A big thank you to Yankeecountess who read over this and who is without a doubt one of the most encouraging people within this fandom. Just a not that each chapter will begin and end with a quote from the actually tv series Revenge which was the inspiration for this story, only they might be tweaked a little...but in no means are my own creation.
When I was a little boy my understanding of revenge was as simple as the proverbs Father Donnelly would preach to us at Sunday school. Neat little slogans like 'do unto others' and 'two wrongs don't make a right'…though over the years I've come to understand that for the truly wronged, real satisfaction can only be found in one of two places: absolute forgiveness…or moral vindication.
This is not a story about forgiveness (Revenge 1x01)
-/-
"I'm sorry Sybil, It wasn't meant to end like this" Tom's voice cracked, sounding so broken, so utterly defeated, and so angry.
A mix of both fear and confusion marred Sybil's face. She wanted to try and reassure Tom, to try and talk him down but Sybil couldn't seem to focus on anything else but the gun he held…the gun he had aimed directly at her father.
Tom was starting to unravel. His heart racing, his palms damp; and he was even breaking out into a cold sweat as his hand shook, the gun moving with it.
They had spent months meticulously planning on how to destroy the Crawley family, down to the minute details, but this wasn't how it was supposed to end. When the final act of his revenge was unleashed upon the Crawley family he'd intended to be as far away from England…from Downton Abbey.
Though he never accounted for Sybil Crawley, the youngest Crawley sister. Tom was never supposed to fall in love with her; 'she's only a means to an end' he'd kept telling himself…yet it happened anyway. And so there he was; dressed in a designer suit, standing in the middle of Robert's Downton office, on the night of their engagement party and ready to make the final blow, which he hoped would take down the Earl of Grantham once and for all.
"I don't understand" Sybil's grip on the blue and white Dior dress she wore tightened, trying to anchor herself when it felt like someone had pulled the rug from under her feet. "Tom why are you doing this?"
"Because my dear…" Catlynn Branson spoke out from behind Robert's desk and leant against the dark mahogany wood, her blue eyes boring into Sybil. "Some crimes are truly unforgiveable, and at times like these all you have left is revenge," she went on, uncharacteristically devoid of all emotion save for the flash of anger that sparked in her eyes.
"Crime? What crime? What are you going on about?" asked Sybil frantically, looking around the room between Tom, Catlynn, and her father for answers.
"Would you like to tell her your Lordship?" smirked Catlynn with and arched brow. "Explain to dear Sybil how you framed my husband for a murder he never committed, how you destroyed the Branson family!" Her smirk gone, and in its place a fierce look of hate.
Sybil scrunched up her nose the way Tom always thought of as cute despite himself. Wondering if maybe this was all one big misunderstanding. "But your name is Bellasis…"
"Wrong again my dear. It's Branson, Catlynn Branson…and over there is my son, Tom Branson," she pointed across the room to Tom with an amused grin.
"Branson…" Sybil repeated to herself when the sudden realisation of the truth hit her. She quickly turned to look straight into Tom's eyes, searching for confirmation that what she now suspected was in fact true. "Your father was Liam Branson, our chauffeur…the man who killed the Turkish diplomat, Mr. Pamuk"
"No!" Catlynn cried out in protest, slamming her hand down on to the desk, like a gavel. "He never killed anyone! My husband was only guilty of believing that you Crawleys were actually worth something…that you were decent people; different from all those other lords and ladies…but you're not. You're all just like the rest of them!" she spat, disgust written all over her face.
After taking a deep breath to try and calm her pounding heart, Sybil looked across to Robert Crawley. If she didn't know any better Sybil would say that she could almost see the fear in his eyes…fear he was normally so good at hiding. "Papa what is she talking about?"
"Go on," Tom took a step closer to Robert, pulling back the safety on his gun. "Tell her what happened the night Kemal Pamuk died; tell her how you made sure all the evidence pointed to my father. Tell her about all the years he spent rotting away in jail for a crime he never committed…only to be killed during a prison riot".
"Tom why would he do that?" Sybil tried to reason with him, she still refused to accept that her father was capable of something so evil.
"To protect me," Mary wept from the couch where she sat huddled beside her mother; Cora had her arms wrapped around Mary like a shield…hoping to protect her daughter from the damage Robert had done. She also tried to grab Sybil's attention, tried to reassure her that everything would be fine; but Sybil wouldn't look at her.
Robert whirled around with a stern expression; his 'I am the Earl of Grantham and how dare you defy me' look. "Mary I am ordering you not to say another word!" Robert commanded with a bark, then turned to Sybil. "For gods sake Sybil, obviously Bellasis…Branson…whoever the bloody hell he is, is deranged…he's gone completely mad. Now step away from him."
