Sometimes you can tell who is watching a show by studying the commercials.  At least that information can tell you what the advertisers think about who is in the audience.  This insight sometimes sends a feeling of ice through my spine when a program I am enjoying breaks for commercial and they start selling catheters or adult diapers.

But that won’t help us figure out who is watching Downton Abbey because the show is on commercial-free PBS.  The only ads are for those Viking Cruises, which have a limited market at best, and Ralph Lauren, someone whose work was as well-known before the series began as it is now.  Perhaps the script can give us some clues.  But in that case, I wonder whether anyone below the age of about 60 is tuning in to any of this.  Romance seems to be in full bloom for the senior set and for almost no one else.

Lord Merton makes his pitch to Isobel, who was inclined to say No until he got to the heart-felt end of his proposal.  Now she will think about it.  Prince Kuragin has let Violet know that he is willing and available.  Without committing herself, she is going to use her connections to find out whether the Princess is still alive and kicking.  Really, Shrimpy dropped in at the perfect moment and he is able to report later that Princess Kuragin is getting by in Hong Kong.  If she was at some point working the night shift to earn a few pounds, we may presume that at her age she is retired or has found another occupation.  The Kuragins, and Shrimpy himself, paid-up members of the elder generation, give us a view of the other side of the coin, when love among the ruins is itself in ruins.

We move to the next younger generation and find that people are at least making an effort, even if they are not quite up to the exertions of their elders.  Mr. Bricker can contain himself no longer and declares his admiration, if not his love, for Lady Cora.  I thought he played for the other team, but it turns out he doesn’t.  Sue me.  Lord Grantham for once has things figured out and seems to be in a good tactical position to head Bricker off, standing between him and Cora as they view the house della Francesca, but he fails to realize the weakness of his wider strategy.  He is still finding new ways to alienate Cora.  I can’t imagine that Cora is going to stray very far, but then how many of us thought that Violet had a past?

When we get to the generation where love should be in full bloom, everything is in shambles.  Mary gives Lord Gillingham his walking papers, but he refuses to accept them.  In the background, I can hear Neil Sedaka singing “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do”.  There is a Seinfeld episode where George wants to break up with a woman who for unaccountable reasons wants to keep the relationship going.  He says it’s like firing a nuclear missile.  You both have to turn the key.  Gillingham is not for turning.

Edith’s position is even more hopeless.  Margie Drewe slams the door in Edith’s face when she tries to visit Marigold, and then Edith learns from someone at the Times that they may soon have news of Mr. Gregson.  If Gregson indeed ran afoul of those Brown Shirts (something I speculated about last season), the news may not be good.  Edith seems to attract bad luck the way trailer parks attract tornadoes.  Unless the writers are in a particularly generous mood, I begin to lose hope for Mr. Gregson’s safe return.

If we look at a snapshot of Tom’s situation, it is superficially more hopeful than that of his two sisters-in-law.  He and Sarah Bunting make a fine looking couple, and it’s nice that their political views are compatible.  All is well until she starts to speak, which unfortunately occurs far too often for the comfort and ease of those around her.  I commented last week that she lacks the British sense of fair play, and that point is further demonstrated this week at the dinner table.  Lord Grantham commits the blunder of having Mrs. Patmore and – what was her name?? – Daisy brought up from the scullery to answer questions about Daisy’s education under the direction of Miss Bunting.  A trial lawyer would have told him (and his mother did tell him) not to ask a question unless he already knows the answer, but Robert, the master of his own house and an Earl of the realm, is so confident of his position that he would not listen to this sound advice.

Robert handles the ensuing predictable humiliation with grace.  He admits he was wrong and is glad, or at least generously says he is glad, that things are going well for Daisy.  All Bunting has to do is remain silent to see her stock on the Downton Exchange rise to its par value (I doubt it would ever go higher), but she can’t resist kicking a class enemy when he’s down.  She gloats, Robert explodes, and now poor Tom’s position is rendered even more doubtful than it was before, as he will be further removed (at least when he is present at the Abbey) from someone who helps him to stay in touch with his humble origins and his hopes for a better world.  When Tom, Robert, and Mary go out to view the housing site, Tom hints strongly that his relationship with Bunting is under further review.

So, in the world of Downton Abbey, Cupid’s arrows are reserved for those he first struck decades ago.  Perhaps Mr. Fellowes has determined that he is not dealing with an under-served audience of youths below the age of 60, and plans to go on spinning the romantic tales of those who walk on three legs.

A thought occurred to me about hats.  Early in the episode, we are at lunch at the Abbey.  Violet is sitting at the table wearing an ornate hat.  No other woman sports one.  Everything these people do is governed by elaborate rules.  What was the rule about hats at the table?

