By Couch Baron
After this many years of recapping, I didn't think anyone could come up with a show I'd be this excited to cover, much less that the chips falling in a way that I actually got the assignment. I'll gladly give up my weekend to cover it… not that that even means anything to the Dowager Countess. Let's start with new additions to the opening credits: Allan Leech (Branson) is now a series regular, as are Matt Milne (playing the new character Alfred Nugent) and Lucille Sharp (playing new character Reed). So!
It's the spring of 1920, mere months after the Season 2 Christmas special. Let's start with the bits and pieces:
Daisy is finally looking a bit more like a woman and a bit less like an androgynous child; unfortunately, she's still whining about the kitchen help she was promised that thus far hasn't been delivered. Thomas -- always her Svengali -- incites her to strike, but when Daisy realizes that Mrs. Patmore is fighting her passive resistance with passive indifference, she folds like the cloth she immediately picks up to dry the dishes.
Isobel is working with a charity that supports women who have come down (or "gone down" seems more appropriate) in the world, and as such runs into Ethel. Despite the fact that Ethel is looking kind of homeless, nothing comes of that yet.
Mrs. Hughes finds a lump in her breast; Mrs. Patmore is there for her -- reversing their support-system roles from when Mrs. Patmore was losing her sight -- as she has the growth tested, but the results are inconclusive and unfortunately, it's going to take up to two months for definitive analysis. In the meantime, the doctor counsels her to rest as much as possible, which is great news considering the financially-mandated hiring freeze Downton is under and the fact that Carson has already been chewing her out for her head being off in Breast Cancer Land instead of on her work. Carson does apologize and encourages her to tell him if anything's wrong, but she's not ready for that quite yet.
Despite his having told her in the Christmas special that they have no future together, Edith rekindles her friendship with Sir Anthony Strallan -- you know, the boring older gentleman who she was keen to marry before Mary ruined the whole thing with a casual wave of her hand. But Lord Grantham and Lady Cora (I should refer to her as "Lady Grantham," but I'm taking liberties for brevity's sake. Besides, she won't mind… she's American) feel Sir Anthony is too old and wounded (literally) for Edith (much like the Dowager Countess before them) and the former has a talk with Sir Anthony, with both agreeing that Sir Anthony should refuse Edith any further contact. When Edith gets a letter from Sir Anthony telling her to go away, she immediately (and essentially accurately) blames Lord Grantham before running into her American grandmother's arms and, with her support, she convinces Lord Grantham to reverse his decision. I'm not sure what he was on about anyway, given that the line to marry Edith has started and ended with Sir Anthony since the show began.
On to the Bates and Anna front! In good news, Bates' inheritance was legally processed, thus allowing him to transfer title of his house to Anna, which she's renting out for extra income. The bad news is that he's still in jail, but at least he knows he has a place to stay should he ever get out. Anna isn't waiting around for that to happen though, as she finds a book of Vera Bates' with names and dates in it that she thinks might help to clear Bates' name, with the idea that Vera must have told someone about her plan to off herself. Although she doesn't reach her in this episode, she zeroes in on the friend to whom Vera wrote her "Bates is coming to kill me" letter. Also, Bates has a new cellmate and while he seems a nasty piece of work, his question of "Why do you have to be so pious" to Bates makes it hard for me to completely dislike him; nonetheless, Bates lets him know who the cell's alpha dog is.
Now, let's get to the bigger stuff. Everyone (viewers and characters alike) is looking forward to the arrival of Lady Cora's mother, Martha Levinson, since -- unless you've been living under a media rock -- we know that she's being played by Shirley MacLaine. Martha shows up to delightfully drip tacky fur and brassy American attitude all over everyone; her also-American maid, the aforementioned Reed, isn't much more popular, as she runs the temporarily Daisy-less Mrs. Patmore ragged with Martha's dietary requirements. Sybil and Branson initially cry poverty in declining to attend the wedding, and Lord Grantham is fine with that, as he doesn't want to give the servants a firsthand hero-worshipping look at Branson the successful class-conqueror. Unsurprisingly, Isobel Crawley has a different opinion; less expected is that the Dowager Countess sees it her way, at least in a broad sense, thinking that if they can show that Branson can behave in a civilized manner, the county's gossip about the unlikely pairing will die. Isobel gets it in her head to send the young couple travel money and soon they've turned up, with Sybil all smiles and Branson unsurprisingly just a bit warier; the latter lets the room have it with both Irish political barrels at the very first dinner he attends, causing Carson to clutch a glass with such force that it shatters. Although Matthew successfully befriends his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Branson's ill temper isn't helped at the following evening's meal by the arrival of Larry Grey, an unctuous former suitor of Sybil's. Soon, Branson is drunkenly bawling out the entire dinner table, but Sir Anthony luckily comes to his rescue, as he realizes that Grey drugged his drink; not only does this bring Branson unexpected sympathy, but it also inspires Matthew to choose him as his best man (his original choice dropped out due to illness). In other interesting news, the Dowager Countess eventually reveals that it was she who sent the money for Sybil and Branson to attend, a fact that earns her some hilariously unwanted admiration from Martha.
With the wedding imminent, Carson is still bemoaning his dearth of footmen, so O'Brien offers the services of her nephew, the aforementioned Alfred Nugent, but Carson balks, given Alfred's lack of experience. However, O'Brien gets Lady Cora to push the idea through and the fierce attachment she shows to her nephew -- even in the face of Thomas' characteristic barbs -- does her credit. However, he's not exactly a natural as a footman, so O'Brien asks Thomas for help training Alfred to be a valet. Thomas turns her down because Alfred hasn't paid his dues -- not that he wouldn't have done so without a reason anyway -- but later gives him advice in stain removal that results in a hole in Matthew's tailcoat. When this costs Alfred his shot at being Matthew's valet, O'Brien swears she'll make Thomas sorry and I highly doubt I'm alone in predicting that she's going to come out on top of that conflict. Alfred also finds an unlikely friend (and romantic interest) in Reed, who by kissing him not only makes him feel better, but also practically causes Daisy to get the vapors.
Lord Grantham goes to London on an errand, the true purpose of which he keeps to himself, which is understandable, given that he gets the news from his financial adviser that he's lost a fortune (specifically, the lion's share of Lady Cora's fortune) due to his investment in a Canadian railway that went bankrupt and is now being -- gasp! -- nationalized. This news threatens the continued existence of Downton, but Lord Grantham declares that he's not giving up. In this case, "not giving up" entails making cryptic cheapo comments to Lady Cora, unaware that Matthew has gotten the news that Lavinia's estate, the huge value of which Matthew never knew, has fallen to him… unless the one person who was ahead of him in the inheritance queue (and who long ago disappeared in India) is found. Lord Grantham tearily confesses the bad news to Lady Cora, who takes it with more grace and sympathy for her husband than you'd expect. Thinking that it will affect her immediate plans with Matthew, Lord Grantham confides the news to Mary, who in turn suggests to Matthew -- who doesn't want Lavinia's money anyway -- that he pass it on to Downton should it come to him. Matthew, however, isn't super-psyched about the idea of profiting from Lavinia's death when he knows he broke her heart, which sends Mary into a right state the night before the wedding. It's Branson, of all people, who convinces the groom that he and Mary are meant to be together (an act that earns Branson the long-withheld approval of Lord Grantham), so Matthew makes up with Mary and gives her an eyes-closed-before-the-wedding kiss, which ensures that the Twilight crossover crowd will keep watching.
Mary looks like Snow White on her wedding day, and the entire town cheers for her as she's driven in a carriage to the church. Despite their reconciliation, Matthew remains firm on not keeping Lavinia's money should it come to him, and he tells Lord Grantham so; meanwhile, never ones to wait while men dither about trying to make up their minds, Mary and the Dowager Countess hatch a plan to try to get Martha to come to Downton's rescue, despite Lady Cora's willingness to roll with the punches and downsize.
Mary and the Dowager Countess conspire to use the occasion of a huge lords-and-ladies dinner to show Martha how indispensable Downton is, but unfortunately, the evening only turns out to be definitive proof of Murphy's Law -- Matthew's tailcoat doesn't make it back from being mended in London and Lord Grantham's evening shirts go "missing" (this was O'Brien's revenge on Thomas and even though the mischievous Reed witnessed her take them, she's not talking), but the real disaster is that the oven breaks. Lady Cora is ready to just send everyone home, but Martha steps in and organizes a cold-food indoor picnic with support from Isobel and Lady Cora. The informality of the evening -- including sing-alongs around the piano -- is a big hit. However, it's irrelevant for Downton's purposes, as when the moment of the request comes, Martha informs Mary and the Dowager Countess that her husband tied down his estate's money, much in the same way that the Dowager Countess's late husband did, so she doesn't have access to the amount that would be necessary. In the end, Martha tells Lord Grantham that she's sincerely sorry she can't help him save Downton and advises him to, in essence, be more American about the development and adapt.
So, to recap my own recaplet (don't think I've ever had to do that before), even if -- as seems likely -- Matthew inherits Lavinia's money, Downton will be at risk unless he has a change of heart; Sir Anthony and Lady Edith are about to announce their own engagement; Anna has hopes of breaking the case against Bates; and O'Brien and Thomas are suddenly the bitterest of enemies. Welcome back to Downton Abbey!Think you've got game? Prove it! Check out Games Without Pity, our new area featuring trivia, puzzle, card, strategy, action and word games -- all free to play and guaranteed to help pass the time until your show starts.
We open on Daisy, of all people, as she walks her bike through town. As I said in the recaplet, she looks a bit more grown-up and womanly, although that could be due to the fact we're seeing her in clothes other than that curveless shirt she always wears in the kitchen. (Even when she got married for five minutes last season, she still looked like a gender-neutral doll.) She heads toward the church...
...into which we cut and we see Matthew and Mary -- presumably rehearsing for the wedding -- standing together at the front. Matthew starts the long process of catching viewers up through apparently casual conversation by asking what the latest with Sybil is, and Mary tells him that she and Branson can't afford to make the trip from Ireland for the wedding. A bishop (judging from his attire) asks the priest -- a "Mr. Travis" -- if they can move things along here, so Travis asks Matthew and Mary if they'd mind walking down the aisle once more, and everyone involved in the wedding goes back to one... but not before Lady Cora mentions to Mary that she's not a huge fan of the way the archbishop orders Travis around and then gets all the credit. Mary counters that Lord Grantham was the one who wanted a "prince of the church" to preside over the ceremony before turning to her father and asking if they're really not going to get Sybil over for the occasion. Lord Grantham, however, is relieved that she's not coming, as Branson is "still an object of fascination for the county," by which he means he's worried that Branson is going to hawk copies of his book Crossing The Lines Of British Peerage: A How-To Guide. He thinks having some more time to prepare the servants will be useful, although to my way of thinking, Mary and Matthew's wedding is one of the few events that's big enough to distract people's attention from the "Return of Branson" narrative. But no one said Lord Grantham was a PR expert. Isobel, unsurprisingly, sniffs to Matthew that Lord Grantham is seeing a problem where none exists, as no one will care about Branson being there, but Matthew's answering line is well spoken: "You must think country life more exciting than it is if you imagine people don't care when an Earl's daughter runs off with a chauffeur." Isobel replies that even if that's true, it's a fait accompli, so people might as well get used to the idea. The discussion is curtailed by the archbishop barking at Travis like he's his faithful retriever slow in bringing him his slippers. Lord Grantham and Mary then start to walk down the aisle yet again...
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By Couch Baron
...but rather than observe a full run through, we cut back to an establishing shot of Daisy, now riding the bike and returning to Downton. Inside, Carson thanks Mrs. Patmore for the treacle tart she apparently just served, and we get a bit more exposition as we learn that Mrs. Hughes and Anna are down in London getting the Bates Motel ready to let. (It isn't a motel, of course, but given the rental situation and the... other thing that happened, it seems fitting enough.) Thomas, subtle as always, expresses surprise that Anna still has the place. "I thought they confiscated the profits of murder." Carson is like, first off, Bates transferred the deed to Anna before the trial and second, as far as Downton is concerned, Bates is a wronged man seeking justice. "If you have any problems with that definition, I suggest you eat in the yard." That doesn't sound so terrible in spring, but I think it's actually physically necessary for Thomas to be near enough other people to insult them at all times, so it makes sense that he lets this battle go.
Isobel has come to call on the Dowager Countess -- knowing their interactions, it does seem unfortunate that this time period predated the word "frenemy" by rather a lot -- and says she supposes the Dowager Countess agrees with Robert in regards to Sybil not attending the wedding. The reply: "Then not for the first time, you suppose wrongly." I've been waiting months for a withering barb from Dame Maggie Smith and that's an excellent warm-up entry. The Dowager Countess explains that they mustn't allow their family to be the subject of gossip -- might want to discuss that with the writers -- but Lady Cora, also in attendance, sighs that Sybil has pretty much already seen to that. The Dowager Countess, however, is of the opinion that if they can show the county that Branson can behave "normally," people will lose interest in him as a subject. "And I shall make sure he behaves normally, because I shall hold his hand on the radiator until he does." Okay, but if "behaving normally" includes sitting through dinner without going off half-cocked on a political bent about English-Irish relations, the smell of burnt flesh is going to put people off their food. Isobel is like, well, I don't know him from Adam, but he still strikes me as an interesting addition to the family, and he should come and express his beliefs honestly. The Dowager Countess gives Cora her patented "What is she like" look, but when Isobel goes on that she's got a mind to send Sybil and Branson the money to attend, the Dowager Countess looks interested, despite the fact that Lady Cora begs Isobel not even to think about it. Even considering Lord Grantham's feelings, I am surprised Lady Cora is so willing to have Sybil stay away, but maybe she's having a moment of financial prescience.
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By Couch Baron
Speaking of which, Lord Grantham is on the phone getting what sounds like bad news and he declares his intention to come see the other party in person the day. He hangs up just as Mary enters the room and, seeing the expression on his face, asks what the matter is. Lord Grantham is like, nothing's the matter... so much so that I'm going to leave the room without chatting with my favorite daughter and the absolute light of my life. Mary's face is like, "Great, can't wait for whatever this is to come out."
Downstairs, everyone's still sitting around the communal table when Anna and Mrs. Hughes return. Mrs. Patmore sits them down for a cup of tea, and Mrs. Hughes and Carson start talking about the wedding preparations, with Mrs. Hughes wondering how he can possibly manage without a footman. Carson is like, I was just going to suggest that you pull up a chair and tell me about it, but sighs that he hasn't the time to find one. Whereupon O'Brien -- who, in the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you is up there with my very favorites on the show -- offers the services of her nephew Alfred Nugent, who I believe she's mentioned before as having been to war. (If I remember correctly, she talked about him with poor PTSD sufferer Lang.) Carson, however, doesn't let her even finish her sentence before he tells her that, with a society wedding imminent, he can do without the help of an untrained "hobbledehoy," and as a once-gangly kid I find that a bit ungenerous, but on the other hand, I'd put hearing Carson enunciate "hobbledehoy" ahead of many pleasures in life. I don't know what answer O'Brien might have found, but Lady Cora's ring at least spares her the need to try to come up with one.
As it happens, her answer is to go right around Carson and ask Lady Cora about it, who's like, sounds great -- let me just clear it with Lord Grantham... and here he is walking into the room! I love this show, but in this episode especially you see conflicts and problems presented and solved within the space of thirty seconds; stuff is given so little time to breathe that, by the end of the episode, I'm not going to recall even half of what happened. Not a complaint, really; if anything, it gives me an excuse to rewatch (as if I'll need one). Anyway, Lord Grantham is obviously a million miles away, so when Lady Cora runs the idea by him, he's like, sure, whatever -- hire this Alphonse Newberry. Oh, and by the way, I have to go to London tomorrow. Upon hearing that he'll be returning immediately following his errand, Lady Cora asks the purpose of the trip, and Lord Grantham replies, "It's nothing to bother you with" and it's a testament to the strength of their marriage that this doesn't seem to faze her in the slightest, given that the only more suspicious thing he could have said is that he's going to London for ice cream.
