I have been waiting for weeks to finally have Henry out and about just for this. Just know that originally, I had much more planned for this, but that would have all simply gone too far for this.

"So you think we should invest in some more harvesting machinery to stay on top of things?" Tom asked his sister-in-law, looking at the weathered map spread out on the car seat in front of them, his gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back.

They had just arrived back at the abbey from their morning inspection of the estate. It had been quite the slippery tour with all the ice on the ground hidden beneath the thin layer of fresh snow, but they had managed to climb the iced paths to the top of the hill overlooking most of the estate not too far away. The way back to the abbey from there had been a doddle for their trusty car in comparison. Tom had shown her the location of the next farm that would be vacant soon. The Adamsons, a nice family with three young children, had just informed them of their plans to move to the city and turn their backs on their old lives a few days ago. Of course, that was quite a sad affair for everyone since the Crawleys had maintained good relationships with all of their tenants and the Adamsons had been there for many generations, but it also opened up more possibilities that came with the gained land.

"I think we should farm the land we're gaining from the Adamsons ourselves, and it is quite a large farm with good connections to the other plots of land we already farm. We will need more help and more machinery if we take this on. It will be quite expensive but I am sure that it will all pay off before long." Mary paused, slowly turning around on her heels to let her gaze wander over the wide meadows and fields covered in white that stretched before her eyes. Quietly and solemnly, she said: "You know, Tom, this is what Matthew had in mind all those years ago. Turning Downton into a thriving estate that can quite easily invest in more help and machinery, an estate that can sustain itself; that is what he was fighting for. And it should please Papa that we are not exploiting our tenant farmers, either. This was Matthew's vision all along."

"It was, and I am quite proud to have seen it come to life," Tom replied with a gentle smile before he let his gaze wander himself. This view, it truly was breathtaking. And to think that he helped maintain it, that he helped the farmers and the people in the village by working for an estate like this, hand in hand with an Earl and his daughter. His younger self, the young boy-turned-chauffeur in him, would have never believed any of it. And Tom truly felt proud of it, of the part he played and the people he called his family now.

Just when he wanted to talk about some more business decisions that needed to be made, he saw a shadow rush out the front door out of the corner of his eye. When he recognized the hurriedly retreating figure, he quickly said: "Can we talk more later? I have to do something rather urgently."

He did not even wait for Mary's confused "Of course, but what is going on?" before he walked away in the direction of the cloaked figure.

"Don't think you can get away this easily! I saw you. Just stop for a minute!" Tom shouted when the man he was rushing after was within earshot. The cloaked man turned around briefly, only to turn back and pick up even more pace than before.

"Will you just stop for a minute?" Tom shouted again, exasperatedly.

Abruptly, the tall man stopped dead in his tracks, only to turn around agonizingly slowly when Tom finally caught up.

"What do you want, Tom?" he hissed.

"I just want to talk, Henry, nothing more. There's no need to be so hostile."

"Fine, then talk."

His friend and brother-in-law had truly let himself go in recent weeks. He was unshaven — a scruff and patchy beard adorning his face, and his eyes seemed sunken from sleep deprivation, not to mention the pallor of his usually tan skin. Not even his red tie was wound correctly and sat rather crooked around his neck.

Tom decided he would not mention the choice of colour during the mourning period, it would not help at all, but he was more than mildly disgusted and angry. He hadn't grown up with all these traditions omnipresent at all times, there had never been the time or place for all these protocols where he was from, but he knew a thing or two about the meaning of respect; and the rest he had learnt since he came to Downton. Violet had died barely even three months ago, and wearing anything but black seemed, quite frankly, disrespectful to her and the rest of the family. They had all suffered an immense loss when she passed, and Tom had expected Henry to at least behave decently in this regard — in vain, as it turned out. It was not at all appropriate to be out and about wearing a blue suit in combination with a red patterned tie, no matter how little Henry actually knew his wife's grandmother. Tom tried to swallow down at least some of the anger before he replied.

"What do you think you are doing, Henry? Take some action, talk to her. These things can be fixed, but not if you keep staying away. You will not get her back by staying in your room and letting yourself go."

"You think so? Well, that will make so much of a difference, thank you for that," Henry said sarcastically. Dismissively, he shook his head and turned around, ready to walk away again.

"I don't understand you, Henry. I am trying to, really, I am," Tom said in disbelief directed at the taller man in front of him. "But no matter how I look at things, I can't seem to understand what your problem is."

"Of course, you wouldn't get it," Henry bit out.

"No, really, I wouldn't. You had everything, and you let it go. You let your life run through your hands like sand in an hourglass. I helped you get her back when everything seemed lost between you two. When there was nothing you wanted more than her to be the woman by your side, I was the one who set her up so she would meet you again and again. I did that because I believed you were right for her, that you were a decent man who could make her happy again after all she has suffered after Matthew. But that man I thought you were not too long ago is nowhere to be seen now."

Henry snorted contemptuously at that, shaking his head as he looked down on Tom with a sneer. "Isn't he? Maybe you should get your eyes checked then, because I am that man."

Tom's eyes narrowed and, subconsciously, his hand balled into a fist by his side. "No, you are not. The man I stuck up for not too long ago would have never stayed away for so long. The man I stuck up for would have sent letters of his whereabouts to his wife with at least some regularity and would have had the decency to at least reply to the letters he received. He would have been there for my wedding to be my best man after I asked him repeatedly and he would have been here for the funeral of Violet to support his wife and her family in their mourning, their grief. The man I stuck up for would not be so insensitive about Violet's death and Cora's illness. He would have tried to help his wife deal with everything and he would have been there for his daughter. Yet, you have stayed silent. For a year, Henry. A year!"

Tom felt himself get increasingly agitated at his friend and his dismissive behaviour. He had not realised it before, but he really was angry at him, he felt betrayed and disappointed. And if he felt that way, then he could only imagine how Mary felt. That thought, however, did not help him at all in his efforts to contain himself and reign in his temper.

"Tom, calm down, alright," Henry then said, trying to placate the shorter man in front of him when he saw the tension build in his counterpart. The small gestures he was making, however, only further irritated the Irishman in front of him.

"No, Henry. I will not calm the fuck down! I do not care who can hear us, because I have had enough!"

Henry backed away slightly when he heard Tom swear. He had never heard his brother-in-law swear like that, and he had never seen him this enraged about anything. But even before he could try to calm him down with words, Tom continued all but shouting at him in frustration.

"I know that you do not see it this way, but I all but bullied Mary into marrying you, thinking it was what was best for her at the time. I guess deep down I had just hoped that this way, I would not be the only outsider in this family any more, the only one that did not belong in these grand ballrooms, the only one who had a real job. I hoped I would have an ally in there. But I have been so wrong, because, as it turns out, I do belong here, unlike you, and I do certainly not need an ally like you," Tom spat, taking another step in his direction and closing the gap between them again. "I should have never acted in your favour, it would have spared Mary a lot of heartbreak and grief. When I came into this family, Robert said that if I ever mistreated Sybil, he would personally have me torn to pieces by wild dogs, you know. And I believed him. And I also think that if he weren't so preoccupied with mourning his mother and caring for his wife who is likely dying, he would have done so with you a while ago already."

"There's no need for all that, Tom. You have made your point. I-"

"Oh, have I?" Tom asked, the angry glint still in his eyes as he looked up into Henry's face.

"Yes, you have!" Henry gave back quite sternly, much to Tom's surprise.

At this, the Irishman shut up and clenched his jaw. He was still seething inside, but he would let Henry say his piece.

"I have mistreated Mary, badly. I do know that. I also know that this marriage is broken beyond repair and that it is entirely my fault. You needn't worry. Robert has already talked to me. He knows of my missteps." Henry paused, turning away to look up at the house he should have called his home. "He gave me a choice and it should have been an easy one; I admit that. Yet, it took me until now to see that clearly," he said as he turned back. "I am sorry, Tom, for leaving you hanging. And I am sorry for doing all this to Mary, for not being there, for cheating on her, I truly am. I-"

Henry wanted to go on, but before he could even utter another syllable, he found himself lying on the cold, hard ground with a very sudden and sharp pain spreading across the left side of his face.

