"Barbara Hambly - Benjamin January 1 - A Free Man of Color" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

He'd only been back in New Orleans for three months, but he knew all about Angelique Crozat. The free
colored in their pastel cottages along Rue des Ramparts and Rue Claiborne, the French in their
close-crowded town houses, and the Americans in their oak-shaded suburbs where the cane fields had
been—the slaves in their cramped outbuildings and attics—knew about Angelique Crozat. Knew about
the temper tantrums in the cathedral, and that she'd spit on a priest at Lenten confession last year. Knew
about the five hundred dollars' worth of pink silk gown she'd ripped from bosom to hem in a quarrel with
her dressmaker, and the bracelet of diamonds she'd flung out a carriage window into the gutter during a
fight with a lover. Knew about the sparkle of her conversation, like bright acid that left burned holes and
scars in the reputations of everyone whose name crossed her lips, and the way men watched her when
she passed along the streets.

"I must see her," repeated Madame Trepagier levelly, and there was a thread of steel in her voice. "I
must"

The door opened behind them. Madeleine Trepagier's eyes widened in shock as she stepped around
Froissart's desk, as far from January as the tiny chamber would permit. January's mind leaped to the
soi-disant Cardinal Richelieu, and he turned, wondering what the hell he would do in the event of another
assault—in the event that someone guessed that Madame Trepagier was white, alone here with him, to
say nothing of the woman she was seeking.

But it was only Hannibal Sefton, slightly drunk as usual, a wreath of flowers and several strings of
iridescent glass Carnival beads looped around his neck. "Ball starts at eight." His grin was crooked under
a graying mustache, and with alcohol the lilt of the well-bred Anglo-Irish gentry was stronger than usual in
his speech. "Like as not Froissart'll fire your ass."

"Like as not Froissart knows what he can do with my ass," retorted January, but he knew he'd have to
go. He'd been a performer too long not to begin on time, not only for the sake of his own reputation but
for those of the other men who'd play in the ensemble. Managers and masters of ceremonies rarely asked
who was at fault if the orchestra was late.

He turned back to Madame Trepagier. "Leave now," he said, and met the same quiet steeliness in her
eyes that he had seen there as a child.

"I can't," she said. "I beg you, don't betray me, but this is something I must do."

He glanced back at Hannibal, standing in the doorway, his treasured fiddle in hand, and then back at the
woman before him. "I can leave," offered Hannibal helpfully, "but Froissart'll be down here in a minute."
"No," said January, "it's all right."

Madeleine Trepagier's face was still set, scared but calm, like a soldier facing battle. She'd never survive,
he thought. Not if La Crozat guessed her identity ....

"Listen," he said. "I'll find Angelique and set up a meeting between you at my mother's house, all right? I'll
send you a note tomorrow."

She closed her eyes, and some of the tension left her shoulders and neck; she put out a hand to the
corner of the desk to steady herself. She too, realized January, had heard everything there was to hear
about Angelique Crozat. A deep breath, then a nod. Another black cock feather floated free, like a slow
flake of raven snow.