Strange Star Read Online Free Page A

won’t stand back and let her die, not when there’s a chance I can help her, Percy. Don’t you recall what we witnessed in Somerset?’
    Mr Shelley flinched as if she’d slapped him. Miss Clairmont, who’d been surprisingly quiet until now, gave a low, dreadful moan.
    ‘My nerves cannot bear it,’ Lord Byron said, clutching his forehead. It was unclear to whom or what he referred, but the playful glint in his eye had now most definitely gone.
    The whole mood of the room had changed. It was like someone had opened a window and let in the cold; Felix felt the chill of it seeping into his bones. He should do something, he decided. Bring more wine. More firewood and candles.
    Then Mrs Shelley spoke.
    ‘You’ll know Percy and I lost our baby girl last year,’ she said, looking at each of them in turn. ‘As I grieved, I dreamed I brought her back to life by rubbing her before a fire.’
    ‘No, Mary.’ Mr Shelley tried to take her arm. She turned away.
    ‘At least let me try,’ she said. Her eyes, reflecting the firelight, were full of little, dancing flames. She looked capable of almost anything.
    ‘It won’t work, Mary,’ Mr Shelley said. ‘You’re not a scientist. And even if you were …’ he trailed off dismally.
    Just last night they’d spoken of science as a glorious, brilliant thing. Experiments had been done on executed murderers who somehow – in some way – had been revived, or at least made to twitch. More research was needed, of course, but wasn’t it exciting? Who knew where all this might lead?
    And yet a wave of panic came over Felix, like he was speeding downhill in a runaway carriage.
    You couldn’t really bring a person back to life. Could you?
    No, he thought, of course you couldn’t.
    Mrs Shelley had started rubbing the dead girl’s back. Felix shuddered. There was no pleasure in watching, no terrible thrill, but he looked on with agruesome fascination. In another part of the room, Miss Clairmont was crying again. She demanded to be taken back to their villa. Lord Byron and Mr Shelley argued over who would accompany her: it seemed both wanted an excuse to leave.
    Between the dead girl’s shoulder blades, Mrs Shelley’s hand kept moving. Felix wanted someone to tell her to stop. Though he didn’t think anyone could or would. And it made him afraid.
    He was aware of the parlour door swishing open. Swishing shut. Lord Byron’s voice grew fainter; the others, Felix realised, had gone. His gaze didn’t shift from Mrs Shelley’s hand. Round and round it went. On and on and on.
    There was sweat on Mrs Shelley’s forehead. Her rubbing wasn’t gentle – the tendons in her wrist stood out like cords. That poor girl might have been dough beneath her fist.
    And yet, despite himself, he began to feel the smallest tingle of hope.
    What if it worked? What if it was actually possible to bring a dead person back to life? Felix stared hard at that hand. As if staring alone would do the trick.
    Breathe, he urged the dead girl, breathe!

4
    It didn’t work.
    The girl’s body stayed lifeless. Finally, Mrs Shelley sat back exhausted. The only noise was the crackle of the fire and outside, the storm grumbling around the mountains. Through the windows lightning flickered blue, then white. Heavy with despair, Felix tried to rouse himself to fetch brandy for the shock, a sheet to cover the body. But he’d fallen into a sort of trance.
    How mad to think a dead girl could be brought back to life! What on earth were those scientists thinking of, making people hope like that, making Mrs Shelley believe? For a moment there, he’d almost fallen for it himself.
    ‘Let’s lay her on the chaise longue,’ Mrs Shelley said.
    ‘Yes, Mrs Shelley.’
    ‘For heaven’s sake stop calling me Mrs Shelley!’
    Felix blinked. But he was the servant – he always called her by her proper title.
    ‘Don’t look so put out,’ she muttered. ‘Percy and I are not married. So really I’m Miss Godwin. Mary