Something wasn't right. Mrs. Hughes had gone to the village to run some errands, but she had not yet returned. She was always very prompt and she ought to have been back at least a half hour ago. Mr. Carson rang the dressing gong and went downstairs.
"Mr. Barrow," he said when he found the under butler in the kitchen. "I need you to be on alert to run the dinner service tonight. I'm going out."
"Out?" Mr. Barrow asked. "Out where?"
"Mrs. Hughes hasn't returned from her errands in the village. I'm going to look for her."
"Do you think something's happened to her?" Mrs. Patmore asked.
"I'm afraid it may have," Mr. Carson answered, frowning. "I'm not sure if she's ever been late back from the village."
"I wouldn't worry too much," Mrs. Patmore put in, trying to ease his obvious anxiety. "But it's getting dark earlier these days, so I'm sure she'll be glad of your escort when you find that she's just running a bit late."
"Yes, I think you're right," Mr. Carson agreed.
"Be off with you, then," she urged, shooing him out of the room.
Mr. Carson left to get his coat and hat.
"I've never seen Mr. Carson go out looking for a missing staff member," Mr. Barrow observed. "Doesn't that seem a little suspicious?"
"To you, maybe. But then you don't really go in much for kindness toward your fellow man, do you, Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Patmore commented sharply.
Mr. Barrow just raised an eyebrow and left the kitchen.
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Mr. Carson buttoned his coat as he took long strides through the yard on his way to the road to the village. He hadn't wanted to say it, but it was more than just Mrs. Hughes's tardiness that worried him. He couldn't explain how or why, but he had a feeling that something was wrong and that she wasn't safe. At moments like these he was thankful to have an under butler. If it weren't for Mr. Barrow's presence, the best Mr. Carson could have done was send a hall boy out looking for Mrs. Hughes. She had not been gone long enough to warrant calling the police, and at dinnertime, there weren't many male servants who could be spared. He couldn't make a habit of leaving the house shortly after the dressing gong, but just this once he was grateful that he was able to follow his instincts. Mr. Carson was out of sight of the house when he rounded a corner and saw his fears confirmed. He broke into a run.
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Mrs. Hughes was annoyed with herself. She had stayed far too long talking with Mrs. Brown and had gotten back on the road to Downton Abbey later than she had planned. The sun had set and she was barely going to make it to the house before all the light was gone, not to mention probably missing the dressing gong. Mrs. Hughes felt uneasy walking alone in twilight. She knew she wasn't likely to be set upon and kidnapped by a gang of bandits, but she didn't like it. She increased her pace, wishing herself back home. Suddenly, Mrs. Hughes tripped on something in the road and fell. She was sprawled on the ground and her basket rolled away from her. She got to her feet, grumbling, and stood dusting herself off, when a shadow ran in front of her and scooped up her basket.
"Give me my basket, young man," she demanded.
"Why would he do that?" another voice said from just beside her. "When I've tripped you up just so he could take it?" Mrs. Hughes shuddered internally. She was not being abducted by bandits, but facing two young ruffians in the dark was still frightening. She hoped they were only in search of something valuable to steal. Once the young man rifling through her basket a few feet away found there was nothing in it worth bothering about, perhaps they would leave her alone, with a bruised knee and a missing basket, but otherwise little the worse for the encounter.
"Take what you want," she told them. "Just leave me in peace."
The man beside her took her upper arm in an iron grasp that drew involuntary tears to Mrs. Hughes's eyes. That would certainly leave a mark. "You're Mrs. Hughes, aren't you?" he asked.
The young man with the basket tossed it to the ground. "Nothing in there, Benny. Let's get out of here."
Benny ignored him. He suddenly twisted Mrs. Hughes's arm behind her back and she cried out in pain, but she surprised him by bringing the heel of her boot down hard on his foot. He hissed in pain, but did not loosen his grip on her, now taking her other wrist and twisting that arm behind her back as well. That hurt even worse, but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out again, so she bit her lip and kept silent. She could not stop the tears that trickled down her face, however.
"You had me sacked without a reference for having a little fun with that slut of a maid," Benny reminded her. "It was old Carson who did the sacking, but I know it might as well have been you."
