Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier Page A

shot out from her sleeves. At least her face was bright and keen, despite her wind-burnt cheeks and the grubbiness of her skin. I was used to her looks, but seeing her from Lord Henley’s eyes made me flush with shame for her. If this was who was responsible for the specimen he was already claiming for his own, Lord Henley would indeed be concerned for its well-being.
    “It is a splendid specimen, is it not, Lord Henley?” I interjected. “It just needs cleaning and preparing—which I shall oversee, of course. But think how striking it will look when reunited with its body one day!”
    “How long will you require for the cleaning?”
    I glanced at Mary. “A month at least,” I guessed. “Perhaps longer. No one has dealt with such a large creature before.”
    Lord Henley grunted. He was eyeing the skull as if it were a haunch of venison dressed in port sauce. It was clear he wanted to take it back to Colway Manor immediately—he was the sort of man who made a decision and did not like to wait for the results. However, even he could see that the specimen needed attention—partly to present it in its best light, but also to preserve it. The skull had been pressed between layers of rock in the cliff, protecting it from exposure to air and keeping it damp. Now that it was free, it would soon dry out and begin to crack as it 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