When the first drops of rain fell, Catherine and Will rushed to pack everything away. They made it back into the parsonage as the worst of it fell, dripping but without any real harm.

"You must get dry this instant," Catherine charged her young helper, who agreed with all gratitude, while she went upstairs to change. By the time she came down the storm was in full force, thunder rumbling in the distance. Looking out the drawing room's window she could barely make out the trees bending in the wind. Her comfort was that the garden and yard were clear, though it saddened to think how little they would be able to enjoy their plantation if the weather continued despoiling their shrubbery.

The clock chimed four o'clock with no sign of Henry. "He's likely in the village," Mrs. Forest offered when Mrs. Tilney came to find her. "He did say he would wait it out there."

"Very true. But he may yet be on his way, so I would like to get something made up, and the fire stoked."

She hoped at any moment to hear the front door open. But the minutes ticked by without this expected homecoming, and Catherine could barely contain her worry as she checked on dinner once more. "Can we keep it warm a little longer?" she asked fretfully.

"I'm afraid it'll spoil," was the cook's opinion.

It was too awful to contemplate dining alone without her husband, and so she asked instead that they all eat together in the kitchen. "Only, Will, please go and look out the door again."

The boy, having just sat down, might have grumbled had Mrs. Poole not sent him a sharp look, causing him to leap up to obey. The two matrons did their best to comfort their young mistress, with assurances that Mr. Tilney knew what he was about, and was surely safe and dry inside someone's home.

"And I know he'll be glad to think of us all staying safe inside as well," Mrs. Forest opined when Will returned, having caught no sight of his master.

It was a simple meal, one Catherine might normally have enjoyed for its warmth and fellowship but for her concern for Henry. She knew everyone was likely correct, and that her husband was lodging with their friends, yet she was still anxious on his behalf. What if he had been too far out when the storm broke? What if he had not turned back in time? What if he was now exposed and forlorn, far from any succour?

Afterward Catherine braved her little room again with its windows futilely looking out upon the obscured landscape. She felt tired and heartsick, and wished she could have gone out also, absurd as the notion surely was. At last she scolded herself for indulging her fancies. It was ridiculous to sit thus, watching and waiting, as if Henry were as foolish a man as his brother to risk nature's onslaught. She determined to banish her overwrought thoughts and put herself to something productive, and went to find her long overdue mending.

The sound of a dog caused her to stop, and she wondered whether he was whining to be let in. Henry as a rule did not like his hunter to abide in the house proper. But Catherine decided the present circumstances must relax this prohibition and unlatched the door. She did not find Brutus on the steps; instead, he was raising a great fuss around a horse coming up the sweep. Without another thought and barely taking time to grab her pelisse, Catherine ran into the elements with a loud clamour.

It is fortunate Will was not so hasty in abandoning his chores in the loft, and brought out a lantern on being summoned. He found the rector’s wife helping a very drenched Sam Hayes out of the saddle, and quickly led them into the stable’s comparative protection.

The little boy's features wavered between exhaustion and exhilaration as he attempted to explain. "It came back, and he said as I was to bring it here, so I did!" This comment did little to enlighten his audience, and after some gentle prompting he was able to inform them that Mr. Tilney had been to see Mr. Wilcox, had taken his horse into the woods, and that this same horse had been sighted pawing around the property some time later. "Mr. Tate was mad, on account of just getting his bottle out, an' here was more work to do, an' says I was to take the thing straight back where it belonged."

Catherine was not so preoccupied by her own concerns as to miss the flaw in this plan. "But why did you come with it so dark and bad out?"

This question, clearly unexpected, bewildered the child, who turned suddenly shy. "Then, you think, he did not mean now?"

It soon became clear Sam had not told a soul of his mission, under the impression he was in orders already, and that save one potentially inebriated groom none knew of his whereabouts. "Your poor mother will be so worried!" Catherine exclaimed, which made Sam shrink to the point of bowing, the better to hide his tears with the water still dripping from his head.

"It's Dagonet sure enough," Will spoke up, having missed most of this scene while examining the horse. "See that spot? And look, it’s Mr. Tilney’s bag, with all his things." An older hand might have offered some wise reflection on not being deceived by appearances. Being young and as unnerved by the sight as the lady, Will only asked whether she wanted Sam to bed with him for the night.

"No," Catherine answered with such firmness that both lads stood up straighter. "You can drive the curricle, is that not true?" At Will's startled assent, she nodded. "Good. Get the horses watered, and then drive around to the kitchen door. Sam, come with me, we shall get you cleaned up and make ready in the house."

The bewildered servant was unsure what needed "getting ready," though based on the day's activities so far expected it meant nothing restful for him.

