'I expected a greeting from a
Benedictine or Carthusian Friar!' Francis Hodgson embraced Byron on the icy
abbey steps.
Byron laughed, 'You must
know me well enough to understand that I could never adopt a celibate life.
Welcome to my gothic ruin.'
A second, younger man
gingerly ascended the slippery steps. 'Heavens, George, how on earth do you
manage these treacherous stairs?'
Byron held out his hand to him: 'Take
my arm, Will. To answer your question, I seldom venture out into the frozen
wastes. I prefer to cling to my fireside with a good bottle of claret.'
'Alone?'
William Harness shot his friend a quizzical glance.
'For
the most part, yes; however, I do have company on occasion.'
'Someone
to share your wine?'
Byron nodded as he showed
them indoors, 'My cellar, my larder and my home is yours, for the duration.'
They passed through the Great Hall and into the dining room. Byron indicated
Wolf who was snoring by the fire, his legs twitching slightly as he dreamt.
'You
see what an effective guard dog I have.'
Will laughed and patted
the sleeping animal. Byron poured large glasses of brandy for them.
'I
propose a toast,' Francis proclaimed as he raised his glass, 'to absent
friends.'
They gulped the brandy.
'And
a second toast!' Will Harness offered: 'To Harrow School, to Byron, and to
Cambridge, our seats of learning and licentiousness!'
Byron clinked his glass
against Will's: 'Amen to that!'
The three friends made
themselves comfortable in chairs around the hearth.
'Another
Christmas, George, another year gone,' Francis observed. Byron sighed, 'I will
be twenty-four in a few weeks' time, almost a quarter of a century.'
'Are
you a year wiser as well as a year older?' Will asked as he leaned closer to
him.
'We
all should be. Three wise men! I do not mind wisdom so much, but please
reassure me that you have not grown sensible?'
Francis Hodgson laughed.
'Hardly. I saw Scrope Davies the other day; we spent the whole night gambling.
I stumbled home to Picadilly at about two o'clock. He stayed on. The next day I
went to see him. It was after lunch, and he was still in bed. Would you believe
it, under his bed was a chamber pot - full to the brim -'
'With
banknotes!' Will finished the anecdote with a flourish.
Byron laughed heartily:
'Good God, I can believe it! Dear Scrope…'
'He's
had a winning streak lately.'
'I
hope to see him when I am next in London.'
'When
will that be, George?' Will smiled.
'I
shall be making my maiden speech in the House of Lords soon after my birthday.'
Francis gazed into the fire. 'What
shall be your subject?'
'I
am toying with the idea of the plight of the local stocking knitters. Men are
starving for lack of work. They are desperate. Someone has to speak up for
them.'
'Very
noble of you, George, standing up for the underdog,' Francis raised his glass.
...from 'Framed' the historical novel about
the Nottingham Luddites.
