I think we all know where we have to begin here: Poor Edith. Poor, poor, sad, pathetic, wobbly-chinned Edith. This episode dangled in front of her everything she has always wanted: a romantic future with her cousin (a little icky, but…ok), a chance to become the Lady of the house, the besting of her older sister (Downton being a far preferable settling place than musty old Haxby Park with an abusive tycoon) and, best yet, a genuine crack at true love.
Of course, knowing Edith’s luck, none of these things will ever happen. Laura Carmichael, who is quite the beauty in real life, plays Edith so downtrodden and life-weary that nothing good can come to her without tragedy attached. She looks like she always smells of rosewater and despair. Even if Patrick-Peter Gordon was who he said he was, Edith would have shackled herself for life to a puss-leaking Canadian who looks not unlike Mel Gibson in The Man Without a Face. Her self-esteem is so shot at this point that she convinces herself that the Elephant Con Man is the best she can do, and it is agonizing to watch her try to convince her skeptical family of the same. When Mary’s sisterly cattiness comes out in full force (her “he isn’t anything to look at” was as withering a comment as she’s ever made), you almost want to hush her and tell her to just give Edith this one already. Sure, accepting fake Peter-Patrick as the new heir would de-Earl a crippled man and entrust the future of the estate to a terrifying huckster, but at least Edith would get to hold someone’s stump at night.
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But the Phantom of the Convalescent Home flees as quickly as he came, and Edith is left reading his (totally insufficient; what a jerk, etc.) goodbye note while weeping and staring at the house she’ll never inherit. This moment is actually effective, as we’ve spent almost two seasons now investing in how much of a sadsack Edith is, and this is the apex of that depressing character arc. But the deformed-guy-might-take-over plot also marks the point at which Downton turned from a soap opera that held a small allegiance to reality into something approaching high farce.
Now that the war is over, the drama has not ended with the somber chime of the peace clock. Instead, everyone’s lives are more messy and convoluted than ever. The show used to juggle a few nefarious plotlines every week alongside a few more uplifting stories; when someone was falling out of love, someone else was falling in. Now, nearly every single person inside the house is living in a nightmare, or in a situation soon to be one. It is as if Julian Fellowes and his team have gotten overexcited about the theatrics — they learned how much we loved it when scandale rocked the ensemble (Season One would be nothing without the dead bodies and dead babies), so now they are just giving us all scandale, all the time. It’ll make for good water-cooler conversation, but a lot of that talk will just consist of “so how insaaaaane is Downton lately?” Going crazy when it blossoms naturally from the characters is one thing; introducing a million unearned complications for the sake of thrilling television is more risky.
Let’s take, for example, the tension that seems to be building between the Earl of Grantham and Cora, and the chemistry that is blooming between the Earl and the widow housemaid, Jane. I’m no soothsayer, but I can guarantee this is not going anywhere good. Cora’s sneaky decision to bring Lavinia back into the mix is “curiously unfeeling,” according to the Earl. Yes, it is a manipulative move on Cora’s part. But to set up the premise that, feeling that his family is falling apart and his own wife is sacrificing his (clearly favorite) daughter to an cruel magnate, Earl Grantham will seek solace in Jane’s feather-dusting arms — come on, you know it’s coming — is so jarring that it doesn’t feel like it belongs in this show. This isn’t East Enders, for goodness sake. Grantham’s paternalistic perfection can get boring, but it’s a bedrock of the series. To play with that is to play with fire. Tread softly, Fellowes. Or many women who have had too much rosé will be after you with pitchforks.
Still, all the sadness is strangely compelling. No one’s life is good after the war! No one! The downstairs celebration party was a sham. So let’s take a moment to reflect on where all of our players are left after Armistice Day. A rundown of peacetime sorrow, if you will:
1. Lady Mary: While it was a kick to see Mary and Matthew gossiping like best friends early in the episode (Mary teasing about “Jack Johnson” arms, Matthew joking that Carson would “open his veins” for her), that playful camaraderie was shattered by the end, with Lavinia’s bashful return and Sir Richard Carlisle’s swift descent into verbal abuse. The marriage between Mary and Carlisle has always felt like a train that will never quite pull into the station, and Mary has taken it for granted just as much as we have. She says priggish comments like “Your lot buys it, my lot inherits it,” getting in a little dig at her future mate about his new money while dismissing a breathtaking estate that looks as cold and marbled as Sir Richard’s heart. She’s not invested in the match, and Carlisle, sensing this, pulls out the big guns by trying to lure away Carson to polish the silver at Haxby. He can’t bring Mary’s darling papa along, but he can buy the next best thing; and it doesn’t have the desired effect.
