I'm so glad this fic has already gotten such a good response! I know that even though it's a STEAMM fic we haven't any of Matthew, Tom or Sir Anthony yet, we definitely will soon – this chapter, in fact, will be a treat for you Edith x Anthony shippers! So stay tuned, and as always, every little review is appreciated.
Chapter Two – Laying Low
It was every woman for herself once the train arrived at Berlin. All three Crawley sisters separated as soon as they stepped onto the platform, keeping far apart from each other as they passed through the station. Their individual taxicabs went to separate hotels. If one of them was compromised, it was safer for the other two if they weren't close by. Not that Mary felt there'd be much danger regarding Richard Grey, but they had to be careful just in case.
Mary didn't even know where her sisters would be staying as she rode towards her own hotel, the Hotel Adlon. If one of them wanted to leave Berlin and go elsewhere, she could – she just had to let the others know when and where. The only time all three of them could really be together was while they were doing a job, and that really wasn't the best time to have some sisterly bonding.
The sky was darkening quickly as Mary went up to her room and unpacked her bag, putting everything into the bureau or the closet. She had the feeling she might be staying for a while. Here in Berlin she could lie low, wait for another job offer to come around. She could afford to wait around here – the advance payment along with her own savings would support her for a few weeks.
She stashed the machine case under the bed as though she could forget about it there, but she was unable to shake the guilt at having failed an important job. The corporation that had hired them to infiltrate Richard Grey's mind – Foyle Industries – wasn't going to like the fact that they had failed. Mary was already at odds (to put it lightly) with Tony Foyle, the head of that corporation, and she could only imagine that he'd fly off the handle at hearing she had failed. Her email to him, which took a great deal of courage to actually send, consisted only of three words.
Failed job. Sorry.
As soon as the email was sent she closed her laptop and stuffed it in her bag, hoping she could forget about it for a few days. She turned out most of the lights and climbed into the large bed that was obviously meant for two, thinking that she could at least try to get a bit of normal sleep, even though she wasn't tired at all.
She kept the lamp on the bedside table on for just a minute more as she picked up the stuffed dog that she carried everywhere with her and attempted to make it stand: it flopped back down as soon as her fingertips separated from the frayed fabric body.
Relieved, she turned out the light and pulled the covers over her head. Sleep didn't come for a long time, and she tossed and turned on the stiff, unfamiliar sheets, burying her face in the pillows that were either too flaccid or too firm. After such a long time of lodging in various hotels and apartments she always thought she'd be able to sleep in any sort of bed. But tonight she was more uneasy than usual, more tense after today's outstanding failure.
When she did finally get to sleep, it was an uneasy rest, despite the absence of dreams.
In the morning, a few minutes before seven, she woke to the subdued ping of her phone. She picked it up to see a text message from Edith:
Waiting for flight to NY. Don't try and stop me.
Then, another ping and a second message appeared below the first one:
You screwed up.
Mary groaned and buried her head back into the sagging pillow. It wasn't enough that she was berating herself for it, Edith just had to remind her. Did she not realize that she was feeling guilty for having messed up?
Edith probably didn't think that Mary was capable of having a bad conscience, but that was because Mary knew better than to show it. She didn't want to make things seem like the end of the world (even though now it felt worse than news of the apocalypse); if she did, her sisters would lose hope that things would turn out okay.
You're supposed to be the big sister, Mary often told herself. You're supposed to be in charge. You're supposed to keep it together.
As long as Sybil didn't leave her, though, then she wouldn't be completely on her own. Edith was a real help in the more difficult jobs, but they could manage (just barely) without her. If Sybil left her, on the other hand, Mary wouldn't be able to accomplish extractions from even the most simple-minded people. Extraction wasn't meant to be done solo, and a point man (or point woman, in Sybil's case) was a necessary asset to the team. She did the research for a job and made sure that every element was in place for an extraction. And more recently, she designed the dreams – she wasn't trained as a real architect, so there were always numerous flaws, but they functioned well. Most of the time. But despite the minor weak points, Sybil was the glue that held everything together, and Mary couldn't think of anyone she had worked better with.
Except for—
Just to be sure, Mary texted Sybil:
Are you still in Berlin?