Tom's right hook was quite forceful, as it turned out. Maybe even more forceful than Tom himself had anticipated. As soon as his fist had connected with Henry's face, he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his knuckles and fingers. Grabbing at his wrist and shaking his hand in pain, he asked through gritted teeth: "You have what, you bastard?"

Henry looked up at him from the ground. His cheek already began to swell and colour deep red as a thin trail of blood began to trickle from a small gash on his cheekbone when he replied: "Listen, I know. And I am sorry, I really am. I will go and tell her myself and I will agree to the divorce, I promise."

It was apparent that he was quite scared of the Irishman towering over him at the moment. He had never seen Tom this way, so angry at anything and least of all at him. His words could cut deeply occasionally, Henry had found, but his business partner had never used force before, had never struck anyone to his knowledge. It was more than surprising to him that his face had just come into direct and certainly painful contact with his balled fist.

"What in God's good name is going on out here?" exclaimed an all-too-familiar voice coming from behind them, her Scottish heritage not at all veiled in her anger as she marched up to the two men. Elsie Hughes clutched at the keys dangling by her side to keep them from making too much noise as she approached quickly.

Tom turned around, and he had rarely ever been as relieved to see the elderly housekeeper walking up towards him with such a grim face as he was at that moment. She was one of the few people who would be able to keep him from doing more harm than he had already done.

When she saw who she was walking towards, her whole demeanour changed almost instantly. "Oh, Mr Branson, Mr Talbot! I do beg your pardon. I heard shouting outside and thought the hall boys were in yet another scuffle," she said.

"No worries, Mrs Hughes. I just slipped and fell on some ice. Tom tried to warn me, but it was too late," Henry said, slowly sitting up on the frozen ground as he blatantly lied to the housekeeper.

Mrs Hughes looked suspiciously from one man to the other, eyeing the developing bruise on Henry's face with raised eyebrows, before she said: "That looks like a nasty fall you took. You better go down to the servant's hall and ask one of the maids for help to get that cleaned up, Mr Talbot. We wouldn't want that to get any worse."

Nodding, Henry got up and walked as quickly as possible in the direction of the back door. That would be much faster than going in through the main entrance since they were quite a way off from there. Luckily for Tom, they were also out of sight from where he had parked the car previously so that Mary hopefully had not witnessed anything of this exchange.

"And you better come with me in a minute to get some ice for your hand, Mr Branson," the older woman added looking up at the man next to her as soon as Henry was out of earshot.

"Oh no, it's nothing, real-" Tom began to say, but a look into Mrs Hughes' stern face effectively shut him up. A part of him would always respect this woman deeply, and a part of him maybe even larger than that would always be at least a little bit scared of her.

The pair started walking in the same direction, following the trail of footsteps Henry had left behind in the fresh snow.

"Tell me one thing, Mr Branson," Mrs Hughes said, stopping right in front of the door that led down to the servant's hall.

Tom stopped, removing his hat as he looked down at her. He had no idea what she would ask of him next. "Yes?" he asked cautiously.

Mrs Hughes' watchful eyes gave him a one-over from head to toe. The way he stood tall in his black coat and suit while seeming entirely confident about where he was in life at that moment caused her to smile and nod approvingly. He truly had come such a long way from the outspoken and quite political chauffeur who caused one or the other discussion downstairs during tea or afterwards while he waited for the Dowager to ask for the car to be brought around, much to Mr Carson's often vocal dismay. She straightened up and looked him dead in the eye as she asked: "Did you at least put your weight behind it?"

"I sure think I did, Mrs Hughes. Though I am surprised to hear you ask something like this," Tom replied with raised eyebrows and a slight chuckle he could not keep in.

"Good, that is all I need to know," she replied. Her hand already on the door handle, she turned back around to say: "I may not worship at Lady Mary's feet as Mr Carson does, but Mr Talbot has been behaving despicably the last few months, and I do feel very sorry for her and her bairns. Now, let's slowly follow him and fix your hand, shall we?"

Tom could not suppress the smile that formed on his lips. He could always count on the old housekeeper to surprise him in the best way possible.