"Disappeared!" I cried.

Sister Clare shushed me and glanced back at the open door of the convent. "It seems too coincidental for two babies to go missing and the mother superior to leave without a word. Don't you agree?"

"You remember that one of the babies was named Phineas Millroy?" Matt asked. "It was a long time ago."

"I have an excellent memory. I keep the records of all the abandoned children and where they go when they leave here. I created the records for those two babies when they arrived, then after they disappeared, I went to update them but couldn't find them."

"The records went missing too?" I asked.

She nodded. "I asked Mother Alfreda—our previous superioress, the one who disappeared—and she said one of them died in the night, but…it seemed unlikely. He was a healthy baby and, well, her answers were evasive."

"You think she took the children?"

"I don't know. The thing is, shortly after the second baby's disappearance, she too disappeared, and Sister Frances became our new Mother Superior."

Two nuns rounded the far end of the building, heads bent in quiet conversation, their gait ambling. Sister Clare bit her lower lip as she watched them approach. "I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing. I doubt anything untoward has happened. It's just that hearing the name of one of the missing children brought it suddenly back to me and I have been wondering all these years. I thought perhaps…" She shook her head then tucked her hands into her sleeves. "Never mind. It was a long time ago, as you say. Good day." She turned and hurried back inside.

Both of the approaching nuns looked up and paused upon seeing us. They looked old enough to have been here twenty-seven years ago. Matt must have had the same idea because he did not make a move toward our carriage.

Both nuns had friendly faces and warm smiles. One carried a wooden box by its handle and the other a basket filled with sewing needles, pins, fabric and cotton reels.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully. "Lovely day for a stroll."

"It is," said the one carrying the wooden box in a strong Irish accent. "Are you visiting the reverend mother? Can we fetch her for you?"

"We've just come from there." Matt gave them a little bow. "My name is Mr. Glass and this is Miss Steele. We offered the reverend mother a donation."

"Oh, how marvelous," said the one with the basket. "The school needs all the funds we can get. We're in sore need of more supplies for the girls to practice the domestic arts." She held up her basket. "It's difficult to teach them how to sew when we don't have enough cotton."

"Not to mention this old house needs some love and attention," said the Irish sister with the box. "The window frames are rotting on the upper floors and the roof leaks. I'm too old to clamber over roofs now but we can't afford to pay someone to look at it."

"Our little shop doesn't bring in enough to cover such large expenses," the nun with the basket said.

"I'll take a look at the roof free of charge," Matt said. "It might be just a loose tile."

"Would you?" The Irish nun with the box brightened. "I'm Sister Bernadette and this is Sister Margaret. It's my job to see that the convent and school are well maintained, but it's difficult with limited funds."

"Not to mention your age," Sister Margaret teased.

"You're just as old as me," said Sister Bernadette. "Brings us closer to God, it does." She winked at us and I couldn't help smiling.

"Your donation will be greatly appreciated," said Sister Margaret to Matt.

"It wasn't accepted," he told them. "Your mother superior didn't like my condition."

I held my breath as the nuns' smiles faded.

Sister Bernadette swung the box in front of her and placed both hands on the handle. It was a toolbox, although I couldn't see what tools she had inside it thanks to the closed lid. "And why is that?"

"We asked nosy questions about a baby that disappeared twenty-seven years ago and she didn't like it," Matt said.

The nuns exchanged glances.

"Were you both here twenty-seven years ago?" he went on.

"Yes," said Sister Margaret, her gaze drifting away from Matt's.

"But we don't know anything about missing babies," Sister Bernadette said, her accent sounding even thicker. "If you'll excuse us, we have work to do." She shuffled her feet as though she wished to walk away.

Matt looked hopefully at Sister Margaret. "The boy we're looking for, and one other, disappeared from the convent's care around the same time the mother superior left without a word. You remember it, don't you, Sister?"