Robert waved his hand, signaling for Sybil to come to him but his youngest daughter refused to budge. "Sybil I said come here, now!" he finally snapped, his face turning red from anger. But it didn't seem to faze Sybil at all; instead she intuitively took a step closer to Tom.
Robert Crawley was stunned to say the less. The Crawley daughters had never dared to defy their father…especially not within the walls of their ancestral home. His shock though turned to awareness, and awareness turned in to anger when forced to accept that his actions had finally caught up with him.
Sybil turned to look at her mother for the first time since this whole ordeal began. She saw the guilt and desperation all over Cora's face…it took Sybil by surprise because her mother was usually so in control of herself.
"Mama?" she questioned in a soft whisper.
Cora bowed her head down in shame. She couldn't do it anymore; she couldn't continue all the lies and destruction. But she also couldn't bring herself to see all that disappointment and abject horror reflected back at her in Sybil's eyes.
"For feck sake" Tom broke the silence of the room; his voice thick with poorly contained disgust. The sound of his voice made Cora jump in her seat. "If any part of you still has a conscience left then be honest with your daughter…allow my father to rest in peace after all the suffering your family put him through, it's the least you can do".
Reaching out to Mary, Cora squeezed her hand in what she hoped would be a comforting gesture. "It's over Robert…" she declared in a somber tone; "the lies, the games…it's all over," defeat washed over her; and in that moment Cora Crawley knew it was time for her family to confess to their sins.
-/-
ONE YEAR EARLIER
"Now as you can see the apartment consists of four bedrooms; the master suite provides you with three walk-in dressing rooms and a very spacious marble bathroom…" Lydia Grey, or that is Lady Merton to most, continued to ramble on about the features of the apartment she thought to be selling points, like a well-seasoned realtor.
Tom Branson wasn't paying much attention as he wandered around the room in question. The first thing he noticed about the Grey's Eaton Square property was the whiteness of it. From the doors, to the ceilings and the walls…even most of the furniture, was bathed in some form of white. It was almost like the family had intentionally chosen the colour to try and absolve themselves from their sins…Tom couldn't help but smirk at the idea.
"It's a beautiful home," Tom complemented Lady Merton, overlooking the view of the gardens across the street. "But I'm still not quite sure I understand why you've decided to put the apartment up for lease; I'm sure a family such as yourself would use a piece of real estate such as this to every advantage".
With immaculately manicured nails, Lydia Grey twined an ivory pearl necklace around her slender fingers and offered Tom a tight-lipped smile. "Well with the economy the way it is my husband, Lord Merton, and I decided economically it would make more sense to lease the property out then let it gather dust".
Tom smelt the lie from a mile away, he knew exactly why the Merton's were putting the Eaton Square property up for lease. But the apartment itself was crucial to his plan, he couldn't afford to step on Lydia Grey's designer shoes and have her refuse his offer. So Tom simply nodded his head in understanding and stepped out into the entrance hall.
"What is it that you do again?" asked Lady Merton, her contempt practically radiating off of her in waves.
Tom's smile in return came off twisted, with only one side of his mouth turned up. "I'm an author…" he started to explain, noting the sparkle in her eye…almost drooling at all the dollars sign she could picture in her head.
Slipping her arm through Tom's Lydia led him towards the study. "Have you written anything I might of have heard of…or even read?" she asked with such a nauseatingly sweet smile it almost made him sick.
Inside the office itself Tom was relieved to see wood paneled walls. If he was going to spend a lot of time in this room he needed to be able to look at something other then white. "Actually I've just started my first novel" he pulled back from Lydia and made his way around the desk, sitting down in the leather seat to test it out.
"Oh really, and what is this novel about?" Lydia tried to feign interest but failed miserably.
Tom leant back into the chair with his fingers steepled underneath his chin, eyeing her up and down. Lady Merton had unwittingly walked into his web of deceit and now it was crucial that she believed Tom's every word.
Let the games begin.
"It's about a working class Irishman," Tom started to explain. "Set in 1913, the young man moves to England to work as the chauffeur for an aristocratic family, only he ends up falling madly in love with the Earl's youngest daughter…"
"My, what a daring tale…that would have caused quite the scandal back in those days," she arched an eyebrow at him. It was obvious to Tom that she found the tale of his 'book' to be more amusing than the slightest bit interesting.
Standing up from the seat, Tom straightened the sleeves of his jacket. "Well it will be, when the youngest daughter runs away to Ireland to marry the chauffeur. The Earl is livid; he completely cuts her off from the family and forbids anyone from attending their wedding".
"And this tale of yours," Lydia Grey began to wave her hand in the air dismissively, "brings you to London because…?"
"Research purposes," Tom answered quickly. "Unfortunately, Dublin's archival records are a bit lacking when it comes to the history of England's aristocratic families of the early 20th century".
