When Irish Eyes Are Crying

S03E03

With leave to fill out his staff, Carson plans to hire a second footman and Thomas isn't thrilled that Carson is taking the time to train Alfred for first footman duty. His mood improves, though, when the adorable young Jimmy Kent shows up for an interview and is hired; less happy is Daisy, who finally gets the kitchen maid she's been on about, only to have her crush Alfred take an immediate and obvious shine to the new girl.

Bates has been cut off from receiving visitors and also, seemingly, from sending or receiving mail. Anna, assuming that Bates means to break off their relationship, is going out of her mind about it. In reality, though, Bates' cellmate Craig has some powerful connections and after their scheme to set Bates up last time failed, they've succeeding in having him declared a dangerous prisoner, which explains the cessation of his privileges. When he hears about this from his prison friend (not a euphemism), Bates is relieved that Anna hasn't given up on him and hatches a plan that ends with him planting the small package that was meant to be his downfall in Craig's bed. With his accuser discredited (I… guess? The prison politics aren't totally clear here), Bates' privileges are restored, and he and Anna are both thrilled at the rain of letters they each get as a result, however boring they surely are.

As a new co-owner, Matthew gets involved in the running of Downton; he complains about it at first, but before long he's looked over the books and concludes that Downton is being severely mismanaged. When Lord Grantham ignores his attempt to discuss the matter, Matthew goes to the Dowager Countess for advice, but while she tells him to do what needs to be done for Downton's sake, she does warn him that a tactful way to do so doesn't really exist. You know I love her, but maybe she's not actually the authority on that subject.

Having seen Ethel, Isobel shows up to Mrs. Hughes with a letter for her, and soon Isobel is hosting a meeting in which Ethel tells them that she'd like to send her son to live with his grandparents after all. Isobel gets Mrs. Hughes to arrange a meeting with the grandparents without committing to anything and despite the grandfather's harsh words (he's kept tabs on her), the pair of them offers to support Ethel so she won't have to, um, work so hard for the money. Ethel, however, won't be swayed and gives up her boy with tears and the appropriate musical accompaniment.

Edith has seemingly recovered, at least as well as can be expected, but she's casting about for a direction until the Dowager Countess literally tells her to stop whining and find something to occupy her time. (See? Tact!) She gets more than she bargained for, however, when Edith writes in to a newspaper to advocate for the full vote for women; when the paper publishes it, Lord Grantham is up in arms, which is rich given that if he'd just let her get married in peace, this wouldn't have happened.

Finally, a desperate, haunted Branson shows up to Downton with the news that Irish revolutionaries burned the Lord and Lady Drumgoole's castle in Ireland to the ground and he's been implicated in the crime -- fairly enough, since he was present for it. He and Sybil were forced to split up to make it out ahead of the law and Lord Grantham reams him out for leaving his pregnant better half in a distant land to save his own admittedly fine behind. Despite his ire, though, for Sybil's sake Lord Grantham goes to London to see the Home Secretary; while he's gone, Sybil makes it to Downton safely, but when Lord Grantham returns he informs them that Branson is known to have attended meetings at which the crime was planned, and as such the most lenient punishment he could work means Branson can never again return to Ireland. Sybil is not thrilled about the heretofore-unknown-to-her extent of Branson's involvement, and even less so about his almost-stated intention to return to Ireland regardless of the consequences. I can only hope he'll at least stick around for the birth of his likely stunning child.

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.

Carson is handing out the day's mail and it looks like everyone's got at least one letter today... everyone except Anna, who looks around plaintively, probably wondering how a couple of these maids are getting mail when no one even knows their names. Anna asks Carson if there's really no letter for her and he intones, "No, Anna. Once again, I'm afraid there's nothing for you." His tone is heavy, but he's still not much for softening the blow, is he?

Meanwhile, Bates similarly receives nothing and is similarly disappointed. The positioning of these scenes makes it rather blindingly obvious what's going on, even if we don't yet know the reason why. But they're going to drag out that realization for the characters, which is sadly fitting for anything involving Bates and Anna.

From the look of dread on his face when Lord Grantham proclaimed him co-owner of Downton, it's not surprising that Matthew is less than super-psyched about getting into the details of the place's management, but Mary tells him it's his duty now to do so. Matthew sighs that he doesn't want to challenge Lord Grantham, but Mary says he won't have any reason to -- he just needs to pull his weight. She's kind of impatient about it for someone who seriously almost went out of her mind before he finally coughed up the cash to keep the place afloat. Rather than point that out, though, Matthew asks Anna how Bates is, but Anna tells him she's not seen or heard from him in a while; they stopped permitting him to have visitors and he's not written to tell her why. And seriously, maybe Anna's too emotional to figure it out, but you'd think that between Mary and Matthew there would be enough brainpower to come up with the idea that maybe the visitation and mail issues are linked. (Okay, I meant to write "between Mary and Mary.") Anna brave-little-toasters her way on out of there...

