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course it is, Letty. You know I didn’t mean that.”
    Letty? I look from one to the other. How very interesting.
    â€œI just feel that Samantha’s talents could be of better use to the cause elsewhere,” the captain continues.
    Miss Tickford’s mouth droops and even the severe bun at the back of her head seems to wilt. “You’re right, of course.”
    My pulse kicks up a notch. I’ve often thought that I could be of more use elsewhere—someplace where I could utilize my brain rather than just my legs—but Miss Tickford never seemed amenable to the idea.
    I straighten. “I’d like that very much, Captain Parker.” I bet Evangeline Green won’t be offered a promotion in such an important organization.
    Next to me, Rose fidgets, bored with the conversation. “Oh, there’s Priscilla. I must go say hello. Excuse me.” She shoots me a sly smile as she makes her escape.
    Dame Richards taps me on the shoulder. “You’re needed at the prize table, Samantha, to receive your certificate of achievement.”
    â€œI’ll be right there.” I turn to Captain Parker. “It was nice meeting you, sir. I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Tickford.”
    He glances at his watch. “Yes, I must be going, as well. We’ll talk soon, Miss Donaldson. Are you ready to go, Letty?”
    She nods and turns to me. “Captain Parker was kind enough to give me a lift after we finished work. Congratulations on your performance, Samantha.”
    Frowning, I watch them go. How very strange that they came together. But then, I suppose it’s no stranger than me losing out on the Markel Cup. I lift my chin. As Grandfather Donaldson would say: It’s time to sally forth!
    No matter how shattered I am inside.

TWO
WZR
    Clean: Someone who has never been involved in espionage and is unknown to enemy intelligence.
    I spend a fitful night, dreaming again and again of the moment Evangeline Green’s name was called instead of mine. My nose wrinkles as I hurry downstairs. Porridge again. Doubtless with no sweetener, unless our housekeeper, Bridget, “found” some honey on a back shelf. Mother’s never actually accused her of buying from the black market, but Bridget seems to discover things that even Cook has no idea we had. Bridget has a bit of a sweet tooth and rationing is hard on her.
    My mother and Rose are already seated at the table. Mother is eating and Rose is pretending to, a book propped up on the table in front of her.
    Mother looks up and gives me a smile. “Good morning, dear.”
    Since Father’s disappearance, Mother has transformed into a more formal version of herself, and though I don’t blame her for being so self-contained, it does make my life lonelier. That’s one of the reasons Rose spends the nightwith us so often now—her lively chatter fills the silence.
    â€œGood morning! That looks good, Bridget, but I won’t have time to eat this morning.”
    Rose glances up at me. She’s looking unfairly bright and shiny in spite of the fact that she was up as late as I was last night, listening to me rant. “You’re not partaking of this delicious breakfast?” she asks, widening her eyes in mock surprise. “Why ever not?”
    â€œYou work too hard, Sam,” Mother says, ignoring Rose.
    â€œAnd you don’t?” I ask.
    â€œI read to soldiers and write letters for those who can’t do it themselves. I’d hardly call that work.”
    â€œYou’re at the hospital five days a week. I’d call that work.” I shrug into my wool coat and pick up the lunch pail Cook left on the counter for me. “I have to run. I’ll be home in time for supper.” I kiss Rose on the cheek and waggle my fingers at my mother on my way out the door.
    I ride the Underground to the city center, trying to shake off the fine film of melancholy that coats my skin like