“Something happening in this house is actually about me!”
...and with those words, Lady Edith dared to stick her tongue out at the fate that seems doggedly determined to make her life as sad and unfortunate as possible. Honestly, I’m surprised it was only the veil that got thrown over the balcony when Sir Anthony changed his mind at the freaking altar. (Procrastinate much?) It’s okay, I’m sure the dress can be returned. Then again, maybe not. That looked like a custom job. I mean, a cape? Really?
Evocations of Elvis-in-Las-Vegas aside, it was a lovely dress and Edith was a lovely bride for all of thirty seconds before sassy Grandma Dowager being sassy at a time when it would have probably been more appropriate to STFU, Daddy Robert backing down from chasing Strallan away with a shotgun but still making clear that he wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, and Strallan’s own guilt trip over being substantially older than his bride all conspired to send Edith right back to the kitchen where she belongs. Except that reference doesn’t even work because the Crawleys have servants for that. You see what I mean about Edith desperately needing something to do? Maybe she can start selling T-shirts? “Spinsters get up for breakfast” totally works as a sort of sardonic rallying cry. Give the girl an Etsy shop and let's see where her cynical humor takes her!
Or not, since it’s 1920 and none of that has been invented yet. Wow, the '20s sucked.
So Edith didn't get married after all, but she only wallowed in her misery for about twelve hours or so before getting out of bed. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Downstairs, while noshing on the goodies left over from Edith’s not-a-wedding, the prank warfare between O’Brien and Thomas continued. Remember when those two used to be conniving besties? I miss those days. However, they both make formidable enemies to one another, which elevates their shenanigans into something more hostile than mere mischief. Daisy warned Alfred the New Guy not to get on O’Brien’s bad side, and I have to agree. Between the two of them, I’d much rather piss off Thomas. Everything that Thomas does is meant to somehow benefit Thomas. He’s territorial and he likes to be held in the highest esteem; so many of his antics are meant to make himself look good, often at the cost of someone else, but not always. O’Brien, though—she can hold a grudge and she often takes things very personally. She’s also prone to overreacting (does the Soap Incident of 1914 ring a bell?) and not quite skilled at knowing when to knock it off. The woman is terrifying, and I would never want to be on her bad side.
Thomas was the instigator this week, though. He started the worst game of telephone ever with Moseley, hinting that O’Brien was planning to leave, and counting on the news to reach Cora and Robert before O’Brien could begin damage control. It did, and Cora put on the most dignified of pouts because she thought they were buddies and it hurt her wittle feels that O’Brien would consider leaving Downton without giving her notice. It was sweet, I guess, if a little eyebrow-raising. There was a lot of sugary sweet Cora rubbing elbows with the staff this week. Carson fumbled his way through keeping Mrs. Hughes’ health on the DL while still blabbing about it every chance he got. Eventually, Cora was brought into the Cancer Scare of the Week Club, and she pulled Mrs. Hughes aside to tell her that whatever the news was, Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t have to worry, the family would take care of her. I thought that was an incredibly generous gesture from someone who was working through her own set of crises and really, at the end of the day, isn’t obligated to be much more than a paycheck provider. Why you so nice, Cora? Why you so nice and Mary such a brat?
To quote Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Hughes’ cancer scare was just a scare and her lump was only “a benign something or other.” Finally, some good news for these people!
There was more to follow, though. See, Mary couldn’t leave well enough alone and the picnic to the smaller, but still totally swank, Downton Place only motivated her to ramp up her snarking at Matthew every ten seconds in an attempt to sniff out any possible way to get ALL THE MONEY. A letter from Reggie Swire came attached to his pile of money but emo Matthew didn’t want to read it because he didn’t want to hear about what a good person the Swires thought he was. At this point, I honestly can’t tell who was the bigger drama queen between the two of them, but I’m leaning toward Matthew because holy self-loathing, Batman.
Mary went ahead and read the letter because she wasn’t told “no” enough as a child and Matthew was being a dumbass anyway. It turns out that Reggie knew all about Matthew breaking Lavinia’s heart on her deathbed, but Lavinia wrote that she really respected Matthew for having no self respect and by extension, so did Reggie, so he was going to give the money to Matthew regardless. Okay. These people have the most amazing luck ever. Except Edith. Sorry, Edith. (Maybe she was adopted?)
Matthew, in turn, accused Mary of forging the letter. This is what true love looks like.
But, in the end, Daisy came forward and revealed that she had posted a letter from Lavinia on the day she died, clearing Mary’s guilt and Matthew’s conscience and the Crawleys got to keep Downton. Then the Earl made Matthew a partial owner of the estate. I’m sure this decision will lead to no drama, tantrums, or awkward family dinners whatsoever. I can’t wait!
– Awkward family dinner count: Just one, and it wasn’t even the fun kind of awkward family dinner, it was just kind of sad because I suspect everyone was expecting Edith to fling herself off the balcony at any moment.
– Dowager Countess Sass of the Night: “Don’t stop him from doing the only sensible thing he’s come up with in months!” Ahh, the sound of when tough love and thinly veiled contempt collide.
– Shameless leering at the wardrobe: I liked the embroidery on Cora’s wedding frock. Sybil and Mary’s par-tay clothes reminded me too much of the awful Easter dresses my mom made me wear to church when I was kid, complete with frumpy hats. Gross.
– Friends in Low Places: The servants got to eat like nobility when all of the fancy-pants food for Edith’s wedding ended up going unused. Faced with canapes and lobster, Alfred asked for cheese. CHEESE. Mrs. Patmore’s “Are you kidding me?” face was priceless.
– More Ethel blah blah yawn. Isobel tracked down her address because Downton Abbey is determined to make us give a crap about Ethel-the-Reluctant-Hooker. It’s not working.
– The Adventures of Detective Anna, Super Sleuth: Anna visited the dead Mrs. Bate’s pal, Mrs. Bartlett, who didn’t take kindly to being interrogated by no trollop from Downton, but ended up being helpful anyway, revealing that Vera Bates baked pastries the night she died, posted a letter, and scrubbed her hands raw (that’s not suspicious or anything). Meanwhile, Bates’ roommate continues to suck, and appears to be conspiring with the guards to screw Bates over. Lovely. #FREEBATES