A Free Man of Color - Barbara Hambly [30]
January hoped this man Shaw had the wits to set a guard in the Théâtre’s lobby as well as in the court and at the doors from the gaming rooms to the Rue Orléans outside.
Augustus Mayerling was one of those who remained, arms folded, at the rear of the group. His students, perforce, stood their ground as well, unwilling to have it said of them that they fled while their master remained, although a number of them didn’t look happy about it.
“This is ridiculous,” declared Ivanhoe. “You overstep your authority, young man.”
“Well, maybe I do,” agreed Shaw and absentmindedly scratched his chest under his coat. “But if’n you was to be murdered, Mr. Destrehan, I’m sure you’d like to know that the police was keepin’ all suspects and witnesses in the same buildin’ until they could be asked about it.”
“Not if it meant all but accusing my friends of the deed!” The Knight of the Oak scowled darkly under his helmet’s slatted visor at this offhandedly correct deduction of his identity. “Not if it meant needlessly impugning their reputations, running the risk of exposing their names to the newspapers—”
“Now, who said a thing about newspapers?”
“Don’t be a fool, man,” snapped Bouille, who from his well-publicized quarrel with Granger over the past few months had reason to know all about newspapers. He seemed to have either drunk himself to the point where he didn’t care about the risk to his reputation, or more probably simply had no concept that his reputation could be at risk. “Of course the newspapers will get any list you make. And publish it.”
“Froissart,” ordered a truly awful Leatherstocking, “send one of your people to the police station and get Captain Tremouille and let us end this comedy.”
“ ’Fraid the captain’s off this evenin’,” said Shaw.
“He’ll be at the LaFrennière ball,” said Peralta quietly. He turned back to Shaw, the gaslight glittering on the lace at his throat and wrists. “I understand your position, Lieutenant, but surely you must understand ours. There are men here who cannot afford to have their names dragged through the American newspapers, which, you must admit, display very little discretion in their choice of either subject matter or terms of expression. If you cannot take our information without demanding our names, I fear we must stand on our rights as the leading citizens of this town and refuse you our assistance.”
Under a narrow brow and a hanging forelock of grimy hair, Shaw’s pale eyes glinted. He spat again and said nothing.
Quietly, January said, “Lieutenant?” He wasn’t sure how the man would take a suggestion from a colored, but every second the impasse lasted increased the chance of someone finding a good reason to forget the whole matter. The man at least seemed to be willing to investigate a plaçée’s death, which was something.
Shaw considered him for a moment, lashless gray eyes enigmatic under a brow like an outlaw horse’s, then walked to where he stood.
Very softly January said, “The women will know who’s who. Have a man in the room take down color and kind of costume when these men give their testimonies masked and match up the descriptions with the women later.”
Shaw studied him for a moment, then said, “You’re the fella found the body.”
January nodded, then remembered to lower his eyes and say, “Yes, sir.”
“Froissart tells me you kept him talkin’ and kept the place from bein’ blockaded.”
January felt his face heat with anger at the master of ceremonies’ casual shifting of criminal blame. He forced calm into his voice. “That wasn’t the way it happened, but I can’t prove that. He was going