Lightning Mary

by Anthea Simmons

  ‘What do you think, Mary?’ she asked. ‘Was the Earth forged in volcanic fire or dissolved in the oceans? Are you a Plutonist or a Neptunist?’

  How glad I was that I had battled with the book Mrs Stock had given me and knew a little of these matters.

  ‘Mr Hutton and Mr Playfair have influenced me to feel more inclined to fire than water as the force behind the Earth, even though I dwell by the sea and observe her workings daily. She seems more to take away land than to build it up. I like to think of the rock as the pages of a great book and the creatures trapped inside like pressed flowers and that means new rock on top of old,’ I said, rather proud to be naming such gentlemen and proving my understanding of their work.

  Elizabeth smiled and looked, dare I say it, rather proud of me herself.

  Even as I voiced these thoughts, I found the Marys in my head getting in a frightful state of confusion. One Mary wanted to shut her ears to any talk that did not agree with the Holy Book, for I knew that most folk would say that it was neither the fire nor the sea that formed the Earth but only the work of God the Almighty, Creator of all this world and every creature in it. Another could only think that the six days of Creation were but a story and agree with my father that if they were days, they were very much longer ones than we had now. Very much longer.

  It seemed Elizabeth could read my mind for she replied, ‘That book analogy of yours is a very good one. I wonder how many tens of thousands of years might have passed in the laying down and wearing away of each page of rock. More than we can imagine, no doubt. And what creatures might be caught up in its leaves, stranger even than the ones in my cabinets?’

  It was a thought that had occurred to me in almost every waking hour. I had even wondered if creatures like the monster might have been mistakes that God had then deliberately destroyed and buried, but then I shrank back from the idea in fear and horror. Could God make mistakes? It was not something that could be said out loud. Or was it?

  Elizabeth’s eyes met mine. She looked at me as if she knew all about the battles the Marys fought in my head, and expected one of them to say something bold or shocking.

  ‘You’ll find those creatures, Mary. Of that, I am sure,’ she said when I remained silent.

  That was a moment to tell her about the monster but I did not. I was not ready. I did not have enough to tell her. It was enough for now to think how I might progress and learn through discussion.

  Another thing greatly in Elizabeth’s favour was that she did not irritate me. Maybe it was no accident that her family had made their fortune from a salve that could soothe a burn or heal a cut, for she was calm and soothing herself.

  Not that she would have been able to calm my secret torment at the thought of that monster body still out there, beyond my reach. I lay awake night after night, trying to solve the problem of how to find it.

  I had tried to climb up the cliff face but I could not get close enough, and it was impossible to get a proper grip anywhere. I managed to clamber up about fifteen feet, but the slab with the skull in it had come from even higher, another ten feet or more, and above that was the overhang created by the landslip. Imagine looking up to a roof of mud and roots and rock that you know could fall on you at any moment. It is a far from pleasant prospect.

  One day, I went into the field above the cliff and looked over the edge to see if I could get any closer that way. The overhang wasn’t part of the headland, as I had assumed, but ten feet lower. It must have already started to slip and got stuck. That meant it was very unstable indeed.

  I have never minded climbing up things, but even I am wary of going down. I could hear Father’s voice in my head, warning me of the treachery of Black Ven, of all the lives lost – man and beast – but I had to be brave, had to try.

  I very carefully lowered myself onto a ledge above the overhang, but even as my feet touched the earth, it was clear that my weight was too great. A wave of terror went through me and, even as the shower of rocks went tumbling down, I managed to scramble back over the lip of the cliff and onto the grass by the very skin of my teeth. I lay on my belly with my cheek pressed to the earth and my heart racing, all the while trying to fathom a method by which I might get to that body.

  I lay there a while. The ground was cold and damp. All was silent, save for the sea’s back and forth on the beach fifty feet below. I wondered what would have happened if I had lost my footing. How had Father felt that day he had his accident? Had he grasped at the mud and rock in desperation as he fell? Had he thought he was sure to die?

