The Great House at Collinwood. David Collins’ concern for his cousin Nicole has lead him to retain Evan Hanley, the successfully Collinsport lawyer to represent her. Having had his first meeting with Nicole, Hanley has decided to stop by the great house in order to give David a report and alleviate his anxieties. Only, upon arriving Hanley discovers that David has other pressing concerns – as well as a houseguest, who may prove to be far more than she appears.

Mrs. Johnson opens the door and her face visibly brightens as she looks upon the handsome countenance of Evan Hanley, “Ah, Mr. Evan, it is you.”

“Mrs. Johnson, I must say that new dress looks absolutely wonderful on you.” He smiles.

An even larger smile appears upon her face, “Thank you. Of course, you are the only one to notice.”

“I can not believe that?” He says as he enters and closes the door behind him, “They all have eyes but they do not see.”

She nods, “And they always have too many things on their minds.” She tells him with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Master David is in the front parlour.”

“Thank you Mrs. Johnson—and my dear there is no need for you to trouble yourself . . . as I do know the way,” he tells her as she starts to lead him across the grand foyer.

The spacious, antique furnished room is dimly lit as Evan Hanley enters the front parlour to find David Collins standing before the fireplace, speaking rather sternly into his cell phone, “Yes, I do understand but – but Chief St. Clair, this is entirely unacceptable. I expect you to look into this personally. Yes. That is totally beside the point.”

Evan Hanley slides a hand into his trouser pocket and stands patiently watching David with interest.

“Very well – please do. Thank you.” And David hangs up.

“Something the matter David?” Evan Hanley asks.

“It is difficult enough to try and find a governess for Bramwell – but to have one of the more promising candidates nearly killed – just beyond the gates to the estate . . . “ David says tossing his cell phone over on the sofa.

“Nearly killed?” Hanley asks, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes – run off the road by some lunatic driving much too fast on these winding roads – at night.”

“But, she is alright?”

“Shaken up. Some major bruising – they took her to Woodward Memorial. “ David says and stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, “The car – I’m certain the insurance company will just total.”

Hanley rubs his chin thoughtfully, “And the driver – the one who ran her off the road?”

“Can’t be found!” David shakes his head in disbelief. “2,000 pounds of steel just poof like smoke, apparently.”

“This . . . the young woman – did she give the police an adequate description of the vehicle?”

“She didn’t get a good look at it – seems it happened all too fast. Could have been an Altima, could have been a Lexis—h**l might have even been a Mercedes for all she can tell. Black is basically all of what she can remember . . . “

Hanley shakes his head, “But—you say, the young woman was very promising?”

“Oh, yes – actually if her references and the background check come back as well as she interviewed – then, I would most certainly offer her the position. That is if this crazy accident hasn’t dissuaded her – or she learns more about the Collins Curse.”

Hanley smiled, “Well – at least that is good news – finding someone for Bramwell . . . and the young lady – who is she?”

“Phyllis Wick.” David Collins says and then suddenly looks up from the fire, “Oh, well – care for a drink? Scotch as usual?”

“Yes, thank you.”

David strides over to the bar.

“I saw your cousin this evening. A very charming girl.”

“Nikki? Oh yes,” David says as he pours their drinks, “You can help her?”

“Not much at the moment to be concerned about, David.” Evan Hanley says as he steps over closer to the fire, “I checked with the Arkham Police Department and they are currently investigating the murder of the young college girl, Maria Sutton, whose body was found on that island – which, they assume to be the work of Narcissa Snow. But, owing to the fact they have not found Snow’s body, or any evidence to indicate that there was anyone other than Snow and Sutton on the island, they are working under the hypothesis that Narcissa Snow escaped from the island after killing the girl.”

“And the transcript?” David asks as he steps over and hands Hanley his drink.

“Yes,” Hanley says, taking the drink and looking at David rather inquisitively, “That transcript? Just where did you get it?”

David looks at his drink and then up to Hanley, “Certain contacts of mine.”

Hanley takes a sip of the scotch, “Contacts I can assume that will keep it suppressed?”

David nods, “Yes– but Evan, good lord, you and I know how things tend to find ways to leak – that’s why I asked you to represent her – just in case it becomes necessary.”

“Certainly–and so, there is one thing you don’t have to worry about.” Hanley says with a smile, and takes another sip of the single malt, “Now, if we may – I would like to talk to you about another matter . . .

“Yes?”

“This house guest of yours, this author.”

“Victoria?”

“Yes—are you certain this is at all wise,” He looks evenly at David, “Letting her look into the old family records?”

“She is interested in the witch trial of 1692, Evan, nothing more . . . and the role of the Reverend Amadeus Collins, who served as the lead judge.” David explains glancing at his watch.

Hanley nods. “And who knows what else she might find.”

“Most of it is public record anyway.”

Hanley pulls at the lobe of his ear, “Which is where I would have directed her, David. Opening Collins Family records, I just don’t understand . . . why?”

David takes a drink, “I would much rather control her access than not. I really don’t think there is anything to worry about Evan – Amadeus Collins is perhaps one of the very few members of this family with very little if anything hanging in his closet.”

“Yes, well, David – you never know what falls out of a closet . . . until you open it.”

Suddenly Victoria Wren, the woman in question steps through the door and enters the parlour, she looks at David and smiles, “Oh, I am so sorry. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, no not at all, Victoria. This is Evan Hanley and old friend and one of the family lawyers.” David says and looks into her sparkling blue eyes. “Evan this is Victoria. Victoria Wren.”

Hanley smiles and nods, “Miss Wren.”

David Collins sighs, “I have to make a call to Berlin, so if you two would excuse me. Evan – this would be an excellent time for you to get to know Victoria, as she is going to be staying with us a while.”

