~blurb: Catherine has a gothic misadventure after getting turned out of Northanger Abbey. The Mysteries of Count Eyepatch, or, Catherine, a Young Girl on an Adventure Catherine was miserable. Her stay at Northanger Abbey had come to an abrupt end. Her ill-judged accusation had so offended General Tilney that he had turned her out of the house unceremoniously. She began to feel like one of the heroines of the novels she so loved to read. However, the feeling was not of adventure but of dread. To add to her discomfort, she feared she may never see Henry Tilney again. He had left Northanger Abbey to return to his abode, Woodston, and her last interview with him had been devastatingly painful. As she waited for the carriage to take her to the post, Eleanor hurried to her friend and grasped her hands. “Let me once again express how sorry I am to send you away in such ignominy,” said she. “I would not have you travel in such a dangerous fashion for the world. If only my father would consent to send a servant with you, my mind would be at ease.” “Do not distress yourself over a matter that you cannot control,” replied Catherine through tears. Eleanor produced a small package wrapped in newspaper. “Take this. I dare say your trip away from home has been of such duration that you may not have any money.” Catherine examined her pocketbook and was convinced that, but for this kindness of her friend, she might have been turned from the house without even the means of getting home. The carriage was soon announced. Catherine said, “Please say my farewells to…” Eleanor replied, “I will tell him… everything,” with a single tear running down her cheek. With this approach to his name ended all possibility of restraining her feelings; and, hiding her face as well as she could with her handkerchief, she darted across the hall, jumped into the chaise, and in a moment was driven from the door. While she remained in the Tilney carriage, Catherine could think only of those she left behind, the kindness of the brother and sister and her terrible offense to the general. She reproached the folly that had led her to provoke his remonstrance. How could she have imagined such horrible things about him? Once Catherine had removed to a hack chaise, her mind turned to the present. The equipage was not as comfortable, the driver brusque and commanding; nothing was familiar. The road on which they traveled seemed bumpy and foreboding. She looked about her and recognized no landmarks. To settle her mind, she opened up the newspaper-wrapped package that Eleanor had so graciously given her. There was enough money to secure her passage home as well as a beautiful locket. Catherine lifted it and examined it in the light shining through the isinglass window. It was silver with a script “T” engraved in the center. Longing to feel a connection to her friends she was leaving behind, she opened it to find a miniature painting of Henry in one side and Eleanor in the other. She immediately fastened it around her neck amidst her tears. It struck Catherine that she was all alone in the world, much like a heroine in one of her gothic novels. Aside from the driver, there was no one to protect her from danger. But then she recalled Henry’s wise words to her at Northanger Abbey: “Remember the country and age in which we live,” and she felt more secure. I am in England, a Christian law-abiding nation where roads and newspapers lay everything open. Henry’s words reminded her of the newspaper in her lap. She noted it was dated only a couple of days before, and, not having a novel at hand, she sought to distract herself by reading it. A headline caught her eye. Highwaymen Attack on the Turnpike Road! I am on the turnpike road, she thought to herself. She read on. “Using the trees along the road as cover, highwaymen have been springing forth upon unsuspecting travelers.” As the carriage rounded a bend, Catherine briefly looked up and noticed a stretch of road ahead with trees lining either side, forming a beautiful green canopy overhead. But her attention could not long be distracted from the newspaper story, which retold an eyewitness account from a traveler who had survived an attack. “Three men on horseback approached the carriage.” Something caught Catherine’s attention from the corner of her eye. She looked up and noticed some men on horseback near the carriage. She shrugged to herself at the sight of fellow travelers on the road and read on. “Soon the three men split up, one on either side of the carriage and one in front.” Catherine noticed something out of her other eye and saw one of the travelers on horseback riding on that side of the coach while another one sped up towards the front. She looked back to the newspaper, “The man in front brandished a pistol and cried out to the driver ….” Then Catherine heard the next line as she read it: “Stand and deliver!” The coach came to an abrupt stop as Catherine saw the next line before dropping the newspaper, “The coach was forced to stop.” She was terrified. Before she knew it, the door to the coach was wrenched open. A burly, hairy man pulled her from her seat so roughly that she tore the hem of her gown as she exited the coach. “Aw, what ‘ave we ‘ere?” he said smiling. The man turned towards the leader of the gang. “‘Tis a fine miss, Patch, a fine miss all on ‘er own,” then reaching at her throat and grasping the locket from Eleanor, he added, “with a shiny bauble.” “Unhand me, you lawless rogue,” cried Catherine. Once he did so, she looked towards the front of the carriage and saw the driver on his knees with his hands on his head screaming, “I got nothin’!” The other man came towards them and looked her up and down. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch. “Patch?” asked Catherine. “Count Udolpho, at your service,” said the man. “Udolpho?” cried Catherine. “No. That could not be!” “Get her back in the coach,” said Patch with a thick Italian accent, as the third man was tying up the driver. “Take my horse,” he added as he jumped to the seat of the coach and took the reins. “What?” cried Catherine. “Where are we going?” “To the castle,” cried the count with a nefarious laugh. “No, you mustn’t take me anywhere. I must go home,” she cried back. The carriage began to move. “But this is England. We are Christians. We have laws.” Patch just laughed in response to her cries as the carriage rolled on. “This is not how I wanted to see a castle!