  Then I fell to wondering if I was even alive now? Maybe I had fallen to my death? Maybe I was dead already? How could I tell if this was real or a dream or even the life to come? I must confess that I frightened myself with these thoughts for they were not sensible or scientific. Yet, somehow, I passed several minutes wondering how I might prove to myself that I was still alive. Maybe it was because I had had a glimpse of death.

  Suddenly I felt warm breath on the back of my head and turned over to come face to face with a cow. A long skein of drool landed on my face as she jerked her head back in fear. I wiped it away with my sleeve and sat up. The cow had been joined by several others, though they were less brave or less curious than she, for they stood back in a huddle, jostling each other gently and snorting clouds of steam.

  ‘I must be alive then,’ I said aloud, as the cows all retreated backwards, their gaze still fixed on me.

  I stood up and they all turned and fled, two bucking like horses, the rest skittish and silly. I had been their adventure for the day. The cliff had been mine. An adventure I was in no hurry to repeat.

  One thing was clear. I needed another landslip. But that was in the hands of Nature and the weather. It might take months, years. How could I wait that long? How could I ensure Mother would wait that long?

  I needed to think. Instead of going home, I walked through the fields towards Rhode Barton so that I should come back down into town round the back of Squire Stock’s farm, a walk of three miles or more. Enough time to clear my mind and make space for new ideas.

  As I climbed Dragon Hill (how well-named it would prove!), I saw there was some commotion up ahead at a sharp bend in the cart track. A group of men were hammering stakes into the bank above the woods, watched by quite a crowd. I recognised one of them as Josiah Jenkins, quarryman.

  I ran up to look over the edge. A carriage and two horses lay at the bottom of the slope, some thirty feet down. The horses were thrashing about, trying to get up, but pinned to the ground by their traces. The carriage had lost two of its wheels. The coachman was standing up but holding his shoulder and moaning. He had blood on his head and clothes. I could not see any passengers.

  An old woman came to stand by me, yellowed eyes bright with excitement. She took a hold of my arm with her clawed fingers but seemed not to mind when I shook her off.

  ‘Two people in that carriage. Dead, I expect. One of they horses be mortally wounded, for certain sure. No one can get up and no one can get down, for tis slippery as an eel’s back and that carriage be wedged in the goyle and it isn’t goin’ to move so easy. There’s a poor body underneath, see. Fell out of the windy on the way down and then the ’ole carriage fell on ’e! Tis a pretty pickle and no word of a lie!’

  She rubbed her hands in glee at the spectacle but my eyes were fixed elsewhere.

  More men had arrived with ropes. They lashed them to the stakes. Two of the men then began to climb down backwards, the rope looped around their waists, their feet against the steep bank. They slowly paid out the rope as they almost bounced down the side of the hill. It was wondrous clever!

  That was when it came to me. There was a way that Black Ven could be made to yield its treasure!

  ‘In’t you goin’ to see ’em saved?’ shouted the old woman as I set off back down the hill.

  But I had no interest in saving anything but that monster in the mud! Nothing is impossible, I told myself.
Nothing!

  20

  BONES FROM STONES

  I found Josiah Jenkins again in the tavern the next day. He was busy telling a small crowd how he had rescued the people from the goyle, hoisting up the fellow who had been crushed, laid out on an old door.

  ‘Wasted our time with that one,’ he said, taking another great gulp from a tankard. ‘Died not two hours later on account of him being squashed like a tomato. Had to shoot a horse with my pistol too. Poor beast. Broken its back and shoulder, I reckon. The other one was sound as a pound. Landed on his fellow, see, like a cushion.’

  He suddenly noticed me standing close by.

  ‘Ah! I seen you up at the accident, but you ran off. Was you afear’d?’

  ‘Me! Afear’d? Not in the least. I am here because I have a commission for you.’

  He laughed and I did not much like the way of it. I stood up tall. Sometimes, even though it is a very great bother to be a woman, it can serve me well for I do not feel like a girl child speaking to a man, but another growed-up personage, equal to equal.

