Chapter 26
Chapter
The doors to Palmanaeus House clanged shut, plunging us into an eerie silence after the roar of the crowd. Davies ignored me utterly, falling quickly into conversation about an increased security budget.
But I was distracted staring at the great skeleton, floating in the center of the entry hall just above my eyeline.
“Mary,” President Davies called, and I broke my gaze away from the great skeleton.
Davies and Buckland had been joined by a short man with a hooked nose and straw-colored hair, dressed in rough leather work clothes.
“Miss Anning, this is Mr. Burton. He is on loan to us from the royal menagerie’s aviary. He is extremely well qualified, I assure you. Ajax will be in excellent hands.”
My heart sank a little, but of course I wouldn’t be permitted to care for Ajax alone.
My hand cupped over Ajax’s sloping back as I whirled toward the hook-nosed man in leather.
“So, eagles and hawks, then? Ajax is very different, I will warn you.”
Mr. Burton shrugged. “One bird’s the same as another.”
I nearly choked. My voice pitched to a screech. “A—a bird? Ajax is not a damned bird.”
Davies made a shocked sound at my expletive and then twisted to arch his body over me.
It was a blunt but effective tactic. Despite his stooped shoulders and shuffle, he easily passed six feet, and towered above me.
My righteous anger shriveled under his gaze.
It was difficult enough to stare up and meet his blue eyes.
“Were you a man, Miss Anning,” he said, his voice a cold murmur, “I would tell you that such displays of emotion are not permitted in Palmanaeus House, and I would ask you to leave, and not to return.”
I swallowed, my lips dry. I’d assumed President Davies to be rather ineffectual—past his time and prime, pushed to a reluctant retirement by his cabinet members snapping at his heels.
But with Davies’s stare on me and that threat over my head, I could hardly remember that he was stooped and graying.
“But you are not a man,” Davies said, and continued staring down his nose at me, “and I cannot in good conscience punish you for following your womanly nature when faced with disappointment.”
He straightened, and I ducked my head—not only to seem suitably chastened, but also to hide my anger. My womanly nature? Inside, I seethed, even as I apologized to Mr. Burton.
“Very good.” Davies nodded approval. “Now, Mary, if you would be so good as to hand over the creature? A number of fellows have already signed up for slots to examine him.”
Of course. And they would write the papers and the books. Once again, someone else would make their name and reputation on my work.
“But I will still be permitted time with him, won’t I?” I said, looking to Buckland for assurance. He looked to Davies, who frowned.
“Whatever for?”
“For my own studies, of course.” It was offensive that I even had to clarify.
“I didn’t know you had such ambitions,” Davies said stiffly.
And I didn’t know how to respond to such a foolish statement.
“Mary has grown quite fond of the beast,” Buckland said smoothly. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt to let her spend some time with him. And she will be a familiar face to him, after all. A comfort, during the transition.”
Davies grunted. “I suppose that would be acceptable. On occasion.”
Mr. Burton held out his gloved hand expectantly, and I realized he meant for me to hand Ajax over.
I lifted Ajax from my shoulder, stroking at his eye ridges. He tilted his head to look at me curiously.
“I’ll see you later,” I murmured, and resisted the urge to kiss his toothy beak.
I am very fond of him, I thought, a lump rising in my throat as the bird-keeper took him from me. I supposed there was no point pretending otherwise anymore, even to myself. Ajax and I were bound and bonded.
But he wasn’t mine. He belonged to the Society now. The zookeeper took him onto his gloved hand, another hand laid over his back to hold him firm. I watched as Ajax was carried in this manner, squawking, up the curved steps, and my heart pinched with every furious screech.
Someone cleared their throat.
“Buckland. President Davies. Might I have a word?”
My spine went rigid. William Conybeare stood in the archway to the library, wringing his hands, his beady green eyes downcast. The geomagician who’d run straight from Palmanaeus to the Inquisitors to report me for suspected sorcery. Conybeare was the reason I’d come perilously close to execution.
“This is not a good time,” Buckland said coldly, turning his back to Conybeare in an obvious dismissal.
Conybeare ignored this and came forward. “Please, my friend.” He sighed, heavily. “I never should have doubted you.”
But of course he said this to Buckland. Not to me.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Buckland said sternly, but I heard the depth of hurt in his voice. Conybeare was not only his closest ally in the Society, he was Buckland’s dearest friend. “All these years of friendship, and you could not trust my word when I said that Mary was innocent of sorcery?”