...and then Isobel is popping in to see Mrs. Hughes again. After apologizing for "pushing in" on her, Isobel says that she did manage to see Ethel, and produces a letter Ethel asks Isobel to pass on to Mrs. Hughes. It's a lucky thing Isobel closed the door first so Anna doesn't see it and get all verklempt again. Mrs. Hughes recalls Isobel worrying that Ethel had fallen into bad ways, and Isobel's like, I hope you know what hooking is so I don't have to explain it? She goes on that Ethel is deeply miserable and that she wishes Ethel would accept her help, but she won't, so if Mrs. Hughes learns anything from the letter that might help, would she please let her know? As nosy as Isobel is, I'm a bit surprised she didn't read the letter herself, given that she could probably rationalize it as a righteous action. We certainly have ample evidence that it's what Mary would have done. Mrs. Hughes promises she will, adding that Isobel's concern does her credit. "But I suspect she will be too ashamed to face how far she's fallen." I mean, I take her point from many angles, but let's not forget Ethel was a pretty shitty maid. Isobel bids Mrs. Hughes good night.

By Couch Baron

Upstairs, Carson, in that even-more-imperious-than-usual voice he uses when he's puzzled, asks if he's to answer to both Matthew and Lord Grantham, but Matthew's like, no, no of course not! Predictably enough, though, when Carson brings up the issue of replenishing his staff, Matthew wonders if he really needs a second footman, noting that the world is a bit different than it was before the war. Carson's like, sure, you're absolutely right, I was an actual butler back then, but now I'm a butler disguised as a second footman, which is exactly how I imagined my life going! Lord Grantham steps in and says that's not what Matthew meant, which is good, because at the rate Carson was going Matthew would thrown Mary over so he could run out and marry another fragile heiress whose money he could put into the Downton staff budget. Lord Grantham then mentions an imminent dinner for the Archbishop of York for which they won't have time to get the new staff hired. Carson tells him it'll be fine, no doubt thinking it's not his ass that will be damned if something goes wrong.

The morning, Matthew asks Edith why she doesn't have breakfast in bed, now that... she finishes for him: "Now that both of the others are [married], what difference would it make?" If he finds that a smart line of inquiry to a woman recently jilted, I can only conclude he hasn't had coffee yet. To be fair, Edith's response was in reasonable humor, and after she explains that she likes to be up and about, Lord Grantham, reading the paper, tells them that Tennessee is about to ratify the 19th Amendment giving all women the right to vote. (It's the state that produced the three-quarters majority necessary to do so; if the show were following history accurately, this would put us in August 1920, but that would require Sybil to have been pregnant for like a year.) Edith remarks that this will put American women ahead of them; it's only British women both over 30 and "householders" that are currently represented. Matthew suggests she write to the Times, and she agrees that she might before Lord Grantham orders her to ask Cora if she needs help with that night's dinner. Well, he's not explicitly saying he likes his women barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, but you'll at least grant the comment was a bit ill-timed. Lord Grantham goes on that "there's nothing so toffee-nosed as a prince of the church," and if he feels that way, I guess his insistence that an archbishop preside over Mary's wedding was political? I do like Lord Grantham on a macro level, but that has little to do with recapping. He wraps up that the Archbishop should be seated to the Dowager Countess. "She'll know how to handle him." I hope the "how" is "on camera," is all I can say.

Downstairs, Anna once again looks despondent and before I forget, I'm kind of surprised at both her and Bates for their shaken faith in their relationship, given all the treacly sentimentality with which they've continually pledged their mutual devotion. When Anna joins everyone at the table, Carson gives her the news that as soon as they've hired a new housemaid, she'll finally get to be a proper lady's maid to Mary. Anna's enthusiasm for that isn't quite as weak as American tea, but it's close -- not that Carson notices, as he goes on that he'll also be hiring a new footman. O'Brien asks if that'll be a second footman, but Carson tells her the jury's still out on that point, and it seems only fair given that he might get a response from someone who's got more experience in the job than three episodes' worth. Thomas gets in a dig about Carson finding someone with something to him, but there's juicier talk threatening to happen, as Mrs. Hughes, sotto voce, tells Carson about the letter from Ethel, saying she wants to meet, but she won't come to Downton as she wouldn't be comfortable. You'd think Carson would be like, "Awesome!" but he instead asks why, but Mrs. Hughes won't tell him and given that Carson is probably more inclined to judge than the Archbishop, her discretion is probably wise. Mrs. Hughes declares her intention to ask Isobel if they could meet at Crawley House, and I'm not much of a betting man, but I think I could find some cash to put on "yes."

