From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 36)

There are some who say that the quality of a gentleman may be known by his tailoring. I contest that the quality of a gentleman may be better known by both his shoes and his timepiece. There have been many occasions when I have needed to wear disguises, to become another persona, and one of the greatest difficulties lies in shoes.

A good shoe fits like a glove. It is made from a last (a wooden model of the shape of one’s own feet) which is regularly updated to reflect the wear and tear upon one’s feet in the course of life and duty. Well-made shoes should be made up of top-quality leather, robust and hard wearing, but supple enough to allow a certain degree of movement without creaking (essential when following or sneaking up on someone). Also, it must be easy enough to bring them to a prompt shine when required, to mingle with respectable people - or, at least, people presumed to be so.

It is hardly surprising then that, given my various duties, I have a veritable fleet of shoes. In fact, I do not believe I have ever been intimate with a women who has owned more shoes than I.  Of course, I cannot take them all with me wherever I go, so I must be sure as to the nature of my mission when I choose which ones to take. Nothing can spoil an outfit, or ruin a disguise, more than the wrong pair of shoes. More than once I have spotted a shiny pair of Oxfords on a supposed wharf rat, and realised he is an enemy agent (personally, I prefer brogues as they are casual enough to move between classes with only a spit of polish. Oxfords, on the other hand, are always worn by the upper set and cannot be downplayed). It is always the details that betray.

However, when it comes to shoes and betrayal, such things can be found closer to home than one might like. In most ways, Jack is the most obedient and loyal of creatures but, for some unknown reason, he has developed a taste for my shoes, and the most expensive ones at that (I am in two minds as to whether I should be impressed or not). He has a particular talent for seeking out those with hidden compartments in the heels, which he gnaws into with a will. Yesterday, I offered him a pair of boots I purchased from a rag and bone man, in an effort to show him there were more toothsome morsels than just the ones I wear upon my feet. These torn, ragged, wrecks of former footwear reeked enough that they horrified Griffin, who suggested politely, yet in the strongest terms, they were not brought into the kitchen, but that Jack might prefer to consume them in the outer hall.

Jack did not. In fact, he gave them no more than a small sniff, a lick of disgust and refused to engage with them again. Griffin swiftly removed them from the premises. At this point, all my shoes had been relocated to the top of various wardrobes and bookshelves. Jack is a medium-sized dog and while he has an impressive ability to leap, he is unable to get very high, try as he might (although, he surpassed himself on the occasion that he got to the brined ham - I had to give Griffin a brandy after that particular episode).

Thankfully, Jack’s interest in my shoes has waned slightly, or so I discovered when I went to my library to sit before the fire with an excellent brandy, and I found Jack curled up on the hearth, the merest wisp of sheepskin protruding from his jaws, which informed me as to the fate of my favourite pair of slippers.