"Well I hope you find what you're looking for, Mr Bellasis…"
"Actually it's Bra…" Tom stopped himself before he could correct Lady Merton. He'd have to get used to hearing people address him by the name "Bellasis", if he didn't want anyone uncovering his secret.
In her pristine grey Armani dress suit, with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, Lady Merton appeared to be every bit the calm, collected and poised Lady that her title would suggest. Though Tom's near slip up would have also made her a very suspicious Lady Merton.
"Please call me Tom," he laughed awkwardly in an attempt to cover up his faux pas. "After all, I'll be living in your lovely home, though I've yet to determine for how long that will be."
"So you'll take it then?" questioned Lady Merton, as she made her way out of the study, making it clear to Tom that he should follow her.
"Absolutely, how could I refuse such an apartment as this?" he answered with a great sweep of his hands, gesturing around the 'reception room' as she called it.
"Very well," Lady Merton failed to hide her disappointment. She wasn't as eager to lease out the high-end property as her husband had sounded over the phone. "Here is the contract, if you'd just like to sign where the tabs indicate," she instructed, pulling a manila envelope out of her handbag.
Tom was quick to sign on the dotted line, not even blinking at the £12,250 figure he'd agreed to, with Lord Merton in terms of rent. In recent months Tom had come to discover that during his "research" in London, money would be no object; Catlynn Branson had made sure of that.
"Oh, and speaking of aristocracy," Lydia Grey spoke up as she quickly dumped the signed papers back into her bag, "you might be interested to know that the Crawley family live not far from here; Knightsbridge to be exact".
"The Crawleys?" Tom played dumb…he didn't want to show all his cards too soon in fear of giving the game away.
"Lord Grantham, the 8th Earl of Grantham, that is," Lydia answered in disbelief; unable to comprehend that he wouldn't know who the Crawleys were. "His family recently decided to give up the country life of Yorkshire for the city life."
"Did you say, 'Lord'?" Tom asked. It was becoming clear to him that if Lady Merton loved one thing more then her designer clothes it was to gossip.
"Yes, he holds his family seat at Downton Abbey…though these days the stately home has become more of a tourist attraction, since Robert opened the castle up to the public." She balked at the idea of allowing complete strangers into her home for money…like it was a sign of desperation or something. But Tom wasn't about to point out the irony of her attitude. "In fact his sister, Rosamund Painswick, coincidentally lives on the other side of Eaton Square Gardens…" she carried on, as though she could talk about the Crawleys for hours.
"What a small world we live in…but I'm sure you have more important things to be doing," Tom guided Lady Merton towards the front door by her elbow. "And if it's alright with you, I'd love to get settled in right away…seeing as I came straight from the airport."
Lydia Merton blinked, seeming to gather her wits about her, and flung the door open. "Of course, it was lovely to meet you Mr. Bellasis, and I hope you enjoy your stay here in London…good luck with your tale." She bid him farewell and was on her way towards the elevator in a split second.
Closing the door shut, Tom rested his head on the smooth wooden surface; he could still smell a hint of motor oil that wafted through the open window…it reminded him of his father.
-/-
[Flashback] Killiney, Ireland – 2000
I was standing outside our small home in the early morning of February. It was so cold my teeth were chattering, and I kept rubbing my hands together to try and keep them warm. But despite the weather, one of the things I loved most about our home was the salty scent of the ocean, which tickled my nose; and how last night's rain left behind a crispness to the air, intensifying the smell of the grass and the scent of wildflowers.
Though I still didn't really understand what was happening, why we were up this early in the morning…why Da was starting to load his suitcases into the back of a taxi. I was only 11 years old then, a small boy whose whole world centered on his family and our small seaport town of Killiney. But that was all about to change.
I looked up at Ma who was trying not to cry, she kept sniffling into her handkerchief and shaking her head…as though she couldn't really believe this was happening. Suddenly I started to panic as Da loaded his last piece of luggage...without thinking I threw myself at him; wrapping my small, spindly arms around his waist, begging him not to leave us…begging him that I'd be good from now on.
Da finally managed to pull away; he knelt down on one knee and placed his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them tightly. I don't know how I hadn't noticed it before, but unexpectedly he seemed to look quite a bit older; he looked broken, defeated, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
"Tommy I need you to be good boy, you understand me?" he asked with such a serious tone. "I'm not going to be around for a while, so I need you to look after your Ma for me…and make sure you do everything she tells you to." He quickly glanced over to Ma with a sad smile, choked with tears he'd refused to let fall. Which was strange to me because I'd never seen Da cry before, or even get teary eyed.
I nodded my head vigorously in understanding, in our house when Da gave the orders I was to follow them…no questions asked. "I don't want you to go," I whispered, throwing my arms around his thick neck.
I could feel Da hesitate; hugging wasn't really something he liked to do. But to my surprise he hugged me back. I was maybe expecting an awkward pat on the back or a funny smile as he pulled away, but instead he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly.
