Chapter VI

In Which Samuel arrives at Byron's door and finally has some breakfast.

Shortly after resolving his mind, Samuel stood before Byron's door. Spurred on by worry and desire to see a familiar, if not necessarily friendly, face, he had made the walk with exemplary speed, and, having knocked, prayed that Byron had decided to spend the night in his own bed. His knocking was soon answered in the form of a lanky young man who, while not a servant or the man Samuel had expected to see, was a welcome sight, nonetheless.

“Hobby, old chap!” cried Samuel, almost throwing himself into the other man's arms out of sheer relief.

“I say, Coleridge, this is a bit of do,” said John Cam Hobhouse, who stood carelessly in the doorway, raising his eyebrows at Samuel's disheveled state, and probably at the mere fact of his presence. “But you're very welcome all the same.” he continued. “His Lordship's God knows where, with God knows who, but I'd be happy to play the host on his behalf. In fact, I'd be honoured. Step inside, and I'll see if I can't scare you up a bit of breakfast.”

At these last words, Samuel's stomach rumbled gratefully and rather audibly. Hobhouse smiled.

“Come on in, then.” he said, and Samuel followed.

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The house was, as usual (or, rather, as Samuel suspected was as usual, having only been inside a handful of times), in a state of glorified chaos. Byron's perpetually complicated finances necessitated a bare minimum of staff, and, with the exception of his personal manservant, it was always in a state of flux. Having reached the bottle-strewn dining room, Hobhouse rummaged about in the sideboard and soon produced some cold meat, and a bit of bread.
“I'm afraid that's all there is” he said ruefully. “His Lordship sacked the cook yesterday. The reasons were unclear.” He looked pained. “Plenty to drink, though.”

Ravenous as he was, Samuel thought the breakfast looked very fine indeed, and he set to with some enthusiasm, while Hobhouse read the morning's paper. When he had finished, Hobhouse laid down his reading material, and regarded Samuel shrewdly.

“And now, perhaps” he said. “You'd like to tell me what this is all about?”

Samuel cleared his throat.

It was at this moment that Lord Byron himself decided to tumble through the door, trip, and land in a rather undignified heap at their feet.

“WHAT WHAT'S ABOUT?” he roared.

Hobhouse sighed.