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Gay Girl’s Goggles: “Downton Abbey” recap (2.04) – Sense and Sensuality

Previously on Downton Abbey, the Dowager Countess continued to be correct about everything, from her choice of tea time furs to her assessment of every county shenanigan; Cousin Isobel came down with a dreaded case of Insufferability; Thomas officially changed his last name to Malfoy and purchased a parcel of land in Wiltshire where he made plans to one day build a manor of his own; Mrs. Patmore got engaged to William on Daisy’s behalf; Lord Granthem began wearing all of his army uniforms at once, layer upon layer of woolen tunic and trousers, lest anyone doubt his commitment to the war effort; and Michelle Dockery’s eyebrows garnered their very own (well-deserved) Emmy and Golden Globe nominations.

The year is 1918. Americans have finally joined the war effort; Branson’s beloved Bolsheviks have finally axe murdered Tsar Nicholas II and his kids; after losing their most handsome ambassador to the virgin hijinks of Miss Mary Crawley and waging a multi-faceted war in their homeland, the Turks have finally signed an armistice with the Allies; and the end of the Great War is finally in sight. You know what that means: Time for a concert!

Everyone besides The Dowager Countess – “Really, it’s like a living in a second rate hotel, where the guests keep arriving and no one seems to leave!” – seems to have adjusted to living in a house full of recovering soldiers.

A confident, purpose-driven Edith is leading the charge for a night of singing and dancing and magic tricks to lift the spirits of the convalescents of Downton. Ever since Lord Granthem set fire to their ping-pong table, things have been pretty glum around there. Edith smiles and delivers tea, smiles and delivers the morning mail, smiles and tells Mary she simply must take a break from reading depressing sonnets and weeping openly in her bedroom to cheer the soldiers with a song. Actually, that’s a lie. Mary may be resigned to the fate of marrying that cad, Sir Richard, but she’s still clinging to her modus operandi of never letting anyone see her cry. Also, despite her brokenness, Edith knows Mary would still gladly level her with a combination of verbal barbs, elaborate machinations, and fists. Basically, Edith takes her rightful position at Mary’s feet and begs for a favor and Mary agrees to bless us all with a single song.

The other upstairs power struggle this week takes place between Cousin Isobel and Her Ladyship, who has taken it upon herself to rearrange the dining schedule in such a way as to keep the servants from starving to death. This information piled on top of the news that Dr. Clarkson has dared to make the rounds without her is enough to send poor Isobel spiraling into such a fit. She bursts into Cora’s own personal bedroom and throws herself down on the floor, fists and feet just kicking and flailing like everything, and demands to have her way or else she’s going to France. Cora agrees a change of scenery is just the thing Isobel needs to keep from getting bitch slapped. Cora reiterates that she will go to France, and Cora is like, “Yes, that’s what I assumed you meant when you said you’d go to France.” Ten, twenty, thirty times Cora makes her cross-country travel plans known, and ten, twenty, thirty times Cora smiles and nods. Finally she’s like, “You’d better be on your way, Cousin Isobel. Please tell O’Brien to bring me some tea and schemings on your way out.”

Isobel leaves Mosley and Mrs. Bird with instructions to feed and clothe Matthew however he pleases if he turns up on one of his weekly war holidays, and also to continue her legacy of unbearable condescension in the village in her absence. “If, for example, Mrs. Bird, you come upon a lady who cannot cook, remind her at every turn that you are a skilled chef due to your years of training and therefore should be consulted every time someone in town fires up an oven.”

Instead of being the worst, Mrs. Bird (with the help of Mrs. Patmore and Daisy) opens up a soup kitchen for wounded war veterans in Cousin Isobel’s kitchen. Perched in her vulture’s nest high atop the treeline, O’Brien spots them with some binoculars, dimes them out to Lady Grantham, and is rewarded with a spot on the serving line. (Later she adds Patmore, Bird, and Daisy to her to-murder list.)

But it’s not all war, war, war and its horrid repercussions at Downton. There’s also love in the air. Bates and Anna are reunited when Lord Grantham finds out Bates is working at a pub. He stops by for a drink and some groveling, explaining to Bates that he didn’t mean all the jackassy things he said when Bates resigned to keep the Pamuk story at bay for another day. At this point, news of Mary and the Turkish diplomat has reached the ears of Australian troops in Amiens. Lord Grantham is literally the only person in Europe who hasn’t heard the tale. Bates doesn’t tell him, though; he saves his breath for telling Anna seven gajillion times that nothing is going to come between them this time. Anna agrees, repeating it like a prayer. When Vera inevitably shows up to chop them both into tiny, noble-shaped pieces in their sleep, it will be their own fault for not adhering to the Law of Inversely Proportional TV Dialogue. The more times you say a thing, the less likely it is to happen. That’s why Mary keeps her trap shut and mostly uses her eyebrows to communicate her lusts and longings.

