The dog butt, futile feather dusting, and evocatively dying flower usher us into the penultimate episode of Season 1 (ok, fine, Series 1). Which makes the first scene, of a Liberal Party politician giving a polemic on women’s suffrage all the more jarring. And there’s Sybil in the middle of it all, eyes shining, hair tousled, revolutionary heart soaring. Her hat is stylish, but her dark blue suit and printed blouse (which we saw in the pilot and Episode 4, a nice touch of verisimilitude that she has a finite amount of clothing) make her look like the rest of the crowd. She’s doing her best to blend in, which is a good idea because the natives are getting restless.
 |
Isobel appears from nowhere in her strident maroon suit and reminds Sybil that while she might not mind getting trampled in a mob, Branson will be fired if she is. Having removed that particular Chekov’s gun from the safe, Sybil acquiesces and allows Branson to remove her to safety. They have a nice little chat in the car about class warfare, and Sybil asks him to drop her off around back, so her father doesn’t see her so disheveled. Much more so than today, respectable women were expected to be neat as a pin and totally put together when they went out. Any sign of disarray would be considered slovenly, and aspersions would be cast. Sybil’s mussy hair is the equivalent of going braless or something today, and I personally try not to subject my father to that.
 |
Servant Scene. Mrs. Hughes shows some sympathy for Daisy (but apparently not enough to have a word with Mrs. Patmore about it), but Carson reminds her that Mrs. P is projecting fear about her cataracts. He adds that there are treatments, but they’re uncertain. Nonsense. Cataract surgery is one of the simpler types, usually very successful, and it’s been performed for a very long time. Monet had cataracts, which is why some of his paintings began to look like this, and then he got the surgery (about 30 years before this show is set, btw) and could see fine again. Sybil crashes into William, who crashes into Thomas as he goes through the door to the servants’ hall. Thomas overreacts, NinjaBates stands up for William, NinjAnna departs to dress Sybil, and O’Brien snarks about Sybil’s political fervor. NinjaBates and Thomas mix it up a little bit and make coded references to Snuffbox-gate. Meanwhile, Carson is in a fog over whatever bad news he’s just received in a letter, and Mrs. Hughes has to shake him out of it so he can ring the dressing gong. This sounds silly to us at first—have they no clocks, that they have to be told when to get ready for dinner?—but it makes sense when you realize that cooks had to time their meal service very carefully. These people are not to be kept waiting at the table for their food, nor do they wish to walk into the dining room to see that it’s been congealing on the platter for the past 15 minutes (I fear for Mrs. Patmore’s soufflé!). Remember, too, that there were no telephones or intercoms, and sending a footman to rush around knocking on doors is impractical when you need all hands on deck to get dinner started. So Mrs. Patmore gets a little flexibility each evening by telling Carson when to ring the gong each night, and it might vary by 10 or 15 minutes depending on what she’s serving.
NinjaBates is getting Robert ready for dinner and accidentally gives him to know that Sybil had gone to the rally. Which Robert promptly brings up at table, where Cora is wearing the nice embroidered gown pictured here from Episode 4, Lady Violet is extra-stuffy tonight, in some poufy maroon with net and jet—old-school to the max, and Sybil is in her powder-blue dress again. As with last episode, we get some better close-ups of her because she’s the focus of the scene, and you can see that she’s swapped out the wide satin belt she wore the first time we saw it for a patterned one. This wasn’t uncommon; dresses were expensive (no mass production yet, remember, and an earl’s daughter would have quality fabric and tailoring driving up the price of each one as well), so instead of having lots and lots of dresses, women, even wealthy ones (at least in England—American women of Cora’s era were known for their profligacy at the dressmaker’s), often switched out collars, belts, and other detailing on a few to make them look different or more fashionable a few seasons after their prime. Ladies’ maids were indispensable for this job and their sewing skills were highly prized. Anyway, Robert is very upset, and uses his sternest papa-voice to express it and his growing distrust of Branson. Cora covers a little for the chauffeur a little by saying that she thought it would be prudent for Branson be with Sybil into Ripon in case there was trouble (apparently she had to go anyway), but Sybil pushes her luck by saying she wants to get involved with the cause and do some canvassing. Granny is appalled and delivers some of the best lines of the whole show, asking Mary if she’s planning to take in washing* when Mary tries to back Sybil up, and then reminding everyone that ladies are not entitled to their opinions until they are married, when their husbands will tell them what they are. Pretty starchy stuff for 1913, and even Mary, who’s as traditional as they get for her generation, doesn’t buy it. We should have seen that coming, given how fussy and old-fashioned Granny’s dress is. Mary’s in her red dress (no gloves) and Edith’s in her red-and-gold damask and a Grecian-inspired head wrap, but these costumes have fulfilled their purposes and aren’t significant here. Except that Sybil is in blue, and the other two are in red, which are direct opposites on the color wheel, but Mary backs Sybil up and Edith doesn’t, so maybe it doesn’t scan.
