Margot bit down until her jaw hurt and stared at the useless paper in front of her. No more Eighteen. Do you hear me, God? She didn’t even know who it was, but the very fact that the Lord had wanted her to pray for him instead of her own mother . . . Why hadn’t He whispered in her ear about Maman? Why hadn’t the numbers insisted she go home earlier? Do something? Help somehow? Why had she come down with that mind-muddling fever on that day of all days?

No. No. NO.

She’d say it over and again until that stupid Eighteen just stopped, once and for all.

Lady Hambro moved away. Margot waited for her to leave the room, go off to oversee the secretaries stationed elsewhere in the hub, no doubt—or else to tattle to the admiral on her—before she got up and went to fetch a tube full of papers to be decoded. While she was up, she grabbed a copy of today’s key as well and then settled at her desk.

Usually her pencil flew. Today it trudged. The numbers that generally pranced and skipped through her mind were playing hide-and-seek. But she didn’t need to be at her best. She just needed to be here. Because it wasn’t there.

The morning sprawled on, stretching and stretching toward lunchtime. When she’d have to face the fact that Maman wouldn’t appear at her side, prodding her to leave her desk and join the other girls. Come, Margot. It will do you good. When she’d have to watch the other secretaries giggle their way down the hall. It was fine out today—they’d spill out the doors, or perhaps even climb up to the roof.

“Margot.”

Had it been Lady Hambro’s voice, she would have ignored it. Had it been Dot’s, she would have held up a hand, asking for a moment to finish the sentence she was decoding. But it was the admiral’s.

She put down her pencil and looked up.

Hall crooked a finger.

A bit surprised at how much energy it took just to stand up, Margot followed him out into the corridor and then down it, to his office. He sat, not behind his desk but on its edge. And he looked at her.

If he meant to measure her, she’d make sure his ruler had an accurate reading. She edged her spine straight, her chin up, and willed her eyes to project only ability. A dozen defenses sprang to her tongue, but she wouldn’t volunteer them. She’d wait for him to admonish her first, so that she knew which of her reasons would best convince him to let her stay.

“You have become good friends with Dorothea Elton, have you not?”