“How do you suppose he came across such information?”

Up ahead, Owen had gotten farther from them. He paused, looking back, waiting near the gates.

“I think we have his address noted,” said Guy. “Shall we pay him a call?”

Catherine nodded in agreement. They reached Owen where the cemetery gates gave way to the cobbled street, shops shuttered up for the night. He held fast to the iron as he had that night, the last night they were all here together.

“Are you well, Mr. Smith?” Guy asked.

Letting go of the gate, Owen turned to them. He looked little different from the boy they had pulled from the grave, except for the spark that lit his eyes now—recognition and familiarity. “You may call me Owen,” he told them. “I think I would prefer it if you did.”

Catherine smiled. They journeyed back to the watchmaker’s, the way there as recognizable to her as the course to the print shop. In the kitchen, she placed her trunk on the floor near the table, looking it over to ensure all her things were packed away. Owen settled in one of the worn armchairs by the hearth as Guy built up a fire. The wood shifted and popped, and sparks shot upward. In the quiet, Catherine told Owen about Geoffrey Watt—about his knowledge of Owen’s grave.

The shop clocks tolled the hour. Owen stretched out his legs in front of him, absently picking at a loose thread on the chair arm. “We ought to visit him, yes. When should we go?” He looked from her to Guy, who now stood at the counter, taking biscuits from a tin and setting them on a plate.

“We could try tomorrow evening,” said Catherine. “After I finish work.”

Guy brought the biscuits over to the table. Owen got up, yawned, and took two off the plate before heading to bed. Catherine closed her trunk and met Guy’s gaze. His eyes were dark in the firelight, his mouth halfway to a smile.

She said softly, “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“It was lovely having you here.” Looking down at her trunk, he bit his lip. “I can walk with you tomorrow—to the print shop. If you’d like some company.”

Catherine felt her cheeks warm. “I’d like that very much.”

Guy grinned. It was a grin that lit up his whole face, his eyes shining. Catherine’s heart sped at the sight of it, and she grinned back, swift as quicksilver.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

OUTSIDE THE INVERCARN CHRONICLE, Catherine and Guy paused on the street. Watery morning light shone across the windows, softening the edges of things. The street glistened with puddles, their surfaces reflecting the pale-gray clouds, the cast-iron lampposts. Catherine looked over at Guy as he put down her trunk and took off his hat. His face was tinged pink by the chill in the air, his expression set as he gazed up at the building.