The Dictionary of Lost Words(87)

He didn’t insist. ‘What did Tilda mean about you joining in?’ he asked.

‘She’s always thought I didn’t know my own mind when it came to women’s suffrage.’

‘Your ideas sounded pretty clear to me.’

‘Well, that might be the most I’ve ever said on the subject, but that Gert woman was so awful I couldn’t bear to be agreeable.’

‘I didn’t like what they were hinting at,’ Gareth said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Deeds not words.’ He was thoughtful for a minute. ‘Essy, do you know why Tilda is in Oxford?’

Essy. Gareth had never called me anything except Miss Nicoll, or Esme. A shiver went through me.

‘You are cold,’ he said, and he took off his coat and placed it over my shoulders. His hand brushed my neck as he straightened out the collar. I tried to remember what he’d asked me a moment before.

‘She’s here for the procession,’ I said, pulling his coat around me. The warmth of him was still in it. ‘And me. We were quite good friends for a while.’

We slowed on Walton Street, passed the back of Somerville College and stopped when we came to the Press. It was completely dark except for the orange glow from an office above the archway.

‘Hart,’ Gareth said.

‘Does he never go home?’

‘The Press is his home. He lives on the grounds with his wife.’

‘And where do you live?’

‘Near the canal. Same workers’ cottage I grew up in with Ma. When she died, they let me stay. It’s too small and too damp for a family.’

‘Do you like working at the Press?’ I asked.

Gareth leaned against the iron railing. ‘It’s all I know. It’s not really a matter of liking.’

‘Do you ever imagine a different life?’

He looked at me, cocked his head a little. ‘You don’t ask the usual questions, do you?’

I didn’t know what to say.

‘The usual questions are usually very uninteresting,’ he continued. ‘I sometimes imagine travelling, to France or Germany. I’ve learned to read both languages.’

‘Only read?’

‘That’s all that’s required for my job. I’ve been learning since I was an apprentice. It’s Hart’s doing. He set up the Clarendon Institute to educate his ignorant workforce. And to give the band a place to practise.’

‘There’s a band?’

‘Of course. And a choir.’

When we started walking again there was less distance between us, but we fell silent as we turned onto Observatory Street. I was wondering if Gareth would ask me to walk out with him again. I was hoping he was thinking of it and wondering if I’d say yes. As we came to the house, I noticed Da in the sitting room. He was facing the window as he had earlier in the evening. He opened the door before I had a chance to knock. Gareth and I could only say goodnight.



Tilda stayed in Oxford.

‘I’m bunking in with a friend,’ she told me. ‘She has a narrowboat on the Castle Mill Stream. I can see the belltower of St Barnabas through the window beside my bed.’

‘Is it comfortable?’

‘Comfortable enough. And warm. She lives there with her sister, so it can be a bit tight. We have to take it in turns to dress.’ She smiled wide.

I wrote my address on a slip and gave it to her. ‘Just in case,’ I said.



Winter passed and spring moved toward summer. When I asked why Tilda was still in Oxford, she said she was gathering members for the WSPU. When I pressed her, she changed the subject.

‘I thought I’d see more of you while I was here,’ she said one afternoon as we walked along the towpath of the Castle Mill Stream, ‘but you seem to spend all your free time with Gareth.’

‘That’s not true. We only have lunch together in Jericho now and then. And he’s taken me to the theatre a few times.’

‘You did always love the theatre,’ Tilda said. ‘Oh, Esme, you blush like a schoolgirl.’ She took my arm in hers. ‘I bet you’re still a virgin.’

I blushed deeper and dropped my head. If she noticed she chose not to say anything, and we walked for a while without talking. The surface of the stream was alive, and I felt the bite of a mosquito on the back of my neck. ‘How is the narrowboat, Till, now the weather has warmed?’

‘Oh, God. It feels like living in a sardine tin left out in the sun. We’re all a bit off.’

‘You’re welcome to stay with us, you know. I’m sure Da won’t mind the extra company.’ I offered, knowing she would turn me down again.

‘It won’t be for much longer,’ she said. ‘My deployment is almost over.’

‘You make it sound like you’re in an army.’

‘Oh, but I am, Esme. Mrs Pankhurst’s army.’ She made a mock salute. ‘The WSPU.’

‘I’ve started going along to some of the local suffrage meetings Mrs Murray and her daughters attend,’ I said. ‘And there are a number of men, though the women do most of the talking.’

‘Talk is all they do,’ Tilda said.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ I said. ‘They produce a journal, and they organise all kinds of events.’