Chapter 26 #2
A young page brought the tea, and we both jumped at the knock. Then he was gone again. Neither of us moved for the tea. Was Henry waiting for me to speak first? The grandfather clock ticked the minutes, and I chewed my lip.
Damn it. “Do you really think—”
“So the ammonite—”
We both stopped short. I swallowed.
He laughed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? You can wake the dead.”
Henry’s smile cracked wide, dimpling his cheeks. Not the smirk or the coy, haughty smile he usually wore. This was a true smile. And that sent a spike of fear down my back.
I sprang to my feet. “I can’t do this.” I hurled myself at the door.
“Mary, wait!” Henry caught my wrist just before the doorknob.
I shook my head frantically, breaking his loose hold. “No. You were there, Henry! I already told the archbishop of Canterbury I had nothing to do with Ajax’s resurrection. And Buckland’s already off and running with his flood-hibernation theory.”
Henry’s voice matched mine, a hoarse whisper. “But don’t you want to know the truth?”
“I—” My gaze dropped. It shamed me, curdling in my chest.
Henry continued. “Don’t you want to know what you are? What you can do?”
My chin snapped up, and I laughed. “Don’t pretend this is about me. This is about your reputation. You want me to prove your theory. To prove Buckland wrong. Well, I won’t be part of it. I refuse to be a pawn in your game against Buckland.”
“Then you are the pawn in his,” Henry shot back. “I admire your loyalty to the professor, Mary. Truly I do. And I understand—”
“No. You don’t. You have no idea.”
I didn’t have to believe Buckland’s hibernation theory to trust that it was the wisest tactic for the Society, and for me.
That was the heart of it. I trusted Buckland. He had proved himself, a hundred times. A thousand times.
“William Buckland saved me.” My voice was thick with emotion, but I couldn’t help it.
“He bought my pitiful shells and stones when no one else would. He bought from me when I had no reputation at all; just a tray of curiosities from the beach. Some nights, his coin was all that kept me from the slicks. Or the whorehouse. Or from eating garbage, scraps of half-rotted fish for my supper, which I did plenty of, I assure you. But never when William Buckland came to town.”
Henry’s face was pale. “Mary—”
“You left.” The words tore from my throat. Hot tears threatened, and I blinked quickly. I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.
Henry’s chin jerked, and I stepped back, drawing strength from the door against my spine.
“But Buckland was there. Every summer, he came back to Lyme Regis. And it wasn’t just charity.
My pride couldn’t have stood that. No. He gifted me books, and then asked what I thought of them.
As if it mattered. As if he cared. He wrote to his friends, and he said, She is the cleverest fossilist I have ever met, and then they came to buy from me, too. ”
My chest rose and fell rapidly with my breath. “Everything I am, everything I have, is thanks to William Buckland.”
Embarrassment pierced my fervor, and I stopped short, suddenly tongue-tied.
Henry stepped close. Too close to be appropriate. I had to lift my chin to meet his eyes, my own narrowed. He caught my hands before I could pull away and held them to his chest.
“Don’t.” His voice was rough.
I was so startled by the force of his anger that I froze. I felt his heartbeat, and his breath, under my palms.
“Buckland was there when—” His eyes fell, dark lashes fluttering. “When no one else was there. Of course you’re loyal to him. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.”
His fingers tightened. “But don’t give Buckland credit for what you’ve made of yourself. He may have helped you to—to shine—but you were always the diamond.”
Henry’s Adam’s apple jumped, and his lips parted. He wasn’t…was he?
I caught my breath. But then he let go, dropping my hands as if they burned and turning away from me with a shudder.
My arms hung in the air a moment before falling to my sides.
My thoughts were tangled, my own doubts fertile soil for his words.
“But. But I understand now.” Henry was still facing away. “You think that if you investigated this theory of mine—this power of yours—that you would be betraying Buckland.”
I nodded miserably, though he couldn’t see.
“And so you betray yourself instead,” Henry said softly. He paced to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “The Mary I knew would never leave truth buried because unearthing it would be…inconvenient.”
I flinched. It was all still manipulation, but it hit the intended target. His words were working. My resolve was weakening.
I certainly didn’t want to be someone who ignored the truth. But it wasn’t only inconvenient. Henry’s theory was downright dangerous—for the Society, and for me.
“It isn’t only Buckland.” My voice dipped low, reedy with fear. “Henry, I don’t want to be executed.”
He looked at me in shock. “What? You have to know I would never do anything to endanger you.”
I scoffed. “The only reason I left Lambeth alive is because Buckland convinced the archbishop I had nothing to do with Ajax’s resurrection. Do you really think he’d take kindly to your new, heretical explanation instead? One that upends hundreds of years of theomagical consensus?”
Henry’s brow smoothed, his shoulders relaxing. His mouth curved into that damn smirk.
“Ah. I believe we are suffering from a misunderstanding. One that I can easily rectify. I am not asking you to support my theory with the archbishop, or even within the Society. As you said, Buckland’s foolish flood-hibernation theory is to be the official explanation for Ajax’s resurrection.
There’s not much either of us can do about that now. ”
“But,” I stammered, “the other night, you wanted me to tell the archbishop I’d woken Ajax with…with fossil witch magic.”
“Yes”—Henry sighed and waved a hand—“there was a window, but as you’ve said yourself, that’s likely closed now.”
“Then what do you even want from me?” I nearly laughed, torn between confusion and frustration.
“And finally, the lady asks.” His mouth quirked. He turned away again and opened one of the drawers in the cabinets along the wall.
“We’re both scholars, are we not? I thought it would be obvious what I want.” Henry stretched out his arm in offering. A dark-gray belemnite lay in his hand. “I want us to study you.”