Actual title: The Luxury Of Conscience
What it should have been named: The End Of Foreboding
And so it comes to pass, the final chapter of the second series is designed to pull at the heartstrings with little concern for historical accuracy. Relationships formed are torn apart and a death is on the cards.
Albert’s war with Lehzen seems a bit out of the blue. Sure, they’ve never got on but I suppose if anything is going to trigger the prince’s ultimatum of “either she leaves or I do” it’s Lehzen’s total disregard for the health of their daughter. Here is unseen footage of the baroness plotting the death of an innocent child..
It turns out alright in the end though because the grim reaper has another appointment this episode and he can’t be in two places at once.
Victoria has to choose between her husband and her slave and so it’s Lehzen that gets the marching orders. Nobody is shedding a tear. Well, the Queen is but there’ll be another servant to fill her horrid, cold boots soon enough.
Drummond and Alfred’s flourishing relationship is put down before its dog has had a run in the park. Drummond is shot protecting his dad outside parliament (a fictional take on proceedings) leaving Alfred understandably heartbroken but unable to grieve in public.
A more legal Bromance ends in tears too. Robert Peel’s determination to repeal the Corn Laws succeeded but it was political suicide.
Peel offers his resignation and that means there will no longer be excitable conversations between him and the Prince about trains. Truly the saddest moment of all in this finale. Other than that, it’s difficult to find sympathy with infighting Tories. Seasons change, fashions change, even aspect ratios on televisions change but the Conservatives will always be self-obsessed bigots and that’s something even a lightweight period drama got down to a tee.
Things look on the up for E(r)nest and his chances of getting into Lady Sutherland’s garments but it’s a good job their tête-à-tête was interrupted as we soon learn that he is not free from his syphilis and that makes him indisposed from sexy pants action. Even I felt a little sorry for the fella.
It was a dark hour of telly all in all, especially those bloody Mercedes adverts, but there was one ray of sunlight through the clouds. Francatelli and Miss Skerrett are finally courting (as my dad still calls it) and a kiss was caused by what could be the two most Victorian chat up lines yet: “You do make very good tarts” and “would you like to come under my parasol”. Let’s hope that this is a relationship that lasts and that the dressmaker doesn’t accidentally put a pin in her heart or the chef has a soggy bottom.
A second series is wrapped up and after eight weeks of magically multiplying babies, heartbreak and deaths it’ll be good to have a break and focus on the rubbish stuff that’s going on in our own lives. After it’s refusal to start early on in the series, Victoria finished strongly like a horse on speed at the Cheltenham festival. Speaking of horses, a small one (I believe they’re called ponies) has invaded the palace and is seen as some sort of happy ever after. Sure it is, until it shits everywhere. Perhaps that’s the plot of the Christmas special.
Lame of thrones:
- Why hasn’t Albert punched his dad yet? The poor wall that was on the receiving end did not deserve that.
- There wasn’t enough Vicbert snogging this series. Dear ITV…
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