Page 4 of The Scholar’s Spy

They walked round the back of the house, and were now positioned to enter the property through the rear of the garden. Her sister touched Abigail’s arm and moved away to push open the back garden’s door revealing the dark shape of the garden and then the empty house beyond it. “I thought we could enjoy it together over our evening meal.”

Supper, Abigail thought cynically, was not going to be an enjoyable affair. Not anymore. Ever since their father had died, the family funds had been significantly reduced. One of the first things to be deducted had been the servants, swiftly followed by the range of food available on their table. Judith struggled to fill up the empty space now that their mother and Sophia were away. Perhaps the letter would prove a godsend into the stony silence they often sat through.

“I will clean up,” Abigail said. Half her mind was still on the vertebrate she had left behind in the workshop. If her father were still alive, he would have skipped food and been holding up the candles himself and letting her finish the extraction. “I will need to get up early tomorrow,” Abigail added, trying to get her sister to see that the only real source of income they had was the money she made from the fossils.

“As long as you’re safely abed this evening, I have a bad feeling about tonight,” Judith replied as she lowered the weapon onto the nearest side table and looked back up at her. “Come through to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Abigail nodded, and proceeded toward the dining room. If only she could get Judith to understand why she spent so much time outside digging up those fossils.

It was not merely that the “snake stones” or “devil fingers,” as the locals called it, were a source of income, but it was what they represented—they were a way of learning about the ancient world. What one curved side of a fossil could reveal was an entire history. What one belemnite might sell for a few pennies, it meant far more. It was the most incredible thing imaginable, that one scholarly find revealed a whole world beyond the understanding of almost everyone. If only her sisters could understand both the monetary opportunity, not to mention the historical and scientific importance of her discoveries—the way their father had. Smiling at the idea that one day she’d convinced Judith and Sophia, Abigail set about preparing her latest belemnite.

*

Half an hour later, Abigail’s mood had not improved. Nor was Judith’s pinched expression doing anything to relieve her stress.

“What would you do if we were to discover ourselves bankrupt? Sophia would be forced toward whatever match she might get…but us? Mother makes it clear she thinks the only answer is marriage.”

Judith had embraced spinsterhood years ago, with an eagerness that disappointed their mother but made sense to Abigail. Judith hated to be governed. Any man who attempted to woo or tame her spirit and opinions would have very little success and might even end up with a black eye. It was a dear, dear shame, as Mrs. Fossey had always said, because Judith had quite the loveliest grey eyes imaginable and reddish auburn hair if only she brushed and styled it correctly. She might be quite pretty was the common refrain from their mother. If only Judith tried. It made Abigail admire her sister a great deal more. Of course, Mrs. Fossey never made such comments about Abigail.

Their mother’s letter, with its comments, questions, and reports, detailed in surprisingly stark language the lack of success Sophia was enjoying in the city. Mrs. Fossey was requesting yet more money to satisfy whatever it was she needed. Her requirements had been detailed on the back page. Oh yes, the Bath society was struck and impressed by Sophia’s dazzling raven curls and her mesmerizing cornflower blue eyes, but when it came to her lack of fortune, it seemed that offers at the moment were surprisingly short on the ground.

Judith had folded the missive up and looked concerned before fixing her cool gaze on Abigail at the end of the table.

“What shall we do?” Judith asked into the silence. There was a small supper of boiled potatoes, radishes and haddock. It was a meal designed for only one stomach, but Judith had insisted that it be split between the two of them.

Abigail had bitten her lip. She never quite had the right words, whereas Judith always had them. They seemed to roll off her eldest sister’s tongue like music to Abigail’s ears. Their father used to say that Judith should have been a man and therefore could have been the most convincing of lawyers.

“My fossils—”

“We can only keep the workshop, because Father bought it outright,” Judith said. Abigail had hoped to say she would make money, plenty of it, alongside gaining a name for herself with her fossils, Judith had simply looked annoyed and rebutted her with a weary answer. “That will not suffice, no. A practical solution would be marriage to a local man. If only there were one suitable.”

