“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Nolan.”

Like Guy, Henry wore spectacles. He took them off, put them in his trouser pocket, and set his cloth on the counter. There was a marked resemblance between father and son. They had the same fall of dark hair, the same angular features, though Henry’s eyes were blue, not brown, with fine lines at the corners of them, his hair graying at the temples.

Just then, Guy came down the back staircase. He looked more put together than he had at the window, his cravat tied and centered. “Father,” he said, “might I have a moment to speak with Miss Daly?”

Henry glanced over, meeting his gaze. “Very well.” He went into the back room without closing the door, so Catherine still saw him at the desk, opening a drawer in search of something.

Guy turned to her. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Why do you have that trunk with you?”

“I need somewhere safe to put it.” She adjusted her grip, holding the trunk out to him. “I can’t go back to the newspaper at the moment, and I thought—I wondered if I might keep it here? For now?”

“Of course.” Guy blinked, looked down, and took the luggage in his arms. “It’ll be quite safe here. I’ll store it upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

When he returned, they stood together at the front window, whispering. The glass was fogged, streaked with condensation. The street beyond it was a hazy impression of watery sunlight and brown buildings; the people passing by were made into shadows, black cloaks flapping in the wind like raven wings.

Catherine asked, “Where is Mr. Smith?”

“Fernhill Park. At least, I hope so. I had to bring him there earlier, before my father woke up.” Guy tugged a little at his cravat. “Will you wait for me? I can be out of here in fifteen minutes or so.”

Waiting on the corner, she watched coaches rattle past, horses stamping their hooves, people heading in and out of shops along the street. The door to the watchmaker’s shop opened, and Guy stepped out in his dark coat and hat. He glanced at his pocket watch before tucking it away, then looked up, caught sight of her, and made his way over.

“What’s happened, then?” he asked.

Catherine told him the whole of it. Altogether, there wasn’t much to tell. Without the timepiece, she couldn’t return to the Chronicle. Without the timepiece, she was without a job.

“Oh, Miss Daly,” Guy said in sympathy. “If you need somewhere to stop tonight, you’re more than welcome back at our place.”

She was rather hoping she might find the timepiece by tonight. Yet the more she thought on it, the more distant the possibility seemed to her.

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Nolan.”

Patting his coat pocket, he said, “I’ve a note to drop off for Sydney about this business. He’ll ask around at the university.” They paused at the sidewalk’s edge, waiting for a gap in the traffic. “There’s also a watchmaker across town who’s a friend of my father’s. He may know something. We could visit him, if you’d like. Someone made this timepiece, after all.”