Servant Scene. Carson is ruffled. Daisy basically pledges undying devotion to Thomas, which fills him with an evil glee. Back in the dining room, Lady Violet gets a few more zingers in, Cora gets told off, and we cut back down to the servants’ hall. NinjaBates and Thomas have another staring match. The Ninja Twins have another gazing match.
Carson intercepts Cora, and among some family gossip (the Marquis of Flintshire, whom I’m pretty sure we meet a few seasons from now, is no hero to his valet, and his wife is related to Robert), he tells her that rumors are spreading about Mary directly from the Turkish Embassy. This is no bueno, and worse, Carson almost told Robert. Cora deals with it and then heads up to bed. Robert is already there, and they snark about Edith in between expressing concern for Mary and, to a lesser degree, Sybil. Also they commiserate at the “ghastly” prospect of Edith caring for them in their old age. What, exactly, would be so ghastly about it? Is she a devotee of Sylvester Graham and would make them chew their whole grains 500 times or something? On a side note, I never want to see Robert treating Cora like a naughty schoolgirl, in front of the servants or otherwise.
O’Brien and Thomas scheme to turn Thomas’ wine theft to their advantage, and since Thomas knows some is missing (because he stole it himself, the noodle), it lends credence to his report to Carson.
Cora starts up the Anthony Strallan Campaign again, by dragging him back to try to get Mary to go for a drive with him. Cora is wearing her Smackdown Dress! Too bad Mary out-aristos her in her riding habit, neatly avoids going on a date with the Boringest Man in the County, and sweeps out again. I love how every one of her lines means the exact opposite of what she says:
“Sir Anthony! How nice.” (It’s not nice.)
“We all thought we’d driven you away with that horrible salty pudding.” (I hoped you’d die, or at least never darken our door again.)
[On the subject of Sir A’s travels]: “How interesting.” (Not interesting.)
“What kind of car is it?” (I don’t care.)
[When turning Sir A down]: “Oh, how kind, but alas, not today.” (Ugh, never, and thank god I made other plans.)
“Thank you, Sir Anthony. Do ask me again.” (No thank you, don’t ask me ever again.)
Sir Anthony sits down looking like he swallowed a bug, and everyone wallows in silent discomfort for a minute until Edith offers herself as a replacement. Her mother glares at her, but Sir Anthony has no choice but to pretend to be delighted to settle for her. Edith is wearing the dark blue dress with the fancy collar she had on at breakfast in the pilot, with an ugly and unflattering turban-scarf in her hair. She’s simultaneously a dark horse and an ugly stepsister. Not that she is ugly; Laura Carmichael is very pretty in contemporary clothing and makeup, but between her exquisite elder sister and clever younger one, Edith just doesn’t stand out. Middle-child syndrome all the way.
Servant Scene. Carson questions NinjaBates about the cellar key. Like a ninja, Bates tips his hand that he knows about the wine theft. Carson is flummoxed.
