The coverage of Mary Crawley's death was considerably smaller in New York than in England, but it didn't hurt any less for Mary to see her own name in such a story. Martha's contact Bates had been as good as his word, arranging a carriage accident that seemed to have caused the death of a young woman who was actually already a corpse, stolen from a local homeless gathering place. From there, he arranged for some prostitutes to identity the unfortunate girl as Mary, who'd been working alongside them, and bribed the morticians to hurriedly cremate the body before anyone took it into their head to investigate further.
"So that's it. We're committed to this plan."
Martha and Matthew had both been such comforting presences throughout this whole ordeal, and now they once again gave her exactly what she needed: no insipid remarks about how the story wasn't real and it needed to be done, just a pair of silent presences whose faces gave her such warm feelings and assured her that this was the right thing.
Still, one thing did still bother her. "I hate to think how Mama and Papa are taking this. I said from the start I didn't want them hurt."
Matthew nodded. "I know. But now that it's started, it'll be over that much sooner. And if it all works out, you can be together with them again."
Mary looked off wistfully. "But will they be able to forgive me for putting them through this?"
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Bates was quick to assure them that Anna was safe, and in the confusion of the mass escape no one was especially eager to go after such a comparatively minor offender. Still, she was being kept safe for now in a vacant flat until the search died down enough that they might be able to leave the country. In the meantime, Mary tried not to think about the harm those other escaped prisoners could cause. Matthew's idea was racking up guilt rather faster than she'd expected.
Martha was hard at work as well. Her husband had left her a considerable sum from his dry goods business when he passed, so she'd never felt much need to go after more money on her own. But that head for business hadn't rusted at all, and she quickly found herself remembering just how much fun the game could be. And being a woman gave her a distinct advantage, as none of the men she dealt with considered her much of a possible competitor until it was too late.
She'd found some land in Texas that was primed for oil drilling, and got in quickly on its stocks. The results were already promising, and while there wasn't nearly enough yet to finance everything Mary and Matthew had in mind, they certainly had time to wait.
It was some months after the prison break that a knock finally came at the door, and somehow Mary knew immediately what it must be. She raced to answer it, and swept Anna up in a huge embrace, both of them openly weeping. "I'm so sorry!" she murmured into Anna's shoulder. "This is all my fault."
Anna quickly pulled away, and looked Mary in the eye just as she had that fateful night. "Do I have to remind you that I told you to go without me? I've never once considered you to blame for anything since that night. And I'm quite eager to see the people who really are at fault." Mary was troubled by what she saw in those eyes. She remembered how strong they were the last time she'd seen them, but now something darker seemed to lay over them. Just what had this girl gone through during all those months?
She pushed the thought aside, as for now she needed to greet the man beside her former maid. "John Bates, I presume?"
The man smiled, and suddenly it was like looking at a whole new person, all the hardness of a man capable of everything he'd done for her melting away. He reached for her hand, but unlike Matthew he simply gave it a brisk shake, his palm badly callused. "I was your father's batman in South Africa." He held up a cane. "It was a dangerous place. And that kind of bond lasts forever. I'd do anything for him, and the rest of his family, at least the parts that can still be considered family."
By now Martha had caught up with them and quickly went to Anna. "Ah, lovely to see you, my dear. Now don't worry, the worst is behind you now."
That darkness came over Anna's eyes again. "It can't be. Not until I know they've paid for what they did."
Martha smiled at her. "We'll do everything we can to make that happen, you can be sure." But come in, I'm sure you must be tired."
As Anna was led away, Mary turned back to Bates. "You're certainly everything Martha promised us. I look forward to working together."
Bates bowed slightly. "I hope to do my part as best I can. But I'm afraid I can't stay; I have quite a few irons in the fire back home and in my business, you can't put trust in your assistants too long or they'll start wondering why they need you. I look forward to seeing you again once you're able to get to England. Farewell for now." He turned in his laborious way and went back out.