Sybil did not reply immediately. Mary got out of bed and went to splash water on her face, realizing then that a shower would do her a real service. While she was phoning for room service to deliver breakfast, Sybil's reply came:
Yes. Do you want to meet someplace?
Mary didn't know if it would be safe to take the risk of being seen together. She hadn't heard back from Foyle Industries, so however badly Tony Foyle had reacted to her failure she wasn't sure. If he was in the mood to, he could trace them and have them arrested, detained, questioned about their involvement with their semi-legal business. They would prioritize capturing Mary – she was the extractor, the head of the team, the most valuable person – but they wouldn't let Sybil get off scot-free if they could help it.
Probably not safe yet. Edith's going to NYC. Don't leave without telling me where you're going.
Even so, Mary was sure that Sybil wouldn't leave Berlin immediately as Edith had. Sybil wasn't the type of person to abandon the people who needed her, even when she was angry with them. She was afraid that Sybil did indeed hold some resentment towards Mary for failing the Merton Banking job: she had done everything she was supposed to, and Mary wouldn't dare blame her own mistakes on Sybil. But Sybil could be counted on to stay by her side – she rarely let her emotions get the better of her.
Sybil didn't respond back, and Mary figured that she had taken her last message as the end of the conversation. Until she was absolutely certain that Foyle Industries wouldn't hunt them down, they shouldn't risk having any more contact. She turned off her phone and shut it in the beside table drawer.
It was going to be a very dull, yet very tense holiday in Berlin, she knew. No contact with her family, stuck in a city she didn't know, and all the while looking over her shoulder to see if someone in a suit was waiting to grab her and haul her off to Tony Foyle.
How long could anyone possibly go on for like this?
For Edith, it seemed that things were finally taking a turn for the better at the airport.
She had left her hotel at six in the morning and taken a taxi to Berlin Tegel. She was able to catch the first flight out to LaGuardia, leaving at 8:15, and somehow managed to snag the last available business-class seat. Still furious at Mary, she had sent her short and bitter texts while waiting at the gate. Hopefully Foyle Industries wouldn't try to chase her down in New York City – they weren't as powerful in the States as they were in Europe. Even better, Edith thought, maybe Mary would finally get smart and not bother trying to convince her not to help her with one more job with another seedy company.
The failure of the Merton Banking extraction was the last straw for Edith. She had let Mary drag her along to every corner of the world, giving her the most tedious tasks, and forcing her into lucid dreams which, quite frankly, scared her. The world of the dream was strange and the projections in them often unpredictable. The only reason she never had outright panic attacks was that she was constantly reminding herself that it was only a dream – if she died, she'd wake up back in the real world.
Edith always assured herself that, if a job was successful, than it was worth doing the menial tasks like keeping the dreamers asleep and minding any angry projections. But in the past few jobs Mary had endangered them more than was necessary, and her most recent failure finally forced Edith to realize that it wasn't worth being part of the team anymore if they were going to involve themselves with dangerous corporations. She had tried to reason with Mary on not taking the job that Foyle Industries had given them – only about a quarter of Tony Foyle's operations were actually legal – but Mary had ignored her, saying some stupid reason like, "they'll give us a lot of money if we succeed."
Well, now they didn't have the money, but Edith didn't really care all that much about money. All she wanted really was to go home. And she honestly believed that, if it weren't for Mary, she might be able to.
New York City was a good compromise – her grandmother had an apartment there that Edith could stay in, even though Martha Levinson usually stayed in her Newport house during this time of the year. Edith could stay for as long as she wanted, happy to be by herself – until Mary came chasing her down and insisting that she help her with the next job that she got offered. And that was pretty likely to happen.
The plane was ready to begin letting the passengers board at 7:50, a bit later than was planned, and Edith soon settled comfortably in the wide plushy aisle seat. She took a melatonin tablet, her only plans on this flight to get a little sleep to avoid the jet lag. A few hours in the air was like a holiday in itself: no unexpected phone calls, no one except the flight attendants to periodically bother you, and hopefully a seat mate that didn't hog the armrest. This airline had a fairly comfortable business class, so Edith wouldn't need to worry about feeling crunched into a small space with a stranger.