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By Couch Baron
After an establishing shot, we see Anna visiting Bates in prison; she hands him some papers, which she apparently found in a hidden book in the Bates Motel that sound like they came from a diary or calendar belonging to Vera. She asks him to make notes on and categorize all the names she's given him, as it will help her to figure out who's worth tracking down in an effort to clear his name. Bates asks if she hasn't anything better to do, which is a setup question, as it gives Anna the opportunity to reply that she hasn't, "because I'd rather work to get you free than dine with the King at Buckingham Palace." I mean, these actors are excellent, but I wish their storylines could involve something other than a sainthood competition. Bates then tells Anna that he has a new cellmate and he's "not sure about him," which is a real surprise when you're serving time for murder, I'm sure. Anna gives him advice that her mother gave her -- "Never make an enemy by accident" -- which, if not tongue-in-cheek (it's hard to tell with Brits sometimes, did you know?), seems like the kind of homespun "wisdom" that's actually completely nonsensical. But hey, I've seen kids turn out worse than Anna. She then asks if Bates can get the notes done by her visit, and Bates doesn't look thrilled with all the homework, but Anna's like, your pessimism is not going to get in the way of me making a sweeping statement about how you'll be a free man soon. She concludes with an even grander metaphor about her devotion to Bates, but honestly I'm close enough to diabetic shock as it is.
Alfred is standing at attention, which is a mistake, as Carson sniffs that he's too tall -- a footman shouldn't be over six foot one. Alfred doesn't choose to make a "six foot twoman" joke in return, which is probably best for the work environment, but still strikes me as a shame. Alfred tells us he was a hotel waiter after he was discharged from the Army, and O'Brien sings his praises, adding that he's already got the job so he's hardly on trial. Carson, however, is like, "He's on trial precisely because he has a tough job, so can it?" And O'Brien, as much as I'm on your side, you already pulled a fast one getting the kid the job, so maybe see if he's cut out for it before you stick your neck out any further?
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By Couch Baron
Matthew and Mary are walking the grounds and discussing where they might live; while Matthew doesn't necessarily want to go far, he would rather get to know Mary away from Downton, although he is amenable to returning to live there in the future. Mary pretty clearly would rather stay near her family; also, there's talk of, I think, Matthew carrying a naked Mary around in his arms? If that's the case, it is probably best not to live in so large a place as Downton. She's pretty light, but it'd still become a strain.
Lord Grantham, having arrived in London, hops in a cab and heads to Chancery Lane. In an office, his apparent financial adviser and trustee of Downton breaks the news that the bulk of Lady Cora's fortune has been lost. Lord Grantham bites out that he needed a big score to ensure Downton's survival and that in the face of war, rail shares were bound to make a fortune. While the guy agrees that many did, the Canadian Trunk Line, in which Lord Grantham invested a huge amount against his advisers' wishes, has actually gone bankrupt and is about to be "absorbed into the Canadian National Railway scheme." Lord Grantham looks like he's about to keel over at the news of nationalization, and asks if the money -- the lion's share of Lady Cora's fortune -- is really all gone. The financial adviser is like, "I'm glad you're following along." Lord Grantham finally gives the adviser a name (Murray) as he says he's sacrificed too much to let Downton go now. Including Lady Cora's fortune! Murray is like, I hate to deflate your puffed-out chest, but without money, how exactly is Downton going to be run? Lord Grantham babbles some more about how Downton needs to be a major employer, but at this point his position is so bleak he might as well stomp out while bellowing "I SAID GOOD DAY!" It'd make him feel better on the train ride back!
Back in town, Lady Edith is walking when Sir Anthony Strallan, last seen in the Christmas special rekindling his friendship with Edith -- you remember, he's the older gentleman who was into Edith until Mary sabotaged their relationship as revenge for Edith telling the Turkish ambassador about her and Mr. Pamuk -- calls to her from his car. She hops in and I'd make a comment about riding in cars with boys, but as everyone in this episode (including Sir Anthony himself) is all too quick to point out, he's no spring chicken. Edith explains that she's in town to get away from wedding panic, because while weddings are lovely, their preparation is a bit manic. Sir Anthony notes that weddings can be a reminder of one's loneliness and then through a mouthful of shoe polish is like, "Sorry, I don't know why I said that." Hee. For an almost complete dolt, Sir Anthony is a wonderful character, probably because the actor playing him, Robert Bathurst, hits just the right blend of quiet dignity and unintentional humor. Changing the subject, Sir Anthony is the first to inquire whether Lady Cora's mother is coming over and Edith delights viewers far and wide by affirming that. She also adds that Mary learned only that morning that Sybil will also be attending, although Lord Grantham is as yet blissfully unaware of that fact. We leave the two of them, but not before Edith's smile lets us know that she'd be quite willing to pick up where they left off. It's hilarious to point out given her choice of suitors, but she's not getting any younger.
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Molesley chats with Matthew about his post-wedding plans, and when Matthew tells him he expects him and Mrs. Byrd to look after Isobel when he's gone, Molesley's voice goes up quicker than a newly-made eunuch as he tells Matthew he thought he'd be needing a proper valet once he got hitched. Matthew tells Molesley that he's always thought of him as "a butler who helps out as a valet," and Molesley's too focused on the fact that he won't be going to work in "the big house" to even care if there's a compliment in there. Matthew tells him that he's looking forward to living more simply, which is pretty much exactly what I would expect out of marrying Lady Mary, and adds that Isobel "absolutely relies" on Molesley and that's only like the fifth ludicrous thing he's said in a forty-five-second scene.
So Thomas is now Lord Grantham's valet in Bates' absence, and he's like, oh, the new footman showed up and isn't he a tall one! Lord Grantham is like, new footman equals more money OH MY STARS...
...and the thing you know, he's finding Lady Cora and asking her about it. She reminds him that they talked about it the night before right before he told her about going to London for no reason she was supposed to know about, and he's like, oh right. But don't hire anyone else for any reason ever and boy, this wedding is sure going to be expensive, huh? Lady Cora's basically asks if he's met their daughter and Lord Grantham runs off again. He'd better enjoy all the rooms into which he can disappear while he can.
O'Brien literally cranes her neck so she can look up high enough to give her nephew a pep talk, as he's going to be serving in the dining room for the first time. Thomas floats by to point out Alfred's lack of experience and Alfred nervously admits that he's right, but O'Brien tells Alfred he's got a nice manner. Raising her voice, she adds that he's not "vain like Thomas," and oh my, isn't this rift between two onetime partners in crime interesting? For me, O'Brien's fierce devotion to her nephew -- especially given how guileless he seems -- does her credit...
...while Thomas continues to earn the opposite, as in the kitchen he asks Daisy what the matter is. She complains that she was promised a promotion to Mrs. Patmore's assistant and a kitchen maid under her, and nothing's happened so Thomas tells her to go on strike. With someone else I might think there was some shred of genuine caring here, but given how often she's been his marionette in the past, I think he's just amusing himself idly. Then again, Daisy's not good for much else.
By Couch Baron
O'Brien literally cranes her neck so she can look up high enough to give her nephew a pep talk, as he's going to be serving in the dining room for the first time. Thomas floats by to point out Alfred's lack of experience and Alfred nervously admits that he's right, but O'Brien tells Alfred he's got a nice manner. Raising her voice, she adds that he's not "vain like Thomas," and oh my, isn't this rift between two onetime partners in crime interesting? For me, O'Brien's fierce devotion to her nephew -- especially given how guileless he seems -- does her credit...
...while Thomas continues to earn the opposite, as in the kitchen he asks Daisy what the matter is. She complains that she was promised a promotion to Mrs. Patmore's assistant and a kitchen maid under her, and nothing's happened so Thomas tells her to go on strike. With someone else I might think there was some shred of genuine caring here, but given how often she's been his marionette in the past, I think he's just amusing himself idly. Then again, Daisy's not good for much else.
At dinner, Mary lets everyone know that Sybil is coming and Isobel VERY SUBTLY is like, "Will she be coming alone?" Hee. I love her ability to pierce propriety at every turn while still managing to preserve a genteel air. Matthew warns her not to make trouble, and she looks at him all "Who me?" Meanwhile, Alfred is not making the greatest first impression, as he's trying to dole out food onto people's plates like... well, a waiter, to Carson's chagrin. I'm more interested in the talk of Lady Cora's mother, as the Dowager Countess says she's looking forward to her visit, as it reminds her of the virtues of the English. Matthew, ever the straight man, asks if she isn't American, and the Dowager Countess isn't too good to spike that beach ball: "Exactly." Her first line could have stood on its own, but the gusto with which she delivered the punch line made it worthwhile. Talk then turns back Carson's way, and when Lady Cora asks if he has the help he needs, he does admit that he'd love a second footman; he makes the statement reluctantly enough, but the look he casts in Alfred's direction lets us in on his state of mind. Matthew pipes up with his all-too-familiar refrain about simplifying their lives, seconded by his mother, but the Dowager Countess informs them that it's their job to provide employment to the community. "An aristocrat with no servants is as much use to the county as the glass hammer." I bet the writers of this show wish they could put the Dowager Countess in every scene; when she's there, you never have to struggle to find a line off which to leave.
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The day, we see quite a bit of footage of a car approaching Downton, but the buildup is justified, as after is comes to a stop, it disgorges Sybil and -- hi there! -- Branson. Sybil rushes up to greet Lord Grantham and ask if he sent the money. Leaving aside his feelings about Branson, of course, Lord Grantham reacts to the mention of any money spent anywhere like he's receiving actual electric shocks, but everyone ignores him and Lady Cora extends a hand and a smile to Branson as she welcomes him to Downton. Branson somewhat apprehensively replies that he hopes he is welcome, and while Mary has no problem politely affirming that, the daggers Lord Grantham is vainly trying not to send Branson's way prove his question isn't exactly without merit. Edith pipes up that there's tea in the library, so everyone heads inside, with Branson stopping to say hello to Carson, who nods regally in reply, probably wondering if Branson is desperate enough to get into the family's good graces that he'd be willing to take a shift or two as a second footman.
The lawyer has just left and Matthew gives Isobel the lowdown: Lavinia's father didn't wish to divide his estate, so when Lavinia died, he made a new will with three possible heirs of whom Matthew was the last in line. The first one died before Lavinia's father (of the same Spanish flu epidemic that killed Lavinia), but the lawyer thought the second would be easily found. However, it turns out that he fucked off to India to visit some land he owned there and hasn't been heard from since; moreover, the value of the estate is astronomical -- far more than Matthew ever would have thought, given Lavinia's father's fairly simple way of life. Well Matthew, you're the one who keeps telling people to simplify. As shocking as it is, maybe someone actually listened to you!
Thomas has just flat-out refused to dress Branson; Mrs. Hughes appeals to Carson, but he won't hear of it either, so Mrs. Hughes is like, all right, then it's Alfred's big chance! Carson sniffs that Alfred wouldn't know what to do "beyond collecting dirty shoes outside the door!" Mrs. Hughes replies that he'll just have to learn and when she's gone, Carson looks at Thomas, who merely shrugs. Honestly, I'm surprised that Thomas doesn't want to get a look at an undressed Branson, but his pride does seem to push aside just about all other considerations.
At dinner, things are off to a bad start with Branson as he's not in evening wear, prompting the Dowager Countess to ask if it's an Irish tradition not to change for dinner. Branson explains that he doesn't own tails or a dinner jacket, prompting Lord Grantham to cut in that he hopes Branson at least owns a morning coat, being that he's there for a wedding. Branson, unbowed, says he does not have that and Sybil chimes in that they lead a completely different kind of life. Lord Grantham sniffs, "Obviously," and being this toffee nosed would look bad on him normally, but given his ruinous financial situation, I have to say for one of the first times that he really needs to shut up. Mary, far more civilized than her father, suggests that Branson buy a Downton wardrobe and leave it there so he won't be bothered with carrying it for visits. Edith pipes up with her approval, but Branson declares that he can't turn into someone he's not just to please them. Isobel, of course, supports that notion and Matthew likewise tries to keep things civil by... bringing up Irish politics. I can adore Matthew and still think he's not the sharpest knife in Mrs. Patmore's drawer, right? Branson replies that Ireland is "in sight of throwing off the English yoke," and Isobel asks Branson what he thinks of "The Act" (the Home Rule Act that divided "South" Ireland and North Ireland). Branson, shockingly, isn't a fan and when Matthew and Isobel try to parse his discontent with Home Rule, he asks, "Would it be a problem for you to be ruled by the German Kaiser?" At this, Carson literally breaks the glass he's holding at the stem, and if Sybil winces because she doesn't think things can get any worse, she might want to save something for the dinner we see. Lady Cora, probably less attached to the British monarchy than anyone else there, changes the subject by asking Branson if it's true that Irish gardens have more variety than those in England. Edith takes up the conversation topic and while Branson doesn't have much to say on the subject, he does at least sit there without decrying the British oppression of Irish flowers.
By Couch Baron
The lawyer has just left and Matthew gives Isobel the lowdown: Lavinia's father didn't wish to divide his estate, so when Lavinia died, he made a new will with three possible heirs of whom Matthew was the last in line. The first one died before Lavinia's father (of the same Spanish flu epidemic that killed Lavinia), but the lawyer thought the second would be easily found. However, it turns out that he fucked off to India to visit some land he owned there and hasn't been heard from since; moreover, the value of the estate is astronomical -- far more than Matthew ever would have thought, given Lavinia's father's fairly simple way of life. Well Matthew, you're the one who keeps telling people to simplify. As shocking as it is, maybe someone actually listened to you!
Thomas has just flat-out refused to dress Branson; Mrs. Hughes appeals to Carson, but he won't hear of it either, so Mrs. Hughes is like, all right, then it's Alfred's big chance! Carson sniffs that Alfred wouldn't know what to do "beyond collecting dirty shoes outside the door!" Mrs. Hughes replies that he'll just have to learn and when she's gone, Carson looks at Thomas, who merely shrugs. Honestly, I'm surprised that Thomas doesn't want to get a look at an undressed Branson, but his pride does seem to push aside just about all other considerations.
At dinner, things are off to a bad start with Branson as he's not in evening wear, prompting the Dowager Countess to ask if it's an Irish tradition not to change for dinner. Branson explains that he doesn't own tails or a dinner jacket, prompting Lord Grantham to cut in that he hopes Branson at least owns a morning coat, being that he's there for a wedding. Branson, unbowed, says he does not have that and Sybil chimes in that they lead a completely different kind of life. Lord Grantham sniffs, "Obviously," and being this toffee nosed would look bad on him normally, but given his ruinous financial situation, I have to say for one of the first times that he really needs to shut up. Mary, far more civilized than her father, suggests that Branson buy a Downton wardrobe and leave it there so he won't be bothered with carrying it for visits. Edith pipes up with her approval, but Branson declares that he can't turn into someone he's not just to please them. Isobel, of course, supports that notion and Matthew likewise tries to keep things civil by... bringing up Irish politics. I can adore Matthew and still think he's not the sharpest knife in Mrs. Patmore's drawer, right? Branson replies that Ireland is "in sight of throwing off the English yoke," and Isobel asks Branson what he thinks of "The Act" (the Home Rule Act that divided "South" Ireland and North Ireland). Branson, shockingly, isn't a fan and when Matthew and Isobel try to parse his discontent with Home Rule, he asks, "Would it be a problem for you to be ruled by the German Kaiser?" At this, Carson literally breaks the glass he's holding at the stem, and if Sybil winces because she doesn't think things can get any worse, she might want to save something for the dinner we see. Lady Cora, probably less attached to the British monarchy than anyone else there, changes the subject by asking Branson if it's true that Irish gardens have more variety than those in England. Edith takes up the conversation topic and while Branson doesn't have much to say on the subject, he does at least sit there without decrying the British oppression of Irish flowers.
