‘I believe there is nothing I cannot do if I put my mind to it!’ Samuel exclaims, high on euphoria. ‘The age of science is upon us and we are at the vanguard.’ He leans forward, whispers in Edward’s ear, ‘And yet, are we not in our own way gods you and I, eh?’

It is a phrase that will play upon Edward’s mind in the days to come, words that will rack him to his core, keep him awake in the small hours until he is half-driven mad with it. For now, though, he simply shakes his head, a wry grin writ large upon his face.

‘Come, Meake, I need a drink!’ says Samuel. ‘For what is man if he cannot imbibe the finest of liquor after saving another’s life? Let us liquor up!’ He laughs to himself as he struts out, still in his blood-encrusted frock coat, footsteps muffled by the sawdust scattered thickly on the floor. He leaves the hubbub of the crowd behind, knowing full well that they know to find him at the Blood Bay.

Edward follows close behind, glancing back at the patient lying prone on the bloodied table. A more careful man, Edward would have gone for accuracy over speed, for success over showmanship. He would still be finishing up on the operating table even as Samuel delights in his first taste of beer in the tavern around the corner.

‘To friendship!’ Edward says as he raises his tankard to Samuel and towards the smoke-stained ceiling of the Blood Bay.

‘To success, Meake!’ says Samuel, as his ever-growing fan club of young medical men gather around him. ‘For any fool can have friends, but only the gifted obtain success!’ And with that, he downs his beer in one, slamming the empty tankard down on the curved wooden counter, calling noisily for more.

Edward watches Samuel in the small beerhouse, watches the clamour of others around him, bees to a honeypot, even as he is himself edged to the sidelines. A twinge of envy rattles through him as he leans against the brown matchboard walls in the corner of the room. He knows that he is not as charismatic as Samuel, not as natural a performer nor as tall or broad. Yet he comforts himself for a moment as he allows his thumb to feel the smooth, cold metal of the wedding band that his wife insists he wear. For Edward has something Samuel does not. Samuel may be the better known, the fastest, most flamboyant surgeon in all of England but when Samuel returns home, staggering drunk, to the cold sheets of an empty bed, Edward will return instead to the warmth of his own home and the arms of his dear wife, Annie.

She remains the only prize Edward has yet beaten Samuel to, but for now, at least, it is enough.