. It’s much better where it is.”

“Indeed it is, if that is the casual attitude you took towards it. I did not expect such fickle behaviour from you, Lord Henley. It demeans you. Good day, sir.” I turned before I could see the effect of my feeble words on him, but as I stumbled away across the field I heard his bark of laughter. He did not call out to me, as other men might have. Doubtless he was glad to see the back of me, a bedraggled spinster scattering mud and bile.

As I walked I cursed under my breath, and then began to out loud, for there was no one about to hear me. “God damn you, you bloody idiot” I had never said such words aloud, nor even thought them, but I was so angry that I had to do something out of the ordinary. I was furious at Lord Henley for riding roughshod over scientific discovery; for turning a mystery of the world into something banal and foolish; for throwing my sex back at me as something to be ashamed of. A spare part, indeed.

But I was angrier at myself. I had lived nine years in Lyme Regis by then, and had come to value my independence and forthrightness. However, I had not learned to stand up to the Lord Henleys of the world. I could not tell him what I thought of his selling Mary’s creature in a way that he understood. Instead he ridiculed me and made me feel it was I who had done something wrong. “Idiot. Bloody idiot!” I repeated.

“Oh!”

I looked up. I was crossing a small bridge over the river just as Fanny Miller was coming along the path that led down to the centre of town. She had clearly heard me, for her cheeks were bright red and her brow wrinkled, and her girlish eyes were wide, like shallow puddles with no depth.

I glared at her, and did not apologise. Fanny hurried away, glancing back now and then as if she feared I might follow her and swear some more. Though horrified, she was doubtless also keen to tell family and friends what the queer Miss Philpot had said.

Although I dreaded having to tell Mary about her creature, I have never been one to put off bad news-the wait only makes it worse. I went that afternoon to Cockmoile Square. Molly Anning directed me to Pinhay Bay, to the west of Monmouth Beach, where Mary had been commissioned by a visitor to extract a giant ammonite. “They want it for a garden feature,” Molly Anning added with a chuckle. “Daft.”

I flinched. In the Morley Cottage garden there was a giant ammonite with a one-foot diameter that Mary had helped me to dig out; I had given it to Louise for Christmas. Molly Anning probably didn’t know that, as she had never come up Silver Street to see us. “Why climb a hill if there’s no need to?” she often said.

Molly Anning would be glad for the money from that ammonite, however. Since selling the monster to Lord Henley, Mary had been hunting without success for another complete specimen. She had only found tantalising pieces-jawbones, fused vertebrae, a fan of small paddle bones-which brought in a little money, but far less than if she had discovered them all together.

I found her near the Snakes’ Graveyard-I now called it the Ammonite Graveyard-which had attracted me to Lyme years before. She had managed to cut out the ammonite from a ledge, and was wrapping it in a sack to drag back along the beach-hard work for a girl, even one used to it.

Mary greeted me with joy, for she often said she missed me when I was making my London visit. She told me about all that she had found while I was away, and what they had managed to sell, and who else had been out hunting. “And how was London, Miss Elizabeth?” she asked finally. “Did you buy any new gowns? I see you’ve a new bonnet.”