Catherine rose from her chair, the candlelight flickering in her wake. She didn’t want to think Spencer capable of murder, to think he’d poisoned Henry Nolan and stolen the timepiece, but she was thinking it. “It shouldn’t take long,” she said. “I believe I know where to look.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ONCE IT WAS PROPERLY morning and sunlight shone in through the windows, Catherine joined Guy and Owen in the kitchen for breakfast. The table was taken up with plates of toast and eggs, teacups and saucers between them.

After she’d sat down, Owen said, “I’ve been thinking over this plan of yours and I’ve decided I do not like it one jot.”

Guy turned a page of his newspaper. He said, “It’s a fine plan. And we’re doing it. We’re only having a look around. The police ought to be scouring the place.” He shifted his gaze to Catherine and offered her a smile. Like Owen, he was neatly dressed. His dark cravat was tied sharply, his waistcoat free of wrinkles. His eyes were a little clearer, not as haunted as they had looked in the night. “Good morning, Catherine.”

“Good morning.” She poured herself a cup of tea, adding milk to it.

Owen said, “This person is a murderer. You need to be careful.”

“We’ll be safe as houses,” Guy replied. “No one will even know we’re there. I’ll hold time still long enough for us to search properly. If we find the arsenic used, or the timepiece, we can bring them to the police.”

Owen ducked his head, staring into his teacup. He hadn’t touched it, and from what Catherine could tell, he hadn’t eaten anything, either. “But what if you don’t come back?” His voice was a half whisper. “What if something happens?”

“Oh, Owen,” said Catherine, not unkindly. “Nothing will happen.”

Guy took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Perhaps I should come with you.” Owen swallowed, fidgeting with a handkerchief on the table. “I could help.”

“No.” Guy’s tone brooked no argument. “If you come along, you’re one more person I have to extend my magic over. The fewer people there, the better.”

In the back room, he found a watch to use, marking the case with a spot of his blood and fitting in the winding key. Catherine watched as he wound it, but it wasn’t like before. Guy took out the key, and time halted—then continued on. He wound the watch again. Once everything was still, Guy looked to her, his eyes glassy with tiredness.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

“Two hours.” The watch slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor with a thud, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead as Catherine moved to pick it up. “That ought to be enough time, yes?”

“Are you well?”

He closed his eyes. “I feel strange.”

Catherine reached out, taking his hand. “You should’ve gotten more rest. Are you sure you want to do this?”