"Benny, someone's coming!" the other man shouted, panic evident in his voice. "She's not worth it!"
"Oh, I think it's worth my time to settle an old score." The threat in Benny's face and voice was very real.
"You're mad!" his friend shouted before abandoning the field, running as fast as he could back in the direction of the village.
Mrs. Hughes began to struggle against Benny, though she knew it was in vain; he was much stronger than she. She felt momentary satisfaction that, even though he would likely run off into the night soon, he would certainly bear a few bruises the next morning. She delivered a few clumsy backwards kicks to his shins with little effect, but Benny let go of her briefly when she made use of her boot heel on his other foot and he grunted in pain.
"Bitch!" he spat out.
Mrs. Hughes tried to run, but Benny recovered quickly, catching her again by the arm and delivering a stinging slap across her face. Then he maneuvered so he held both of her wrists in front of her with one hand and drew back his other arm.
Time seemed to stand still for Mrs. Hughes as she was held captive by a young man she suspected was at least a little bit mad. Benny's hand curled into a fist; clearly he was about to strike her again. She cursed herself for struggling against him. If she had held still he might have had done with her already. Mrs. Hughes could now only pray for God's mercy.
Time could not stand still forever. She knew the blow was coming, but Mrs. Hughes refused to close her eyes or flinch. She thought it likely that this would enrage Benny further, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Her mother had more than once warned her about this. Your defiance will be the death of me, Elsie Hughes! And probably of you as well! Mrs. Hughes hoped her mother would not be proved right today.
God's mercy, however, came in the form of a shadowy figure that took hold of Benny by his raised arm, yanked him off of his prisoner, and delivered a powerful punch to his nose. Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure she had it in her to hurry all the way home at that particular moment, so she ran to the side of the road and leant against a tree and before long she had sunk to the ground. She sat watching the scuffle between Benny and the stranger, but she could soon perceive that he was no stranger. She would know Mr. Carson's figure anywhere, even in shadow, and she watched, amazed, as he struck her attacker several times before delivering a final punch that knocked Benny to the ground. She had never seen Mr. Carson strike anyone, and it shocked her a little, though she was so thankful for his appearance that her tears started afresh.
Now that Benny was at least temporarily incapacitated, Mr. Carson looked around and called out for her. "Mrs. Hughes? Where are you? Are you all right, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Here. I'm here." Her voice was not loud, and she feared he would not hear her, but Mr. Carson immediately turned and hurried in her direction. He sank to his knees in front of her, a little to one side so he could keep an eye on the man now lying on the ground about thirty feet away.
Mr. Carson's expression was a mixture of tenderness and anger. "Are you hurt?" he asked, then frowned. "But of course you are. What a foolish question." He was now speaking more to himself than to her.
"Thank you," she murmured, unable to say anything else.
A groan from Benny's direction caught their attention. The man was beginning to regain consciousness. Mr. Carson looked around, trying to decide what to do. He didn't want to leave Mrs. Hughes, but he also didn't intend to let that reprobate go, free to menace other innocent women.
"Mrs. Hughes, may I have your scarf?"
She was confused. "Why?"
Mr. Carson looked at Benny, slowly beginning to stir, and Mrs. Hughes understood. She nodded and tried to untie the scarf, but her fingers couldn't seem to manage it. "You'll have to do it, Mr. Carson," she told him, covering her face with trembling hands.
Mr. Carson hesitated for a moment, but another groan from a short distance away provoked him to action. He unknotted the scarf and slid it from around her neck. "I'll buy you a new one, Mrs. Hughes," he promised, getting to his feet and approaching the man on the ground. He roughly flipped Benny over onto his stomach and tied his wrists tightly together before returning to kneel before Mrs. Hughes. Her tears were slowing, but she still trembled from the shock of the attack. Mr. Carson gently pulled her hands away and looked into her face. He tucked some loosened hair behind her ear. Her hat lay somewhere on the road.
"Do you think you can walk?" he asked.
"I think so, if you will help me to stand." Mr. Carson stood and tried to pull her up by tugging at her hands, but she whimpered in pain and he let go immediately. He remembered now seeing Benny twisting Mrs. Hughes's arms behind her back as he had run toward them and he changed his strategy. He knelt back down and grasped her elbows gently, helping her get to her knees and then to her feet.