  ‘There’s coin in it, if you do the job to my standards!’ I said stoutly, for I wasn’t going to have any nonsense from him.

  One of his drinking companions leaned towards him and whispered in the loudest whisper ever heard: ‘Tis Richard Anning’s daughter. Him what fell off of Black Ven and took sick and died, and her that little maid what was struck by lightning and lived. She’s a little scrapper, that one! You want to be careful!’

  ‘Richard’s daughter, eh? I’ve seen you on the beach, ferreting about, haven’t I?’ He looked me up and down and I did not much like that, either. ‘Well, what is your great commission, then?’

  ‘I need you to help me get to a place on The Spittles. With your ropes and stakes. You must first dislodge a portion of the cliff, which can be easily done for my weight alone was sufficient to loosen it, and then I need you to teach me how I may walk down the cliff face as your men did walk down the slope to the goyle. And you must also help me to transport matter from the cliff back to Lyme.’

  ‘Matter? What matter?’

  ‘Never you mind what matter,’ I said. ‘Will you do it?’

  ‘It’ll be dangerous,’ said he, taking a mighty swig from his tankard.

  ‘Not if you set the stakes far from the cliff edge,’ I retorted.

  He looked at me with respect. ‘I meant for you, Miss Anning. I see you have your father’s stubborn nature, though, so I suppose danger don’t bother you any?’

  ‘It does not. Not when it can be avoided by careful management.’

  The men all chortled with laughter at this. I ignored them.

  ‘No doubt you will expect payment in advance but I make you this offer: you may have a guinea now or ten per cent of the’ – I nearly said treasure – ‘matter, when it is sold. Which requires you to wait. But it will be worth it,’ I added.

  ‘Matter, eh? You found silver, Miss Anning? Gold, even?’

  ‘More wondrous treasure than that,’ I replied.

  ‘It’ll be nothing but an old skellington, you mark my words!’ said the man who had called me a scrapper. ‘You know how Richard was with his curiosities. Fancy folk do pay good money for ’em, mind. You found something special, missy?’

  ‘I have,’ I said, for I was not inclined to tell them more lest they went looking themselves.

  Josiah Jenkins pulled on his whiskers and whistled through his few teeth. ‘Well, Miss Anning. I liked your father. I quite like your mother.’ He winked. I stared at him with my most stony face. ‘But mostly, I likes a gamble so you have yourself a deal. Here. Shake on it.’

  He spat into the palm of his large hand, its back hairy as a dog’s paw, and held it out to me. I spat on mine and then endured his grasp for a moment. It was unpleasant.

  ‘Tomorrow. Up at The Spittles. Seven of the clock.’ And with that I left them to their ale and went home, well pleased with my trade and much relieved, for I did not have a single penny in my pocket and I had not been obliged to admit it.

  ‘Let me understand you, Mary,’ Mother said as she folded her apron and sat down on our one chair. ‘You want to spend money we do not have to find a treasure which may not exist and, even if it does, is in a place which cannot be reached? Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘But it can be reached,’ I replied. ‘With men and ropes. I have a plan. I know it will work.’

  ‘But you do not know that your monster will be found. That you cannot know. T’would be lives risked and money wasted!’

  I stood my ground. ‘It will be done in safety and will be money well spent.’

  ‘Why you are so fixed on this enterprise, I do not know!’ said Mother crossly. ‘What does it matter if there is more of the creature in those rocks! We have the head! Those bits and pieces you have found are of no interest to anybody! They look like sticks and pebbles to me, in any event.’

  ‘You wait, Mother. You wait to see what I will find. I tell you now, t’will make us famous. Folk will come from miles around to wonder at it.’

  ‘Folk already do,’ retorted Mother sourly. ‘I suppose this is more science nonsense put into your head by Miss Lotions and Potions.’

  ‘You mean Miss Philpot,’ I muttered under my breath, but Mother continued.

  ‘Or maybe Master La-di-da De la Beach, or that book you hide about your person. Oh yes, missy, I know about your letters and your book!’