As I feared last week, Thomas is using a syringe to inject himself with a wash-away-the-gay remedy.  I have read that various narcotic preparations, including laudanum and heroin, were used in the 1920s for this purpose, without result needless to say.  Using a hypodermic needle under less than sterile conditions is not a recipe for good health, so let us hope that Thomas does not suffer collateral damage while he pursues this course of treatment.  Poor fellow lived at the wrong time.  Today, he could just travel to Minnesota to find a therapist who specializes in these cases.

The police have posted a plainclothes detective outside Lord Gillingham’s residence.  That seems hard to believe, for an investigation into a death that occurred two years ago.  Anna has aroused the suspicion of the detective by entering Lord G’s place to deliver a note and then walking down Piccadilly.  This is one of London’s busiest streets, so her walk is about as suspicious as someone walking down Broadway or Michigan Avenue.  Besides, she was not in London on the fateful day (as far as we know), so it’s hard to see why she should be suspected of anything, let alone charged.  I suppose the police would say I am protesting too much.

Poor Mr. Molesley, whose luck is about as good as Edith’s, is suffering a bout of Sorcerer’s Apprentice Syndrome.  He got what he wanted and finds himself First Footman in one of the grandest houses in Yorkshire.  He is also the only footman, so he ends up having to polish, put away, arrange, and shine everything in sight and then act as valet for every in-law and art dealer (OK, historian) who hops off the train at Downton Station.  It’s all part of Mr. Carson’s clever plan and it works perfectly.  Mr. Molesley asks to be demoted to Footman without Portfolio.  Why this makes Mr. Carson happy is not clear, but it does.  Mr. Carson dispatches Molesley while Carson decants wine using a very elaborate set of devices.  The candle ensures that he can stop pouring the instant any sediment appears at the shoulder of the bottle, while the cradle and the crank allow him to control the rate of flow with great precision.  The cloth above the decanter catches any sediment that somehow gets past the first stage of the process.  No doubt the Abbey’s wines are worthy of such careful treatment.

Under Sarah Bunting’s guidance, Daisy is reading about the Glorious Revolution of 1688 and this has inspired her to assist Mrs. Patmore in her campaign to rehabilitate Archie, the nephew who was shot during the war for deserting his post.  I don’t know what Miss Bunting’s view may be of the Glorious Revolution, but I have been interested to learn that it is an historical event that gives Marxist historians some trouble.  Some of them go to the extreme of denying that it was a revolution at all and insist that it was a foreign invasion.  (You know, those maniacal Dutch were constantly pouring across their borders to invade France, Germany, and Belgium, so why not England?  Except they weren’t.)  Marxists are inclined to view the English Civil War – the conflict in the 1640s that ended with the trial and execution of Charles I that I mentioned briefly last time – as the real revolution in England and in fact many of them use the term English Revolution to refer to what everyone else calls the (English) Civil War.  I expect that a teacher of Bunting’s background, who wanted to instill in Daisy the sense that she is the heir of a radical political tradition, would have started with the regicide of 1649 rather than the constitutional settlement of 1688.

A correction:  Last week I referred to the rescue by the Royal Navy of the Czar’s mother.  I said that her sister was married to George V.  I was off by a generation.  Her sister was the wife of Edward VII, who was George V’s father.  Nicholas II and George V were first cousins; their mothers were sisters.

Last year, the series ran eight episodes.  If the same is to be true of this season, we are half way through.  I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind just a little more action in the second half.

So, we finally get to meet these Russian émigrés that Rose ministers to.  The fellow sitting near the pillar certainly seems cheerful enough as he reads his paper and declines an offer of tea.  But the other one!  Such a brooding, introspective, morose looking chap.  If you were going to create a stereotype of a displaced, embittered Russian nobleman, you could use this fellow as a model!

So many story lines intersected this week that it’s difficult to know which ones to focus on.  It’s obvious that Mary, having taken batting practice with Lord Gillingham, is not going to invite him for another tryout.  We can leave them alone until Mr. or possibly Lord Right shows up.  But before Mary designates Lord Gillingham for assignment (to stretch the baseball metaphor for the last time) she gets a good talking to from Violet about the importance of preserving one’s virtue.  Violet is pushing her bountiful luck.  Such aggressive moralizing is sure to backfire eventually.

It also seems clear that Anna and Bates will have to put up with further police inquiries.  As Mrs. Hughes points out, the constable presently assigned to the case is not a master of detection, but the possibility that a more inquisitive detective will investigate must be budgeted for.  We await further developments with more patience than do the Bateses.  I cannot believe that the writers will allow a selfless, noble character such as Mr. Bates to go to prison for a crime he actually committed.  Also, let’s remember that Mrs. Hughes and Mary are accomplices because they helped to destroy the stub of the rail ticket that puts Mr. Bates in London on the day of Mr. Green’s unfortunate encounter with a bus.  Getting through this will help bring them closer together.  I expect that each of them will have something to say about it to the other and to Anna and Bates as this plot element unwinds, don’t you?