Matthew finds Mary in a room that's in a fair bit of disarray, but she explains that she's "stolen" the nursery as a sitting room for them. He looks at her askance and it comes out that she just came from the doctor, so the obvious indication is that he thought she might be pregnant. I am curious to see that happen -- Michelle Dockery is so thin that convincingly making her look pregnant won't be easy. When Mary tells Matthew she merely went to the doctor to get something for her hay fever, he asks what they'll use for a nursery should the need arise. Mary's like, thanks, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and Matthew nods in thanks for the reminder of who wears the pants in the relationship.

Edith has come to see the Dowager Countess, who asks how she is, and Edith smiles that she supposes she's all right. After the Dowager Countess and Edith agree that what she went through was "horrid," the Dowager Countess offers that Edith must keep busy, but Edith complains that there's nothing to do and wonders if she should take up gardening. The Dowager Countess: "Well, no. You can't be as desperate as that." Hee. When Edith asks how she should occupy her time instead, the Dowager Countess replies, "Edith dear -- you're a woman with a brain and reasonable ability. Stop whining and find something to do." If anyone happens to have that last sentence as a ringtone, my email's in my bio.

Good Lord, Anna, get it together. Mrs. Hughes interrupts her silent suffering to tell her she thinks everything's under control, but stops when she sees Anna's face. Anna confesses it's been weeks since she's had a letter from Bates, and she worries that he's "being gallant" in trying to set her free. Yeah, that's not how I'd define "gallant" either, but the Brits often use words differently. Also, Anna seems to be under the impression that it's Bates who stopped her visiting rather than the prison authorities. I'm not sure if she was given that information or if she jumped to the conclusion, but it does seem tenuous, especially given Bates having mentioned his cellmate to her. Mrs. Hughes doesn't know anything about that, but she is sure that Bates hasn't abandoned Anna, and Anna nods gratefully at the encouraging words...

...while Bates, on work detail, gets the news from that same Good Samaritan that Craig (that's the cellmate) knows Bates tricked him -- brilliant deduction there -- and that he has powerful friends on the outside, I think, who were in on the set-up (the details are unclear to me and I honestly couldn't care less, so no email clarifications necessary), and they're the ones responsible for stopping his visitation and mail privileges, having reported him to the governor as a dangerous prisoner. Bates is just thrilled to learn that Anna hasn't actually abandoned him, but Bates' guardian angel tells him not to celebrate until he finds out what else Craig et al. have in store for him. Bates does not launch into an answering speech about how his and Anna's love will conquer anything that life throws at them, which means that I owe a lot to the guard who just barked, "Stop talking!"

Carson is quizzing Alfred on several different types of spoons; he does pretty well, but has to get help from Carson on the bouillon spoon, an assist witnessed by Thomas. After Carson sends Alfred off, Thomas tries to be ingratiating as he tells Carson he's quite jealous of all the time Carson's taking with him. Carson: "I don't know why. He asked for help. You never did." Thomas doesn't have an answer for that, which is rare, yet hardly surprising in this particular instance.

At Crawley House, Ethel tells her audience that what she has to say is hard, but Mrs. Hughes is like, I have a dinner to see to, so work through the pain? Ethel screws up her courage and asks Mrs. Hughes if she'd write to the Bryants again, saying that she knows she initially took the position that she could raise her son best, but she sees now that she was being selfish. Isobel counsels her not to do anything until she's absolutely sure, which is fair enough, but in an episode that deals with a fair number of gender issues, the larger point to take from this is that, as a woman, she feels she has no options despite Isobel's ongoing attempts to convince her otherwise. Speaking of, Isobel tells her that they all know the route she's taken -- hard to miss it, Isobel, with you shouting it from the rooftops every chance you get -- and Ethel tells her it's good of her even to have her in her house, but Isobel's point is that she'd love to work with Ethel to try to find a way for her to keep Charlie. Ethel, however, thinks that regardless of whatever efforts they might go to, she still could never offer Charlie the opportunities that a life with the Bryants will afford him. Mrs. Hughes doesn't actually look at her watch but is still like, so, the resolution is? Isobel asks her to write to the Bryants requesting a meeting, but to keep the purpose vague. Despite Ethel's assertion that she won't change her mind, Mrs. Hughes sees it Isobel's way: "Then there'll be no disappointment, whatever comes." Not that I disagree with the course of action, but I'm pretty sure she's being optimistic with that prediction. Mrs. Hughes then makes to hightail it out of there...