Strallan and Edith are out on their drive, both in pale coats (remember that coat from when Edith asked Matthew out the first time? Apparently it’s her Date Coat), and compact hats that won’t fly off in the open wind. Dig that poufy cap Strallan’s rocking. He is going to be one fly cat in the ‘70s, if he survives that long. Edith also appears to have changed into a blue flowered blouse. Changing clothes was one of the principal activities of ladies before the war; you might not be too strict about it at home, but a house party lasting a few days required at least four separate outfits each day (morning, afternoon, tea, dinner), none of which you could repeat, and more if you planned to ride, hunt, drive, or dance. Plus all your undergarments, gloves, shoes, jewelry, and other accessories had to match each time you changed. So it’s not a continuity glitch, is all I’m saying. Anyway, Sir A waxes eloquent about Kaiser Wilhelm and then commits the first-date sin of bringing up his ex (oh, fine, his late wife, same difference, you still don’t do that), and Edith beams as if he’s showering her with compliments instead of dead Maud. Loser.
 |
Source. "My wife's dead." "Isn't that lovely!"
|
Next is a quick Servant-Master crossover scene, where William, strolling along in his gray suit and silly cap, encounters Mary, who’s looking for the stablemaster because her horse is lame. William offers to look at it because he knows horses and then proceeds do nothing beyond patting it while Mary snobs at him for a minute. William is so sweet, though, even Mary can’t be a bitch to him for very long. Side note: of course Mary’s horse is named Diamond. I mean, sure, it’s got a diamond on its forehead, but isn’t it so like Mary to name her horse for the brightest, hardest, most valuable thing she could think of?
 |
Carson is interviewing O’Brien, Daisy, and Thomas about the wine theft. I can’t tell if O’Brien’s fabrications about seeing Bates with a bottle make her more credible or less (she says she thought Bates was helping Carson, but, as Carson points out, why would he ask a valet to help with wine?). Thomas goads Daisy into implicating Bates too, but Carson dismisses them all when O’Brien tells him he’s intimidating Daisy. Most unsatisfying all around.
 |
O’Brien is bringing Cora her breakfast and takes the opportunity to sow a little seed of suspicion in Cora’s mind. I love this scene because we get to see Cora with her hair down, which makes her look younger, almost girlish—more like what she would have looked like when she was first married and brought to Downton. I just finished To Marry An English Lord, all about the Buccaneers and apparently the inspiration for the series, and I highly recommend it.
Sybil tiptoes into the library and asks her father if she can go into Ripon. Robert says no way, but Sybil persists, telling him she’s missed two meetings of her “borstal charity” (borstals were juvenile halls) and she doesn’t want to take Mary or Edith, as Robert proposes, because “you know what they’re like when they’re bored.” I don’t! What do they do? I bet Mary gets extra-snarky and Edith just gets whiny, but I’d really like to know for sure! Sybil’s wearing an outfit very similar to what Edith had on when she grilled Daisy in the last episode, a long, dark blue skirt and a soft, short-sleeved blouse with a pink-and-grey floral pattern and dark green trim. It’s very casual, what you would wear around the manor when you have no guests or plans, so I guess that makes it the equivalent of hanging out in your yoga pants and sweatshirt. It’s not nearly as comfy, but at least she can probably wear her corset a little looser underneath it. Anyway, this is the oldest trick in the book (“No, Dad, I’m not going to that wild party, I just wanna go to the movies with Emily on the same night, in the same neighborhood!”), and Sybil’s the youngest, so surely Robert has seen it before and won’t fall for it? Surely?
We cut to Mary, reading outside in a grey skirt, draped mauve blouse, pearls, and of course, a lovely big hat (no tan for that complexion!), and Matthew in a suit (snore), who’s dropped by to see Robert. They flirt and it’s pretty cute.
 |
|
Guess what? We’ve seen Mary’s outfit before. Guess where? When the Duke of Crowborough came to call. So Mary is wearing the same outfit she wore the last time an eligible suitor came to call, eh? Hmmmm. But before we can think about that too much, we’re back to Sybil, pushing to go to her meeting, and Robert, who lets her because he’s distracted by his dog whining (seriously?), but then looks like he regrets it. Too late! Sybil and Branson (and his sandwich) are off to Ripon! I can’t believe he fell for it.
|
The Dower House. Violet’s had a shocking letter from her niece, Lady Susan, Marquise of Flintshire (we’ll meet her in a few seasons too, and she’s dreadful). It’s about the Pamuk Affair, and Cora confirms all the details and a few more to boot. I keep thinking Violet will have a heart attack in this scene, or that at least her knees will give way, but she holds her ground. But so does Cora—she announces that she will not disown Mary for her conduct (and quite right too; talk about blaming the victim!), and marches out. Violet stands toweringly over Cora for the whole scene, in her royal purple blouse and skirt with lace sweater-jacket from the flower show. She looks regal—all that purple and ivory. Cora’s wearing that glorious brown-and-white outfit, probably one of the nicest suits she owns (you don’t dress down when going to see a mother-in-law like that!), but with a different hat, more casual and straw for summer. So she looks pretty good too, a modern(ish) woman defending her child.
