The Dictionary of Lost Words(45)

‘You don’t need an invitation, Lizzie,’ I said.

She followed me, and I had the feeling that I was the elder and she was the child.

‘This must be the famous Lizzie,’ said Bill, bowing and taking the hand that hung limply at her side. ‘How do you do?’

Lizzie stuttered something and pulled her hand away a little too soon, rubbing it as if it had been slapped. Bill pretended he didn’t notice and shifted attention to Tilda.

‘Tilda, the bar is three-deep. Use your charms to get us a round.’ He looked to Lizzie. ‘Watch them part to let her through. She’s like Moses.’

Lizzie leaned in to me. ‘I won’t be needing a drink, Esme.’

‘Just lemonade for Lizzie, Bill,’ I said.

Tilda was nodding and smiling her way through the tight crowd of men waiting to order drinks. Bill had to shout, ‘Lemonade plus our usuals, sis.’

Tilda raised an arm in acknowledgement. When I turned to Lizzie, I caught her looking at me as though we’d just met and she was taking stock of who I might be.

‘I told them I needed to be in wardrobe at seven,’ said Tilda a few minutes later, four drinks expertly held between her hands. ‘One offered to dress me and three promised to see the play. I should be on commission, the number of tickets I sell.’

Lizzie took the glass Tilda offered, her eyes dropping to the low cut of Tilda’s dress, the swell of her bosom. I looked from one to the other, seeing each in the other’s eyes. An old maid and a harlot.

‘Here’s to you, Lizzie,’ Tilda said, raising her whiskey. ‘Between Esme and Old Mabel I feel I already know you.’ Then she tilted her head back and emptied the glass. ‘I must go and dress. Will I see you after the play?’

‘Of course,’ I said, but Lizzie shifted beside me. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ll let you convince them, Bill. It’s what you do best.’

Tilda worked her way through the crowd, drawing one kind of look from the men, another from the women.



The following Monday, Lizzie poured tea from the large pot on the range and passed the cup to Da.

‘Did you enjoy the play, Lizzie?’ he asked.

She continued to pour another cup and didn’t look up. ‘I only understood half, but I liked the look of it, Mr Nicoll. It was very good of Esme to take me.’

‘And did you meet Esme’s new friends? I was impressed by Miss Taylor’s performance when I saw her, but I’m afraid I have to rely on you to vouch for them.’

The next cup was for me, and Lizzie took her time to add the sugar she knew I liked.

‘I can’t say I’ve met people like them before, Mr Nicoll. They have a confidence I’m not used to, but they was polite to me, and kind to Esme.’

‘So, you approve?’

‘It’s not my place to approve, sir.’

‘But you’ll go again, to the theatre?’

‘I know I should like it more, Mr Nicoll, but I’m not sure it’s for me. I was dreadful tired the next day and the fires still needed to be set, and breakfast made.’

‘Would I approve?’ Da asked later as we walked across the garden to the Scriptorium.

Did I want him to? I wondered.

‘You would like them. And I daresay you’d take Tilda’s side in an argument.’ I hesitated, picturing Tilda in Old Tom after the show, a cigar in one hand, a whiskey in the other, mimicking Arthur Balfour. She deepened her voice and rounded her vowels and mocked his resignation the year before as Prime Minister. All to the general merriment of everyone gathered, liberal and conservative alike. ‘Though I’m not sure you would approve,’ I finished.

He opened the door of the Scriptorium. Instead of going in, he turned and looked up at me. I knew this look and waited for him to invoke Lily’s greater wisdom. She would know what to do, he would say, without offering his own encouragement or warning – at least until a letter from Ditte arrived with words he could repeat. But this time he did not prevaricate.

‘I find that the more I define, the less I know. I spend my days trying to understand how words were used by men long dead, in order to draft a meaning that will suffice not just for our times but for the future.’ He took my hands in his and stroked the scars, as if Lily was still imprinted in them. ‘The Dictionary is a history book, Esme. If it has taught me anything, it is that the way we conceive of things now will most certainly change. How will they change? Well, I can only hope and speculate, but I do know that your future will be different to the one your mother might have looked forward to at your age. If your new friends have something to teach you about it, I suggest you listen. But trust your judgement, Essy, about what ideas and experiences should be included, and what should not. I will always give you my opinion, if you ask for it, but you are a grown woman. While some would disagree, I believe it is your right to make your own choices, and I can’t insist on approving.’ He brought my funny fingers to his lips and kissed them, then he held them to his cheek. It had the emotion of a farewell.

We stepped into the Scriptorium, and I inhaled its Monday-morning smell. I went to my desk.

There was a pile of slips to sort into pigeon-holes, a few letters needing simple responses and a proof page with a note from Dr Murray: make sure each quote is in its proper chronological order. It was hardly going to be a taxing day.