Remarkable Creatures (24 page)

The moment they were gone, Margaret burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should never have written that letter! I regretted it the moment I posted it!” Louise looked at me, bewildered. I did not take Margaret in my arms in a sisterly embrace of forgiveness, however. That would take several days, for meddling deserves punishment.

Leaving the British Museum I felt lighter, as if I had transferred a burden I’d been carrying over to Colonel Birch. At least I had spoken out for the Annings, if not completely for myself. I had no idea if it would make a difference.

I found out soon enough.

IT WAS MY BROTHER who saw the notice of the auction. John came home from his chambers one evening and joined us in the drawing room—an overdecorated room on the first floor with large windows looking out onto the street. A crowd was there to greet him: Apart from the Lyme sisters and our sister-in-law, our other sister, Frances, was visiting from Essex with her two children, eight-year-old Elizabeth, named after me, and three-year-old Francis. They were running after Johnny, now a proud eleven-year-old who suffered the adoration of his cousins. The children were toasting tea cakes over the fire, which had been lit only for that purpose since it was a warm May evening. Johnny relished dangling the cakes so close that they caught fire, with the younger ones following suit, and in the chaos of putting out the flames and scolding the children about the danger and the waste, I didn’t notice the peculiar look on my brother’s face until the children had settled down.

“I saw something in the newspaper today that I know will interest you,” John said to me, his brow furrowed. He handed me the paper, folded so that a boxed advertisement was in view. As I scanned it, my face went red. I looked up, and the eyes of all my siblings rested on me. Even Johnny was gazing intently. It can be unnerving to have so many Philpots give you their attention.

I cleared my throat. “It appears Colonel Birch is selling his fossil collection,” I announced. “At Bullock’s, next week.”

Margaret gasped, while Louise gave me a sympathetic look and reached for the newspaper to study the notice.

I turned the news over in my mind. Had Colonel Birch known when we met at the British Museum that he was selling his collection? I doubted it, given the possessive pride with which he spoke of his ichthyosaurus to Mrs. Taylor. Moreover, surely he would have told me. On other hand, I had made so plain my dissatisfaction with his conduct that perhaps he was unlikely to have told me he was planning to turn his fossils into cash. All of the specimens Mary had given him would now go towards lining his empty pockets. My words to him had had no effect at all. This stark evidence of my impotence brought tears to my eyes.

Louise handed back the paper. “There are previews of the sale,” she said.

“I’m not going anywhere near Bullock’s,” I snapped, taking out a handkerchief and blowing my nose. “I know exactly what is in that collection. I don’t need to inspect it.”

But later, when John and I were on our own in his study, discussing the Lyme sisters’ finances, I interrupted his dry discourse on numbers. “Will you accompany me to Bullock’s?” I did not look at him as I asked, but kept my eyes on the smooth nautilus I had found on Monmouth Beach and given him to use as a paperweight. “Just you and I, not a large party to make an outing of it. I only want to slip in and have a quick look, that’s all. The others needn’t know. I don’t want them to fuss.”

I thought I saw a look of pity cross his face, but he quickly hid it with the bland expression he often used as a solicitor. “Leave it with me,” he said.

John made no mention of a visit for several days, but I knew my brother, and had faith that he would arrange things. One evening at supper he announced that he would need the Lyme sisters to come to his chambers later in the week to look over certain documents he had drawn up for us.

Margaret made a face. “Can’t you bring the papers home?”

“It needs to be at chambers, as a colleague must be present to witness it,” John explained.

Margaret groaned, and Louise pushed a bit of haddock around her plate. All of us found the law chambers dull. Indeed, though I loved and respected him, I found my brother dull too at times—perhaps more so since we’d lived in Lyme, for there people were many things, but rarely dull.

“Of course,” John added, with a glance towards me, “you needn’t all come. One could represent the others.”

Margaret and Louise looked at each other and at me, each hoping for a volunteer. I waited a suitable interval, then sighed. “I will do it.”

John nodded. “To sweeten the pill, we shall dine at my club after. Would Thursday suit?”

Thursday was the first day of the preview, and John’s club was in the Mall, not far from Bullock’s.

By Thursday John had managed to have some sort of paper drawn up that I could sign, so that his ruse was not a lie. And we did dine at his club, but briefly, just one course, so that we arrived at the Egyptian Hall in good time. I shuddered as we entered the yellow building, still with its statues of Isis and Osiris keeping watch over the entrance. After seeing Mary’s ichthyosaurus there several years before, I had vowed never to go back, no matter how tempting the exhibits. Now I was choking on that vow.

Colonel Birch’s fossils were displayed in one of the hall’s smaller rooms. Although set out like a museum collection, and divided into sets of similar specimens—pentacrinites, fragments of ichthyosauri, ammonites, and so on—the fossils were not behind glass, but laid out on tables. The complete ichthyosaurus was on show in the middle of the room, and it was just as breath-taking as it had been in the Annings’ workshop.

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 was vibrant with interest, and I picked up the thrum in my chest. 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 recognize 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 with 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 view, 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 justification 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.