Catherine looked over. “That seems a fine idea.”

He grinned.

After crossing the street, she added, “I’d like to go back to the cemetery, too.”

“Oh.” Guy hesitated. “Yes. Of course.”

She recalled last night: how they’d run through the dark, the flash of the watchman’s light, the terror in Guy’s expression as the man took him by the collar and pressed a gun to his skin.

“It’ll be quite safe in the day,” she went on. “I can manage perfectly well on my own. And I doubt Mr. Smith is interested in going back.”

“I see your point,” said Guy. His relief was evident in his tone. “I was—I thought I might bring him to the tailor’s today.”

They came to Fernhill Park, a stretch of green space lined with walking paths, a wooden footbridge built across the pond. In the summer, the grass was shaded over by the canopies of oak and ash trees. Now the branches were almost bare of leaves, stark against the gray sky. Owen Smith sat on one of the park benches, tearing up pieces of bread and feeding the birds gathered on the path.

Guy narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Smith,” he said slowly, “is that your breakfast?”

Owen tossed what remained in his hand to the birds. “Only some of it.” He turned to them, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Guy stepped up to the bench, sending the flock scattering in his wake. “Right. On your feet. We’ve a lot to do today.”

Owen stood and brought one hand up to cover a yawn. He said, “Morning, Miss Daly,” before fetching his hat off the bench and putting it on.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith.”

They left the park together, Guy walking a little ahead. Catherine quickened her pace to fall in step with him. “Mr. Nolan,” she said, “I can’t see it being much longer before your father notices Mr. Smith. You can’t leave him in the park all day. It’s cold enough as is. What about in the winter?”

Rubbing his eyes, Guy said, “By then, he’ll hopefully be apprenticed somewhere. I’ll speak to my father about letting him stay if it comes to that. I know my father—he won’t turn him away. But for now… Perhaps I am being fretful, but I don’t want my father to worry, and Mr. Smith hasn’t any money, nor anywhere else to go.” He glanced over his shoulder and called to Owen, “Come along, Mr. Smith.”

Owen was trailing some distance behind them, gazing out at the stretch of grass. He looked around and hurried to catch up. As he did, Guy turned back to Catherine. “Shall we meet in the afternoon? We can head over to the watchmaker’s then. That is,” he added with a smile, “if you don’t find the timepiece in the cemetery.” Owen came up on the other side of him. “Mr. Smith, I know a fine tailor. Why don’t we pay him a call today? Miss Daly will be heading back to the cemetery for another search.”