He went off to pack Vidal’s cloak-bag, and was much scandalized to discover that he was not to accompany his master. When he ventured on an expostulation he was asked roundly whether he imagined my lord was unable to dress himself. Being a polite person he disclaimed, but this was precisely what he did think. He had a vision, horrible to a gentleman’s gentleman, of my lord’s cravat ill-tied, his hair uncurled, his dress carelessly arranged; and when Vidal flung the pounce-box, the haresfoot, and the rouge-pot out of the cloak-bag, he was moved to beg his lordship to consider his feelings.
Vidal gave a short bark of laughter. “What the devil have your feelings to do with it?” he demanded. “Put up a change of clothing, and my razors, and my night-gear.”
Mr. Timms was ordinarily a timid creature, but where his profession was concerned he became possessed of great daring. He said firmly: “My lord, it’s well known that it’s me who has the dressing of your lordship. I have my pride, my lord, and to have you travelling amongst all these Frenchies, a disgrace to me, as you will, my lord, begging your pardon — oh, it’s enough to make a man cut his throat, sir!”
Vidal, in his shirt sleeves, was pulling on his top-boots. He glanced up, not unamused, and said bluntly: “If you want a master you can dress like a painted puppet, you’d best leave my service, Timms. I’ll never be a credit to you.”
“My lord,” said Mr. Timms, “if I may take leave to say so, there’s not a gentleman in London, no, nor in Paris either, that can be a greater credit to his valet than what your lordship can be.”
“You flatter me,” said Vidal, picking up his waistcoat.
“No, my lord. I was three years with Sir Jasper Trelawney, who was thought to be a fine beau in his day. The clothes we had! Ah, that was a gentleman as was an artist. But the shoulders to his coats had to be padded so that it fair broke one’s heart, and when it came to him wearing three patches on his face I had to leave him, because I’d my reputation to think of, like any other man.”
“Good God!” said Vidal. “I trust my shoulders don’t offend your sensibilities, Timms?”
“If I may take the liberty of saying so, my lord, I have seldom seen a finer pair. Whatever else may sometimes be amiss, our coats set so that it is a pleasure to see them done justice to.” He assisted his lordship to struggle into one as he spoke, and smoothed the cloth with a loving hand. “When I was with Lord Devenish, sir,” he said reminiscently, “we had to assist his lordship’s legs a little with sawdust in the stocking. But even so they were never what one likes to see in a gentleman of fashion. Everything else about his lordship was as it should be; I believe I never saw a neater waist, and at that time, my lord, coats were worn very tight at the waist with whaleboned skirts. But below the knee his lordship fell off sadly. It took away from one’s pride in dressing him, and sawdust, though helpful, is not like good muscle.”
“I can imagine nothing more unlike,” said Vidal, who was eyeing him in open astonishment. “You seem to have been hard put to it with your previous masters.”