"Sorry – excuse me?"
Edith looked up at the man standing by her seat. He was wearing what she thought was a very smart business suit, the type to be worn by someone who travelled first class regularly. But unlike many of the corporate people she had encountered, he didn't seem the haughty type – on the contrary, he seemed rather embarrassed about drawing her attention to him.
"Er … I have the window seat, and I … I don't want to push past you," the man said, smiling sheepishly. "Perhaps you could—?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Edith stammered. She unbuckled her seat belt and stepped into the aisle to let him into his seat.
"Thank you very much," the man nodded, giving her another smile as he slid past her with a cloth computer bag.
"Not at all," Edith said, returning the polite smile. She sat back down in her own seat. The man sitting beside her was by no means young, but he was still quite good-looking, like the old black-and-white movie stars that Edith liked. She wondered who he was – a businessman in an important position most likely, but definitely not someone who was famous. She wondered for a second if she had seen him from somewhere before – in a newspaper perhaps? – because the man's face did seem vaguely familiar. He wasn't a previous target of extraction, that was for certain.
For the next few minutes she watched the other passengers filed past her seat, moving further into the plane, as outside the window the sky grew brighter. The man sitting next to her was idly flipping through the magazine from the seat pocket, not really reading any of the pages. Edith felt like it would be half an hour more before they got into the air.
"Ma'am?" One of the flight attendants pushed past a few passengers and held something out to Edith – her passport. "I found this dropped in the galley."
Slightly surprised, Edith opened the passport to check that it was hers – it must have fallen out of her jacket pocket. "Oh! Well, thank you," she said, pulling out her bag from under the seat to put her passport in a more secure place. The flight attendant moved away.
"Good thing she noticed it," the man next to Edith remarked.
Edith nodded. "And good thing I left it someplace she could find."
The man shifted in his seat, looking like he wanted to say something to her, but it was another minute before he actually spoke. "I'm sorry, but … but I couldn't help but notice the name on your passport," he confessed. "Are you by any chance related to the Crawley family?"
Edith froze, not daring to look back at the man. The man only sounded a bit curious about her name, but was there something else to his inquiry? Did he have something to do with Foyle Industries or Merton Banking? Had he been sent to follow her out of Berlin – or ordered to apprehend her?
"Uh … oh, I—" Edith murmured, "I know of them. I know they do science or something." Please don't make me say anything more, please just believe me—
"I see," the man nodded. "I simply assumed since you're flying first class and all, as well as your surname, that you might be related to them."
Edith shrugged. "Just a coincidence, I suppose." She allowed herself to look up at the man, immediately being drawn to his strikingly young eyes.
"Right," the man muttered. He leaned over and offered Edith his hand. "Anthony Strallan."
Edith took his hand and shook it. "Edith Crawley … but you knew that already."
Anthony Strallan chucked. "Well, I thought it was only fair that you knew my name as well. A pleasure to meet you, Ms Crawley."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Strallan," Edith murmured politely. She frowned as a thought suddenly struck her, and she looked harder at Anthony's face. She was recalling now that she did recognize him, but not from any previous job or even someone from a company that had hired her. "Hang on …"
Anthony's confusion was evident, and now he was the one that looked like he had a secret he didn't want revealed. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, not wrong," Edith shook her head. "But … actually I just realized that I've seen you before. You're Sir Anthony Strallan!"
Anthony immediately turned a bright shade of rosy pink. "I, um …" he stuttered. "Well, yes … I am."
His name had been enough to jog Edith's memory – Sir Anthony Strallan, head of Locksley Engineering, a leading company in agricultural advancement and very close to becoming a household name. And Sir Anthony himself was an influential man – there was recent talk of installing him as Minister of Agriculture. He was, however, an extremely private man as well. Edith was surprised she recognized him from the papers, he rarely appeared in front of the cameras at all. Edith thought that he was the least egotistical business man that she had ever known. Most relished in their personal success, or at least were very proud of their legacy.
"It's alright," Edith said to alleviate Anthony's obvious embarrassment. "I won't go shouting it to the whole plane."