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Martha had insisted on treating Anna to a fancy dinner out, after she'd gone so long without such comforts as a good filling meal. "Besides, I'd say we all deserve a bit of celebrating right now."
Anna dithered over the menu, overwhelmed at suddenly having so many choices, and Martha ultimately insisted she have the most expensive item, the filet mignon. They kept to casual small talk, not wanting to risk getting anyone's attention in public, and Mary was almost able to believe she was back in her old life. Especially surprising was when Anna spoke about how much she'd enjoyed her time with Bates despite their stressful circumstances, and how oddly attractive she'd started to find him. Mary was glad of that and hoped it was as real as she thought, as she deserved some happiness in the middle of all this.
That ended when their food arrived, and Anna was given a steak knife. At the sight of it, a strange look came into her eye, like she was hungrier for the knife than the food. And as she cut into it, she closed her eyes and took on an expression that could almost be described as ecstasy. Mary was now more determined than ever to know just what the poor girl had gone through, and what kind of person it had turned her into.
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The news had arrived earlier in the week of the Titanic's sinking, and the nuns of St. Mary's had spent quite some time visiting the locals who had suffered bereavements from the ship. Sybil knew she should have sympathy for them, but all she could think about was her uncle James. The mother superior had gotten word that the high-class inhabitant of St. Mary's had suffered her own family loss, and had seemed truly broken-hearted to give the news. It still wasn't enough for Sybil to forget the treatment she'd suffered ever since coming here. Besides, all she could consider was that it was too bad his son hadn't taken the trip with him.
Still, it offered a chance to leave the convent's walls, and on that note she certainly wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She took pride that the nuns had yet to break her spirit, but the whippings and missed meals had taken a toll nonetheless. She suspected that being an upper-class Englishwoman in the Irish countryside also did little to endear her to them, and it was likely Patrick had picked this place specifically for that, the cruelty of the name just being a bonus.
"You're not like the others," came a strange voice as she watched some of them speak to the woman whose husband's funeral they were attending.
She turned and folded her arms. "Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?"
The man was good-looking, she supposed, though how much of that was from being starved for male company as long as she had was questionable. He replied, "I never could stand them, myself. So what are you doing with them?"
Sybil gave a rueful laugh. "It's a long and sad tale, and not one I especially feel like telling to someone I've just met. Sybil Crawley."
He kissed her hand, though with an exaggeration that she suspected meant he was mocking the custom. "Tom Branson. And seeing as you didn't bite my head off for that remark, can I assume you don't think too highly of the habited bunch either?" She simply smiled, and he went on, "Have you read Karl Marx?"
She shook her head. "He wasn't the most popular person among my family."
"With that posh accent, I should have known. So you're some rich girl slumming it with the likes of us to teach your family a lesson?"
Sybil's look suddenly sharpened. "Suddenly I think I may take offense."
Branson put his hands up defensively. "My mistake, I'm sorry. Anyway, Marx said religion was like opium, keeping people happy so they won't notice the state of the world around them. And I've never found much cause to doubt him in my life."
The man certainly was intriguing. "I regret not reading him, if he has many other such pearls of wisdom."
Branson grinned. "There's actually a whole group of us fans, you might say. We have a meeting tonight, and I think you'd enjoy it."
She laughed again. "Just one problem; I'll be stuck in the convent. I tried to sneak out a few times when I first got here, but they're like bloodhounds. I don't know how, but I never made it much past my room."
"Ah, but now you have a new advantage: me."
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Sybil finally had a reason to be thankful for having to go to bed so early, as it made her sure where she would be when Branson came to get her. She still wasn't sure just how he was planning to get through the building to her, but he assured her it was all under control.
And she found out just what he was talking about when a pounding noise sounded outside her window, and she looked out to see Branson climbing up a ladder towards her. Once he reached the top, she said, "Brilliant idea, if it wasn't for the bars on the windows."