By Couch Baron

...but when we cut to the foyer, she's telling Mrs. Byrd that Ethel has had quite the time making ends meet. Mrs. Byrd: "We know how she solved that problem." I'm generally a fan of Mrs. Byrd and her industrial-strength sardonic wit, but I could do without the judgment; nonetheless, it's illustrative of the stigma women face even from their own ranks when they put a toe out of line. (Or, in Ethel's case, something else.) Isobel and Ethel appear, so Mrs. Byrd hastily opens the door for Mrs. Hughes, asking her to give her regards to Molesley. Isobel then has to order Mrs. Byrd to hand Ethel her coat, which she does with an arm as limp as overcooked spaghetti. When she's gone, Isobel suggests that "some manners wouldn't go amiss," but Mrs. Byrd won't be cowed so easily as she replies that she doesn't believe she's obliged to wait on the likes of Ethel. Isobel looks a bit thrown, which I attribute to the attitude itself rather than the expression of it, since she has met Mrs. Byrd before.

Lord Grantham is chatting with the Archbishop and telling him that he's against the church: "There always seems to be something Johnny Foreigner about the Catholics." I don't even know where to start with that one, so I'm going to take the "presented without comment" route. I will say a couple other things, though: One, that the actor playing the Archbishop, Michael Culkin, is a total British Hey! It's That Guy! who I've seen in two other things in re-watches I've done in the last week alone (the original Queer As Folk, in which he played a closeted client of Stuart's who unsuccessfully hit on him, and Rome, in which he played the judge presiding over Pullo's "trial"). And two, Branson must be Catholic, no? And Sybil's pregnant, right? Think about it!

Speaking of that pairing, we see a bundled-up figure pedaling a bicycle down a dark lane in the pouring rain and then we cut to Sybil urgently telling Edith via telephone in what looks like some transportation depot that she's all right, she's out of the flat and "they haven't stopped me." Edith is like, How? What? How? but Sybil's gloved hand puts the phone down, and Edith looks like she doesn't know what the hell to do. It's hard to blame her but I'm still tempted to remind her not to whine about it. Meanwhile, the figure from earlier, having abandoned the bike, rushes through the woods, and considering how pregnant as Sybil is, I don't think I'm spoiling anything to tell you that it isn't she.

Downstairs, Alfred has told everyone what he saw and Daisy speculates that he's on the run from the police; Thomas and O'Brien are of the same mind, which means you can probably take it as the gospel truth. His tray in hand, Daisy eagerly (she and I are seeing things eye to eye more these days) asks which room Branson is in, but Carson spoils her fun by sweeping in and saying he'll take care of it, and when he's gone, Thomas notes, "So, there'll be no more gossip on that subject tonight." Well, maybe not for you...

...but here's Branson to tell us what happened -- revolutionaries in Dublin turned Lord and Lady Drumgoole and their family out of their castle and then burned it to the ground (or as far to the ground as a castle will burn). Edith thinks it's a tragedy, but the Dowager Countess bright-sides that the house was in fact hideous. Heh. Matthew, however, asks what precisely Branson's involvement was, and Branson is like, who says I was involved and I know he's had a rough night and day, but I still think that is not the indicated play, particularly since it allows Mary to point out that he knows an awful lot about the affair for someone who had nothing to do with it. Branson tells them that while Sybil wasn't involved at all, the authorities think he was one of the instigators, which is why he had to fly immediately. Cora's like, let me get this straight -- you left Sybil to face the music by herself? Branson thinks they won't hold her and if they do, he's prepared to go back. Cora tells Lord Grantham he needs to go see Home Secretary Shortt, and Lord Grantham is holding his temper at about a five on the scale of righteous aristocratic indignation, but when he learns Branson was, in fact, present for the crime, it ratchets up to about an eight as he asks if Branson was there "for the fun of seeing private property destroyed?" Branson, that wild, haunted look still in his eyes, explains that he doesn't see "charm and gracious living" in places like that, but something horrible. The Dowager Countess is like, I am at pains to impress upon you how right he is, but Lord Grantham gets her to can the vaudeville act (that's a mental image, right there; she's even got the cane) so Branson can go on that when he saw the Drumgooles turned out, watching their home burn, he found his stomach for such things quite a bit weaker than he thought -- he wants a free state for Ireland, but he's sorry for what happened. Edith asks about Sybil, and Branson says they agreed he'd flee at once while she closed the flat and why that was such an urgent errand I don't know. I could see the value of them traveling separately, for sure, but if their liberty is at stake, who gives a crap if their rathole of an apartment sits untended? When Branson adds that he got the last boat, so there's no way Sybil will make it until the day (maybe it was a hotel lobby we saw her calling from, then), the Indigno-Meter goes to eleven, and the words "GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!" are uttered as proof. He chews Branson out for abandoning his pregnant wife "to shift for herself" while he went on the lam, and Branson looks like Lord Grantham is only verbalizing stuff Branson's already been thinking. Rather than pile on, Cora tells Lord Grantham that he has to go to London, for Sybil's sake if not for Branson's, but the aristocratic head of steam isn't go easily stifled, as Lord Grantham barks that he doesn't have to do anything before ordering Branson to go to bed, adding that he'll give them his decision in the morning. Branson leaves us for the evening with about the most attractive cry-face I remember seeing in some time...

