Well, Charles doesn't have a mustache--I guess that's enough of a difference in the DS universe.
We get a big reveal in this episode, even though it (presumably) aired on a Monday.
In the opening voiceover (read well by Roger Davis), the Hand of Count Petofi is superimposed over a photo of Collinwood, symbolizing the count’s power over the Collins family. Nice touch!
The confession has rematerialized on the little writing desk. Charity returns downstairs, wanders around the drawing room, sits for a moment, then stands, goes to the desk and picks up the document. As she reads it, her eyes fill with horror. Her father comes in a moment later. He smiles and wishes her a good morning. [WTF? Didn’t they just do their morning devotions? Is this the next morning? WTF?] Then he sees her horrified expression--and the damning evidence in her hand. His own eyes widen as she screams at him, You! This says that you and Mr. Hanley killed my mother!
Trask practically threatens poor Charity out of believing the note. I didn’t say I believed it, Charity quavers. He reminds her that Tim was responsible. I am greatly concerned about you all, Trask declares--Edward, and you, my own daughter, acting like a woman of the streets! Charity pleads, I didn’t know when it was happening. Trask warns her, Lucifer is trying to undo the good I’ve done here. You are part of his plans. Pray for the deliverance of your soul, he tells her sternly. I can fight the evil forces against me, for I am the only one left who can secure salvation for us all.
Magda is visiting J/P in his cell, where he is sleeping on a pillow with a cover that is rather more 1960s than 1890s. She calls his name softly to wake him up. He sits up and smiles at her--but his smile is definitely not childlike. J/P gloats that many people at Collinwood are seeing the truth about themselves--and suffering because of it. I can't believe this is happening, Magda protests. You are Jamison-- And yet I'm not, J/P finishes calmly. Does that frighten you? No, she replies, but as she turns away we can see that it does. You know your own time will come eventually, he says. My own time? she asks as she steps away from him. I don't understand. J/P says confidently, Very soon, you'll begin to see yourself, and not like what you see. I don't believe you--nothing will happen, Magda says nervously. That's what Mr. Trask said, but it's happening to him anyway, J/P replies. What is happening to him? Magda asks. Mr. Trask is at Collinwood now, J/P replies, but not the Collinwood he dreamed of mastering. It’s become like a prison to him. He is trapped alone in it, alone with his conscience, tortured by the truth he can't erase from his mind.
Now alone with his conscience in the drawing room, Trask decides to rip up the confession, since burning it didn’t work. At that moment, the skies darken, a howling wind blows the French doors open, and lightning flashes. Trask reacts first with anger. He turns on the nearest lamp, then hurls the confession into a (never before seen) trash can. Eerie sounds fill the air. Terrified, Trask closes the windows and looks around the room as if for a way to escape. He covers his ears to block the awful sounds, then dashes out into the foyer. Desperately he calls out, Minerva! I know you’re here, and why! Leave this house! Do you hear me? Minerva, stop doing this to me! Falling to his knees, keeping his ears covered, he screams over and over, Stop it! Stop it! He doesn't even notice when all the mysterious phenomena have stopped.