Bates’ return sets in motion yet another downstairs power struggle between him and Thomas. For reasons I’m still not clear on, Thomas spends most of his time at Downton smoking and plotting with O’Brien – I’m beginning to think they assassinated Archduke Ferdinand lo those many years ago, just out of boredom – and sitting in the servent’s dining room with his boots on the table demanding attention and various confectionery goodies. Every time Mrs. Hughes or Carson try to reprimand him, he’s like, “You’re not the boss of me! No one’s the boss of me! Daisy, fetch my slippers!” But Bates is just plain ol’ boss (hellloo? pimp cane?) so he scowls in Thomas’ general direction and lets him know a showdown is imminent.

Also in love is Branson, who takes every opportunity to bully Sybil into believing that she reciprocates his feelings. The Dowager Countess is starting to get suspicious; not of Branson, specifically, but it does seem weird to her that a woman as astonishingly beautiful as Sybil, surrounded as she is by men with eyeballs every hour of every day, has not caught the attention of someone. Granny’s protip about the class-blurring dangers of war puts Mary on the lookout. She doesn’t even need to borrow O’Brien’s nest to do her snooping, though, because on the way home, she spots Sybil and Branson arguing in broad daylight. Brason’s brand of charm continues to take the form of him shouting, “I love socialism and you love me!” over and over until his face turns purple and he keels over and Sybil has to use her nursing powers to keep him from choking on his own righteous indignation. When Mary confronts Sybil, she seriously goes, “Branson made an offer of marriage and he keeps telling me I’m going to accept it because he knows my feelings better than I know my feelings.” Sybil, honey, you can do so much better. Remember Gwen? Remember that old guy with the car who wanted to marry Edith? Remember literally anyone besides Branson?

But the real love this week, and all weeks, is Mary and Matthew’s. While out on some sort of reconnaissance mission, Matthew and his new wartime footman William go missing. The staff find out immediately, and then Lord Grantham, and then Edith, who, in a far cry from season one, gently breaks the news to Mary. Mary keeps it together while Edith is in her face, but nearly hyperventilates on her way to her bedroom. Luckily Anna is on hand to catch her when she falls over and pull her into her bedroom. Anna’s an old pro at dragging dead weight across that house. Mary is as stoic as ever when she stands up to perform at the convalescent concert.

Every melodramatic thing in this scene is every reason I watch this show: The on-the-nose song choice of “If You Were The Only Girl (In The World) (And I Was the Only Boy),” the Dowager Countess’ face when all the soldiers and even Lord Grantham join in, and Matthew’s arrival on the scene, all smiles and good health and general perfection. Matthew looks at Mary and Mary looks at Matthew and the distance between them – so close! so far! – crackles with electricity and Her Ladyship gasps and Edith’s fingers on the piano still and the Dowager Countess heaves a sigh of relief that the chimney sweep from Surrey Hill won’t be moving in just yet and Lord Grantham leaps from his chair like a gazelle and runs to him the way Mary wants to run to him and I stop breathing. Mary and I both wheeze, “Thank God.” Only she manages to stay on her feet this time while I faint.

After the concert, Matthew wishes Mary the best with Sir Richard and Mary wishes Matthew the best with Snorevinia. And guess who shows up at the back door? Ethel Sights-Above-Her-Station Parks. Mrs. Hughes kicked her out earlier in the day for bonking a mustachioed soldier in her bedroom, but it turns out Ethel’s hussery had been going on longer than an afternoon. In fact, it’s been going on long enough for her to get … pregnant.

Next week: Due to German shells finally landing on Paris, Matthew’s holiday time is cut in half – only one week off for every week in the trenches; Vera returns to Downton, confiscates Bates’ walking stick, and beats half the staff and Lord Grantham’s dog to death with it; Branson crawls through Sybil’s window in the night like some kind of Edward Cullen to watch her sleep and try to brainwash her into marrying him; Mosley buys Lord Grantham an engagement ring; Thomas twirls his handlebar mustache and ties Anna to some train tracks; and Mary walks on water some more.

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