"Of course I do. Our life here is unvarying. Those few weeks were…an upheaval." She lifted the basket into her arms and clutched it to her chest. "It was a disconcerting time, what with Sister Francesca leaving too. She didn't disappear, just decided the convent life wasn't for her. She renounced her vows and went to live out in the world." She shook her head, as if this event was far more serious than the disappearances. "Silly thing, she was, but she'd been a kind friend to me when we were postulants and novices together."

"Sister Margaret," hissed the Irish nun. "Her leaving is no one else's affair."

Sister Margaret dipped her head and hurried after her colleague.

"Shall I come back this afternoon to look at the roof?" Matt called after them.

"That is for the Reverend Mother to decide," said Sister Bernadette.

We watched them disappear in the direction of the school then climbed into our carriage. "I'm sorry we didn't get any answers," I said as we drove off. "It seems as if we've hit another dead end."

"Not at all. Where is your optimism, India? We learned more than I expected to, and even better, we learned that Phineas Millroy's records are not where they should be."

"I fail to see how that is of benefit. We still don't know where his records are or, more importantly, where he is." I regretted pointing out our failure as soon as the words left my mouth. Matt looked enthused, not disappointed, and I preferred him that way.

"I didn't expect information on his whereabouts to be handed over to us today," he said. "At least now I know it will be futile to break in and search the filing cabinets."

He had been planning on breaking in after all. I swallowed down my gasp of surprise.

"You look shocked," he said, his crooked smile in evidence.

"Am I that easy to read?"

"To me, yes." His smile vanished. "I wouldn't have harmed anyone."

"I know that."

"And, if it helps, I'd feel guilty about it."

"I know that too. Pity you're not Catholic or you could have confessed and assuaged your guilt afterward with a few Hail Marys."

He laughed softly but it quickly died. He suddenly lunged forward, nudging me aside to peer through the rear window. "Stop!" He thumped on the roof. "Stop the carriage!"

The coach swerved to the curb and Matt jumped out before it stopped completely. He ran back the way we'd come, dodging pedestrians and traffic, and disappeared around a corner. I waited three minutes before I got out too—any longer and my nerves would have been shredded to pieces. He reappeared at the corner before I could go after him, however, and jogged back.

"What was it?" I asked as I climbed back inside.

"I think someone was following us in a hack, but I'm not certain." He climbed in too and thumped the roof for the coachman to continue.

"So what do we do now?"

Matt kept his gaze on the rear window as he answered. "We see what we can find out about the disappearance of the mother superior twenty-seven years ago. I think it's linked to the disappearance of Phineas Millroy. The timing is too coincidental for it not to be."

"Do you suppose she left to raise him and the other child?"

He simply shrugged.

"And what of the nun who renounced her vows?" I asked. "Sister Francesca. I wonder if she knows anything."

"It's worth questioning her. I suspect she'll be more willing to speak to us if she's left the convent life and its rules behind."

"True," I said. "She won't have the cadaverous Mother Frances glaring at her. But how do we find her? We don't even know her name."

Matt smiled. "First things first."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we fix the convent's leaking roof."

---

Duke was the first to return for luncheon, followed by Cyclops and Willie. I could tell from their long faces that they hadn't had any success. Matt didn't even ask how their search for Payne had gone; instead he immediately launched into what he termed "our success" at the convent and his plan to fix their roof.

"I want you both to go," he said to Cyclops and Duke. "The roof is steep and one of you will need to hold a rope attached to the other."

I expected Willie to protest that she was being left out but she said nothing.

"Tell the nuns I sent you," Matt went on, stretching his long legs under the desk in his study. "They'll be suspicious anyway because of your American accents and the fact that Sister Bernadette mentioned the roof to me only this morning. There's no point pretending we're strangers to one another."

"I weren't going to lie," Cyclops said, crossing his arms.

"Ask subtle questions," I told them. "Nothing too direct."

"Them two? Subtle?" Willie snorted.

Duke rolled his eyes at her. "What'll you do while we're working, Willie? Gallivanting off to the hospital again?"

"Depends if Matt needs me or not."

"I don't," Matt said, rising. "India and I are going shopping."

