Spoilers aplenty follow . . .
|Mostly concerning the unbearable pitifulness of being Edith|
Before we get to the exercise in sadism that was Lady "Poor" Edith's "wedding," let's spend some time on Matthew. It seems that self-righteousness is genetically coextensive with bright blue eyes. He's still refusing to accept St. Lavinia's Dad's money.
|Oh, enough already.|
Thank God he didn't have any former awkward break-ups with a member of the Crawley family, or I guess he would have had to turn down Downton Abbey as well. He's so wracked with guilt, he refuses to open the letter Lavinia Pater sent to him, so Mary, does so herself. Like a normal person. And of course, Lavinia Sr. has managed to somehow predict all of Matthew's objections and refute them, point by point, like a dead, rich, captain of the debate team. So everything's fine now? Right?
Wrong. Matthew doesn't believe Lavinia sent the letter as she was expiring from the Spanish flu. (Which, incidentally, I watched a documentary about yesterday--did you know it originated in Kansas? Me either.) So Mary has to track down a witness. She should talk to Anna for tips. And speaking of downstairs, Daisy sent the letter, which she tells Mary in a rather anti-climactic way: "Oh, it was me." And now Downton is saved! Surprising no one!
Meanwhile, Lady Edith is getting married to the one-armed geriatric bandit! Nothing good can come of this. After some awkward sexual innuendos between Vi and Syb, and some even more awkward sexual innuendos between Vi and the priest (!), it's time for the wedding!
By and through very publicly sharing information that would have been really good for Edith to know YESTERDAY, Sir Robert confesses that he can't go through with the wedding, and doom Edith to a life as a nursemaid. Despite the fact that such a life (rich, independent, with a man she presumably loves) seems okay by Edith, everyone is sort of relieved.
|Except, you know, Edith.|
Poor Edith, however, aggressively skulks about the house, throwing her jilting in everyone's face, rather like an Edwardian Carrie Bradshaw from the Sex and the City movie.
As for downstairs? O'Brien and Thomas amp up their rivalry over some missing shirts (seems rather petty in light of the above, but whatever), and Thomas instrumentalizes the hapless Mr. Moseley to spread a rumor of O'Brien's departure.
|The face of a woman who just got played.|
Hopefully this is leading somewhere much nastier.
|O'Brien seems to promise it will.|
Speaking of nasty, Mrs. Hughes's lump isn't! And Carson is thrilled. And it's very sweet.
As to Anna and Batesie, the former keeps looking for evidence to exonerate her husband, and the latter keeps managing prison like a boss. His traitorous cellie plants what looks like, but probably is not, an exploding cigar in Bates's bunk, but he's tipped off at the last minute. It's sort of like the prison version of stolen shirts.
|I can't find a picture of the thing, so this still of Bates looking cagey will have to suffice.|
So there you have it. Downton will be saved (and Matthew will be a full partner, whatever that means), keeping safe a place where Edith can be pitiful, Thomas can be snake-like, and Vi can be sassy. All is right with the world. For now . . .