 |
Night falls over the parapets. NinjaBates is hanging out behind the kitchen. Like a—ok, you get it. NinjAnna comes out to comfort him about the wine thing. Black and white dominate, even though the situation seems sort of gray.
 |
Sybil enters her bedroom, where Gwen is making up the bed for her and trying not to cry over her various rejections. I don’t blame her. Getting turned down for jobs is the worst. I can’t really see Sybil’s dress, but the bodice is very ornate and the skirt is very sheer and gauzy. Decorative and insubstantial, just like ladies were supposed to be (which Sybil is decidedly not), but very appropriate for this scene, considering Sybil is indeed, as Gwen implies, imposing her privileged worldview on someone who dares not hope for her dreams to come true.
Servant Scene. O’Brien and Thomas are smoking again, which always means skullduggery is afoot. This time it’s that they can’t figure out why Bates hasn’t said anything about the wine problem. Because he’s a ninja! You guys! Haven’t you figured this out yet? William passes by, and the scene switches to him, asking Daisy for some stale bread and salt to make a poultice for Diamond’s foot. Oh, now he gets around to helping the horse. His tales of mutual trust and respect in the Mason family gets Daisy thinking. Daisy’s wistful declaration that she never had anyone she could trust as a child gets me thinking. She can’t be more than 14 or 15 (although a poor diet and a lousy childhood could definitely stunt her growth and even delay her menarche). What was Daisy’s life like before Downton? Is she an orphan? When did she start working there?
Isobel joins Cora and Mary on a walk around the Downton lawn to discuss whether they should tell William about his mother’s (fatal) heart condition. They’re all three in white walking outfits. Cora and Isobel are in long, slightly old-fashioned duster-style coats (I like that Cora’s is more expansive and voluminous, because she’s richer, but Isobel’s has fashionably short, wide sleeves and some nice detailing, which you can see in the photo of Isobel above) and Mary is in a more modern walking suit. Mary’s got black gloves—maybe she’s not quite out of the woods of her sorrow and guilt, but there’s not much left. The mothers decide they can’t break the patient’s confidence, but Mary—who doesn’t give a fig about rules, she’d like you to know—swears she’ll tell him herself.
 |
Branson tootles into Ripon with Sybil. He’s been getting awfully familiar with her. At least he’s still calling her “m’lady”. But his shock at her intention to see the counting of the votes seems genuine, and his flustered pleas for her to wait while he parks make me worry for him. Sybil pulls rank when he does that, just in case we thought she had totally transformed. Her gray suit and hat are pretty good camouflage for the crowd, though, even more than the one she wore to the speech in the opening scene.
Everyone else who isn’t about to get shoved around in a crowd of proles is sitting around before dinner when Sir Anthony shows up. He’s come to ask Edith, not Mary, to a concert in the evening despite her parents’ attempts to deter her. Ouch. That is some serious side eye from Mary there. This time, the pale green dress that Edith wore when Isobel and Matthew came to dinner that first time looks just right in the light, airy, summer evening, while Mary’s sparkly gown, although luxurious, looks a little drab and dark by comparison (there's a photo a little farther below). In fact, it's the same gown she wore in the last episode, right after Edith smacks her down about the Pamuk Affair. Clearly, this dress signifies her haughtiness and snobbery.
 |
Source. Pretty sure this is from this scene, and it's exactly the same dress as Cora wore when she was trying to get Mary and the Duke hooked up. Guess she's on board the Edith-and-Sir-Anthony ship now.
|
Servant Scene. Daisy thinks she’s let herself down. Mrs. Patmore is charmingly sarcastic about it.
 |
Source. Kinda surprised she hasn't joined the "Votes for Women" campaign, but she probably knows her father would have a heart attack if she did.
|
The votes are being read out to the slavering mob. Branson tries to get Sybil to leave, which she won’t do. Matthew is leaving work just as a truckload of toughs armed with bricks and bottles is unloading, and somehow spies Sybil through the crowd (apparently from the same alley his mother spotted her in the beginning; do they hang out there or something?).
