A week later, I overheard her commenting that it was hard to access some of the shelves with Mr. Dankworth’s desk in such close proximity. That afternoon, Dr. Murray had a word with Mr. Dankworth, and when I came in the next day Mr. Dankworth was sitting at the sorting table opposite Mr. Sweatman, a border of stacked books set up between them.

“Good morning, Mr. Sweatman, Mr. Dankworth,” I said.

A smile from one, a nod from the other. Mr. Dankworth still couldn’t look me in the eye. Already his desk had been removed, and mine was just visible beyond one of the shelves.

I sat and lifted the lid. The paper that lined the inside was curling at the edges, but the roses were as yellow as they’d always been. As I ran my fingers over the flowers, I counted back the years to the first time I’d sat at the desk. Was it nine years or ten? So much had happened, and yet I hadn’t moved an inch.

“Well, that looks familiar,” said Elsie. “I remember pasting it on. A long time ago now.”

For a moment we were both silent, as if Elsie too was suddenly aware of time moving past her. I’d never thought much about her life beyond the Scriptorium, or Rosfrith’s. They had grown out of their perfect plaits and become their father’s helpers. I envied them, as I always had, but now I wondered if this was what they had hoped for, or whether it was just what they had accepted.

“How are your studies going, Elsie?” I asked.

“I’ve finished. Sat my exams last June.” Her face was bright with the pride of it.

“Oh, congratulations!” I said. Remembering that She had turned one last June. “I didn’t know.”

“No graduation, of course. No degree. But it’s satisfying to know I would have achieved both if I wore trousers.”

“But you can have it conferred somewhere else, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes, but there’s no hurry. I’m not going anywhere.” She looked down at the proofs in her hand as if trying to remember what they were. Then she held them out. “From Father. A quick proofread. He wants them at the Press tomorrow morning.”

I took the proofs. “Of course.” I looked towards the space where Mr. Dankworth’s desk had been. “And thank you.”

“A small thing.”

“That all depends on your perspective.”

She nodded, then made her way past the sorting table to Dr. Murray’s desk and the pile of letters awaiting her drafted replies.