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Downstairs, Daisy gives Mrs. Patmore some lip before explicitly asking where the new kitchen maid she promised her is. Mrs. Patmore sighs and apologizes, saying she spoke to Carson and it turns out they won't be taking on anyone new. Daisy points out that they just hired a new footman, which Mrs. Patmore is at a loss to explain, given that Lord Grantham has put his foot down about hiring anyone else. I mean, I suppose Daisy has a point -- it's been a while since that promise was made in the Christmas special -- but Mrs. Patmore isn't without an argument either, as she reminds Daisy that she got a raise and a title promotion. Daisy, however, is on about "dishonest representation," prompting Mrs. Patmore snidely to ask if she swallowed a dictionary. It's not a great line, but I wish she had, because it'd shut her up for a while.
Now alone, Sybil tells Mary that when she and Branson are in Dublin, their class differences just seem to fade away. "But here, he feels so patronized and he hates it." Mary's glad to hear that Sybil regrets nothing and promises that everyone in the family will come to know Branson and value him. Sybil's gratified to hear it and then bids Mary good night so she can go check on her husband. Before she does though, Mary tells her that "the whole Grey family" is coming for dinner the night...
...news that she relays to Branson, explaining that Larry -- the son (of "Lord Merton," Mary's godfather) -- was once "keen" on Sybil when they were young, although she hardly remembers him. Getting into bed, she then asks Branson not to talk about Ireland all the time, as she wants to make things easier for him, but he asks if biting his tongue would be for him or for her. "Don't disappoint me, Sybil -- not now that we're here." The words are said with more of a pleading tone than anything else, and after a moment they kiss, which is disappointing to all the women in the world who aren't Sybil.
Downstairs, Matthew has rejoined Mary; she asks if she should order the car, but Matthew's reluctant to bother the chauffeur after he refused a ride back with Isobel, so he reckons he'll walk. He sits and holds out a hand for her to come join him, but she asks what he'll do with Lavinia's father's money should it fall to him. Matthew thinks it's not going to happen, but if it does, they'll decide what to do, "because I can't keep it." Mary's like, no, of course not -- and I can only imagine she's reminding herself to get everything official before she starts running him like a sled.
By Couch Baron
...while upstairs, over cards with Lady Cora, Sybil and Isobel, the Dowager Countess laughingly suggests that the day, they ask the servants to come up and dine with them. You know, I seem to remember you being ushered about the dance floor by Thomas not too long ago, Countess. Speaking of modes of address, Mary calls to Sybil that she has to get Branson to stop calling the Dowager Countess "milady," and Isobel muses that they need something that doesn't sound too stiff and grand. Lord Grantham pipes up that he can address himself and the Dowager Countess as Lord and Lady Grantham, to which Sybil replies that that's not at all stiff and grand. But Mary, dropping her voice, cautions her to take one step at a time before following her father to the sitting area, joining Edith and Matthew, the latter of whom she asks about the lawyer's visit. Matthew does admit that Mary was right and it concerned the will, but declines to reveal anything further, asking instead for her to tell him all about the relatives who are coming for the wedding. "I want to unscramble them in my head." Matthew dear, there's only one among them who matters and if you don't mind my opinion it's past time she showed up.
Downstairs, Daisy gives Mrs. Patmore some lip before explicitly asking where the new kitchen maid she promised her is. Mrs. Patmore sighs and apologizes, saying she spoke to Carson and it turns out they won't be taking on anyone new. Daisy points out that they just hired a new footman, which Mrs. Patmore is at a loss to explain, given that Lord Grantham has put his foot down about hiring anyone else. I mean, I suppose Daisy has a point -- it's been a while since that promise was made in the Christmas special -- but Mrs. Patmore isn't without an argument either, as she reminds Daisy that she got a raise and a title promotion. Daisy, however, is on about "dishonest representation," prompting Mrs. Patmore snidely to ask if she swallowed a dictionary. It's not a great line, but I wish she had, because it'd shut her up for a while.
Now alone, Sybil tells Mary that when she and Branson are in Dublin, their class differences just seem to fade away. "But here, he feels so patronized and he hates it." Mary's glad to hear that Sybil regrets nothing and promises that everyone in the family will come to know Branson and value him. Sybil's gratified to hear it and then bids Mary good night so she can go check on her husband. Before she does though, Mary tells her that "the whole Grey family" is coming for dinner the night...
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By Couch Baron
...news that she relays to Branson, explaining that Larry -- the son (of "Lord Merton," Mary's godfather) -- was once "keen" on Sybil when they were young, although she hardly remembers him. Getting into bed, she then asks Branson not to talk about Ireland all the time, as she wants to make things easier for him, but he asks if biting his tongue would be for him or for her. "Don't disappoint me, Sybil -- not now that we're here." The words are said with more of a pleading tone than anything else, and after a moment they kiss, which is disappointing to all the women in the world who aren't Sybil.
Downstairs, Matthew has rejoined Mary; she asks if she should order the car, but Matthew's reluctant to bother the chauffeur after he refused a ride back with Isobel, so he reckons he'll walk. He sits and holds out a hand for her to come join him, but she asks what he'll do with Lavinia's father's money should it fall to him. Matthew thinks it's not going to happen, but if it does, they'll decide what to do, "because I can't keep it." Mary's like, no, of course not -- and I can only imagine she's reminding herself to get everything official before she starts running him like a sled.
Oh, dear, Lord Grantham has just broken the news to Lady Cora, who wonders if being so undiversified wasn't a bit foolish before asking if her fortune was affected. Lord Grantham has to admit that it's almost all gone and when he can't help but burst into stifled sobs, she kneels in front of him and sympathetically notes how awful it must be for him. He at least finds the humor to joke that it's not exactly fabulous for her either, but she reminds him she's one of those resilient Americans. Lord Grantham thanks God for Lady Cora, as well he might, and she smiles beatifically and tells him she's glad they have a wedding to celebrate. "If it's to be our last, let's make it a wonderful last." Lord Grantham pulls his wife into an embrace, wisely putting off any talk of simplifying the menu until later.
In town, Branson is heading into a public house when Matthew calls to him that it's a bit early for drowning his sorrows. Branson tells him he thought it might be better if he took up lodging away from Downton, but Matthew points out that he hasn't made it easy for the others to accept him. "Do you really think you can recruit [Lord Grantham] for Sinn Féin?" Heh. Even Branson has to snort at that one and he admits that he doesn't know what comes over him in moments like the night's dinner, but he feels judged by the people up there. Matthew tells Branson to exclude him from that group and Mary as well; Branson recalls that Mary wasn't too thrilled about his union with Sybil at first, but Matthew explains that she's a "pragmatist," which is not something I'd think to call her and yet don't really have a problem with. Branson smiles that she'd be a tough fighter too, and Matthew gets him to come back: "We're brothers-in-law with high-minded wives. We'd better stick together." I'd take issue with the phrasing if he weren't kind of right.
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At night, we see cars pulling up to Downton that presumably contain the Grey family; inside, we learn that Matthew's best man has been taken ill, so he's going to have to ask someone else, but he's not sure who. Elsewhere, the aforementioned and rather oily Larry Grey has cornered Branson and tells him his curiosity was piqued when he heard he'd be there, and he never thought they'd meet in person. Branson: "As opposed to what? In spirit?" Hee. Larry's meaning, however, is that when Sybil married him, it felt like she was leaving Downton Abbey forever, and Branson -- not without a bit of heat -- takes his point. Larry then makes a crack about Branson's attire, expressing false sympathy that his suitcase must not have arrived, but Branson's like, it arrived just fine. "Along with my manners." He stomps off, leaving his drink behind and across the room, the Dowager Countess notes that he's still "dressed like the man from the Prudential" (um, hee, but of course Isobel won't play, saying how nice it is to have someone from the real world there. Lord Grantham then greets his mother and asks if she'd like "one of these new cocktails," but she declines: "They look too exciting for so early in the evening." Heh. Isobel is chatting with Sir Anthony, saying how lovely it is to see him out and about as Edith beams to him. Isobel goes on -- referring to his injured hand -- that she was going to see if he needed any help, but he seems to be doing just fine. She asks if he's coming to the wedding and Edith jumps in that of course he is. Sir Anthony, more cautious, smiles that he will if she really wants him to and she assures him she does. "I really do." If it makes Isobel uncomfortable to be witness to this conversation about how hard up Edith is, she keeps it to herself. Sir Anthony then smiles that Edith looks very nice and even compliments her "jolly" hair, but his face falls when he sees Larry apparently putting something in Branson's unattended drink. Before he can make anything of it though, Carson steps in to announce that dinner is served...
...and when we cut to downstairs, Alfred comes in to give the report that Branson is "well away" and Sybil isn't thrilled. He adds that he doesn't get it, given that Branson has only had one cocktail, but Daisy theorizes that he had a few before he came down to calm his nerves. It's as good a theory as any...
...or it would be if he weren't sweatily bawling out the entire table about Ireland and the Black and Tans and God knows what else. The Dowager Countess asks her son if there's any way to "shut him up," which is a fairly strong expression for her to use but not one that's inappropriate at the moment. Lord Grantham sniffs that if he could control Branson, he wouldn't be there; Matthew tries to calm Branson down, while Mary catches Larry mid-smirk and sternly asks him what's so funny. This gets Sir Anthony back on his earlier train of thought, as he realizes that Larry put something in Branson's drink and accuses him of same. It's no laughing matter, but I feel obliged to point out that this may be the only time someone's used roofies to get someone else to express his political views more freely. Edith is horrified, but Larry meanly tells her that she could always take a joke, which Mary rightly terms "a bully's defense." She loudly tells the table what Larry did and Lady Cora asks if everyone will please forget Branson's behavior given what happened. Lord Grey -- who seems like a mensch from what little we've seen -- is stunned and asks Larry if it's true, whereupon Larry tells everyone he's not sure what they're on about, given that Branson is just "a grubby little chauffeur chap." That gets Lord Grey, Matthew and, surprisingly, Lord Grantham (although I suppose it would be bad form in front of everyone to fail to do so) to their feet, and Lord Grey apologizes handsomely to Branson, who looks both ill and shaken up, but still nods his acknowledgment. Matthew does him one better by announcing to the table that he'd like Branson to be his best man and it's a contest between Lord Grantham and Carson to see whose eyes bug out further at that little bit of news. And Matthew, you may be a mouth-breather and kind of an idiot sometimes, but you're all right, kid. As usual, Isobel is the first to recover, giving her customary "Bravo," and Sybil, Branson and Mary are equally enthusiastic, although Branson can be excused for expressing it less vociferously.
Later, outside waiting for the car, Edith tells Sir Anthony how clever he was to save the day like that and expresses her hope that they see a bit more of each other after the wedding. Sir Anthony admits that he'd like that and she gives him a kiss on the cheek before he departs, observed by Lord Grantham...
...who then, inside, reports to Lady Cora that everyone has gone. He pours himself a stiff one as Lady Cora remarks that it was good of Matthew to show "solidarity" as he did and Lord Grantham sighs that he supposes so, adding that they're going to need all the solidarity they can get around there. Lady Cora asks when he's going to break the financial news to the girls and he tells her he's going to have to come clean to Mary immediately, as it might affect her and Matthew's residential plans. Lord Grantham then wonders if they should say something to Lady Cora's mother when she arrives, but Lady Cora says no -- "she'll go into state mourning and cast a pall over the proceedings." Doesn't particularly jibe with what we see later, but I suppose it's been a while since she's seen her. Lord Grantham is glad at least that she missed the drama of the evening, but Lady Cora tells him not to worry: "She'll bring enough drama of her own." I hope she does before the halfway point of this two-hour episode.
In their cell, Bates' roommate, who's pretty well-seasoned, tells him he'll never get out of there if he doesn't admit his guilt, but Bates won't admit to what's not true. Roommate: "Why do you have to be so... pious?" Heh. I would have gone the "martyr" route myself, but just asking such a question earns this guy points with me. Bates tells him not to push him and the roommate asks if that's a warning, to which Bates tells him that yes, it is. Glad we got that cleared up!
Mary is modeling some traveling clothes for Anna and her sisters when there's a knock at the door, and when Mary asks who it is, the answer comes, "Your long-suffering papa." Heh. Mary invites him in and after a little back-and-forth, he asks if he might speak to Mary alone for a bit to give her his blessing. The others duly leave, whereupon Lord Grantham tells Mary that he's going to do the blessing thing, but first he's got some news he wanted to sit on and can't. Mary replies that it sounds rather ominous, and given how many ways Lord Grantham could convey the idea that she just said a mouthful, I'm disappointed we don't get to hear his response.
Molesley opens up for Branson, who tells him he got a message from Isobel asking him to come; inside, we see that he's not the only invited guest, as the Dowager Countess is already there and she's asking Isobel if she's going up to the house "to welcome the Queen of Sheba?" Hee. Isobel thinks she will, but the Dowager Countess is going to wait to "pay homage" at dinner. Isobel thinks it's great the way "Mrs. Levinson" is never "overawed" by Downton and as true as it may be, I'm not sure how Isobel knows that, but it does give the Dowager Countess an opening: "Was Napoleon overawed by the Bourbons?" The mention of political conflict attracts Branson like a moth to a flame, as he's shown in at that moment. When he sees "Lady Grantham," he expresses his wish to apologize for his behavior of the evening prior and even though, as Isobel points out, he didn't do anything wrong, it still shows a desire to mend fences. Even if it's only for Sybil's sake it still does him credit. For her part, the Dowager Countess assures him that he was hardly the first drunk ever in that dining room (do tell); Branson smiles that he was merely the first Republican and she matches him, "Well, you've got me there." Branson then asks why he was summoned and Isobel tells him that they've asked Molesley to bring out Matthew's old morning coat, since they might be able to have it altered to fit Branson. Branson thanks them, but says he doesn't approve of "these costumes," and goes on about the uniform of oppression and whatever until the Dowager Countess -- in the most awesomely conversational voice -- asks him if he's quite finished. Thrown (I'm not doing it justice -- he looks like she just sprouted a second head) he says he has, whereupon, with the same sunny, unflappable smile, she asks him to remove his coat. Kind of stunned, he looks Isobel's way, but for once she's not inclined to rescue him from the Dowager Countess, so he can only comply in resignation. Matthew then enters and when Branson explains that "they're forcing me into a morning coat," Matthew asks if Branson has no say in the matter, getting this reply from the Dowager Countess: "No, he doesn't... and nor do you." Funny that Matthew and Branson weren't even considering the other generations of Crawley women when they affirmed their need to have each other's backs. The Dowager Countess and Molesley then chat about the alterations, with the Dowager Countess thinking the shoulders currently look odd and Branson realizing that he's not going anywhere for a while. Best way to avoid the radiator, my man.
Oh, here it is! With all the servants lined up expectantly, a red car pulls up to Downton and Alfred opens the door and out comes -- sporting heavy makeup, bright red permed hair and a coat of fur trim and elaborate design with a hat to match -- Shirley MacLaine, who grandly announces in a flat American accent (stark contrast with her daughter) with metronome-time syllables that through war and peace, Downton has survived and the Crawleys are still in it, which has to make Lord Grantham feel slightly less than eight inches tall. Martha's daughter and son-in-law greet her and then she walks over to say hello to Carson and Mrs. Hughes, to whom she points out that the world has changed since they last saw each other. Carson assures her that they've changed as well, and Martha offhandedly pretty much says that the idea of Brits embracing change is hilarious before introducing her maid, Reed. on the greeting list are Martha's granddaughters and she knocks them over in quick succession -- she tells Sybil to give her details on the birth (I kind of forgot Sybil's pregnant and this is the only reminder we'll get), adding that "we do these things so much better in the States," and then moves on to Edith, who she kind of advises to embrace being single. She then gets to Mary, who's obviously her favorite -- even she has her limits when it comes to nonconformity -- and asks her to tell her all her wedding plans "and I'll see what I can do to improve them." Even Mary gets an overmatched look on her face, but there's nothing for anyone to do except head inside and watch the show... I mean, "have tea."
