“I know the hair’s different but I think that’s Webb’s bloody valet at the lodging house.” Miles stabbed a finger. “Whether the two are in cahoots, I don’t know, but… Chambers pretended not to know me, acted the prissy manservant and took nigh four crowns off me, but hemustknow me from the dragoons because I got his officer Webb court martialled.”
Lynch shoved his greatcoat back on. “Best get to George Street then.”
The maid openedthe door to the gentlemen’s lodgings and having tipped her a shilling, Miles stormed up the stairs, two treads at a time, Lynch and Dempster at his heels.
The door to the attic apartment was ajar so without ado, Miles thrust it open.
Dusk was descending but there was enough light through the small window to view a minuscule parlour that lay empty butfor dirtied cups, chipped plates, coats strewn over chairs and the stench of damp stockings.
“Faugh,” mumbled Lynch. “Worse than a privy tent in summer.”
A muttering could be heard from another room, so Miles followed the sound, came to the open door of an exceedingly untidy bedchamber.
One lit tallow lantern revealed jackets and shirts on the floor, a ripped waistcoat draped over the wardrobe door, cravats strewn hither-thither whilst the dressing mirror had been shattered.
And standing with his back to them was Webb, muttering as he refolded shirts on the bed.
“Webb?”
The man spun, mouth falling open. “You! W-what are you doing here? What do you want?” And his eyes shifted to and fro.
“I want to know about your valet.”
“That litt…” He swallowed. “What about him? He’s just the v-valet to this place.”
“I don’t think so,” Miles snapped. “He was also your orderly in the dragoons.”
Webb blinked, once, thrice, his throat bobbing. Perhaps because Lynch and Dempster now flanked Miles’ shoulders.
“I-I don’t know anything.”
“If he’s the valet,” growled Lynch, “why are yer folding shirts? Eh?”
His eye twitched. “Cluny has a…a bit of a temper w-when he doesn’t get his way.”
“And?”
“I-I can’t…”
Lynch cracked his knuckles. “Want me to make him talk, C’tain? After selling our blankets, it’d be a pleasure.”
All resistance seemed to leach from Webb and like a puppet let loose of its master’s strings, he collapsed onto the bed. “It wasn’t me selling the damn blankets or bayonets.”
“I saw you.”
“Yes, but…” He covered his face with his hands. “It’s Chambers. It’s always Chambers, or Cluny as he calls himself here. He was behind it all. I-I thought I’d got rid of him in London but he found me. Always finds me. Turned up here as valet. He likes to-to…play games with people. Makes sport of me. Takes all my money.”
“How so?”
“B-blackmails me. Knows things about me that my family…” He gulped.
Miles thought he’d get to the point. “So is he blackmailing you to kill me?”
“What?” Webb’s head shot up. “Hell, no! What do you mean kill you? I loathed you back then, Firth, and still do for the court martial, what it meant to Father, but…” He shook his head. “I loathed the army more, was glad to be out in the end.” He blinked. “I-I couldn’t kill anyone.”
Miles nodded. Could quite believe him but…
“What happened here? Why the mess? Where’s Cluny? Or Martin Chambers, I should say.”
