Mrs. Hughes: Well, there's nothing for it. We'll just have to tell Mr. Carson.
Carson [walking by]: Tell me what, Mrs. Hughes?
Mrs. Hughes: It's Buttercup, the Earl of Grantham's yellow Labrador retriever. She's pregnant.
Carson: A cause for celebration, surely, Mrs. Hughes.
Mrs. Hughes: Not quite. The father is the butcher's dog.
Carson: The butcher's dog! Never in all my years at Downton Abbey did I think I would see the day when the Earl's pedigreed bitch would be impregnated by a common tradesman's mutt.
Alfred: Ah, but Mr. Carson. Times is changin'.
Carson: Too fast, if you ask me.
Cut to Interior, Mrs. Crawley's house. About 30 women are crammed into her drawing room.
Mrs. Crawley: I want to thank you all for coming here today, and I want to stress that I make no judgment about the choices you have made during your wretched lives. I know you are all prostitutes, but I also know you are good inside and that it is my job to find that goodness.
Male voice at the back: Can you speak up, ma'am? We can't hear you at
Mrs. Crawley: Is that a man's voice I hear?
Male voice at the back: Yes it is, ma'am. I am a man.
Mrs. Crawley: A man and a prostitute? How can that be?
Male voice at the back: I am a male prostitute, ma'am. It's 1922 and men are experimenting with new roles. Men can be anything they want now. Even prostitutes. My name is Adam.
Mrs. Crawley: Jolly good. You may have fallen from God's grace, Adam, but you have not fallen from mine.
Cut to Interior, Downton Abbey library. A maid, Olive, is in the foreground, dusting an occasional table. [Occasionally, it's a table; occasionally, it's a chair.] Enter: Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary.
Lady Mary: Matthew, I just wanted to . . . Excuse me [she addresses Olive], what are you doing here?
Olive [curtsying]: I'm Olive, m'lady, the new table-dusting maid.
Lady Mary: I didn't ask who you are, I asked what you are doing here. You are an extra. If you are going to be in this room at all, be in the background of the shot,
Olive [curtsying]: Yes, m'lady. [She retreats to a far corner.]
Lady Mary: Now, where was I? Ah yes, Matthew, I'm so grateful to you for sinking your fortune into Downton Abbey. I love you so much.
Matthew: I love you too, Mary.
Lady Mary: And yet I can't help despising you. [She slaps him in the face and storms from the room.]
Cut to Interior, York Prison. It is visiting day and Anna Bates is sitting with her wrongfully incarcerated husband, John Bates.
Bates: How is everyone at Downton, Anna? Mrs. Hughes?
Anna Bates: It wasn't cancer, after all.
Anna Bates: She loves Alfred, but Alfred doesn't love her.
Bates: Mrs. Patmore?
Anna Bates: Diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes.
Bates: Lady Sybil?
Anna Bates: Dead, buried, reanimated as a zombie and now stalking the village feasting on brains.
Anna Bates: Pregnant. [She buries her face in her hands and weeps.]
Cut to Interior, Downton Abbey dining room.
Robert, Earl of Grantham: Cora, may I have a word? Why are there 30 prostitutes living in tents in our back garden?
Cora, Countess of Grantham: Oh Robert, it's Matthew's mother's idea. They need work, and she has them here at Downton learning to hunt voles.
Robert, Earl of Grantham: Well, I suppose times are changing and Downton must change with them.
Cora, Countess of Grantham: Oh Robert, I so hoped you would see it that way.
[The party sits for dinner. At dinner's end, Cora stands.]
Cora, Countess of Grantham: Everyone, I have an announcement. You may have noticed a bulge in our under butler Thomas' pocket. It's because he has a new toy. Oh, Thomas, you've been playing with Adam's yo-yo, haven't you? Oh, please do show us.
Thomas: Of course, ma'am. [Thomas pulls a yo-yo from his trouser pocket and proceeds to demonstrate Around the World, Pop the Clutch and Walk the Dog.]
Cora, Countess of Grantham: Oh, isn't that marvelous?
Dowager Countess: How perfectly ghastly. The only thing I'd like to see dangling at the end of a string is a suffragist. May I have that "yo-yo" please, Thomas.
Thomas: Of course, ma'am. [He hands the Dowager Countess the yo-yo. She takes it in her gloved hand, examines it as if it was a dead vole then deftly flings it at Lady Edith, striking her smartly in the brow.]