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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“There are only two guards,” Maud said, once we were all in the carriage, pulling a notepad and pen from her pocket. She drew a rough plan of the area and marked where the sentries would be on guard. “Unfortunately they look like they know what they’re doing.”

“Anyone you recognize?” Izzy asked.

Maud shook her head. “Never seen them before.”

“We’ll need to incapacitate this one nearer the front at least,” Sylla said, tapping the paper. “That way Izzy can get past and pick the lock on the side door here. Any chance we’ll be able to pull a distraction on the other?”

Maud tipped her head to one side, considering. “A bit of flirtation might work. If not, I’ll … help him into unconsciousness.” She winked at me.

“We can’t risk running a distraction with the man closest to the front,” Sylla said, her brisk tones those of a commander utterly focused on her plans. “Not with Izzy so exposed. He needs to be taken out at once. As quietly as possible.”

“I can handle that,” Mrs Finch said calmly. “Maud, make sure you empty the man’s pockets. Better if we can make it look like they were the target of a simple robbery.”

Maud nodded in agreement as Mrs Finch continued.

“I’ve told Sara to stop here,” she said, referencing the silent woman in a dark coat who drove the carriage we currently occupied. She gestured on the plan to a short, dead-end road one building over from the warehouse that we were focused on. “You three get into position here. Once I have my man incapacitated, I’ll signal, then stand guard. Izzy can pick the lock, and Sylla and Felicity will enter the building with her.”

Izzy turned to me, her face serious. “You must follow every instruction you are given,” she said. “This is no game, Felicity, it could be dangerous. If Sylla or I tell you to go, then you start running and you don’t look back. Do you understand?”

I nodded, swallowing hard against the sudden knot of fear rising in my throat. I wondered if the four other women were as calm as they looked.

“If you don’t hear from us in fifteen minutes, assume we’ve been compromised,” Sylla said to Mrs Finch.

The carriage came to a wavering, silent stop. Mrs Finch met my eye and nodded, and I was sure I caught a twinkle of excitement. But then the door opened and we all melted out into the darkness. I kept my eyes on Sylla, following close behind her in the direction that had been agreed.

At some signal from Izzy, Sylla came to a stop, and so did I, heart pounding. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, trying to blend into the shadows thrown down by the buildings looming over us. It was the early hours of the morning, so the place was deserted. The area we were in was one that housed several warehouses and factories, larger buildings, utilitarian and unloved. Here, near the docks, we were far from the glamour and elegance of the London that I knew. The warehouse that Laing had purchased, the one we were breaking into, was an older building that showed signs of serious neglect. Several of the windows were boarded up, and I could see no sign of light or movement inside.

We stood, still and silent, for what felt like hours, before there was a sound in the darkness. The soft, repetitive twitter of a goldfinch.

“Let’s go,” Izzy whispered, and I realized Mrs Finch had done her job.

We approached the side door to the building and Izzy let out a low whistle. “You don’t put this kind of lock on a building like this one unless you’re hiding something big.”

“Can you pick it?” I asked.

Beside me, Sylla snorted and Izzy smiled. “Don’t worry about that.”

Izzy turned her attention to the lock, and the sound of another bird call reached my ears. Sylla’s head snapped up.

“Sounds like Maud’s flirting didn’t work,” she said. “That’s two men who’ll be waking with a serious headache.”

With an audible click, the lock gave beneath Izzy’s clever fingers, and she pushed the door open.

Sylla smirked. “Slow.”

“I’d like to see you do it faster,” Izzy huffed, before giving a reluctant smile. “But, yes, it was slow for me. I’m out of practice.”

“Duchesses don’t get much time for lockpicking,” I said comfortingly.

“This duchess will have to.” Izzy pushed her shoulders back. “Right, are we ready? Maud said there was no sign of men being posted inside, but we should be prepared.”

In response, Sylla pulled a small pearl-handled pistol from her pocket. “It may be tiny,” she said, “but looks can be deceiving. It’ll do plenty of damage.”

“Do I get one of those?” I asked.

Sylla looked down her nose at me. “As you’d be more likely to shoot yourself in the foot, or one of us, it would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I happen to be an excellent shot,” I returned. “Max taught me to handle a gun at a worryingly young age. Mother was outraged. I have excellent reflexes too.”

Izzy nodded. “It’s true,” she said. “I’ve seen her hit a target from fifty yards.”

“In that case, take it.” Sylla sighed, handing me the gun. “Goodness knows your hand-to-hand combat skills are abysmal.”

“Hey!” I protested. “Maud said I showed great improvement.”

“A polite way of saying abysmal .”

“We should hurry,” Izzy said, glancing over her shoulder.

Without any further conversation, the three of us crept through the open door. My eyes had grown used to the darkness outside, but it still took me a moment to get my bearings. There were no lights burning inside the vast space of the warehouse.

Izzy pulled a couple of stubby wax candles from her pocket and Sylla lit them with a match. The pool of light they cast was small and dim, but I still worried that it would be noticeable from the outside if it was seen moving around. On the other hand, we could hardly do much investigating in the dark. It was a risk we’d have to take.

The warehouse was a mostly empty cavernous space, with a high ceiling and a shallow platform running round the top half of the building. I could see bulky piles arranged to the side, as though objects had been simply heaped into corners – bits of old factory equipment, I thought. There were several large crates stacked against one wall.

“We’re not getting inside those without a crowbar,” Sylla murmured.

“One of them is open,” Izzy whispered from the corner. “It’s like Maud said, it’s full of scientific equipment.”

