Drama unfurls! Action electrifies! Gowns of breathtaking splendor! It's as if 'The Gilded Age' has arrived in all its glory with this captivating episode. The narrative bursts with events, diverging from mundane stocks and aldermen to enthralling tales, such as the unwelcome sight of a naked lady's maid in one's bed.
Before the premiere, I encountered some misguided opinions claiming that Julian Fellowes introduced a Black lead character merely for the sake of "wokeness." Such assertions insult Denée Benton and are starkly contradicted by this vastly improved episode. Here, Marian makes a series of thoughtless, at times racist, decisions that adversely affect her friend Peggy, despite her benevolent intentions.
After Peggy declines the 'Christian Advocate's' offer to publish her story anonymously, she reveals an appointment with T. Thomas Fortune at 'The New York Globe,' a prominent Black newspaper. Marian, offering congratulations, promptly suggests they visit Bloomingdale Brothers. She disregards Peggy's hesitation, seemingly oblivious to why Peggy might feel uneasy in such a retail setting. Marian's concerns do not extend this far!
The notoriously infamous Mrs. Chamberlain is present at Bloomingdale's. While Marian engages her in conversation, the store manager casts a stern gaze at Peggy. Oblivious to this, Mrs. Chamberlain kindly beckons Peggy to include her in their group. The manager's glares persist, prompting Peggy to practically usher Marian out the door. Take the hint, Marian!
At the Russells', Bertha dismisses Gladys's governess for failing to fulfill her duties adequately. Specifically, she allowed Gladys to meet Mr. Baldwin, the gentleman she mentioned earlier. Worse still, she permitted the encounter to take place at a hotel, which is utterly astonishing. I, too, would terminate her employment. Bertha strives to wedge her way into society, yet these actions hinder Gladys's future. My sympathy for Bertha wanes slightly as she dismisses Mr. Morris's suicide as a sign of weakness. Not a commendable attitude, Bertha.
George Russell strikes a deal with Charles Fane, wherein Aurora Fane aids in integrating Bertha into society. Admittedly, I'm not particularly fond of George Russell or the actor portraying him. However, he truly shines in this episode. I feared he might descend into the cliché of a powerful man who takes what he wants. Instead, he genuinely seems to love and respect Bertha. This is commendable. Does this involve the aforementioned naked lady's maid? Indeed, and we shall delve into that soon enough.
I wish I possessed a deeper understanding of fashion! For those versed in its intricacies, please accept my apologies, as my notes on the dresses barely scratch the surface, consisting of remarks like "Ada is adorned in a vibrant turquoise frock that exudes fun" and "Bertha sports a captivating bird-print dress adorned with feathers on the shoulders — a true 'Bird Dress' masterpiece." Perhaps you fine folks will create TikTok videos dissecting the historical accuracy of these gowns and explaining their various elements; I shall eagerly await those, albeit solely through the kindness of my wife's screen, as I am not an active TikTok user. To my untrained eye, these dresses are both daring and delightful.
This week, the van Rhijn and Russell families are united by the antics of Pumpkin the dog. While Bannister, the van Rhijns' butler, is walking Pumpkin, a moment of distraction leads to Pumpkin slipping free from his leash. Ada is beside herself with worry, to which Agnes responds with her usual pragmatism, reminding her that living in a fantasy world won't help. Thankfully, Pumpkin is rescued by one of the Russells' servants, and Bertha promptly sends a note informing the van Rhijns of his whereabouts. I had momentarily feared she might hold Pumpkin hostage, but in a manner of speaking, she has, for she insists they come retrieve him. Agnes promptly forbids Marian or Ada from making the journey and dispatches Bannister instead.
Bannister's tour of the Russells' mansion is precisely what I have been craving from this series. When it comes to Fellowes's expertise, I trust him implicitly on matters such as the embarrassment of chicken soup at luncheon and the proper timing of the fruit knife's arrival with the fruit plate. Thank heavens for this delightful interlude, which reminded me fondly of the classic Onion article, "U.S. Gives Up Trying to Impress England." Mr. Church, the Russells' butler, is thrown off balance by Bannister's visit, wondering if Mrs. Astor might also deem colored glasses tacky.
Peggy's meeting at The Globe proves far more successful than her encounter at The Advocate. Upon arrival, she is immediately immersed in the printing process, tasked with turning the wheel of the press by none other than Mr. T. Thomas Fortune, who promptly smudges ink on her fingers. It is a charming meet-cute, provided the show takes liberties with history and ensures he is not currently married. He expresses interest in publishing one of Peggy's stories and challenges her to pen 200 words on political affiliation without voting rights, prompted by her inquiry about aligning with a political party when she lacks the right to vote. Go forth and build your career, Peggy!
Amidst the Russell household's downstairs staff, Miss Turner finds herself drowning in day-to-day chores, contemplating a life seemingly devoid of purpose. For those unacquainted with her narrative thus far, it's due to my deliberate avoidance until this pivotal juncture. From the outset, her intentions were as transparent as glass: "I shall endeavor to seduce Mr. Russell," a resolution she's subtly hinted at ever since, yet remains perpetually on the brink of failure.
