It was a rough week at Downton Abbey with everyone picking up the pieces in the aftermath of poor Lady Sybil’s death. We can forgive some of the egregious etiquette missteps made this week, given the circumstances. But, My God! Get it together, Downton.

There is, of course, the issue of Ethel, per usual. The thing is, that when you hire a prostitute to cook you your meals, there’s bound to be a few bones in the soup or a foul taste in the tea. But more likely than that all members of pleasant society are going to freak out. Mr. Carson takes it upon himself to pull a full-on Regina George and ruin both Ethel and Cousin Isobel’s lives. (He’s a life-ruiner.) Mr. Carson issues a decree that no employee of Downton shall heretofore make any appearance at Crawley house, under penalty of suddenly transforming into a common street whore. As commanding as Mr. Carson is, the order’s swiftly defied. Mrs. Patmore is a tough cookie with a soft center (mmmm…) and she agrees to help Ethel with some recipes for the Crawley Family Sympathy Luncheon. The event goes off without a hitch, the ladies Crawley and Grantham forming an unusually favorable Top Chef panel rendering a happy judgment on Ethel’s mousse. But the party’s over when Lord Grantham shows up ranting and raving about his women-folk eating contaminated hooker food. This is, perhaps a low point for our dear Lord, as evidenced by the fact that even the Dowager Countess thinks his display is a bit much. And she is the Dowager Countess of A Bit Much.

Lord Grantham can’t seem to reign it in at all these days. His little display at Ethel’s Tea Party is only a minimal manifestation of all the BS he’s been spitting of late. There’s of course the burden of grief inherent in losing a child, this load made heavier by the fact that Lord Grantham likely blames himself for her death. This, compounded by the fact that his wife most definitely blames him for the death. Plus, his back’s all messed up from sleeping on the couch. Then there’s the Irish Revolutionary Cab Driver banging the china plates together at every meal, Lord Grantham can hardly hear himself think. And, said neanderthal has the gall to announce that the only Crawley grandchild will be a Catholic. Enough said. Then there is the issue of Cousin Matthew banging down the doors wanting to go over the books, which Lord Grantham likely knows are well beyond overcooked. With a shitstorm like this swirling around, a hooker in the kitchen seems the least of everyone’s woes.

MVP of Woes: Branson. He’s lost in this Anglican desert without his fair maiden to keep him company. He’s once again a lowly Irish chauffeur, but now with a high-born daughter to feed and clothe and send off to cotillion classes. He’s probably feeling the burn.

Slut Shaming Power Play: Mrs. Patmore, for calling out Ivy on her rouged cheeks. There’s no crying and no make up in the kitchen, and get that stuff off your face. And anyway its overkill. The footmen are falling over themselves to foxtrot with Ivy as it is. Poor Daisy, always the milkmaid, never the bride. Luckily, it looks like this might work out for her, as her sort-of-father-in-law seems to want to leave her a farm.

Bates is Back: Legal Jargon… Legal Jargon… Cockney Accent… Sweeney Todd… the proof was in the pudding, and Mr. Bates is coming home!