“Why don’t you leave the letter to us and we’ll have it sent to London?” Louise suggested Molly Anning and I both looked at her gratefully for this neat solution: Molly because responsibility for the letter reaching its destination was taken out of her hands, I because I could decide what to do without having to reveal to her that Colonel Birch had written to me “And I shall take Mary out hunting,” I added “I’ll keep an eye on her and encourage her.” And put what fossils I find in her basket, until she has recovered her senses, I added to myself “Don’t tell Mary about the letter,” Molly ordered, pulling at her coat “Of course not.” Molly looked at me, her dark eyes moving back and forth over my face “I weren’t always sure of you Philpots,” she said “Now I am.” When she’d gone—seeming spryer now that she was no longer weighed down with the letter—I turned to Louise “What shall we do?” “Wait for Margaret,” was her reply On our sister’s return in the evening, we three sat by the fire and discussed Molly Anning’s letter Margaret was in her element This was the sort of situation that she read about in the novels she favoured by authors such as Miss Jane Austen, whom Margaret was sure she’d met long ago at the Assembly Rooms the first time we visited Lyme One of Miss Austen’s books had even featured Lyme Regis, but I did not read fiction and could not be persuaded to try it Life itself was far messier, and didn’t end so tidily, with the heroine making the right match We Philpot sisters were the very embodiment of that frayed life I did not need novels to remind me of what I had missed Margaret held the letter in both hands “What does it say? Is it really only about money?” She turned it over and over, as if it might magically open and reveal its contents “Molly Anning wouldn’t waste the time to write about anything else,” I said, knowing my sister was thinking about marriage “And she wouldn’t lie to us.” Margaret ran her fingers over Colonel Birch’s name “Still, Colonel Birch must see it It may remind him of what he has left behind.” “He’ll be reminded that I received his letter and never responded For if I add to the address he’ll know it’s I who has been meddling—no one else in Lyme would have his address.” Margaret frowned “This is not about you, Elizabeth, but about Mary Don’t you want him to get this letter? Or would you prefer he live in perfect ignorance of Mary’s circumstances? Don’t you want the best for both parties?” “You sound like one of your lady author’s novels,” I snapped, then stopped