Conybeare’s eyes landed on me for the first time, and even then he could hardly keep the disdain from flickering across the hollow bones of his face.
He resents me, I realized, feeling the cold chill as his gaze brushed mine.
Conybeare had played a bold hand in running to the Inquisitors.
Perhaps it had been driven by true belief.
Or maybe it was only the natural growth of his long suspicion of me.
Or maybe he’d been playing for his own power and reputation, as the only one who’d seen through the evil sorceress and her ploy.
But whatever had driven Conybeare to the Inquisitors, the gamble had failed.
Conybeare hung his head. “And I will live with that shame every day, my friend.”
I started to speak, but bit my tongue when President Davies narrowed his eyes. I wasn’t eager to be chastised for my womanly nature again so quickly. Besides, I trusted that Buckland could see his old friend’s motivation well enough.
Buckland clucked his tongue, and I lifted my chin, expecting the professor to chide him, or—at least—to demand Conybeare apologize to me.
“You only did what your conscience felt was right,” Buckland said instead. “How could I fault you for that?”
As I gaped, Buckland took his hand from my arm and held it out for Conybeare to shake.
Conybeare smiled with thin, pale lips. He didn’t need to look my way; I could feel the smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves.
“Now, come,” Buckland said, gesturing for Conybeare and Davies to follow him through to the library. “And I will tell both of you more about the flood-hibernation theory that so captured the archbishop.”
He did turn to me then, pressing his lips together. “My office is upstairs, left down the hallway. Wait for me there.”
The three geomagicians vanished through the arch, into the dim library, and I was alone now, standing before the plesiosaur.
I swallowed down my disappointment, and my anger.
I was here, wasn’t I, standing in Palmanaeus House? I was here.
Scattered reliq-lamplight flickered across the white bones of the great beast. The plesiosaur was supported by only a thin rod jutting from the floor, and had been wired together—the jaw hung open, paddles in motion to give the impression that it was swimming through the dark cavern of the hall, as if it might dart at any second into one of the branching hallways, sailing under white arches and columns like smooth coral.
I ran my fingers lightly over the finger bones in the strange, paddle-like fins.
Plesiosaurus, of the Jurassic Lyme. Collected by William Buckland, September 1823.
I remembered finding it. The way my heart leapt as I uncovered more and more, frantic fingers scraping bloody in the sand and stone. I’d been so sure this plesiosaur would turn the key to the Society’s door.
Something twisted in my stomach, and I had to close my eyes for a moment and let myself feel the wood under my feet. I was inside the damn door now, and somehow becoming a geomagician felt more impossible than ever.
“I remember when they brought it in. I knew at once that it was your find.”
It was Henry’s voice, close to my ear. “It is a beautiful creature.”
I kept my eyes closed just a moment longer, imagining that I was at home in Lyme Regis, on the beach, the sea washing white over my bare feet.
I exhaled, letting it slip back to sea. We were side by side, shoulder to shoulder, facing the skeleton.
“You were right.” My voice was a whisper. “I woke my reliq. An ammonite.” His shoulder jerked, twitching against mine.
What am I even doing?
Up until I said the words, I hadn’t been sure I would. But now they hung in the air, and I couldn’t take them back even if I wanted.
Henry’s office was smaller than I’d expected, certainly less grand than his home study.
There were the standard dark wood walls and crowded bookshelves, but something about the office felt almost homey.
The couch was threadbare in spots, and a tartan blanket was tossed haphazardly across the back.
He sleeps here, at least sometimes, I realized.
“Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”
I’d expected Henry to launch immediately into an interrogation. It took me a moment to realize he was as nervous as I was, and leaning on manners to disguise it. We were both avoiding eye contact.
“Tea, please.” I smoothed my skirts as I sat on one of the velvet couches.
“I’ll call for it,” he said, and touched a reliq embedded in the wall. “Tea to Stanton, please. It’s connected to the kitchens,” he explained, as I stared.
“Palmanaeus House has its own kitchen?”
“Of course. And a café. Did Buckland tell you nothing?”
“There’s hardly been time,” I said defensively.
“Ah, too true. It has been rather busy since you arrived in London, hasn’t it?” He sat on the couch across from me and rested an ankle over his knee, tapping his fingers on his shin.