And someone did.

“Good morning, Mr. Nolan.”

Guy did not look as though he’d gotten much rest in her absence. He was tidily dressed in a collared shirt and dark trousers, his waistcoat complemented by a golden watch chain, but his face was pallid, his eyes bleary with sleeplessness. “Miss Daly,” he said. “I didn’t realize you’d be coming to call so early.”

She stepped over the threshold, lowering her voice to a whisper. “How is he?”

“Better now than he was during the night.” Guy regarded her steadily. “He cried himself to sleep.”

When Catherine said nothing to that, he turned away, leading her up the back staircase. The way was dark, close, the steps creaking beneath them. It reminded her of the print shop, and the thought was enough to knot her insides. She had until day’s end to find the timepiece, but how was she to uncover it without an inkling of its whereabouts?

The stairs brought them into a narrow hall decked in flocked wallpaper. Catherine followed Guy through an open door into a kitchen. It was quite a large room, with a table and six chairs, a fireplace, shelves of crockery above the counter. Brass pots and pans were lined on hooks on the wall, and there was a kettle of water coming to a boil on the stove. The window was cracked open, the yellowed edge of the lace curtains fluttering over the sill. Despite the well-worn state of the furnishings, everything appeared orderly, scrubbed spotless, cared for in the manner Catherine cared for her own precious few belongings.

Owen sat at the table, but he stood politely when they entered the room. On the table before him was a rack of toast, blackened at the edges, the faint smell of burning hanging in the air. The morning’s newspaper and Guy’s spectacles lay in the space opposite, and in the light of day, surrounded by such ordinary things, Owen himself appeared less ethereal than he had the night before. Casting his eyes down, he said quietly, “Good morning, Miss Daly.”

“Morning.” She moved forward to take a seat. “How are you?”

Sitting back down, he said, “Well, thank you,” though he bore the same marks of sleeplessness Guy did. He looked to be wearing some of Guy’s clothes as well, slightly too loose on his more slender frame. His hair was brushed neatly, his eyes not as dark as they seemed to her in the night, but a muddy hazel color. “I must apologize for my behavior last night. I am grateful to you, and to Mr. Nolan, for taking me in so charitably. But I don’t wish to impose myself on your goodwill. I will find work and a place of lodging and shan’t disturb you any further.”

She and Guy ought to be the ones apologizing. Owen would undoubtedly still be in the ground if it weren’t for them. Now here he was, without his memories, trying to make the best of things. Catherine admired it, but that didn’t stop selfishness from holding sway over her thoughts.