By Couch Baron

Carson is going over young Mr. Kent's last position and if you read between the lines, sounds like he was kind of a houseboy to a Dowager of a Certain Age. He tells Carson he knows what women are like, and Carson -- measuring each syllable twice before biting them off once -- replies that he probably doesn't quite as well as Mr. Kent does. Jimmy shifts uncomfortably, and sorry, kid, women's rights may be on the move, but it'll be a while before you'll have a female interviewer you can charm for a footman job. You'd be better off hoping Thomas becomes a butler one day.

Oh, dear, here's Ethel leading little Charlie along, who's actually not quite so little anymore -- he can walk and talk and be generally adorable as Ethel stops for a moment to fix his hat. They then resume walking...

...and then we're back at Crawley House, with Isobel and Mrs. Hughes in attendance as we're reunited with the odious Mr. Bryant and his long-suffering wife. Bryant wastes no time in sneering that they're well aware of what Ethel is now and how far she's fallen, so she can save any righteous speeches about a mother's love. Ethel's shocked to learn that Bryant has had her followed, but Bryant tells her of course they were going to keep tabs on her. If that's the case, I wonder why we hadn't heard from them earlier -- if he did this out of concern for the boy, wouldn't his mother turning tricks have stirred him to action? When her husband takes a moment to recharge his horrible batteries, Mrs. Bryant gently tells Ethel that they've decided to offer her some money so that she won't have to, um, work such a heavy schedule. Isobel, obviously hoping this means Ethel will change her mind, smiles that that's very generous, but Ethel's face remains rigid and Isobel's face falls before she hears Mrs. Byrd outside with the tea. She asks Ethel if she wouldn't mind helping her, so Ethel puts Charlie down and as terrible as he has been, Bryant lights up, becoming a completely different person as he presents Charlie with a teddy bear. If he's that big a fan, I wish he'd learn to speak softly.

Outside, Mrs. Byrd is just coming up with the tea and asks Isobel if she shouldn't take it in. Ethel offers to do it, and you probably don't need me to tell you that Mrs. Byrd doesn't trip over herself to agree; nonetheless, she leaves the tray once Isobel dismisses her. Isobel then says her piece about Ethel not having to do this, but Ethel wonders if she seriously thinks she should take money from Bryant, adding that it won't be much. Isobel is of the opinion that even if Charlie doesn't go to a famous school or university, Ethel will be there to give him love, but Ethel wonders if Matthew went to a famous school or university. Check and mate! Isobel looks as abashed as she gets as she can't find a response and Ethel thanks her before they head back in.

By Couch Baron

From the back, we see a young man walking toward the servants' dining area, and from the way a maid looks at him, either he's got mouths where his eyes should be or he's very good-looking. When we switch to a front view, we see his eyes are in the right spot, and when everyone gets a look... I mean, the kid's not exactly material for The Tudors, but he's fresh-faced and quite cute. Still, I'm not sure he merits the jaw-dropping cartoon-hearts reaction he's obviously getting, but I also don't blame Thomas for lighting up like a Christmas tree once "Jimmy Kent" has introduced himself. He's looking for Carson, as he's applying to be Lord Grantham's footman, and then Mrs. Hughes comes in and she manages to keep her wits and voice about her while nonetheless getting in a good once-over. That's how you do it, kids.

Upstairs, Lord Grantham has a bit more barking at Branson to get through, but Mary's like, if you're done, you need to keep Branson out of prison and Lord Grantham agrees to head to London and not to come back until he's seen the Home Secretary. He asks for them to let him know if Sybil gets in touch, but Branson thinks she won't give "them" anything by which to trace her. Lord Grantham squints at Branson and notes that he lives in a harsh world, but Branson says that's true for all of them. "But at least I know I do." I don't claim he's not got a point, but he is the one who sought refuge at Downton. Having to face a bit of Lord Grantham's ire while being waited on hand and foot isn't exactly Les Misérables here.

