The pains have stopped.
Nothing will happen yet.
(speaking quietly)
Everything is fine.
(relieved sigh)
You mean it was a false alarm.
Not exactly.
These early labor pains show
that the womb is preparing itself for birth.
Dr. Clarkson, I'm afraid Lord Grantham
doesn't enjoy medical detail.
The point is, can we all go back to bed?
You can.
And so can I.
I'll see you out.
Sir Philip Tapsell will be here tomorrow.
Of course.
If you think it advisable.
There really is nothing wrong?
Nothing at all.
She is a healthy young woman
going through a very normal and natural process.
I think I'd rather be in a city if I were having a baby.
Where they've got all the modern inventions.
Far away from everyone you know and trust?
I don't think I would.
What are you talking about having babies for, Ivy?
I think we can leave that
for a little further down the menu, thank you.
It's always an idea to be prepared.
I expect you're always prepared.
I try to be, Mr. Barrow.
CARSON: I don't like the direction
this conversation is taking.
Could we all begin
the day's tasks, please?
And remember, Lady Sybil is in a delicate condition,
so no noise on the gallery.
IVY: It's exciting, though, ain't it?
To have a baby in the house.
It won't make much difference to you.
Now get back in the kitchen and do as you're told!
Well, I think that message got through.
We can't risk her welfare to soothe Clarkson's feelings.
I know.
I like the old boy,
but he did misdiagnose Matthew
and he did miss the warning signs with Lavinia.
Thank you, O'Brien.
Is that fair?
He didn't want to get Matthew's hopes up
when it wouldn't make any difference,
and with Lavinia, the disease could move like lightning.
I know, I know.
But even so.
Sir Philip Tapsell may have delivered
many Lords and Royal Highnesses,
but he doesn't know us.
I'll ask him to include Clarkson in his deliberations.
Will that satisfy you?
I suppose so.
You look a bit puzzled. I am.
Mr. Carson's asked me to wind the clocks.
You must be doing well.
In this house, that marks you out as first footman
more than anything could.
That's just it.
I said "thank you" and "right away"
but I know nothing about clocks.
You'd better ask Mr. Barrow.
He's the clock expert.
He used to wind them, but of course it's quite wrong
for a valet to do it.
Mr. Barrow won't mind?
Oh, no.
I can see he likes you, and that's good
since he's got the ear of his lordship.
Yes.
I suppose he would have.
I'd keep in with him if I were you.
I will.
Thank you.
Think nothing of it.
I'm the size of a house.
My back hurts, my ankles are swelling
and my head aches.
Honestly, I cannot recommend this to anyone.
I am listening,
but of course I'm dying to start one of my own.
So you're not waiting?
Waiting for what?
I don't know.
But I did wonder.
Mary, you know what I said about the baby being Catholic?
I've just realized that the christening
will have to be here, at Downton.
Blimey.
I wanted the whole thing done in Dublin,
out of sight, out of mind.
But we can't wait forever
and we can't not christen it, the poor thing.
You don't have to do this.
It's your baby, too.
I don't mind.
I mean, I do believe in God,
but all the rest of it--
vicars, feast days and deadly sins--
I don't care about all of that.
I don't know if the vicar knows any more about God than I do.
And I love Tom so very, very much.
(door opens)
I'll let you rest.
And don't worry.
I'll fight your corner with Travis
if it comes to it.
There.
Do you feel a slight increase in the resistance?
I think so.
That's what you're watching for.
Never go past the point where the clock is comfortable.
You make it sound like a living thing.
Ah, clocks are living things.
My dad was a clockmaker.
I grew up with clocks.
I understand them.
Never wind them in the early morning
before a room has warmed up,
nor too late, when the night air cools them down.
Find a time when the family's out of the room.
(door opens)
ANNA: But I don't understand.
Why was I kept away from you until now?
It doesn't matter.
Whatever the reason, it's over.
The point is, someone has to question Mrs. Bartlett.
You wrote and said she saw Vera
on the evening of the day of her death.
That's right.
She went for a walk, the door was open and she went in.
And she saw Vera scrubbing pastry from under her nails.
I wrote that because it was
such a strange detail for her to remember.
She was making the pie that she ate that night,
when I was on the train back to Downton.
