“Mr. Watt was pleased with your work last night,” Ainsworth told her.

Catherine inclined her head. “I’m glad to hear it.”

There were about a dozen employees at the print shop who could work the magic Ainsworth required for the farewell service. Without them, he wouldn’t have business in the cemetery at all—unless, of course, he could manage the same sort of enchantment himself. Catherine had never asked him.

He ran a finger along the edge of his desk. It was covered with organized stacks of paper, journals, a bookkeeping ledger. He said, “I’ve another job for you, if you’re interested in taking it.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “What is it, sir?”

The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked steadily in the pause. Ainsworth opened his desk drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Mr. Watt paid off his balance, but it wasn’t coin he owed. He had information I’ve been after for quite some while.” As Catherine watched, Ainsworth took up his pen and began to write. “There’s an unmarked plot in the public cemetery—the grave of a coffin maker. A timepiece was buried with him. I’d like you to collect it.”

Catherine swallowed. She knew what timepiece he was referring to. Most at the shop believed Ainsworth had been looking for it since starting up the farewell service. The device was rumored to bring the dead to life—not as ghostly likenesses of themselves, as her magic brought about, but truly living.

“You’ll be paid for the retrieval, of course. And I want it done tonight.” Setting his pen aside, he looked up.

Catherine already knew her answer.

“Certainly, sir,” she said. “I’ll see to it.”

When he offered her the paper, she saw he’d written directions marking the grave’s location. She folded it and tucked it into her apron pocket. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, Miss Daly, thank you.”

She went back downstairs to resume her work, but at midday, she returned to her room on the third floor. She put Ainsworth’s instructions away in her coat, located her bonnet and gloves, and fetched the letter she needed to post. The sky was clear blue beyond the window, like it was in her memories when she thought of her family home. It lightened her heart as she left the room and headed outside.

CHAPTER THREE

INSIDE THE POST OFFICE, Catherine waited in line with her letter clutched between her hands. When she got to the counter, she recognized the boy behind it. Smiling, she said, “Hello, Mr. Douglas. How are you this afternoon?”

“Very well, Miss Daly.” He smiled back, taking her letter. “And yourself?”

“I’m well. Have you anything for me today?”

“Indeed, I do. It came in with yesterday’s post.”

As he disappeared into the back room, Catherine put her hands against the counter. She was here once or twice a week; she knew just about every crack and corner of the place. The front counter was worn at its edge like her desk at the print shop, the glass pigeonhole boxes along the wall numbered in gold paint.