With these not-so-friendly reminders of his position, Moseley
is battered through the episode and heavily laden with the responsibilities of
several footmen and maids in a collective effort by Carson and Mrs. Hughes to
knock his uppity ass down a few notches in the scheme of things at Downton. I
empathize with the frustrations of Carson trickling in from last season when
Moseley had to give careful consideration to taking a position lower than his
training, along with his much needed verification of being the pinnacle of
footmen throughout the land; after awhile, however, the assaults on the poor
old coot elicited pity for his plight and slight disdain for Carson. And what
hand did Mrs. Hughes have to play in this game, given that she was the one who
enlisted Moseley when Carson so adamantly refused to entertain the idea of his
return?
Moseley became the punching bag of the evening, but he held grudges of his own when Thomas returned looking disastrously ill and Moseley used him for target practice, slinging arrows and spitting venom at every opportunity afforded to avenge his lady love. What was completely unexpected was Baxter’s turn the other cheek approach to her villainous childhood friend, especially when she saw he was in distress. While we still have no glaring confirmation, the hypothesis that Thomas’ little pilgrimage was in fact a trip to the gay doctor stands when his magazine ad for “Choose Your Own Path” was discovered by Baxter; shortly after she stumbled upon Thomas using a syringe that may have been aversive drug therapy. Then again Thomas was also stealing a spoon from the kitchen so maybe he just developed a bad heroin addiction when visiting his pops. He was looking a tad tweaked out…
Moseley became the punching bag of the evening, but he held grudges of his own when Thomas returned looking disastrously ill and Moseley used him for target practice, slinging arrows and spitting venom at every opportunity afforded to avenge his lady love. What was completely unexpected was Baxter’s turn the other cheek approach to her villainous childhood friend, especially when she saw he was in distress. While we still have no glaring confirmation, the hypothesis that Thomas’ little pilgrimage was in fact a trip to the gay doctor stands when his magazine ad for “Choose Your Own Path” was discovered by Baxter; shortly after she stumbled upon Thomas using a syringe that may have been aversive drug therapy. Then again Thomas was also stealing a spoon from the kitchen so maybe he just developed a bad heroin addiction when visiting his pops. He was looking a tad tweaked out…
Then again maybe he should have shared the stash, as there
were a few people in Downton that could have benefitted from a little
substance-induced happy time. Mrs. Patmore was still stewing over the slight
she received from Carson involving the memorial for her nephew. Mrs. Patmore’s
temper continued to flare like her red hair towards the stoic butler, cutting him
at the knees with slices of insults about his apathy, even when Lord Donk
expressed his sincerest apologies and gave his sympathies for the unfortunate
circumstances (the one moment of the evening when we recalled some affection
for the aristocratic mule). Of course that warm fuzzy feeling chilled over as
Donk continued to give Cora the cold shoulder and brush aside any fragments of
intellect she may expel.
But as the twists and turns of Downton Abbey goes, we were
soon greeted with a cognitive dissonance of sorts when Miss Bunting was yet again
invited to dinner amidst Cora’s insistence (did she have a plan for this all
along?). Predictably Bunting challenged the many ways and traditions Lord Donk
has clasped to his breast and refused to loosen his grip on, provoking him into
steaming frustration. After a brief exchange over Daisy’s education and Donk’s
elitist distance from his staff, Bunting demanded an audience of the downstairs
dwellers Mrs. Patmore and Daisy for their own opinions. Donk, as usual, took
the bait, and I cheered as he was proven most wrong by the cooks. However, Donk
became the bigger equus, and admitted his fault, but Bunting couldn’t leave it
be and pushed him to the precipice of his patience before abruptly chucking him
into the pit. Now this pushed me to the edge as well. Being the prideful man
that he is, seeing Lord Donk admit his fault as of late has been as rare as the
white elephant of Siam. Bunting should have let it go as she had won the
battle, but she needed one more piercing shot as he had graciously lowered to
one knee in submission.
This move on her part not only polarized the parties in the abbey even more, but also forced me to cross lines in my own home. My mother, who is also a traditionalist, has thus far sided with Donk, believing Bunting to be an unwelcome, rude rebel who needs to “shut her mouth or go home.” I, up to now, had always sided with the passionate revolutionary, but her final display this evening forced me to take sides with my mother. This was a position I sorely resented Bunting for putting me in, because the last thing my mother needs is the ammunition of me having to admit she was right about something. Like three years ago when she recommended some random period drama I was not even remotely interested in; I watched one episode on Netflix, then binge watched the first season, immediately purchased the second on DVD, and here I am with a blog on the damn show after enduring four and a half seasons of I told you so’s. The prolonged point being is if Thomas had shared his crank, his LSD, his Heisenberg happy rocks, perhaps instead of fighting, everyone would have been sitting around the wireless radio, singing some retro version of Kumbaya and I wouldn’t have to admit defeat to my over-zealous mother.
This move on her part not only polarized the parties in the abbey even more, but also forced me to cross lines in my own home. My mother, who is also a traditionalist, has thus far sided with Donk, believing Bunting to be an unwelcome, rude rebel who needs to “shut her mouth or go home.” I, up to now, had always sided with the passionate revolutionary, but her final display this evening forced me to take sides with my mother. This was a position I sorely resented Bunting for putting me in, because the last thing my mother needs is the ammunition of me having to admit she was right about something. Like three years ago when she recommended some random period drama I was not even remotely interested in; I watched one episode on Netflix, then binge watched the first season, immediately purchased the second on DVD, and here I am with a blog on the damn show after enduring four and a half seasons of I told you so’s. The prolonged point being is if Thomas had shared his crank, his LSD, his Heisenberg happy rocks, perhaps instead of fighting, everyone would have been sitting around the wireless radio, singing some retro version of Kumbaya and I wouldn’t have to admit defeat to my over-zealous mother.
In absence of mind-altering incredibly hard drugs, some
people were still peaceably feeling the love. One hemp-struck Lord was Merton,
who floated on over to the Crawley house and joyfully proposed to Isobel.
Sadly, though Isobel promised to give the proposal careful consideration, it
seemed her mind was almost made up, warning Merton time would most likely have
no impact on her decision. But for someone who has struggled so much with the
loss of her husband and son, in spite of her knack for independence, Isobel
seems so lonely and yet so comfortable in that particular isolation. Falling
into step with Violet, who is also reluctant to revisit matters of the heart
with her former love interest, the two old biddies may just fall into a Boston
Marriage arrangement and spend the remainder of their days pissing each other
off (SPIN OFF ALERT!)
Speaking of rekindling love, after her moment of epiphany
with Tony, the forces that be gave Mary another opportunity to get her lady
fire stoked by Blake after a chance run in at a fashion show. They enjoyed a
simple dinner as she divulged that she was preparing to cut it off with Tony.
However Tony wasn’t so keen to being put off. After she lowered the boom, Tony
jumped from his Prince Charming persona to a damn-near Chris Brown
re-enactment. Anger burned in his eyes as he lamented that their exchange of
bodily fluids was an unwritten contract for marriage and he sternly maintained
that they will “work out their issues together.” The red flags of this
situation are undeniable and one can only hope Mary will find her way out. Then
again, perhaps she shouldn’t ignore the red flags of the other suitor attending
a woman’s fashion show either…
And the red flags
keep flying for Anna and Bates as suspicions continue when Anna returns visits
the scene of the crime where Green died or was possibly killed. Curiously, a
detective or spy (maybe it was a cousin of Spratt’s) was perfectly positioned
to witness Anna’s inquisitive journey and reported back to police, redirecting
the investigation and the spotlight on the Bates’ once more.
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