Downstairs, Daisy has her arms folded like a petulant child and when O'Brien asks what she sat on, Daisy replies that Mrs. Patmore knows. Reed then appears and tells Mrs. Patmore about Martha's dietary requirements -- goat's milk in the morning and she only drinks boiled water. Mrs. Patmore is surprised at the latter, so Reed clarifies, "In England, that is." Heh. Anna asks if Daisy shouldn't be handling all this, but Mrs. Patmore ignores her and walks off with Reed as Reed goes on that Martha will have "no fats, no crab and nothing from the marrow family" (cucumbers, squash and others). Too bad -- I would have like to witness her eating crab, just to see if she bothered with the cracker.
Speaking of eating things alive, it's tea time, and Martha is interrogating Matthew on how he's related to the rest of them. It's been a while and I surely didn't remember, so maybe you don't either: His great-great-grandfather was the younger son of the third Earl of Grantham. Martha's like, that's awesome, now I totally understand why you'll be inheriting my late husband's money, and the camera at least doesn't cut to a guilty Lord Grantham. And look Martha, I'm enjoying you batting Matthew around like a cat with a ball of yarn as much as the person, but you didn't sit through an entire season of people trying and failing to explain the entail, so if you don't mind don't let's dredge it all up again. Isobel offers that it doesn't really matter now that Matthew and Mary are getting married and since the wedding is the day, Mary realizes that she should be getting rid of Matthew right about now for superstition's sake. Many of those in attendance exit the room to see Matthew off, leaving Martha free to chat with Branson, whom she seems to approve of far more than Matthew, particularly when she hears Branson's a journalist, or "journie," as she calls it. Lord Grantham doesn't look impressed, but that might be covering his fear that he's going to have to ask Branson for a job of work soon.
In the front hall, Mary tells her mother that she can leave her and Matthew unchaperoned. "After tomorrow, all things are permitted." Lady Cora chooses not to give too much consideration to what that might mean and instead warmly advises Matthew to get a good night's sleep before taking her leave. Matthew looks around the anteroom in wonder, thinking about their future together, which gives Mary the opening to tell him that she hopes indeed they can preserve their future there. She asks for news of Lavinia's father's estate and Matthew tells her he just so happened to receive a telegram that day, which he produces. Mary reads the note and, with the brevity attendant to the medium, it says that there's convincing proof of Heir #2's death, which means the estate will be coming to Matthew barring some unforeseen development. (Which NEVER happens on this show.) Actually, it's still not clear how it's going to go, as the date of death is yet to be determined -- if it occurred after the death of Lavinia's father, the heirs of Heir #2 would be the beneficiaries. Mary's like, whoa, that's not fair or logical and Matthew's kind enough not to laugh in her face, but he does say that it hardly matters anyway, given that he's not going to keep it. This, of course, is Mary's moment and she tells him about Lord Grantham's ruinous investment. Matthew is very sorry to hear it, but is unmoved on the idea of keeping the money for his own (or Downton's) purposes; Lavinia's father put him in his will because he believed he was Lavinia's one true love, when everyone -- but most importantly Lavinia -- knew that he was a fraud on that front. "How could I possibly allow myself to profit from her death, to dine in splendor because I took away a woman's will to live?" I realize these are futile words to say to a man of this time, but my God, Matthew... GET OVER YOURSELF. Mary decides to take a more highbrow approach, asking if he's really prepared to destroy them as payment for having destroyed Lavinia and what about Lord Grantham and, more importantly, their children? "God, Matthew, how can you be so disappointing?" He tries to talk her down, but she won't hear it and she disconsolately tells him that she knows what this means: He's not on her family's side. "Deep down, it means you're not on our side!" She strikes at him and runs off, and just as I was wondering who might be lurking in a doorway, we see Edith appear. Even only having witnessed the conclusion of that fight is enough for her to meet Matthew's eyes with concern.
By Couch Baron
Mary is modeling some traveling clothes for Anna and her sisters when there's a knock at the door, and when Mary asks who it is, the answer comes, "Your long-suffering papa." Heh. Mary invites him in and after a little back-and-forth, he asks if he might speak to Mary alone for a bit to give her his blessing. The others duly leave, whereupon Lord Grantham tells Mary that he's going to do the blessing thing, but first he's got some news he wanted to sit on and can't. Mary replies that it sounds rather ominous, and given how many ways Lord Grantham could convey the idea that she just said a mouthful, I'm disappointed we don't get to hear his response.
Molesley opens up for Branson, who tells him he got a message from Isobel asking him to come; inside, we see that he's not the only invited guest, as the Dowager Countess is already there and she's asking Isobel if she's going up to the house "to welcome the Queen of Sheba?" Hee. Isobel thinks she will, but the Dowager Countess is going to wait to "pay homage" at dinner. Isobel thinks it's great the way "Mrs. Levinson" is never "overawed" by Downton and as true as it may be, I'm not sure how Isobel knows that, but it does give the Dowager Countess an opening: "Was Napoleon overawed by the Bourbons?" The mention of political conflict attracts Branson like a moth to a flame, as he's shown in at that moment. When he sees "Lady Grantham," he expresses his wish to apologize for his behavior of the evening prior and even though, as Isobel points out, he didn't do anything wrong, it still shows a desire to mend fences. Even if it's only for Sybil's sake it still does him credit. For her part, the Dowager Countess assures him that he was hardly the first drunk ever in that dining room (do tell); Branson smiles that he was merely the first Republican and she matches him, "Well, you've got me there." Branson then asks why he was summoned and Isobel tells him that they've asked Molesley to bring out Matthew's old morning coat, since they might be able to have it altered to fit Branson. Branson thanks them, but says he doesn't approve of "these costumes," and goes on about the uniform of oppression and whatever until the Dowager Countess -- in the most awesomely conversational voice -- asks him if he's quite finished. Thrown (I'm not doing it justice -- he looks like she just sprouted a second head) he says he has, whereupon, with the same sunny, unflappable smile, she asks him to remove his coat. Kind of stunned, he looks Isobel's way, but for once she's not inclined to rescue him from the Dowager Countess, so he can only comply in resignation. Matthew then enters and when Branson explains that "they're forcing me into a morning coat," Matthew asks if Branson has no say in the matter, getting this reply from the Dowager Countess: "No, he doesn't... and nor do you." Funny that Matthew and Branson weren't even considering the other generations of Crawley women when they affirmed their need to have each other's backs. The Dowager Countess and Molesley then chat about the alterations, with the Dowager Countess thinking the shoulders currently look odd and Branson realizing that he's not going anywhere for a while. Best way to avoid the radiator, my man.
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Martha gives that an intrigued grunt, but the Dowager Countess cautions her that they won't see him again that night, as it's bad luck. I wouldn't have thought that superstition to be unknown in America even at this time, but it gives Martha ammunition to observe that for "you people," nothing ever changes. "Revolutions erupt and monarchies crash to the ground, and the groom still cannot see the bride before the wedding." The Dowager Countess professorially replies that Americans never understand the importance of tradition, but Martha's ready to deflect that volley right back: "Yes, we do. We just don't give it power over us. History and tradition took Europe into a world war. Maybe you should think about letting go of its hand." I'm not saying this is the most theme-driven show on television, but I think this statement is worth paying attention to. Martha walks off, but lest you think the British writers are going to break tradition by letting dialogue other than the Dowager Countess' end a scene, here she is to tell the just-appeared Edith how it went: "She is like a homing pigeon. She finds our underbelly every time." I realize we're still getting to know her, but I daresay Martha would find that description flattering, despite the Dowager Countess adding, "Dreadful."
Ah, the question of who sent Sybil and "Tom" (Lord Grantham apparently is making the slow dismount off his high horse) the money has arisen, and while Sybil says it doesn't really matter who it was, she does wish it had been Lord Grantham... although she's not angry with him. Lady Cora also denies the credit and Lord Grantham speculates that it was Isobel (who I guess is staying away to keep Matthew company, especially given that he probably told her what happened with Mary), but when Sybil declares her intention to ask her, the Dowager Countess pipes up that it was she. Not, of course, for the first time this episode, Lord Grantham's eyes bug out as far as is allowed by the Earl's playbook, and everyone exchanges stunned looks before Sybil notes that the accompanying note wasn't in the Dowager Countess' hand. She confesses that she had "Smithers" do it: "Like all lady's maids, she lives for intrigue." Hard to argue, when even the most saintly among them took up with a married man whose wife apparently then pulled the original ending of Fatal Attraction. Branson, who really can't take this in -- he looks as shocked as if he learned England just granted all of Ireland its independence -- asks if the Dowager Countess wanted him to come and she replies that she wanted Sybil "and her husband" there for Mary's wedding. Sybil asks why she kept it to herself and the Dowager Countess replies that it was probably silly, to which Branson sincerely says he's very touched. Of course, Martha has to have her say -- God love her for it -- and she pronounces the Dowager Countess' actions "very democratic. It makes me think maybe I've been mistaken in you." I believe she's being completely sincere, but I'm sure she's also aware that the comment is going to chafe the Dowager Countess, so hee. The Dowager Countess replies that she's a woman of many parts and keeps Branson's jaw firmly on the table by addressing him as "Tom" and decreeing that he's a member of the family now. "You'll find we Crawleys stick together." Excuse the expression, but the Dowager Countess has put her money where her mouth is on that point on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, this remark causes the rain cloud that's been hanging over Mary's head to open, as she says that's not always true before bursting into tears and leaving the room without excuse. Everyone looks around in concern, as well they might, and I do wonder if her parents think she's having a delayed reaction to the financial news. Just as well they don't know in what specific way that's kind of true.
By Couch Baron
Downstairs, Daisy has her arms folded like a petulant child and when O'Brien asks what she sat on, Daisy replies that Mrs. Patmore knows. Reed then appears and tells Mrs. Patmore about Martha's dietary requirements -- goat's milk in the morning and she only drinks boiled water. Mrs. Patmore is surprised at the latter, so Reed clarifies, "In England, that is." Heh. Anna asks if Daisy shouldn't be handling all this, but Mrs. Patmore ignores her and walks off with Reed as Reed goes on that Martha will have "no fats, no crab and nothing from the marrow family" (cucumbers, squash and others). Too bad -- I would have like to witness her eating crab, just to see if she bothered with the cracker.
Speaking of eating things alive, it's tea time, and Martha is interrogating Matthew on how he's related to the rest of them. It's been a while and I surely didn't remember, so maybe you don't either: His great-great-grandfather was the younger son of the third Earl of Grantham. Martha's like, that's awesome, now I totally understand why you'll be inheriting my late husband's money, and the camera at least doesn't cut to a guilty Lord Grantham. And look Martha, I'm enjoying you batting Matthew around like a cat with a ball of yarn as much as the person, but you didn't sit through an entire season of people trying and failing to explain the entail, so if you don't mind don't let's dredge it all up again. Isobel offers that it doesn't really matter now that Matthew and Mary are getting married and since the wedding is the day, Mary realizes that she should be getting rid of Matthew right about now for superstition's sake. Many of those in attendance exit the room to see Matthew off, leaving Martha free to chat with Branson, whom she seems to approve of far more than Matthew, particularly when she hears Branson's a journalist, or "journie," as she calls it. Lord Grantham doesn't look impressed, but that might be covering his fear that he's going to have to ask Branson for a job of work soon.
In the front hall, Mary tells her mother that she can leave her and Matthew unchaperoned. "After tomorrow, all things are permitted." Lady Cora chooses not to give too much consideration to what that might mean and instead warmly advises Matthew to get a good night's sleep before taking her leave. Matthew looks around the anteroom in wonder, thinking about their future together, which gives Mary the opening to tell him that she hopes indeed they can preserve their future there. She asks for news of Lavinia's father's estate and Matthew tells her he just so happened to receive a telegram that day, which he produces. Mary reads the note and, with the brevity attendant to the medium, it says that there's convincing proof of Heir #2's death, which means the estate will be coming to Matthew barring some unforeseen development. (Which NEVER happens on this show.) Actually, it's still not clear how it's going to go, as the date of death is yet to be determined -- if it occurred after the death of Lavinia's father, the heirs of Heir #2 would be the beneficiaries. Mary's like, whoa, that's not fair or logical and Matthew's kind enough not to laugh in her face, but he does say that it hardly matters anyway, given that he's not going to keep it. This, of course, is Mary's moment and she tells him about Lord Grantham's ruinous investment. Matthew is very sorry to hear it, but is unmoved on the idea of keeping the money for his own (or Downton's) purposes; Lavinia's father put him in his will because he believed he was Lavinia's one true love, when everyone -- but most importantly Lavinia -- knew that he was a fraud on that front. "How could I possibly allow myself to profit from her death, to dine in splendor because I took away a woman's will to live?" I realize these are futile words to say to a man of this time, but my God, Matthew... GET OVER YOURSELF. Mary decides to take a more highbrow approach, asking if he's really prepared to destroy them as payment for having destroyed Lavinia and what about Lord Grantham and, more importantly, their children? "God, Matthew, how can you be so disappointing?" He tries to talk her down, but she won't hear it and she disconsolately tells him that she knows what this means: He's not on her family's side. "Deep down, it means you're not on our side!" She strikes at him and runs off, and just as I was wondering who might be lurking in a doorway, we see Edith appear. Even only having witnessed the conclusion of that fight is enough for her to meet Matthew's eyes with concern.
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True to his word, Branson has come to Crawley House, wherein the brooding master is saying that he won't be able to do what Mary wants should the money come to him. Branson is like, I don't care much about any of that, but take it from someone who knows a thing or two about love conquering practical considerations: you two are meant to be together and your soap-opera obstacles are getting tiresome for everyone, so man up and go through with it. "Because I'll tell you this -- you won't be happy with anyone else while Lady Mary walks the earth." Rather clever of Branson to use Matthew's betrayal of Lavinia for his own purposes here, don't you think? Given his new profession, I'm glad to hear he has a way with words and Matthew smiles with a new respect for his own choice of best man.
Mary's sitting on her bed when there's a knock at the door; this probably isn't completely unexpected, so Anna and Mary exchange a look before the former opens up to find Matthew, with Branson in tow. Anna throws Mary a "yup, it's him" look, so she stands and tells him to go away, as she's undressed. He begs her just to come to the door, and Branson chimes in his support, so Mary approaches, but not without saying the superstition part is irrelevant if they're not getting married. Matthew assuredly tells her they are, so Mary nods to Anna, who departs along with Branson. On opposite sides of the open door, Matthew assuredly tells "my darling" that they shouldn't be quarreling about something that hasn't even happened yet and probably never will (not sure about that second part, but okay), and Mary admits that Anna gave her the same counsel. He tells her he's sure they'll fight about any number of things, but Mary wonders if that isn't a sign -- she's not angry now, but she's had some time to reflect and maybe a disagreement about something so "fundamental" is a sign they should part ways, no hard feelings. Matthew, however, is stuck on what "Tom" said. He knows he won't be happy with anyone else and he thinks she feels the same about him. Even if that's true, it doesn't necessarily mean they'll be happy together, but whatever -- I'm not going to split that hair when there's an epic kiss coming. Speaking of which, Matthew asks if he can kiss her, "because I need to, very much," and I'm not going to insult this show by comparing it to Twilight in quality, but I'd imagine there's some crossover with the fans of this scene. Mary smiles and says it's bad luck, which of course means that the wedding's back on; Matthew doesn't point this out, but he suggests that they both close their eyes. Mary agrees -- like she could resist that -- and as the strings on the soundtrack swell, they shut their eyes and he appears around the corner; she reaches for him, slides her hand up to his face, and kisses him... and then totally opens her eyes to make sure he didn't cheat. Hee, that's my girl. It's not bad luck for her. They both smile and then he bids her goodnight and withdraws, leaving her to smile in the knowledge that she'll be able to come down to breakfast with good news tomorrow.