Sir Anthony breathed his relief. "Thank you. Although I highly doubt that anyone here will know me." The embarrassment slowly started fading from his face. "I'm sorry for not being completely honest before. I was in Berlin for some conferences, and it's times like those when I wish I wasn't part of such a big company. So I try and make it seem like I'm not all that well-known."
Edith found it amusing that he referred to himself as a 'part' of Locksley Engineering rather than the owner. "Do you go to Berlin often?"
"Once a year, usually," Sir Anthony shrugged. "What about you? Here for holiday?"
"Uh …" Edith looked at the reading lamps above her head for an answer. "Just a short thing for work, actually. Although I would have like very much to have stayed for a bit longer."
"What sort of work do you do?" Sir Anthony asked.
"Chemistry," Edith answered slowly.
It wasn't an outright lie, but that wasn't specifically what she had been doing. But someone like Sir Anthony didn't need to know about her involvement in extraction. Someone like him probably already knew about extraction, and with the talk about him possibly becoming Minister of Agriculture, it would be dangerous for her to admit that she played her part in stealing corporate secrets.
"That must be a lot of fun," Sir Anthony said, sounding genuinely fascinated by her answer. "I confess I don't have much of a head for the sciences."
"It's really only fun when you're doing what you want, and not what other people are telling you to come up with," Edith said, hoping she didn't sound overly dismissive of Sir Anthony's comment. Chemistry once held a real spark of interest for her, but since now all she did with it was formulate the compounds for dream sharing, she sometimes found herself wishing that she had studied something else. When she went back to England – if she ever could – she would like to go back to school to discover a whole new passion for herself. Something in the arts perhaps, or creative writing …
At last, the doors to the airplane were closed and they began moving away from the gate. Edith did not feel the least bit sorry for leaving Sybil and Mary behind with much in the way of a proper goodbye. But if they absolutely needed her, they knew where to find her in New York City.
The plane wasted little time in getting onto the runway, even though the morning was already a busy time. Soon it was in the air, soaring high above the cloud cover that obscured the city below. Edith felt herself relax, grateful that the plane hadn't been stopped unexpectedly by security or that no delays had grounded them. She was glad to get out of Berlin and away from her sisters and the whole dream business. Now her own little holiday could begin when she could have her time to herself.
"So, what are you doing in New York?" she asked Sir Anthony. She hoped that he didn't think her too bold for starting another conversation, but he didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, his eyes lit up a bit more when he turned to her.
"Oh, just more business," he said indifferently. "The company went international a few years back, and I don't think I've taken a real holiday since then. But I suppose that's part of the deal anyway," he added hastily.
"Seems rather harsh that even the owner of a large company can't take a break," Edith said with sympathy.
Sir Anthony chuckled. "Maybe. But surely you aren't going just for work either," he said. "There's so much excitement there, especially for young people."
"Actually, I am giving myself a bit of time off," Edith said. "Although I don't think I'll be seeking out too much excitement. It's more of … a time to lay low, so to speak."
"I see," Sir Anthony nodded. "And home is where?"
Edith didn't answer immediately. She shook her head as she tried to formulate her words. "I was born in Yorkshire, but … I haven't been back to England in … in a long while."
She looked away from Sir Anthony, instead staring out the window on the other side of the cabin. Every time she thought about just how long it had been since she had seen home, she either wanted to cry or get angry. She wouldn't be doing herself any favours if she were to do either of those things here on the plane.
Sir Anthony, luckily, seemed to notice that the talk of home had made her upset all of a sudden. "I'm sorry. That must be very hard. Sometimes it feels like I don't really have a place to call home either."
Knowing that Sir Anthony was saying that in an attempt to make her feel a bit better, Edith smiled. "But you have places in London and in the country," she pointed out.
"Yes, but they're … they're only places. They don't feel like proper homes," Sir Anthony confessed. "I'm not married, so I don't have a family to look forward to returning to when I get back from a trip." He stopped then, letting out an abashed sigh. "I'm sorry, I must sound like a sad old codger."
"No, it's … it's fine," Edith told him. Sir Anthony still looked embarrassed, especially since he had said all that to someone who was very much a stranger, but he leaned back in his chair with a more relaxed expression.