 |
Just as he joins the losing battle to get Sybil to go home, the punches start to fly. Sybil gets flung or pushed to the side, where she whacks her head on a table corner and hits the cobblestones. This is bad, you guys. A blow to the temple like that could have killed her. Branson freaks out, scoops her up and hurries to the car. I guarantee Jessica Brown Findlay had quite a neckache after that day’s filming; I’ve been carried offstage while feigning death or unconsciousness with my neck all floppy like that, and it hurts.
 |
Source. For some reason Allen Leech looks a lot like Dan Stevens in this shot.
|
Moon over Downton. Dinner’s over and Gwen hands Mary her coat, and she’s all like, “lol wut”, until Branson tells her why she needs it, and her gasp and clutch of Branson's arm show us how much she loves her little sister. Back at Crawley house, Sybil’s coming around thanks to Isobel, her weird wide-collared bathrobe, and her Mercurochrome. She’s all moon-eyed at Matthew for saving her. There’s a joke about a blow on the head being necessary for falling in love with Matthew Crawley, but we’re all about the costumes here, so I leave you to make it up and put it in the comments. Mary is surprisingly sympathetic toward Sybil and Branson, but gets a little steel in her gaze when she sees Sybil and Matthew. Isobel watches Mary watch the two of them, but Mary has other things on her mind as well; she asks Isobel about William’s mother again before leaving. It’s probably not the time or the place, but I quite like Mary’s coat and its little white stars or flowers or whatever they are.
Servant Scene. If there’s one thing Mrs. Hughes hates, it’s an atmosphere. It should be scotched (get it? Because she’s Scottish? Sigh). Daisy does her part to scotch it (heh) by coming in and confessing to falsifying evidence against Bates (I assume, since the scene cuts before she gets into specifics), but Carson is clearly more worried about Mary’s reputation. Because she’s his favorite. Awww.
Mary and Matthew help Sybil out of the car at Downton. Poor Branson. He’s quite right to be worried; I’m sure Robert cannot, indeed, tell the difference between a Socialist and a lunatic, so his job’s in jeopardy, but we also get hints that he’s worried about Sybil beyond the fact that a nice young lady in his care got hurt. We get a few more good looks at Mary’s dress, which is dark and sparkly and ornate, just like her mother prefers. Thus it serves the plot in this scene just as well as it did before, as she’s helping Sybil with a situation that, although not quite as ruinous as the Pamuk scandal, is still pretty scary, just like her mother helped her.
 |
Upstairs, Robert throws a tantrum at Sybil so loud that Matthew, who’s hanging out downstairs (why? Go home, Matthew) can hear it. Ok, maybe it’s not a tantrum, per se; I know that when your child does something dangerous or gets hurt or something, your anxiety and fear can spill over into anger, but he also makes the classic move of blaming someone else—i.e., Branson—kind of irrationally. It’s true that Branson is sort of encouraging Sybil in her activism, but it probably would have happened anyway. Sybil, for her part, behaves very childishly by threatening to run away or shun her father if he sacks Branson. Of course she can’t think right now where she’ll go, but she means it, she really does, and you’ll be sorry! She all but stamps her foot. Honestly, Sybil. She’s shed the jacket from her suit, so the blouse-and-skirt combo, with its abstract, loopy pastel flowers, make her look like a schoolgirl and doesn’t really help her in her cause to be grown-up and independent. Her parents and sisters, by contrast, are still all dressed up for dinner, so the contrast is even more evident.
Servant Scene. Carson is getting to the bottom of the wine thing (I really need a name for the wine thing. Wine-gate? Wine-ghazi? Winewater?). My favorite part about this scene was that NinjAnna was there “to watch”, which seemed awfully convenient before I remembered that Anna is head housemaid, so Mrs. Hughes is therefore training her to become a housekeeper, which would have included hiring, firing, and disciplining subordinates.