Oh dear. Outside Crawley House, it's all apparently been settled, but Mrs. Bryant suggests Ethel will want to say goodbye. Ethel kneels down to her child's level and smiles that she gives him her blessings for his whole life. "You won't remember that or me. But they'll stay with you all the same." I'm not going to say anything other than that the doleful strings playing feel pretty appropriate, and the looks on Isobel's and Mrs. Hughes' face agree with me. Ethel holds it together for a decent length of time, but Bryant is finally like, places to be, and as much as he's probably doing her a favor not dragging it out, this is the part where she loses it completely. Mrs. Bryant tells her she'll write, and when Ethel despairingly responds that she'll never see Charlie again, Mrs. Bryant gently demurs, adding that Ethel was right -- her husband really does love Charlie. She takes her leave and as the car starts to drive off, Charlie looks back at her through the window and Ethel covers her mouth in abject grief. Mrs. Hughes steps forward and offers that Ethel has done the hardest thing possible, and Ethel turns to ask Isobel if she disagrees with her action. Isobel's like, kind of too late for that now, but Mrs. Hughes proves her strength of character by begging Isobel's pardon -- Ethel did the right thing for the boy. Isobel, who probably wanted this to happen out of desire for things to be different for women in this world than anything else, concedes that she's probably right. Ethel heads off, and I think we all realize the significance of this storyline in the context of the feminist issues threaded throughout the episode, so you'll forgive me if I find Mrs. Hughes follow-up of "What chance is there for a woman like her" a bit overdone. Or maybe it's just that the mournful strings still haven't let up.

It's time for Cell Search 2: Electric Switcheroo, as some guards come into Bates' cell, but this time, they're checking Craig's bunk and what do they find therein but the very package with which he unsuccessfully attempted to frame Bates? Craig says he doesn't know anything about it, but they haul him out of there anyway, though not before he tells Bates he'll be sorry. And honestly, I'm not sure how Bates thinks this is going to be the end of it, but hopefully he'll enjoy having the place to himself in the meantime.

Back at Downton, who should walk in, looking around the place with new appreciation, but Sybil. Branson, having heard her car approach, rushes into the room and thanks God she's safe. They kiss with all appropriate passion and 360-degree camera coverage and Branson gets his hopelessly attractive cry-face on again...

...and then everyone of importance on hand has convened in one of the bedrooms. Sybil tells the group that no one tried to stop her leaving Ireland, but it doesn't mean she and Branson won't be pursued. Now that Sybil is safe, Cora decides it's time for recriminations as she asks Branson how he could have left her alone as he did, but Sybil pipes up that they had worked this plan out in advance, which I take to mean it was a general plan for dealing with any hot water into which Branson's revolutionary antics got him. Lucky thing it didn't happen with Sybil in labor. Speaking of which, Cora cautions Sybil that she mustn't travel anymore before the baby is born; Sybil worriedly replies that Branson wants the baby to be born in Dublin, but Mary thinks he can't hold her to that now and then rakes him over the coals for his involvement, saying that the Drumgooles are like them and the daughter even came out with Mary. "How could you dance round her burning house, Tom? It's horrible!" Well, it was probably no Riverdance, I'll grant her that. Sybil defends her man, and then Carson comes in with a telegram, which Cora reports says that Lord Grantham succeeded in seeing Shortt, but does not reveal the result. You could accuse Lord Grantham of being dramatic, but as we'll learn the result of his intervention is hard to sum up succinctly. Cora does say, though, that Lord Grantham writes that neither Sybil nor Branson is to leave Downton.

Downstairs, Molesley finds Thomas, who apparently accompanied Lord Grantham to London. After telling Thomas of the new footman, he asks if "the firebrand" (presumably referring to Branson) has been saved, but Thomas sniffs that that's not for him to say. But presumably he's rooting for that, right? Speaking of eye candy, Thomas passes a door and shifts into reverse when his brain catches up with his eyes, as its young Jimmy, who is half-dressed and just getting into his footman's uniform. Jimmy brightly says he hears Thomas was a footman once and wonders if he could come to him if he has any questions, and Thomas is like, of course, any time, just let me grab a paper bag first to deal with this sudden breathing issue that has nothing to do with your open shirt. When he's gone, Jimmy turns back away from the door to resume getting dressed, unaware that O'Brien has appeared in it. Seeing Jimmy's, to use Matthew's term, deshabille, she doesn't speak, but from the knowing look on her face, it looks like she's figured out who to use as the agent of Thomas' destruction.