She didn't mind the things that he had said – in fact, she felt rather pleased that he, who had only known her since he got on the plane, had talked with her so casually. It wasn't at all the awkward silence that two strangers sitting next to each other often shared. He was friendly and warm, and she never would have guessed him to be the owner of one of the biggest agricultural companies in the world. And the fact that he was older didn't intimidate her at all. He acted like her equal. There were no warning bells going off in her head with this man.
He hadn't shown anything more dubious than a bit of curiosity when he saw her last name on her passport, so he most didn't know about her involvement in extraction. And he had been honest with her when she had realized that he was Sir Anthony Strallan instead of simply Mr Anthony Strallan – he hadn't attempted to conceal that fact. He trusted her.
So maybe she could afford to be honest with him as well.
Sir Anthony had turned away from her, clearly still mortified about spilling his thoughts to her, but Edith regained his attention by tapping him on the arm. "Yes?"
"You remember that you apologized for not being completely honest about who you were?" she asked slowly.
Sir Anthony nodded. "Yes. What about that?"
"Well, you assumed I was part of the Crawley family because you saw the name on my passport," she reminded him. "The truth is, I am part of the Crawley family. My father was Robert Crawley."
Sir Anthony blinked, staring at her. "Oh … so you are actually a Crawley?"
Edith nodded, hanging her head. His opinion of her surely wouldn't be so good now.
To her surprise, Sir Anthony let out a relieved chuckle. "Thank goodness. So it's not only me who tries to downplay who they really are."
It took Edith a moment to work out what he meant by that. "Oh yes, I – I don't like being recognized either." Her stomach untwisted a little bit, then promptly knotted up again as the plane bounced in the air. If I don't get to New York in one breathing piece, I'm going to haunt Mary for the rest of her life, she said to herself.
"Yes, it is rather unsettling when that happens," Sir Anthony said, definitely taking notice of Edith's nervousness. "Especially when people ask you this and that about government policies that you have no idea even exist!" He stopped short just as he had a few minutes before. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling again," he mumbled in apology.
"Please stop saying you're sorry, you're hardly babbling!" Edith gave him a reassuring smile.
Sir Anthony's face was still the picture of embarrassment. "I think I'm only babbling because … well, you're the first person I've talked to all week that isn't another businessman or someone who is paid to take orders from me. It's such a relief to talk to someone who doesn't see me as a rich old boss. And you are a very kind woman, dealing with an old codger like me."
"Don't call yourself that," Edith chided gently, at the same time blushing lightly at being called a 'kind woman.' Little compliments like that were few and far between. "I think you're quite the gentleman."
"Really?" Sir Anthony seemed surprised. "You don't have to flatter me, I know I'm an old man, and probably very dull."
"Well, I disagree," Edith said decisively.
Sir Anthony didn't put up any more protest – he probably figured that it would be futile to argue with her. "You are a very kind woman," he repeated, and Edith's cheeks flushed again.
The plane jolted around again, shaking the entire cabin, then thankfully levelled out. The flight attendant announced that it was alright to move about the cabin, when the beverage and food carts would come by, the usual rundown of long international flights. Edith pulled the complimentary pillow and blanket (or as she called them, the free static electricity generators) out of the plastic wrap; all she wanted on this flight was a nice drink and hopefully an undisturbed nap. Although she would not object if Sir Anthony wanted to talk with her a bit more.
The same flight attendant who had found Edith's passport was the one going around the business class section. "Would you like something to drink, ma'am?" she asked when she came to Edith's row.
"Can I get a gin and tonic, please?" Edith requested.
The flight attendant jotted that down on her notepad. "And you, sir?" she asked Sir Anthony.
"Same – a gin and tonic, please," Sir Anthony said.
As the flight attendant turned around to the row across from them, Edith glanced at Sir Anthony. "Is that your usual choice of drink?"
"It is," Sir Anthony nodded. "Yours too?"
Edith smirked. "Another thing in common. Besides preferring not to be singled out in public."
They didn't have to wait long for their drinks to arrive, and Edith handed Sir Anthony his drink before taking hers. "Thank you," he said. He kept his glass suspended in the air, as if he were about to make a toast.
"To a happy time in New York," he said. Edith giggled quietly as she clinked her glass with his.
