The Dictionary of Lost Words(69)

‘Gentlemen, the more words you employ to flatter the ladies the fewer you define. Your constant use of the English language is, in fact, doing it a disservice.’ They quickly turned to their work.

Mr Dankworth was a different matter altogether. The only words that passed between us were related to the inevitable inconvenience of me having to pass by his desk to get to mine. ‘Excuse me, Mr Dankworth’; ‘My apologies, Mr Dankworth’; ‘Your satchel, Mr Dankworth, perhaps you could keep it under your desk so I don’t have to keep stepping over it?’

‘He’s very good at what he does,’ Da said one evening as I was preparing dinner. A maid now came four afternoons a week, which left three dinners for us to cook ourselves. Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management was stained with my efforts, but I wasn’t improving.

‘He has an eagle-eye for inconsistency and redundancy, and he rarely makes mistakes.’

‘But he’s odd, don’t you think?’ I brought the hashed cod to the table. It sat like a stagnant pool within its mashed potato border.

‘We’re all a bit odd, Esme, though perhaps lexicographers are odder than most.’

‘I don’t think he likes me very much.’ I served Da and then myself.

‘I don’t think he likes people very much; doesn’t understand them. You mustn’t take it personally.’ Da took a sip of water and cleared his throat. ‘And what about Mr Pope and Mr Cushing? How do you find them?’

‘Oh, very pleasant. And funny, in a fumbling way.’ The cod was overcooked and under-salted. Da seemed not to notice.

‘Yes. Nice young men. Is there one you prefer? Good families I’m told, both of them.’ He took another sip of water. ‘I wonder, Essy. Do you … I mean, would you consider …’

I put down my knife and fork and looked at him. Beads of perspiration were gathering at his temples. He loosened his tie.

‘Da, what are you trying to say?’

He took his handkerchief and wiped his brow. ‘Lily would have had all this in hand.’

‘Had what in hand?’

‘Your future. Your security. Marriage and such.’

‘Marriage and such?’

‘It never occurred to me that it was something I should arrange. Ditte would normally … but it doesn’t seem to have occurred to her either.’

‘Arrange?’

‘Well, not arrange. Facilitate.’ He looked down at his food then back up at me. ‘I failed you, Essy. I wasn’t paying attention; I wasn’t really sure what I should be paying attention to, and now …’

‘And now, what?’

He hesitated. ‘And now you’re twenty-five.’

I stared him down. He looked away. We ate in silence for a while.

‘What exactly is a good family, Da?’

I could see he was relieved the subject had shifted a little.

‘Well, I suppose for some it’s about reputation. Others, money. For others it might be education or good works.’

‘But what does it mean for you?’

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then placed his knife and fork on the empty plate.

‘Well?’

He came around to my side of the table and sat beside me. ‘Love, Essy. A good family is one where there is love.’

I nodded. ‘Thank goodness for that, because I have neither education nor money, and my reputation relies on secrets and lies.’ I pushed my own plate away in frustration. The fish was inedible.

‘Oh, my dear, dear girl. I know I’ve let you down, but I don’t know how to fix things.’

‘Do you still love me, after everything that has happened?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then you have not let me down.’ I took up his hand and stroked the freckled skin on the back. It was dry, but the palm of his hand and the pads of his fingers were as smooth as silk. They always had been, and I’d always found it curious. ‘I have made mistakes, Da, and I have made choices. One of those choices was not to seek a marriage.’

‘Would it have been possible?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I think so. But it was not what I wanted.’

‘But, Essy, life is hard for women who aren’t married.’

‘Ditte seems to cope. Eleanor Bradley seems happy; Rosfrith and Elsie aren’t engaged, as far as I know.’

He searched my face, trying to understand what I was saying, what it meant. He was editing the future he thought I would have, excising the wedding, the son-in-law, the grandchildren. A sadness clouded his eyes. I thought of Her.

‘Oh, Da.’ Tears fell, and neither of us wiped our cheeks. ‘I have to think that I’ve made the right decisions. Please, please, just keep loving me. It’s what you do best.’

He nodded.

‘And promise me.’

‘Anything.’

‘Don’t try to fix things. You are a brilliant lexicographer but not a matchmaker.’

He smiled. ‘I promise.’



The Scriptorium was an uncomfortable place for a while. Though I demurred, and Da stopped encouraging their efforts to impress me, Mr Pope and Mr Cushing were slow to understand. ‘They are a bit slow with everything,’ Da commented with an apologetic smile.