So Vera planned this.
She meant for you to be imprisoned.
She meant for you to be hanged for her suicide.
It was her revenge.
And what a revenge, for both of us.
They'll say you poisoned the milk or the flour or something.
To catch her after you'd gone.
They tested everything in the kitchen.
They said it was in the pastry, where I couldn't have put it.
(sighs)
Oh, I hope she's burning in hell!
Don't go down that road.
(sighs)
Once you do, there's no way off it.
ISOBEL: I've been thinking about you
since we last met,
and wanted to know how you were living.
Well, I've not gone back to doing what I was doing,
if that's worrying you.
I've no Charlie to feed,
so now if I starve, I starve alone.
And I'd rather starve than do that.
You see, I thought you might work here for a while.
Helping Mrs. Bird.
It would mean that when you moved on,
you will have had a respectable job
with a respectable reference.
Are you sure you've thought about this ma'am?
What will Mrs. Hughes's reaction be or Lady Grantham's?
And Old Lady Grantham?
I can't wait to hear what she has to say about it.
Don't you want to come?
It's not that, ma'am.
You're offering a return to a wholesome world
and I am very, very grateful.
Well, then?
But I think it's going to be
a lot more complicated than you allow.
Then we shall have to face those complications together,
shan't we?
(keys jangling)
I'll take him from here.
Sir.
Bates seems very cheerful.
Is he?
He had a visit from his wife earlier.
She must have brought him some good news.
It hardly seems fair, does it?
You've got an extra year, I've got a formal reprimand,
and Mr. Bates, who's done it all,
who's made all the trouble for us, gets good news.
What do you think it is?
Well, she can't be pregnant.
He was arrested a year ago.
Well, she might be, but he wouldn't be very happy about it.
So what do you want to do?
Oh, that'll need some thought.
But first, what does this good news consist of?
When you shared with him, where did he keep his letters?
(snickers)
Quite a few of the cottages have been renovated.
Thanks to you.
Maybe a little thanks to me,
but many of the farms
have been left entirely to their own devices.
Coulter hasn't farmed this properly for 20 years.
He struggles to pay the rent, which is too low, anyway.
There's been no... investment.
Papa would say you can't abandon people
just because they grow old.
I agree, but it would be cheaper
to give him a free cottage
and work this land as it should be worked.
I see.
And you don't think Papa understands that?
Maybe he harks back to a time when money was abundant
and there wasn't much need to keep on top of it.
I think he equates being businesslike with being mean.
Or worse, middle class like me.
Middle classes have their virtues,
and husbandry is one.
We ought to get back.
Sir Philip Thingy's due on the 7:00 train,
and you ought to be there to hold Tom's hand.
Poor fellow.
He's so terrified but so thrilled at the same time.
As I would be.
As I will be.
The dear Duchess of Truro
is full of your praises, Sir Philip,
but then of course you know that.
She had quite a time when she was first married.
But I said to her, "Never fear, Duchess,
I'll get a baby out of you one way or another."
(chokes lightly)
And so you did.
Three boys, and as a result
a secure dynasty, I am glad to say.
But you see no complications here?
None at all.
Lady Sybil is a perfect model of health and beauty.
We told our local doctor we'd send a message to him
when it looks as if the baby's coming.
Dr. Clarkson has known us all since we were girls.
What's needed here, Lady Mary,
is a knowledge of childbirth, nothing more.
But if it soothes you,
then of course he is most welcome.
I'm going to check on Sybil.
Anna?
I'm sorry to trouble you, m'lord,
but I wondered if I might have a word.
Come into the library.
Matthew, will you take Sir Philip to the drawing room?
Shall we go in?
As a matter of fact, Sir Philip,
I was rather hoping to have you to myself
for a moment.
Do you know that I was injured
during the war?
I think I did hear something about it from Lady Grantham.
My spine was very severely bruised,
and for a time it seemed I had lost the use of my legs
and everything else.
But the bruising reduced and you recovered?
Yes, I have heard of this.
Well, how relieved you must have been.
Yes, but I wonder now whether the injury
might have affected my...
I suppose I mean my fertility--
if it may have limited my chances of fathering a child.
Well, is...
Is everything working as it should?
