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The Woodston road was both familiar and pretty, and Catherine’s spirits were much uplifted by the thought that she was on her way to her own Henry. She was sure the journey would do her no harm, despite her expectant state, for Henry’s carriage was as comfortable and well-hung as possible, and they had often been taking drives about the countryside since she had informed him of the joy that was to befall them. Now she happily recalled those drives taken on this very road together, and pointed out cottages and fields, hills and flowers to Isabella, who did not, in point of fact, seem to be listening.
The main turnpike road was good, though less interesting, and the carriage made rapid time. The sun was hot and halfway through the journey the coachman suggested they stop to rest the horse in a shady lay-by at the start of the forest road, and eat their cold chicken, bread and cheese. He thoughtfully sat on one side of a large bowlder, and the ladies sat on the other.
After a reasonable rest, and some cold tea, they resumed their seats in the curricle, which now turned onto the forest path.
The trees were thick, and the horse had to pick its way more slowly along the path, where the light was fading.
“Goodness, Thomas is a pokey driver,” complained Isabella, growing tired of the uncomfortable bumps the carriage made on the forest road, worse than on the turnpike. “I declare it is growing dark already, we shall be in pitch blackness by the time we reach Northanger.”
“No such thing,” Catherine said encouragingly, “it is high summer, and does not grow full dark till at least nine. We want at least two hours of that now, I am sure.”
“We are a little slow, I am afraid, ma’am,” said Thomas, turning round on his box. “We was a little delayed getting away, and it is hard picking our way through these here trees. But we will do it, and before full dark.”
“Humph!” said Isabella. “We can expect to spend the night in the open, I am sure.”
“Don’t think such dreadful things, Isabella. Thomas knows the way and we are certain to be safe.”
At that moment they heard a crashing through the trees, that sounded like a runaway horse. The girls clung to each other, startled. “Hey!” shouted Thomas, shaking his whip to warn the oncoming creature away. But instead of turning, as they expected, it charged right at them, and Catherine and Isabella had a glimpse of foamy mouth, and madly glowing red eyes, as it came rushing onwards.
Isabella screamed. “Oh, what is it Catherine?”
“Hold tight, Isabella!”
“That is no steed – that is a goblin! No, I swear it is a Gytrash! Have you read of them?”
“What on earth do you mean? Do be quiet, Isabella – it has run away but is only a horse – “
“Get down!” shouted Thomas in his loudest voice, as the animal reared on its hind legs and came down on their own horse, overturning the carriage completely. Then it went crashing away into the woods.
Isabella did not stop screaming for an instant, but Catherine, who was in the upper position, scrabbled to try to open the door, which was above her. “Oh do be still for a moment, Isabella – are you hurt?”
“I am sure I am crushed from the way you are lying on me. Do get off. My door is on the ground, cannot you open yours?”
“I believe it will take both of us to do it. Thomas! Thomas! Can you not help?”
The coachman was silent.
“Oh he must be dead,” despaired Isabella. “And the horse. What shall we do?”
“Do not say such things, Isabella. Do not think them. Come, put your hands here, and let us both lift up at once – “
The uppermost door lifted up, and Catherine, smudged and dusty, managed to clamber out. Sitting on the side of the coach, she reached down her arm to pull Isabella up, and soon the girls were sitting on the side of the coach.
“The horse is down, and I don’t see Thomas,” said Catherine, concerned.
“Perhaps the Gytrash has got them.”
“Don’t be silly, what are you talking of? What is a gytrash?”
“Oh, don’t you know, they are creatures, dogs or horses, who haunt lonely roads and lead travelers astray. I read of them in some book or other about ghosts. I am sure that thing was one; did you not see how red his eyes were?”
“Never mind, poor beast,” said Catherine, not without a shudder. “I think I can slide down easily enough, it is not too high to do so, and the ground is soft. If I do it, will you try to follow?”
The maneuver was done with success, and the girls stood in the road, shaken but unhurt. Walking around to the front of the carriage, they saw that sure enough the horse was down, and whinnying in pain from what looked like a broken foreleg. Beside him lay Thomas.
Catherine knelt beside him, and examining him, shook his shoulder gently. The man was breathing, and presently opened his eyes.
“Thomas! Are you all right? Can you tell me where you are hurt?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said hoarsely, “it should be me taking care of you, by rights. But my back seems hurt, like, and I don’t think I can get up.”
“Oh! Horrors,” gabbled Isabella. “Catherine, what shall we do? We cannot remain here, and we cannot ride. And night is coming on. No one knows we are here, no one will come for us!”
“We must think what to do,” said Catherine, to gain a little time. “Thomas, what do you advise? How far are we from Northanger?”
“Matter of four miles, thereabouts, now, ma’am,” answered the old coachman, his eyes shut in pain. “There’s a lantern by my seat – and a flint to light it. You might take that, and follow the road.”
“Does it lead directly to Northanger?”
“That it does. If you could go and seek help-“
“I hate to leave you here. Is there any water?”
“Yes, a pouch.”
“We will leave it with you. I wish there was something I could do for your pain.”
“Bottle of spirits in the box – leave that with me too, if you would be so good,” he said faintly.
She brought him the water, the spirits, and a blanket and left him to rest as comfortably as possible, promising to return with help as fast as might be.
“Is there any thing we can do for the horse?”
“No. I hope he can be splinted, but I can’t tell from here. The best thing is to get some of the men from Northanger, right quick.”
“We will.” Then she looked at Isabella, who was sitting in the road, and starting to cry.
“Isabella! You must come with me. I do not want to walk alone to Northanger, and we will be safer together. Come. You can walk, cannot you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to.”
“Nobody wants to,” said Catherine through clenched teeth, “but we must. Come, the faster we walk, the sooner we will be there.”
“It is a good thing you gave me new shoes,” Isabella admitted.
There was no walking fast through the dark forest, however, and before long full darkness had fallen with only a gleam of moonlight above the trees. The girls trembled at every sound, every call of an owl, every cry of a wild dog, sure that the Gytrash, if such it was, would appear round the next bend.
“That creature would tear us to pieces,” faltered Isabella. “Oh, where is it?”
“Nowhere near now. It went crashing off in the opposite direction after it overturned us, you know, and must be miles away by now. I wonder what it was.”
“Something inhuman,” shuddered Isabella, “a ghost or a demon. Oh! This terrible ancient forest, is full of strange things, I am sure!”
“Do stop talking like that, Isabella. I am only afraid if it comes back and menaces poor Thomas. Well, let us press on.”
“Now my shoe has fallen off. Oh, Catherine, you are positively cruel. I cannot continue.”
“You must, Isabella, for I am going on, and you do not wish to be left. I must get to Henry.”
“Oh, he is all you think of. What about me?”
“The best thing for you,” said Catherine uncompromisingly, “will be to get up and keep walking. Look – here is a stick. Take it and lean on it. That will help you.”
“You must support me, Catherine, my ankle has been turned.”
Isabella’s complaints did not cease, and Catherine was hard put to reassure and encourage her, but at length the trees grew fewer, the moon overhead gave more light, and they entered a clearing. Half a mile further, and the Abbey appeared on a rise, a little ahead, gleaming through the clouds.