What? No, no, not the Bieber fever. I’m talking Downton Abbey fever, the fever that’s swept both sides of the Atlantic faster than the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic that almost finished off Downton’s Lady Grantham. I do not claim to understand why we are all so fascinated by the goings-on of this often hoity-toity but increasingly loveable British household, or harbor affections for the sometimes brutal and snobbish heroine Lady Mary, who is usually inwardly yawning and sighing, or silently suffering. “But there it is,” as she would undoubtedly say. “There’s not much to be done about it.” Excuse me while I fetch the tea and blankets.