Lily sighed and sank into one of the chairs in front of Ara’s desk. “I don’t know what I am. I’m there nearly every day, but only in the basement, where the admiral has set up my workroom. Once in a while I’ll have to run something up to his office, but no one really knows me. Usually all my communications are with Admiral Hall himself or Barclay Pearce. I believe you met him the other week?”

Her friend nodded. Tilted her head. “So you want to be more among them? You seemed a bit panicked when you saw me there. Or when I saw you there, perhaps.”

Yes, Ara was always far too adept at seeing the heart of a matter. Lily let her attention wander over the clutter of papers. “I love what I do there. And I’m so happy to do it—to get to do it. But if Mama found out . . .” She shook her head. “At the start of the war, Daddy approached her about creating propaganda—rather excited, I might add, about this new work he was helping to spearhead—and expecting her to be equally excited to take part with her talents. You’d have thought he’d asked her to sacrifice her pug to the war effort.”

“Your work with photographs isn’t exactly propaganda, though, is it?” Ara turned to study the photograph on her wall. “It isn’t meant to convince the masses of something the government wants them to believe.”

“Sometimes it is. It’s just that the masses aren’t usually English.” She paused. “I think Mama would say it’s even worse. Because at least with the posters and adverts, everyone knows it’s just an artist’s rendering. With photography, I’m rewriting the facts. Deliberately lying.”

Arabelle’s lips turned up. “It’s war, Lily. A nation must lie and spread disinformation to protect its secrets. I daresay your mother understands that.”

When it was a matter of mere intelligence—where troops were located, when an advance was planned—then yes, of course. But her mother had very strong opinions on the role of art in the world. And deception was not an approved use.

“Well, I can see I’ve not convinced you. And I promise I won’t say anything to your mother when we join you for dinner.” Arabelle smiled. “Your secrets are your own to guard, my friend.”

“Thank you.” She’d expected nothing less, really. As a nurse, Ara was well versed in discretion. But a bit of anxiety must have been clinging to her at the thought of having Arabelle and Camden, two of the only people who knew of her work for the Admiralty, at her table. Well, aside from Daddy and Admiral Hall, but they would certainly never let the truth slip out.