“I won’t. Carry on.”
“Hutton thought the world is being sculpted by volcanic action. Others have suggested it has been formed by water. Lately some geologists have taken elements of both and said a series of catastrophes has shaped the world, with Noah’s Flood being the latest.”
“What does this have to do with the plesiosaurus?”
“It is concrete evidence that the ichthyosaurus was not a unique instance of extinction, but that there are others—maybe many extinct creatures. That in turn supports the argument that the earth is in flux.” I looked at my nephew. Johnny was frowning at the light snowflakes swirling about outside. Perhaps he was more like his mother than I realized. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you with such talk.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fascinating. I was just wondering why none of my tutors discuss this in lessons.”
“It is too frightening for many, for it challenges our belief in an all-knowing, all-powerful God and raises questions about His intentions.”
“What do you believe, Aunt Elizabeth?”
“I believe . . .” Few had ever asked me what I believed. It was refreshing. “I am comfortable with reading the Bible figuratively rather than literally. For instance, I think the six days in Genesis are not literal days, but different periods of creation, so that it took many thousands—or hundreds of thousands of years—to create. It does not demean God; it simply gives Him more time to build this extraordinary world.”
“And the ichthyosaurus and plesiosaurus?”
“They are creatures from long, long ago. They remind us that the world is changing. Of course it is. I can see it change when there are landslips at Lyme that alter the shoreline. It changes when there are earthquakes and volcanic eruptions and floods. And why shouldn’t it?”
Johnny nodded. It was a relief to say such things to a sympathetic ear and not be judged either ignorant or blasphemous. Perhaps he could be so open-minded because he was young.
“Look.” He pointed at the windows of the Geological Society house. Figures were blocking the light as the men got up from their tables. It was time for me to lead with my eyes. I took a deep breath and opened the cab door. Johnny leapt out and helped me down, excited to be acting at last. He strode to the door and knocked boldly. The same man answered as had the first time, but Johnny treated him as if he had never spoken to him before. “Miss Philpot here to see Professor Buckland,” he announced. Perhaps he thought such confidence would open all doors.
The doorman, however, was not taken in by youthful assured-ness. “Women are not allowed in the Society,” he replied, not even glancing at me. It was as if I did not exist.
He began to shut the door, but Johnny stuck his foot on the jamb so that it wouldn’t close. “Well, then, John Philpot, Esquire, here to see Professor Buckland.”
The doorman looked him up and down. “What business?”
“It’s to do with the plesiosaurus.”
The doorman frowned. The word meant nothing to him, but it sounded complicated and possibly important. “I’ll take up a message.”
“I can only speak to Professor Buckland,” Johnny replied in a haughty tone, enjoying every moment.
The doorman appeared unmoved. I had to step forward, forcing him at last to look at me and acknowledge my presence. “As it is to do with the very subject of the meeting that is about to start, it would be wise of you to inform Professor Buckland that we are waiting to speak to him.” I looked him straight in the eye, with all of the steadiness and resolve I had discovered in myself on board the Unity.
It had its effect. After a moment the doorman dropped his eyes and gave me the briefest of nods. “Wait here,” he said, and shut the door in our faces. Clearly my success was limited, for it did not overcome the rule that women were not allowed inside, but must stand out in the cold. As we waited, snowflakes dusted my hat and cloak.
A few minutes later we heard footsteps clattering down the stairs, and the door opened to reveal the excited faces of Mr. Buckland and Reverend Conybeare. I was disappointed to see the latter; Reverend Conybeare was not nearly as easy and welcoming as Mr. Buckland.
I think they were a little disappointed to see us as well. “Miss Philpot!” Mr. Buckland cried. “What a surprise. I did not know you were in town.”
“I only arrived two days ago, Mr. Buckland. Reverend Conybeare.” I nodded at them both. “This is my nephew, John. May we come in? It is very cold outside.”