I made my way over to where she was standing and peered inside the box, spying several glass beakers used in the distillation process. “Nothing specific,” I said. “Just a lot of glass.”

“There’s some sort of workstation in here.” Sylla’s voice came from further inside the dank space.

We followed the sound of her voice until we caught up with her. She stood next to a long wooden table, her hand cupped round the weak flame of her candle.

“Get the flame back,” I snapped, my voice loud in the quiet space. Chemicals were laid out in dishes on the table.

Turning her back so the lick of fire was nowhere near, Sylla hissed out a slow breath.

“Explosives?” she whispered.

“Stay back but hold the candles up,” I instructed as I approached the workstation, tucking the pistol into the pocket of my coat. There was a flask of clear liquid over an unlit Bunsen burner, a shallow saucer full of white powder. Carefully, I picked up the dish and examined it before replacing it softly where I found it. I turned my attention to the liquid. Tilting the glass carafe to the side, I recognized the oily texture and fought to keep my tone level as I gently rested it back above the burner.

“I’m fairly sure this is nitro-glycerine,” I said, gesturing to the liquid. I leaned over, so that I could more closely examine the stoppered bottles of chemicals that were lined up neatly to one side. “Mercury, nitric acid, ethanol,” I murmured, turning my eyes to the white powder. “Oh, God, it’s mercury fulminate.”

“Not all of us speak whatever language that is,” Sylla said tensely.

“Look for copper,” I said, turning to face them. “And whatever you do, don’t come near this stuff again with those candles.”

“There’s some copper piping over here,” Izzy called. I made my way over to where she was standing, Sylla on my heels.

“It’s for the percussion caps,” I said weakly.

“Again, Felicity, not all of us live with our noses in science books. Tell us what’s going on.” Sylla’s hard tone cut through my growing fear.

“They’re making dynamite,” I said, my voice steady now. “A lot of it.”

“Are you sure?” Sylla asked.

“Fairly sure,” I said. “They’re formulating the different parts; they just haven’t been put together yet. Was dynamite used in the bombs sent to the Aviary?”

“Yes.” Izzy nodded, the candle she held throwing harsh shadows across her face. “We need to move,” she said, pulling a watch out of her pocket, holding it close to her eyes. “We’re almost at fifteen minutes.”

“Do one last quick look around,” Sylla said. “Felicity, you stay with me.”

Sylla and I moved back over to the stacked crates, looking for any that were open, or any writing on the boxes themselves that might offer some clue about what was inside.

“There are some papers here,” I whispered, finding a few loose sheets on top of one of the stacks. Sylla came towards me and held the candle close enough that we could read.

“It’s in French,” I said.

“‘ Let us occupy ourselves with chemistry and set about making bombs, dynamite and other explosives ,’” Sylla translated aloud before I could do so. “‘ These are more powerful than guns and barricades as a way of leading to the destruction of the state… Courage, comrades, and Long Live Anarchy! ’”

“Anarchists,” I said with a shiver. “Like the Greenwich Observatory park bombing?” The bungled bombing, which had ended in the death of the bomber himself, had taken place only six years ago, and was still spoken of in hushed tones, the source of many unanswered questions. Those answers had been lost with the man who’d died, but one thing that was clear was the fact the bomb had been intended for many more victims.

Izzy reappeared at my side. “We have to go,” she said, and Sylla slipped the paper she was holding into her pocket.

“Did you find anything else?” I asked Izzy as we made our way back to the door.

She shook her head. “There are some bolts of fabric piled up, but I think those were left over from when the warehouse was last in use. Strange, though – they’re very good quality.”

Sylla hesitated on the threshold of the doorway, scanning the surrounding scene, then deciding the coast was clear, she tugged me out after her. Behind us, Izzy closed the door, re-engaging the lock. The guards would awaken and tell how they’d been attacked, but if there was no sign of entry to the warehouse, it would hopefully be accepted as the sort of ruthless robbery common in this part of town.

Or Laing might know exactly who had been here tonight.

By the time the three of us reached the carriage, Mrs Finch and Maud were already there. We bundled inside, and Mrs Finch tapped on the roof. We moved off once more, and I looked around at the other women, before bursting into a wave of laughter, tinged with hysteria.

“I can’t believe we did that!” I said, flexing my cold hands, feeling them prickle with pins and needles.

“Nothing like getting away clean to make you feel invincible,” Maud said.

“Did you have any trouble with the guards?” Sylla asked.

“None at all,” Mrs Finch said serenely, not a hair out of place. She looked as though she were returning from an afternoon tea party.

“Mine didn’t seem interested in flirting with me.” Maud examined her fingernails. “But he let his guard down enough to make it easy to knock him out. And maybe I know why we didn’t recognize him – he had an accent. French.”

“Interesting,” Sylla said, and she filled the others in on what we had uncovered in the warehouse.

“Laing is working with the anarchists?” Maud frowned. “He hasn’t shown any leanings in that direction before. Not as far as we know.”

“If what Izzy suspects is true and Laing is a killer for hire, then it’s more likely that he has been employed by the anarchists to help them carry out some scheme,” Mrs Finch mused. “Presumably a bombing.”

“On a large scale, if what we saw was any indication,” I said, feeling a chill creep into my bones again. It had been easy for a moment, to forget the severity of the situation we were in, but this scheme had the potential to hurt a huge number of people.

“We’ll talk it all over when we get to the Aviary,” Mrs Finch said. “It seems it’s time to increase our efforts where Edward Laing is concerned.”