Our scene opens with Daisy, flitting about happily and slipping Alfred some hot buttered toast in hopes of putting a smile on our poor Gloomy Ging’s face. Daisy is thrilled that Alfred didn't land the Ritz gig and will be staying at Downton, especially since Jimmy is putting the moves on Ivy hot and heavy now. To quote a wise American philosopher: “Default. The two greatest words in the English language.” Daisy figures that, given enough time (and, apparently, toast,) Alfred will come around and eventually settle for her. Hey, nothing is more romantic than being reminded that he “settled” for you every time your anniversary rolls around.

But not so fast Daisy! Alfred gets a timely letter—one of the individuals selected for the Ritz program has dropped out, and now Alfred is in. Why, it’s true—sometimes the first runner-up really does get to be Miss America! Alfred dons his sash and his tiara (fabulous!) and gives a touching “thank you” speech to the family where he calls Carson a “kind and generous” teacher. Damn, SuperGing, I think he might have wrung an emotion out of Carson’ face!

Ivy is happy for Alfred to leave because Jimmy is taking her to see a Rudolph Valentino movie. We learn that Valentino gives Mrs. Patmore “the shivers”. On the way home from the picture, Jimmy and Ivy stop to sit on a bench to admire the moon. Ivy's down with a smooch or two, but fast Jimmy wants to inspect her uvula from the inside out. He also gets a bit handsy and “up-the-skirty” and Ivy puts a quick end to all that. Suddenly Jimmy’s fabulous hair and “devil-may-care” attitude melt away and Ivy realizes that he’s just a douchebag. She storms off and gets consoled by Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes, who have each before tangled with the cad that is man (suddenly imagining either of them tangling with a man confirms my homosexuality big time.) Ivy realizes that maybe Alfred was the better man all along and this causes Daisy to blow her biscuits and holler at Ivy that if she had been nicer to Alfred from the get-go, maybe he would not have left Downton. Of course, if Ivy was seeing Alfred then Daisy would never get a chance to be with him. Confusing much? I guess this is the same logic that causes tween girls to “heart” little twerps like Justin Bieber. To the rest of us, it will never make sense.

Alfred proffers Daisy a poignant good-bye, and she sincerely wishes him well. Then SuperGing strolls out the door and out of our lives. We’ll miss you, Alfred; now go find a television show where you have to walk around in your underwear. A lot.

Elsewhere downstairs, Anna and Bates decide to try forget the horror of recent events—if only for one night—and go on a fancy date for dinner at a nearby hotel. At first the maitre’ d acts quite standoffish, believing that Anna’s simple dress and Bates’ surly demeanor do not meet the standards of the “very, very important” guest who is dining in the hotel that evening. Of course, that “very important” guest turns out to be Lady Grantham, who greets Anna and Bates warmly while rubbing the maitre d’s face into her perfectly appointed footwear. I love it when she does that. Still, Anna finds it hard to have a good time, and Bates, as he explains, is a natural born “brooder.” I’m surprised to learn that Bates can lay eggs, but that may explain why he needs a cane to walk.

Sad sack Molesley has learned that Alfred is leaving Downton again, and goes to see Carson—again—about getting a job at Downton—again. Carson, however, feeling that Molesley did not show enough “gratitude” over his minimum-wage job offer (seriously, Carson, how much more Republican can you get?) enjoys watching him twist in the wind before turning him down. Molesley wisely obtains Mrs. Hughes’ help, knowing that Mrs. H. can get anything done, and Carson finally relents and the saddest sack in town is back working at the Abbey.

Baxter is still acting as Thomas’ eyes and ears around Downton. She doesn’t like spying for him because Lady Grantham is generally a good employer, but she does it because of whatever secret Thomas is holding over her. Dear Julian Fellowes: I am not interested in this plot line. Not one smidge. I am more interested in Thomas having a torrid affair with an undergardener named Scudder who lives two manors over. Please get to work on that ASAP. Oh, and in case you are unsure what that acronym means here across the pond, ASAP stands for “before we gays stop watching your show.” Because let me tell you, if we stop watching it, and it doesn’t have country music or tractor pulls or guys with long beards that probably contain live waterfowl, it ceases to exist (isn’t that right, American Idol?)

By the way, does anyone else realize that Thomas has not had sex in ten years? The show opened in 1912 and Thomas’ affair with the Duke of Whatever had soured (“Summer lovin’, had me a blast, / Summer lovin’, You’re not the right class,”) and it is now 1922 and the closest Thomas has come to actual sexual relations with another man is getting shot in his masturbation hand and/or punched and kicked repeatedly in the stomach. I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly getting any tingles from that action. At least this explains why he is so surly all the time.

