What surprised me more than Lyme fossils transplanted to London -for I had already witnessed that phenomenon at the British Museum -was seeing just how crowded the room was. Everywhere men were picking up fossils, studying them, and discussing them with others. The room with vibrant with interest, and I picked up the thrum. There were no other women there, however, and I clutched my brother’s arm, feeling awkward and conspicuous.
After a few minutes I began to recognise people, mainly men who had made fossil trips to Lyme and stopped in at Morley Cottage to see my displays. The British Museum Keeper, Charles Konig, was with the complete ichthyosaurus; perhaps comparing it to the specimen he had bought the year before from Bullock. He gazed about the room, perplexed. I am sure he would have been thrilled to have so many visitors to the Museum’s fossil rooms. But his collection was not for sale, and it was the possibility of ownership that made the room buzz.
I noted Henry De La Beche across the room, and was just making my way to him when I heard my name called. I started, fearing it was Colonel Birch come to justify himself. When I turned, however, I was relieved to see a friendly face. “Mr Buckland, how very good to see you, sir,” I said. “I believe you have not met my brother: may I present John Philpot. This is the Reverend William Buckland, who is often at Lyme and shares my passion for fossils.”
My brother bowed. “I have certainly heard a great deal about you, sir. You lecture at Oxford, I believe?”
William Buckland beamed. “I do, indeed. It is a pleasure to meet the brother of a lady I hold in such high regard. Did you know, sir, that your sister knows more about fossil fish than just about anyone? What a clever creature she is. Even Cuvier could learn from her!”
I flushed with the rare praise, coming from such a man. My brother too seemed surprised, and glanced at me sideways, as if looking for evidence of the special quality William Buckland spoke of that I had hidden from him. Like many, John thought my fascination with fossil fish peculiar and indulgent, and so I had never discussed in any depth the knowledge I had gained over the years. John wasn’t expecting support of me from so lofty a quarter. Nor was I. It reminded me that I had once briefly considered William Buckland as a potential suitor. While Colonel Birch brought pain, the thought of William Buckland as a husband now made me want to chuckle.
“It seems the whole of the scientific world is gathering for this auction,” Mr Buckland continued. “ Cumberland is here, and Sowerby, and Greenough, and your own Henry De la Beche. And did you ever meet Reverend Conybeare when he visited Lyme?” He indicated a man standing at his elbow. “He wants to make a study of the ichthyosaurus and present his findings to the Geological Society.”
Reverend Conybeare bowed. He had a severe, knowing face, with a long nose that seemed to point like a finger at me.
William Buckland lowered his voice. “I myself have been commissioned by Baron Cuvier to bid on a number of specimens. In particular, he wants an ichthyosaurus skull for his museum in Paris. I have my eye on one. Shall I show you?”
As he spoke I spied Colonel Birch across the room, holding up a jawbone for a group of men gathered around him. I shuddered with the pain of seeing him.
“ Elizabeth, are you all right?” my brother asked.
“Fine.” Before I could step sideways to escape Colonel Birch’s eyes, he looked past the jawbone he held and saw me. “Miss Philpot!” he called. Setting down the jawbone, he began to push his way through the crowd.
“Do you know, John,” I said, “I am feeling faint. There are so many people here and it is warm. Could we step outside for some air?” Without awaiting an answer I hurried towards the door. Luckily a wall of visitors separated me from Colonel Birch, and I was able to escape before he could get to me. On the street I turned down a rubbish-strewn passage that would normally have terrified me, preferring it to having to speak civilly to the man who both repelled and attracted me.
When we emerged onto Jermyn Street next to a shop where John usually bought his shirts, he took my hand and threaded it through his elbow. “You are a funny little thing, Elizabeth.”
“I expect I am.”
John said no more, but found a cab to take us back to Montague Street, discussing business and not mentioning where we had been. For once I was pleased my brother took little interest in the drama of human emotion.
At breakfast the next morning, however, I was looking at a paper William Buckland had sent over to me called “The Connection between Geology and Religion Explained” when John casually tucked inside it a catalogue for the auction listing all the specimens Colonel Birch intended to sell. I pored over it while pretending to read Mr Buckland’s article.
Going to Bullock’s that once should have been enough to satisfy my curiosity about the auction. I did not need to see the fossils again, or the excited buyers. I certainly did not need to see Colonel Birch and have to hear his justi?cation for his actions. I did not want to hear it.
On the morning of the auction I woke early. If we had been in Lyme I would have got up and sat at the window with the view towards Golden Cap, but in London I did not feel comfortable prowling about early in my brother’s house. And so I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to wake Louise with my fidgeting.
Later I sat in the drawing room with my sisters, going over a list of purchases we had made and what was still needed, for we were returning home later that week. We always shopped in London for things we couldn’t get in Lyme: good gloves and hats, well-made boots, books, art supplies, quality paper. I was twitchy and nervous, as if waiting for guests to arrive. My niece and nephews were with us, and their childish games grated on my nerves, until I snapped at Francis for laughing loudly. Everyone looked at me. “Are you feeling unwell?” my sister-in-law asked.
“I have a headache. I think I will go and rest.” I stood up, ignoring concerned murmurs. “I’ll be fine with a bit of sleep. Please don’t wake me for dinner or if you go out. I will come down later.”
Upstairs in my room I sat for a few minutes, allowing my head to catch up with what my heart had already decided. Then I drew the curtains to dim the room, and arranged cushions under my bedclothes so that anyone peeking in would think they were seeing my sleeping form. I doubted sharp-eyed Louise would be fooled, but she might take pity on me and say nothing.
I fastened my bonnet and cloak, then crept downstairs to the ground floor. I could hear the banging of pots and the cook’s voice from the kitchen below, and the children’s laughter above, and felt guilty-as well as a little silly-for stealing away. I had never done such a thing in my life, and it seemed ludicrous to do so now, at the age of forty-one. I should have simply announced that I was going to the auction, arranging for an appropriate chaperone such as Henry De La Beche. But I could not face the questions, the explanations and justifications I would have to give. I was not sure I could explain why I had to attend the auction. I was not planning to bid on any specimens-the few fossil fish Colonel Birch had managed to collect were inferior to mine-and it was sure to upset me to see Mary’s hard work callously distributed. Yet I felt I had to witness this momentous event. After all, it seemed even the great Cuvier might soon own one of Mary’s specimens, even if he did not know she found it. For Mary’s sake, I had to be there.
As I pulled open the heavy front door, I heard a sound behind me and froze. Having created such a clear excuse as a headache, what could I say to the servants or my sisters if they caught me now?
My nephew Johnny was staring at me from the stairs. After a moment I raised a finger to my lips. Johnny’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He crept down the rest of the stairs. “Where are you going, Auntie Elizabeth?” he whispered.