I spent the rest of the afternoon on the proofs Elsie had given me, every now and then looking up to watch her. She moved about the Scriptorium in her diligent way, always ready to do her father’s bidding. Had they argued about the word? Or had she found it missing and then searched for reasons why? Did Dr. Murray even know she’d transcribed the arguments for the word’s inclusion on his top-slip, or that she’d included it with supplementary words? No, of course not. She lived between the lines of the Dictionary as much as I did.

“Ready to go?” Da said.

I was surprised to realise how late it was. “I’d like to finish this proof,” I said. “Then I’ll pop in on Lizzie. You go ahead.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Lizzie said, coming into her room and seeing me on the floor, bent over the trunk. “You look like you’re bobbing for apples.”

“Can you smell it, Lizzie?”

“I certainly can,” she said. “I’ve often wondered if something might have crawled in and died.”

“It doesn’t smell bad, it smells of…well, I don’t really know how to describe it.” I bent forward again, hoping the smell would identify itself.

“It smells like something that should’ve got a regular airing has been locked away too long,” said Lizzie.

Then I realised. My trunk was beginning to smell like the old slips in the Scriptorium.

Lizzie removed her apron. It was splattered with roasting juices, and she was changing it for a clean one just as Mrs. Ballard used to do before she took a roast to table. As if evidence of their toil was offensive. Before Lizzie could put on her clean apron, I had her in a hug.

“You’re exactly right.”

She extracted herself and held me at arm’s length. “You’d think after all these years I’d understand you, Essymay, but I got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“These words,” I said, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a handful. “They weren’t given to me to hide away. They need an airing. They should be read, shared, understood. Rejected, maybe, but given a chance. Just like all the words in the Scriptorium.”

Lizzie laughed and put the clean apron over her head. “You thinking of making a dictionary of your own, then?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, Lizzie. A dictionary of women’s words. Words they use and words that refer to them. Words that won’t make it into Dr. Murray’s dictionary. What do you think?”

Her face fell. “You can’t. Some of them isn’t fit.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Lizzie would be delighted if cunt disappeared from the English language.

“You have more in common with Dr. Murray than you could ever know.”