“Of course, of course!” As Mr. Buckland ushered us in, Reverend Conybeare pursed his lips, clearly unhappy that a lady was being allowed across the threshold of the Geological Society. But he was not president—Mr. Buckland would become so in a moment—and so he said nothing, but bowed to us both. His long narrow nose was red, whether from wine, a seat close to the fire, or temper, I couldn’t guess.
The entrance to the house was simple, with an elegant black-and-white-tiled floor and solemn portraits hanging of George Greenough, John MacCulloch, and other Society presidents. Soon a portrait of William Babington, the retiring president, would join the others. I expected to see something displayed that would indicate the Society’s interest: fossils, of course, or rocks. But there was nothing. The interesting things were hidden away.
“Tell me, Miss Philpot, do you have news of the plesiosaurus?” Reverend Conybeare asked. “The doorman said you might. Will its presence yet grace our meeting?”
Now I understood their excitement: It was not the Philpot name but mention of the missing specimen that had brought them racing down the stairs.
“I passed the grounded Dispatch three days ago.” I tried to sound knowledgeable. “Its cargo is now being brought by land, and will arrive as quickly as the roads allow.”
Both men looked discouraged at hearing what was not news to them. “Why, then, Miss Philpot, are you here?” Reverend Conybeare said. For a vicar he was quite tart.
I drew myself up straight and tried to look them in the eye as confidently as I had the clerk at the wharf and the Geological Society’s doorman. It was more difficult, however, as there were two of them gazing at me—and Johnny too. Then too, they were more learned, and confident. I might hold some power over a clerk and a doorman, but not over one of my own class. Instead of fixing my attention on Mr. Buckland—who as future president of the Society was the more important of the two—I stupidly looked at my nephew as I said, “I wanted to discuss Miss Anning with you.”
“Has something happened to Mary?” William Buckland asked.
“No, no, she is well.”
Reverend Conybeare frowned, and even Mr. Buckland, who was not a frowner, wrinkled his brow. “Miss Philpot,” Reverend Conybeare began, “we are about to hold our meeting at which both Mr. Buckland and I will be giving important—nay, even history-making—addresses to the Society. Surely your query about Miss Anning can wait until another day while we concentrate on these more pressing matters. Now, if you will excuse me, I am just going to review my notes.” Without waiting to hear my response, he turned and padded up the carpeted stairs.
Mr. Buckland looked as if he might do the same, but he was slower and kinder, and he took a moment to say, “I should be delighted to talk with you another time, Miss Philpot. Perhaps I could call around one day next week?”
“But sir,” Johnny broke in, “Monsieur Cuvier thinks the plesiosaurus is a fake!”
That stopped Reverend Conybeare’s retreating back. He turned on the stairs. “What did you say?”
Johnny, the clever boy, had said just the right thing. Of course the men did not want to hear about Mary. It was Cuvier’s opinion of the plesiosaurus that would concern them.
“Baron Cuvier believes that the plesiosaurus Mary found cannot be real,” I explained as Reverend Conybeare descended the stairs and rejoined us, his face grim. “The neck has too many vertebrae, and he believes it violates the fundamental laws that govern the anatomy of vertebrates.”
Reverend Conybeare and Mr. Buckland exc
hanged glances.
“Cuvier has suggested the Annings created a false animal by adding a sea serpent’s skull to the body of an ichthyosaurus. He claims they are forgers,” I added, bringing the discussion to what concerned me most.
Then I wished I hadn’t, for seeing the expressions my words ignited on the men’s faces. Both registered surprise, giving way to a degree of suspicion, more prominent in Reverend Conybeare’s case, but also apparent even in Mr. Buckland’s benign features.
“Of course you know that Mary would never do such a thing,” I reminded them. “She is an honest soul, and trained—by your good selves, I might add—in the importance of preserving specimens as they are found. She knows they are of little use if tampered with.”
“Of course,” Mr. Buckland agreed, his face clearing, as if all he needed was a prompt from a sensible mind.
