Chapters (42)
- Map
- Prologue | February 1886
- PART 1 | 1887–1896
- May 1887
- April 1888
- April 1891
- August 1893
- September 1896
- PART 2 | 1897–1901
- August 1897
- April 1898
- September 1898
- August 1901
- PART 3 | 1902–1907
- May 1902
- May 1906
- June 1906
- December 1906
- March 1907
- PART 4 | 1907–1913
- September 1907
- November 1907
- November 1908
- May 1909
- December 1912
- January 1913
- May 1913
- PART 5 | 1914–1915
- August 1914
- May 1915
- July 1915
- September 1915
- PART 6 | 1928
- November 1928
- Epilogue | Adelaide, 1989
- Author’s Note
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Timeline of the Oxford English Dictionary
- Timeline of Major Historical Events Featured in the Novel
- About the Author
- 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.