He narrowed his eyes. “It’s none of your business, lady.”
“You don’t need to be so rude,” she said. “All I did was ask a polite question.”
The hint of a sneer darkened Liam Malone’s face. “Blackstones aren’t polite. You stand on the throat of the working people so you can slurp up ill-gotten gains.” He glanced at the sapphire on her hand. “That pretty blue rock on your finger could choke a horse. How many children went hungry so you could walk around with that vulgar ring?”
“That’s enough,” Frederick warned. “You are to treat my granddaughter with respect.”
“I’d respect her a lot more if she yanked that ring off her finger and dropped it in the nearest collection basket for the poor.”
“This is my wedding ring,” she defended, cradling it against her chest.
“And within a city block of this courthouse there are hungry kids without shoes.” He bellowed the charge so loudly that it echoed down the marble corridors of the courthouse. “You think you’re above criticism because you’re a woman? My mother has burns on her hands from working in a glass factory. The girls in my town drop out of school at twelve to work in the mills. What have you ever done? In your entire life, what have you ever accomplished to earn that rock on your finger?”
Anger gathered and grew brighter. She didn’t deserve this narrow-minded man’s insults and impulsively tugged the ring off and thrust it at him. “Here! It’s yours. Do what you like with it.”
He blinked, staring at her without making any move to take the ring. Onlookers had gathered, and it felt hot and airless in here, but she couldn’t back down. Reporters watched with curious eyes as Liam continued to glare at her without moving.
“Go ahead, take it,” she prompted. “Sell it and give the money to an orphanage. And while you’re at it, sell that union pin on your lapel. You don’t get to issue challenges like that without giving up something of your own.”
He kept his eyes locked on hers as emotions flashed across his face. He opened and closed his mouth as though uncertain how to answer her, but he soon found his voice.
“You probably like masquerading as Lady Bountiful, especially since there are a bunch of reporters here to witness it,” he said. “One can always expect the Blackstones to paint themselves with a saintly brush. I’m surprised you weren’t wearing a halo in the courtroom.”
He grabbed the ring and shoved it in his pocket, then smirked at her before disappearing into the crowd heading out the door.
Every impulse urged her to run after him and get her ring back. What a vile man. She’d hire someone to watch him and see what he did with her ring. She’d let him sell it, but if a penny of the proceeds went into his own pocket instead of helping the poor, she’d trumpet the news and knock him off his self-righteous pedestal.
“He’s not one of us,” Frederick said in a low voice beside her. “He looks like Theodore, but that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Hush,” she whispered, because reporters were still watching, but she and Edwin traded worried glances. It was impossible to know what sort of person Willy would have become if he grew up in the warped, shady custody of the Malones.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Edwin said, and Gwen nodded, even though in her heart she knew Frederick was probably right. Her father had doted on Willy, and she didn’t want to believe the cheerful boy he described could turn into that hostile, smirking man.
Patrick emerged from the courtroom riding a wave of exhilaration. Mick’s book would proceed to publication, and today’s ruling would make it hard for the Blackstones to come after them again.
It took a while to finalize paperwork in the judge’s chambers, but he practically danced on air as he left the courthouse. Mick and Ruby had commandeered the pub across the street to celebrate, and he headed over to join them. By the time Patrick arrived, the taps were flowing and Mick stood atop the bar, preaching to the rowdy crowd as he recounted his glory in the courtroom.
Patrick didn’t care. Mick Malone and his drunken ramblings were no longer his concern, and he scanned the room, searching for somewhere he could relax with a mug of his own. The tables near the back were mostly empty except for Liam Malone, looking angry and sullen. Unlike the others, who mingled with foamy mugs of beer and sloppy grins on their faces, Liam sat alone, arms folded across his chest as he moodily watched Mick spout forth.
Patrick wended through the crowd and sat on the scarred wooden bench beside Liam. With their backs against the wall, they had a good view of the entire pub, with its brass railings and sawdust covering the old wooden floorboards.
“Not in the mood to celebrate?” Patrick asked.
Liam kept glowering at Mick but finally turned to look at Patrick. “You’re a lawyer. You probably know a lot about money and stuff, right?”
Plenty. The church had trained him in finance and corporate law in hope of someday using him as a lawyer for the archdiocese of the church. He was curious what had made Liam so moody.
“I know about money and stuff,” he confirmed. “What do you need to know?”
Liam scrounged in his pocket and came out with a ring. He held it beneath the table so no one else could see it. “Do you know where I can fence this?”
Patrick’s eyes widened. “That looks like the ring Mrs. Kellerman always wears.”
“It’s her wedding ring,” Liam said. “Where can I sell it for the best price?”
Patrick stood, careful to give nothing away as he lazily moved to stand in front of Liam. The first thing a good boxer learned was not to telegraph his upcoming moves to an opponent. He turned and, with lightning-fast speed, grabbed Liam by the collar, hoisted him up, then slammed him against the back wall.
“And how did you come into possession of Mrs. Kellerman’s wedding ring?” He kept his voice low and soft, which was usually more threatening than shouting.
