shrank, unless Mary sealed it with the varnish her father had used on his cabinets. 'All right, then,' he said. 'A month to clean it, then bring it to me.'
'We ain't giving up the skull till the body turns up,' Mary declared.
I frowned and shook my head at her. I was trying to lead Lord Henley gently to the notion of paying for the skull and body together, and Mary was blundering into my delicate negotiations. She ignored me, however, and added, 'We're keeping the head at Cockmoile Square.'
Lord Henley gazed at me. 'Miss Philpot, why should this child have any say over what happens to the specimen?'
I coughed into my handkerchief. 'Well, sir, she did find it--she and her brother--so I suppose her family has some claim on it.'
'Where is the father, then? I should be talking to him, not to a--' Lord Henley paused, as if saying 'woman' or 'girl' were too undignified for him.
'He died a few months ago.'
'The mother, then. Bring the mother here.' Lord Henley spoke as if commanding a groom to bring his horse.
It was hard to picture Molly Anning bargaining with Lord Henley. The day before she had agreed that I would try to convince Lord Henley to wait for a complete specimen.
We had not discussed her doing the business dealings herself. I sighed. 'Run and fetch your mother, Mary.'
We waited in awkward silence for them to come back, taking refuge in studying the skull. 'Its eyes are rather large for a crocodile, do you not think, Lord Henley?' I ventured.
Lord Henley scuffed his boots on the floor. 'It's simple, Miss Philpot. This is one of God's early models, and He decided to give the subsequent ones smaller eyes.'
I raised my eyebrows. 'Do you mean God rejected it?'
'I mean God wanted a better version--the crocodile we know now--and replaced it.'
I had never heard of such a thing. I wanted to ask Lord Henley more about this idea, but he always stated things so baldly that there was no room for questions. He made me feel an idiot, even when I knew he was a bigger one than I.
It was just as well that we were interrupted by Molly Anning. Mercifully she did not bring the crying baby, but arrived trailing Mary and the smell of cabbage. 'I'm Molly Anning, sir,' she said, wiping her hands on her apron and looking around her, for she would never have been inside the Assembly Rooms. 'I run our fossil shop. What was it you wanted?' She was the same height as Lord Henley, and her level gaze seemed to subdue him a little. She surprised me too. I had never heard of the workshop being called a shop, or of her having anything to do with it. But then, without a husband, she had to take on new tasks. Running a business appeared to be one of them.
'I want to take this specimen, Mrs Anning. If your daughter will allow it,' Lord Henley added with a touch of sarcasm. 'But then, your daughter answers to you, does she not?'
'Course.' Molly Anning barely glanced at the skull. 'How much you want to pay, then?'
'Three
pounds.'
'That--' I began.
'I expect there be plenty of gentlemen prepared to pay more,' Molly Anning talked over me. 'But we'll take your money, if you like, as a deposit for the whole creature once Mary finds it.'
'And if she doesn't?'
'Oh, she'll find it all right. My Mary always finds things. She's special like that--always has been, since she was struck by lightning. That were in your field, weren't it, Lord Henley, where she was struck?'
Several things astonished me: that Molly Anning was talking so confidently to a member of the gentry; that she had rather cleverly allowed him to name his price, throwing him off balance and getting an idea of the worth of an object whose value she didn't know; that she had the cunning to make the lightning strike seem to be his responsibility. Most surprising, though, she had actually complimented her daughter just when Mary needed it. I'd heard people say that Molly Anning was an original; now I understood what they meant.