Mary and Matthew bond over sandwiches while Robert is “reviving” Cora. So glad that stays off-camera. Mary claims to be political and then demonstrates that she actually is more or less au courant (“with a hung Parliament, it’s hard to get excited about a by-election”), after teasing Matthew for drinking wine out of a tumbler when he tells her not to bother sending a servant all the way up with one more wineglass at this hour, to which I say, if that’s untraditional, go Matthew! Save the servants a little shoe leather.
 |
Source. Prelude to a kiss. With sandwiches.
|
Down below, NinjaBates is flagellating himself…because he didn’t steal wine or drink it this time, but he did before? Doesn’t England have laws against double jeopardy? Pretty sure no one cares, Bates. But I get it, Fellowes, how else were we to know about his checkered past? Also, I don’t know why he’s so worried about Carson firing him. Valets were hired directly by their lords, so although Carson might have some say in the firing of a thieving or drunk valet, the decision ultimately rests with Lord Grantham. And we all know how Robert’s last attempt to send Bates packing went. So chill out, NinjaBates.
The next Mary-Matthew scene is one of those weird, awkward conversations that precedes A Big Kiss, and I know it seems sort of silly, but that’s totally how these things happen. No one gets all eloquent and poetic before a make-out session; you’re all tense and jumpy and horny and stuff comes out of your mouth that just makes no sense at all. That’s the only reason I can think of for Mary finally laying her cards on the table about her feelings for Matthew by going on about Sybil’s crush on him. Too bad The Kiss put paid to that subplot. I would have enjoyed watching that play out.
The NinjaTwins get cockblocked again, this time by someone taking out the trash. Those two never get a break.
Mary goes in to tell her mother about The Big Kiss. No, wait, she tells her mother that Matthew proposed. Now I’m wondering what was in those sandwiches. Seriously, dude, slow your roll! Still, it’s pretty exciting for everyone, so why spoil it by telling him about Pamuk? Is she, um, not a virgin anymore? Would he, um, be able to tell? This is not what Dear Abby would recommend, I don’t think. Or Dan Savage, for that matter. Then Robert appears, and Mary makes sure he thinks nothing’s afoot by being snobby about his sleeping arrangements. Good one, Mary. Separate beds, indeed. How do you think you made it into this world?
Servant Scene. Thomas and O’Brien blow out the lamp (literally) on Winegate for now.
Mary’s up and ready for a ride (on Diamond, you pervs), and sees William checking on the horse. She very neatly convinces him to go home and see his mother, without mentioning that she’s deathly ill (she’s just “not been well” and “[Mary’s] sure it’s nothing”) or who told her so. This is the sort of thing ladies were supposed to be very good at, were in fact trained for as children, and Mary was almost certainly coached at it as a child, even if she’s also got a natural knack for it as well when she feels like it. One lady of the period wrote that she and her sisters were taken around the garden for a daily walk by their governess and had to start a new topic of conversation at every hedge corner, so they would always be able to talk to anyone, even the most socially inept. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Mary’s in her super-aristocratic riding habit again, while William is still just a footman. And once again, she makes him totally forget about what he was planning to do with the horse (namely, see how it walks when Mary’s in the saddle). How good a groom would he be, really, if he can’t stay on task?
Cora is writing in the drawing room when Lady V arrives “in peace”, to acknowledge Cora’s fortitude in helping with the Pamuk Affair, discuss Mary’s prospects (she is guardedly excited about Matthew’s proposal), and deliver some of the best lines of the episode:
“The Ambassador is dangerous, but then, how many people really go to the Turkish Embassy?”
“We can’t have [the Ambassador] assassinated…I suppose” (if anyone in this series could make that happen, my money’s on her.)
“[Mary] reads too many novels. One way or another, everyone goes down the aisle with half the story hidden.”
“In these moments, you can usually find an Italian who isn’t too picky.”
While we’re giggling over her awesomeness, we can also see that she and Cora are dressed in nearly the same outfits as they were when they were having tea outside and discussing what to do with Mary in the second episode: the purple brocade with fantastic hat on the Dowager Countess (exactly what she wore then), and a more modern-cut day dress of very pale mauve with ornate embroidery on the lapels and down the plackets on Cora (very, very close to the other costume). They’re united again, and maybe not quite back where they started, because things are looking up!
Next time we’ll wrap up the season and look ahead to the next one. Don’t miss out!
*i.e., acting as a neighborhood Laundromat/cleaners. A desperate and poorly-regarded way of making money for the working classes (and one of the only ways women could earn any money) in pre-WWI England.
No comments:
Post a Comment