Wedding day! Branson, in his morning coat, comes rushing down the stairs and runs into Lord Grantham and says he's off to collect Matthew. Lord Grantham says he looks very smart -- wouldn't be my first choice of words, but he's not wrong -- and Branson, with honest good humor, says he hopes so because he's extremely uncomfortable. He starts to head out again, but Lord Grantham stops him to thank him sincerely for bringing Matthew and Mary back together. Branson smiles, saying that they're both strong characters and predicts plenty of slamming doors and shouting matches in the couple's future; Lord Grantham gets That Look again, but calms down and explains that he was about to be indignant at the liberty with which he speaks about Mary, but he realizes that Branson is completely entitled to express that opinion. With a genuine smile, he sends Branson to complete his errand...
...while upstairs, Mary is getting a floral hair band fitted on her head and some awkward sex talk from Lady Cora, who tells her that when two people love each other, "everything is the most terrific fun." I'm just sorry Shirley MacLaine isn't around for this scene so she can tell Mary, a la Terms Of Endearment, that sex is "so fan-fucking-tastic." Sybil giggles at her mother's naughty talk, while Mary dryly tells Lady Cora to be careful not to shock Anna, but Anna's like, "Married now; remember how you hooked us up with that boudoir?" No one points out Edith's virginal status -- although maybe things with that farm owner went further than I thought -- but she does say she thinks they should go. Sybil then kneels at Mary's feet (Mary's made up as white as Tilda Swinton in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, FYI) and tells her that she knows her own marriage was a whirlwind, while Mary's is the one everyone wanted. "What's so thrilling is that this is every bit as romantic." Aww. Mary thanks her (we won't see Sybil again, but with the pregnancy a few months along already, I'm sure she'll be returning soon), and then it's Edith's turn: "Love and position in one handsome package. Who could ask for more." Not quite as flowery, but considering the past relationship between these two, it's about as good as anyone could expect. Nonetheless, Lady Cora tells Mary not to mind Edith -- like she needs the reminder -- and wishes her the very best of luck before leaving herself. With a radiant smile, Anna reappears to help Mary with the last of her preparations...
...while Mrs. Hughes leads the flower girls to a waiting car, with O'Brien as their escort. (I'd expect the lady's maids and valets at the very least to be on hand at the wedding) Alfred waves to his aunt and the kids, and then a stately carriage that can only be for Lady Mary pulls up...
By Couch Baron
Martha gives that an intrigued grunt, but the Dowager Countess cautions her that they won't see him again that night, as it's bad luck. I wouldn't have thought that superstition to be unknown in America even at this time, but it gives Martha ammunition to observe that for "you people," nothing ever changes. "Revolutions erupt and monarchies crash to the ground, and the groom still cannot see the bride before the wedding." The Dowager Countess professorially replies that Americans never understand the importance of tradition, but Martha's ready to deflect that volley right back: "Yes, we do. We just don't give it power over us. History and tradition took Europe into a world war. Maybe you should think about letting go of its hand." I'm not saying this is the most theme-driven show on television, but I think this statement is worth paying attention to. Martha walks off, but lest you think the British writers are going to break tradition by letting dialogue other than the Dowager Countess' end a scene, here she is to tell the just-appeared Edith how it went: "She is like a homing pigeon. She finds our underbelly every time." I realize we're still getting to know her, but I daresay Martha would find that description flattering, despite the Dowager Countess adding, "Dreadful."
Ah, the question of who sent Sybil and "Tom" (Lord Grantham apparently is making the slow dismount off his high horse) the money has arisen, and while Sybil says it doesn't really matter who it was, she does wish it had been Lord Grantham... although she's not angry with him. Lady Cora also denies the credit and Lord Grantham speculates that it was Isobel (who I guess is staying away to keep Matthew company, especially given that he probably told her what happened with Mary), but when Sybil declares her intention to ask her, the Dowager Countess pipes up that it was she. Not, of course, for the first time this episode, Lord Grantham's eyes bug out as far as is allowed by the Earl's playbook, and everyone exchanges stunned looks before Sybil notes that the accompanying note wasn't in the Dowager Countess' hand. She confesses that she had "Smithers" do it: "Like all lady's maids, she lives for intrigue." Hard to argue, when even the most saintly among them took up with a married man whose wife apparently then pulled the original ending of Fatal Attraction. Branson, who really can't take this in -- he looks as shocked as if he learned England just granted all of Ireland its independence -- asks if the Dowager Countess wanted him to come and she replies that she wanted Sybil "and her husband" there for Mary's wedding. Sybil asks why she kept it to herself and the Dowager Countess replies that it was probably silly, to which Branson sincerely says he's very touched. Of course, Martha has to have her say -- God love her for it -- and she pronounces the Dowager Countess' actions "very democratic. It makes me think maybe I've been mistaken in you." I believe she's being completely sincere, but I'm sure she's also aware that the comment is going to chafe the Dowager Countess, so hee. The Dowager Countess replies that she's a woman of many parts and keeps Branson's jaw firmly on the table by addressing him as "Tom" and decreeing that he's a member of the family now. "You'll find we Crawleys stick together." Excuse the expression, but the Dowager Countess has put her money where her mouth is on that point on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, this remark causes the rain cloud that's been hanging over Mary's head to open, as she says that's not always true before bursting into tears and leaving the room without excuse. Everyone looks around in concern, as well they might, and I do wonder if her parents think she's having a delayed reaction to the financial news. Just as well they don't know in what specific way that's kind of true.
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Although it's not immediately apparent unless you think about it, we're jumping ahead to after the honeymoon, with Mary and Matthew speeding toward Downton in their new convertible. Mary asks whose head he thinks will explode first on seeing it, the Dowager Countess' or Lord Grantham's. Matthew: "I should think they'll howl at the moon in unison." Well spoken, Matthew! Did Branson come along on the honeymoon to teach you a thing or two? When they arrive though, Lord Grantham is more impressed by the car than anything else and then he asks Matthew how the honeymoon was, to which the reply is "My eyes have been opened." I wouldn't have thought that sex with his daughter is something Matthew would casually reference to Lord Grantham, but maybe he's talking about the beauty of the French Riviera.
Inside, Thomas finds Alfred with one of Matthew's shirts open in front of him on a table and can't believe Alfred's been assigned to look after him. Anna explains that Molesley is staying on at Crawley House, so Thomas asks why he wasn't invited to do it. O'Brien interjects that Carson thought it was best, and from her tone I wonder if she had a hand in it; Thomas apparently thinks the same as he pointedly asks how that came about. I wouldn't have thought that they'd split Thomas' attention from Lord Grantham if they could help it and besides, he complained about having to look after Matthew before. All the same, he's got a point about not even having heard about it until now. Thomas then tells Alfred that he should only do business with shirts in a proper dressing room, not in a place like this where the shirt could get marked; Alfred, guileless as ever, thanks him, but O'Brien sardonically chimes in, "Yes... thank you, Thomas, for always trying to be so very helpful." Careful, Mrs. O'Brien. I'm on your side, but you're not the only one against whom Thomas might retaliate and I'd say that without having seen the rest of the episode.
Martha is still at Downton and while I wouldn't expect her to travel all this way just to pop back after the wedding, it must have seemed like the longest month of the Dowager Countess' life... and considering how long that's been, that's saying something. After hearing that the south of France was lovely, Martha says she hates the fact that France closes up in the summer. "I love the sun." The Dowager Countess: "So we can see." You'd think the Dowager Countess would be glad for the continued opportunity to score points, but she whispers an inquiry to Lord Grantham about when Martha's leaving, and when Lord Grantham admits he doesn't know, she remarks that no guest should be allowed on the property without an agreed-upon departure date. As a recipient of houseguests who have overstayed their welcomes, I couldn't agree more -- nor could Lord Grantham. Isobel tells Matthew that there's a rather "hideous" pile of mail waiting for him and then, in response to a question from Mary, announces that she's found herself a new occupation, although she's "afraid [the Dowager Countess] doesn't think it's quite appropriate." In as genteel as a pinched voice can sound, the Dowager Countess asks if they can discuss it later, but that only gives Martha the chance to crow about how she didn't think there were forbidden subjects in 1920, which is hilarious, although not as hilarious as the way Martha keeps inhaling her food while everyone else sits uncomfortably. Lady Cora agrees that not every subject is suitable for the table, and Martha clues in: "Pas devant les domestiques?" ("Not in front of the help," in case it's unclear.) Martha goes on that Carson and Alfred know more about life than any of them ever will, prompting Lord Grantham to wonder if they can stop this conversation. The Dowager Countess: "How? It's like a runaway train!" Hee. Lady Cora asks if they might go through, whereupon Mary asks after "poor old Strallan," which, fairly enough, gets Edith's back up; across the room, the Dowager Countess asks Lord Grantham if it's not "dangerous to let this Strallan nonsense continue." Lord Grantham thinks Edith is the one pushing it, so the Dowager Countess tells him to ask Sir Anthony to end it. "It'll be more effective than if we try." Probably true, but I must ask again: leaving aside the fact that Strallan is not only respectable but about as decent a guy as you'll find on this show, would they prefer Edith to be a spinster? Because I don't recall a lot of other people lining up for their shot and it would be one thing if they'd support a single life for Edith and think she's just doing this out of a wish to be married to anyone, but it's rather plain that she has real affection for Sir Anthony. I can believe this attitude from Lord Grantham and the Dowager Countess, but I'm pretty surprised -- and honestly not a little disappointed -- that Lady Cora sees it their way. But perhaps I should keep such opinions to myself, since this recap is already threatening to be long enough to require its own server. But on that subject, the less alive a show, the less anything's happening in a particular moment, the less I generally have to say about it, so this is really a love letter. One that apparently will never end, but still.
Downstairs, Mrs. Patmore is pleased to hear that Martha ate something she wasn't sure she would, but Alfred tells her he's pretty sure Martha would have eaten anything you put in front of her. "What a gob! I thought Mr. Carson was going to put a bag over her head!" Okay, maybe there's hope for young Alfred yet. Of course, he's going to have to remember to look over his shoulder, as when he turns, he sees Reed; hilariously, he's like, "Oops!" Hee. Again, short on guile, but there's something to be said for just admitting when you've stepped in it. Reed smiles: "Mrs. Levinson knows you make fun of her. But she makes fun of you!" She could just be addressing Alfred, of course, but I think she's including the entire Downton staff in the statement. I mean, knowing Martha, it seems like a safe bet. Mrs. Patmore sees it the same way as she brightly pipes up that they're all square then. Seriously, I didn't have much use for Mrs. Patmore back in Season 1 and now I can't imagine the show without her. Daisy then tries to tell Mrs. Patmore that something's wrong; she's not sure if the chimney isn't drawing properly, but the oven's definitely not hot enough. Mrs. Patmore essentially ignores her, which she'll live to regret, but Mrs. Hughes pulls her aside anyway...
...while upstairs, Lord Grantham and Matthew are having a father-son-in-law chat over cigars and an expensive bottle of something. Matthew prefaces his remarks by saying he hopes that they can always be honest with each other, and when Lord Grantham assures him that that's the case, Matthew tells him that Mary's confided Downton's financial situation to him. Since having Mary and Matthew make an informed decision about where they would live was the whole idea there, Lord Grantham is hardly surprised, but I'd imagine that'll change when Matthew tells him about the will, the subject of which he just so happens to be bringing up now.
Elsewhere, the Dowager Countess tells Mary that Lord Grantham also let her in on the secret and they commiserate a bit about Lord Grantham's bad investment -- funny how three generations of Crawley women are all like, "Um, ever hear of diversification?" -- before the Dowager Countess bemoans the fact that they're going to be turned out of Downton. (She must be feeling pretty low if she's consented to have one of those newfangled cocktails.) She wonders if they've overlooked a source of revenue "previously untapped," and while she doesn't precisely qualify given that her husband's money has helped fund Downton for years, it's no surprise that Mary's eyes drift to her other grandmother. Speaking of whom, the company is apparently now acceptable for Isobel to discuss her new vocation and Martha asks if she helps women who have "fallen over." You'll forgive me if my mind went to the "...and I can't get up" place for a moment; it's fairly obligatory for people my age. But this is a more metaphorical fall; as Lady Cora soberly puts it, the organization is for women "who have had to degrade themselves in order to survive." She adds that there's a center in York, to which Martha, looking at Alfred, replies, "Oh, no addresses please, or Alfred will be making notes." HA! She winks at him -- I'm guessing she heard what happened from Reed and was amused -- and he smiles until he runs into an absolutely aghast look from Carson. Hee. Isobel tells Martha that the first thing they do is to send the women away to rest (Martha: "I should think they need it!"), after which they try to find them alternative employment. Lady Cora adds that the war killed many a household's breadwinner, but Martha gets down to brass tacks and asks if they want money from her. Lady Cora admonishes her that she doesn't have to give money after every conversation, but her mother replies, "Isn't that what the English expect of rich Americans?" Given the scheme that's no doubt being cooked up on the other side of the room, it's hard to blame her for the question and Mary and the Dowager Countess look at each other with concern. Heh.
By Couch Baron
Mary's sitting on her bed when there's a knock at the door; this probably isn't completely unexpected, so Anna and Mary exchange a look before the former opens up to find Matthew, with Branson in tow. Anna throws Mary a "yup, it's him" look, so she stands and tells him to go away, as she's undressed. He begs her just to come to the door, and Branson chimes in his support, so Mary approaches, but not without saying the superstition part is irrelevant if they're not getting married. Matthew assuredly tells her they are, so Mary nods to Anna, who departs along with Branson. On opposite sides of the open door, Matthew assuredly tells "my darling" that they shouldn't be quarreling about something that hasn't even happened yet and probably never will (not sure about that second part, but okay), and Mary admits that Anna gave her the same counsel. He tells her he's sure they'll fight about any number of things, but Mary wonders if that isn't a sign -- she's not angry now, but she's had some time to reflect and maybe a disagreement about something so "fundamental" is a sign they should part ways, no hard feelings. Matthew, however, is stuck on what "Tom" said. He knows he won't be happy with anyone else and he thinks she feels the same about him. Even if that's true, it doesn't necessarily mean they'll be happy together, but whatever -- I'm not going to split that hair when there's an epic kiss coming. Speaking of which, Matthew asks if he can kiss her, "because I need to, very much," and I'm not going to insult this show by comparing it to Twilight in quality, but I'd imagine there's some crossover with the fans of this scene. Mary smiles and says it's bad luck, which of course means that the wedding's back on; Matthew doesn't point this out, but he suggests that they both close their eyes. Mary agrees -- like she could resist that -- and as the strings on the soundtrack swell, they shut their eyes and he appears around the corner; she reaches for him, slides her hand up to his face, and kisses him... and then totally opens her eyes to make sure he didn't cheat. Hee, that's my girl. It's not bad luck for her. They both smile and then he bids her goodnight and withdraws, leaving her to smile in the knowledge that she'll be able to come down to breakfast with good news tomorrow.
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Over at Sir Anthony's, his little dance with Edith continues, as he tells her that he's not family, so he shouldn't come to whatever event they're having, although he will attend "the big dinner week." Edith gathers her courage and tells Sir Anthony that she knows he doesn't mean to hurt her, but she can't understand why he keeps shoving her away. Sir Anthony tells her he doesn't want to, but he's too old for her; she tells him that's ridiculous, that he's coming for dinner that night and she won't hear another word about it. Honestly, the way these women have to coddle their men sometimes makes me exhausted on their behalf.
