I went back along Coombe Street, but when I reached Cockmoile Square I didn’t go over to Mam behind her table. Instead I turned into Bridge Street, crossed the square past the Assembly Rooms and the Three Cups, and started up Broad Street. If I were going to be kept away, I would hear it direct from the Philpots rather than from Bessy.

It was market day, and the Shambles was busy, with stalls extending halfway up Broad Street. The place was thick with people; pushing through them was like trying to wade through the sea with the tide coming in. I kept going, though, for I knew I had to.

With all of the crowd, it took me a moment to spot her, marching down the hill with her quick little steps and her straight back. It was like seeing a vague shape on the horizon that when it comes closer snaps into the clear outline of a ship. At that moment I felt the bolt of lightning pass through me and stopped dead, letting the market crowd part and push round me.

Elizabeth Philpot was surrounded by people, but she herself was alone, unaccompanied by her sisters. She looked thinner, almost skeletal, the familiar mauve dress hanging from her, her bonnet framing a bony face. Her cheekbones and especially her jaw were more prominent, long and straight and hard like an ichie’s. But she was walking smartly, as if she knew just where she was going, and when she got closer I could see that her grey eyes were very bright, like a light shone through them. I let out my breath, which I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

When she saw me, her face lit up like Golden Cap does when the sun touches it. Then I begun to run, shoving people out of the way and yet hardly seeming to move at all. When I reached her I threw my arms round her and begun to cry, in front of the whole town, with Fanny Miller at a veg stall staring, and Mam come to see what had happened to me, and everyone who ever talked about me behind my back now talking about me openly, and I didn’t care.

We didn’t say a word, just clung to each other, both of us crying, even though Miss Elizabeth never cried. No matter all that had happened to me-finding the ichies and plesies, going with Colonel Birch to the orchard, meeting Monsieur Prévost-this was the lightning that signalled my greatest happiness, in all my life.

“I have given my sisters the slip and was just coming to find you,” Miss Elizabeth said, when at last we let go. She wiped her eyes. “I am very glad to be home. I never thought I would miss Lyme so much.”

“I thought the doctor said you can’t live by the sea, that your lungs are too weak.”

In response Miss Elizabeth took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. “What do London doctors know of sea air? London air is filthy. I am much better off here. Besides, no one can keep me away from my fish. Thank you, by the way, for the crate of fish you left for me. They are a delight. Come, let us go down to the sea. I have seen so little of it, as Margaret and Louise and Bessy won’t let me out of the house. They worry over me far too much.”

She begun walking down Broad Street again, and I reluctantly followed. “They’ll be angry at me for letting you do this,” I said. “They’re already angry that I got you sick.”

Miss Elizabeth snorted. “Nonsense. You didn’t make me sit on a draughty landing for an evening, did you? Nor go by ship to London. Those follies I take complete responsibility for.” She said it as if she weren’t sorry for anything she done.

Then she told me about the meeting at the Geological Society and how Mr Buckland and Reverend Conybeare agreed to write to Cuvier, and Mr Buckland said nice things about me to all the gentlemen gathered, even though they weren’t recorded in the minutes. And I told her about Monsieur Prévost and the plesiosaurus that was going to Monsieur Cuvier’s collection in the Paris museum. It was wonderful to talk to her again, but underneath our words I felt anxious, for I knew I had to do something difficult. I had to say sorry.

We were strolling along the Walk when I stepped in front of her and stopped so that she could go no further. “Miss Elizabeth, I’m sorry for all the things I said,” I blurted out. “For being so proud and full of myself. For making fun of your fish and your sisters. I were awful to you and it was wrong, after all you done for me. I’ve been missing you these many years. And then you went off to London for me and almost died-”

“Enough.” Elizabeth Philpot held up her hand. “First of all, you are to call me Elizabeth.”

“I-All right. E- Elizabeth.” It felt very odd not saying Miss.

Miss Elizabeth begun walking again. “And you need not apologise for my trip to London. After all, I chose to do it. And indeed, I am grateful to you. Going to London on the Unity was the finest experience of my life. It changed me for the better, and I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

There was something different about her, though I could not say exactly what it was. It was as if she were more certain. If someone were sketching her they would use clear, strong lines, whereas before they might have used faint marks and more shading. She was like a fossil that’s been cleaned and set so everyone can see what it is.

“As for our disagreement, I too said things I regret,” she continued. “I was jealous of you, as you said then, not just of Colonel Birch, but of your knowledge of fossils too-your ability to find them and understand what they are. I will never have such skills.”

“Oh.” I looked away, for it was difficult to return her bright, honest gaze. All of our walking and talking had brought us to the bottom of the Cobb. The waves were bursting over it, sending out a spray that made the seagulls wheel up into the sky.

“Do you know, I should like to see the Ammonite Graveyard,” Miss Elizabeth declared. “It has been so long.”

“Are you sure you can go that far, Miss Elizabeth? You mustn’t tire yourself after your illness.”

“Stop fussing. Margaret and Bessy fuss enough. Not Louise, though, thank heavens. And call me Elizabeth. I will keep insisting until you have learned.”

So we continued, arm in arm along the beach, talking until at last we had no more to say, like a storm that blows itself out, and our eyes dropped to the ground, where the curies were waiting for us to find them.

10. Silent together

Mary Anning and I are hunting fossils on the beach, she her creatures, I my fish. Our eyes are fastened to the sand and rocks as we make our way along the shore at different paces, first one in front, then the other. Mary stops to split open a nodule and find what may be lodged within. I dig through clay, searching for something new and miraculous. We say very little, for we do not need to. We are silent together, each in her own world, knowing the other is just at her back.