talcum powder, gritty underfoot and drying to one's skin. I knew this dust well, as did Bessy, who complained bitterly about having to clean up after me when I brought back specimens from the cliffs.
I shivered, partly from the cold of the cellar, where there was no fire, but also because the room's disorder upset me. When out collecting I had learned to discipline myself and not pick up every bit of fossil I found, but look instead for whole specimens.
Both Bessy and my sisters would rebel against the insistent creep of partial fossils over all available space. Morley Cottage was meant to be our refuge from the harsh outdoor world. If allowed indoors at all, fossils had to be tamed--cleaned, catalogued, labelled and placed in cabinets, where they could be looked at safely without threat to the order of our daily lives.
The chaos in the Annings' workshop signalled to me something worse than poor housekeeping. Here was muddled thinking and moral disorder. I knew Richard Anning had been politically rebellious, with admiring stories still circulating years later about a riot he had led protesting over the price of bread. The family were Dissenters--not unusual in Lyme, perhaps, which because of its isolation seemed to be a haven for independent Christians. I had no ill feelings towards Dissenters. I wondered, though, if now her father was gone, Mary might benefit from a little more order in her life--physical if not spiritual.
However, I would put up with a great deal of dirt and confusion in order to see what had been laid out on a table in the middle of the room and surrounded by candles, like a pagan offering. There were not enough candles to light it properly, though. I vowed to have Bessy drop off some the next time she came down the hill.
On the beach with so many others about, I'd not had much chance to study the skull. Now, seen in full rather than in silhouette, it looked like a craggy, knobbly model of a mountainous landscape, with two hillocks bulging out like Bronze Age tumuli. The crocodile's grin, now that I could see all of it, seemed otherworldly, especially in the flickering candlelight. It made me feel I was peering through a window into a deep past where such alien creatures lurked.
I looked for a long time in silence, circling the table to inspect the skull from every angle. It was still entrapped in stone, and would need much attention from Mary's blades, needles and brushes--and a good bit of hammering too. 'Take care you don't break it when you clean it, Mary,' I said, to remind myself that this was work, not a scene from one of the gothic novels Margaret enjoyed scaring herself with.
Mary twisted her face up in indignation. 'Course I won't, ma'am.' Her confidence was just for show, however, for she hesitated. 'It'll be a long job, though, and I don't know how best to go about it. I wish Pa were here to tell me what to do.' The importance of the task seemed to overwhelm her.
'I've brought you Cuvier as a guide, though I am not sure how much it will help.'
I opened the book to the page with the drawing of a crocodile. I had studied it earlier, but now, standing next to the skull with the picture in hand, it was clear to me that this could be no crocodile--or not a species we were aware of. A crocodile's snout is blunt, its jaw line bumpy, its teeth many different sizes, its eye a mere bead. This skull had a long, smooth jaw and uniform teeth. The eye sockets reminded me of pineapple rings I was served at the dinner at Lord Henley's when I discovered how little he knew about fossils.
The Henleys grew pineapples in their glass house, and it was a rare treat for me, which even my host's ignorance could not sour.
If it was not a crocodile, what was it? I did not share my concern about the animal with Mary, however, as I had begun to on the beach, before thinking the better of it. She was too young for such uneasy questions. I had discovered from conversations I'd had about fossils with the people of Lyme that few wanted to delve into unknown territory, preferring to hold on to their superstitions and leave unanswerable questions to God's will rather than find a reasonable explanation that might challenge previous thinking. Hence they would rather call this animal a crocodile than consider the alternative: that it was the body of a creature that no longer existed in the world.
This idea was too radical for most to contemplate. Even I, who considered myself open-minded, was a little shocked to be thinking it, for it implied that God did not plan out what He would do with all of the animals He created. If He was willing to sit back and let creatures die out, what did that mean for us? Were we going to die out too?
Looking at that skull with its huge, ringed eyes, I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff. It was not fair to bring Mary there with me.
I laid the book down next to the skull. 'Did you have a look for the body this morning? Did you find anything?'
Mary shook her head. 'Captain Cury was nosing about. Not for long, though--there was a landslip!' She shivered, and I noted that her hands were trembling. She picked up her hammer as if to give them something to do.
'Is he all right?' Although I did not care for William Lock, I would not have him killed, especially by the falling rocks that terrified me and other hunters.
Mary grunted. 'Nothing wrong with him, but the croc's body's buried under a pile of rubble. We'll be a time waiting for it.'
'That is a shame.' Behind this understatement I hid my disappointment. I had wanted to see the body of such a creature. It might provide some answers.
Mary tapped at the edge of the rock with her hammer, knocking off a sliver attached to the jaw. She seemed less bothered about this delay, perhaps because she was more used to having to wait to get even the most basic things:
