By the time Tom reached Downton, the fingers on his right hand were sore and swollen and he knew he wouldn't be able to bind them properly without help.

He thought about his options. Dr Clarkson would do a professional job, but Tom didn't want to bother him with such a minor injury. Barrow would do a decent job as well with his Royal Army Medical Corps training, but the butler would be both busy and too nosy about what had happened. Even though he knew Thomas was part of Mary's secret army, he wasn't sure he was ready to face questions from him about his injury. As Tom saw it, he had two realistic choices: Anna or Mrs Hughes.

Five minutes later, he was using his good hand to knock on the door of the Carsons' cottage, his car pulled discreetly into the lane off to the side. Carson opened the door, his face registering surprise at the identity of their visitor.

'Mr Branson. This is an unexpected pleasure,' he said, formally, his cool tone belying his words.

'Mr Carson,' Tom nodded at the man. 'I'm sorry to intrude on your privacy. I was wondering if Mrs Hughes might be here.'

'She is. Would you care to come inside?' Carson said, pulling open the door and stepping aside, slipping into butler mode as Tom had seen him do countless times in the grander environs of Downton Abbey.

Tom crossed the threshold and waited politely for Carson to lead the way down the small hallway to the parlour.

'Elsie, we have a visitor,' Carson announced to his wife, who looked up from the magazine she was reading.

Tom stepped out from behind Carson, making Mrs Hughes' eyes grow wide with surprise.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Hughes.'

'Mr Branson. Well, this is a surprise.'

'I'm sorry to bother you only I was hoping to ask you for a favour.'

'And what is it I can do for you?'

Tom held up his injured hand. 'Patch me up?'

'Goodness gracious, what on earth have you done?' Mrs Hughes said, setting aside her magazine and rising to her feet.

Tom glanced at Carson, knowing he was about to incur his disapproval. 'I punched someone.'

'You punched someone?' Carson sputtered, his thick eyebrows scurrying up his forehead.

'I did. In my defence, he deserved it.'

'Well, I should hope he did. Let me see that.' Mrs Hughes took hold of Tom's hand, examining it and gently palpating the bones, glancing up at him as he winced. 'I don't think you've broken any bones, but the fingers will need splinting and strapping just in case, and you'll have to ice it to help the swelling go down.'

'I don't suppose there is any way of hiding it, so nobody in the family sees it?' he asked, without much real hope.

'No. The only way you could do that is to clean it up and leave it unstrapped, but I don't think that's wise.' She gave him a careful look. 'Is there a reason why you don't want the family to know what's happened?'

'I should think that's perfectly obvious,' Carson said, his eyebrows having returned to their customary position. 'Mr Branson is rightly ashamed of his behaviour.'

'No, I'm not. As I said, the person I punched deserved it. The problem is that the family will see the evidence before them and put two and two together and come up with four,' Tom said in resignation.

Mrs Hughes narrowed her eyes at him. 'You mean they know the man you punched?'

'Yes,' Tom said, reluctantly.

'And they obviously know him well enough and see him frequently enough that they will see the mark you left on him before it disappears.'

'Yes.'

Mrs Hughes eyed him carefully. 'You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, Mr Branson, but is the person you punched Mr Talbot?'

Carson's eyebrows rose again. 'Elsie! I don't know how you came to that conclusion, but-'

'Oh, Charlie. Who else is it going to be if the family could put two and two together and get the right answer? I hardly think Mr Branson is going to be brawling with his lordship or a member of the staff. Plus, we heard the car arriving, so he's come from somewhere, and he's usually in York at the dealership when he's not here. Who else is at the dealership that the family knows well? Isn't that right, Mr Branson?'

Tom looked at her with respect. 'Mrs Hughes, I believe you would give Hercule Poirot a run for his money.'

Mrs Hughes gave him a small smile, secretly pleased with that comparison. 'Oh, I don't know about that. It all seems perfectly obvious to me. That is unless you're about to tell me I'm wrong.'

'No, you're not wrong,' Tom admitted.

'You… you punched Lady Mary's husband?' Carson squawked, his eyebrows almost in his hairline.

'I thought you two were friends as well as business partners,' Mrs Hughes observed, steering Tom to a seat at their dining table.

'We are. We were. But… well, let's just say it was a matter of honour.'

Mrs Hughes nodded, looking at him thoughtfully, then turned her attention to her husband. 'Charlie, close your mouth and fetch me the iodine, a bowl of warm water and a clean towel.'

To Tom's surprise, Carson did as he was told without comment while his wife went to a cupboard and retrieved a bundle of clean rags, a bandage and a box of matchsticks. Tom sat there watching the Carsons bustle about their cottage, feeling wretched for involving them in this whole business. While he didn't regret punching Henry, he did regret the potential fallout his actions could cause. He couldn't help but think back over Henry's accusations and worry that he might have inadvertently upset Mary's plan because he couldn't keep his anger in check.

With her supplies in place on the table, Mrs Hughes examined his hand again. 'Well, you've made a right mess of this, haven't you, laddie? You should have slapped him, you know. I know it's probably not considered as manly as a punch, but you can deliver a powerful open-handed blow that can knock a man silly without damaging your hand like this.'

Tom and Carson both stared at her in astonishment.

Mrs Hughes chuckled at the sight of them. 'Wisht, you two needn't look so surprised. You don't spend time in the mean streets of Glasgow without learning a thing or two. Now, Charlie, put the kettle on while I see to Mr Branson's hand. I'm sure the lad could do with a good, strong cup of tea after the excitement he's had today.'

Tom watched as she cleaned the blood from his hand, wincing as she dabbed iodine where he'd managed to split the skin. He nodded his thanks as Carson placed a cup of tea by his elbow then took a seat at the table with them.

'You really punched Mr Talbot?' the old man said tentatively, obviously having been thinking about it while making the tea.

'Yes.'

'And it was a matter of honour?'

'Yes.'

Carson nodded slowly, looking thoughtfully at Tom. 'And would this matter of honour have anything to do with Lady Mary?'

Tom glanced at Mary's long-time champion then returned his gaze to where Mrs Hughes was splinting and strapping his fingers. 'I'd rather not say.'

Mrs Hughes paused in her ministrations, giving her patient a candid look. 'I don't think you need to, my boy.'

Tom held her gaze, acknowledging her words with a small nod of his head.

'Well, you shall hear no word of condemnation from my lips then, Mr Branson. I will only say that I hope Mr Talbot's face looks and feels worse than your hand,' Carson said in the voice that had had countless underlings quaking in their boots.

Tom was quiet for a moment before offering a reply. 'At the very least, I split his lip.'

'Good. Although I was rather hoping that you might have broken his nose,' Carson said with feeling.

'Sadly not, I think,' Tom said, exchanging an amused look with Mrs Hughes.

'Then that is a pity,' Carson pronounced. 'Now, would you like a biscuit with your tea? Mrs Patmore sent us some rather delicious shortbread yesterday.'

'No, thank you, Mr Carson,' Tom replied, realising with a start that he was in Carson's good graces, a state of being he'd never achieved before.

Mrs Hughes smiled as she picked up the bandage. 'I'll take a piece of shortbread, Charlie.'

'Right you are,' Carson said, rising to fetch it for her.

'He'll be singing your praises to me when you leave,' she said softly to Tom when her husband was out of earshot. 'Lady Mary's knight in shining armour will be able to do no wrong in his eyes for a while.'

'I wish there'd been no need for me to be her knight in shining armour,' Tom said, ruefully. 'I probably shouldn't have punched him. Not when it will be so obvious that I did.'

'Well, the genie's out of the bottle now and it's not likely you'll be able to put it back in now, is it?'

'No.'

'Then there's no point wishing things were different. And I daresay if he deserved it, it felt good to do it, even if it did hurt. Didn't it?' Mrs Hughes said, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at Tom.

For the first time since he learned about Henry's affair, Tom felt better. 'Yes,' he said, giving her a small grin. 'It did.'

'Well, there you go then. And the silver lining of the matter is that Lady Mary will no doubt soon be in full possession of all the facts, which means she can decide what to do for the best. And she will know she has a good friend in you.' Mrs Hughes gave Tom a shrewd look, one that had him trying not to squirm in his seat. 'Although I am quite sure she already knows that.'

He didn't answer, neither knowing what to say nor trusting himself to speak when it felt like Mrs Hughes could see straight into his soul. Instead, he picked up his tea, sipping at it while the housekeeper returned her attention to wrapping his hand firmly with the bandage.

'Right, you're done. Come and find me when the bandage needs changing. You'll not be able to manage it yourself, not left-handed.'

'Thank you, Mrs Hughes. You've been very kind,' Tom said, meaning it sincerely.

'Ah, get away with you. I'll not see you left untended, lad. Now, you'd better go up to the house and see what's what. I daresay Mr Talbot will come back spinning a tall tale of some kind to explain away his bloody lip.'

'Probably. He'll certainly try, but it will be awkward for him to do that when I turn up with a bandaged hand to match his bloody lip,' Tom said, wryly, looking down at the pristine white bandage now covering his injured hand. He rose to his feet. 'Thank you again, both of you. I appreciate your assistance more than I can say.'

'I'll see you out,' Carson said, placing a plate with a shortbread biscuit on it in front of his wife.

'I'll say good day to you, Mrs Hughes, and thank you again for your nursing skills,' Tom said, with a grateful smile to the lady in question.

Mrs Hughes inclined her head graciously. 'You are very welcome, Mr Branson. If you find yourself in need of a nurse again, my door is always open to you.'

Carson escorted Tom to the front door, pulling it open for him. 'Mr Branson,' he said as Tom walked past him and through the door.

Tom turned to look at him.

'Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist Lady Mary. Anything at all.'

Tom nodded, knowing the offer came from the old man's heart. 'I will. Thank you, Mr Carson. Good day.'

With that, Carson gave a brief, satisfied nod and closed the door as Tom headed for the car. Now it was time to face the fallout from his fight with Henry.