Now Guy looked thoroughly confused. He rocked back slightly as if pushed. “You… You wish me to help you dig up a grave?”

Before she could answer, footsteps sounded from above. Guy’s eyes darted up to the ceiling. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, “This way, please, Miss Daly.”

She thought at first he intended to lead her upstairs. Instead, they passed the back staircase and went out the door that brought them into the lot backing onto the building the next street over. It was little more than a bit of pavement, weeds growing heartily through the cracks. A washing line was strung up; Catherine very much doubted Guy wished her to see the nightclothes and drawers hanging there, so she cast about until her gaze landed on a flowerpot.

“Those are lovely,” she said, just to be kind. Most of the flowers inside were brown and wilted, their stems drooped over the edge of the pot.

Guy’s mouth curved in a half smile. “They aren’t doing so well, are they? Too gloomy and cold this time of year, I’m afraid.” He knelt before it. “I was thinking of getting some window boxes for the flat, but then, you wouldn’t really be able to see them from the street.” He shook his head and straightened up. “Miss Daly, how do you expect me to help you?”

“Have you heard of a timepiece that can bring back the dead?”

Scratching an eyebrow, Guy said, “That’s an old tale.”

Catherine grinned. “Yes, well, my employer thinks not, and I understand you’re skilled in enchanting timepieces here. Could you determine what sort of magic it holds?”

His eyes flitted over her face. She wondered if he was thinking of the silver she’d placed on the counter or the reputed magic of this timepiece. In the distance, the city clock tower chimed the hour. A softer echo of it sounded from the closed door behind them, the Nolans’ clocks striking in harmony. Guy looked down, twisting the fabric of his apron between his hands. “Perhaps I can.” He glanced back up and swallowed. “You wish me to meet you tonight?”

She nodded quickly. “Midnight,” she told him. “Do you know the willow tree on the grounds? The plot is near there.”

Guy cut his gaze away from her, studying the brick wall of the lot.

“Mr. Nolan?”

“Very well.” He spoke in a quiet, hesitant tone, as though fearful of being overheard. “If such a thing exists, I’d like to see it.”

At his words, Catherine felt no small measure of relief. She’d never wandered the city’s graveyards alone in the dark—lately, the watchmen had taken to patrolling the public cemetery almost as frequently as they did the private one—and it was a comfort knowing she’d have Guy Nolan’s company tonight.

When they went back into the shop, Catherine took a last glance at the clocks along the wall. She wondered if some magic lay between the dial and gears, if an hour or so of time was conserved inside like the magic she placed within pieces of type. At the door, she said, “I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Nolan.”