“Well, Mr. Polyphant, you should know best, and whatever it was no one feels for your mortification more than I do, for, as I said to Mr. Chollacombe, when the matter was being talked of in the Room, if I had been so careless as to let Mr. Vincent Darracott go down to dinner wearing a neckcloth that wasn’t perfectly fresh I could never have held up my head again.”
“When Mr. Claud Darracott left my hands, Mr. Crimplesham, that neckcloth was spotless!” declared Polyphant, pale with fury. “If Mr. Chollacombe says other, which I do not credit, being as only a perjured snake would utter those lying words—”
“What the devil are you doing in my quarters?” demanded the Major, bringing the altercation to an abrupt end.
This deep-voiced interruption was productive of a sudden transformation. The disputants turned quickly towards the door, guilt and dismay in their countenances, but only for an instant was the Major permitted a glimpse of these, or any other, emotions. Before he had advanced one step into the room, all trace of human passion had vanished, and he was confronted by two very correct gentlemen’s gentlemen, who received him with calm and dignity, and, after bowing in a manner that paid deference to his quality without diminishing their own consequence, deftly relieved him of his hat, his whip, and his gloves.
“If you will permit me, sir!” said Crimplesham, nipping the hat from the Major’s hand. “Having been informed that you have not brought your man with you, I ventured, sir, to give your boots a touch, young Wellow, though a painstaking lad, being but a rustic, and quite ignorant of the requirements of military gentlemen.”
“If you will permit me, sir!” said Polyphant, possessing himself of the whip and the gloves. “You will pardon the intrusion, sir, I trust, being as my master, Mr. Claud Darracott, desired me to offer my services to you.”
“I’m much obliged to you both, but I don’t need either of you,” said the Major, pleasantly, but in a tone that was unmistakeably dismissive.
There was nothing for his would-be attendants to do but to bow in acceptance of his decree, and leave the room. Crimplesham held the door, and made a polite gesture to his rival to precede him. Before he had time to consider what devilish stratagem might lie beneath the courtesy from one whose position in the hierarchy of the servants’ hall was superior to his own, Polyphant had tripped out of the room, bestowing on Crimplesham, as he passed him, a gracious bow, and a smile of such condescension as was calculated to arouse the bitterest passions in his breast.
But herein he showed himself to be of lesser calibre than Crimplesham, who returned his smile with one of quiet triumph, and gently closed the door on his heels.
“Shall I pull off your boots before I go, sir?” he asked, coming back into the centre of the room, and drawing forward a chair for the Major to sit in. “Wellow, I fancy, is laying out Mr. Richmond’s evening-dress, and you would hardly wish to make use of the jack.”
The Major, having, indeed, no desire to use the jack, submitted, wondering, as he watched Crimplesham take a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on, what was at the back of this very superior valet’s determination to wait on him.
Two circumstances had in fact combined to overcome Crimplesham’s regard for his own dignity: he had a score to pay off, and a nephew to establish suitably. Of these, the first operated the more powerfully upon him, but it was only the second which he disclosed to the Major. Whatever might be the differences between himself and his master, no living soul would ever learn from his lips that the smallest disharmony marred their relationship. To complain, as less lofty valets might, that his employer was exacting, impatient, often impossible to please, and always inconsiderate, would serve only to lower his own consequence. The truth was that he was frequently at silent loggerheads with Vincent, who neither tried nor wished to endear himself to his servants. When a suitable opportunity offered, Crimplesham had every intention of changing masters; but this was not a step to be taken lightly. Vacancies in the ranks of those who ministered to the leaders of high fashion occurred infrequently, and nothing could more fatally damage a valet’s reputation than to leave the service of a noted Corinthian for that of a kinder but less worthy master. Vincent was as thankless as he was exacting, but he did Crimplesham great credit, and through him Crimplesham was steadily acquiring the renown he craved. He had not yet attained the ultimate peak, when (he allowed himself to hope) aspirants to fashion would employ every sort of wile to lure him away from his master; but he was already well-known for his unequalled skill with a boot. The fantasies Vincent performed on his neckcloths sprang from his own genius, but the high gloss on his Hessians that excited the envy of his acquaintance he owed to Crimplesham, and not willingly would he part with him. Crimplesham was perfectly well aware of that, so when any serious affront was offered him he was able to punish Vincent without fear of dismissal. He was not in Vincent’s confidence, but he had no doubt at all that it would very much annoy him to learn that his cousin’s footwear had received treatment at the hands of his own expert.
“A beautiful pair, sir,” he said, tenderly setting them down. “Hoby, of course, as anyone that knows a boot can see at a glance. It quite goes to one’s heart to see them mishandled. Not that Wellow doesn’t do his best, according to his lights, but I fear he will never rise above Bayly’s Blacking.”
“What do you use?” enquired Hugo. “Champagne? Above my touch!”
“I have a recipe of my own, sir,” replied Crimplesham, putting him in his place. “The care of a gentleman’s boots is quite an Art, as I don’t doubt you are aware.” He picked up one of the stretchers and inserted it carefully into the boot. “You are, if I may be permitted to say it, sir, particular as to your boots. It occurs to me—but possibly you have made your arrangements already!”
For a surprised moment Hugo wondered whether Crimplesham was about to offer him his services, but in this he showed his ignorance of the world of ton: had he been the heir to a dukedom Crimplesham would not for an instant have contemplated an engagement so prejudicial to his career. Nothing that even the great Robinson, who had been Mr. Brummell’s valet, could do would avail to turn a man of the Major’s size and powerful build into a Tulip of Fashion.
“If you haven’t yet engaged a valet, sir, I venture to think that I might be able to put my hand on just such a one as might suit you,” Crimplesham said. “A nephew of my own, sir, whose name occurs to me because he has previously been employed by a military gentleman like yourself. A conscientious young man, sir, and one for whom I can vouch. Should you desire to interview him I should be happy to arrange it—without, of course, wishing to put myself forward unbecomingly.”
“I’ll think about it,” promised Hugo, adding, as a discreet knock sounded on the door: “Yes, come in!”
The door opened to admit Polyphant, profuse in apologies for intruding upon the Major, but imperfectly concealing the jubilation that filled his soul. Mr. Vincent had rung his bell three times, he explained, with spurious concern, and was now demanding to have Crimplesham sent instantly to his room. “So I ventured to inform him of it, sir, feeling sure you would pardon me. Very put out, Mr. Vincent is, though, of course, I explained to him that Crimplesham was assisting you with your toilet, sir!”
“Well, you’d better make haste and go to him,” Hugo advised Crimplesham. “You can tell him I kept you.”
“It will not be necessary sir,” replied Crimplesham calmly. He rose unhurriedly from his knees, and carried the top-boots over to the wall, setting them down very precisely. “You need not wait, Polyphant,” he said, to that gentleman’s speechless fury. “Since you have been so kind as to bring me Mr. Vincent’s message, perhaps you will inform him that I shall be with him directly.” He met Polyphant’s goggling stare with a faint, bland smile before nodding dismissal to him, and turning away.