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On a cold, icy day in late October, Mr. William Collins was summoned to attend his esteemed patroness as she visited one of the estate’s tenants.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had recently learned that the farmer’s wife had just given birth to their seventh child and sixth daughter.

Clearly something was amiss—if they had followed her instructions, such a situation would never have occurred!

To his credit, Lady Catherine’s butler did attempt to caution his mistress about the poor condition of the roads but was, unfortunately, ignored.

The driver knew his business and kept the horses to a slow trot at first, but his good sense was overridden when the heated bricks at his employer’s feet began to cool.

The lady was still demanding greater speed, rapping on the roof of the carriage with her walking stick, when calamity struck.

A pheasant burst from a bush almost directly beneath the horses’ feet just where the track curved to parallel the river.

As one mare reared and the other broke toward the riverbank, a wheel sank into a deep rut, causing the carriage to tip precariously.

The young footman managed to jump clear just before the vehicle tipped over and slid down the bank; the driver was thrown forward to a violent if mercifully quick end.

Only fifteen, Danny had worked in the stables at Rosings Park much of his life and his first thought was to help the panicked horses.

He had been recruited to replace a dismissed footman only the day before and it never occurred to him to go to the carriage first; the horses were his job, serving the mistress had always been someone else’s.

Ripping off the useless white gloves that Lady Catherine insisted upon, the lad spoke soothingly to the animals while working frantically to uncouple the hitch.

When his frozen fingers were finally successful, he grabbed the lines and guided the two mares up the bank, vaguely amazed that neither seemed to have suffered anything worse than a few bloody scrapes and a great deal of mud.

Once the team was tied to a tree, the boy turned back to the carriage with a great deal of foreboding.

Lying on its side and half submerged in dark, swirling river water, the vehicle appeared to have settled on a sandbar.

Danny slipped and slid back down the bank, pausing for only a moment to check the driver, though that man’s unnaturally positioned head made it obvious he was beyond help.

After calling out several times but receiving no answer, Danny finally used the wheels to climb up the underside of the carriage.

He was just hoisting himself over the edge when the door flew open and Mr. Collins clawed his way free, eyes bulging, looking for all the world like a drowning rat escaping a sinking ship.

In his desperation to reach solid ground, Collins attempted to go down the same way Danny had come up but wound up hanging from the edge while his feet frantically pawed for purchase.

Before Danny could offer a hand, the ungainly cleric lost his grip and fell, landing on his back in the icy water.

After a moment of stillness, Collins rolled to his stomach and crawled on his hands and knees up the bank and out of sight, all without uttering a single comprehensible word.

For a long moment, Danny could only stare at the place where the man had disappeared, but he finally shook his head and turned back to the open door. Peering down into the dark interior of the carriage, he called, “Ma’am? Can you ‘ear me?”

“Of course I can hear you, fool boy! Where do you think I am, the bottom of a well?!? Get me out of here! Get me out of here at once!!!” What Lady Catherine’s voice lacked in volume, it made up for in sharpness, rendered even harsher than usual by pain, anger and, although she would have died before admitting it, fear.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Danny could just make out his mistress at the bottom, lying in the black water with the broken end of a tree branch jutting up incongruously through the carriage window below. “Yes, ma’am. Can you stand up, ma’am? So’s I can try pulling you out?”

“You fool! Of course I can’t stand—if I could, I would have done so already! Now, come here at once and assist me.”

A quiet, careful boy, Danny studied the interior to see how he might accomplish such a feat without causing the mistress further injury; he suspected (rightly as it turned out) that the branch was anchoring the carriage and that, if it was dislodged, the vehicle might slide further into the river and be caught by the current.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully lowered himself over the edge until his toes could touch the edge of the seat and then slowly eased down to kneel just above Lady Catherine.

From that position, Danny could see that the elderly woman was very pale and had both hands pressed to her side. “Ma’am? Can you take my hand ma’am? I can try to lift you up, an’ then up ‘n out maybe?”

