Sydney narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Francis,” he said. “Thank you.”

“All right.” Francis glanced out the narrow window above the desk, before starting back toward them, making for the door. “Will you be coming back tonight? Only, I already told Professor Blackwood you planned on it.”

“Indeed. A little after midnight, I should think.”

Francis walked with them back down to the entrance, bidding them farewell. Outside, they made their way across the courtyard. It was turning out to be a fine day despite the chill, sunlight reflecting off the windows of the stone buildings.

“I couldn’t tell him,” said Owen. His breath misted in the air. “Please, I—I just—”

“You needn’t tell anyone you don’t want to,” Catherine replied.

“And we know more about the timepiece than he does,” Guy put in. “It’s as you said, Miss Daly—the timepiece must certainly be somewhere in that cemetery to have worked its magic as it did.”

Catherine recalled the second night she and Guy had gone seeking the device, the gloom and stillness of the graveyard, and her attempt the next morning, standing before the church ruins shrouded in fog. Now Ainsworth was at the university, asking questions. Perhaps she could reason with him if he’d given up on the notion that she’d stolen it. She could return to her print work and continue the search.

“I’m going to go to the Chronicle,” she said.

Guy looked her way.

“Mr. Ainsworth can’t think I have the timepiece if he’s asking after it here. He may let me have my job back.”

Bringing a hand to his cravat, Guy tugged at the dark fabric. “Miss Daly,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Though what a terrible lie that was. She felt at once completely knotted and moments away from coming undone.

But even so, her mind was set.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CATHERINE STOOD a little ways down the street from the print shop. After crossing the river, Sydney had headed in the direction of the lodging house, while Guy had brought Owen back to the watchmaker’s, before coming along with Catherine. He paused beside her on the sidewalk now, looking over at the dark brick building.

“What shall I do,” he asked, “if you don’t come back out?”

“I’ll be all right,” Catherine told him. “And if not, I’m sure you’ll think of something valiant, provide some distraction so that I might escape.”

Guy’s eyes flickered to hers. He glanced away just as quickly, swallowing hard. “Of course,” he said. “A distraction.”

“Fear not, Mr. Nolan.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “I’ll return directly. I only need to speak with Mr. Ainsworth for a moment.”

With that, she continued on toward the shop. The building was soot-stained like every other in Old Town, the brass sign on the door weather-worn. Catherine let herself in and started across the print floor. The workday had begun; most people were at their desks and took no notice of her. Those who did simply nodded and smiled, and Catherine did her best to keep her expression pleasant. It seemed news had not spread about her predicament. Perhaps Ainsworth hadn’t yet come to a decision. Spencer had said he’d likely be preoccupied—he’d had a meeting with Boyd yesterday.