Oh, yes.
Then, um...
Why do you think there may be a problem?
We're anxious to start a family.
We've been married for a few months
without any...
results.
My dear Mr. Crawley,
may I point out the word that gives you away?
"Anxious."
Anxiety is an enemy to pregnancy.
Don't, whatever you do, feel anxious.
I can run a test, if you wish,
but I would urge you not to bother for some time yet.
(door opens)
There you are.
We were wondering what had happened to you.
This is extraordinary.
Why did the police miss it so completely?
Mrs. Bartlett never spoke to them.
She never spoke to anyone.
Except to you.
She didn't think the truth would make any difference now.
She thought it was only further proof of his guilt.
The difficulty is,
she may not want to accept Bates's innocence.
Doesn't she have to?
Not necessarily.
She may think he drove his wife to suicide
and deserves to rot in prison.
In short, she may not wish to tell the truth
to set him free.
Then we need to get a statement from her
before she finds out it could overturn the case.
I'll telephone Murray tonight.
He can come up here and talk to you and see Bates.
You were right, though.
The proof was out there, and you've found it.
The editor of The Sketch wants me to write for him.
He saw my letter to The Times
and wants to give me a regular column.
How regular?
And what about?
Once a week.
And I can write about whatever I like.
It would be the problems faced by a modern women
rather than the fall of the Ottoman Empire,
but even so.
But will you write under your own name?
I hadn't thought.
You won't have an option.
That's what he's buying, that's what he wants:
your name and your title.
I don't know.
I thought Edith's letter to The Times
was very interesting.
Don't bother, Matthew.
I'm always a failure in this family.
I'm sad to hear this, Mrs. Bird.
And I'm sad to say it, madam.
But it's kept me awake all night,
and I know I cannot work alongside a woman of the...
A woman who has chosen that way of life.
But Miss Parks has changed.
Maybe she has and maybe she hasn't,
but if I tolerate her, I will be tarnished by her.
Suppose people come to think that I'd followed the same...
profession as what she has?
Nobody could look at you and think that, Mrs. Bird.
Well, I hope not, because I'm a respectable woman.
I may not have much, but I have my good name
and I must protect it.
You'll have a month's wages in lieu of notice.
Where will you go?
Back to Manchester and stay with my sister.
She says there's plenty of work for a plain cook these days.
And they will find one in you.
Goodbye, Mrs. Bird, and good luck.
JIMMY: Is there anything else you need to know
about having babies, Ivy?
Honestly, if I told Mrs. Patmore
the things you two say to me,
you'd be up before Mr. Carson.
So what are you doing with your afternoon off?
None of your business.
I'd like to make it my business.
(laughing)
Have you greased the cake tins?
Yes.
What about the pastry?
It's in the larder.
Then get started on the vegetables for tonight.
(whistles)
She doesn't want much, does she?
She doesn't like me.
Why not?
I don't know.
She just doesn't.
Well, anyone who doesn't like you
needs their head examining.
I hope you agree with him, Jimmy.
That'd be telling.
Are we the first down?
How is Sybil?
Sleeping, thank God.
She's been restless all afternoon.
I don't think it'll be long now.
I'm sorry it couldn't have been in Dublin.
We know how much it meant.
Nothing means more than she does.
ROBERT: And you're sure you have everything you need?
Quite sure.
Hello, Granny, you're here?
How nice.
Your grandmother will be with us every night
until the baby is born.
I hate to get news secondhand.
Well, you won't have long to wait.
I thought I'd ring up Dr. Clarkson after we've eaten.
TAPSELL: Yes, I've been talking to Lord Grantham
about the good doctor.
Sir Philip feels the room would be too crowded.
It might be better to leave old Clarkson
out of it for the time being.
But I said I'd telephone.
Well, it really isn't necessary.
I've given him my word.
Why don't I run down in the car after dinner and fetch him?
The hollandaise for the fish.
Put it in the sauce boats for Alfred.
I'm doing the soufflés.
As soon as I...
Will you just do it!
Out of my way, quick!
What are you doing?
Haven't you done it?
Oh, my God!
ALFRED: What's happened?
It's curdled and it's got to go up in a minute-- oh, my Lord!
Ivy can manage it, don't worry.
