His Last Fire by Alix Nathan

about his great collection. I am familiar with most of it.’
    There were no more than six patients. Although Foart’s income was less with so few, his rates were high, five guineas a week. A small number meant a greater chance of cure. Meals were regular, cooked well. Inmates were clean, dressed by nine o’clock; at all meals sat together, conversed rationally.
    Edward wouldn’t leave his room, wouldn’t eat until I persuaded him that appearance of conformity might release him sooner. I went with him to breakfast in a pale green dining-room, its painted panels hung with engravings of mob-capped beauties; large, brown oils of anonymous ancestors. Dr Foart sat at the head of a polished table with plentiful silverware, covered dishes. I stood opposite Edward and wrote down this conversation soon after.
    â€˜Mr Gage, we are not quite a full house. But, let me introduce you to James Hadfield, soldier and latterly silversmith; Richard Broughton, preacher, yes, a famous preacher.’
    He indicated next an old lady in archaic clothing. Tiny, concentrating on her plate. ‘Miss Addison, daughter of the famed writer and editor. And we yet await Mrs Bewdley. Edward Gage has a fine collection, I am told. Mr Sanders is with him temporarily.’
    Edward acknowledged each barely. Hadfield groaned, put his hand to his head, began to push back his chair. Scarred across the eye, down one cheek, his expression was fearsome.
    â€˜Don’t go, Mr Hadfield,’ Foart said. ‘He has suffered great wounds in the war, you know.’
    â€˜Three hours in a ditch. Left for dead. Fought for King and Country. Fifteenth Light Dragoons.’ I saw the regimental buttons on his waistcoat.
    â€˜It cannot be done,’ said Broughton, a smooth man, alight as if addressing an adoring crowd. ‘You cannot serve two masters, Hadfield.’ Hadfield sat down, groaned again.
    â€˜You cannot serve the King and the Lord God.’ Broughton turned to Edward. ‘That’s why I left the Royal Navy, Mr Gage. I was a lieutenant. They paid me off handsomely. Left me to do my work here in Babylon.’
    â€˜Prisoner of the French,’ Hadfield ground his teeth. ‘Persecuted. But I have not yet been sufficiently tried. I know what I have yet to endure.’
    â€˜The angel never mentioned you to me, Hadfield. In that whole long and lovely address for which I was chosen, I never heard mention of your name. Not once.’
    â€˜I have received a divine commission.’
    â€˜ I have received a divine commission.’
    â€˜Gentlemen!’ Foart said, looking up from his dish of kidneys.
    â€˜A h!’ Broughton suddenly exclaimed. ‘It is she!’ A woman of thirty entered the room, fashionably dressed, her gown gathered under the bosom, hair in the natural style. Smiling, steadying herself on the back of Edward’s chair, she sat next to him.
    Broughton continued: ‘I have been expecting you, heavenly lady! You have brought me love, happiness, riches! Descended from the clouds!’
    Hadfield growled. ‘Said that yesterday, Broughton.’
    Mrs Bewdley took pieces of buttered toast, giggled.
    â€˜Mr Broughton, look through the window. It is a sunny day, the sky is cloudless. I have descended from my room by the staircase. Dr Foart, I am sorry to be late once more. The time I need to take the drops!’ She murmured to Edward. ‘Four hundred drops of laudanum a day you know. There now, what do you think of that? But the time it takes to get it all down!’ She smiled at him with the beauty of complete joy.
    â€˜We shall reduce that number, Mrs Bewdley,’ said Foart, looking hastily at me. ‘Management not medicine.’
    â€˜Oh no, I don’t think so, Doctor. Do you?’ Edward didn’t answer.
    â€˜If you are not she, then I shall heal you, dear lady. For the Fall will come. It will come. It has only been postponed for a while. And I hear it. At