We open with a glimpse into the pages of Cassell & Co.'s publications. My thirst for literature knows no bounds; I crave books, yearn for them. In a move befitting Truman Capote himself, Ward McAllister, Mrs. Astor's loyal companion, has penned a tell-all about New York's high society in his book, "Society As I Have Found It." The elite are less than pleased. Mamie Fish seethes with rage. Bertha Russell is aghast. When Mrs. Astor's daughter, Charlotte, inquires about the source of her mother's distress, Mrs. Astor simply replies, "Everything." Perhaps Ward harbors a self-destructive streak; who can say? Nevertheless, the matrons of society convene at the van Rhijn residence (or has it transformed into the Forte abode?) and decide to ostracize him. The fateful tea party where this decision was made lingers in memory. Might it still be permissible to weave "Hamilton" references into conversations in 2025, or have we reached saturation point? Regardless, the scenario unfolds. If Mrs. Astor were the epitome of cool, she might exclaim, "Refer to me ambiguously in your book one more time!"
Has anyone else overlooked the tragic accident that claimed John Adams' life beneath the wheels of a horse-drawn cart, overshadowed by the focus on this gossipy tome? For far too long, we heard naught of it! Then, suddenly, we learn of John's untimely demise?? The show callously dispatched half of its LGBTQ+ characters?? BOOOOOOO. BOOOOOOOOOO. Indeed, let us not heap more sorrow upon the shoulders of the LGBTQ+ community in 2025. This series boasts 31 recurring characters, of which a mere 6 percent identify as gay. Hence, 94 percent are heterosexual. Could we not have orchestrated dramatic tension without victimizing one of them? Nay, we must exploit Oscar for the sake of trauma porn. BOOOOOOOOOOOOO. For those unacquainted with the "bury your gays" cliché from last week, here it is in all its lazy glory. The perpetrator of this subplot ought to be ashamed.
Oscar sinks into a depression following John's death. Kate Baldwin, John's sister, steps in to offer Oscar John's summer home in upstate New York, along with a heartfelt letter from her brother, stating, "The happiness he knew was because of you." Oscar returns home, unleashing his grief upon Agnes, lambasting her for his exclusion from John's funeral, where he sat like a stranger at the rear of the church rather than occupying his rightful place. Agnes is taken aback, prompting Ada and Marian to intervene on his behalf. Later, Marian visits Oscar in his room, extending a simple yet profound gesture of support: "Hi, I know you're gay, and I stand by you." Oscar finds solace in her words. Let us now leave this sorrowful thread behind.
Despite Bertha's literal voyage to England to rectify matters, as she had vowed, and her subsequent return, George continues to reside at the club. He returns home to retrieve some papers, and Bertha informs him of Ward McAllister's book, emphasizing their less-than-flattering portrayal and the importance of presenting a united front at the Astor ball in Newport (I do admire such declarative statements). George exudes a sense of "How can you fail to see my current crisis?"—truly distressing. Yet, he reveals precious little of his inner turmoil to her. He vaguely mentions their dire financial woes before escorting Bertha out of his office. Alas, it seems unlikely that their love will ignite in passionate encounters this season. My friend suggests there's still a chance for angry sex, but I remain skeptical. Indeed, I am unsure.
Mrs. Astor breaks the news to Bertha that she intends to scrub the Newport ball from her social calendar, a notion that Bertha clearly finds preposterous. However, Mrs. Astor faces a dilemma: if she proceeds with the ball, she must extend an invitation to her daughter Charlotte, who is still entangled in the throes of her divorce. Just as it seems Bertha might grapple with finding a solution, Mrs. Astor gracefully offers a twist—asking Bertha to take the reigns and host it instead. How convenient! This turn of events unfolds after Ward McAllister, unceremoniously denied entry, bursts into Mrs. Astor's residence proclaiming his unassailable position in society. His bold assertion falls flat, prompting him to remind her of their early encounters when she was but a melancholic heiress whose spouse preferred the company of yacht-bound showgirls to hers. Wasn't he supposed to be a maestro of conversation, one wonders? His subsequent visit to Bertha is met with a curt refusal; everyone loathes him, she declares, making his attendance at the Newport ball a non-starter.