Go on with what you're doing.
Can you really?
I can.
Now what?
Give me an egg, quickly.
Dribble it in.
But it's ruined.
Do what I say.
How does that work?
It's magic.
One of the tricks of the trade.
DAISY: How have you done that?
Just one of the tricks of the trade.
Right.
Well, go on, take it up.
Well done, Ivy.
You played a good one, there.
Thank her, Daisy.
Yes, thank you.
That didn't hurt at all, did it?
I tell you what, Daisy.
Alfred won't like you any better for being rough on her.
I should have the fish.
I'll do it.
(sighs)
CORA: There's nothing more tiring
than waiting for something to happen.
MATTHEW: Edith, have you written back
to your editor yet?
What's this?
Edith has had an invitation
to write a newspaper column.
And when may she expect an offer to appear on the London stage?
See?
Oh, God, is it beginning?
Dinner's suspended, so to speak.
Yes, but suspended cancelled, or suspended keeping it hot?
And what should I do about dinner down here?
I couldn't tell you.
What...
(exasperated sigh)
What do you mean, "concerned?"
Lady Sybil's ankles are swollen,
and she seems muddled.
What sort of muddled?
Not quite there.
Not quite in the present moment.
And what do you think it means?
It means she's having a baby.
(laughs)
A word, Dr. Clarkson?
Excuse me.
Sir Philip mustn't bully him into silence.
My dear, this is just Clarkson's professional pride,
like barbers asking, "Who last cut your hair?"
They always want to be better than any other practitioner.
But we must listen to what he has to say.
I quite agree.
I don't want to hurt Sir Philip's feelings.
If there is one thing that I am quite indifferent to,
it's Sir Philip Tapsell's feelings.
You are upsetting these people for no reason at all.
I am not!
I think she may be toxemic, with a danger of eclampsia,
in which case we must act fast.
There is no danger whatsoever.
Judging by my experience,
Lady Sybil is behaving perfectly normally.
Do you not find the baby small?
Not unusually so.
And the ankles?
Maybe she has thick ankles.
Lots of women do.
But she does not.
I warn you, Doctor.
If you wish to remain, you must be silent.
I cannot allow you to interfere.
(sighs with exasperation)
(sizzling)
Oh, Christmas!
Don't be burnt, don't be burnt...
(shouts)
(door opens)
Are you all right, Ethel?
Only I heard a shout.
Fine, ma'am.
Everything's fine.
It's a kidney soufflé, ma'am.
A kidney soufflé?
Isn't that a bit adventurous?
I've seen Mrs. Patmore do it a hundred times.
Yes, but she can't have begun her career as a cook
by making a kidney soufflé.
Shall I try something else, ma'am?
No.
If we're to avoid a midnight feast,
it's too late to turn back.
(door closes)
Is everything all right?
I think so.
I've just come to fetch some warm milk
in case she fancies it.
Mr. Carson?
I'm glad I've caught you.
I've had a letter from Mrs. Bird,
who used to work for Mrs. Crawley.
I didn't know she'd gone.
Well, that's the point.
I've been thinking about what we should do.
You know I've a brother in Liverpool,
and there might be an opening there.
It'd mean working with cars again...
No.
We're not going backwards.
You must promise me that.
(yelling in pain)
God, I wish there was something I could do.
Just be here.
We can just lie back and look at the stars.
Is she... ?
It's all just as it should be.
Now what?
I want to test the latest sample of her urine.
Oh, for heaven's sake!
Just give the order to the nurse, please, Sir Philip.
How is the young mother doing?
Am I on duty, Dr. Clarkson?
What?
Only I swear I'm not on duty,
otherwise I wouldn't be lying here.
No.
No, you're not on duty.
(panting heavily)
Mrs. Crawley has hired a prostitute
to manage her house?
And that's why Mrs. Bird felt she had no choice
but to hand in her notice.
Nor did she, poor woman.
But Mr. Carson,
this is Ethel we're talking about.
Our Ethel.
And Mrs. Crawley
was just trying to give her a helping hand.
Is that so wrong?
I do not criticize her for her charity,
but she hasn't considered her actions.
No respectable person,
certainly no respectable woman,
can now be seen entering her house.