After finishing off her drink, Edith plumped the pillow behind her head. "If it's alright with you, I'm going to try and get some sleep," she said to Sir Anthony. "These long flights leave me terribly groggy."
"Of course," Sir Anthony said.
Edith wrapped the blanket around herself and turned down the air blowing directly into her face. But as her hand went to the button on her arm rest to recline her seat, Sir Anthony's hand on hers made her freeze.
"Wait – before you go to sleep … I want to ask you something before I forget," he muttered hesitantly.
Edith couldn't tell in his face if what he was going to ask was just an innocent question or something she should be worried about. Her gut was telling her it was going to be the latter. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry about asking after something so private … but does the Crawley family still have anything to do with dream sharing? Specifically extraction?"
Edith felt her face pale and her mouth go dry, despite the lingering taste of her gin and tonic. She stared at Sir Anthony, clutching the blanket tightly in her hands. The warning bells that had been absent before were now clanging madly in her head, telling her to do something, anything but sit there, frozen. Was everything that she had assumed about him wrong?
"Why are you asking about that?" she whispered, eyes widening. "Extraction is illegal—"
"But that doesn't stop anyone from seeking it out," Sir Anthony said. "And I've heard from good authority that the Crawley Extraction Team is one of the best – if not the best – in the business. And the job I'm offering can only be completed by the best." His eyes were practically pleading for Edith to hear him out. No doubt her alarm was showing in her face.
"You want us to do an extraction?" Edith asked softly.
Sir Anthony appeared to hesitate. "Not an extraction exactly … "
"Either way, you'll have to talk to Mary instead of me." Whatever Sir Anthony wanted from the team, Edith didn't want any part of it. She was final on her stance that she wouldn't go back to Mary or Sybil to help them with a job. "She's still in Berlin. I'm not a part of the team anymore."
Sir Anthony's face fell. "I see. But can you tell her that I have a job offer for her, at least?"
Edith shook her head. "I don't know where she's staying, and she's likely turned off international services on her phone. And she doesn't have a permanent email address either." She didn't think it would be smart to tell Sir Anthony that the reason Mary would be nearly unreachable was that Foyle Industries was likely tracking Mary.
"I have people that can find her wherever she is in Berlin—" Sir Anthony said simply.
"Then you can tell her about this job yourself," Edith said, cringing at how snappish she sounded. "I'm not involved with that whole business anymore. Whatever it is, it doesn't concern me."
With a glum expression, Sir Anthony nodded. "Alright. Thank you."
Just from seeing the look on his face, Edith regretted being so dismissive to him once he had brought up the issue of extraction. She just had to let her annoyance get out of hand now, didn't she? She never thought twice about lashing out at Mary, but to snap at a stranger – and one so nice as Sir Anthony – she berated herself having known better. Not such a kind woman now, are you, she thought.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. Then she added quickly, "I'm sorry that I couldn't be more help to you."
"It's perfectly alright," Sir Anthony replied. "You've, er … you've given me a place to start."
Edith waited for him to say something else, but that seemed to be the end of the discussion. She turned away from him and let the seat recline a respectable level (there was someone sitting behind her) before she closed her eyes, hugging the fuzzy blanket close to her.
Despite taking the melatonin tablet earlier, she didn't feel any sense of relaxation. Though she had her eyes closed, her mind was still running riot. Only twenty minutes in the air, and already she felt like her holiday was sullied thanks to the mention of extraction.
The whole ruddy dream business … why did it have to follow her even when she had put it behind her? She was done with it, and yet she couldn't get a break. She just had to be seated next to someone who knew about the work the Crawleys really did, someone who also had a ready job offer. How unlucky could she possibly be?
And she couldn't help but wonder: what did Sir Anthony want from Mary and Sybil, if not exactly an extraction? The instructions from the people hiring them were usually simple: infiltrate the target's mind, find their secrets, and relay them back to whoever wanted to know them. That was how extraction worked, and Edith couldn't remember a job which deviated from that simple procedure.
Even though she was still unbelievably angry at Mary, Edith hoped she wouldn't knowingly take on a job that she knew she couldn't handle. Their situation was already undesirable – they didn't need to learn just how much worse it could get.