George's precarious finances momentarily cast a shadow over Gladys's impending nuptials. He informs Hector that he must postpone, if not entirely forego, that month's payment. Hector reassuringly dismisses the monetary concern but emphasizes Gladys's importance, a sentiment oddly endearing. Meanwhile, the England plotline, my current favorite, is under-served this week, compounded by Hector and Gladys's Newport ball invitation sans Sarah. Who will now fill the void with her eerie, piercing stares? Furthermore, Hector urges Sarah to establish her own abode in London, leaving me to visualize a cartoonish Mrs. Danvers lurking in every nook and cranny of the estate. Justice for Sarah, perhaps, lies in her relocation—a prospect that promises further intriguing twists in her storyline.
Amidst the Russell household's tumult, Church and his two accomplices, whose names escape me but are portrayed by the musical-theater treasures Douglas Sills and Celia Keenan-Bolger, endeavor to uncover the gossip-mongering spy. Last week, I confidently suspected Bertha, inspired by the real-life antics of Alva Vanderbilt. However, I was mistaken! The culprit was none other than Bertha's maid, André. Church orchestrates a clever trap, and André unwittingly walks right into it, confessing she earns $40 for each newspaper tip. Church's judgment seems harsh until I convert that sum; $40 in the 1880s equates to approximately $1,300 today, hardly a sum deserving scorn, Church!
Peggy assists Frances Ellen Watkins Harper in preparing for an American Woman Suffrage Association (AWSA) event, hosted by Ada and Agnes. Post-event, Ada and Agnes engage in discourse with Harper, followed by Agnes being approached by Mrs. Foster, played by the estimable Kathy Geiss (Marceline Hugot), whose relentless letter-writing campaign about the New York Heritage Society (or perhaps it's the Heritage Society of New York—details elude me) has garnered her attention. Clearly, some drama involving Agnes, Oscar, and Livingston Manor brews on the horizon, but for now, we press on. Peggy and William's blossoming romance hits a speed bump when William's mother's friend reveals Peggy's "past"—her heart-wrenching decision to give up a child for adoption (courtesy of Arthur). Mrs. Kirkland, appalled, declares, "My son would never have desired a tainted woman," and abruptly departs for New York, leaving her friend to sip tea in stony silence.
But how about Marian and Larry? Their amalgamated monikers – Larrian, LaMar, Lamy – roll off the tongue whimsically. Larry has returned from Arizona, now the proud owner of lucrative copper mines. He stumbles upon Marian's note, a curt dissolution of their engagement devoid of any explanation (Marian, why!?). Denied entry to her abode, he audaciously intrudes upon her at work, oblivious to the chalkboards calling for her attention. Marian, finally, unleashes her fury at his unauthorized visit to a disreputable establishment while he claimed to be at Delmonico’s (quite justifiably so), but Larry's apology falls on deaf ears.
Her resolve begins to waver, however, when she tours Jack's opulent new abode (Jack, indeed!) and he verifies that Larry was indeed by his side all night, with naught transpiring at the club. As for those copper mines, I had suspected foul play, but they turn out to be nothing short of spectacular, thriving ventures now under George's ownership. Larry commissioned a fresh survey after Clay's initial assessment revealed barren lands. George beams with pride, heralding Larry as his business heir and contemplating using the future copper revenues to acquire the railroad. Both he and Larry are less than pleased with Bertha's recent demeanor, prompting Larry to take up residence at the club. "Now, both of you at the club, leaving me alone," she laments, a potential anthem for loneliness. They disregard her, engrossed in their copper conversations, a cold shoulder if ever there was one. And then, marrying off one's tearful daughter to a stranger isn't much warmer.
George triumphantly boasts of his railway conquest over Sage and Clay. The mines harbor untapped copper reserves worth tens of millions. Sage scorns Clay as a fool and terminates him. George informs Clay that his career in New York is over, to which Clay retaliates, likening himself to a cockroach with a thousand lives – is that supposed to be impressive? It certainly doesn't resonate as such, Clay.
Marian learns that Larry was indeed innocent of any club-related misconduct. Meanwhile, William visits Peggy's, inquiries about her child. Then, drama strikes as an intruder bursts into George's office, shoots one of his staff, and turns the gun on George. The episode concludes on this cliffhanger – if George perishes, it would be a shocking twist, especially considering his non-conformist nature.