Reverend Conybeare was still frowning, however. Clearly my reminder had tapped into a seam of doubt. “Who told Cuvier about the specimen?” he demanded.
I hesitated, but there was no way around revealing the truth. “Mary herself wrote to him. I believe she sent along a drawing.”
Reverend Conybeare snorted. “Mary wrote? I dread to think what such a letter would be like! The girl is practically illiterate! It would have been much better if Cuvier had learned of it after tonight’s lecture. Buckland, we must present our case to him ourselves, with drawings and a detailed description. You and I should write, and perhaps someone else as well, so Cuvier will hear about it from several angles. Johnson in Bristol, perhaps. He was very keen when I mentioned the plesiosaurus at the Institution at the beginning of the month, and I know he has corresponded with Cuvier in the past.” As he spoke, Reverend Conybeare ran his hand up and down the mahogany banister, still rattled by the news. If he hadn’t irritated me with his suspicion of Mary, I might have felt sorry for him.
Mr. Buckland also noted his friend’s nerves. “Conybeare, you are not going to withdraw your address now, are you? Many guests have come expressly to hear you: Babbage, Gordon, Drummond, Rudge, even McDownell. You’ve seen the room: It’s packed, the best attendance I’ve ever seen. Of course I can entertain them with my musings on the megalosaurus, but how much more powerful if we both speak of these creatures of the past. Together we will give them an evening they will never forget!”
I tutted. “This is not the theater, Mr. Buckland.”
“Ah, but in a way it is, Miss Philpot. And what wonderful entertainment we have prepared for them! We are in the midst of opening their eyes to incontrovertible evidence of a wondrous past world, to the most magnificent creatures God has created—apart from man, of course.” Mr. Buckland was warming to his theme.
“Perhaps you should save your thoughts for the meeting,” I suggested.
“Of course, of course. Now, Conybeare, are you with me?”
“Yes.” Reverend Conybeare visibly donned a more confident air. “In my paper I have already addressed some of Cuvier’s concerns about the number of vertebrae. Besides, you have seen the creature, Buckland. You believe in it.”
Mr. Buckland nodded.
“Then you believe in Mary Anning as well,” I interjected. “And you will defend her from Cuvier’s unjust charges.”
“I do not see what that has to do with this meeting,” Reverend Conybeare countered. “I mentioned Mary when I spoke about the plesiosaurus at the Bristol Institution. Buckland and I will write to Cuvier. Is that not enough?”
“Every geologist of note as well as other interested parties are upstairs in that room right now. One announcement from you, that you have complete confidence in Mary’s abilities as a fossil hunter, will counter any comments from Baron Cuvier that they might hear of later.”
“Why should I want to cast doubt in public on Miss Anning’s abilities, and indeed—and more importantly, I might add—doubt on the very specimen I am just preparing to speak about?”
“A woman’s good name is at stake, as well as her livelihood—a livelihood that provides you with the specimens you need to further your theories and your own good name. Surely that must matter to you enough to speak out?”
Reverend Conybeare and I glared at each other, our eyes locked. We might have remained like that all evening if it weren’t for Johnny, who had become impatient with all of the talk and wanted more action. He ducked behind Reverend Conybeare and leapt onto the stairs above him. “If you don’t agree to clear Miss Anning’s name, I shall go and tell the roomful of gentlemen upstairs what Cuvier has said,” he called down to us. “How would you like that?”
Reverend Conybeare made a move to grab him, but Johnny leapt up several more steps to remain out of reach. I should have scolded my nephew for his bad behavior, but instead I found myself snorting to hide laughter. I turned to Mr. Buckland, the more reasonable of the two. “Mr. Buckland, I know how fond you are of Mary, and that you recognize how much in debt we all are to her for her immense skill in finding fossils. I understand too that this evening is very important to you, and I would not want to ruin that. But surely somewhere in the meeting there is room for you to express your support of Mary? Perhaps you could simply acknowledge her efforts without mentioning Baron Cuvier specifically. And when his remarks are at last made public, the men upstairs will understand the deeper meaning of your declaration of confidence. That way we will all be satisfied. Would that be acceptable?”
