“Then it’s decided.” Guy walked over, took Owen’s hat and placed it back on the coatrack. “You’ll stay here with me.”

Owen laughed, the sound catching in his throat, and Guy produced a handkerchief, handing it to him. “Come now, Owen,” he said gently. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Owen smiled through his tears. “I’m all right.”

The bell above the shop door rang out. A customer walked in, and Catherine ushered Owen into the back room. He sat down at Guy’s worktable as she pulled the door closed. She lit the lamp there, light glowing through the green shade. It shone over the tools and loose watch parts, the small nicks and scratches in the aged wood.

“Not too morbid for you, is it?” she asked.

He ran his fingers along the desk’s edge, considering the items before him. “Catherine,” he said, solemn in comparison to her lightheartedness. “What about you? Will you go back to the print shop?”

She nodded. “I’d like to. I can’t imagine Mr. Boyd liked hearing about Guy and I going through the place while time was stilled. Hopefully I haven’t lost my place there again.”

“I’m certain you haven’t.” He regarded her, his eyes luminous. “You and Guy have been so good and kind to me. I can’t ever repay you for all you’ve done.”

“Owen Smith, we are your friends.”

He reached over and clasped her hand. “Thank you, then, for being a wonderful friend.”

Guy entered the room holding a pocket watch. He set it on the worktable and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Owen moved to stand up from the chair, but Guy shook his head. “Listen and look closely, Owen,” he said. “This is the first day of your apprenticeship.”

Catherine readied herself to depart. She located her coat, her bonnet and gloves, and lingered near the door. Rain tapped at the window glass. She tucked Owen’s record away in her coat and took the umbrella Guy offered her.

Casting his gaze down, he said, “You know you’re always welcome back here, if you’ve any trouble.”

“Don’t say it like a goodbye.” Though her throat tightened and tears pricked the backs of her eyes. It felt like a goodbye, even when it wasn’t. “I’ll come to call tomorrow as soon as I have a chance.”

“Yes.” Guy looked up in earnest. “Yes, please do. I imagine… That is, the police might…” He put his arms about himself. “My father’s funeral—I haven’t had a moment to prepare.”

She brought a hand to his cheek. “Give yourself the time you need.”

Guy swallowed. The rain picked up, streaking the glass, the street outside becoming a misty blur of gray stone and weathered shopfronts. He said, “Wait here, won’t you? Until the rain lets up.”

And because he asked, she did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

IN THE QUIET of the print shop, Catherine wondered if it was the last time she’d set foot here. She rested a hand on one of the presses, the iron cool and familiar beneath her touch. The aprons were still hung on their hooks. The type drawers and pots of ink were put away. It was everything as it should be; Catherine wasn’t sure what else she expected.