Countering once more, Miles watched as Webb’s cravat bobbed with his rapid swallows. “It will take but a moment.”
Webb’s head swung back and forth, eyes darting like a greyhound after a rabbit. “Can’t… In a rush.” And he abruptly swerved to head for the stairs.
“Another time then?” called Miles.
Webb halted, twisted, hands swiping on his breeches.
“Not a h-hell’s chance,” he finally stuttered. “T-thanks to you,Firth, I’m ruined. My family keep me on such a t-tight leash, I can’t wipe my arse without them knowing of it, let alone…” He slammed his lips shut before twisting back to rush down the stairs, boots clattering on the treads.
Well, he certainly bore a grudg–
“Sir! Sir! You’ve forgotten your…” A pale man with black hair and spectacles appeared at the door of the apartment, a square of green cotton flapping in the air. “Handkerchief,” he finished rather limply.
“I’m afraid he’s left,” said Miles.
“Oh, and this matched the enamel of his tie pin so perfectly.” The pale man sighed and peered up, the spectacles magnifying his eyes to lumps of coal. “I expect Brummel’s valet is not treated thus.”
“I expect not. How many gentlemen do you serve here?”
“Seven in all. Two per floor but for the attics where there is only Mr Webb. Though I’m not sure I can last much longer. Been here eight months, four weeks and two days and for what? Tidying strewn clothes. Cleaning muddied boots. No one here cares that I can tie a barrel cravat knot so tight it would still look immaculate after a duel.” A sob caught him and Miles handed over his own white handkerchief. “Oh, so starched! Look at the folds. Your valet must be a craftsman, Sir.” And he smothered his face with it.
Miles winced but reached into his pocket to produce a half-crown. “I don’t suppose you could answer some questions about Webb.”
Spectacles peeked over the handkerchief. “I must protest, Sir! The honour of a valet is above reproach or any form of inducement.”
With a sigh, Miles produced a crown as well.
“Although I’m sure a respectable gentleman such as yourself has good reason.” And the crowns were pocketed with swift rapacity. “Ever so pleased to make your acquaintance. The name’s Cluny.”
“Well, Cluny, does your Webb have any visitors?”
“Only his mother. A rather…” The valet cricked his neck. “Officious lady. She never tips Kitty the maid and she called me little.”
“Hmm. Letters?”
He sniffed. “Some invitations to lower-class events.”
“Do you know his clubs? Anywhere he favours?”
“Only the usual, Sir. He’s a member of Boodles, Fanlows and that gambling establishment on Pall Mall.”
“The Prince’s?”
Another sniff. “Our beloved Regent is the only Prince of London. Not that…imposter.”
“I wouldn’t tell him that face-to-face, if I were you.”
His pale features paled further. “You know him?”
“Not as such. Anything else you can tell me? There’s another crown in it for you.”
“Oh no, Sir, I couldn’t possibly…”
Miles held out a palm.
The valet pursed his lips. “Well, put like that…” The crown was pocketed. “Mr Webb does have one odd appointment on rather irregular days, Sir. But always departs his rooms exactly on the chime of the quarter to nine evening bell. And he never takes a hackney but…walks. I’ve made known an imperative of theGentleman’s Codethat feet should never be used unless noalternative but… Well, the response was quite vulgar. And quite unnecessary.”
Miles hid a smile. “I thank you for the information.” And withdrew a card from his inner breast pocket. “I don’t suppose you could…send word when he next prepares to attend this appointment.”
