|Fair is foul and foul is fair!|
Bates is sprung! (Somewhat anticlimactically.) But he has a spring in his step as he and Anna walk amongst the cottages to scout out potential new digs. Thomas the Usurper is still attending to Lord G, who tells Bates to “Stay in bed! Read books!” Jolly good all-purpose advice, if you ask us!
Lady Edith and the newspaper editor are getting along famously. He likes both her and her column on the plight of veterans. Hmmmmm ... perchance Lady Mary is not the only Crawley girl who can bewitch a denizen of Fleet Street in quest of a potential mate. But wait: she's sleuthing on the phone and finding out disquieting info. (What is this convenient dirt-digging service she's using?)
As is her wont, National Treasure Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess wins the acting smackdown hands down. (Those droll faces! That dry martini delivery!) As The Guardian's tv critic puts it, “You can give her the worst lines imaginable and they still come out like Shakespeare.”
Housemaid turned prostitute turned cook Ethel: “These days a working woman must have a skill."
Cousin Violet: “But you seem to have so many...”Ethel gets to stop being the elephant in the room thanks to the well-meaning machinations of Lady Violet, securing a place near her son where she can see him sometimes by pretending to be a former nanny. But not before Vi accuses Mrs Crawley of “surrounding us with a miasma of scandal.” Not fair! How about Lady Mary and the Turkish gent?
|No more tea and strumpets at the Crawley house.|
|How would the plot chug along without Lady Violet?|
“Human nature is a funny business, isn't it?" muses Carson. Mrs Hughes: “Oh, why didn't the poets come to you? They'd have saved themselves an awful lot of time and trouble.” Snap!
|“It feels like the outer circle of Dante’s Inferno,” Matthew calls the jazz club. No, dude, that would be the eternal wrangling over running the estate!|