Danny wedged himself in the corner so that he could pull without tumbling down atop the woman. When she raised her hands to him, he was alarmed to see that they were covered with blood.

“Ready? Right then.” He braced himself and began to heave with all the strength in his lanky body, only to cease instantly when Lady Catherine let out a shriek of pain and let go of his arm.

“You incompetent fool! Take your filthy hands off me. Are you trying to kill me? Get someone else in here! Where is Burns? Bring him here this instant!”

Shocked and not a little frightened, Danny’s mouth opened and shut several times before he was able to form any words. “Ma’am—Mr. Burns is dead, ma’am. I can get Mr. Collins, ma’am?”

“Keep that pea-brained imbecile away from me, you witless peasant.” Lady Catherine pursed her lips for a moment and pressed her hands to her side again before ordering, “You must go for help. Now! What are you gaping at, boy? Go!”

“But ma’am… the cold…” He helplessly motioned to the icy water in which she lay.

“Go, you fool! Immediately! I gave you an order! Surely there is someone who can assist me without killing me in the process!”

The boy hesitated for a moment but, lacking the confidence to contradict his mistress, he finally reached up and pulled himself back out through the door. Taking one last look inside, he called, “I’ll be back just as fast as I can, ma’am.”

“Just go!” was the only response he received.

This time, Danny did as she said. He scrambled down from the carriage and up the muddy embankment as quickly as he could, but once there, he was confronted by a wild-eyed Mr. Collins.

The cleric was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth while staring down at the carriage and the swirling river.

When the footman appeared, however, Collins leapt to his feet and squawked, “What are you doing? Lady Catherine must be saved! You’ve left her!

The noble house of de Bourgh! What… what… ”

Danny stepped back rather warily when the parson’s muddy hands began clawing at his coat. A random thought flashed through his mind that the man truly did look like a rat—his beaky nose and beady eyes thrust forward, chinless and quivering. “The mistress ordered me to go for help, sir.”

Mr. Collins jerked his hands back and clutched them to his breast. “Of course, of course… you must go for help. Rouse the countryside to Lady Catherine’s aid!

And I… I shall remain here... to watch over her!

To pray! Yes, I must pray that Lady Catherine is raised from such a…

a dark place. I must m aintain the vigil… ”

When the man’s flutterings and tremblings showed no signs of diminishing (indeed, he began pulling bits of paper from various pockets for no apparent reason), the footman detached himself as quietly as he could.

Although Danny knew he could run the two miles to Rosings, it would be far faster to ride.

Having been present at Mr. Collins’ sole attempt to mount a horse (in which the cleric had climbed up one side of a staid pony and toppled down the other, nearly frightening the poor old mare to death in the process), there seemed no other option but to leave him.

After unbuckling the harness and taking off all but their bridles, the boy walked and then trotted the mares a few steps down the road to check their action and was relieved to see that only one was limping, and she only a little.

Danny had ridden the carriage horses bareback often enough to cool them after a workout, so Ollie did little more than flick her ears when he pulled her alongside a stump and swung his leg across her broad rump.

Looping and knotting the reins to keep them from dragging under the horses’ feet, he urged the mares forward, first in a slow trot until they cleared the icy ruts and then into a brisk canter.

He laced his fingers into Ollie’s mane when his vision began to grey, but the horses knew the way and had no desire to go anywhere but back to their cozy stalls.

The stable master was crossing the yard when the team came clattering wildly up the drive and was shocked to see Danny crumpled over the mare’s withers.

Seeing the man who had trained them and usually carried apples in his pockets, the mares slowed and veered toward him, coming to a halt when he put his hands up and made soothing noises.

“Aye there, Ollie, easy Sunny. Easy ladies, easy. Danny? Lad? What’s ‘appened?”

Murray helped the boy slide down and held his arm as he staggered dizzily, handing the reins off to another stable boy who appeared at a run. “What’s ‘appened, lad?”