The banality of the Baxter story grows as the facts come out.  She is a good person who was led astray by a rogue footman.  Under his malign influence, she became bad herself, stole the jewels, and then saw how things stood when he double-crossed her and ran off with the swag.  She went to prison and now she is good again.  I don’t think the story could have been made less interesting or less believable.  The story satisfies Cora, and Baxter keeps her job.  As long as Baxter stays away from manipulative fellow servants who pull her into their conspiracies, she’ll be fine.  Fortunately, no one who fits that description can be found below Downton’s stairs, so we can all relax.  Or, perhaps Baxter will be given an opportunity to demonstrate just how good she has become and has remained.

Rose did a lovely job of organizing the visit of the Russians, but the event was very nearly ruined by Miss Bunting, whose ill manners are becoming a real concern.  Tea in the drawing room is going along as planned when Bunting starts her engine.  It is true that from her point of view these displaced aristocrats are her class enemies.  However, they are no longer in a position to do any harm to anyone, particularly the downtrodden of Russia (who, seven years into Communist rule, had plenty of their own troubles to deal with).  On top of that, they are completely down on their luck, without resources.  And finally, Bunting is in someone else’s house, where she is expected to treat her fellow guests with civility.  Besides, where is her English sense of fair play, of not hitting a fellow when he’s down?

None of that matters to her.  Bunting began lighting into the Russians so that even the mild fellow who turned down Rose’s tea was in a rage.  Fortunately, Cora is able to settle things down, gracious hostess that she is, and to gently guide the émigrés into the library to view the Czarist memorabilia acquired during Violet’s visit to Russia with her husband in 1874.  Of course, foreigners are notoriously emotional (as Mrs. Hughes notes), but Russians are high-strung even by those standards, so they naturally expressed their joy through sobs and tears.  The nostalgia was nearing full flow as the fan on the display table sent Violet back half a century.  The room had been so warm that day back in 1874, but a charming young man, a prince, gave her that fan to ward off the heat.  If a man gives a lady a fan in these circumstances, it is a serious gesture.  It is not simply a question of ventilation.  But when the man is a Russian and a prince, and a broody, introspective one at that, well, it will take more than an ornate fan to dissipate the heat of that encounter.

And then, just as Violet is about to allow her mind to wander away from that encounter fifty years earlier and return to the present, who should step out of the shadows – obviously a skill that he has developed with considerable practice – but Prince Kuragin, the man with the fan, the intense brooding Byronic Russian who created such a strong impression on Rose and on the audience earlier in the episode.

Fortunately for Mary, she inherited her wits from Violet and not from either of her parents, who had little to spare, and as a result she figures out Violet’s history in about the same time that it took Violet to figure out Edith’s story last season.  But we have only the merest outline, a hint of what the true tale may be.  I expect that in classic Downton fashion, we will learn of it one morsel at a time.

Robert is entering one of his insufferable periods.  Lady Cora drops hints far and wide to tell him that she wants something substantive in which to take an interest.  She is not nostalgic for the war, naturally, but for the sense of purpose that war work gave her.  Robert dismisses this as nonsense, along with every one of her efforts to learn more about the workings of the massive Downton commercial enterprise (pigs, wheat, real estate development, etc.) that operates outside the domestic sphere to which Cora is confined.  The conflict comes to a head when Cora goes to London and spends an afternoon, and then an evening, with Mr. Bricker.  In the meantime Robert has traveled to London to surprise Cora and is annoyed when she is not there to enjoy the evening that he had planned.[1]

Poor Robert has allowed himself to become jealous of Mr. Bricker.  But is there any reason to be?  Mr. Bricker is a man of perhaps 50, unmarried, is devoted to the world of painting, and has so far conducted himself with restraint that even those keepers of the public morals Mr. Carson or Violet’s butler Mr. Spratt would have to approve.  I expect that Mr. Bricker is more taken with Cora’s interest in art, her conversation, her elegant manners and dress than he is with her other attractions.  I would not be shocked to learn that Mr. Bricker and Cora play for different teams.

Nevertheless, Robert tears into Cora, suggesting that Bricker’s interest in art is just a ruse to allow him to chase her skirt (gown, whatever).  Cora is rightly offended and we can only hope that Robert gets the message in time that Cora is going to need something substantial to keep herself occupied for the next four or five decades of married life.