He was not wrong, for Catherine was determined on nothing less than setting out to deliver one wayward son back to his family, and if possible discover the whereabouts of two others. Both her housekeeper and cook tried to dissuade her of this resolution but to no avail: now that she had a purpose she was fixed on it. "I will have Will, and we will take the dog, and besides we must get Sam home before he is missed," and without waiting for more objections she ordered the boy given something hot to drink and directed a basket be prepared with food, wraps, candles, and anything else she could think of. Soon the curricle was loaded up, a thick blanket covering the supplies; and Will personally brought a little rope and hammer along, of a mind that if he had to be out he would like to have some tools as not, with these items being instilled as necessities from an early age whether they were needed for the particular task or no.

Garbed in her thickest coat and with an umbrella for further protection, Catherine confidently told her other servants they would abide in the closest dwelling of the parish after their errand was finished. Mrs. Forest looked of a mind to question the wisdom of this decision once more, but in the end only charged Will to look sharp and keep them all safe. He nodded his rather uncertain agreement while helping Catherine onto the seat, and she took the lantern from him as he lifted little Sam up to wedge between them. Brutus was in a frenzy of delight when bade to follow, barking and leaping about as they started forward.

The higher ground, though wet, was not too marshy as they made their way down the deserted Woodston lane. She had a moment of foreboding when passing the churchyard, but seeing the looks of fright on her companions spoke of courage she did not fully possess, and encouraged Will to drive on.

Sam, at least, caught some of her cheer the closer they came to their destination, even as the conditions worsened and Will struggled to keep the curricle steady. Catherine encouraged the little boy to speak, at first of anything, and then patiently leading him back to the discovery of the horse and anything else he could tell her of Henry's potential whereabouts. At the last bend in the path he was so bold as to lean over and point toward the distant woods. "I think it were that way it came from, ma'am; I heard Mr. Tilney and my father talk of someone riding in there."

For one moment Catherine considered turning in that direction, but she could not justify either taking Sam along or abandoning him, especially as he was the professed reason for the journey. So she buried her own feelings and forced herself to praise the boy as they brought him up to the perimeter of the Wilcox property, where the path had grown muddy enough it was all Will could do to bring the curricle to a halt rather than turn it onto the short drive.

"I can hop those puddles ma’am, truly!" Sam assured her with all the carelessness of youth and looking none the worse for his adventure.

Catherine debated whether she ought not to accompany him, and finally decided on sharing a few cakes to salve her conscience and instructing him to go straight to his mother with as much sternness as she could muster. "And please apologize for me, and say I would come in if I could, and that I will visit her later," Catherine continued in a rush, mad to be gone, yet determined to perform her duties to the parish as well as she could under the circumstances.

Sam ran like a hare toward the nearest building, and Will asked with some hesitation if they ought not to follow his example. "These horses aren't used to pulling together," he confessed while struggling to turn them around.

"Just a bit further," Catherine urged with a sinking heart, not at all sure if it were the right thing to do anymore, but certain she could not bear to leave off the attempt. "Is there not some trail we could follow?"

Will was hard pressed to answer: his travels primarily consisted of the parsonage and his parents' cottage, and he found it difficult to envision much beyond. "I've an uncle who boards with the tenants somewhere nearby," he mused nervously, mindful that he had the parson's wife out in a hypothetical quagmire, and fearful of his punishment if he did not think of something quick. "Mama visits sometimes. I think she goes up by the field path, like they drive the carts through."

"Then we shall use it as well," Catherine spoke with all confidence, causing Will to wish he had heeded all the matrons in his life who advised him to mind his tongue. Soon they were repositioned and heading up the way carved by much larger wagon wheels, their lighter vehicle just skimming over the shallow ruts. The dog kept to their side, less playful and more alert, occasionally bounding after something only he could see before returning.

At last they came within sight of the forest, and Will was able to guide the team onto an even narrower trail. The rain at least was not as pelting under the canopy, but their limited light curtailed any speed beyond a crawl as they cast about for any sign of their quarry.

Brutus sniffed about, alert, than threw back his head and howled before leaping deeper into the thicket. "Oh, he must have found him, Will, we must go after him!" Catherine cried, a thousand scenes from her books filling her with awe and terror at the sight. Her driver was not unmoved, and did all he could to force the curricle into every open space possible, even putting the hood down to allow for a tighter fit through the brush. She held the lantern as high as possible, catching sight of the dog still dashing back and forth. The animal had been trained well and never got too far ahead, always letting them know his whereabouts.

After what felt like ages, Will was able to manoeuvrer the curricle through a break in the trees, only to bring it up short again in a sudden panic. "We can't go there! See ahead? That's part of the canal, we'll fall in!"

Brutus was frantic, whining and baying at turns, and the horses uneasily shifted their weight at his upset. Catherine searched for any sign that they were in the correct place. "Look, Will: do you see something?"

With trepidation the boy allowed the vehicle to advance, and as they came alongside the vague shape took form. Reaching over, Will was able to grab the reins, and Catherine held their lantern higher. As one they recognized the stallion's silver military harness. "It must be the captain's," Will allowed, and they both looked about in alarm.

