This is not high-stakes emotional drama. Lucy and her irksome cuteness faces malign voices and deliberate calculation. Footmen are gloriously horrible. Lucy is imponderably stupid. This ep is unimprovable. Margaret and co face public contempt and the most hysterical of ideological fervour. The Baronet’s wife resists interaction with Charlotte who invites odium openly.
Margaret is scornful and mud-slinging in the face of Lydia’s instinctive villainy. This was impalusible. Will puts up with it all. Lucy is culpably ignorant. Harriet faces the inescapable difference between herself and her dead not-husband.
“The wickedest harpy.”
“The impertinent gargoyle.”
“The tits come to the lard.”
“You nipping crab.”
“She feasts like a rat on a corpse pile.”
“The fleet ditch.”
Benjamin the son of the dead man is a patently lying prat who makes ugly insinuations. There are unnecessary insinuations. How can Margaret afford to throw a party and a wake and go to the opera if she can’t pay the rent? Lydia is awful to the religious nut who has a secret. The nutter’s daughter Amelia broods. Lydia’s son Charlie is thick. Who is Charlie’s father? Who are the fathers of Charlotte and Emily? Who is Amelia’s father? Were they all fathered by punters?
Charlotte hates the Baronet. Vi befriends Amelia. Betsey is the street trash who is fancied by a magistrate. Harriet is desperate. A creepy Lord creeps. Lydia is vile and Charlotte unwisely shags Haxby. No to this.
“Knowledge is security.”
“How deliciously vulgar.”
“Cursed to have such a mother.”
“Why were you the one I choose to keep?”
“Allow me my metaphors.”
This had a conventional plot with no painful contemporary themes. This had no playful observations. Sense doesn’t feature in great abundance. Riggs is burdensome, contentious, relentless and denigrating. His unaccustomed frankness act and ain’t no grave can hold my body down vibe and knowingness does not make him disturbingly insightful. This was not heartfelt.
“I’ve never seen drugs in this house.”
“Your house is illegally parked.”