Incidentally, I think there is a discrepancy between Cora’s tale (to Bricker) about how she was courted by Robert and Robert’s own telling of this same tale to Mathew (may he rest in peace) a couple of seasons ago.  I recall that Robert told Mathew that Robert’s dad took him to America to find an heiress at a time when the Abbey was desperately short of funds.  In Season Five, the story is that Cora’s mother (Shirley MacLaine), who had recently buried her Jewish husband, brought Cora over to London to find a husband, thinking that the London marriage market was more promising than New York for an attractive young woman whose money was plentiful but new.  I doubt that anything turns on the discrepancy, but I find these little cross-currents interesting.

The one other plot element that has me a bit worried involves Thomas.  He has phoned about an ad that he saw in the London Magazine under the heading “Choose Your Own Path.”  This was mysterious, and made more so by his sudden rush to visit a dying father who then conveniently rallied.  But my level of concern was raised after seeing the preview of the next episode.  It looked like Thomas was planning to inject himself or at least use a medical device of some kind, and I confess that I am worried.  He’s caused more than his share of trouble, but let’s not wish him any ill.  (We have higher standards than a certain school teacher I could name.)  I wonder whether this is a situation in which Baxter will have an opportunity to demonstrate the depth of her restored goodness.  We shall see.

If I knew any less about art, I would know nothing, so I had to check to make sure that Piero della Francesca was a real person.  As probably everyone but me knows, there was a respected 15^th century Tuscan painter by that name and some of his work is indeed held by the National Gallery in London.

I was also curious to learn about Elinor Glyn, a novelist mentioned by Tom and obviously familiar to both him and Mary.  I had to look her up, too.  She was a writer of romance novels and screenplays in the early 20^th century, and her open treatment of sex was something new at the time.  What I find most interesting about her, though, was the photo that you will find if you go to the Wikipedia article under her name.  I think that is what Mary will look like in about 20 years.  Incidentally, Ms. Glyn’s sister (famous in her own right as a fashion designer) and brother-in-law were both passengers on the Titanic and both survived.  Who knows, they might have dined with the two Crawley cousins as the ship sped through the icy waters of the North Atlantic just before the start of the first episode five seasons ago.

[1] This reminds me of the story of the linguist who was having an intense sexual affair with his wife’s maid.  One afternoon, the wife came home unexpectedly, opened the door to the maid’s room, and found husband and maid in a most compromising position.  She said, “Well, I am surprised!” Her husband corrected her.  “No, my dear, you are astonished.  We are surprised.”

Let’s be honest.  There is not a lot going on this week at the Abbey.  I’m sure there are viewers who could spend hours watching Anna purchase from a judgmental druggist the birth control device that will be a key element in her employer’s upcoming holiday with Lord Gillingham.  I am not one of them.  As a result, my mind wandered.  A few topics grabbed my interest, more for the digressions that they inspired than for their inherent interest.

At dinner, Tom engages in a disagreeable bit of moral equivalence, in my opinion.  Eating at Lord Grantham’s table night after night and listening to him dispense the wisdom that he has acquired from the stone tablets that he keeps in his study would not bring out the best in any of us.  Still, a political commentator once made the point that if one man pushes an old lady into the path of an oncoming bus, and another man pushes an old lady out of the way of an oncoming bus, it is not reasonable to say that they are both the same because, after all, they both push old ladies.  Tom’s equating the English execution of Charles I (1649) to the Soviet liquidation of the Romanov family is a similar equivalence.

One of the charges against Charles, read out at his trial in January 1649, was that he ”hath had a wicked design totally to subvert the ancient and fundamental laws and liberties of this nation, and in their place to introduce an arbitrary and tyrannical government . . . .”:  Among many other faults, Charles had failed to honor the commitments he had made in the Petition of Right in 1628.  The response of Parliament was a revolution in the form of a trial.  If we are comparing regicides, the means by which the indictment was wrung from Parliament would have won the full approval of Vladimir Lenin.  Cromwell could not get the House of Lords to approve the measure, so they were excluded.  Then, a majority of the Commons would not approve, so doubtful members were purged until his supporters formed a majority of the reduced number.  The methods might have been similar to those of the Bolsheviks, but the objective, the purpose behind the act (the reason for pushing the old lady), was to preserve and protect ancient rights and to avoid a tyranny.

The liquidation of the Czar and his family followed a very different pattern.  First of all, Nicholas abdicated in March 1917.  A “Provisional Government” had taken power in February 1917 and when it became clear that Nicholas no longer commanded the confidence of the nation, he abdicated.  The terms of his abdication also applied to his son.  He transferred the throne to his younger brother Michael, who effectively declined, stating that he would accept whatever position the government assigned to him.  The Bolsheviks took power through a violent overthrow of the Provisional Government in November 1917.  Michael died in prison in June 1918 and Nicholas and his family were shot in a basement in Ekaterinburg in July 1918.  In Doctor Zhivago when this news is reported, Zhivago’s father-in-law (a man similar to Robert Crawley in social standing and outlook, but with a more kindly disposition and a less mercurial temperament) asks “What’s it for?”  Zhivago answers that it’s to show that “there is no going back.”  But there was no going back at that point, not to Nicholas anyway.  And it could hardly be said that the Bolshevik’s purpose in eliminating a rival “family” was to preserve the “ancient and fundamental liberties” of the nation.