"Oh, how you underestimate me." He took out a small bottle from a coat pocket. "One of the fellows in our group is a metalworker, and this is what he uses to etch designs into them. Now, stand back, you don't want this stuff to touch your skin."
The bottle's cap had a built-in eyedropper which he used to drip onto the bottoms of the bars, which soon let off smoke. "And what exactly am I supposed to tell the nuns in the morning?"
Branson looked up at her with surprise. "Oh, was I wrong about all this? You actually want to come back?"
"Well, no, of course not…"
"Ah, good. Then it's settled, you can stay with me after the meeting. I promise, you'll find me a perfect gentleman."
Sybil supposed she should be shocked by his forwardness, but after everything she'd been through, there was no way she was turning this down. Besides, she was starting to think he really was that attractive. "You know, I think I can safely say the cloistered life is not for me."
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They entered a small barn, where Sybil found her nose suddenly struggling to get used to a plethora of odors she'd gladly done without her whole life. Among the others present, Branson led her to a portly man with an impressive moustache. "Sybil, this is my brother Kieran."
The man didn't seem impressed. "So this is your English rose, eh Tom? Well, tell me, lassie, why should you care at all about our troubles with your own people?"
Sybil stared him down. "If you had the slightest idea what my sister and I have suffered from our own people, you wouldn't be asking that."
But that was all they had time for, as more people started talking and Sybil found herself swept up in the conversation. She was impressed to see there were about as many women around as men, all speaking on the same level. And while she was a bit shocked when the discussion turned to physically attacking places housing the area's English lords, the more the night went on, and the more she thought back over everything that had happened, she found the idea held quite an appeal.
After hearing everyone go around in circles for a while about just what the group's next step should be, Sybil spoke up. "I may have an idea…"
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Mary found herself examining her co-conspirator more and more these days. Her alliance with Matthew had started out as strictly a working relationship, but as they spent more time together refining their ideas and looking forward to the day when they could start to carry everything out, she realized she was actually falling for him. He was so easy to talk to, they shared so many interests, and of course there were his looks. She had never before given much thought to what her life might be like after they finished their revenge, but as luck would have it, an actual life with him would seem to be the perfect way to go.
Matthew's lip curled as he read the paper. "Have you heard about this mess in Ireland?"
Mary quickly headed over. "Some vague discussion at the market, but no one seemed to have any real idea what it was all about."
The article detailed a series of terrorist attacks against the homes of Englishmen living in Ireland, though there were no reported casualties, with the families apparently never being at home when their houses were bombed. After the cause had remained a mystery for a while, now the authorities had been sent a letter claiming to be from the perpetrator, which was reprinted in full.
We are the voice of the free people of the Republic of Ireland. We speak for those who are even now being ground under the boot of English tyranny, and those who have suffered under it for centuries. We cannot be stopped, for there is no greater need in the world than freedom. Our numbers are legion, and all around you. You can only end this by declaring Ireland a sovereign nation once again, and making worthwhile reparations for the countless atrocities committed against its people. Thus far we have used our kid gloves, but if you do not comply, you will soon see our whip.
Yours truly,
Queen Mab
Mary took a while to take the whole message in. "A bit overblown for my taste, but who are we to deny anyone else's right to take revenge?"
Matthew replied, "And Queen Mab, like the fairy from Shakespeare? What do you suppose that means?"
"Well, if these people actually are being led by a woman, bully for her. But more than that, it certainly makes the whole thing seem a bit larger than life. Edmond Dantes would appreciate that." She'd since read Matthew's favorite book herself, and agreed that it was one of the greats.
Mary continued thinking of the letter throughout the day. Whoever Queen Mab was, she certainly had seized on a way to make herself intimidating whatever her opponents might think of the fairer sex. Maybe Mary herself could learn from her example. The next day she borrowed a book of mythology from the library, and started looking through it to see if there were any other suitable names for her own endeavor.
