“Knock it off, Patrick. We both have bigger things to worry about.”
He bowed his head, then sent her a grateful look. “You’re quite a woman, Mrs. K. I’ll confess, I didn’t expect you to be so nice.”
“Why not?” She stepped up beside him and curled her hands around the cold metal railing.
He shrugged. “I was rough on you folks in the courtroom today. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve never thought much about the real people living behind the imposing Blackstone name.” His face darkened, and he straightened, digging around in his pocket.
“Here,” he said a little gruffly. “I think this is yours.”
Lamplight glinted on her sapphire wedding ring, and she could scarcely believe her eyes. “Where did you get that?”
“Maybe you saw a tough bloke in the courtroom today. Dark hair, angry scowl, split eyebrow?”
“I know who you’re talking about.”
“He said you gave him the ring. True?”
“True.”
“Why did you do it?”
She took the ring back and slipped it onto her finger. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.
The strange man had triggered ominous emotions, and she couldn’t let him walk away while unanswered questions clawed at her. Giving him the ring had been an impulsive move to learn more about him.
He had passed the test. That didn’t mean he might be her missing brother. In all likelihood, it was the stress of the past week causing her imagination to run wild.
Her gaze strayed over the lane. Laundry lines cluttered the space between the buildings, and discarded crates were stacked behind the pub across the street. There were probably worse neighborhoods, but this was the grittiest she’d ever been in, and she hugged her arms around herself. She didn’t like it here.
One of the research assistants stuck his head through the window opening. “The carriage driver wants to head back to the college. Are you going with him?”
“I’m coming,” she said, then glanced back at Patrick, sending him a brief nod of farewell before climbing back through the window.
She thought about him the entire carriage ride back to campus. The past few hours had torn down the barrier between them, and he didn’t feel like an enemy anymore. He felt like a powerfully attractive man, and that was even more dangerous.
14
Gwen worried about Patrick and his mother throughout the following day, even though one of the research assistants had telephoned to report that Mrs. O’Neill was doing well.
It wasn’t enough for her. Late in the afternoon, she returned to Patrick’s apartment, drawn as if by a lodestone and needing to know more about how both O’Neills fared. She brought Lorenzo because the Five Points was a frightening place and looked even worse in the daylight. Its streets were a chaotic tangle of shouting vendors, honking horns, and barking dogs. Her carriage lurched over potholes, and the cramped, tightly packed buildings felt oppressive. The building where Patrick lived was clean, but the walls were dingy from smoke stains and so thin that the noise from outside leaked in.
She knocked on Patrick’s door, and Hiram answered. “How is Mrs. O’Neill?” she asked.
“Holding her own,” the research assistant said, stepping aside to let her and Lorenzo enter. “She’s sleeping, and so is Patrick.”
The front room looked like a tornado had blown through, with bedding, dirty dishes, and remnants of lunch littering the space. Gwen instinctively began tidying up. It was hard, since there was no running water in the apartment, but she folded the bedding and stacked the dishes. Dr. Haas helped and provided her with a full report about Mrs. O’Neill’s progress.
There was almost nothing left in the apartment to eat. She’d seen dozens of vendor carts on the street below, hawking sausages, kippers, boiled ham, and catfish pie. None of it sounded appetizing, but she sent Lorenzo down to buy enough for everyone’s dinner. She eyed the dirty dishes but wasn’t sure how to wash them without a sink.
“There’s a pump down the hall,” Hiram said. “I’ll go fill a pitcher.” Before he could leave, an abrupt banging on the door startled them both.
“O’Neill, you in there?” a gruff voice demanded.
Gwen hurried to the door so the obnoxious knocking wouldn’t wake Patrick or his mother.
“Hush!” she scolded the gangly old man on the other side of the door. “There’s a sick woman in this apartment, and that rude pounding is entirely unnecessary.”
“Rude pounding?” the man repeated. “I’ll give you a rude pounding if you don’t tell me where O’Neill is. He missed our appointment this morning, and I’m his most important client.”