So, Tom, I realize that it is difficult to sit there while the old fellow rambles on about the latest outrage, but it doesn’t justify moral equivalence.  Not to this viewer, at least.

Now, what about these Russian refugees?  The Czar’s mother remained in Russia throughout the revolution and even after the execution of her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren.  She did not want to leave.  In 1919 she was living in the Crimea, in an area not controlled by the Bolsheviks, but under heavy pressure from advancing Red forces.  She was the sister of George V’s wife and the British royals were strongly interested in getting her out.  A British naval vessel evacuated her, numerous relations, and members of her household from Yalta in April 1919.  Many of these people made their way to Malta, as did numerous other destitute members of the Russian nobility, from where they eventually trans-shipped to Britain.  The British made some efforts to keep anyone out who had no financial support, but this was a difficult proposition to maintain to the face of a wartime ally.  During the years immediately after World War One, there would have been a steady flow of well-bred Russians into England.

I haven’t found anything to say, one way or the other, whether any of these people ended up in York so as to be there in time for the lovely Rose to minister to their needs, but there would have been significant numbers of them here and there.  By 1924 what resources they had would have been running out.  So, the presence of Russian refugees in the story is not a complete invention, which I confess was my first thought when hearing about them.

Two of the staff in Downton have seen the inside of a prison (well, three if you count Anna, but she was there visiting Bates).  Both experiences continue to figure in the story.  The Baxter story is being released in droplets, which is the way information is dispensed to family, staff, and audience on this show, but the pace of disclosure is becoming annoying.  There has to be more to Baxter’s tale than she is letting on and my plea to the writers is that they do one of two things.  Either let us, Mr. Molesley, Lady Cora, and the York Daily News know the whole story, or if they prefer, drop it and move on to something else.  Let’s wrap this one up as we all count the spoons.

The police have reopened the investigation into Mr. Green’s run-in with a bus.  An eyewitness has turned up, after some two years!  Whoever it is certainly took his or her time thinking it over before coming forward.  And the method chosen by the York police to advance their inquiry is to call down to the station at Downton Parma or Downton Halt or whatever the local village is called and have the constable talk to the butler at Downton Abbey!  I suppose the writers’ idea is to start small, let the story spread a bit each week.  Just, you know, for a change.  This one will be out in the open about the same time that Baxter’s tale is told in full.  I don’t see Mr. Bates going back to prison, although he and Anna may have to sweat it out for a few episodes.  Of course, if the actor who plays Mr. Bates has been annoying the writers, all bets are off.

Is it possible that Robert has engaged in a subtlety?  He tells Cora to tell Mr. Bricker to stop flirting with Isis!  Surely, Robert knows that Mr. Bricker has been flirting with Cora herself?  And did Mr. Bricker inveigle Mr. Blake into bringing him to the Abbey ostensibly to view the famous painting, when his real objective was Lady Cora?  Or did he come for the painting and stay for the lady?  Or, wheels within wheels, did Mr. Blake talk Mr. Bricker into visiting the Abbey to view the painting so that he, Blake, could see Mary and make his case to her again?  Intricate.

I noticed another small discrepancy involving Miss Bunting.  She is a friend and supporter of working people and hopes that the great experiment then unfolding in Soviet Russia will be a success.  Yet, when she is asked to provide math lessons to Daisy for the fee of half a crown, equal to one-eighth of a pound sterling, Bunting says she’ll do it for five shillings, one-quarter of a pound, twice what Mrs. Patmore was offering!  I truly hope I misheard, but I don’t think I did.  The cost of those lessons is going to take a bite out of the modest wages of a domestic servant.

At the end of Season Four, Mrs. Hughes took Mr. Carson by the hand and led him to the edge of the sea.  With that act, she ended Mr. Carson’s reign as the independent autocrat below Downton’s stairs.  He himself has been slow to realize this fact, but the decision about the war memorial has brought things into focus for him.  He will find it very easy to get along with Mrs. Hughes if he just learns to compromise and to be sure that she has her way in all things.

In the meantime, nothing terribly urgent is going on with Lord Gillingham and Mary, Mary and Mr. Blake, Lord Merton and Isobel, Isobel and Violet, Mr. and Mrs. Drew, Edith and Marigold (I called her Lucy last time, sorry) and the rest of the crew.  When something dramatic happens, there will be time to pick up the various threads that continue to trail behind all of these worthy characters.