"We are?" I asked, also standing. "What are we buying?"

"A new watch."

Eddie Hardacre, also known as Jack Sweet, had crushed Matt's watch only days ago. It had been an ordinary timepiece, not his magical one, thank God. My insides recoiled as they did every time I thought about my former fiancé and how he'd duped my father and me for so long, and how he'd tried to kill Matt.

"Very well, we'll visit the Masons," I said. "But only after you rest."

"Of course."

Duke, Willie and Cyclops followed me into the corridor. "You got any messages for India to give to Miss Mason?" Duke asked Cyclops with a sly smile.

"You're begging for a hiding?" Cyclops shot back.

Duke chuckled, earning him a thump on the right shoulder from Cyclops. Willie, on Duke's other side, punched his left shoulder. "Ow!"

"Leave Cyclops alone," she said.

"You sure you want me to? If I leave him alone, then I might just ask you some awkward questions about your romance instead. You want me to do that, Willemina Johnson?"

Willie thrust her hands on her hips. "You're asking for trouble, Duke."

"Sure is," Cyclops said, his lips curving into a smile. "You want to go first, Willie, or will I?" He cracked his knuckles.

Duke raced down the stairs, his pounding footsteps echoing through the house long after he'd disappeared.

Cyclops laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. Willie grinned and put her arm around the big man's waist. "We got to get him a woman too before he drives us do-lally with his badgering," she said.

---

When Mrs. Mason saw us in her family's shop purchasing a new pocket watch, she insisted we join them for tea. I readily agreed, grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with old family friends. Our relationship had become strained since they learned of my magical ability. I didn't blame them for wanting to distance themselves from me—or for trying to keep Catherine away. They were afraid The Watchmaker's Guild would look unkindly on the friendship and somehow punish Mr. Mason. Now that the guild and its master, Mr. Abercombie, admitted to knowing about my magic, the threat wasn't so pertinent. Of course, it helped that I declared I wasn't interested in setting up a shop.

Or so I thought.

"What will happen to the shop now that Hardacre has proven to be a fraudster?" Mr. Mason asked after pleasantries had been exchanged and tea poured.

"Papa," Catherine hissed. "Let India and Matt enjoy their tea." My friend had joined us along with her parents, leaving her brothers to keep shop.

"It's all right," I said. "I don't mind the questions. I know you're worried, Mr. Mason, so let me assure you that I have no intentions of fixing or selling timepieces even if the shop returns to my family."

"India doesn't yet have possession of the premises anyway," Matt added. "The process will need to pass through the courts to determine who it belongs to."

"It'll be an injustice if Eddie keeps it," Catherine bit off. "Or whatever his real name is. I still cannot believe the lengths he went to for revenge on Chronos, or that we all fell for his lies."

"Nor can I," I muttered.

"He was very good," Matt said gently. "Everyone was taken in."

"It's not just his duplicity working in your favor though, is it?" Mr. Mason said. "It's the fact that your father's will is invalid because he died before your grandfather, who is very much alive." He looked at me as if I were to blame for that, when I'd only learned about Chronos recently too.

"Papa!" Catherine lowered her cup to the saucer with a clank and glared at her father. I liked that she'd developed a spine where her parents were concerned, although I shouldn't be surprised. She visited me several times without their knowledge. She'd grown braver and smarter in recent weeks.

"Mr. Mason," his wife snapped. "Must you talk of death? India and Mr. Glass are our guests."

"It is another thing in my favor," I told Mr. Mason. "Chronos wrote a new will while he was here, leaving the shop to me, so there is that, too, should he pass away. The case is in the hands of lawyers now, so we can only wait for a judge's verdict."

"But your grandfather is not dead," Mr. Mason said. "So rightfully he still owns it, which means you must manage it, India."

"He told me I can do what I want with it. I will probably lease the premises," I said, wanting to assure him that I wasn't a threat to his family business. I was, after all, the only known timepiece magician in the city, so it made sense that he would seek that affirmation. "It may not even be to anyone in the watch and clock trade. If that turns out to be the situation, I'd like to offer you first right of purchase to any stock at a discounted rate, since we are good friends."