Anna reports to Bates that when she got home, she had a few answers from people to whom she'd sent inquiries, plus two letters that were returned stamped "Addressee Unknown." Bates asks who those two had been sent to and latches on to one of them as important -- a Mrs. Bartlett, who lived around the corner and was very friendly with Vera. Anna assures him that she'll find him and he turns the subject to France, asking if she ate frog's legs or danced the can-can. Anna, with a sly smile replies, "No. But I bought a garter." Tell that to Matthew -- maybe he'll be shocked at you instead of for you.
Ah, Mrs. Hughes -- with Mrs. Patmore there for support -- has gone to the doctor and it's that same Dr. Clarkson, now out of military service, who's been floating around since the beginning of the show. After ascertaining that Mrs. Hughes doesn't have any other symptoms, he looks at her somewhat uncomfortably and says he's just going to conduct a preliminary examination. When Mrs. Patmore asks if he minds if she stays, he replies, "I should prefer it." And I'm sure Mrs. Hughes would prefer that you warm up your hands a little.
Thomas catches Alfred carrying Matthew's tailcoat and asks what he's up to, and Alfred shows him a spot on it that he's having trouble getting out. Thomas offers to give him a tip and at first I thought he might have changed his tune because he decided Alfred is cute. I should have known he'd never let go of his bile that frivolously.
Mary is reading in a sitting room when the Dowager Countess bustles in and asks her if they're serious about getting Martha (or, as she puts it, "that woman... your other grandmother") to come to Downton's rescue. Mary, in a "why not" voice, points out that she's made of money, and there's only Lady Cora "and Uncle Harold" with whom to share it when she's gone. Hmm, where was Uncle Harold on Mary's happy day? The Dowager Countess has bigger concerns, however, as she thinks they can't wait that long. "She looks as if she'll bury us all." Hee. She goes on that they need to make Martha feel it's her duty to save Downton by getting her to see its "vital role in the area," and adds that Downton would come to Mary eventually, so maybe that's a way to Martha's heart -- should it exist. (I'm barely paraphrasing here, not that I expect that surprises you.) Mary apparently thinks she can work with this, as she says they'll come round the Dowager Countess' for tea that afternoon. If anyone can do it, Mary, it's you. But still: Good luck.
Having conducted his exam, Dr. Clarkson explains to Mrs. Hughes that on her visit, he'll draw some fluid from the cyst. If it's clear, end of story; if not, he'll have to send it away to be tested. Mrs. Hughes asks, in that latter case, if the worry is cancer; Dr. Clarkson says that's one eventuality, but he's fairly certain it isn't. Mrs. Patmore latches onto that, probably unaware that this is the same guy who told Matthew he'd never walk again. Mrs. Hughes is like, "If the doctor treats me like an adult, Mrs. Patmore, why do you insist on treating me like a child?" Mrs. Patmore doesn't blame the company she normally keeps, which is somewhat disappointing.
Speaking of children, Daisy is still on about the oven when Reed walks into the kitchen and announces that Martha is indeed headed to the Dowager Countess' for tea. Alfred passes by with a sheepish smile, which she returns without the sheepish part; when he's gone, she amusedly announces that she thinks he likes her. Daisy guesses he's just being friendly, but Reed isn't swayed and neither am I.
Upstairs, Mary finds Matthew seated at a desk slogging through his mail and he explains that he wants to get through it before he goes back into the office. Mary asks if there's anything about the estate and he hands her a note that apparently says Matthew is indeed the heir, although they may have to get Heir #2's death certificate from the Indian authorities for it to be official, which might take a while. Mary's like, great, more time to change your mind, but Matthew's typically humorless about the subject and sniffs that Lord Grantham understands. Mary: "I don't think he understands at all; he just doesn't want to beg!" Sorry, Matthew, but after seeing that scene in the study, I think she's probably right. Having her own plan to pursue, she tells him she's off to the Dowager Countess' for tea. He tells her he loves her terribly and she gives a small smile: "Yes. I know you do." Keep on keeping him guessing, Mary -- there are few things better on this show than Matthew's befuddled expression.
It's teatime and Lady Cora asks after Uncle Harold; Martha tells her that his idée fixe is yachts. "Bigger yachts, faster yachts... something with yachts." Rather than ask how much yachts are going for these days, Lady Cora asks if he's happy, but Martha snorts that he's far too busy to find out. The Dowager Countess remarks how strange it is to her that Lady Cora has a brother, explaining, "There's no such thing as an English heiress with a brother." Heh. She asks why they never see him, so Martha tells her he hates to leave America. The Dowager Countess: "Curious -- he hates to leave America; I should hate to go there." Mary, since you're younger, you might want to introduce your paternal grandmother to the idea of a sales pitch. Mary course-corrects her, saying she can't mean that when they're both so drawn to -- AHEM -- "America," and the Dowager Countess cottons on, saying that it's true, given how strong the bond between the Crawleys and the Levinsons is. Martha already looks like she'd be searching for the candid camera if that show (or television) existed yet, and even Lady Cora is like, "That's nice... if you mean it." Heh. The Dowager Countess affirms her sincerity though, saying it's wonderful how the families support each other, but Martha thinks she means the Crawleys needed the Levinson cash to keep them on top. Good read, Martha; just adjust your tenses and you're there. Mary steps in to say they wouldn't quite put it that way, but they do hope Martha feels Lady Cora's fortune has been well spent, to which Martha replies, "Well, you gotta spend it on somethin'." For once, we don't end with a line from the Dowager Countess, but her face is like, "This is going to be harder than I thought."
Matthew is putting on his tailcoat when he notices a hole in it. I don't blame you for falling prey to Thomas here, Alfred, but you're not a kid who broke a vase -- you've got to own up to the problem. He starts to stutter out about the mark, but Matthew's like, I know there was a mark, but maybe clean it by means other than acid or fire? He says he'll just have to go down in his dinner jacket and then, seeing Alfred looking like a scolded puppy, Matthew tells him it's fine -- he can just send the tailcoat to London in the morning for mending. With all the society at Downton, there's no closer tailor?
Carson comes rushing up to Mrs. Hughes in a tizzy about the pudding wine glasses not having been laid out; he then lectures her about everyone pulling their weight until they can get the staff levels back up to snuff. It's hard to believe that no one below stairs has heard about the financial ruin, given that the hiring freeze should especially have opened their ears for any such talk.
Upstairs, Martha is saying that while Newport is civilized, it's also a bit less formal, prompting the Dowager Countess to say that Matthew must be wearing his "play clothes" to make Martha feel at home. Matthew explains about Alfred burning a hole in his tails, and his light humor about the incident is somewhat marred by the fact that Alfred is in the room having to hear it. Carson practically turns a tray of food into Lord Grantham's face, so aghast is he at another member of his staff committing an atrocity against the institution of service. But Sir Anthony -- sporting a fashionable black sling around his neck for his injured hand -- once again proves what a mensch he is by saying that he likes dinner jackets, and that sometimes it's nice to be informal. This turns into a referendum on the value of change, with Mary and the Dowager Countess of course taking the position that institutions like Downton are important precisely because they preserve tradition. I love these verbal dances, I really do, but for God's sake just ask her to pony up the dough already. It's not like she's not going to figure out exactly what all this talk is about once you do. Martha's like, sure, sounds great and who's coming to this big dinner week? Lady Cora tells her it's "some locals," and she makes it sound like it's the milkmaid down the lane and her barkeep brother. Regardless, Mary tells Martha that she's happy they can show her "the real point of Downton." Martha gives a look that's as befuddled as Matthew at his most confused, so maybe it's not just him.
By Couch Baron
Martha is still at Downton and while I wouldn't expect her to travel all this way just to pop back after the wedding, it must have seemed like the longest month of the Dowager Countess' life... and considering how long that's been, that's saying something. After hearing that the south of France was lovely, Martha says she hates the fact that France closes up in the summer. "I love the sun." The Dowager Countess: "So we can see." You'd think the Dowager Countess would be glad for the continued opportunity to score points, but she whispers an inquiry to Lord Grantham about when Martha's leaving, and when Lord Grantham admits he doesn't know, she remarks that no guest should be allowed on the property without an agreed-upon departure date. As a recipient of houseguests who have overstayed their welcomes, I couldn't agree more -- nor could Lord Grantham. Isobel tells Matthew that there's a rather "hideous" pile of mail waiting for him and then, in response to a question from Mary, announces that she's found herself a new occupation, although she's "afraid [the Dowager Countess] doesn't think it's quite appropriate." In as genteel as a pinched voice can sound, the Dowager Countess asks if they can discuss it later, but that only gives Martha the chance to crow about how she didn't think there were forbidden subjects in 1920, which is hilarious, although not as hilarious as the way Martha keeps inhaling her food while everyone else sits uncomfortably. Lady Cora agrees that not every subject is suitable for the table, and Martha clues in: "Pas devant les domestiques?" ("Not in front of the help," in case it's unclear.) Martha goes on that Carson and Alfred know more about life than any of them ever will, prompting Lord Grantham to wonder if they can stop this conversation. The Dowager Countess: "How? It's like a runaway train!" Hee. Lady Cora asks if they might go through, whereupon Mary asks after "poor old Strallan," which, fairly enough, gets Edith's back up; across the room, the Dowager Countess asks Lord Grantham if it's not "dangerous to let this Strallan nonsense continue." Lord Grantham thinks Edith is the one pushing it, so the Dowager Countess tells him to ask Sir Anthony to end it. "It'll be more effective than if we try." Probably true, but I must ask again: leaving aside the fact that Strallan is not only respectable but about as decent a guy as you'll find on this show, would they prefer Edith to be a spinster? Because I don't recall a lot of other people lining up for their shot and it would be one thing if they'd support a single life for Edith and think she's just doing this out of a wish to be married to anyone, but it's rather plain that she has real affection for Sir Anthony. I can believe this attitude from Lord Grantham and the Dowager Countess, but I'm pretty surprised -- and honestly not a little disappointed -- that Lady Cora sees it their way. But perhaps I should keep such opinions to myself, since this recap is already threatening to be long enough to require its own server. But on that subject, the less alive a show, the less anything's happening in a particular moment, the less I generally have to say about it, so this is really a love letter. One that apparently will never end, but still.
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Mrs. Hughes and Patmore are having a chat about you-know-what when Carson bursts in barking about a maid having broken a serving dish, but Mrs. Hughes is like, you can shut up, "the blessed Lady Mary" can shut up and the serving dish can shut up because I MIGHT HAVE BREAST CANCER! Okay, those aren't her words, but they convey her tone. Mrs. Patmore starts to explain on Mrs. Hughes' behalf, but Mrs. Hughes cuts her off and wishes Carson a rather acerbic good night; when he's gone, Mrs. Hughes is unmoved by Mrs. Patmore's pleading look and instructs her in no uncertain terms not to tell Carson anything. Poor Mrs. Hughes. This isn't nearly as fun as when Sterling Archer had breast cancer.
The day, Carson -- after ascertaining that Alfred has finished with Matthew -- tells him he won't need to attend to him again, as Molesley will be coming up to do it instead. Alfred asks if Matthew complained, but Carson says he didn't have to, although he is reasonable enough in taking the blame for hurrying him along too quickly. That hardly mollifies the lad though, and his aunt stands and says she'll make Thomas sorry. With the dossier she has on him, I wonder where she's even going to start. She takes off, but instead of the scene ending, we watch Alfred walk down the hall and then lean against the wall with his patented hangdog expression, whereupon Reed emerges from an adjacent doorway and, without much ado at all, kisses him. It only lasts for a moment before Reed trots off with a smile, but it does the trick of cheering him up and as a bonus, it confuses the witnessing Daisy something hilarious.
Lord Grantham comes into the breakfast room and finds Matthew and Edith already eating; he asks about Mary, but Matthew wryly tells him that she claims the privilege as a married woman to have breakfast in her room. Since he mentions it, I've heard many far worse reasons to get hitched. Lord Grantham apologizes for Matthew's coat, but Matthew tells him not to worry and that it'll be sent to London that morning. Lord Grantham then tells Matthew that Molesley will be coming up for him and Matthew starts to say that he'd be perfectly happy to... something (whether it's to stick with Alfred or to do without a valet are both possible choices), but Lord Grantham cutting him off means we'll never know. Carson tells Lord Grantham that he needs to discuss other staff, but Lord Grantham's like, I thought I explained what a hiring freeze is and besides, I have to get yelled at by my daughter now. You see, Edith's just opened a letter from Sir Anthony, and when she's read the contents, she tearily and bitterly asks Lord Grantham how he could do this to her before exiting the room. When she's gone, Matthew asks if he knows what that was and Lord Grantham sighs that he thinks he does indeed. He sounds like he feels bad about it, but not enough to talk to Edith before he's eaten.
By Couch Baron
Elsewhere, the Dowager Countess tells Mary that Lord Grantham also let her in on the secret and they commiserate a bit about Lord Grantham's bad investment -- funny how three generations of Crawley women are all like, "Um, ever hear of diversification?" -- before the Dowager Countess bemoans the fact that they're going to be turned out of Downton. (She must be feeling pretty low if she's consented to have one of those newfangled cocktails.) She wonders if they've overlooked a source of revenue "previously untapped," and while she doesn't precisely qualify given that her husband's money has helped fund Downton for years, it's no surprise that Mary's eyes drift to her other grandmother. Speaking of whom, the company is apparently now acceptable for Isobel to discuss her new vocation and Martha asks if she helps women who have "fallen over." You'll forgive me if my mind went to the "...and I can't get up" place for a moment; it's fairly obligatory for people my age. But this is a more metaphorical fall; as Lady Cora soberly puts it, the organization is for women "who have had to degrade themselves in order to survive." She adds that there's a center in York, to which Martha, looking at Alfred, replies, "Oh, no addresses please, or Alfred will be making notes." HA! She winks at him -- I'm guessing she heard what happened from Reed and was amused -- and he smiles until he runs into an absolutely aghast look from Carson. Hee. Isobel tells Martha that the first thing they do is to send the women away to rest (Martha: "I should think they need it!"), after which they try to find them alternative employment. Lady Cora adds that the war killed many a household's breadwinner, but Martha gets down to brass tacks and asks if they want money from her. Lady Cora admonishes her that she doesn't have to give money after every conversation, but her mother replies, "Isn't that what the English expect of rich Americans?" Given the scheme that's no doubt being cooked up on the other side of the room, it's hard to blame her for the question and Mary and the Dowager Countess look at each other with concern. Heh.
Hmm, Lord Grantham isn't going as quietly as I thought. With some emotion, he asks why Matthew can't benefit from Lavinia's father. Matthew explains his reasoning, concluding that if he took the money after having broken Lavinia's heart, he'd be "no better than a common criminal." Once again Matthew, I must ask you to get over yourself without delay. Lord Grantham is like, well, if that's how you feel, fine... but I kind of wish I'd opened something cheaper now. Then Anna enters and gives the boys a much-needed excuse to clear out of there.
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By Couch Baron
So Mrs. Patmore confirms what Mrs. Hughes apparently feared: she's got a lump in her breast. Mrs. Hughes says she doesn't know what she's going to do, but Mrs. Patmore, having learned a thing or two about delaying doctor visits, tells her in no uncertain terms that she's going to make an appointment and get it checked out posthaste. Mrs. Hughes is uncharacteristically but understandably messy about the whole thing, but Mrs. Patmore assures her that she'll be there with her any time she's wanted. Mrs. Hughes wonders about the expense, but Mrs. Patmore's got that one covered too: "If you must pay money, better to a doctor than an undertaker." Mrs. Hughes can't help but laugh at that one...
