Everley said, “Does Henry know about this?”

“Sir?”

“Does he know you’re searching for this timepiece?”

“Good gracious, no. I’m helping Miss Daly, is all.”

There was a pause. Catherine looked to Owen, waiting on the landing just below.

“Mr. Everley.” Guy lowered his voice. “You don’t think I’d ever use it, do you?”

“No,” said Everley softly. “I only fear your father might.”

Guy answered in a rather stiff manner. “I don’t believe so, sir.”

“Guy…”

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Everley. We’ll manage rightly.”

At his approaching footsteps, Catherine started down to the shop floor. Through the window, the light was waning, and the clocks along the wall were turned to dark shapes, silhouettes, ticking on, as constant a sound as in the Nolans’ shop.

Guy came downstairs, and Catherine turned to him. Raising her eyebrows, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Quite.”

He helped her into her coat before pulling on his own. Owen took his coat from the rack and gazed out the window. “I didn’t realize,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “Are there… are there many people looking for this timepiece?”

They stepped outside, heading down the quiet street, and Catherine said, “Well, it is something many people want—magic to return the dead to life. One could bring back one’s family, one’s friends.”

“But they don’t know,” said Owen. “If people are brought back without their memories…” He paused, biting his lip. “I wouldn’t know my family even if they were standing right in front of me.”

Catherine clucked her tongue. “Now, Mr. Smith, you don’t know that for certain. Your memories could still come back.”

Owen looked away from her. His eyes shone bright and clear as he fixed his gaze ahead of him. “Perhaps it’s better if I don’t remember. I’ve no idea what I was like, truly. I might’ve been an awful person.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Mr. Smith,” Guy said. “I’m sure you were a perfectly decent fellow, just as you are now.”

At that, Owen sighed, but he said nothing further. Catherine cast her eyes down to her boots, still muddied from her wanderings in the graveyard.

Owen’s words about the timepiece gnawed at her. It was a flawed bit of magic, that was true, to bring a person back to life without any memory of who they were. She couldn’t help thinking that perhaps the device ought not to be found—by her or anyone else. As Everley had said, no one should be using such magic.

At the watchmaker’s, the OPEN sign was upon the door, though the shop was empty. The gas light flared as Guy turned up the lamps. He reached the back staircase, calling up, “Father!”

Catherine’s gaze drifted to the back-room doorway. She started as a shadow moved near the worktable.

“Afternoon,” said Sydney Mallory. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

“What are you doing back there?” Guy asked.

“Your father said I might wait for you.” He looked around at the three of them, considering, assessing. “He wasn’t sure where you’d gone.”