Back The Dictionary of Lost Words
Chapters (42)
  1. Map
  2. Prologue | February 1886
  3. PART 1 | 1887–1896
  4. May 1887
  5. April 1888
  6. April 1891
  7. August 1893
  8. September 1896
  9. PART 2 | 1897–1901
  10. August 1897
  11. April 1898
  12. September 1898
  13. August 1901
  14. PART 3 | 1902–1907
  15. May 1902
  16. May 1906
  17. June 1906
  18. December 1906
  19. March 1907
  20. PART 4 | 1907–1913
  21. September 1907
  22. November 1907
  23. November 1908
  24. May 1909
  25. December 1912
  26. January 1913
  27. May 1913
  28. PART 5 | 1914–1915
  29. August 1914
  30. May 1915
  31. July 1915
  32. September 1915
  33. PART 6 | 1928
  34. November 1928
  35. Epilogue | Adelaide, 1989
  36. Author’s Note
  37. Dedication
  38. Acknowledgements
  39. Timeline of the Oxford English Dictionary
  40. Timeline of Major Historical Events Featured in the Novel
  41. About the Author
  42. What’s next onyour reading list?

I stood under the ash for a long time. I’d been home for weeks, but only now did I understand what I’d been missing. Oxford wrapped around me like a blanket, and I began to breathe easily for the first time in months.

From the minute I’d arrived home from Cauldshiels, I’d wanted more than anything to be inside the Scriptorium. But every time I stepped towards it, I’d felt a wave in my stomach. I didn’t belong there. I was a nuisance. That was why I’d been sent so far away, whatever Ditte tried to say about adventure and opportunity. So I pretended to Da that I had outgrown the Scriptorium. In truth I could barely resist it.

Now, a week before I was to return to Cauldshiels, the Scriptorium stood empty. Mr. Crane was long gone—dismissed, too many errors. Da could barely hold my gaze when he told me. Da and Dr. Murray were at the Press with Mr. Hart, and the other assistants were spending their lunch hour by the river. I wondered if the Scriptorium might be locked. It never had been, but things could change. Everything was locked at Cauldshiels. To stop us getting in. To stop us getting out. I took one step and then another. When I tried the door, it opened with a familiar creaking of hinges.

I stood on the threshold and looked in. The sorting table was a mess of books and slips and proofs. I could see Da’s jacket on the back of his chair and Dr. Murray’s mortar board on the shelf behind his high desk. The pigeon-holes seemed full, but I knew that room could always be found for new quotations. The Scriptorium was as it had always been, but my stomach wouldn’t settle. I felt changed. I didn’t go in.

When I turned to leave, I noticed the pile of unopened letters just inside the door. Ditte’s handwriting. A larger envelope, the kind she used for Dictionary correspondence. I grabbed it without any thought, and left.

In the kitchen, apples were stewing on the range, but Mrs. Ballard was nowhere to be seen. I held Ditte’s envelope above the steam from the apples until the seal gave. Then I took the stairs to Lizzie’s room, two at a time.