Mrs. Hughes took a few steps on her own and nodded. "I can walk."
Mr. Carson frowned. "Elsie, I can't let that villain escape, but I can't leave you to walk home alone."
Mrs. Hughes smiled tremulously. "It's a long time since you last called me Elsie," she murmured.
"I do apologize, Mrs. Hughes. I wasn't thinking."
She opened her mouth to tell him he needn't apologize, but before she could say it, a car had pulled up to them and stopped.
"What on earth are you doing out here, Carson?" called a familiar voice. Mr. Carson had not often felt such relief. He steered Mrs. Hughes gently over to the car. The dowager countess and Mrs. Crawley were inside, on their way to Downton Abbey for dinner.
"Good evening, your ladyship, Mrs. Crawley. I hope you can help me. Mrs. Hughes has been attacked." The ladies gasped. "I need to get her home, but I need to turn her attacker over to the police." Mr. Carson pointed to the man on the ground.
"Of course," Lady Grantham responded. "We'll take Mrs. Hughes to the Abbey and telephone the police to meet you here."
"Thank you, your ladyship," Mr. Carson said. He opened the door for Mrs. Hughes to get in beside the chauffeur, but here Mrs. Crawley protested.
"Mrs. Hughes must sit in the back with us, Carson," she insisted. The dowager countess and Mr. Carson both looked at Mrs. Crawley as though she were mad. "I mean it! Mrs. Hughes is hurt. If she sits with us I can take a look at her injuries while we drive."
Mr. Carson now looked down at the woman beside him. Mrs. Hughes was more composed now than she had been a short while ago, but she was looking very bedraggled and very tired. Her face was also beginning to swell where Benny had struck her. Mr. Carson was sorry he couldn't look after her himself, but he knew she would be in good hands with Mrs. Crawley. He closed the front door and opened the back door and helped Mrs. Hughes climb in. The dowager looked rather flummoxed by this unusual turn of events, but she showed no actual objection. Mr. Carson closed the door and watched the car until it was out of sight.
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Mrs. Hughes was very uncomfortable with the notion of Mrs. Crawley helping her out of her dress and into her nightgown, but that lady dismissed her objections.
"You must not think of me as a member of the family you serve," she told Mrs. Hughes. "Right now I am simply Nurse Crawley, and you are my patient."
Mrs. Hughes hesitated before acquiescing. "Very well." Once she began undressing, beginning with her coat and gloves, she was glad of the assistance. The young man had not harmed her in any significant way, but she had minor injuries everywhere that made certain simple tasks painful. As she undressed, with Mrs. Crawley's help, she gave an account of the encounter with the young man. When he tripped her she bruised her knee and in catching herself had hurt her wrists as well. He left a mark on her upper arm, twisted her arms and wrists into unnatural positions, and slapped her face so hard that, aside of a bit of stinging, it went numb at first. Mrs. Hughes was now beginning to feel the pain of that blow.
Mrs. Crawley's caring but businesslike manner put Mrs. Hughes more at ease and she spoke of her fear and her defiance, of her relief and gratefulness at Mr. Carson's appearance. She asked Mrs. Crawley if Mr. Carson might be asked to come see her once she was in her nightgown, tucked safely and modestly under her blankets, but her nurse was noncommittal. "Perhaps he will come up once he has finished with the police, if his duties allow it."
"Please, Mrs. Crawley, do tell Mr. Carson I've asked for him," Mrs. Hughes implored. "I understand that he may not be able to spare the time, but if he can, I should very much like him to see him and thank him for everything he's done."
"Please sit down, Mrs. Hughes," Mrs. Crawley ordered. "We need to get your shoes off. Has either of your feet been hurt?"
"No, my feet feel fine, thank heaven."
Mrs. Crawley got Mrs. Hughes into bed and gave some instructions, which she promised she would also give to Mrs. Patmore or one of the lady's maids. Amazingly, all of this was accomplished in time for her to go in to dinner with the family only a few minutes late.