In the background we both heard Ma let out a soft sob at Da's show of affection…he'd always been taught that it was a sign of weakness by my pop, GrandPat. It kind of made us laugh; and it also made me sadder.
"Well I best be off," Da stood up and ruffled my hair, Ma made her way over to us and he immediately pulled her into his arms. Kissing her like most married couples do, as far as I was concerned it was disgusting.
And as we watched him drive away from the curb he turned to look at us through the taxi's rear window, waving goodbye and Ma even blew him a kiss. And as the taxi turned the corner, disappearing from our sight, Ma put her arm around me to steer me back into the house.
"It'll be ok Tommy, your Da will be back before you even know it," she tried to reassure me. We didn't know it then…but that was the last time Liam Branson would ever see our family home, the last time he'd ever seen Killiney; and the last time we'd be together as a family.
-/-
With his hands on hips Tom stood in the middle of the living room of his extravagant new home. The room was covered in different shades of white and beige, along with a few pieces of wooden furniture to help break the décor up a bit. The room appeared expensive, but Lydia Grey had managed to refine her taste a bit, something which Tom was grateful for.
And everything had gone according to plan so far. He had the designer clothes and the money…and now the opulent house to go with it. Who would ever think to connect Tom Bellasis to the Crawley family's former chauffeur Liam Branson? After all, if Tom had learnt one thing about aristocrats like Lord Grantham or Lord Merton, it was that they never looked beyond the surface. As along as he appeared to be just like them, Tom would have no trouble fitting in. Though the biggest challenge for him would be to keep up the act of a rich, arrogant, heir to the Bellasis family fortune. To act like a conceited prat, who couldn't tell the difference between his ass and his elbow.
It just wasn't who Tom was. His parents had always taught him humility, how to be gracious for what he had, and to never act as though the world owed him something. "Everyone always gets what he or she deserves in the end, Tommy," his father would always say to him. And it was what Tom feared the most; that his upbringing would make it impossible for him to carry on like this for too long. Or worse; that he'd become so consumed by their way of living, by their "beliefs", that Tom would lose focus…and forget why he was even doing this to begin with.
Either one of the scenarios playing in his head ended with Tom disappointing his father; in failing to restore his name and bring justice to the truly guilty. Failure was not an option.
Tom felt his muscles begin to tighten just at the thought of failing; he was getting worked up again. So he quickly moved to pour himself a glass of scotch, silently thanking god for the Grey's foresight to fully stock the bar. His eyes caught onto the antique wooden lock box sitting on the coffee table; it belonged to his father. And the mere thought of its contents made him sick to his stomach, made his throat burn.
He made himself comfortable on the plush sofa, taking a large swig of the amber liquid to help steel his nerves, before opening the wooden box. Inside it contained all the vital information Tom needed to complete his mission, from photos, to a USB stick that held video recordings of testimonies from his father's trial. What Tom treasured the most though from inside that box, was a photo taken when he was five years old. It had been his first day of school, dressed in his little catholic school uniform, with his hair all over the place and a missing front tooth. His mother had insisted on taking a family photo. His dad looked so proud in that photo…Liam Branson had always encouraged him when it came to his education, always wanted his son to be more then just another mechanic in the family.
The box also contained the journals of Liam Branson, diaries he'd written while in the prison…hoping that one-day he'd be able to give them to Tom, to help his son understand the truth. By the time Tom did get them it was too late, but since then he had all three diaries memorized word for word. And as he sifted through the contents, he came across newspaper clippings, articles that had been written during the time of the murder investigation and during his father's trial. The papers had started off with rather fanciful headings like, "Turkish Diplomat killed at Downton Abbey!" "Murder at the Abbey", or "Murder Mystery: Whodunit?" However, once his father's trial began, the headings became even more ludicrous, declaring Liam guilty by media trial; the man never stood a chance of proving his innocence. The paper used to print the articles had turned yellow from age, while the edges were torn and wrinkled from being handled too many times. It didn't matter though, because just like his father's journals, Tom could recall every detail written in every article.
His attention was then drawn to another photo inside the box. Taken only a few weeks before Liam's murder trial. It was a photo of the Crawley's annual hunting party. Smiling back at him in the photo were the faces of all those who had played a part in framing his father…it had become Tom's own private little 'hit list' if it could be called that. These were the people who were going to pay for what they did to Liam Branson, for the lives they had destroyed.
Tracing a finger along the photo, Tom pulled out a red marker from his box and lazily drew a circle around Lord Merton's beaming face. As one of Robert's trusted friends, godfather to Mary Crawley, and a witness in Liam's murder trial, he would be Tom's opening act…and they had no idea what was about to hit them.
-/-
When deception cuts this deep, someone has to pay. My father's chance to bring justice to the truly guilty was stolen from him. His only option was to forgive. I have others…(Revenge 1x01)