CHAPTER ONE
1903“Would you care to take a look at your post, sir?”
Travis, the elderly butler, asked, as he brought in a silver pot of steaming coffee to the breakfast table at No. 13 Lanchberry Close, Mayfair.
“There is rather a lot of it,” he added.
Young Richard Stanfield sighed as he thought of the mountain of unopened envelopes on the hall table of the elegant town house in Mayfair where he had grown up.
Of course there would be very many letters as he had been away in South America for nearly three months following the death of his dear father, Sir Julius Stanfield, and with no one at the house to open them, the envelopes would just pile up.
Travis was still hovering by the table, his white whiskers drooping rather sadly.
He was probably missing Sir Julius, whom he had served