Mr. Buckland pondered this suggestion. “It could not be recorded in the Society’s minutes,” he said at last, “but I am certainly willing to say something off the record if that will please you, Miss Philpot.”
“It will, thank you.”
He and Reverend Conybeare looked up at Johnny. “That will do, lad,” Reverend Conybeare muttered. “Come down, now.”
“Is that all, Aunt Elizabeth? Shall I come down?” Johnny seemed disappointed that he could not carry out his threat.
“There is one more thing,” I said. Reverend Conybeare groaned. “I should like to hear what you have to say at the meeting about the plesiosaurus.”
“I’m afraid women are not allowed into the Society meetings.” Mr. Buckland sounded almost sorry.
“Perhaps I could sit out in the corridor to listen? No one but you need know I am there.”
Mr. Buckland thought for a moment. “There is a staircase at the back of the room, leading down to one of the kitchens. The servants use it to bring dishes and food and such up and down. You might sit out on the landing. From there you should be able to hear us without being seen.”
“That would be very kind, thank you.”
Mr. Buckland gestured to the doorman, who had been listening impassively. “Would you show this lady and young man up to the landing at the back, please. Come, Conybeare, we have kept them waiting long enough. They’ll think we’ve gone to Lyme and back!”
The two men hurried up the stairs, leaving Johnny and me with the doorman. I will not forget the venomous look Reverend Conybeare threw me over his shoulder as he reached the top and turned to go into the meeting room.
Johnny chuckled. “You have not made a friend there, Aunt Elizabeth!”
“It doesn’t matter to me, but I fear I have put him off his stride. Well, we shall hear in a moment.”
I did not put off Reverend Conybeare. As a vicar he was used to speaking in public, and he was able to draw on that well of experience to recover his equanimity. By the time William Buckland had got through the procedural parts of the meeting—approving the minutes of the previous meeting, proposing new members, enumerating the various journals and specimens donated to the Society since the last meeting—Reverend Conybeare would have looked over his notes and reassured himself about the particulars of his claims, and when he began speaking his voice was steady and grounded in authority.
I could only judge his delivery by his voice. Johnny and I were tucked away on chairs on the landing, which led off of the back of the room. Although we kept the door ajar so that we could hear, we could not see beyond the gentlemen
standing in front of the door in the crowded room. I felt trapped behind a wall of men that separated me from the main event.
Luckily Reverend Conybeare’s public speaking voice penetrated even to us. “I am highly gratified,” he began, “in being able to lay before the Society an account of an almost perfect skeleton of Plesiosaurus, a new fossil genus, which, from the consideration of several fragments found only in a disjointed state, I felt myself authorized to propound in the year 1821. It is through the kind liberality of its possessor, the Duke of Buckingham, that this new specimen has been placed for a time at the disposal of my friend Professor Buckland for the purpose of scientific investigation. The magnificent specimen recently discovered at Lyme has confirmed the justice of my former conclusions in every essential point connected with the organization of the skeleton.”
While the men were warmed by two coal fires and the collective body heat of sixty souls, Johnny and I sat frozen on the landing. I pulled my woolen cloak close about me, but I knew sitting back there was doing my weakened chest no good. Still, I could not leave at such an important moment.
Reverend Conybeare immediately addressed the plesiosaurus’s most surprising feature—its extremely long neck. “The neck is fully equal in length to the body and tail united,” he explained. “Surpassing in the number of its vertebrae that of the longest-necked birds, even the swan, it deviates from the laws which were heretofore regarded as universal in quadrupedal animals. I mention this circumstance thus early, as forming the most prominent and interesting feature of the recent discovery, and that which in effect renders this animal one of the most curious and important additions which geology has yet made to comparative anatomy.”