...and then it's the morning, and Anna is taking in a tray for Mary and Matthew, still in bed together. Matthew, who slept with no shirt on, murmurs that it still feels shocking for Anna to see him en deshabille, to which Anna pipes up that she's made of stern stuff. I know she's joking, but this is Matthew we're talking about. Stern stuff would have been needed if Mary had married Sir Richard. As Anna opens the curtains, Mary asks if she's seeing Bates that day, and Anna confirms that before leaving the room, whereupon Matthew and Mary agree that waking up with each other is just lovely. I hope Matthew doesn't go running off to share that with Lord Grantham, but after their conversation last night we're probably safe for the moment. The newlyweds then bicker a bit about finding a new place to live, but shut each other up with a kiss. I've seen worse strategies for marital bliss, that's for sure.
Isobel is walking in a fairly grim-looking part of some town when she passes Ethel, standing in a doorway. If I remember correctly, we last saw her refusing to let her baby's grandparents take him away from her. Ethel clearly recognizes Isobel, who passes her before having a delayed recognition of her own; unfortunately, when she turns her head, Ethel has vanished. I don't know if Ethel was actually... um, working just now, but whatever the case, you can see where this is going.
Over at Sir Anthony's, his little dance with Edith continues, as he tells her that he's not family, so he shouldn't come to whatever event they're having, although he will attend "the big dinner week." Edith gathers her courage and tells Sir Anthony that she knows he doesn't mean to hurt her, but she can't understand why he keeps shoving her away. Sir Anthony tells her he doesn't want to, but he's too old for her; she tells him that's ridiculous, that he's coming for dinner that night and she won't hear another word about it. Honestly, the way these women have to coddle their men sometimes makes me exhausted on their behalf.
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Upstairs, Reed rounds a corner and sees O'Brien stealthily emerge from a room with a stack of shirts under her arm, an observation that puts a mischievous smile on her face. I'm getting the feeling she'd be a worthy co-conspirator here.
The tiara-sporting Dowager Countess has just arrived, and Mary excitedly runs out to collect her and show her the dining room, which is decorated with many large centerpieces and candelabra; when asked what she thinks, the Dowager Countess approvingly intones, "Nothing succeeds like excess." What an American viewpoint to take! They plot to get Martha alone after dinner...
...but that's if there is a dinner, as the oven is smoking like a dying dragon. Also, Thomas is expelling metaphorical smoke as he asks where Alfred is; when Daisy directs him to the servants' hall, he storms in and demands to know where they are, they being Lord Grantham's "bloody evening shirts," which are missing. Alfred's a blank, while his aunt convincingly lies that he wouldn't know anything about it and by the way, Lady Cora's already downstairs, so is he saying that Lord Grantham isn't even dressed? There's nothing for it but for Thomas to go rushing off...
...and try to explain to Lord Grantham that someone's trying to get back at him. Lord Grantham steps forward and asks if Thomas isn't popular downstairs, and Thomas manages not to choke on the words as he's like, oh no, I wouldn't say that, but people do like their little pranks! Lord Grantham instructs him to refer the culprit to him, should he discover him or her, but for now, "What are we going to do?"
Well, we don't get an answer to that yet, but the local lords and ladies are arriving and being shown in...
...while downstairs, the oven has indeed given up in protest. Daisy speculates that there's a block in the flue, but the why hardly matters when the dinner hasn't been -- and now can't be -- cooked. When Mrs. Patmore breaks the news to Mrs. Hughes, the latter looks as if death by cancer doesn't sound so bad after all.
Upstairs, Mary and the Dowager Countess almost faint away when they see both Matthew and Lord Grantham in black tie instead of white; Martha then appears and notes that Matthew and Lord Grantham are dressed for a barbeque, and Lord Grantham admits, "I feel like a Chicago bootlegger." Hee. Lady Cora then rushes up with the news about the oven, which only Martha finds amusing. Lady Cora then leads her inner circle out to the front, where they confer with Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Lady Cora wonders if they should just send everyone home, but Martha steps in to give new marching orders, Newport-style: She tells Carson to go to the larders and bring up any food there -- bread, fruit, cheese, chicken, ham -- for an indoor picnic and everyone can eat whatever and wherever they want. Carson is like, ummmmmmmmmm, but the progressives, Isobel and Lady Cora, back Martha's play, so the servants head off to get it done while Martha runs off in search of someone who can play the piano. Mary wrings her hands at the turn the evening has taken, but Lady Cora tells her to put a cork in it, while the Dowager Countess declares her need for a drink. Looking at her son, she then apologizes: "I thought you were a waiter." HA! I mean, I don't doubt that she needs a drink, but that was still an amazing set-up and execution.
Downstairs, everyone -- valets, lady's maids, Americans -- in service is pitching in, while Anna compliments Molesley's new valet outfit and Reed and Alfred take the opportunity to flirt a bit. Mrs. Hughes looks like she could use a break, but even though Mrs. Patmore once again tries to intervene on her behalf, she insists on carrying on. I guess now that Bates is in jail, the house needs someone to be an expert at suffering in silence.
Reed has followed Alfred into the meat larder, where she tells him that she saw who stole the shirts and she followed the culprit, so she knows where they are. She offers to show him, prompting him to ask why she's being so nice to him. She replies that she likes him, duh. He's impressed that she can just come out and say it, but she counters that she's an American and it's 1920. "Time to live a little." I mean, seriously. He's been to war AND he's worked in a hotel! How can he be this innocent? He tells her that he thought she was just hanging around in an attempt to collect information for her boss, but Reed counters that that's hardly necessary when Martha can read them all so easily. "She won't help, you know." Ooh, that's not good news. Alfred, of course, doesn't know what she means and she's not inclined to enlighten him when they could be making out; hilariously, Daisy witnesses this again. She's also like a homing pigeon... except the really dumb kind.
Upstairs, Martha leads the lords and ladies into the dining (or should I say, buffet, room), and invites them all to explore Downton to their heart's content. And while it's a fun idea, I don't envy the servants, who are probably going to find used plates in parts of this house that even the mice have forgotten about. Lord Grantham apologizes to one of the ladies, but she brightly tells him the evening is exciting...
...and we cut to Martha leading a sing-along in front of the piano of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart,", the highlight of which is Martha seeking out the Dowager Countess and unabashedly singing the "I'm in love... with... you" part right to her, even taking her hand and kissing it at the end as the Dowager Countess smiles through her horror. Hee. The guests are varying degrees of amused...
...while downstairs, Mrs. Hughes wonders if there's anything for them, and Mrs. Patmore says she's got a veal-and-egg pie before asking Mrs. Hughes if she really won't allow her to have a word with Carson. Mrs. Hughes -- after reiterating her wish to keep her possible condition a secret -- bursts into tears again, so Mrs. Patmore takes her away from prying eyes and assures her everything will be all right. Mrs. Hughes isn't convinced, but she appreciates the sentiment and it is touching that Mrs. Patmore can pay back the kindness she received when she was the one facing a terribly uncertain future.
By Couch Baron
It's teatime and Lady Cora asks after Uncle Harold; Martha tells her that his idée fixe is yachts. "Bigger yachts, faster yachts... something with yachts." Rather than ask how much yachts are going for these days, Lady Cora asks if he's happy, but Martha snorts that he's far too busy to find out. The Dowager Countess remarks how strange it is to her that Lady Cora has a brother, explaining, "There's no such thing as an English heiress with a brother." Heh. She asks why they never see him, so Martha tells her he hates to leave America. The Dowager Countess: "Curious -- he hates to leave America; I should hate to go there." Mary, since you're younger, you might want to introduce your paternal grandmother to the idea of a sales pitch. Mary course-corrects her, saying she can't mean that when they're both so drawn to -- AHEM -- "America," and the Dowager Countess cottons on, saying that it's true, given how strong the bond between the Crawleys and the Levinsons is. Martha already looks like she'd be searching for the candid camera if that show (or television) existed yet, and even Lady Cora is like, "That's nice... if you mean it." Heh. The Dowager Countess affirms her sincerity though, saying it's wonderful how the families support each other, but Martha thinks she means the Crawleys needed the Levinson cash to keep them on top. Good read, Martha; just adjust your tenses and you're there. Mary steps in to say they wouldn't quite put it that way, but they do hope Martha feels Lady Cora's fortune has been well spent, to which Martha replies, "Well, you gotta spend it on somethin'." For once, we don't end with a line from the Dowager Countess, but her face is like, "This is going to be harder than I thought."
Matthew is putting on his tailcoat when he notices a hole in it. I don't blame you for falling prey to Thomas here, Alfred, but you're not a kid who broke a vase -- you've got to own up to the problem. He starts to stutter out about the mark, but Matthew's like, I know there was a mark, but maybe clean it by means other than acid or fire? He says he'll just have to go down in his dinner jacket and then, seeing Alfred looking like a scolded puppy, Matthew tells him it's fine -- he can just send the tailcoat to London in the morning for mending. With all the society at Downton, there's no closer tailor?
Carson comes rushing up to Mrs. Hughes in a tizzy about the pudding wine glasses not having been laid out; he then lectures her about everyone pulling their weight until they can get the staff levels back up to snuff. It's hard to believe that no one below stairs has heard about the financial ruin, given that the hiring freeze should especially have opened their ears for any such talk.
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By Couch Baron
Upstairs, Martha is saying that while Newport is civilized, it's also a bit less formal, prompting the Dowager Countess to say that Matthew must be wearing his "play clothes" to make Martha feel at home. Matthew explains about Alfred burning a hole in his tails, and his light humor about the incident is somewhat marred by the fact that Alfred is in the room having to hear it. Carson practically turns a tray of food into Lord Grantham's face, so aghast is he at another member of his staff committing an atrocity against the institution of service. But Sir Anthony -- sporting a fashionable black sling around his neck for his injured hand -- once again proves what a mensch he is by saying that he likes dinner jackets, and that sometimes it's nice to be informal. This turns into a referendum on the value of change, with Mary and the Dowager Countess of course taking the position that institutions like Downton are important precisely because they preserve tradition. I love these verbal dances, I really do, but for God's sake just ask her to pony up the dough already. It's not like she's not going to figure out exactly what all this talk is about once you do. Martha's like, sure, sounds great and who's coming to this big dinner week? Lady Cora tells her it's "some locals," and she makes it sound like it's the milkmaid down the lane and her barkeep brother. Regardless, Mary tells Martha that she's happy they can show her "the real point of Downton." Martha gives a look that's as befuddled as Matthew at his most confused, so maybe it's not just him.
Downstairs, Carson announces Alfred's terrible shame to the rest of the staff, but after Carson leaves to have a quick cry in the wine cellar, Alfred fingers Thomas for the disaster, saying that the substance he gave him to clean the tails was corrosive. Thomas is like, whoa, I gave you soda crystals, but even if he didn't follow it up with a gloating statement to O'Brien, she (and we) would have pegged his "Who me?" tone easily enough. O'Brien looks like she doesn't know what to say, which, if I were in Thomas' shoes but not nearly so arrogant as he, would only make me fear her more.
Lord Grantham has apparently spoken to Sir Anthony, who replies that he understands completely and as much as I disagree with Lord Grantham, he obviously didn't say anything to Sir Anthony he hadn't already thought himself. Sir Anthony comes up with the idea of writing to Edith to tell her, essentially, to go away, and adds that he'll give the dinner week a miss. Lord Grantham is like, well, that was easy. And one fewer meal to pay for!
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By Couch Baron
O'Brien points to the supply shelf and shows Alfred the bottle he should have taken, but Alfred tells her that's not the one Thomas told him to use. O'Brien believes her nephew...
...as well she might, given that Thomas is at this moment slagging Alfred off to Lord Grantham, saying he's not ready to be the permanent valet to Matthew. And wow, Thomas' little stunt with Isis showed even more profit than I thought if Lord Grantham is now consulting him on hiring decisions. Lord Grantham asks what Thomas would suggest, and Thomas has the bright idea for him to ask Molesley to join them, which I take it as Thomas' way of really sticking it to Alfred. It will be especially galling for him to lose a job to someone Matthew already said he didn't want...
...but it seems there's little choice in the matter, as when Mary asks about "that poor footman," Matthew tells her that honestly, Alfred hasn't been great, and he's going to have to send his coat away as a result. Mary tells him to get it back in time for the dinner, as it has to be "the grandest of the grand." Matthew expresses disapproval at the Martha-related rigmarole, but Mary replies that his refusal to donate his own vast fortune pretty much means he should shut up about any alternative plans; she says it more nicely than that, but not by a wide margin. Suitably chastened, Matthew asks if Martha will actually do it and Mary tells him that the Dowager Countess "intends to make her or die in the attempt." Let's not deem those mutually exclusive. Mary then tells him to shut up and kiss her and her commanding nature is just one reason you can't blame him for obliging.
Mrs. Hughes and Patmore are having a chat about you-know-what when Carson bursts in barking about a maid having broken a serving dish, but Mrs. Hughes is like, you can shut up, "the blessed Lady Mary" can shut up and the serving dish can shut up because I MIGHT HAVE BREAST CANCER! Okay, those aren't her words, but they convey her tone. Mrs. Patmore starts to explain on Mrs. Hughes' behalf, but Mrs. Hughes cuts her off and wishes Carson a rather acerbic good night; when he's gone, Mrs. Hughes is unmoved by Mrs. Patmore's pleading look and instructs her in no uncertain terms not to tell Carson anything. Poor Mrs. Hughes. This isn't nearly as fun as when Sterling Archer had breast cancer.
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By Couch Baron
The day, Carson -- after ascertaining that Alfred has finished with Matthew -- tells him he won't need to attend to him again, as Molesley will be coming up to do it instead. Alfred asks if Matthew complained, but Carson says he didn't have to, although he is reasonable enough in taking the blame for hurrying him along too quickly. That hardly mollifies the lad though, and his aunt stands and says she'll make Thomas sorry. With the dossier she has on him, I wonder where she's even going to start. She takes off, but instead of the scene ending, we watch Alfred walk down the hall and then lean against the wall with his patented hangdog expression, whereupon Reed emerges from an adjacent doorway and, without much ado at all, kisses him. It only lasts for a moment before Reed trots off with a smile, but it does the trick of cheering him up and as a bonus, it confuses the witnessing Daisy something hilarious.
Lord Grantham comes into the breakfast room and finds Matthew and Edith already eating; he asks about Mary, but Matthew wryly tells him that she claims the privilege as a married woman to have breakfast in her room. Since he mentions it, I've heard many far worse reasons to get hitched. Lord Grantham apologizes for Matthew's coat, but Matthew tells him not to worry and that it'll be sent to London that morning. Lord Grantham then tells Matthew that Molesley will be coming up for him and Matthew starts to say that he'd be perfectly happy to... something (whether it's to stick with Alfred or to do without a valet are both possible choices), but Lord Grantham cutting him off means we'll never know. Carson tells Lord Grantham that he needs to discuss other staff, but Lord Grantham's like, I thought I explained what a hiring freeze is and besides, I have to get yelled at by my daughter now. You see, Edith's just opened a letter from Sir Anthony, and when she's read the contents, she tearily and bitterly asks Lord Grantham how he could do this to her before exiting the room. When she's gone, Matthew asks if he knows what that was and Lord Grantham sighs that he thinks he does indeed. He sounds like he feels bad about it, but not enough to talk to Edith before he's eaten.
While sewing, Lady Cora tells Mary that she's sorry, but enough Levinson money has been poured into Downton already and why should Harold lose half his inheritance for their sakes? She's not wrong, but I'd have more sympathy for Harold without all the yacht talk; still, Lady Cora's point that they'd simply move to a smaller house instead of "going down the mine" is taken. Mary, however, tells Lady Cora that she's still an American and as such can't really understand, but Mary will be Countess of Grantham one day, "and in my book, the Countess of Grantham lives at Downton Abbey!" Lady Cora merely smiles at her, probably wondering what her old/dead ass will care at that point anyway.
