The eyes of all those present stay on Etta, Natalya clutched tightly to her, mesmerised as the impossible becomes possible. They watch her, this woman with wings, this strange wonder, as she rises up in the sky above the chimneys of Leadenhall, far above the highest buildings in all the capital, until she disappears into the clouds, swallowed up by the night sky.

THE MORNING EXPRESS, Tuesday 27 October 1840

DESTRUCTIVE FIRE.- Between nine and ten o’clock on Sunday night, a fire broke out in the residence of acclaimed surgeon Edward Meake of St Mary Axe, Leadenhall. In a few minutes after the discovery of the fire, the engine and men from the City station arrived followed by the West of England engine and a half-dozen others belonging to the brigade and, being plentifully supplied with water, played with such effect upon the burning mass as to confine it to the individual house in which the fire originated but not before the whole of the residence was destroyed. By midnight, all fears of further danger were at an end. A large body of the police under Mr Superintendent Randall Hawkins, newly installed in the role from the western board of the United States, were on the spot during the raging of the fire and rendered efficient service in keeping back the populace and in assisting the firemen in their operations. We are moved to report that the surgeon Mr Meake, of St Luke’s Hospital, appears to have perished in the fire although no accident befell any other individual. Mr Meake was due today to have presented his recent scientific findings at Exeter Hall on the Strand. An inquest will take place at the Rising Sun on Thursday afternoon and a service to mark Mr Meake’s contribution to medical science will be held at St George’s, Bloomsbury this Friday. He is survived by his widow.

When Edward’s father is told of his last remaining son’s death, his face remains immobile, held in place by the muscles that – much like Edward for so many years – no longer obey his command. When he is left alone, after his wife leaves him, sobbing into her handkerchief as she closes the bedroom door behind her, a single tear rolls down his cheek, falls onto the pillowcase where it blots like ink on paper.