Catherine scrambled up. “Sir,” she said. “Please, let him alone. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Next to her, Guy stood completely still. His face was blank, white shock, his eyes black as the night sky.

The man glanced at Catherine. There was a hard glint in his eyes, the lantern light leaving half his face in shadow. Looking back at Guy, he pushed the barrel against his skin. “Answer me.” The man studied him, eyes narrowed. Then his expression changed. “Wait. I know your face. You’re Henry Nolan’s son, aren’t you?”

Guy stared back, wordless, as though he’d forgotten his own name. “Yes,” he choked out finally. His voice wavered, and his breath caught. Tears slid down his face when he blinked. “I’m Guy. Guy Nolan.”

“All right.” The man tucked away his pistol. “Your father did me a good turn a few years back. My apologies if I gave you a fright.”

Catherine exhaled in relief. Guy put a hand against the stone wall, wiping at his eyes with the other. “A fright,” he echoed.

“You oughtn’t be wandering through here this late,” the man continued. “I won’t tell your father, but have a care, eh?”

Guy didn’t answer. The watchman looked from him to Catherine. He nodded at her. “Sorry for the trouble, miss. Good night.”

He started back for the path. Catherine watched him go until he was out of sight. Then there were only the old graves, the cold night wind, and Guy Nolan shivering beside her. Softly, she said, “Are you all right, Mr. Nolan?”

He nodded without meeting her gaze. He picked up his lantern, tried to light it, but his hands were trembling and he couldn’t manage it. Catherine took the matches from him. She lit the lantern and carried it as they made their way out of the cemetery.

Halfway to the watchmaker’s shop, Guy stopped to be sick in an alleyway. And by the time they reached the flat, he was shaking even worse than he was when they were among the tombs. Catherine looked on as he slopped water over the edge of the washbowl in the kitchen. The chill from outside had settled into her bones; she tasked herself with building the fire—brushing out the grate, taking logs from the basket. Guy left briefly to go down the hall to his room. When he returned, he was in clean clothes, and Catherine had moved on to making tea, the fire burning strong in the hearth.

“Thank you,” Guy said upon seeing it. They were the first words he’d said in a while, and his voice came out rough. His eyes were red-rimmed, his gaze shifting about the room.

Catherine brought the teapot to the table, set out saucers and cups. “I don’t mind.”

They sat across from each other, and Guy stared down at his hands.

“Mr. Nolan,” Catherine said after a pause. “Is your father in? Should I wake him?”

“No.” Guy looked up. He gave a quick shake of his head. “Thank you, Miss Daly, but I’m perfectly fine. I—I’m just… I haven’t even a scratch on me.” His mouth twisted, and he put his face in his hands, choking on a sob. “I’ve just never been so scared in all my life,” he cried. “I thought he was going to kill me.”