Yes, I could. I was a little in love with him myself. For all my complaints, I found him very attractive: not only physically, though there was that, but because his interest in fossils seemed genuine and penetrating. When he was not flirting with Mary, he was capable-and keen-to discuss the origins of the ichthyosaurus, and what it meant to be extinct. He was also clear about God’s role, without seeming disrespectful or blasphemous. “I am sure God has better things to do than watch over every living creature on this earth,” he said once when we were walking back to Lyme along the cliff path, the tide having cut us off. “He has done such amazing work to create what He has; surely now He needn’t follow the progress of every worm and shark. His concern is with us, and He showed that by making us in His image and sending us His son.” Colonel Birch made it sound so clear and sensible that I wished Reverend Jones could hear him.
Here, then, was a man who thought and talked about fossils, who encouraged us women to look for them, who would not mind that I regularly ruined my gloves. My anger at him stemmed not so much from irritation at his inability to be a hunter rather than a collector, but from indignation that he never for a moment considered me-closer to his age and of a similar class-as a lady he might court.
Whatever I thought of him, it was not for me to decide what Mary did or did not do with Colonel Birch. That was for Molly Anning to sort out. Over the years Molly and I had grown to understand each other, so that she was less suspicious and I less intimidated. While she had little education, and saw neither poetry nor philosophy in our discoveries, she accepted their importance to me and to others. That importance may have been measured in coins that kept her family fed, clothed and sheltered, but she did not ridicule their value. Fossils became an item to be sold, as significant as buttons or carrots or barrels or nails. If she thought it peculiar that I did not sell the specimens I found, she did not show it. After all, in her eyes I did not need to. Louise, Margaret and I could not be extravagant, but we were never fearful of the bailiff or the workhouse. The Annings, however, lived on the edge of starvation, and that can sharpen a mind. Molly Anning became quite a shrewd saleswoman, squeezing out extra shillings and pennies here and there.
She envied me my income and my position in society-what society there was in Lyme-but she pitied me too, for I had never known a man, never felt the security of marriage or the love of a baby in my arms. That rather balanced out the envy, and left her neutral and reasonably tolerant towards me. As for me, I admired her business sense and her ability to find her way through difficult circumstances. She did not complain much even though she had a right to, given her hard life.
Unfortunately, Molly Anning allowed herself to be carried away by Colonel Birch’s charm almost as much as her daughter was. I had always thought she was a good judge of character, and would have thought she’d see Birch as the greedy schemer he was. Perhaps like Mary she sensed he was the first real-and possibly the only-opportunity her daughter had to be lifted from the hard life of her own class into a kinder, more prosperous world.
I do not think Colonel Birch originally intended to court Mary. He was drawn to Lyme by a fever many have felt for finding treasure on the beach, where old bones with their hints of earlier worlds become as precious as silver. It is hard to stop looking once you have become infected. However, Colonel Birch was also presented with the unusual opportunity of passing whole days with an unaccompanied woman, and could not resist.
First, though, he had to win over her mother. He did so by flirting shamelessly with her, and for perhaps the only time in her life, Molly Anning lost her head. Ground down by poverty and loss, Molly had enjoyed little happiness in the years since Richard Anning’s death, but suffered constant worry over money and fear of the prospect of being sent to the workhouse. Now a handsome retired soldier in a smart uniform was kissing her hand and complimenting her housekeeping and asking her leave to go along the beach with her daughter. She who had been so indignant at William Buckland innocently taking Mary out now threw away her caution for the price of a kiss on the hand and a kind word or two. Perhaps she was simply tired of saying no.
The shop where Molly Anning sold fossils to visitors began to run low on even basic specimens such as ammonites and belemnites, for Mary had stopped picking up other fossils, leaving nodules for others to break open, ignoring requests by other collectors for sea urchins or gryphaea or brittle stars. The good specimens she found she gave to Colonel Birch, or encouraged him to pick up himself. Molly did not complain to her daughter, however. I helped as best I could by donating what I found, for I primarily hunted for fossil fish and left other specimens to others. But the Annings were low on funds and running debts with the baker and the butcher, and would soon with the coal merchant once it grew cold. Still Molly Anning said nothing-perhaps seeing Mary’s time with Colonel Birch as a future investment.
Since her mother wouldn’t, I tried to talk to Mary about Colonel Birch. When the tide was high they could not go out, and he would stop in at the Three Cups, or attend the Assembly Rooms, where of course Mary did not go. Then she would help her mother, or clean Colonel Birch’s specimens for him, or simply wander about Lyme in a daze. One day I met her as I was coming up Sherborne Lane, a small passage that led to Silver Street from the centre of town. I used it when I was not feeling sociable enough to greet everyone walking along Broad Street. Mary was drifting down the lane, her eyes on Golden Cap, a smile on her face, which shone with an appealing inner joy. For a moment I could almost believe Colonel Birch might seriously court her.
Seeing her so happy twisted my jealous heart, so that when she greeted me I did not restrain myself. “Mary,” I said abruptly, without the small talk that eases such conversation, “is Colonel Birch paying you for your time?”
Mary gave her head a shake, as if trying to rouse herself, and met my eyes with all of her attention. “What do you mean?”
I shifted the basket I was carrying from one arm to the other. “He is taking up all of your hunting time. Is he paying you for it, or at least for the fossils you find him?”
Mary narrowed her eyes. “You never asked me that about Mr Buckland, or Henry De La Beche, or any of the other gentlemen I’ve taken out. Is Colonel Birch any different?”
“You know he is. For one thing, the others found their own fossils, or paid you for those you found for them. Is Colonel Birch paying you?”
Mary’s eyes registered a flicker of doubt, which she covered up with scorn. “He finds his own curies. He don’t need to pay me.”
“Oh? And what have you found to sell, then?” When Mary didn’t answer, I added, “I’ve seen your mother’s cury table in Cockmoile Square, Mary. There is little on it. She’s selling broken ammonites you would have thrown back into the sea once.”
Mary’s elation had entirely disappeared. If that was my intention, I had been successful. “I’m helping Colonel Birch,” she declared. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“And he should be paying you for it. Otherwise he is using you for his own gain and leaving you and your family the poorer.” I should have left it there, where my words might have had a positive effect. But I could not resist pressing harder. “His behaviour does not speak well of his character, Mary. You would do better not to associate with such a man, for it will hurt you in the end. Already the town is talking, and it is worse than when you attended William Buckland.”
Mary glared at me. “That’s nonsense. You don’t know him at all, not like I do. You’d do better to stop listening to gossip, or you’ll become a gossip yourself!” Pushing past me, she hurried down Sherborne Lane. Mary had never before been so rude to me. It was as if she had taken a great leap from deferring to me as a working girl to acting as my equal.