First, though, he had to win over her mother. He did so by flirting shamelessly with her, and for perhaps the only time in her life, Molly Anning lost her head. Ground down by poverty and loss, Molly had enjoyed little happiness in the years since Richard Anning's death, but suffered constant worry over money and fear of the prospect of being sent to the workhouse. Now a handsome retired soldier in a smart uniform was kissing her hand and complimenting her housekeeping and asking her leave to go along the beach with her daughter. She who had been so indignant at William Buckland innocently taking Mary out now threw away her caution for the price of a kiss on the hand and a kind word or two. Perhaps she was simply tired of saying no.
The shop where Molly Anning sold fossils to visitors began to run low on even basic specimens such as ammonites and belemnites, for Mary had stopped picking up other fossils, leaving nodules for others to break open, ignoring requests by other collectors for sea urchins or gryphaea or brittle stars. The good specimens she found she gave to Colonel Birch, or encouraged him to pick up himself. Molly did not complain to her daughter, however. I helped as best I could by donating what I found, for I primarily hunted for fossil fish and left other specimens to others. But the Annings were low on funds and running debts with the baker and the butcher, and would soon with the coal merchant once it grew cold. Still Molly Anning said nothing--perhaps seeing Mary's time with Colonel Birch as a future investment.
Since her mother wouldn't, I tried to talk to Mary about Colonel Birch. When the tide was high they could not go out, and he would stop in at the Three Cups, or attend the Assembly Rooms, where of course Mary did not go. Then she would help her mother, or clean Colonel Birch's specimens for him, or simply wander about Lyme in a daze. One day I met her as I was coming up Sherborne Lane, a small passage that led to Silver Street from the centre of town. I used it when I was not feeling sociable enough to greet everyone walking along Broad Street. Mary was drifting down the lane, her eyes on Golden Cap, a smile on her face, which shone with an appealing inner joy. For a moment I could almost believe Colonel Birch might seriously court her.
Seeing her so happy twisted my jealous heart, so that when she greeted me I did not restrain myself. 'Mary,' I said abruptly, without the small talk that eases such conversation, 'is Colonel Birch paying you for your time?'
Mary gave her head a shake, as if trying to rouse herself, and met my eyes with all of her attention. 'What do you mean?'
I shifted the basket I was carrying from one arm to the other. 'He is taking up all of your hunting time. Is he paying you for it, or at least for the fossils you find him?'
Mary narrowed her eyes. 'You never asked me that about Mr Buckland, or Henry De La Beche, or any of the other gentlemen I've taken out. Is Colonel Birch any different?'
'You know he is. For one thing, the others found their own fossils, or paid you for those you found for them. Is Colonel Birch paying you?'
Mary's eyes registered a flicker of doubt, which she covered up with scorn. 'He finds his own curies. He don't need to pay me.'
'Oh? And what have you found to sell, then?' When Mary didn't answer, I added,
'I've seen your mother's cury table in Cockmoile Square, Mary. There is little on it. She's selling broken ammonites you would have thrown back into the sea once.'
Mary's elation had entirely disappeared. If that was my intention, I had been successful. 'I'm helping Colonel Birch,' she declared. 'There's nothing wrong with that.'
'And he should be paying you for it. Otherwise he is using you for his own gain and leaving you and your family the poorer.' I should have left it there, where my words might have had a positive effect. But I could not resist pressing harder. 'His behaviour does not speak well of his character, Mary. You would do better not to associate with such a man, for it will hurt you in the end. Already the town is talking, and it is worse than when you attended William Buckland.'
Mary glared at me. 'That's nonsense. You don't know him at all, not like I do.
You'd do better to stop listening to gossip, or you'll become a gossip yourself!' Pushing past me, she hurried down Sherborne Lane. Mary had never before been so rude to me. It was as if she had taken a great leap from deferring to me as a working girl to acting as my equal.
Afterwards I felt bad about what I had said and how I had said it, and decided as penance I would force myself to go out with Mary and Colonel Birch again, to blunt the sharp tongues of Lyme. Mary accepted my gesture easily, for love made her forgiving.
That was why I was with them out by Black Ven when they at last found the ichthyosaurus Colonel Birch was so keen to add to his collection. I was finding very little that day, for I was distracted by the behaviour of Mary and Colonel Birch, who were more openly affectionate than they had been weeks before: touching an arm to get the other's attention, whispering together, smiling at each other. For an awful moment I wondered if Mary had succumbed completely to him. But then I reasoned that if she had, she would not go to such lengths to seem accidentally to touch his arm. I did not know of married couples who caressed each other so eagerly. They did not need to.
I was pondering this when I saw Mary pause on a ledge and look down, the way I'd seen her do hundreds of times. It was the quality of her stillness that told me she'd found something.
Colonel Birch went on a few paces, then stopped himself and came back. 'What is it, Mary? Have you seen something?'