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A few hours later, Mrs. Hughes nearly despaired of Mr. Carson's coming to visit her. She was tired and sore, but she wasn't sure she would be able to sleep until she had seen him. She wondered if he were perhaps still occupied with the police, or if he did not think it proper to come to her bedroom. Mrs. Hughes was beginning to consider getting up and asking one of the maids to find out where he was, when there was a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," she called out softly.
Mr. Carson peeked around the door. "Is it all right for me to come in, Mrs. Hughes? I'm sorry to be so late."
Mrs. Hughes's lips had curved into a brilliant smile, which was answer enough for Mr. Carson. 'Is it all right,' he asks? She gestured to the chair beside her bed.
He entered and gently closed the door, moving the chair to face her, and sat down. "How are you?" he asked softly.
"Well, I'm a bit sore, to be honest," Mrs. Hughes admitted. "But I might have been much worse if it weren't for you. Thank you." Her arm rested on the blankets and she turned her hand so her palm faced up. Mr. Carson hesitated only a moment before taking it.
"I'm only sorry I wasn't there sooner."
She shook her head. "There's no point in that sort of talk, Mr. Carson. You were there in time to prevent something really terrible, and that's what matters."
"I can't really explain how I knew that I needed to come after you, but I'm glad I did."
"What do you mean?" A crease appeared between her eyebrows.
"You hadn't returned by the time I rang the dressing gong, which was odd enough," Mr. Carson began. "But I just had a peculiar feeling that you weren't safe. I left Mr. Barrow in charge and went looking for you. I hoped that I would find that you were simply running late and I could offer you my escort back to the house. I was sorry to find that you were in danger, but glad I was there to help."
"He would have hit me again for certain, probably more than once," Mrs. Hughes said, tears spilling over again. "I think he might be a little bit mad."
Mr. Carson's face darkened. "Mad or not, I'm glad I had the chance to deal him a few blows of my own. Any man who dares to lay his hands on you deserves that, and worse. I'm only sorry I had to leave you."
Mrs. Hughes looked into his face with some wonder. She had never seen such an expression of both remorse and anger on his face. "Nonsense, you left me in very good hands. The dowager immediately telephoned the police, and Mrs. Crawley took good care of me. She was very kind."
Mr. Carson grunted.
"What was that for?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know. "She was very kind."
"I'm sure she was an excellent nurse, but she told me not to visit you tonight."
Mrs. Hughes frowned. "But I asked her particularly to tell you I wanted to see you."
"She thought you shouldn't be disturbed."
Mrs. Hughes looked deeply into his eyes before speaking again, very softly. "But you came anyway."
"Old Lady Grantham told me you were asking for me. Apparently Mrs. Crawley saw fit to tell the dowager but not me."
"I suppose I'll just be thankful for her medical help and let the rest go," Mrs. Hughes remarked, though Mr. Carson could see by the set of her mouth that she was annoyed.
"I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you, but I couldn't let that... miscreant... go free to prey on other men's..." Mr. Carson trailed off, unsure how he should finish the sentence.
Mrs. Hughes eyed him curiously. "Other men's what?"
He cleared his throat. "That is, I mean to say any other innocent women - mothers, daughters, sisters, and the like."
"Of course you couldn't," she agreed. "Where is he now?"
"The police have him," Mr. Carson told her. "They'll be coming here tomorrow to speak to you."
Mrs. Hughes nodded. "I don't think I'll be fit to work tomorrow."
"Of course not. The police will be here at two o'clock, but otherwise you just stay in bed and don't worry about anything."
She looked at him skeptically. "Easier said than done," she said, her lips twitching.
Mr. Carson smiled, knowing he would likely feel just the same if someone told him to stay in bed and not worry. "Shall I send Anna or Miss Baxter up to help you?"
Mrs. Hughes grimaced. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll be a bit helpless. I'd prefer Anna, if she's free, but if you send one of them to me at about half past one, I'll be ready for the police by two."
He nodded and looked closely at her face. "You must be very tired, Mrs. Hughes. I'll let you rest."
"Good night, Mr. Carson, and thank you. For everything."
"Good night, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson squeezed her hand before letting it go and slipping quietly out of her room.
To be continued…