Back at Buckingham Palace, the servants are also convinced she's most likely going to die and start talking about looking for new jobs. Geez, everyone needs to:
In a creepy studio apartment at an undisclosed location, some twerp is plotting an assassination. We know this because he reads his instructions (from Hanover!) aloud. I've never killed a monarch, but I'm pretty sure the first rule in regicide is Don't be a loudmouth about it.
Across town, Victoria is surrounded by baby gifts. She hates all of them. She's also not too jazzed about breast-feeding -- "I am not a cow!" -- and instructs her servants to find her the best boobs in the land.
In a separate wing of the palace, Ernst, the Great German Man Whore, returns to break up Victoria's friend's marriage, and also to maintain his brand of spreading around as much syphilis as possible. Victoria's friend resists his advances, until he drops a line about how she deserves a man who notices the way her curls fall on her neck. She promptly changes her tune to A little bit of syphilis never hurt anybody.
Elsewhere, Governess Dictator opens that day's batch of the Queen's fan mail. For the hundredth week in a row, a stalker named Captain Childers sends a bonkers letter promising to "free" the Queen. Governess Dictator decides to continue doing nothing about it.
Downstairs, the head maid is excited to judge a bunch of village women's breasts: "I was brought up on a farm. I know how to spot a good milker." After an initial Goldilocks struggle -- these are too small, these are too round -- she finds a pair that is just right.
Back in the undisclosed location, Twerp Assassin shoots at a scarecrow stand-in for the Queen. That's scary and all, but can we take a moment to appreciate his dress-making abilities? If Project Runway was around in his day, maybe he wouldn't have to channel all his creative energy into assassinating pregnant women.
At the palace, Victoria insists on going for a joyride around London. Three feet past the gate, Stalker Captain Childers throws violets at the Queen and yells about how much Albert sucks. He is quickly arrested and Victoria decides that leaving the house is overrated. Liz Lemon, this random little girl, and I agree:
It's time for us to pretend to care about what's happening downstairs. Hot Italian Chef has a job offer to set up his own establishment. Having a food truck is cool and all, but isn't cooking for the Queen and every world leader already a pretty good gig?
He doesn't seem to think so. He wants to take the opportunity, but only if Babyface Maid comes with him. This romantic overture is met with a whole lotta meh from her:
After a short investigation, the authorities decide Captain Childers is not a real threat. Victoria is like, Sweet! Time for another joyride! What could possibly go wrong?
Sure enough, three feet from the gate, Twerp Assassin rushes up and shoots at Victoria, who thinks Damn it! I should have listened to Liz Lemon, that chips-loving little girl, and that guy who writes snarky recaps about my show.
Back in Who Cares? Land, Babyface Maid pays her frenemy a visit to ask for advice. To be or not to be married to a really hot, sweet, and sensitive Italian dude, who will most likely bake treats and bring them to her in bed after sex until she dies of old age. Hmm, that's a tough one.
Despite the fact that Hot Italian Chef saved her and her baby from dying of fever and even found them a new apartment without the help of Craigslist, Random Insufferable Baby Mama Who Really Didn't Need to Be in This Show advises Babyface Maid not to trust him and to break his heart.
Back at the palace, Uncle Scar turns up to pretend to care about Victoria's well-being. He brags about the size of the crowds along his commute that showed up to cheer him on.
He then brings up how Victoria is most likely going to die in childbirth to her face. That's pretty egregious, but what's more barbaric to Victoria is that he gave her teaspoons as a wedding gift. As punishment for this crime against humanity, she abruptly ends their awkward hangout by loudly saying "GOODBYE!"
Later, the authorities reveal that Twerp Assassin apparently didn't shoot real bullets and wrote those Hanover letters to himself. Wow. He really sucks at life. He is to be acquitted for being really bad at assassinating, and also for being criminally insane.
STOP EVERYTHING. DASH IS BACK! BEHOLD HIS ROYAL CUTENESS:
I would like this show 900% more if all the characters were played by dogs.
Alas, heaven is not a place on Earth, so let's return to the humans...
Hot Italian Chef finds Babyface Maid to find out if she wants to run away with him and start a cute, cozy life together. It goes down a little something like this:
And after he made her all that chocolate and saved her bitter frenemy's life? So wack.
In an upstairs bedroom, Ernst shows up in Victoria's married friend's bedroom. Ooo la la! The first thing he says is, "Thank you for letting me come." Interpret that line however you wish.
He follows this up with another line you can read into, if you want: "Will you do what I ask?"
Turns out he just wants a lock of her hair.
In the Queen's quarters, Victoria has a brief freak-out over Twerp Assassin's acquittal, but quickly gets over it by going on another joyride because YOLO.
Downstairs, Babyface Maid has a change of heart! She runs up to the chef to profess her love! He turns around!
It's his replacement. He's gone forever. Goof of the century.
The next day, Victoria goes into labor. Old dudes congregate outside her bedroom door, waiting for her to die. Being stubborn, Victoria refuses to bleed out and gives birth to a healthy baby girl instead. Victoria skips the whole Yay! I didn't die! part and goes straight to worrying about whether Albert is mad at her or not: "Do you mind that she's a girl? We'll have a boy next time."
And on that frustrating, misogynistic note, the camera pans away from their bed and season one comes to an end.
That’s all, folks! It’s been a pleasure watching along with you this season. You can keep up with my other work all over KQED Pop and on The Cooler podcast. And if Twitter is your thing, follow me!
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