Everyone is dressed for dinner, but the pre-course news is unappetizing for Branson: if he ever returns to Ireland, he'll be put in prison. Cora thinks they should have proof to cast a man out of his country, but Lord Grantham announces that they have more evidence than Branson has told them -- Branson is known to have attended meetings in Dublin at which the attack on Drumgoole Castle was planned. This is obviously (most unwelcome) news to Sybil and the air really goes out of the room, but Branson explains that he was always against any personal violence. To change the subject, Matthew asks for details on the bargain Lord Grantham struck, and Lord Grantham confesses that the Irish authorities don't want to make a martyr of Branson. "And with Sybil, they think they could have another Maud Gonne on their hands, or Lady Gregory or worse if they're not careful." The Dowager Countess wonders why the Irish rebels are so well-born, which sounds like it could be the title of a university thesis of the time, but Lord Grantham has had his fill of sociopolitical issues for the day and declares that the bottom line is that if Branson stays away from Ireland, he'll be left alone. Branson doesn't want to accept that and his convictions would seem pretty feeble if he did, but Lord Grantham warns him he'll be arrested the moment he touches dry Irish land...

...while downstairs, issues of equal importance are being discussed, as Alfred gets into a snit about which footman carries what. Daisy tries to stick up for him, but Mrs. Patmore doesn't have time for such nonsense and shoos them away. She is happy that they're running at full strength again, leaving Daisy open to point out that hello, still no kitchen maid. Mrs. Patmore tells her all in good time, which would sound more patronizing if she didn't mean it. Something to work on, Mrs. Patmore.

Upstairs, Edith has apparently announced that she took Matthew's offhand suggestion and wrote in to a newspaper, an action the Dowager Countess condemns as unladylike. Edith counters with the example of Lady Sarah Wilson, but the Dowager Countess replies that the Churchills are different. Mary, reliably on Edith's side when it comes to matters of free thinking, wonders if they have no Churchill blood, but Cora thinks the Dowager Countess is right. The Dowager Countess: "Could somebody write that down?" Hee. Cora thinks there's a fine line between strong views and notoriety and it's a testament to how beaten-down Branson must feel that he keeps out of the discussion. Edith informs them that she's already sent the letter, but Lord Grantham replies that it won't be published and his confidence in that statement is disconcerting, but it's probably also the only thing keeping the Indigno-Meter in check, so I'll take it. Carson then introduces "James," the new footman, and even the Dowager Countess gives him an appraising look that runs from head to toe. When he's gone, Mary smiles to Carson that Jimmy must have cheered up the maids and the Dowager Countess offers her opinion: "He looks like a footman in a musical revue." If that signals that Downton: The Musical is even a gleam in a Broadway producer's eye, put me on the pre-order list. Edith, speaking from painful experience, thinks they mustn't allow Alfred to be completely overshadowed. It's a nice thought, but I don't think they're quite ready to perform a Face/Off surgery and otherwise I don't see how to avoid it. Carson, however, sees it Edith's way, offering that hard work and diligence are worth more than beauty in the real world; when he's gone, the Dowager Countess is like, isn't he just the cutest?

Downstairs, Jimmy complains that he's never been "James," but Carson appears unexpectedly and informs him that he will be James as long as Jimmy James is at Downton. Jimmy James then whispers to Alfred that Carson thinks he's the big cheese, to which Alfred replies that he is, in fact, the big cheese. And that explains why Alfred likes him so much! Down the hall, O'Brien remarks to Thomas that Jimmy James is nice and Thomas warily asks why she'd say that. O'Brien airily tells him it's only an impression and while she might genuinely believe it, I don't buy for a minute that she's stopped hating Thomas with the fire of a thousand suns.

Upstairs, Branson excuses himself and when Lord Grantham says they'll make plans in the morning, Branson's bitter reply is that he doesn't know how. Matthew points out that Branson has lived away from Ireland before, but Branson counters that Ireland is "coming of age" now and he needs to be there. However, he does sincerely -- if a bit raggedly -- thank Lord Grantham for what he did for him, and Lord Grantham at least has the good grace to wait until Branson's left the room before he sniffs that Branson isn't actually grateful (not sure I buy that), but it's just as well because he only rescued him for Sybil's sake (this, I'll accept). The subject of the books comes up and when Matthew gingerly says that there were some aspects of the financial management he wasn't sure about, Lord Grantham replies that he sounds like Murray, the financial adviser. The offhand way in which he makes the comment only serves to make it all the more telling. Matthew wants to delve deeper into the subject, but it obviously makes Lord Grantham uncomfortable to discuss it, so he suggests they let the women in and talk about it later "if you really want to." I don't think Matthew "really wants to" at all -- it's just that he already seems to sense that the alternative could be far worse. Surely, Lord Grantham, one near miss with moving to Downton Place was enough?