But Ethel's given all that up!
I didn't think she was running a brothel
in Mrs. Crawley's kitchen.
Can't we say nothing for now?
Mrs. Bird's gone and I don't remember Ethel
as any great cook, so it may sort itself out.
Very well.
We shall keep silent for the moment.
But I don't want the maids
going into that house on any pretext whatsoever.
Is that clear?
Quite clear, Mr. Carson.
Or the footmen.
It's my belief that Lady Sybil
is at risk of eclampsia.
What is that?
A rare condition
from which she is not suffering!
Tell him why you think she may be.
Her baby is small, she's confused,
and there is far too much albumin--
that is, protein-- in her urine.
Dr. Clarkson, please!
Have you forgotten my mother is present?
Peace.
A woman of my age can face reality
far better than most men.
Look, the fact remains
if I am right, we must act at once!
And do what?
Get her down to the hospital
and deliver the child by Caesarean section.
But is that safe?
It is the opposite of safe!
It would expose mother and child to untold dangers!
She could pick up any kind of infection in a public hospital!
An immediate delivery is the only chance of avoiding the fits
that are brought on by the trauma of natural birth!
It may not work, but...
Honesty at last!
Even if she were at risk from eclampsia,
which she is not,
a Caesarean is a gamble
which might kill either or both of them!
I think we must support Sir Philip in this.
But it's not our decision!
What does Tom say?
Tom has not hired Sir Philip, he is not master here,
and I will not put Sybil at risk on a whim.
If you are sure, Sir Philip?
I am quite, quite certain.
CORA: You're being ridiculous.
Obviously we have to talk to Tom!
Well, don't look at me.
Cora is right.
The decision lies with the chauffeur.
How are things going?
I'm not sure.
The doctors are arguing, and that's never a good sign.
Is everything all right?
Unfortunately, it seems it is not.
Could we get her to the hospital?
To move her now would be tantamount to murder.
CLARKSON: Sir Philip, admit it.
You're beginning to detect the symptoms yourself.
You can see her distress.
Can you?
Yes, Lady Sybil is in distress.
She's about to give birth!
Lord Grantham, Mr. Branson, time is running out.
We should be at the hospital by now.
If we'd acted at once, the baby would be born.
But if she has the operation now,
do you swear you can save her?
I cannot swear it, no.
But if we do not operate
and if I am right about her condition,
then she will die.
If, if, if, if!
Lord Grantham, can you please take command?
Tom, Dr. Clarkson is not sure he can save her.
Sir Philip is certain he can bring her through it
with a living child.
Isn't a certainty stronger than a doubt?
Robert, I don't mean to insult Sir Philip,
but Dr. Clarkson knows Sybil.
He's known her all her life!
So you'd take her to the hospital?
I would have taken her an hour ago!
(Sybil screaming)
God help us.
Any news from the house, ma'am?
Not yet.
Matthew said he would try and telephone if it's not too late.
Lady Sybil was always kind to me.
Yes, she's a very dear girl.
What...
What's in this?
Some honey.
Was that not right?
It's perfectly fine for now, Ethel.
But perhaps not another time.
Would you like anything, Mama?
No, dear.
Just good news of the baby and a car to take me home.
I don't suppose I shall get either before long.
What about you, Tom?
I just feel so helpless.
We men are always helpless when a baby's in the picture.
(door opens)
You can come up.
It's a girl.
And they're both...?
They're fine.
Oh, thank God.
And hallelujah!
She's so beautiful.
Oh, my darling.
I do love you so much.
I just want to sleep, really.
Of course you do.
You've earned it.
She's a wonderful baby.
I think we should let her sleep.
Very well done.
Thank you.
Mama.
Yes, my darling?
Tom's thinking of getting a job in Liverpool
and going back to being a mechanic.
But it wouldn't be right for him.
He needs to move forward.
We'll talk about it tomorrow.
You don't need to worry about it now.
I think Papa may see it as some kind of answer.
And if he does...
Your father loves you very much.
I know.
I know, and I love him terribly.
But will you help me do battle
for Tom and the baby if the time comes?
Of course.
TAPSELL: Lady Grantham.
Now sleep, darling.
(door closes)
I'm sorry we doubted.
No.
