I smiled. “Jog-trotty, remember?”

Jog-trotty had caused considerable debate around the sorting table a few years earlier. It had seventeen slips, but they all contained the same quotation. It was the only quotation, as far as Mr. Maling could ascertain.

It’s rather jog-trotty and humdrum.

“But it’s Dickens,” said one assistant. “It’s nonsense,” said another. “It’s for an editor to decide,” said Mr. Maling. And as Dr. Murray was away, it fell to the newest editor, Mr. Craigie. He must have admired Dickens, because it was included in H to K.

“Touché,” said Da. “So, give me an example of a word you’ve heard at the market.”

“Latch-keyed,” I said, remembering the way Mrs. Stiles at the flower stall had said it to a customer, and her glance in my direction.

“You know, that word sounds familiar.” He looked pleased. “I think you might find that there’s already an entry.”

Da’s pace increased, and when we arrived at the Scriptorium he went straight to the shelf that held the fascicles. He removed “Lap to Leisurely” and began leafing through it, repeating “latch-keyed” under his breath.

“Well, a latch-key is used to unlock a night gate, but latch-keyed isn’t here.” He moved to the pigeon-holes, and I followed.

Except for us, the Scriptorium was empty. I felt like a child again. Latch-keyed would be in the middle somewhere, I thought. Not too high and not too low.

“Here it is.” Da took a small pile of slips to the sorting table. “Ah, I remember now—I wrote the entry. Latch-keyed means to be furnished with a latch-key.”

“So, someone who’s latch-keyed can come and go as they please?”

“That is the suggestion.”

I looked over his shoulder and read the top-slip. There were various definitions in Da’s writing.

Unchaperoned; undisciplined; referring to a young woman with no domestic constraint.

“All the quotations are from the Daily Telegraph,” said Da, passing me one.

“And why should that matter?”

“Believe it or not, Dr. Murray has asked that very same question.”

“Of whom?”

“Of the Press Delegates when they want to cut costs. Cutting costs means cutting words. According to them, the Daily Telegraph is not a credible source, and its words are expendable.”

“I suppose the Times is a credible source?”

Da nodded.

I looked at the slip he’d given me.

LATCH-KEYED

“All latch-keyed daughters and knicker-bockerred maidens, and discontented people generally.”

Daily Telegraph, 1895

“It isn’t a compliment, then?”

“That depends on whether you think young ladies should always be chaperoned, disciplined and under domestic constraint.” He smiled, then became serious. “In general, I think it would be used to criticise.”

“I’ll put them away,” I said.

I gathered up the slips. As I walked back to the pigeon-holes, I put latch-keyed daughters in the sleeve of my dress. Superfluous to need, I thought.