"They have to be nearby: we shall have to search on foot." She did not even wait for Will to help her, but climbed down herself. While the boy tethered their growing herd, she carefully lit another lantern, shielding the precious flame with her umbrella. "Here, it will go faster if we each have one," and attempting to shelter them both, Catherine set off with her reluctant companion after the dog, with cries of "Mr. Tilney!" and "Henry!" as they swept their lights to and fro.

Abruptly there was a shout, unintelligible, but sounding more human than etheral. "Did you hear it?" Catherine asked, and they both stood still.

The report came again, louder, and distinctly forming the word "Here!" Such encouragement was all Catherine needed to race ahead, forgetting Will completely at the sound of her husband's voice, repeatedly wailing his name all the while. She stopped when she heard an answering "Catherine?" and peered round, then turned to the canal itself as the dog planted himself by its side and howled. She inched forward, holding the lantern high, and gasped at the sight below her.

"Oh! Henry, are you hurt?" she called, taking in his unusually dishevelled appearance. "And where is your greatcoat?"

"Covering Frederick, who needs it more at the moment. But are you alone?"

"No sir!" Will came bounding up, fearing chastisement more than falling. "We drove out with the curricle, and found the captain's horse."

Henry's looks spoke his displeasure, but he was interrupted voicing his exact thoughts by a sneeze. "We can discuss whether that was wise later, but I am glad to see you. We must get Frederick out, his leg is hurt."

"Because of you!" came a sharp retort, and Catherine moved her lantern to take in the huddled form of the captain laying nearby.

"Unfortunately our first attempt at escape resulted in injury, which Frederick received the brunt of; and while splinted, the leg needs more support than a branch and cravat may provide. I have tried to climb out since but the ground has no purchase, and I cannot get a footing."

Here Will proved his mettle by proudly announcing he had brought rope with him, and was rewarded by Henry clapping his hands. "Excellent! Bring the horses around: between them and a few good knots we should be out soon enough."

As the boy went to do his master's bidding, Catherine remained, still holding her lantern high. "You are sure you are unharmed? It looks a ways to fall."

"I am perfectly well," was the reply, a bit too quick even for Catherine's ready credulity. As if recognizing his mistake, Henry continued, "Nothing that may not be cured by a comfortable chair by the fire. I am only sorry you are forced to share our troubles."

Disclaiming any discomfort of her own, Catherine was prevented making further inquires by Will’s return. At Henry's instruction he wound the rope in among the collar and chains of the pair, then wrapped it about himself. "Be careful," Catherine warned as she watched Will climb down.

It felt terrible to be stranded at the top of such a ravine, with nothing to do but watch and wait, listening to the men go about their labours. The dog crawled beneath the floorboard to lounge, panting but happiest of their party, and she praised his good work with reciprocal gladness. Eventually Will came scurrying back over the edge. "Very good ma'am, hold the lamp steady," he said, and then began coaxing the horses to pull their new burdens up.

She could see the figure of the captain gradually rising in his makeshift litter, and hear even more clearly his oaths. Henry, holding tight to the rope, guided his brother's ascent from below. Once they were close enough she reached out, taking his hand, and soon they were all on level ground again. At their hail Will came running back, helping his master get the sodden and very angry captain hoisted up onto the curricle’s seat. "Thank you," Henry said, leaning on a wheel as he caught his breath. "We had best turn around to Woodston, though I've no firm idea of the distance at this point."

"Oh yes!" Catherine agreed, disturbed by how worn her husband looked now that she saw him closer. "You should both get inside at once. Henry, you must sit with your brother, and take cover. Will and I are small enough to both ride behind: my umbrella will do for us."

"Nonsense: the mud will turn all over you, who are already far too wet." Henry's protests would have carried more weight if he were not drenched and dirty himself, and interrupted by coughing. Catherine at once reached into their supplies and fetched him a draught of water, ignoring protests from the passenger disturbed by her efforts.

Trying to appease her husband, Catherine recommended he sit on the back with umbrella and blanket. "I may then ride and keep your brother safe, while Will leads the team."

Despite himself Henry looked of half a mind to agree, until the boy admitted he was not sure where they were or how to guide them away. "And what would they do with the captain’s horse? The rope was too thick to loop through his gear."

"I will ride it," Henry announced, standing straighter. "You should be able to stand in the curricle, and can follow. Keep your umbrella, dear, I am afraid you may be pushed to the side and will need the protection."

She protested, demanding he use it, but Henry only shook his head and took the other lantern. "We must not delay with arguments. Come, up inside, the sooner we start the sooner we may reach safety."

Catherine allowed herself to be helped up, but held her husband's hand with firm emphasis before he walked away. "And when we arrive, you will rest? For my sake?"

"Believe me, I need no prompting for that," Henry answered, but at her look he earnestly agreed.

Reassured, Catherine settled herself as best she could while Will took up the reins, and her brother angrily demanded they set off at once. His language grew only fouler as they were jostled forward. "Could you not bring anything stronger to drink?" was his demand, prompting Catherine to honestly reply that there had been no spirits left to pack. His curses made her blush but she determined to ignore him, and kept her eyes trained on the figure with the lantern ahead.