Three years ago, Maman had been the only secretary in the department, and she’d been hired more as a means of getting Margot here than because the then-boss wanted anyone from the outside coming in. Now there were nearly twenty other females employed by Room 40. They were full of giggling and gossip and tips for keeping one’s dress fashionable even with the shortages.

Margot found the lot of them baffling—and new hires nearly intolerable. New ones always thought she was one of them, to be chatted with.

She despised chatting as much as she despised knitting.

She nodded to the man—Lieutenant Elton, if her guess on their relationship was correct and her glance at his uniform accurate. After stepping out into the hallway, she motioned the two to follow her to Admiral Hall’s office. “Lady Hambro is not in yet, but the admiral asked me to show you to him.” That news delivered, she set off at a brisk pace. Once she delivered them to Hall, she’d go downstairs. Maman should be here any moment. If they didn’t pass in the halls, Margot would wait at the front door for her.

“Oh . . . well . . . thank you. I mean . . .” Miss Elton’s voice shook. Nerves, no doubt. Though she’d better get a handle on them, or she’d never survive the interview.

For that matter, who had recommended this girl? The secretaries’ names were all submitted by other Room 40 staff, and then they were vetted and interviewed by Lady Hambro. Perhaps someone here knew the brother, the lieutenant. It was as likely as anything.

And none of Margot’s concern. Having reached the admiral’s door, she rapped her knuckles on it twice. After Hall’s “Enter” sounded, she opened it and motioned Miss Elton in.

The admiral offered a smile, but he aimed it at Margot rather than the new recruit. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Certainly.” Duty done, Margot spun away.

And nearly collided with Lieutenant Elton, who was, inexplicably, right behind her rather than where he’d been a moment before, two steps to the left. She sucked in a breath and sidestepped him. “Excuse me.”

He slid in front of her again. “Belgian?”

She lifted her brows. Her accent was scarcely noticeable anymore, she’d thought. Not nearly so pronounced as Lukas’s or Maman’s. Her English was as fluent as her French had ever been. She even dreamed in it, most of the time.

And what business was it of his? “Antarctican.” She prepared herself to stalk away . . . but there was something about the grin he gave her. Something that said he appreciated her answer.

Margot sighed. She’d always been drawn to anyone who actually enjoyed her sense of humor. She supposed she could stand to be friendly. For a minute, before her exhaustion fully caught up with her.

He held out a hand. “I’m Drake Elton. Have you a name?”