Mary is still so gaga over Matthew that she cries out about “all he’s been through!” in front of her entire family — she doesn’t care who knows how she feels anymore. Only Cora with her sneaky plan can keep the two apart, and Mary sees right through it. Grumbling to Carlisle about Lavinia’s homecoming in the hallway, she gets the vicious browbeating that has been coming to her since she started provoking her betrothed — poke a dragon with the power to destroy your entire family, and you are going to get burned. Still, no amount of sass deserved that “never cross me” blackmail speech. Mary’s marriage is doomed. If only Edith knew, she’d be dancing somewhere instead of getting teary grass stains in the moors.
2. Matthew: Ah, Matthew, the Picasso of self-loathing. How Mary still finds him attractive is a testament to their chemistry, because Mr. Wheelchair has become the resident Debbie Downton of the house. He says that even a non-heir who looks like Sloth from The Goonies would be a better Earl, given his working nether regions. Matthew is so focused on his permanent flaccidity that he can’t see beyond it; men really do think with their laps. We know that when he tells Grantham that it will “take a man that is more than I am to follow you,” he is not talking about his legs. There is a small bit of hope after the peace gong, when Matthew feels a tingle down below, but even if he can magically sire children again (and if that’s the case, really, Fellowes? That was a waste of a two-episode investment), then he will need a major attitude adjustment. Also, Lavinia squeezing herself back into his life is nothing anyone wanted to see happen. Even Matthew gave us one of his best forlorn looks, straight to camera, as if to say, “I’m stuck with her….wonderful.”
But what about Anna and Mr. Bates? Read on…
3. Banana: Anna and Bates, never simple with those two. Their love is pure, sure, but there is always that weasly wife that someone has to kill. Wait, what? Bates killed someone? We don’t know yet, but given the scars and broken pottery, we know there was a marital scuffle that ended in Vera’s demise (PS — FINALLY) and Bates returning home earlier than expected with a shifty look in his eyes. Anna says the “thing about business is to mind your own,” but I think we all know that the bobbies in London will not be keeping this one quiet. And neither will O’Brien; she finally has the ammo she needs to ruin Bates. If only we knew why she hated the guy so much! Did she birth Thomas, who was passed over for valet a million years ago? Is she just really bored? Cliffhangers, all around.
4. Daisy: Daisy may be the most troubled person in the house at war’s end. In a way, she lost everything; not only William, but her entire sense of self. Despite the staff’s best efforts to convince her that marrying William on his deathbed was an act of kindness (and that she should take the damn widow bonus already), she insists that she didn’t love him and that all she is now is a liar and a disservice to her black armband. Her story is a nice contrast to the insanity above ground, where a real imposter is fibbing his way into Edith’s heart. Daisy can’t see the goodness in what she did, only the guilt. It’s devastating, but feels like one of the most authentic storylines going.
5. Sybil: Who cares about Sybil and Branson now that the war is over? Anyone? Bueller? Branson says he will wait “forever” for Sybil, and it feels like that’s what we are doing. Get it together already, you two.
6. Grantham and Cora: Marital strife! When Cora is in cahoots with the Dowager (in a genius storyline that deliciously ousted Isobel from Downton and perhaps the country), then you know there is trouble brewing in the house of Grantham.
7. Ethel: The war also left Ethel in shambles; penniless, husbandless, living in a dirty shack with her bastard baby. She is indeed, ruined. And all this from a girl who used to read Photoplay and talk down to the other maids. This is what you get, apparently, for having big dreams beyond service.
8. Carson and Hughes: These two are the soul of Downton Abbey, the partnership that keeps everything humming and civil in and out of the house. The fact that they will be separated is perhaps the war’s biggest casualty. They love each other, you see. In a platonic, I’ll ring the gong, you do the dusting way. Carson is the show’s elegant heart, with his unwavering allegiance to monarchy and measuring the distance between soup spoons. Hughes is the more maternal center, bringing food to the needy and constantly righting the ship of staff conflict. Together, they are one of television’s most powerful asexual couples. Letting Carson go may be the death of that duo — and also of one of best friendships to come out of this or any show. If this is what the war ending looks like, who wants it?
BONUS! The best Dowager lines:
- ”I suppose you must decide what is more important. Exercise classes and lectures on pottery or helping men and women build a new life?”
- “And I accept your apology, with no trace of I-ron-y either.”
- “When his face was blown away he thought every cloud has a silver lining.”
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In past lives, Rachel Syme has been Books Editor of NPR and Culture Editor of The Daily Beast. She is currently at work on a biography of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Hollywood years. You can find her on Twitter at @rachsyme.