Free Outcasts by Sarah Stegall Page B

clapped her hands. Shelley smiled absently, replaced the fire tongs, and bowed to Byron.
    â€œThank you, Shelley. You have saved my life. I was perishing of damp,” Byron said.
    Shelley nodded absently, his eye having been caught by a new book lying on the mantel.
    Polidori bowed to Mary and Claire, and said to Byron, “I am told there is no meat at dinner tonight.”
    â€œWith three guests at my table who abjure it, it would be an unfriendly act to offer it,” Byron said. “And you know I eat it only rarely myself.”
    â€œIt is most unwise of your lordship. You have favored me with the guardianship of your health. I must insist—”
    â€œNo, you must not insist. I beg of you, no arguments tonight, Polly. The thunder alone is enough to induce the headache.”
    Fletcher appeared at the door and bowed. “My lord.”
    â€œIt appears dinner has been laid,” Byron said jovially. “Naturally, since you have just got the fire going so splendidly, we willleave this room and dine in a colder one. Shall we?”
    Claire laughed. “Oh, let us be mad, and eat in here. Can the table not be moved into this room, and dinner laid?”
    â€œRather unusual,” Polidori said stiffly. “But if it means there will be meat—”
    â€œMost unusual,” Shelley said, laughing. “Rather, let us eat on the terrace!”
    â€œIn the rain?” Claire said, eyes dancing.
    â€œIf we eat on the terrace, half of Geneva will take to the water to watch the most notorious Englishmen on the continent eat beets,” Byron said. “No, we shall be only slightly unconventional tonight. Come.”
    Shelley helped Mary to rise, but carried the mantel book in one hand. Claire clung to Byron’s arm, glowing, a half-smile on her face. Polidori followed, alone and aloof.
    â€œYou will appreciate this, Shelley, my democratic friend,” Byron said as he led the way into the dining room. “Behold, a Table Round, suitable for an Arthur or a Lancelot.”
    And indeed, the heavy rectangular table of yesterday had been replaced by a round one, now bearing soup tureens, platters and a central candelabra.
    â€œBut where shall we sit?” Claire said. “Where do you sit if there is no head of the table?”
    Byron strode to a high backed chair and flung out an arm dramatically. “Sit where you like. This is an exercise in democracy, no, anarchy. Call it an expression of utilitarian principle!”
    With a quick, light laugh, Claire said, “Wherever you sit, Albé, I shall sit at your right hand.”
    â€œWhat, so conventional?” Byron cried. “No, no. In this brave new world of social anarchy, I must have my philosophical guide at my right hand. Shelley, if you will.” Byron indicated a chair facing the window. Fletcher nodded to a footman, who stepped forward and pulled out the chair. Shelley bowed but stepped to hand Mary into the chair to Byron’s left. Only then did he allow himself to be seated. Fletcher held the chair for his master. This left Polidori and Claire standing rather awkwardly, until Claireput her hand on the chair next to Shelley.
    Polidori sprang forward to pull it out for her. “Allow me, Miss Clairmont.”
    â€œThank you.” Looking troubled, Claire sat and Polidori adjusted her chair. He then took the one next to her, sending a fulminating look at his employer.
    Byron, so far from noticing, was staring at Shelley. “You have brought a book to my table, sir?”
    Shelley glanced down. “Yes. I found this copy of Coleridge above your fireplace.
Christabel; Kubla Khan: A Vision; The Pains of Sleep
. Leigh Hunt has given it a good review, you know.”
    â€œAh, yes,” Byron said lightly. “Murray, the publisher, sent it to me in the post recently. It is only out since May. Most intriguing.”
    â€œWe must have a reading after dinner,” Mary said politely. She wished