Now her eyes rested on my watercolour, and I found myself embarrassed—not for the quality of the painting, which I already knew was not good, but because what had been a pleasure to me now seemed a frivolity Molly Anning’s day began early and ended late, and consisted of many hours of backbreaking work She barely had time even to look at a view, much less to sit and paint it Whether or not she felt that way, she showed nothing, but moved on to inspect Louise’s pruning This at least was less frivolous—though not much less so, for roses serve little purpose other than to dress a garden, and feed no one other than bees Perhaps Louise felt similar to me, for she hurried to finish the bush she was trimming and laid down her pruning knife “I’ll help Bessy with the tray,” she said As more chairs were brought out, and a small table on which to place the tray, and finally the tray itself—all accompanied by huffs and sighs from Bessy —I began to regret my suggestion to take tea outside It too seemed frivolous, and I had not meant to cause such a fuss Then as we sat, the sun went behind a cloud and it instantly grew chilly I felt an idiot, but would have even more so if I then said we ought to troop back inside, reversing the move of furniture and tea I clung to my shawl and cup of tea to warm me Molly sat passively, allowing the bustle of cups and saucers and chairs and shawls to take place around her without comment I rattled on about the unusually clement weather, and the letter I’d had from William Buckland saying he’d be down in a few weeks, and how Margaret couldn’t join us because she was taking some of her salve to a new mother sore from nursing “Useful, that salve,” was Molly’s only comment When I asked how they fared, she revealed why she had come to see us “Mary ain’t right,” she said “She ain’t been right since the Colonel left I want you to help me fix it.” “What do you mean?” “I made a mistake with the Colonel I knew I were making it, and I done it anyway.” “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t—” “Mary worked with the Colonel all summer, found him a good croc and all sorts of curies for his collection, and never had any money off him I didn’t ask him for any neither, for I thought he’d give her something at the end.” I had suspected no money changed hands between Colonel Birch and the Annings, but only now was it confirmed I twisted the ends of my shawl, enraged that he could be so callous “But he didn’t,” Molly Anning continued “He just went off with his croc and his curies and all he give her were a locket.” I knew only too well about the