The clock in the servant’s hallway chimed six. Havers bent down and picked up the middle of the three highly-polished, black pair of brogues lined up against the wood panelled wall. His eyes lingered on the pair to the right. Mr Birks’ shoes. As Head Butler, Birks’ shoes were a more ornate than Havers’. The stitched-patterning extended around the side of the shoe, whereas Havers’ shoes only had decoration above the toes. In this world, everything reflected one’s position.
“Morning, Mr Havers. Not a problem with your shoes, is there? I worked hard on cleaning those, I did.”