“Mr. Nolan?”

“I don’t feel well,” he whispered.

A moment later he collapsed, landing in the dirt. The watch slid out of his coat pocket, clacking against the base of the lantern.

Catherine’s heart knocked against her rib cage. She knelt beside him, bringing a hand to his shoulder. “Mr. Nolan,” she said, frantic. “Mr. Nolan.”

He let out a groan and rolled onto his side, his eyes fluttering open. His face was peaky-looking, colorless, but he sat up, his back against the gate. He gazed down at his muddied clothes, his mouth a thin, unhappy line.

“You’re not all right,” said Catherine.

Fifteen hours of memory. It was little wonder he’d collapsed. Whenever Catherine had made use of magic, she’d given up only an hour at a time.

He swallowed. “I’ll be fine.”

She helped him to his feet. Putting the watch into her own pocket, she raised Guy’s lantern, peering ahead of them. Sydney was nowhere to be seen, but the night was clouded, and shadows lay thick over the grounds.

She wanted to suggest she search alone, to let Guy rest. Before she could, he held out his hand for the lantern. “We mustn’t waste this time, Miss Daly. Let’s have a look in the church.”

They started on the path in that direction. The lantern’s light cast a pale glow over the dirt trail, illuminating gnarled tree roots and the etchings on gravestones.

Ainsworth’s body was likely spending the night in the hospital morgue. He’d be buried within a vault or under a table tombstone, guarded in Rose Hill from those set on disinterment.

In the near distance, the great heap of the ruins loomed above the graves. It seemed entirely possible that the timepiece could be hidden somewhere inside, away from the prying eyes of resurrection men and cemetery guards.

Guy led the way in, his light a small spot of brightness in the cavernous space. Dry leaves crunched beneath their boots, the smell of damp stone permeating the air. Catherine looked to Guy. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’ve no memory of what I don’t remember.” He met her gaze, his face unreadable in the dim. “The memories I’ve lost—I don’t know what they were. Though I suppose that’s the very nature of losing them.”

“I imagine Mr. Smith feels much the same.” It was one thing to lose time off her distant future, when she hadn’t the knowledge of how long she’d be on this earth. The idea of losing pieces and moments from her past chilled her to the marrow.

Guy’s light passed over a stairwell. The stone steps were set in a curve, likely leading to the tower.

Catherine said softly, “Might we try up there?”

The way was narrow and dark as pitch. Guy started up first, saying, “Hold on to my coat,” and Catherine did so, placing her other hand on the wall to steady herself. At the top, they found an empty room. There were no parts left from the bells, the windows without slats. The view must’ve been splendid in the day, but now there was only the river, black and glinting, and the burn of streetlamps between buildings.