Now arrives her fateful, doomed attempt. Stepping into George's chamber (where he and Bertha maintain separate sanctuaries), Miss Turner strips herself bare, rousing him from slumber. His astonishment is palpable, yet one might momentarily entertain the notion that her plea—a heartfelt declaration of dedication while his spouse focuses on social climbing—might resonate. Alas, her argument crumbles beneath the simple yet profound truth George reveals: his unwavering love for Bertha. Despite the lenient benchmarks for men in such matters, I find myself perpetually amazed by such sentiments.
George instructs Miss Turner to re-clothe herself and retreat to her quarters. One wonders why she isn't summarily dismissed. The answer lies in Bertha's reliance on her guidance navigating society's elite, a resource George hesitates to deprive her of. Oh, George, how your prudence begs caution! I fervently hope his resolve does not waver, lest he succumb to a fleeting whim, for that would be a decided anticlimax following such a dramatic scene.
Turning our gaze to Bertha, she finds herself sipping coffee with Aurora Fane, who eagerly proposes an introduction to Ward McAllister—the very man who coined the term "The Four Hundred" and counted Mrs. Astor among his closest confidants. Garnering his favor seems a strategic move indeed. Aurora's description of McAllister as Mrs. Astor's amanuensis adds a touch of Victorian elegance, a word seldom encountered outside the confines of literary classics and pretentious tomes. Aurora further extends invitations to a concert at the Academy of Music, to which Marian has also been invited.
Elsewhere, Marian's chance encounter with Mrs. Chamberlain while shopping leads to the latter gifting her a carved box, which Ada insists Marian return forthwith. This episode grants us a glimpse inside Mrs. Chamberlain's abode, a veritable trove of artistic treasures, including a Degas casually displayed on an easel. There may also lurk a Monet, though my art historical knowledge stems solely from completed jigsaw puzzles.
Back at the van Rhijns', Oscar unearths further details about Mrs. Chamberlain's somewhat checkered past. She cohabited with Mr. Chamberlain following the demise of his wife, during which time they conceived a son. Alas, the tale ends there, leaving a lingering sense of unsatisfied curiosity. Recall the drama of "Selling Sunset," where Jason and Mary hosted a canine birthday bash, only to be disrupted by Christine's uninvited presence, prompting Mary's tantrum? Such moments of unscripted drama are occasionally missed in these more staid narratives.
But set aside that minor detour, for the triumphant return of Audra McDonald steals the spotlight. Peggy ventures back home to celebrate her mother's birthday, where her parents reside in a magnificent Brooklyn abode adorned with stunning stained-glass windows in the dining room. The household is attended by a maid and exudes an air of sophistication. Peggy's father, the pharmacist with whom she shares a strained relationship, harbors aspirations of bequeathing his pharmacy to her. His lack of support becomes glaringly apparent when Mrs. Scott raises a toast to Peggy's achievement of selling her work to the Globe, only for her father to dismiss it as a futile endeavor. Hardly encouraging, Father! Peggy is in her prime, navigating her twenties, a pivotal time for sorting life out.
Enter the scene uninvited: Marian. Was she expected? A resounding no. For what feels like an eternity, she stands frozen in the entrance, her eyes wide with astonishment at the affluence of Peggy's family. It's a cringe-worthy moment akin to a scene from "The Office," especially considering what unfolds next.
Mrs. Scott, ever the empathetic soul, directs Marian to the parlor. Mr. Scott, less charitable, demands to know the reason for her unannounced visit. A valid inquiry, indeed, Sir! Marian clutches a bulky carpetbag, and when inquired about its contents, she hesitates, reluctantly revealing its secret – old shoes. The withering gaze Audra McDonald bestows upon her is nothing short of mortifying.
Peggy, who has no obligation to intervene, steps in to salvage Marian's tattered dignity by suggesting she brought the shoes, pondering if the Scotts knew of a charity in need. Mr. Scott, ever practical, reminds her of Manhattan's abundance of charitable organizations. Exasperated by her father's dismissive attitude towards her writing, Peggy exits with Marian, but not before delivering a stern reprimand for her thoughtless actions. Marian attempts to justify her random appearance by invoking the hospitality her aunts extended to Peggy, to which Peggy rightfully counters that she works there and Marian should abandon any illusions of friendship. Well played, Peggy!
The narrative softens its stance towards Marian towards the episode's close, as she joins Aurora and Bertha at a symphony concert at the Academy of Music. Tom Raikes makes an appearance, flirting shamelessly with Marian, while Bertha casts a dark prophecy about Tom's challenges in maintaining social standing without wealth. My curiosity piqued, I Shazam'd the closing melody, enchanted by its beauty. We conclude on a note of musical grandeur with John Knowles Paine's Symphony No. 2 in A major, opus 34, "In the Spring," leaving us eagerly anticipating the myriad plot twists awaiting us next week!
