Moreover, she had a suspicion Felix’s carriage would be awaiting her.
Felix.
Johanna’s heart lurched at the thought of him as she returned to her hotel room and secured the door behind her. Somehow, during the course of their luncheon yesterday, something had shifted between them. Their shared revelations of grief and loss had connected them in a deeper sense than mere attraction ever could.
She could no longer think of him as Winchelsea. He was far more than that to her now. But she must not think of him at all, for she had other matters to attend. Matters that made her heart pound and her palms go damp as she crossed the sumptuous carpet of the suite and made her way to the trunk she had left carefully locked and packed following her arrival.
The time had come to see to its contents.
Reaching into a hidden pocket in the lining of her valise, she plucked out a key. She dropped to her knees, fitted the small key into the lock, and opened it. Her hands shook as she removed the lock and opened the lid of the trunk.
The contents were as Drummond had promised: three biscuit boxes tucked into sawdust, a sealed brown packet lying atop both. Hands shaking, she retrieved the packet, then brushed the sawdust from it. She ought to have opened the trunk earlier, she knew, but she had been dreading this moment. Dreading the discovery she would make.
The certain knowledge that she had transported dynamite to England in her own personal trunk. If she were to be discovered in possession of such incriminating documents and materials, she would be arrested. She had no doubt. And Drummond had been quite clear on the potential repercussions.
She could still hear his voice warning her.
If you fail me, I will see you killed. Prison will be the least of your worries.
And though she was in London now, she knew the strength of his power was no different than it had been in New York City. His ability to harm her was every bit as real. He had Fenian followers stationed throughout England under various disguises. No one was truly safe from his wrath, including her.
His men knew where she was staying. They knew her name. She was meeting one of them at half past one, and he was certainly not Mrs. Harriet Wilson. The first order Drummond had given her was to deliver the packet of communications upon receipt of a note to meet at a predetermined location from Mrs. Wilson.
She closed the lid on the trunk, locked it, and carried the packet to the writing desk stationed by the window. He had also been adamant she was not to break the seal of the packet. But if she was ever going to free herself of him, she had no choice.
Johanna seated herself at the desk, staring down at the packet. When the offer from the Crown and Thorn had arrived, she had been so relieved at the prospect of life across the sea, far away from her brother’s influences. Until she had been forced to tell him she was leaving, and he had decided to use her travel plans as an opportunity to secret lignin dynamite and communications into England.
But she had not given up her dream of freeing herself from him.
Instead, she had formulated a plan of her own. It would not be easy. Indeed, it was terribly dangerous. If she managed to carry it out, however, she would finally be able to sever the ties that had been binding her to Drummond after a year of fear.
It all began now.
She picked up a letter opener and carefully used the thin edge of its silver blade to slice through the adhesive. Johanna held her breath as she went, praying she would not tear the paper. If she did, it would be instantly detected by the man she was to deliver the packet to.
Ever so slowly, the envelope opened, until she reached the final corner. One more slide of her opener, and it was done. She reached inside and extracted the papers contained within, careful to keep them in order. A cursory examination of them revealed a list of future targets, an ingredients list and instructions, addresses and names, and a letter.
Taken separately, they were not particularly damning. But along with the biscuit boxes cemented closed in the trunk, there was no doubt what she was looking at. On a deep breath, Johanna took out pen and paper, and then she began to painstakingly copy each document.
When she had completed her task, she returned the documents to the envelope and applied a new layer of glue, taking care to smooth out every crease. She returned the copies she had made to the locked trunk.
And only then did she breathe easier.
The first step of her plan was done, but there were many more to come. If she did everything right, she would be able to deliver the trunk and its contents to London police just before she left for Paris. Drummond would be arrested, and even if he incriminated her or revealed her true identity to the world, she would be safe from him forever. She could not live beneath his thumb, fearing his wrath, any longer. Even if her freedom came at the cost of losing everything she had built, it would be worth it.
But if she made one wrong move, her brother would have her killed.
Either way, she would be free.
From his vantagepoint in an unmarked carriage, Felix watched as Rose—strike that,Johanna—descended from a hired hack before the massive red brick building housing the Royal Aquarium. Though she wore a concealing hat and had dressed in rather nondescript fashion, he would recognize her anywhere.
When she had cried off rehearsals that morning, Theo had sent him a note.
And Felix was deuced thankful he had.
His meeting with Special League leaders and the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard had ended just in time for him to arrive at Johanna’s hotel as she left. Acting on instinct, he had followed her here, to the massive glass-topped building which, contrary to its name, housed a poor showing of fish. It was better known for its summer and winter gardens and a plethora of other entertainments which had little to do with the aquatic.
All in all, an excellent place to blend in with a crowd. Or perhaps to conduct a meeting with someone, unobserved in the milling throng of entertainment seekers. The knowledge made an edge of something decidedly like jealousy knife through him.
