Abigail assembled her wings at the top of the north anchor of the Tower Bridge. Other than the Clock Tower, it was the tallest structure in London. She had considered the clock, but security was lighter on the bridge and the bride was marginally closer. When the wings were assembled, She donned a helmet and goggles and then attached the wing assembly. She pulled the levers experimentally and the wide wings flexed. She moved to the edge of the ledge and was instantly buffeted by the inshore breeze along the Thames. She smiled, pulled her goggles down and jumped off the ledge.
The first moments of free fall almost caused her to scream like Alice had. Then the wings caught the air and started to lift. She flexed the wings and began to climb. In a circling fashion, she climbed above the bridge and headed north west in a zig zag patter. Below her the streets of London and its sites passed under, dimly lit by the gas lamps of the streets and shops. The night was moonless and a bit cloudy. Once she was over Whitehall and Great Scotland Yard, she circled for a few moments, observing. Bored guards walking along the grounds would not be looking up and her dark clothes and the dark wing would be hard to see even if they were. Big Ben rang in a new hour and a shift change began. The new guards arrived and dispersed across the court. The old guard quickly headed indoors to escape the damp London night.
Abigail waited a few more minutes to let the new guard get settled and then began circling slowly down to the station and gaol. Beatrice had told her which building to land on. She came down fast and landed with and thump and a tumble twisting her ankle. A sharp pain shot up her leg. The wings came off her quickly. She lay on the ground, moaned a little and collected herself.
She cursed a bit. Landings were never easy. She had more than a few in her younger days, but they were nearly always in a field and she simply could roll in the grass. She took inventory of herself. The ankle moved but was pained. There were some cuts and scrapes elsewhere and she would have an ugly bruise on her shoulder. She could move but she was sore.
She pulled out her satchel and found the small vial and her syringe. She had included some medications in case Wynn was hurt. Now she would use the local anesthetic on herself. The shot burned viciously as it went in. She got up and walked back and forth a bit. The pain dulled and soon she could not feel her ankle or foot. Pain dealt with, she secured her wing apparatus and then found the package Beatrice had left for her.
DaVinci had a model for hang gliding so it is not too much of a stretch for Abigail to have one of her own. She imported the tubing which would be the heaviest portion. Getting the silk would be no problem. I have her landing on a roof. That would be tricky: too far and you fall off; not close enough and you crash into a wall. That she managed with only a twisted ankle is pretty amazing.