Well, as to that, Lady Grantham,
it's always a good idea to forget most of what was said
during the waiting time and simply enjoy the result.
Is there anything more to be done?
Well, not really.
The nurse will stay with her,
and so I suggest we all get some sleep
and meet again, refreshed, in the morning.
Show us a card trick, Jimmy.
That's it.
The baby is born.
It's a girl.
Now you can all go to bed.
Good news.
Do you like Lady Sybil?
I do.
We worked together in the hospital during the war,
so I know her better than all of them, really.
She's a lovely person.
Like you.
ANNA: Good night.
Anything the matter?
No.
No, but Mr. Barrow's
so familiar all the time, isn't he?
I'm glad to hear it.
That's a very good sign.
If he's taken to you,
he'll definitely put in a good word with his lordship.
'Cause I'd like to tell him to keep his distance.
Do you want to get your marching orders, then?
Why, what are you implying?
Nothing unseemly, I hope.
No.
No, nothing like that.
Good night.
Mama, Mama!
Wake up, it's Sybil!
(breathing heavily)
Oh, boy, I should be...
Darling, can you hear me, darling, it's Tom.
I should be getting up...
No, my darling.
SYBIL: I need to be... how busy...
BRANSON: No, darling, all you need to do is rest.
SYBIL: My head!
Sybil...
Oh, my head!
My head!
Sybil, let me bathe your forehead.
It hurts!
(moaning)
What's happening?
Oh, God!
(suddenly silent)
God, no!
What the hell is happening?!
Sir Philip? MARY: Sybil...
She can't hear me!
Sybil, Sybil, it's Mary.
Can you hear me?
It looks as if...
It looks as if what?!
This is eclampsia.
Sybil, it's Mary, can you hear me?
ROBERT: But it cannot be!
Sir Philip?
You were so sure!
(groaning) She can't hear me.
MATTHEW: This is unbelievable.
Somebody do something!
The human life is unpredictable.
But you were so sure!
What can we do?
Help her, help her, please!
Darling...
Oh, God, no!
Dr. Clarkson, should we take her to the hospital?
There is nothing that can be done.
But that's not possible, not now, not these days!
Once the seizures have started, there's nothing to be done.
But you don't agree with him, do you, Sir Philip?
Please don't leave me.
Help her, help her, please, what's happening?!
She can't breathe.
Please, just breathe, love.
There has to be something worth trying!
Just breathe, love, please.
Breathe, love, come on.
Listen, it's me, my darling,
all you need to do is breathe right now.
We have given her morphine and atropine...
What's happening?!
Please breathe, love!
(crying)
No, please!
She can't breathe.
No, no, no...
(crying)
CORA: Oh, no, no...
Please, please...
Please, love...
No!
Please wake up.
Please don't leave me.
Don't leave me.
Please wake up, love.
Please don't leave me,
please don't leave me, love.
Oh darling, no.
BRANSON: Please, love!
(crying)
But this can't be.
She's 24 years old.
This cannot be.
(baby crying in nearby room)
Is there anything we should do, Mr. Carson?
Carry on, Daisy.
As we all must.
(sobbing)
(crying)
Thomas?
I don't know why I'm crying, really.
She wouldn't have noticed if I'd died.
You don't mean that.
No.
No, I don't.
In my life, I can tell you, not many have been kind to me.
She was one of the few.
Oh, don't mind me.
The sweetest spirit under this roof is gone,
and I'm weeping myself.
Are you all right, Mr. Carson?
I knew her all her life, you see.
I've known her since she was born.
CORA: We'll look after them.
We'll look after them both.
Don't you worry about that.
(door opens)
It's time to go to bed, Mama.
You'll need some rest to face tomorrow.
Not just yet.
This is my chance to say goodbye to my baby.
You go.
I'll be all right, I promise.
I could stay.
Or would you prefer to be alone?
Alone, I think, but thank you.
And Mary...
Could you ask your father
to sleep in the dressing room tonight?
Because you are my baby, you know.
And you always will be.
Always.
My beauty and my baby.
I've asked Carson to bring Anna here, Mr. Murray,
but I don't think it will be possible
for you to see Lord Grantham.
Not today.
I'm sure you understand.
Of course.
