Page 33 of The Scholar’s Spy

Robert dutifully scrambled up over the dirt to join Abigail in her natural setting. Briefly, he wondered if Montacute might have him executed for failing in his mission, and then he saw Abigail’s welcoming grin, and the memory of his work slipped from his mind.

“Yes, yes,” she said, her hands running in and out of the dry dirt. “I remember when my pa found his treasure, his sea monster that’s what we called it then…oh, it was just like one of these days. You can taste it in the air.”

Robert found himself smiling, hoping she would find precisely what she was seeking so urgently. He watched her as she drew along the rod she’d used to walk with this morning, and started to push and shove the dirt out of the way. She moved with such deftness. It was like watching an artist work.

When her hands dived in there, into the muddy cauldron, she made a triumphant noise. “I can feel him. It’s something special—”

Shifting on his feet, Robert was surprised when Abigail held up a dirty hand to him, eager to stop his moving. “We need to extract the blighter. That’s the trick. That’s what’s considered a true achievement. My father managed it, and it sold for a great deal of money.” Abigail smiled then, the grin lighting up her whole face, with the sort of impish wonder that he loved about her. “His discovery was taken to London, and my father’s name displayed for all to see,” she recalled before adding, “We need to move delicately.”

Moving with as much consideration as he could Robert neared the site, there was dirt and rubble all around them, but Abigail was crouched close to the ground.

“Where is it?” He had no idea how she knew this particular one was precious, but he was wiser now having seen Abigail spot the perfect curios across the wide stretching beach. She knew the difference between sea lilies and urchins, bezoars and Devil’s toenails, and what each should fetch when sold, on these matters he trusted her entirely.

“Here.” She snatched up his hand and pulled him down, so he was crouching close to her. “Feel.” She pushed his fingers into the dirt up against the rock, and Robert tried his best to feel for what she had mentioned. It was a strangely cold shape, what felt like a skull, but longer and oddly rough. It felt monotonous beneath his fingers.

“It’s the creature’s head. A skull. It feels almost like a crocodile. Or how I would imagine one.”

Sliding her fingers over his, she guided his hand along the skull, all the while watching his face. Gulping, Robert realized the intimacy of such an action, whilst his gaze was rooted on her face. He could not look away, away from the quick of her eyebrows, or the twisting smile of her delicious mouth, or the faded cake crumble decoration of freckles over her nose. “There,” she said with pleasure. Robert felt it too, a change beneath his fingers—her hand forced his fingers to feel the space where the creature’s eyes must have been—it was different, an alien experience.

Unbidden, a little gasp slipped out of his mouth. Abigail laughed.

“He’s ours,” she said. Robert felt a surge of ownership, but he was not sure it was toward the object in the ground. Or toward her. “We have no time to waste. He needs to be extracted safely. Men should be hired to help carry him. His body must be at least six feet…”

Together with Robert holding the strangely shaped skull steady, Abigail shifted and worked around the discovery, until the dirt, grit and grey clay were scraped back, and the ancient skull could be eased up and out. She used both her hammer and the knife, moving as if she had no injury whatsoever. Ever so slowly, the skull eased away from its ancient home. Back into darkness and shale, Blue Lias, stone and clay, lay the rest of its body.

Both Robert and Abigail stared at the strange creature in their laps. Its resemblance was indeed to a strangely drawn crocodile. It was at least four feet, with the longest snout or mouth Robert had ever seen. Dozens and dozens of teeth lined the mouth and the eye socket was at least twice the size of a human’s. The sockets were oddly reminiscent of great round wheels of pineapples, which Robert had eaten only once.

“It is the stuff of nightmares,” Robert said.

Abigail laughed. “Strange. I have been dreaming of finding such a creature for years. His body is close by, but we’ll need help to pull it out.”

“What do you think his name is?”

“Someone at the museum will name him. It’ll be a grand Latin name, no doubt,” Abigail said, “but to us, he can be the sea lizard. Cuvier has a similar looking discovery, although his sketch is a little varied. The eyeball, or where it must have been, is rather stark—”

“Well done,” Robert said, and was pleased to see the pleasure of achievement bloom over Abigail’s face. “You found him.”

“You do a great deal of your business in London, yes?” she asked him suddenly.

“Yes,” he lied easily enough. After all, that was the tale he had told through Lyme.

“It would not be the height of the beau monde, much more focused on the scholars, the people of real importance, who I wish to be connected with. Men who know about the ancient world. Those who write the greatest discoveries of the age. A great many of them live and work in London. I would ideally be able to interact with them, but I do know if I would have a great deal of success,” Abigail said as she moved closer. Instinctively, Robert put his hand out to help her up.

Their fingers interlocked once more, hers a little damp from the wet sand and mud, but warm and strong. It was far too easy to visualize how they would feel on his body. Stroking over his bare skin. Fondling. Cupping. Scraping her nails over his bare skin…

“You see, I don’t know anyone in Town,” Abigail said, cutting into his spiraling and lust filled fantasies with her normal practicality. “Aside from my Aunt Charlotte, but I don’t think she’d be much help. She is as silly as Mother. I suppose there are my father’s old friends. But I think it would be helpful to have a man of business with me…someone who might be an aid to me in this venture. My aim is to find an interested partner at the geological institution. In investments if possible, and the sponsorship of papers.”

“Ahh.” The noise Robert made was covered by a cough. Abigail carried on.

“I know of course that great men sometimes buy curios, but Liddell has no interest in such things, and no one really knows Baron Montacute. So, there is no one of importance nearby.”

At the mention of his employer, the man who helmed the underwriting of much of the British empire’s most reputable enterprise as well as this particular venture, Robert tensed. “How—who is he? The baron you mentioned?”

“He is one of the local aristocrats. There is a grand estate, about thirty or forty miles away. I’ve never been myself,” Abigail said. She set to work, brushing at her work clothes and trying fruitlessly to clean herself up. “No one knows much about him. He certainly never visits us. Every now and then, one of the town’s gossips says something about him coming to stay but it never amounts to anything. My mother always says the grand house should be let out, but perhaps it is too dear for most…I’ve seen a sketch of it. The Grange, it’s called. All very pretty, so much so Sophia said she’d be willing to wed him. Even if he looked like a toad. I think he must be dandy or a libertine…”

“I am sure he is. In fact, I am quite certain I have heard tell of him in Town, being a drunk too.” Better to lay it on thick, in case Abigail might think to mention the baron to anyone. Better that his employer remain the stuff of legend rather than draw too much attention to Montacute. Was there some rumor in the region about his employer, aside from his grand house and his noted absence? Would it be worthwhile for Montacute to come down to Lyme Regis? Robert hoped sincerely this would not happen. The idea of the baron seeing how far behind he was in his mission was deeply unpleasant. “Why do you mention him?”

“In case he might wish to buy our discovery,” Abigail said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Great men often like to buy such finds. They display them as a matter of pride either in their country piles or in the London mansions. My father sold his great discovery to Liddell’s cousin, but I think he died.”