Things are not much better upstairs. A letter arrives noting that Lady Grantham’s brother Harold is in some serious hot water over some deal with a Senator. I didn’t quite get all the details, but apparently it involves closing bridge traffic during peak times and making tourism commercials that starred himself. Edith frets because she’s not getting any mail at all. Michael Gregson has apparently disappeared; his newspaper has even dispatched a detective over to Munich to find him. Well, maybe it’s just Oktoberfest and he’s been passed out on a friend’s couch for the past two weeks.

Edith does get one letter, from the doctor, and it confirms here worst fears...

For the time being she keeps this news to herself.

As for sister Mary, this week she has a new adversary to play with: Charles Blake. Evelyn Napier returns to Downton with his “boss” Blake in tow, and it turns out Blake has no interest in helping the local manors put things to right at all. Downton can drop dead, for all he cares. Wow, that’s the first thing I say when someone invites me into their home-- that I don’t care about their future at all. After that I usually tell them that their drapes are hideous, and their kids are fat.

Blake, it appears, does not care much for titled people—then why did he agree to stay with them? And he thinks Mary is not only titled but entitled, which, in his mind, is the worst combination of all. (I disagree: titled and incontinent sounds lie a worse combo to me. Because nobody wants Duchess PuddlePants sitting on their nice furniture.) Mary feels reciprocal disdain for Blake, and the two spar over dinner. Oh, goody, the “first they hate each other and then they love each other” gambit. Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. Yeah, I liked that the story the first time I heard it, when it was called Gilgamesh. (Which is the oldest piece of literature ever. That’s why that’s funny. Go look it up. I can’t do all the work for you…)

My favorite plotline for this episode was surely “The Case of the Doubtful Dowager Countess,” or “Cousin Isobel, Girl Detective.” Turns out that one of the DC’s valuable little Japanese geegaws has gone missing, and she blames Pegg, so she sacks his little behind. Cousin Isobel is outraged and Dr. Clarkson does his best to referee:

Cousin Isobel: “How you hate to be wrong.”

Dowager Countess: “I wouldn’t know. I’m not familiar with the sensation.”

The little Japanese knickknack turns up, but the paper knife is still missing. The DC digs in her heels about Pegg, so Isobel sneaks into her house and, applying a clever ruse (very Miss Marple,) gains access to the drawing room. And guess what? She finds the paper knife under a seat cushion. She leaves triumphant, expecting that the DC must now enjoy a tasty dish of crow. But, in her own estimable way, the DC not only hires Pegg back on the spot and apologizes more sincerely, she manages to make Isobel look like a sputtering goofball in the process and thus, as Dr. Clarkson notes, “Game, set, and match to Lady Grantham.” Ahh, the British: only they can manage to create triumph out of disaster (for reference, see Maldon, Dunkirk, the entire Thatcher prime ministry, and the last two seasons of Are You Being Served?).

Branson is still in the midst of his identity crisis (geez, his marriage to Sybil didn’t last this long) but at least we finally get to the root of it: girls. Branson tells Isobel that he can’t imagine another Earl’s daughter would ever choose him, nor does he imagine he can bring an Irish working girl to Downton. At least now we know what this is all about: getting laid not spending his life alone falling in love getting laid. The future he worries about is his love life. Aww, that’s so sweet, but seriously, Branny—can I call you Branny? No?—seriously, Branson, if it is a love life you want, there are at least a half dozen Backlot.com members more than willing to pitch in.

But the big storyline involves Lord Grantham’s not-so-surprise birthday party and Cousin Rose’s gift—a jazz band. Rose trucks in Jack Ross and his band from the Lotus Club, and the general reaction downstairs ranges from mild excitement to utter annoyance—that is, until Mr. Ross appears in the flesh—flesh that, to Carson and everyone else’s shock, is a little darker than expected. Carson even asks him, “Have you never thought of going to Africa?,” a question that I could only respond to with a spit take combined of Swiss Miss and Mountain Dew. Still, after everyone’s initial shock, it seems to go okay. The DC even tells a naysaying Edith to “Let your time in London rub off on you a little more.” (Yeah, I think the rubbing she is doing in London is why she has to keep visiting the doctor, but that’s a whole different matter.) Lord Grantham ends up having a good time and suggests to Mary that she tell Mr. Ross that he will foot the bill for the evening, to spare Cousin Rose the expense. Yet when Mary descends to share this news, she catches Jack and Rose embracing and kissing.

Oh, my! Scandals seem ready to erupt all over the place, and this one is not going to be solved with a pot of tea. At this rate, Branson should stay at Downton because he’ll be the only Crawley girl Lord Grantham likes anymore! What will Mary say to Rose? What will Rose do with Jack? What will Edith do about Michael? What will Mary do about Blake? What can I use to get red wine out of shantung silk? Maybe we’ll find out next week!