When he had entered his own house for the first time in seven years, the night-footman had hurried to fetch Buxton.
He had jumped out of bed, dressed in a matter of a few minutes and his usual self-composure was unimpaired.
“I deeply regret, my Lord,” Buxton said, “that I was not here to welcome your Lordship, but, as you were so late, we were not expecting you until tomorrow.”
The Earl held out his hand.
“I am aware of that, Buxton. It is a long story, which you will doubtless hear a thousand times in the future, but I have just helped the Army to capture the Baker gang, who I understand have been hiding in the West wing.”
It was impossible not to tell Buxton a little more of the whole saga.
Then Buxton realised that the Earl must be hungry after having had no dinner so the chef was
