The Dragon in the Cliff by Sheila Cole

water. The music—for I decided that it must be music, though I had never heard anything like it before—was at once gay and sad. I was entranced by it, yet it made me hesitate. I was afraid I would be uncomfortable inside such a house. Before I could escape, Miss Philpot spied me through the window.
    A girl, about my age, admitted me through the front door into an entrance hall with a floor of inlaid squares of wood. Miss Elizabeth Philpot came through a side door to greet me. Taking me by the hand, she led me into a large sitting room, the most luxurious I have been in. I was impressed by the gold-framed mirror which hung over the carved, painted mantel and by the blue-flowered carpet that covered the floor. Being the daughter of a cabinetmaker, my eye was caught by the inlaid mahogany library table set on a single pedestal and by the lightness and delicacy of the other tables and chairs.
    Miss Elizabeth introduced me to her sisters, first the elder, Miss Mary Philpot, who was seated at the far end of the room in front of an oblong box on legs that I later learned was a harpsichord, and then to her younger sister, Miss Margaret Philpot, who was seated on a gold satin damask settee in front of the window with her needlework in her lap. In making these introductions, Miss Elizabeth called me Miss Anning and made much of me, telling her sisters that I was the discoverer of the monster fossil about which all of Lyme was talking.
    When we had been introduced, Miss Elizabeth urged me to make myself comfortable, saying that she would fetch the book for me. I sat down beside Miss Margaret, who told me that they were just about to have tea and asked me to join them. I declined out of shyness, but she insisted, saying that I must have been chilled from my walk up the hill.
    While we waited for tea to be brought, Miss Mary played the harpsichord. Again there was that rushing of sound, like a brook, that carried me away. Tea was soon brought in by the girl who had admitted me. Her name, I was told, was Betty Beer. She was from Seatown and an orphan. Miss Mary, who left the harpsichord to come sit with us, served us, urging me to take a second helping. When the tea things were cleared away, Miss Elizabeth gave me The Memoirs of the Wernerian Natural History Society .
    I had never seen a book about geology before. I could scarcely keep myself from opening it and devouring its contents right there. But before I had a chance, Miss Margaret started a conversation, asking with a pleasant smile if she might call me by my Christian name.
    â€œPlease do,” I told her. I found it strange to be called Miss Anning or even Mary Anning by someone so much older.
    â€œElizabeth told me that you have some doubts about the identity of the fossil you found. She said that you don’t think it is a crocodile?”
    â€œWe call it a crocodile,” I replied, “because we do not know what else to call it. But somehow, though I have never seen a crocodile, I doubt that this is one.”
    â€œWill you be disappointed if it turns out not to be one?” she asked.
    Miss Elizabeth answered for me, “Why should she be, Margaret? Whatever it turns out to be will be of interest. After all, the fossil is enormous … quite spectacular. It is unlike anything anyone has ever seen before. It is the first entire fossil of its kind that has been found in the world. Crocodile or not, it is causing a stir, and will certainly be of interest to geologists and those who study comparative anatomy.”
    â€œIf it is not a crocodile, what is it?” Miss Mary asked.
    â€œNo doubt it is some creature that is no longer in existence,” Miss Elizabeth replied coolly.
    But her answer did not seem self-evident to her sister, who said, “I don’t know how you can say such a thing, Elizabeth. Just because you have never seen anything like it before does not mean it doesn’t exist somewhere on this earth, in other latitudes,