The preview suggests that Violet has a Russian episode in her past.  I know we all look forward to hearing more about that!

I like to know where, historically, the story is supposed to be as it progresses.  Sometimes Mr. Fellowes will post the year at the start of an episode, but we opened Sunday with the standard shot of Isis’s . . . tail, which is no help.  We see that Edith’s child is about two and we saw her as an infant in 1922, so we are probably in 1924.  This date is nailed down definitively on our first visit downstairs, where the staff are excited that Ramsay MacDonald has become Prime Minister.  That happened in January 1924.  No doubt the British audience knows this in their bones and don’t need any further indications, but this information is not at the fingertips of most American viewers.  I looked it up.

Britain held a general election in each of the years 1922, 1923, and 1924.  I mentioned the 1922 election in an earlier post.  That election threw Lloyd George (Isobel’s “dear Lloyd George”) out of office and marked the beginning of the end of the Liberal party as a major electoral force.  The Tories won an absolute majority in 1922 but called a general election in late 1923 to seek electoral validation of their policies.  This turned out to be a blunder.  They lost their majority, although they were still the largest party.  The Tories were unable to form a coalition, and in January 1924 the King asked MacDonald to form a government.  He stayed in power until November of that year, when his coalition collapsed and the third election in three years brought the Conservatives back to power.

MacDonald was the first Labor Prime Minister, and most of the staff below stairs are impressed that he was the son of working people.  His father is described online as a crofter, which I understand meant that he was a tenant farmer.  His mother was a maid and was not married[1].  This is not the background from which the Crown had drawn its ministers, so his elevation must have been a dramatic event at the time.  Robert is upset that the head of the government aims to destroy the class to which Robert belongs, while the staff (apart from Carson, who is more royalist than the King) seem cheered that someone is in power who is likely to understand their troubles and their outlook.

So much for the historical context.  Jumping the story ahead by two years must have been a great convenience to the writers.  They avoided an entire round trip to Switzerland for Edith and Aunt Rosalind and the logistical nightmare of moving little Lucy (I may have the name wrong) back to England and to the friendly farm down the road with no one the wiser.  The show’s budget for costumes, props, and location must be out of control.  The additional cost of overtime for the writing crew could have spelled the difference between survival and ruin.  The whole child transfer went off so well that the only problems remaining are tangential – Edith is spending so much time on the farm to be near the child that the Missus is becoming worried that Edith is making a play for Tim, the man of the house.  There’s also the problem that Edith is tied up in knots over the loss of Michael Gregson and the might-have-been domestic life she could be sharing right now with him and their child.  So upset is she that she throws a book with his name on the fly-leaf into the fire, with nearly fatal results.  Let’s come back to those in a moment.

In an earlier note I complained that James (Jimmy to his friends) was inconsistent in his attitude toward travel abroad.  He came to Downton originally because his employer wanted to live in France for a while and he claimed not to like French food.  (This is a view that any sensible person would take who had access to the output of Mrs. Patmore’s kitchen.)  But when Robert took Thomas as his valet on the trip to America, James expressed the wish that he could go.  Turns out it wasn’t the food after all, and I owe Mr. Fellowes an apology.  James was trying to avoid the advances of his employer.  In this episode we located the outer boundary of his resistance.  And the overtime pay that was saved on the writers was available to compensate Jimmy for his work after hours.

And in those overtime efforts, he was ably assisted by Thomas Barrow, who has sublimated his attraction to Jimmy in a very surprising manner.  It isn’t every frustrated lover who is willing to stand guard in the hallway while the object of his attraction is consorting with the competition.  It’s very generous of Thomas to decide that if he can’t have an illicit affair with Jimmy, he will facilitate Jimmy’s illicit affair with someone else.

Barrow’s altruism is part of a very pretty piece of plotting.  While Barrow is standing guard, just down the hall, Edith has thrown Mr. Gregson’s book into the fire.  I didn’t realize it until it was pointed out to me (by someone who had had it pointed out to her) that it was the force of that thrown book that dislodged a burning log that in turn set Edith’s room ablaze.  If Thomas hadn’t been in the gallery standing guard, Edith would have died in the flames.  But, because Thomas was there, he was able to save Edith and to raise the hue and cry that brought Lord Grantham to the front line to fight the fire.  But Lord Grantham not only organized the initial response to the fire.  He also threw open the doors to the rooms of his sleeping family and guests including dear Lady Anstruther, who had her own private fire going when Lord Grantham broke in to announce the one he was interested in.