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By Couch Baron
Ethel returns to the building in front of which we saw her before and enters to find Isobel delivering a lecture about finding a place in the world to a woman who wouldn't care less even if she could hear the words over the sound of her own chewing. They should bring her to Downton to have an eating contest with Martha. When Isobel sees Ethel, she comes over with a smile and asks if she's looking to speak with her and Ethel tells "Mrs. Crawley" that she is. Isobel asks if she's come for their help, but Ethel makes to retreat like a skittish dog, at which point Isobel says she knows her -- although she doesn't pull her name, she remembers her as the maid who brought her child into the dining room at Downton. Ethel tells her this was a mistake and she's not ready to ask her yet. Just like that, she's gone again even as Isobel calls after her, "Ask me what?" You'll have to wait at least until episode to find out, ma'am.
The fluid has apparently been drawn and Dr. Clarkson returns to the room with less-than-great news: There were traces of blood in it and while the levels weren't enough to conclusively indicate cancer, it couldn't be ruled out either, so he's got to send it away for analysis, which could take up to two months. Mrs. Patmore hilariously starts to bray about that, but cuts herself off at a look from Mrs. Hughes. Dr. Clarkson then instructs Mrs. Hughes to take it as easy as possible until then... maybe she could put her feet up here and there. This time, Mrs. Patmore can't restrain herself from replying "Chance'd be a fine thing," and given that this is pretty much what the phrase was coined for, you can hardly blame her. The ladies rise to go and Dr. Clarkson offers to say something to Lady Cora on Mrs. Hughes' behalf, but she tells him it's all right -- she'll do it herself if the need arises. I'm not sure that's true, but I doubt there will be any holding Mrs. Patmore's tongue for long.
While walking Isis, Lord Grantham comes across Edith sitting on a bench sobbing into Martha's arms, and Martha wastes no time in blaming him for Edith's misery. Edith pipes up that Lord Grantham may claim to know what's best for her, but he welcomed a chauffeur as Sybil's husband, while when she's in love with a gentleman, he "cast[s] him into the outer darkness." Martha adds that Sir Anthony has money, a title, "everything that you care about," adding that if he'd take the time to look, he'd see that Edith is sad and lonely. Edith threatens to see Sir Anthony anyway and makes the point that objecting to Sir Anthony's age is ridiculous given how many of the country's young men died in the war. Lord Grantham is running out of arguments that have any more sophistication than "I forbid you to, young lady!" and when Edith gets him to admit that he quite likes Sir Anthony, she gets up and begs him to write to Sir Anthony and re-invite him to the dinner. Lord Grantham reluctantly gives in and Martha nods her approval; somewhere, so do Mary and the Dowager Countess -- even if they have no idea why.
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By Couch Baron
At the prison, Anna informs Bates that she found Mrs. Bartlett. Bates cautions her that she may not be forthcoming, especially to someone she sees as the tramp who stole Vera's husband (he doesn't come close to saying that, but it's what he means). Nevertheless, Anna is determined to find out what she knows, and is willing to apply the rent she's collected from the Bates Motel as incentive. She then contributes further credence to the idea that the women on this show are the ones holding up the collective IQ, as she asks why -- if Vera was so scared for her life -- she didn't just walk around the corner to see Mrs. Bartlett instead of writing. Her point is obviously that the letter made for far stronger evidence against Bates than a recounted conversation, but Bates is like, maybe she did both. Even Saint Anna can't completely stifle her irritation with having married the slow class here. Bates asks for news from Downton and Anna sighs that she hasn't told anyone downstairs this and shouldn't tell him either, but Lord Grantham's in trouble and may have to sell the place. Bates is genuinely saddened by that news...
...while Molesley, while perhaps not sad, is genuinely out of breath from running up to Downton. He bursts into Matthew's room and tells him that the tailcoat never came, even though it was promised, so Matthew sighs and says he'll just have to go in black tie, and I love how for this affair, that's tantamount to wearing sweat pants and a Snuggie. Molesley gasps about what Mary will think, but Matthew assures him that these things don't matter as they once did. Normally, I think he'd be right, but did I mention that the big impress-the-rich-American dinner is tonight?
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By Couch Baron
Upstairs, Reed rounds a corner and sees O'Brien stealthily emerge from a room with a stack of shirts under her arm, an observation that puts a mischievous smile on her face. I'm getting the feeling she'd be a worthy co-conspirator here.
The tiara-sporting Dowager Countess has just arrived, and Mary excitedly runs out to collect her and show her the dining room, which is decorated with many large centerpieces and candelabra; when asked what she thinks, the Dowager Countess approvingly intones, "Nothing succeeds like excess." What an American viewpoint to take! They plot to get Martha alone after dinner...
...but that's if there is a dinner, as the oven is smoking like a dying dragon. Also, Thomas is expelling metaphorical smoke as he asks where Alfred is; when Daisy directs him to the servants' hall, he storms in and demands to know where they are, they being Lord Grantham's "bloody evening shirts," which are missing. Alfred's a blank, while his aunt convincingly lies that he wouldn't know anything about it and by the way, Lady Cora's already downstairs, so is he saying that Lord Grantham isn't even dressed? There's nothing for it but for Thomas to go rushing off...
...and try to explain to Lord Grantham that someone's trying to get back at him. Lord Grantham steps forward and asks if Thomas isn't popular downstairs, and Thomas manages not to choke on the words as he's like, oh no, I wouldn't say that, but people do like their little pranks! Lord Grantham instructs him to refer the culprit to him, should he discover him or her, but for now, "What are we going to do?"
Well, we don't get an answer to that yet, but the local lords and ladies are arriving and being shown in...
...while downstairs, the oven has indeed given up in protest. Daisy speculates that there's a block in the flue, but the why hardly matters when the dinner hasn't been -- and now can't be -- cooked. When Mrs. Patmore breaks the news to Mrs. Hughes, the latter looks as if death by cancer doesn't sound so bad after all.
Upstairs, Mary and the Dowager Countess almost faint away when they see both Matthew and Lord Grantham in black tie instead of white; Martha then appears and notes that Matthew and Lord Grantham are dressed for a barbeque, and Lord Grantham admits, "I feel like a Chicago bootlegger." Hee. Lady Cora then rushes up with the news about the oven, which only Martha finds amusing. Lady Cora then leads her inner circle out to the front, where they confer with Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Lady Cora wonders if they should just send everyone home, but Martha steps in to give new marching orders, Newport-style: She tells Carson to go to the larders and bring up any food there -- bread, fruit, cheese, chicken, ham -- for an indoor picnic and everyone can eat whatever and wherever they want. Carson is like, ummmmmmmmmm, but the progressives, Isobel and Lady Cora, back Martha's play, so the servants head off to get it done while Martha runs off in search of someone who can play the piano. Mary wrings her hands at the turn the evening has taken, but Lady Cora tells her to put a cork in it, while the Dowager Countess declares her need for a drink. Looking at her son, she then apologizes: "I thought you were a waiter." HA! I mean, I don't doubt that she needs a drink, but that was still an amazing set-up and execution.
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By Couch Baron
Downstairs, everyone -- valets, lady's maids, Americans -- in service is pitching in, while Anna compliments Molesley's new valet outfit and Reed and Alfred take the opportunity to flirt a bit. Mrs. Hughes looks like she could use a break, but even though Mrs. Patmore once again tries to intervene on her behalf, she insists on carrying on. I guess now that Bates is in jail, the house needs someone to be an expert at suffering in silence.
Reed has followed Alfred into the meat larder, where she tells him that she saw who stole the shirts and she followed the culprit, so she knows where they are. She offers to show him, prompting him to ask why she's being so nice to him. She replies that she likes him, duh. He's impressed that she can just come out and say it, but she counters that she's an American and it's 1920. "Time to live a little." I mean, seriously. He's been to war AND he's worked in a hotel! How can he be this innocent? He tells her that he thought she was just hanging around in an attempt to collect information for her boss, but Reed counters that that's hardly necessary when Martha can read them all so easily. "She won't help, you know." Ooh, that's not good news. Alfred, of course, doesn't know what she means and she's not inclined to enlighten him when they could be making out; hilariously, Daisy witnesses this again. She's also like a homing pigeon... except the really dumb kind.
Upstairs, Martha leads the lords and ladies into the dining (or should I say, buffet, room), and invites them all to explore Downton to their heart's content. And while it's a fun idea, I don't envy the servants, who are probably going to find used plates in parts of this house that even the mice have forgotten about. Lord Grantham apologizes to one of the ladies, but she brightly tells him the evening is exciting...
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By Couch Baron
...and we cut to Martha leading a sing-along in front of the piano of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart,", the highlight of which is Martha seeking out the Dowager Countess and unabashedly singing the "I'm in love... with... you" part right to her, even taking her hand and kissing it at the end as the Dowager Countess smiles through her horror. Hee. The guests are varying degrees of amused...
...while downstairs, Mrs. Hughes wonders if there's anything for them, and Mrs. Patmore says she's got a veal-and-egg pie before asking Mrs. Hughes if she really won't allow her to have a word with Carson. Mrs. Hughes -- after reiterating her wish to keep her possible condition a secret -- bursts into tears again, so Mrs. Patmore takes her away from prying eyes and assures her everything will be all right. Mrs. Hughes isn't convinced, but she appreciates the sentiment and it is touching that Mrs. Patmore can pay back the kindness she received when she was the one facing a terribly uncertain future.
Upstairs, Sir Anthony tells Edith that she's given him back his life, so hopefully there will be no more self-doubting dithering on his part. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and he asks if she's sure she won't wait. So I guess when we joined the scene, he had already proposed, and she tells him she can get everything organized in a month. I assume she must know about the financial problems by now, no? It'd be a characteristic oversight/kick in the teeth if she didn't, but it's hard to imagine she could have missed it after all this time. Edith wonders if they should tell everyone that night, but Sir Anthony thinks it will be better if he returns in the morning. It's true -- if you try to do it tonight, someone might slip on a banana peel at just the wrong moment.
Downstairs, Daisy runs into Alfred and asks him why he likes Reed, given that she's "fast" and that he won't see her again after she heads back to the States. Alfred counters that he was miserable until she showed an interest, so why overanalyze? Carson then recruits Alfred to bring wine round to the guests, and when Alfred wonders about the potential spillage, Carson inimitably enunciates, "If you ask me, we are staring into the chaos of Gomorrah." He's even more of a drama queen than Matthew, but he's got a much better voice with which to pull it off. Carson then notices the stack of shirts in Alfred's hand, and when Alfred explains he has to take it up to Lord Grantham, Carson tells him to get on with it. I wonder if that's going to come back to bite him, as Thomas is sure to make inquiries about the shirts, but with Reed and O'Brien on his side, I find it difficult to believe he'll be in trouble for long.
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By Couch Baron
Upstairs, Martha tells the Dowager Countess and Mary that she'll help in any way she can, but their celebration is premature -- it's not in Martha's power to rescue Downton, as "your Grumpo" tied her money down. Mary disconsolately points out that Martha said she'd help, but all Martha means is that she'd entertain them in New York and in Newport and maybe add to her daughter's dress allowance, but that's it. "My income might be generous, but I cannot touch the capital." Martha then gets thematic again as she goes on that the world has changed and houses like Downton were meant for another age. "Are you quite sure you want to continue with the bother of it all?" Mary is, thank you very much, so Martha looks at the Dowager Countess and offers that both their husbands tied the money up tight before they were taken. The Dowager Countess, not without emotion: "Lord Grantham wasn't taken. He died." I'll just let that one sit without comment. It seems like the tasteful thing to do.
Bates witnesses his cellmate doing something that appears shady. Surprise!
In the servants' hall, Thomas trudges in and asks who put the shirts back. I don't know if O'Brien heard what happened, but either way, she runs with it as she sniffs that Thomas obviously overlooked them in the first place as Reed smirks to herself. Thomas tries to menace O'Brien, but she only scoffs that he sounds like Tom Mix in a Wild West picture show. Just another reason why O'Brien will win this conflict -- superior command of pop-culture references. She condescendingly dismisses Thomas, who slinks off just as Alfred joins the group and asks what's so funny. O'Brien: "Seems those missing shirts went for a walk and now they've come home." When you put it that way, it is pretty funny. Alfred's like, you don't say, and soon he and Reed are both trying not to giggle.
Back in the cell, the roommate tells Bates he didn't see anything and Bates agrees. Roommate: "'Cause if you did, I'll cut you." Again, to use an anachronistic term, this is an example of over-closing. Bates gets to his feet, gut-punches the guy and shoves him against the wall. I don't have much use for the character, but Jim Carter does some nice work here as, just for a moment, he lets some real bloodlust come through that carefully controlled façade. He breathes for the roommate not to threaten him and the roommate replies that he forgot he was sharing a cell with a murderer. Bates: "Don't forget it again." Convenient use of his conviction to cultivate cred... or something more sinister?
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By Couch Baron
Lord Grantham enters his study and pours himself a drink when Martha, from the couch offscreen, tells him that the evening has made her homesick for America and it's time for her to go. Lord Grantham offers her some whiskey, which she happily accepts, and then, sounding sincere, tells him she's sorry she can't help him save Downton. His face betrays his lack of knowledge of the plan, so Martha clarifies that it's what Mary wanted from her before telling him that in order to deal with the world today, you can't ignore it -- if you do, you'll just get hurt. And it does seem obvious that a big theme of the season is going to be the conflict between those who long for the past and those who embrace the future. It's always been there on the show, but the war has understandably thrown it into much sharper relief. Lord Grantham admits that sometimes he feels like "a creature in the wild whose natural habitat is gradually being destroyed," but Martha isn't afraid to pick up the metaphor and run with it as she points out that some animals adapt, which seems preferable to extinction. Lord Grantham wonders if that's dependent on what you're made of rather than your conscious choices, so Martha expresses her hope that what he's made of will serve him well. They hold up their glasses and then there's a funny moment in which Martha's waiting for him to clink her glass and he's not doing it, and then she finally does it herself. Hee. Despite the closing eye-roll, I'd bet it's the most conciliatory scene these two characters have ever shared.
Downstairs, Carson catches Mrs. Hughes staring contemplatively and asks if everything's all right, and when she tells him yes, he compliments her on the kitchen handling the difficult circumstances well, adding that Lord Grantham sends his thanks. Mrs. Hughes asks if the evening was a success and Carson admits that it probably was, although everyone eating on the floor "like beaters at a break in the shooting" isn't exactly his idea of a party. "Where's the style, Mrs. Hughes? Where's the show?" Mrs. Hughes sighs that maybe people are tired of all that, but Carson won't hear of it: "To misquote Dr. Johnson, if you're tired of style, you are tired of life." (Replace "style" with "London" and you've got the real quote.) Mrs. Hughes chuckles and bids him good night, but he turns back to be sure that if there were something wrong, she'd tell him, adding that he's on her side. Maybe he's cast a more logical eye over her recent apparent flightiness, but even with the invitation, she's not ready to come clean, although she does thank him for the sentiment. After he's gone, she slowly heads out into the hallway, where she finds Mrs. Patmore. Mrs. Hughes relays the compliments on the kitchen's performance, but Mrs. Patmore is more interested in whether she told Carson and the answer, of course, is no. They walk down the hall from us as Mrs. Hughes philosophically says that one day, she'll die and so will everyone at Downton. "You must put these things in proportion, Mrs. Patmore, and I think I can do that now." Mrs. Patmore... well, pats her on the arm before disappearing and after Mrs. Hughes turns out the downstairs lights, we're out. Mrs. Hughes' new attitude toward death could be applied to Downton itself and it's a strong start to the season, full of promise of interesting thematic exploration, but my fingers are certainly hoping there are a few more things to gloss over in the weeks to come. They'll survive, though. See you week!
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By Couch Baron
John Ramos is a writer and film producer living in Los Angeles. His new film, a documentary on online privacy and the sale of personal data called Terms And Conditions May Apply, will premiere at the Slamdance Film Festival in January. You can get news on it from the film's Twitter account. Also, you can email John at couchbaron@gmail.com, follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/couchbaron, or check out his blog, "Pull Up A Chair," which he'd just love for you to stop by.
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