One day, Abigail wished she would have the perfect answer to Judith’s quick words. The perfect answer was something along the lines of, “Why are you looking for a husband? Will you marry Mr. Bellevue or whatever student Doctor Owlery is teaching next?” That response to her spinster-ish sister that would give Judith a momentary pause. But Abigail could not make herself ask these questions and the silence dragged until Judith shook her head and excused herself.

*

The next morning Abigail rose before Judith. Deliberately. The memory of their one-sided discussion, the letter and meal still burning through her, she recalled the awkward question and how she had had to bite her tongue.

Getting to her feet, Abigail snatched up her familiar breeches, dirty and frayed but loved, nonetheless. By the end, her father had been so frail. Despite the fact she was only just above average height for a woman, his breeches fit well. A clean but plain white muslin chemise was slipped over her head, and tucked into the breeches—they might bunch at the waist a little, but Abigail did not give a fig. She secured her ensemble with her father’s belt and a men’s jacket Abigail had bought in her mother’s absence from the local pawn shop. It was of course only possible to dress in such a way whilst her mother was away in Bath. Abigail found herself smiling at the freedom her mother’s absence gave her. Then she splashed water on her face from the small bowl of water on the dresser and left her bedroom. Her footsteps were silent on the wooden floor as she slipped down and out of the house.

In the dawn light, Abigail marched contentedly along the road, full of bright optimism. The early rays of the sun beat down on her, telling her in no uncertain terms it would be a warm day, and she meant to enjoy it. She would not hide away in the workshop but head along the beach and up the gradual hillside to search amongst the cliffs. Aiding in the overall pleasure of the day was the large piece of bread she had stuffed into her pocket. The latter meant she did not need to return home to be scolded, questioned, and overseen by Judith.

“Good day, Mr. Randall, Mr. Holland.” Abigail waved at the passing men, acquaintances of her family for decades.

The two of them doffed their hats and continued toward their respective businesses in the center of town, utterly immune to the unusual sight of Miss Abigail Fossey in her breeches. She, however, saw for the first time that they gave her a wide berth.

Turning Abigail looked back over her shoulder observing them, and noticing they did not treat the passing maidservant in such a manner, calling out friendly, nay perhaps flirtatious greetings to Miss Wallace, who giggled appreciatively back.

Certainly, the older generation, and especially the more severe women in Lyme Regis, still regarded Abigail as an oddity, but she had embraced this as her natural state. After all, it meant that they avoided her, and would never allow their sons near her. Of course, this meant few would have looked at Abigail in a matrimonial light… but after last night’s conversation, the idea of her being unappealing took further root within her stomach, twisting there unpleasantly. Before last night, marriage had never overly intrigued Abigail. Now it burnt and twisted through her, as if a match had suddenly been lit under her.

Judith was thinking of marriage as an economic prospect. Sophia considered it a romantic one. For Abigail, it was something else. Her mind turned over the men she had passed. Marriage was to Abigail’s mind a physical thing—requiring a sort of intimacy she was not certain she wished to experience.

As she walked, she realized what was bothering her. In all of her twenty-six years, no one had wished to marry her, no one wanted to take her hand and go for a walk with her, no one even wanted to kiss her… it might not matter that she was not curious, but why was she dismissed out of hand?

Hopping down off the walkway and into the gravelly area of blue Lias, clay, and sandstone was not as comforting as it should have been. Nonetheless, she crouched down and slid into the muddy dip, lying down close to a promising gap, as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Positioned as she was in the dirt, close to her find, Abigail set to work.

“I won’t think about what Judith said. I won’t.” The mantra worked for some of her time in the stretch of her ditch.

Hours drifted past as she worked, careful and methodical as always, pushing away the thoughts of matrimony her sister had placed in her head. The heat of the day, hotter than normal for late March, caused sweat to slide down her back. Abigail pulled off and shoved aside her jacket, her white chemise clinging to her sweaty body.