Sybbie of the Abbey: a fan fiction of Downton Abbey

The funeral

Tom stood in front of his father, fury rising in his chest.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. "What do you want?"

His father spread his arms out wide, adopting an injured look.

"Sure, an can't a body coome back t' see his own dear wife without his son slammin' him fer it?"

Tom could smell the stale liquor on him from where he stood.

"You haven't been back here since you left us destitute."

"What? Destitute? Didn't I leave ye a car shop in jolly auld England now?"

"A floundering shop sunk in debt! Kieran is still struggling t' keep it running. I had t' go into service when I was sixteen and I was lucky to get that job. You know nothing about our lives! Mam is ill now and she is going to die, there's no hope for her!"

Tom took a step towards his father, who shrank back a little.

"What gives you the nerve to poke your filthy nose back into our lives? Answer me truthfully now. I want None of your wheedling."

"Ach, twas only goin' t' ask fer a few shillin's. I know yer Mam is bether off than afore, an' I need somethin' t' tide me over like."

"So you came back for money."

Although Tom was not a violent person by nature, the fire deep in his soul flared up at the oily grin on Mr. Kieran Branson's face. He lunged forward and gripped his father's collar; slamming him so hard against the post, that his teeth rattled in his skull. The water-droplets on the eves fell with a patter to the ground.

"How dare you!" He snarled, his face just inches away from the other's, "how dare you come back to ask for money! I ought to flog you for such impertinence; after all you've done to this family! Little Sarah died of the fever because of your neglect, and Mam is now to follow her! Kieran and I are the last of your children!"

At that moment, his brother came running out of the door.

"Tom!"

He stopped short, starring at the scene before him.

"What is he doin' here?"

Tom hurled his father from him.

"Askin' for money... the cur."

He caught sight of his brother's anxious expression.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

For a moment, Kieran looked back and fourth between he father and brother, then his gaze fixed upon the latter.

"It's-it's Mam... you'd better coome quick... I think it's time."

Tom was about to go into the house, then thought better of it.

"You go, I'll be with you in a minute."

Kieran nodded and ran back to Mrs. Branson's room as his brother confronted his father.

"You need to leave," Tom said, "now. And you'd better not come back."

Mr. Branson's face, which had been terrified a moment before, now became sullen.

"Keep yer hat on, I'm leavin'! Mabbey I'll go t' England an pay ye a visit soomtime."

Tom turned back to him on his way inside.

"If you do," he said quietly, "I'll flog you within an inch of your life. That's a promise."

And with that, he turned on his heel and slammed the door; hurrying to his mother's sick-chamber.