(sighs)
I should have guessed there was something wrong
when there was no car at the station.
What a dreadful, dreadful thing.
(door opens)
I'll leave you to it.
Mr. Murray,
I wonder if I might have a word with you before you go.
It's not the best day for it,
but there's no knowing when you might be up here again.
Of course, Mr. Crawley.
(door closes)
I am very sorry to trouble you on a day like this, Mrs. Bates.
You weren't to know.
None of us could have known.
The men from Grassby's have arrived.
To take her away?
Yes.
And we must let them.
Good-bye, my darling.
She was the only person living
who always thought you and I were such nice people.
Oh, Mary...
Do you think we might get along a little better in the future?
I doubt it.
But since this is the last time we three
will all be together in this life,
let's love each other now, as sisters should.
You see, what I have discovered
is quite simple, Mr. Murray.
It's proof of my husband's innocence.
That seems a good place to start.
Yes, but the key to his innocence
depends on the word of a woman who hates him
and may want him to stay in prison,
whatever the truth.
Why not tell me everything you know?
(sobbing)
Of course this isn't the right time,
but you're here
and it's not a subject for the telephone.
No.
But I must confess to you, Mr. Crawley,
that even at this sad hour,
your words are music to my ears.
Testing times are coming for these estates.
Indeed, they've already arrived,
and many great families will go to the wall
over the next few years.
It's never been more vitally important
to maximize the assets of a place like this
and run it with a solid business head.
What are you talking about?
Mr. Crawley and I were discussing
the management of the estate.
He was outlining some interesting plans
for the future.
And do you intend to involve my father
in these fascinating plans?
Of course.
Then I cannot think this a very appropriate moment
to be deciding the destiny of Downton, Mr. Murray,
when my sister's body has just been removed from the house
and my father is quite unable to see or speak to anyone.
I'm really only here to talk to Mrs. Bates
about her new evidence.
Naturally, if I'd known...
No, no.
That's quite different.
None of us would wish to keep Bates in prison
for an hour longer than necessary.
Shall I fetch her?
I have already seen her.
Now I'm on my way to York
to visit Bates and learn what he has to say about it.
Then thank you so much for coming all this way.
Lady Mary, please tell your parents
how very sorry I am.
Of course.
Mr. Murray is just leaving.
(door closes)
I'm sorry, darling.
Forgive me.
I wasn't thinking.
It's just Murray was in the house...
Papa has lost his youngest daughter.
I think that's enough.
Or does he have to lose control of his estate on the same day?
MURRAY: And the challenge is to get a statement from Mrs. Bartlett
before she realizes its significance.
BATES: That's it.
I can't stop thinking about Lady Sybil;
a lovely young woman,
at the height of her happiness.
If I had any beliefs, that would shake them.
GUARD: This way out, now!
I'll keep you informed, Mr. Bates.
I'll do my very best for you.
Thank you, Mr. Murray.
I suppose that's his lawyer.
Lord Grantham's lawyer, more like.
I don't care if he's lawyer to the Prince of Wales.
He'll get a shock
when he contacts Mrs. Audrey Bartlett.
Oh, Carson.
Good afternoon, m'lady.
We've seen some troubles, you and I.
Nothing worse than this.
Nothing could be worse than this, m'lady.
(sobbing)
Ah, Mama.
Oh, my dears.
You'll be glad to know they've found a nurse for the baby.
She's already here.
Good, good.
Where's Tom?
EDITH: He's upstairs.
I've asked if he wants anything.
He says no.
CORA: He wants his wife back,
but that's what he can't have.
I must write to Dr. Clarkson
and have it sent down before dinner.
Darling, there's no need for that.
I should, I want to.
I have to apologize for our behavior.
MARY: What?
Why?
Because if we'd listened to him,
Sybil might still be alive.
But Sir Philip and your father knew better,
and now she's dead.
Why...
Why would she say that?
Because there is some truth in it.
My dear, when tragedies strike, we try to find someone to blame,
and in the absence of a suitable candidate
we usually blame ourselves.
You are not to blame.
No one is to blame.
Our darling Sybil has died during childbirth,
like too many women before her.
And all we can do now is cherish her memory and her child.
Nevertheless, there is truth in it.