“Darius Shaw,” he said, deciding not to embellish his name further.
“Is your father the Marquess of Strenshall?” the clerk inquired sweetly.
“He is.” Damnation.
Mr. Fielding sat up, leaned his elbows on the slab of highly polished oak before him and lifted his head. “The brother of the gentleman who came before me accused of murder?”
Why he had to harp on about it Darius did not know. “The same. However, this is mine and mine alone. I object to your ruffians holding me against my will. My coat is completely ruined, and I’ve had no sleep at all.” He let his voice move to the plaintive.
“You were discovered in a house of ill-repute last night. A house of such illegal and shocking reputation that I would wish it gone from the face of the earth.”
“You have your wish, sir. I was merely enjoying the entertainment.”
“Is that what you call it?” Mr. Fielding’s voice rose to a dull roar. “It is a scar on this city. It has no place in any jurisdiction of mine.”
Idly, Darius wondered if High Holborn was actually part of Mr. Fielding’s remit. But since a Runner had attended the raid last night, he presumed he had some say over the proceedings. “They promised me singing and dancing. And good wine. They lied about the wine. It was vile stuff. I had decided to move on to another more promising establishment when all hell broke loose. Your men could have retained a little civilized behavior.”
“And what were you doing in that dreadful place?”
“I told you. Being entertained.”
After an impressive pause, Mr. Fielding continued, “There are rumors about you, Lord Darius.”
“Considering my family, that does not surprise me. The weak will always vent their spite on their betters.”
“Do you habitually think of yourself as better than others? Are not all men equal under God?”
Darius sighed. “Truly, sir, I find the hour too early for theological discussion. As for better, do you not consider anyone who spews bile over their fellow man as inferior? I was merely amusing myself after a particularly tiring and tedious evening performing my family duty by squiring my younger sister to an entertainment. That is all.”
Mr. Fielding addressed the clerk. “In what state was he found?”
Darius heaved another sigh but said nothing. Graham gave him a warning glance, but Darius merely raised a brow in return.
“Fully dressed, sir, in the main room, watching a lewd performance on a makeshift stage,” the clerk said, reading from his notes.
Fielding slashed a line in the book open before him. Interesting how he held his finger over the precise point to guide him. “I am tired of this. Sir, I do not wish to see you in my court again. You mock the due process of the law.” He gave a dismissive wave. “You may go.”
The job was done. Someone had seen and marked Darius’s presence at the inn last night. This would identify him in the public record. At least Andrew Graham had not opened his mouth. Had his presence here made a difference?
“Obliged to you, sir.”
Without further ado, Darius climbed down from the box, making way for the next unfortunate. Without deigning to take notice of anyone, he strode from the court, his feet rapping on the stone flags.
The jailer sniffed as he passed, but he didn’t stop Darius leaving, Andrew Graham hard on his heels.
They did not speak until they had gained the open air.
Darius tipped his head back and drew a deep breath. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it fresh air—London air could never truthfully bear that name—but at least it was untainted by mold, dead rats, unwashed humanity, and bodily waste. Mostly, at any rate.
Smoke curled over the city. Autumn was creeping into winter, and even a city set in a valley felt the cold at this time of year. Darius welcomed the pinch of approaching winter.
“If you feel unwell, do not dismiss it. Find a doctor.” Graham’s words drew Darius back to reality.
He glanced at the man by his side. What an odd thing to say. “Why would I do that?”
“Jail fever.”
The terse words brought a chill of recognition to Darius. He had not thought of it before, but jail fever killed many people every year. A particularly severe bout could spread, via the courtroom, through the city. “I will.”
He didn’t even add a touch of his customary sarcasm to the words. He would not trifle with such a deadly illness. “Nobody in there seemed particularly unwell. The usual wens and warts, presumably, though I did not get close enough to notice.” He scratched the back of his neck. “However, I fear a bath is in my immediate future.” Even though he had not used the bed, fleas could jump.
“I would appreciate a private word with you, my lord.”
The formal title gave Darius a moment of humor. “Call me Darius. Or Shaw, but I prefer my first name.”
“Why is that?”
“Shaw could describe a number of people. Darius is mine alone.”
“An emperor’s name.”
Darius gave a short laugh. “Not a particularly distinguished one. I am grateful I wasn’t saddled with a more illustrious title. I have cousins named Nicephorus and Julius Caesar. I consider myself lucky in that respect. However, the names mark us out.”
He was a member of a powerful extended family unit, bound by their outlandish names and their loyalty to each other.
“Indeed they do. You did not inform the jailer of your identity, although your clothes also, as you said, mark you out. However, you could have been any rich wastrel. Someone wanted to point you out.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know.” Graham’s eyes gained a faraway look. “They could have released you last night. You were fully dressed, doing nothing wrong as far as they knew. Except visiting such a place. But in the season, many young men visit places they should not. Is there something you are doing that would elicit interest?”
“No.” Darius shrugged. Nothing he was at liberty to tell this man, at any rate. “I should not have attended that place straight after a ball last night. I should have gone home and changed.” He twitched the brocade into place. “Perhaps this was a little too flamboyant even for a molly house.”
Graham turned to him, facing him directly, ignoring a pair of chairmen who had to step into the road to carry their sedan chair past them. Their curses were particularly fine. Darius memorized them for future use.
He gazed into Graham’s eyes, forcing him to return to the here and now. He didn’t find the task particularly onerous. “You have beautiful eyes.”
He only became aware that he’d said the words aloud when Graham froze. “I am not particularly interested in your aesthetic sense, sir.”