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.
As I pulled open the heavy front door, I heard a sound behind me and froze.
Having created such a clear excuse as a headache, what could I say to the servants or my sisters if they caught me now?
My nephew Johnny was staring at me from the stairs. After a moment I raised a finger to my lips. Johnny's eyes widened, but he nodded. He crept down the rest of the stairs. 'Where are you going, Auntie Elizabeth?' he whispered.
'I have an errand to run. A secret one. I will tell you about it later, Johnny. I promise to, as long as you promise not to tell the others I have gone out. Will you keep our secret?'
Johnny
nodded.
'Good. Now, what are you doing down here?'
'I'm to give cook a message about the soup.'
'Go, then, and I'll see you later.'
Johnny went to the stairs leading down to the kitchen, then stopped and watched as I slipped through the front door. I was not sure if he could keep the secret, but I would have to trust him.
I clicked the door shut behind me, tapped down the steps, and hurried away without looking back to see if anyone was at one of the windows. I did not slow down until I had turned the corner and my brother's house was out of sight. Then I stopped, pressed my handkerchief to my mouth and took a deep breath. I was free.
Or so I thought. As I started along Great Russell Street past the British Museum, I became aware of other women walking in clumps, in couples or groups, with maids or husbands or fathers or friends. Except for the occasional servant, only men walked on their own. While I did so often enough in Lyme, I had never actually walked down a London street alone; I had always been with my sisters or brother or friends or a servant.
In Lyme there was less concern over such conventions, but here a lady of my station was expected to be accompanied. I found myself being stared at by men and women alike, as the odd one out. Suddenly I felt exposed, the air around me cold and still and empty, as if I were walking with my eyes shut and might bump into something. I passed a man who looked at me with glittering black eyes, and another who appeared eager to bid me good day until he saw my plain, middleaged face and backed away.
I had intended to walk to Bullock's, but it became clear from the reception I received on a reasonably tame, familiar road such as Great Russell Street that I could not walk through Soho to Piccadilly on my own. I looked around for a passing cab, but there were none, or none stopped when I raised my hand. Perhaps they were not looking out for a lady to do such a thing.
I considered asking a man for help, but they all stared so much that I was put off.
Finally I stopped a boy running along behind horses to pick up the dung, and promised him a penny to find me a cab. Waiting for him was almost worse than walking, though, for I drew even more attention by standing still. Men sidled past, eyeing me and whispering. One man asked if I were lost; another offered to share a carriage with me.
Both may have genuinely meant to help, but by then they all seemed sinister. I have never hated being a lady and yet at the same time hated men as much as I did during those minutes alone on the London streets.
The boy returned at last with a cab, and I was so relieved I gave him two pennies.
Inside it was stuffy and smelly, but it was also dark and quiet and empty; I sat back and closed my eyes. Now I really did have a headache.
What with my late decision to go out and the delay in finding a cab, when I arrived at Bullock's the auction was well under way. The room was packed, with all the seats taken and people standing two deep at the back. Now I benefitted from my sex, for no man would sit and leave a lady standing. I was offered several seats, and took one in the back row. The man I sat next to nodded at me congenially, acknowledging a shared interest. Though alone this time rather than accompanied by my brother, I felt less conspicuous, for everyone was intent on the front of the room, where the sale was taking place.
Mr Bullock, a stocky man with a broad neck, stood at a lectern. He played the part of auctioneer as if it were a role on a stage, drawing out his words and accompanying them with theatrical flourishes of his arms. He stoked up the excitement in the room, even for Colonel Birch's endless supply of pentacrinites. I had been surprised to see so many of them listed in the catalogue, for I knew Colonel Birch was keen on them. He must truly be deep in debt to part with them, as well as with the ichthyosaurus.
