In the chair next to him, Owen regarded Watt with a fearful expression, hopeful and morbidly curious. “The boy in the grave,” he began, “do you know who killed him, sir?”

Watt swallowed. “I would prefer not to speak on it.”

“You do yourself no favors that way, Mr. Watt,” said Catherine. “How did you come to know these things? Why would the timepiece be in Mr. Nolan’s shop?”

“Because it belonged to him. Henry Nolan.”

Guy’s attention snapped to Watt. Catherine had seen the bleakness in his eyes, but in that moment it was the darkness of a storm rolling in.

“You must understand I only learned of this recently,” Watt went on. “In the summer, my father told it to me on his deathbed. He said Mr. Nolan gave him the pocket watch about fifteen years ago. He said the man was grieved, having just lost his wife and two sons. Mr. Nolan asked if there was some way to keep his third son safe—if illness or accident were to take his life, if he might be able to restore it.” Watt hesitated, biting his lip. To Guy, he said, “I know your family’s magic, Mr. Nolan. You might still time, but not wind it back. Your father knew there was only so much his magic could do to achieve what he wanted. My father agreed to help him, but magic—especially on that scale—it isn’t easily done, and it isn’t done without cost.”

Catherine was all too aware of the fact. She knew what must’ve come about all those years ago. She said, “One would need to take a life in order to give life to another.”

Watt nodded. “He was a foundling boy. My father made sure of that. He killed him quickly.”

Guy’s expression was so thunderous, Catherine thought he might take Watt by the lapels and shake him. She fairly wanted to do just that. His voice held a hard undercurrent as he said, “Do not justify it so, Mr. Watt. It was murder.”

“Yes, that was your father’s sentiment when my father returned the timepiece to him with the magic he’d asked for within it. A life for a life. Mr. Nolan was none too pleased, and rightfully so, I suppose. But… Surely in his heart of hearts he must’ve known what it would take?”

The conversation Catherine had overheard between Guy and Everley returned to the forefront of her thoughts.

Mr. Everley. You don’t think I’d ever use it, do you?

No. I only fear your father might.

Guy got up, walking out of the room, and Catherine released a sigh. She looked to Owen, pressed back against the armchair opposite her. His face was white as paper. “Come, Owen.” She kept her voice gentle. “I think we’ve heard enough.”

At the doorway, she paused with her hand on the frame. “Mr. Watt,” she said, “do you happen to know what this timepiece looks like?”

“Indeed.” He went over to a writing desk in the corner, lifting the rosewood lid. “I hoped to speak with Mr. Nolan about it, a few months ago, but he seemed to no longer remember it. I fear the guilt might’ve led him to recklessness—I heard he’d been selling pieces of time for a while. Such business would’ve eaten away at his memories.” Sitting at the desk, he picked up a pencil and began to sketch. “The watch Henry Nolan gave my father was a lovely silver piece. My father had it for a little time before he—well, before he gave it back to Mr. Nolan.”