“It belongs to him,” said Sydney. “I’m simply giving him what’s his. Mr. Smith, would you prefer I take it back to the orphanage?”

Owen shook his head. Sydney looked back at Guy with a radiant smile. “You see, Guy?”

Catherine went to Owen’s side. He still had the papers pressed to his shirtfront, his arms wrapped around them. She leaned close as Guy and Sydney carried on talking and asked, “Aren’t you going to read it?”

He swallowed hard. “I must confess I’m nervous to. I know already I haven’t any family. A foundling, Mr. Watt said I was, but I don’t remember that person—the person I was before I died.” He bit his lip, before holding the papers out. “Will you keep it for me, Catherine? Until I’m ready to read it? I’d consider it a great favor.”

It warmed her heart that he had such trust in her. She accepted the record with care. “Of course.” She smiled. “Whenever you’re ready.”

A little while later, the four of them sat together in the kitchen. Catherine and Guy took turns telling Sydney of yesterday’s events, the ensuing somberness in the air broken only by Guy getting up to stoke the fire and brew more tea.

Owen’s record remained closed on the table. Catherine looked to it as the discussion moved on to Sydney’s new apprenticeship. Owen spent the time staring into his teacup. Once Sydney left and Guy went downstairs to work in the back room, Catherine said, “Don’t fret, Owen. We’ll go out today, you and me. You’ll make a fine apprentice at any trade.”

He said nothing to this, but when she stood up from the table, he dutifully followed her. In the hall, he tied his cravat in the looking glass, and in the shop, he made sure his hair lay flat in the shine of a long-case clock. Catherine took his coat from the rack, dusted it off before passing it to him. He put on his hat, and she saw it didn’t sit at too rakish an angle.

“There,” she said. “You look the perfect gentleman.”

He looked very young—his hazel eyes round, his hands soft and clean and without calluses—but then, most apprentices were young.

Guy appeared in the doorway of the back room. “Are you two off somewhere?”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “We’re to find Owen an apprenticeship by day’s end.”

This was not met with the reaction she’d expected. The look in Guy’s eyes turned dull and distant. “Oh,” he said. “Very well.” His shoulders slumped. “I only thought—I thought you might like to work here, Owen. I don’t yet know all that my father did, but I can still teach you. And I could do with an assistant now that—now that he’s gone.”

Owen removed his hat. “Work with you?”

“Yes,” said Guy firmly. “If you’d like. You’ve already got a room here, after all.”

Owen’s eyes glimmered with tears, with hope. He clutched the brim of his hat. “I would like that.” He wiped at his eyes, his smile bright and watery. “I really would.”