It was wonderful that the local volunteer fire department was able to control the blaze.  But how many houses in the vicinity have burned to their foundations while these good yeomen put on their uniforms, complete with bronze helmets?  Never one to let a good plot twist go to waste, Mr. Fellowes is able to use a quiet post-fire moment to allow Tim, the local farmer, pig man, and foster parent, who of course leads the volunteer fire brigade in addition to his numerous other local responsibilities, to have a quiet word with Edith about her child.  In stories of this kind farmers are fonts of great wisdom, but only those who have been at it for a long time, such as Mr. Mason (Daisy’s father-in-law) or Edith’s man, can boil their wisdom down to plain spoken Proverb-like morsels.  He tells Edith “We must find a way for you to live the truth without telling the truth.”  That is very nicely put, the English language at its plain and simple best.  The previews tell us that the next episode will reveal how this wisdom is to be put into action.

Note, meanwhile, that before Edith threw the book into the fire, she removed the picture of her child and placed it under her pillow.  Do you think, gentle reader, that the photo was consumed in the flames, or did it somehow survive the fiery furnace that had been Edith’s room on that cold night?

I continue to focus on plot elements that don’t appear to make sense.  For example, Lord Gillingham is back competing for Mary’s hand.  When we last saw him, he was going to marry the heiress of the year.  That was after telling Mary to take her time, and then telling her in the next episode that he needed an answer right away.  The answer was No, he went away, and now he’s back without further explanation.  And Mr. Blake?  Things were going splendidly between him and Mary and now she is prepared to take batting practice with Lord Gillingham without a thought for Mr. B.  Would it be asking too much to just give the audience an explanation?

Or take the Baxter-Barrow-Cora situation.  Baxter confesses her past sin to Cora in order to pre-empt Barrow, whose frustration with the maid’s failure to report gossip does not result in the sublimated altruism that characterizes his relationship with James.  Baxter gets the classic Barrow treatment: browbeating, threats, and revenge.  Baxter’s confession to Cora is incomplete.  She never tells why she stole the bracelets, what she did with them, or why she didn’t return them.  Cora is very kind to consider keeping Baxter on, but is it really believable that someone in Cora’s position, the owner of a considerable amount of valuable jewelry, would consider keeping Baxter on without knowing the entire story?  Why is Cora willing to accept such an incomplete account?  And just because Cora is willing to accept a half-cocked story, why does the audience have to suffer?  How about a little more consideration for the viewers?

As a final incongruity, let’s consider the behavior of one Sarah Bunting.  She receives an invitation to dinner and goes to great pains to make sure that the invitation comes with the blessing of her host.  She is led to believe that it does, when in fact Cora has given her approval without any great enthusiasm and Robert was not consulted.  He would have preferred to have her tied to a stake in the village square.  However, Sarah has demonstrated a concern for proper decorum.  She arrives as a guest and Robert makes the minimal effort required by his code to be civil.  But Miss Bunting, so concerned with the proprieties prior to her arrival, becomes a boor once she is inside.  She insults a guest and then, at dinner, goes out of her way to embarrass her host about the chairmanship of the memorial committee.  Fortunately, Carson is able to save the day, but that doesn’t excuse Miss Bunting’s lack of courtesy.  I think Tom may have to reconsider.  Again, I think the audience deserves an explanation for this hairpin turn in the matter of manners.

There was so much else going on – Violet and her merry war with Isobel; Daisy and her difficulties with math; Mary’s growing confidence managing the estate; the poor Doctor’s inability to obtain tea or cake from Violet’s butler.  And let us acknowledge the continuing absence of Mr. Gregson, sorely missed by Edith, and Mr. Napier, who may yet return to say a few words.

Perhaps these worthy gentlemen will play a part in next week’s episode.

Until then.

[1] And yet the expression “He may be a bastard, but he’s our bastard” originated in America.

Is there a food more delicious, more enjoyable than grilled steak?  One of the joys of steak is that the complex, robust flavors are the result of a cooking method so primal, so simple.

To say that something is simple is not to say that it is easy.  So it is with steak.  There is nothing complicated about cooking a perfect steak, but it isn’t easy.  At least it isn’t easy to find one.  In the last few years, I have had what I considered perfectly cooked steaks in three places: Canlis Restaurant (Seattle), the Buenos Aires Grill (Seattle), my house.

Why has such a simple thing become so difficult?

I have eaten steaks at national chains and local chains, neighborhood restaurants and downtown restaurants.  The results are always disappointing, except for the places I mentioned.

One national chain puts so much pepper on their steaks, you taste nothing but pepper.  Many classically trained chefs do the same.  I cannot think why they do it.  You can’t taste the meat, you can’t taste the wine, you might as well be eating chili.  Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, naturally, but my opinion is that the flavor of black pepper and the flavor of grilled rare beef do not combine to the advantage of either.

I have been served steak at a heavily advertised, locally well-known chain.  The poor innocent steak had an exterior that had become carbon.  This is a place where the waiter comes by to shine a flashlight on the nice dark pink interior of the steak, but it’s the charred exterior that renders the steak inedible.