Reverend Trask, a voice says. Are you all right? Charles Delaware Tate finds Trask on his knees in the drawing room. Charles is dressed as when he first entered Collinwood, very much ala Oscar Wilde in his black coat and Trilby hat. Brusquely Trask inquires how Charles knew his name. I knew who you were because of how you were dressed, Charles replies. Your servant said you were a man of the cloth. Who were you talking to? he asks. I heard you addressing someone named Minerva. Trask says, There's no one else in the room aside from us. I was meditating when the sudden storm came up--it frightened me. Tate says, I just came from outside--there was no wind all day long. Nonplussed, Trask asks brusquely, What’s your business? Charles explains, I'm an artist. I’ve been commissioned to do a portrait of Quentin Collins. Do I know you? Trask wonders. We haven't met, I'm sure, Tate says politely as he walks about the room, admiring the various painted Collinses hanging on the walls. I've heard your name, Trask says with sudden realization. Are you _the_ Charles Tate? Yes, Charles acknowledges modestly. Trask points out that Quentin has no money, but Charles says (again) that his grandmother commissioned the portrait. Trask offers Charles a room at Collinwood, but Charles says he's rented a studio in town--Quentin doesn't want to have his portrait painted. As a matter of fact, he said I'm not welcome here at all. That's outrageous, Trask huffs. I apologize for Quentin's behavior. _I_, Trask, am master of Collinwood. Charles explains, I'm doing the portrait from a photograph. Quentin took it, and I was hoping you knew where some other pictures of him might be. I’ll find one myself, Trask says. He opens the writing desk drawer and takes out a photo (Nancy Barrett _again_)--and the confession, which falls to the floor. Charles picks it up. Give me that! Trask shouts as he grabs it from Charles’s hand. Charles looks at him oddly. Trask apologizes and explains, It was an important letter I was sending to a friend. He gives Charles the photo and says, Keep it as long as you need it. How long will you be staying in Collinsport? About two weeks, Charles replies. Perhaps you'd consider painting my daughter, Charity, Trask suggests. Money would be no object. Charles drapes an arm around Trask's shoulder and laughs as he replies, I'd be delighted to discuss it as soon as I finish Quentin's portrait. It will be a pleasure. He leaves.
Charity tries to get Quentin to go for a walk with her, but he declines politely. So she plays her ace and tells him she heard him talking with Barnabas. Attempting to recover from his surprise, Quentin insists, You were imagining it. No, I wasn’t, Charity insists back. I know his voice when I hear it. [And if anyone should, it’s Charity.] What are you going to do? Quentin asks. Tell your father? She leans over him, plants her hands on his chest and warns, You might remember that the next time I ask you for a walk. She turns to leave, giving him a warning look over her shoulder. When she opens the door, Magda is there. The two women exchange looks, then Charity flounces away. How long have you been been out there, listening? Quentin asks. I just arrived as she opened the door, Magda replies. Come to the Old House--Jamison insists on seeing you. Is he still possessed? Quentin asks. Yes, she replies. Then it’s not Jamison who wants to see me, Quentin says--it’s Petofi.
J/P offers to cure Quentin--in exchange for his freedom. (The keys to his cell are hanging just beyond his reach.) He seems about to agree when Magda comes charging down the corridor. Quentin angrily says, I thought I told you to wait upstairs! Magda retorts, I knew something like this might happen, so I came down to listen. You are a fool if you do what Jamison wants! Don’t listen to her! J/P shouts. You had better listen, because I know what I’m talking about, Magda argues as she steers Quentin a short way down the hall. Why shouldn’t I do it? Quentin asks. You aren't thinking, Magda points out. You're so desperate because of tonight's full moon, you aren't thinking! The hand! Even Petofi can't cure you without it, and he ain’t got it! You’re right, Quentin realizes. Julianka told me before she died that the hand was needed to cure the curse. You tried to trick me! he tells J/P indignantly. But J/P reserves his anger for Magda. Coldly he tells her, I warned you once before, madam, that your time would come. Perhaps it shall come sooner than you or I expected.
Charles Delaware Tate, complete with blue artist’s smock (though thankfully sans beret), is in his studio (much later the Evans cottage), working on the (unfinished) portrait of Quentin when Charity drops by. She introduces herself. With practiced flattery, Charles says, Mr. Trask only said he wanted a portrait of his daughter--but didn’t say what she looked like. I didn’t expect to be pleasantly surprised. Thank you, Charity burbles. I hope having visitors in the studio while you work doesn’t disturb you. No, he says, I don’t mind at all. I’m almost finished for the day, anyway. Your studio is charming, she says as she looks around. How did you find it? He explains, A friend of mine rented it last summer and told me about it. I’m done for the day, he says again as he sets down his brush. Excuse me while I clean my hands. After he leaves, Charity turns to look at the portrait of Quentin. The man in the portrait looks glum and dour. As Charity watches, the handsome face suddenly turns into a beast’s. Charity screams at what she sees....