  ‘Tis too late, in any event!’ I said triumphantly. ‘For the plans are in hand and the men instructed.’

  This took the wind out of Mother’s sails! ‘How so?’

  ‘I have pledged them a share of the money I shall make from the sale. Tis all arranged and cannot be undone.’

  ‘Why would growed men take instruction from a twelve-year-old?’ she asked, though more in wonderment than wanting an answer to this rather stupid question since she herself well knew that I was famed for my fierceness.

  In fact, though, the men were doing it less for my fierceness and more for their own amusement, truth be told. So be it. Their reasons were of little interest to me.

  The next morning, I was up on The Spittles early. To my amazement and delight, the overhang had already begun to make its way down the cliff. It would surely not take much to send it on its way.

  Suddenly someone grabbed me and pulled me back from the edge. Joseph!

  ‘Followed you. Mother said to. What crazed plan is this?’

  ‘Just you watch,’ I said. ‘I am going to walk down that cliff as if it were as flat as the shore!’

  Just then, Josiah Jenkins came puffing up the hill, hauling ropes and two great stakes, helped by another, a labourer, and I recognised him as one of the men who had descended on the ropes. He said nothing to me or to Joseph. Josiah never said his name and I never asked it.

  Josiah peered over the edge. I explained my plan. He shook his head. I stamped my foot. He argued, I argued back.

  After much huffing and puffing, they started work and soon had the stakes deep into the turf.

  The silent man took a hold of one of the ropes, looped it around his waist and began to walk backwards to the cliff edge, staring straight ahead of him all the while. I admired his courage as he stepped back and over the lip and then disappeared from view. Joseph and I approached carefully. Below us, the man jumped onto the loosened slab and began bouncing on it. Earth and stones began to clatter down the cliff face. Behind us, Josiah braced himself against the stake as it trembled with every blow struck to the cliff by the man on the rope.

  All of a sudden there was a great rumbling and the entire slab went crashing down to the beach. The man with no name hauled himself back up again. His face was as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. He rubbed his hands on his smock and I saw that they were red and sore from the roughness of the rope. I looked down at my own. Would I be strong enough to hold on?

  ‘Now you must teach me to go down for I need to search
the rock for—’

  ‘For the matter?’ Josiah asked, winking at me.

  ‘Yes. The matter.’ I glared at Joseph lest he say anything, but he seemed to understand my reason for secrecy.

  ‘Maybe I should go,’ he said. ‘It’s a man’s job.’

  I ignored him. I picked up the second rope and tried to copy the silent man. He smiled and gently showed me how to arrange the rope.

  Josiah tied another rope around my waist. ‘I’ll have a hold of this. In case,’ he said. ‘Joseph? I’ll keep on this stake. You take the other.’

  They leaned back on the stakes, Josiah with the rest of my lifeline coiled beside him, Joseph quite white-faced.

  My teacher nodded his head, indicating I should follow him as he started to move backwards to the cliff edge again.

  However brave a body may be, it is not a good feeling to walk backwards over a cliff while trying to pay out a rope and hang onto it at the same time. I was more glad of that lifeline than I could say, but even that was not sufficient to overcome my terror. My hands felt slippery with sweat one moment and as if they would not work at all the next. My heart was beating so hard, I feared it would set off a landslip of its own.

  I wondered how I could take that first step backwards off the edge. The silent man spoke. He had a calm, quiet voice.

  ‘Look at me. Do as I do. Do not look back. Do not look down. Keep your body like this.’ He was braced against the rope and at an angle to the ground, leaning back. ‘Ready? You have to give a little jump to be free of the cliff. Just for a moment. You will swing out and back in again. Be ready with your feet.’

  Do not ask me how I made that leap. In truth, I did it only because I was fixed on my teacher and as he jumped, so did I. For what seemed like an eternity, I swung out, forty, fifty feet above the shore and then, bang, I was back with my feet against the mud. I felt sick but I also felt a kind of wild joy.

  Together, my teacher and I made our way down to the point I sought.