Over at the Old Ashmolean, Mr. Bradley’s and Mr. Craigie’s teams were similarly reduced, and Mr. Hart was down to half his printing and compositing staff.

I’d never worked so hard.

“You’re enjoying this,” Gareth said, as he stood beside my desk one day, waiting for me to finish an entry.

I’d been given more responsibility, and I couldn’t deny I was happy about it. He took an envelope out of his satchel.

“No proofs?” I said.

“Just a note for Dr. Murray.”

“Are you the errand boy now?”

“My duties have multiplied. The juniors have all signed up.”

“I’m glad you’re not a junior, then,” I said.

“I had to fight for this particular errand,” Gareth went on. “We’re also down compositors and printers, and Mr. Hart has asked foremen and managers to fill in where possible. He’d glue me to my old bench if he could, but I wanted to see you.”

“I don’t suppose Mr. Hart is taking the new circumstances in his stride.”

Gareth looked at me like it was an understatement. “If he’s not careful the rest of us will sign up too.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. He’d put words to the fear I woke up with.

The heat and heady excitement of August had given way to a damp autumn. Dr. Murray developed a cough, and Mrs. Murray insisted he avoid the Scriptorium. “As cold as an icebox,” she said, and it was barely an exaggeration, even when the grate was ablaze.

“Nonsense,” was his reply, but they must have come to a compromise because from then on Dr. Murray arrived at ten every morning and left at two—unless Mrs. Murray wasn’t home to notice, in which case he would stay until five, his rough and faltering breath an incentive for us all to work harder and longer. He barely spoke of the war except to grumble about the inconvenience to the Dictionary. Despite our efforts, output had slowed and printing was backing up. Years were added to the expected completion date. I probably wasn’t the only person wondering if Dr. Murray would live to see it.

Ditte and other trusted volunteers were pushed into greater service, and every day brought proofs and new copy from all over Britain. Dr. Murray had even begun sending proofs to Dictionary staff fighting in France. “They’ll be grateful for the distraction,” he said.