"I…I…" Mr. Mason blinked at me then turned to Matt.

"Don't look at me, sir," Matt said. "Any business dealings involving India's property have to go through her. She'll have the use of my lawyer, of course, if she wishes."

"Good," Mrs. Mason declared. "That's settled. India, can you assist me in the kitchen for a moment? You stay, Catherine," she added when her daughter rose.

I followed Mrs. Mason into the kitchen where her maid was slicing carrots for the evening meal. Mrs. Mason asked her to check on the laundry in the copper in the rear courtyard. Once she was gone, Mrs. Mason turned to me.

"I know you and Catherine have been seeing one another these past weeks," she said, "despite our express wishes that she avoid you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but found I couldn't lie, so closed it again.

"That isn't important," she went on. "Perhaps it wasn't fair of us to ask it of either of you. Anyway, it's not why I wanted to speak to you." She glanced at the door and the corridor beyond. "Does Catherine have a paramour?"

Her question was so unexpected that it took a moment for my wits to return. "No," I said with certainty. "She doesn't."

It was not a lie. While Cyclops and Catherine liked one another, Cyclops refused to explore their feelings and see if they could develop into something deeper. It wasn't so much his color that worried him—although it probably played a factor for him, though not for Catherine—but more his past in America. A powerful and wealthy mine owner was hunting him after Cyclops told the authorities how his employer used cheap materials, causing a mine to collapse and kill several miners. The hunt had meant a hard life for Cyclops, constantly on the run and in hiding. Matt and the others had helped him to a certain extent, but it was still no life to take a woman back to. Cyclops was adamant that he would return home, however, along with Willie, Duke and Matt.

A lump rose in my throat at the thought of them leaving. It wasn't just Matt I would miss but all of them. They'd carved out a place in my heart that would be difficult to fill when they left. The space reserved for Matt was the biggest.

"Then what is upsetting her of late?" Mrs. Mason asked. "She's so listless, ever since she ended her liaison with Mr. Wilcox. I do wish she had not cast him aside."

"They were not suited," I said. "He was much too staid for her. Catherine is lively and adventurous, and she requires a husband who will take her places, not tie her by the apron strings to the kitchen."

Mrs. Mason choked and pressed her own apron to her lips. I instantly regretted my insensitivity. Mrs. Mason was a wonderful wife and mother. Her home was her sanctuary and her family was her entire life. She didn't understand Catherine's hankering for something different.

I squeezed her arm. "You've brought up a spirited young woman who is kind, competent, and full of energy. You should be very proud, Mrs. Mason. Catherine is a wonderful person, thanks to the fine example you and Mr. Mason have set."

She dabbed the corner of her eye with her apron. "Yet she will leave me. I know she will. If not soon, then one day."

"We must all leave our parents eventually."

"You did not. You never abandoned Eliot. You were a good daughter, India, and you're a good girl still. I wish Catherine was more like you, more content with her lot in life instead of always looking for more."

I wanted to tell her there was nothing wrong with wanting more, that we should all strive to improve ourselves in some way. But I suspected she didn't want to hear more hard truths. Besides, Catherine wasn't going anywhere in the foreseeable future. She may be adventurous but she lacked the means and knowledge to go adventuring on her own. Her life must be shelved until someone with the means and knowledge could show her the world.

I suddenly felt immeasurably sad for her. It wasn't fair that she couldn't do the things she wanted to do without securing a husband first. It drove home how much we women relied on finding a husband who matched our sensibilities, dreams and values. If we did not, life became an endless slog.

I put on a smile for Catherine as she walked us to our carriage with her parents, but she saw through it.

"What did my mother want?" she whispered, eyeing Mrs. Mason's back.

"My assurance that I wouldn't lead you down a dark, magical path," I lied.

She rolled her eyes. "I wish I had some magical ability. How exciting it would be."

"To hide it from the world and not be yourself? I don't think you want that."