I went to a grilling class south of Seattle where the instructors, supposedly famous for their art, showed us how to grill four different types of steak, none of which would have been worthy of an Applebee’s.

I have eaten too many ruined steaks and most of the ones that were ruined suffered from over-complication.

I eat a steak perhaps once a month, maybe every six weeks.  I want the experience to be memorable.  I no longer take my chances on a steakhouse or a restaurant, outside of the two I mentioned.  Here’s what I do.

First, I buy only U.S. prime beef.  You can get prime tenderloin steaks at Costco for the price of supermarket choice steaks.  If you find the price is too high, buy the package anyway and just eat the steaks less often, every two months, say, instead of every month.  They come in a pack of four.  Grill one now and freeze the rest.

Another option, buy Costco prime sirloin steaks.  They also come in a package of four and are an outrageously good value for money.

Second, I bring the steaks to nearly room temperature.  If your steak is frozen, transfer it to the refrigerator at least 36 hours before meal time.  48 would be better.  Two hours before meal time, take the steak out of the refrigerator.  Take out a dinner plate and put a cooling rack on it.  Pat the steak dry with paper towels.  Put the steak on the rack.  Sprinkle it with Kosher salt.  Don’t use any other kind of salt.  The salt should mostly cover the surface of the steak, like snow that is just beginning to stick to pavement.  Rub it in gently so it adheres.  Turn the steak over and do the same on the other side.

Now leave the steak alone.  Don’t touch it again until you put it on the grill.  Notice, please, no marinades, no rubs, no pepper, no seasoning or spice of any kind.  Just a generous sprinkling of Kosher salt.

I use a gas grill.  If you are a charcoal purist, you probably have not read this far anyway.  I turn the grill on to high about 25 to 30 minutes before cooking starts.  I want the grill to be as hot as I can get it.  After perhaps 15 minutes, I lubricate the grill with oil.  I use peanut oil, but I doubt that the type of oil matters.  Before Christmas 2014, I put the oil in a bowl, folded two paper towels up to form a wad, and used tongs to dip the wad into the oil.  Then I gently rubbed the grill.  The problem is, if you rub too hard, the paper towel will shred, which does not advance our cause.  For Christmas, my daughter Amy gave me a little grill mop that can be dipped in a bowl of oil so that the grill can be lubricated without bothering with paper towels.  This is a great idea.

A tenderloin steak, 1-3/4 inches thick that has been treated this way can be put on the grill for 3-1/2 minutes a side for very rare, 4-1/2 minutes a side for medium rare.  If you want pretty grill marks (and who doesn’t) put the steak on the grill at a 45 degree angle, with the ends pointing northeast and southwest.  Divide the cooking time for the first side of the steak in half.  At the half-way point, turn the steak 90 degrees so the ends are pointing northwest and southeast.  You’ll get lovely diamond shaped grill marks.  No need to repeat this for the second side, because no one is going to see that side.

When the steak comes off the grill, put it on a cutting board and leave it alone for five minutes.  Do not touch it, do not cut into it.  After five minutes, admire the steak, make sure your fellow diners admire the steak, then slice it.  Cut against the grain, at about a 30 degree angle to the cutting board, cutting slices perhaps 3/8 of an inch thick.  The slices make a better presentation on the plate than one big slab of meat, no matter how perfectly it has been cooked.

What about accompaniments, you ask?  I have two ideas involving mushrooms.  The first is very simple.  Roughly dice an onion and cook it in some olive oil on low heat until the onions are very brown, perhaps 45 minutes.  Then add a tablespoon or more of butter and a half pound of sliced mushrooms.  Increase the heat slightly and cook until the mushrooms are fully softened, perhaps ten minutes more.  This can be held over very low heat until the steak is ready, as long as you stir it now and again.

A second idea requires that you have beef stock available.  Sauté one-half pound of sliced mushrooms in 1-1/2 tablespoons of olive oil and 1-1/2 tablespoons of butter over medium heat.  You want to get these guys fairly brown.  Julia Child’s technique works perfectly.  Set aside.  In a separate saucepan, melt 1Tb of butter.  After it is done foaming, add 1 Tb of flour (I often add 1tsp more).  Make a nice dark roux.  Add a cup of stock, but have more available to keep thinning the sauce as it cooks.  You want to end up with a moderately thick sauce.  Five minutes before serving time (while the steak is resting) add the mushrooms and stir the whole lovely thing together.

Either of these would make a nice side dish.  I have not gone into timing, but I’ll note that if you are going to make one of these mushroom side dishes, you need to start while the steak is coming to room temperature.

Also, in the produce area of the supermarket, I have seen stalks, stems, roots, leaves and the like in various colors.  I understand that the people who eat them call them vegetables.  I suppose you could try one of those.