One of the guards that was involved in getting Craig out of there turns up, forks over Anna's missing letters and explains that they came when Bates was "out of favor. Now, you're in favor again." I... can't say I really get why bringing Craig down clears Bates' name in the eyes of the prison governor; I suppose it's possible he now finds Craig and Co.'s accusations toward Bates tainted, but that doesn't really sounds like what the guy is saying. Bates apparently sees it the same way, as he asks what he did to get back in favor, but the guard merely cryptically replies that he should watch out for a Mr. Durham, mentioned earlier by Bates' friend as Craig's dealer ally on the outside. "You're not a favorite with him." Well, I appreciate the show's efforts to make Bates more interesting by surrounding him with shadowy prison intrigue. It's not working, but I appreciate it. Bates, however, ignores his comments in favor of reading Anna's letters, for which I don't begrudge him.

By Couch Baron

Downstairs, Carson smells smoke and rushes into the offending room, bucket in hand -- only to find that Mrs. Hughes has had a little mishap caused by turning the electric toaster up too high. Recovering quickly, he announces that he figured Branson would be the one to burn the place down, not Mrs. Hughes, which both explains how quick he was on the fire-control draw and is pretty hilarious...

By Couch Baron

...but less so is Sybil pointing out that Branson never told her about the meetings, and he replies that he never said he didn't go to them, an argument so weak it's just lucky it's supported by Branson's tight shirt and pajama bottoms. He tells Sybil he can't stay, but she tells him he has to -- they all do. "I will not be free with our child's chances." She tells him they need the peace and safety Downton can offer them, but although he kisses her, the ensuing look on her face suggests she knows this isn't resolved.

Oh, boy, the Indigno-Meter is getting an early workout today, as at the breakfast table, Lord Grantham cries out, "God in Heaven," and I wonder how the man upstairs feels about Lord Grantham's continual offended summons. He continues: "Earl's daughter speaks out for women's rights," but Edith is delighted to hear that her letter denouncing "the government's aims to return women to their prewar existence" was published and gloats that Lord Grantham predicted it wouldn't be printed. Matthew's all "Good show" about it, and when Lord Grantham indignantly (surprise) asks if he supports her, Matthew pish-poshes him: "Of course I support her, and so do you, really... when you've had a chance to think about it." Heh. Branson chimes in his support, getting a dissenting grunt from Carson, but nothing's raining on Edith's parade today.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hughes finds Anna and happily gives her a stack of letters, inquiring if they're from Bates. The answer is yes and Anna can barely contain her excitement as she rushes off to read them. I suppose she's also happy about what the arrival of the letters represents, which is good because otherwise I'd have to be rather uncharitable in predicting that his turgid prose shouldn't quite merit this reaction.

Downstairs, Alfred finds Daisy and thanks her for her support the night before. She tells him, truthfully enough, that it won't make any difference, but he says it's just nice to have her on his side. This prompts her to screw up her courage and tell him she fancies him, but before she can get past the awkward preamble, Mrs. Patmore bustles in with a pretty enough thing, "Miss Ivy Stewart," in tow. Alfred takes one look at her and looks like... well, like all the women did when Jimmy James turned up. Mrs. Patmore, of course, thinks that this is the best news ever for Daisy and it's kind of touching how proudly she introduces Daisy as "my assistant cook," but the moment's taste has turned to ashes for Daisy, and after Mrs. Patmore shoos Alfred's horny ass away, Ivy approaches Daisy and smiles that she hopes they're going to get on. Daisy, however, tells her they don't need to get on, just to work together, proving that there's nothing like a little heartbreak to get someone to grow up. THANK GOD.

By Couch Baron

Matthew has come to see the Dowager Countess, telling her that a situation has arisen and he's not sure which way to turn. The Dowager Countess: "Well obviously, if you've turned to me." I actually think she's the perfect person for him to come to given the circumstances, but she doesn't know what they are yet so let's enlighten her: Matthew -- after prefacing the news by saying that, with his own fortune sunk into Downton, he feels a duty to it -- tells her that the manor is being mismanaged. He wonders how he can rectify the situation "without putting people's noses out of joint," but, proving his wisdom in seeking her counsel, she urgently tells him that there probably isn't a way to achieve that. "You must do what needs to be done, of course, but I think I can safely say a great many noses will be out of joint." Matthew looks like this reply is as expected as it is unwelcome.

I know I blather on about this show, because the individual moments and the dialogue tend to be the highlights, but surely you don't need the details of a too-long, strings-accompanied, teary montage of Bates and Anna reading each other's letters; the best thing that can be said about it is that it takes me to the end of the recap. With that, I'll see you time!

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.