Hanley raises his eyebrows pleasantly at the prospect, “Would you care for a drink Miss Wren.” He asks as David walks out of the room.

“Oh, thank you Mr. Hanley. I would love a very dry martini.”

“Then by all means you shall have one.’

Hanley moves from the warmth of the hearth and steps over to the door of the front parlour, where he turns carefully to be assured that David has indeed gone to his office.

“So?” Victoria Wren asks, her azure eyes suddenly growing concerned, “You spoke to her?”

“Yes.” Evan Hanley replies and then moves over to the bar. “I just left her.” He begins preparing her drink. “She’s extremely intelligent and really quite dangerous, I would say.”

Her eyes grow cold, the smile having left her lips. ”I am trusting you Evan.”

“As I you.” He says dropping ice into the bar shaker.

“It would not be wise to cross me – especially on this.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” he says lifting a bottle of gin from the bar and turning the cap.

She runs her fingers long the back of a chair thoughtfully, “We have known each other for a very long time . . . Joseph.”

“Perhaps too long, “ He adds a dash of vermouth. “Else you would not have recognized me.”

“You were always the most honorable of them.” She takes a step toward him.

He smiles at her, “Among Edward, Simon, and Judah? I am not at all sure that is a distinction.” He caps the stainless steel shaker and begins shaking the drink.

Her smile is filled now with that mysterious charisma she uses to such advantage, “Oh, but it is. Let me assure you of that. But you know very well—or else you would not have kept your existence a secret.”

“Self-preservation. ” He says pouring her drink into a glass, with a look of satisfaction as he takes note of the ultra thin flecks of ice indicting the drink has been shaken to perfection. “Simon, as brilliant as he is, is crazy. And Edward, The Count is a pretentious, egotistical, self-serving bastard.”

Her gaze suddenly grows malevolent at the mere sound of his name, “Let us not speak of Edward!”

Hanley wipes his hands on a bar towel and looks over at the sudden mercurial fury in her eyes. As beautiful as she is, he is well aware what a formidable force she can be should someone raise her ire – just as well as he knows that someday there will come a reckoning between her and Edward Hutchinson. And from what he knows from the transcript given to him by David that day could be coming far sooner than he would like – and so, he has decided to run a calculated risk in not telling her all that he knows. But – then again, from what he has discovered about Nicole Collins – from what Tony Peterson has been able to piece together – he feels more than confident that she can handle the situation – as does apparently the Diogenes Club. Something else he has yet to tell her – that Nicole Collins is an Extraordinary Member; but, he feels that now is certainly not the time, knowing how she feels about that organization . . . and so, he decides it is best to change the subject . . .

“Well, as I told David—at the moment there is little to be concerned about.” He says gently slipping an olive into her glass.

“Little to be concerned about?”

He carries the drink over to her, “As regards the matter involving Narcissa Snow.”

She takes the drink and looks at him rather quizzically, “And just how ever did she become involved with the Snows?”

With a look that has served him far too well in the courtroom, “I have my investigator, Tony Peterson, looking into that.”

She steps over to the hearth and stares into the flames, “What do you know about a Mr. Raven?’

“Raven?”

“Yes—I am not at all certain what his interest’s are – or who he is aligned with, but, he seems rather intent on becoming meddlesome,” She says turning back to him and taking a sip of the martini, nodding as she does to compliment his creation, “I may need you to handle them.”

“Them?”

She turns and looks at him intently, “There’s some fool librarian from Arkham – who, for whatever reasons seems to have taken it upon himself to become allied with this . . . Raven . . . and seems intent on becoming involved in matters that do not concern him.”

Hanley slips his hand into his trouser pocket, “Handle them, meaning?”

Her eyes go cold, “You may have to kill them. You can do that Joseph, can’t you?”

He looks at his drink, “As long as I get want I want.”

She nods, “Certainly– we have an agreement.”

“Then I will look into this Mr. Raven – and his librarian.”

“Thank you Joseph.” She holds her martini rather gracefully, “And now, as to my research – I think I have found where the Mask may have been last concealed.”

“Yes?”

“The Trask Memorial Chapel just before the big storm that wiped out most of Front Street.”

“Then we know when and where.” He says with a widening smile.

“And . . . most importantly I have found the Sands of Time.”

“But, has Peter found the globe?”

“He is close he says.”

“You . . . have not told him about me?” Evan Hanley asks, watching carefully now for any hint of deception – but, is well aware that she is very, very good at deception . . . even better than he.

“Of course not.” Her mysterious charisma returning to her bemused smile, “Why would I do that?”

“Well, we need the globe. It will not work without it.”

“Yes—I am aware.”

“What I do not understand is why Quentin made it so d***ed complicated the second time around.”

“Oh—this is not his design.” She tells him sipping her drink, “Joseph, this is lovely.” Her blue eyes flashing now in the firelight, “No—he used Isaiah Mason’s to reconstruct it.”

“Mason’s?”

“Yes. A true master of complexity.”

“And Judah’s right hand.” He said, with a vague feeling of apprehension overcoming him.

She looked sideways at him, “I told you there would be risks.”

“And we don’t need to add any more – so you need to be careful David does not figure out who you are?”

“I can handle David.”

“Then let’s make certain we stay focused on the task at hand.” He tells her. “And, let’s not concern ourselves with history that can only complicate matters further.”

She looks at him suddenly, her bright blue eyes narrowing, “You mean Praetorius?’

“I mean Praetorius.”

“I will have my meeting with him.” There is no compromise in her voice.

“And for what good reason? None. Other than to possibly involve yet another master of complexity.”

She looks into the fire, the flames flickering brightly in her blue eyes, “I am sorry Joseph, but I am far too eagerly awaiting our eventual meeting . . . The shock of which, when he sees me—may be one he very well might not survive.”

Cue Music End of Episode