Miss Elton didn’t seem to be aiming anywhere in particular. She moved at an amble, not a stride, letting her fisted hand bump into the white blocks along the wall at her side with every other step. The rhythm of it spoke to something in Margot.

It took her only twelve steps to catch up. “Hello. Miss Elton, isn’t it?”

Miss Elton startled and splayed a hand over her chest. “Oh! I beg your pardon. I didn’t hear you come up. Yes.” She held out that hand in greeting, but it was shaking. “Dorothea Elton. Dot, if you like.”

Was the shaking from the surprise? Margot couldn’t think so. Not given the suspiciously red rims to her eyes. She clasped her hand and offered a smile that she could only hope was friendly. “I’m called Margot. Margot De Wilde.”

“How do you do?” Dot’s smile was a bit faded, a bit strained.

Most people would expect such things to be politely ignored. Margot instead tilted her head. “Rough morning?”

The sigh Dot let out trembled. “The work isn’t too hard. I’ve taken to typing rather well—Lady Hambro called me a natural at it this morning.”

Dot’s response didn’t even pretend to answer Margot’s question. She started forward at the same pace Dot had been going a moment earlier. Within a step, their gaits matched. “If only work were all we dealt with in a new position.”

Dot’s shoulders sagged. She wore rather typical attire for a secretary—a simple blouse, a simple skirt, a simple jacket. Her hair was pulled up into a simple bun. But there was something not so simple about the way the muscles in her face moved, as if she were trying to force them into an expression they refused to take. “How long have you worked here, Margot? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Three years.” At the girl’s quick glance, Margot renewed her smile. “I was among the first people hired, as was my mother. Before Lady Hambro, even.”

Dot clasped her own elbows, creating a barrier across her middle. “I can’t imagine.”

“I love it here. You’ll find the team to be an exceptional group of people. All so very different, all working in unique ways, but all toward a common goal. I do realize that we take a bit of getting used to, but—”

“It isn’t that.”

It wasn’t? After Margot made such a valiant attempt to be personable? Apparently her skill at getting to the heart of a person came far short of Dot’s brother’s. She still couldn’t quite fathom how he’d managed to plant her so firmly back in her childhood with one well-placed question.