"It's not all that different to what I'm doing now, is it?" She sighed. "Hiding my feelings for Nate is growing harder each day. I find myself thinking about him all the time."

"Then you need to find something else to occupy your mind. Why not visit museums or learn everything you can about a topic that intrigues you?"

She laughed. "You're an odd creature sometimes, India. Only you would think museums are interesting. Now," she added. "Tell me, how is Nate?"

"He's well. Will you come and visit him?"

"Perhaps." She nodded at Matt up ahead, holding the carriage door open for me. "Is Matt all right? He looks ill."

"He is," I said simply.

I studied Matt anew on the way home. Being with him every day meant I didn't always see the subtle changes in his face. But now that Catherine had pointed it out, I noticed the deeper and more numerous lines radiating from his eyes, the dark smudges under them, and the grayer pall of his skin. It was a mere two hours since he last used his watch and rested. I didn't like that short timeframe. Didn't like it in the least.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" His crossed arms and narrowed gaze told me he already knew why, and he didn't appreciate my concern.

"Like what?" I asked, attempting innocence.

"Like you pity me. Don't pity me, India."

"It's not pity, it's sympathy."

"Don't do that either."

I crossed my arms too and arched my brows. "What would you have me do, Matt? Not look at you? Not think about you? Well I can't."

One side of his mouth kicked up. "I'm glad you finally admitted it, but I wish it didn't come with a side of pity."

"Sympathy, not pity. And admitted what?"

"That you think about me." The corner of his mouth lifted too in a genuine smile. "I can even ignore the sympathetic looks if it means hearing that I do occupy your thoughts after all. I was beginning to wonder, since you're so adamant that you won't marry me. But now I can be a little more confident that you'll come around."

Heat rushed to my face despite my efforts to think cooling thoughts.

His smile widened. "You're even prettier when you blush."

"Matthew Glass, that's enough, thank you." I turned to the window, but it was futile. There was no avoiding one another in the close confines of the carriage.

"Why? Are you afraid of what else you'll reveal to me? Perhaps you might even tell me what silly notion is stopping you from accepting my proposal, since you claim it's not my health."

"How did I fall into this conversation?" I muttered to my reflection.

"You admitted that you couldn't stop looking at me or thinking about me."

"I'm quite sure that's not how it happened."

"Tell me, India." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Tell me what it is about me that you dislike in a husband."

"There's nothing. Everything. It's…complicated. I don't want to discuss it now."

"Afraid I'll change your mind?" There might have been a teasing layer to his voice, but underneath it was very serious. He was testing the waters, testing me, before he pressed too hard.

He was afraid of being rejected. Matt was as vulnerable as—well, as me.

The stunning realization hit me like a slap to the face. I hadn't expected the foundations of this confident, desirable man to shake, or that I was capable of shaking them. It should make me feel powerful, but it didn't. I felt utterly miserable.

After a few moments of staring at me, he leaned back in the seat. We didn't speak for the rest of the journey home.

The first words he spoke to me were to call me back as I headed up the staircase. He'd remained behind in the entrance hall to read the mail Bristow handed to him.

"There's a letter from my lawyer," Matt said, catching up to me to on the stairs. "It's regarding your cottage."

He handed me the letter and I read it through. "It's leased," I said. "That was fast."

"No point in waiting. So it seems you're stuck here now. I hope you can bear to be in the same house as me."

"I've managed so far."

He caught my hand. Being a step above him meant we were almost the same height, and looking him in the eye played havoc with my nerves. I couldn't quite catch my breath.

"Why are you being so cruel?" he murmured, searching my face.

I couldn't think of an answer, or of how to extricate myself without giving one. And I certainly did not want to give one.

Rescue came in the form of Miss Glass. "India!" she cried shrilly from the landing above. "India, I need you. Come at once."

Matt let my hand go only to lightly brush his fingers along mine. I could have easily moved off but didn't. "I will get my answer from you after I'm better," he said. "Yes?"

I nodded. "Just get better, Matt, and I will have any conversation you wish. Just please get better."