I searched the bench and picked each letter from a different compartment: the s, the c, the o, the l, the d. They had a weight, these letters. I rolled them about in my hand. My skin prickled with their sharp edges and was marked by the ink of forgotten pages.

The door of the composing room opened, and Gareth walked in with Mr. Hart. I put the type in my pocket and pushed back the stool.

“The first corrections for the letter T,” I said, handing the proofs to Mr. Hart.

He took them, blind to the smudges of ink on my fingers. I quickly put my hand in my pocket. Gareth was not so distracted, and from the corner of my eye I saw him check the type he had been setting. He found nothing missing, and his gaze swept over the tray. I clutched at the type, felt their sharp edges and held them so tight they hurt.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Hart as he looked over the pages. “We inch forward.” Then he turned to Gareth. “We will review these tomorrow. Come and see me at nine.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gareth.

Mr. Hart headed towards his office, still looking through the proofs.

“I must be off,” I said, walking away from Gareth without looking at him.

“I hope you visit again,” I heard him say.

When I walked my bicycle out of the Press, the sky was darker. Before I reached the Banbury Road, it had split apart. By the time I arrived at the Scriptorium, I was dripping wet and shivering.

“Stop!” Mr. Dankworth shouted when I opened the Scriptorium door.

I stopped, and only then realised what a sight I must be. Everyone was looking in my direction.

Rosfrith stood up from where she was sitting at her father’s desk. “Mr. Dankworth, are you proposing that Esme stand out in the rain all afternoon?”

“She’ll drip all over our papers,” he said more quietly, then he bent to his work as if uninterested in what happened next. I stayed where I was. My teeth began to chatter.

“Father should never have sent you out. Anyone could see it was going to rain.” Rosfrith took an umbrella out of the stand and then took my arm. “Come with me; he and your father are due back soon, and they’ll both be upset if they see you in this state.”

Rosfrith held the umbrella over us both as we crossed the garden to the front of the house. I was rarely invited into the main part of the Murray home, and could count on one hand the number of times I’d walked through the front door. In that moment, I imagined I was feeling a little of what Lizzie must have felt every day of her life.