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Henry casually trotted his horse up to Northanger, smiling to himself at the thought of seeing Cathering again. He hoped to assuage her anxiety about their last meeting. As he dismounted and sauntered to the door, his sister sprang forth from the entrance. “Oh, Henry! I am so glad you are here! I am so distressed over what has happened to our poor Catherine!” “Good God! Is she ill? Has she harmed herself?” “Harmed herself? Henry, we live in England. We are Christians. But she may very well meet with harm on the road, for she is all alone.” Henry was puzzled. “On the road? Alone?” Eleanor raised her handkerchief to her brow. “Our father has turned her out at the break of dawn with no escort and no money!” “What?” cried Henry in alarm. “But why?” “I really do not know the reason she has fallen out of favor with him.” Henry wasted no time turning back toward the stables as he called back to his sister, “I must find her!” Bursting into the stable, he jumped astride the largest, strongest, speediest stallion he encountered, which was also his father’s favorite. Then he said to the horse, “Run, Shadowfax! Show us the meaning of haste!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Catherine gripped the seat of the carriage as it rumbled up the steep path towards an unknown destination. She was terrified, uncertain of her fate. Suddenly, she noticed the newspaper on the floor at her feet. She grasped it frantically, desperately hoping to learn what would happen next. The article continued. The eyewitness whose account was being given was a gentleman who was robbed and left on the side of the road. “Nothing about a castle!” cried Catherine to herself, throwing the newspaper back on the floor. “What shall I do?” A few moments later, it occurred to her that the driver would certainly pursue. She looked around for something she could toss out the window as a sign of her whereabouts. She grasped at the locket around her neck but could not bring herself to part with it. She pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and slipped it out the window. It fluttered on the breeze and caught on a low-hanging branch. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Meanwhile, Henry traced her path from the post, and before long, found the driver walking back towards the inn where the carriage had been hired. Henry recognized from his livery that he must be a hired driver and could see that he was distressed. “Have you seen a young lady traveling alone toward Salisbury?” Henry inquired. “Aye, the very one. I was driving her along when we were beset by a one-eyed highwayman and his gang! They tied me up, but I got loose.” “Good God! Quick, man, what happened to the lady?” Henry asked. “Kidnapped, she was. Said something about taking her to a castle.” The driver continued plodding along as Henry sped forward in the opposite direction. He had not a moment to lose! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The carriage stopped abruptly in front of a large, dark, looming castle. Soon the burly man yanked the door open. Catherine shrank into the corner, but he reached in and grabbed her by the arm. “There’s no ‘iding from me, miss!” “Unhand me, you brute!” “Hush now and move along!” he said, pulling her out of the carriage. She managed to gain her footing, and he half-dragged her to the front door where the one-eyed ringleader waited. “Where do you want her, Patch?” her burly escort queried. “To the tower,” said Count Udolpho ominously. As Catherine stumbled into the musty building, she passed the third robber who stood grinning at her with missing teeth. “We’re not often favored with the company of a lady,” he observed. Patch slapped him with a glove. “That’s enough out of you,” he said in his thick Italian accent. To Catherine, he gestured towards a small archway, a stone spiral staircase visible within. “Up you go, signorina,” he said courteously. Catherine had no choice but to comply. With trembling limbs, she ascended the stairs, the count following close behind. It occurred to her that she could simply turn and push him down the stairs, but the other two men would take their vengeance and she would still be trapped. At the top of the winding staircase, she finally reached a dark landing with a wooden door. The count reached around her and roughly opened it to reveal a dank, dimly-lit chamber that contained only an old bed and a chest. “In you go, signorina,” said the one-eyed count, giving her a small shove. As soon as she was inside, he slammed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Catherine burst into tears. What misfortunes would befall her in such a place? Much as she had longed to see a castle, she could have no enjoyment under her present circumstances. The room had a small stained-glass window high up that she could not see out of. She sank onto the bed, raising a cloud of dust, and saw a little mouse scuttle away into a corner. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ As Henry continued galloping along the turnpike road, he paused to see a scrap of fabric that had fallen on the ground. He immediately recognized it as the sprigged muslin from Catherine’s traveling gown. There were several footprints along the way and scraps of rope that he concluded must have been used to tie up the driver. “A clue!” he shouted in euphoria. “I am on the right path!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Presently, the count returned. He carried a tray containing a crust of bread and goblet of wine. “Eat, drink,” he commanded. “No, I shan’t,” she said petulantly. “Then you shall starve,” he said simply, twisting his pinky ring. “Why have you brought me here?” she asked desperately. “I have nothing to give you.” The count raised his exposed eyebrow. “Oh, but you do, my dear signorina. You possess a great treasure.” “Me?” she exclaimed naively. “I assure you, I do not. You have mistaken me for someone else.” His gaze turned wistful. “When I first laid eyes on you, I saw at once that you are the very vision of one whom I have loved deeply. I cannot forget her, though she is far away beyond my reach.” Catherine paused. “That is very sad, but I am not she. You have done a very bad thing, and when you are found out, you will be punished severely. This is England. We have laws. We are Christians.” “I assure you, no punishment can be more severe than what I have already endured.” Catherine was intrigued in spite of her situation but could not bring herself to question him. Sensing her curiosity, the count sank wearily onto the chest and began his tale of woe. “I grew up in a small village in the idyllic Tuscan hills. My boyhood was fraught with agony, as my father was cruel and my mother neglectful. We had a large home, but it was devoid of love.” “I knew it! You are not a real count!” Catherine exclaimed, triumph shining in her eyes. “I adopted the name Count Udolpho as my professional pseudonym when I began my life of crime in England. Don’t you think it is a fitting choice?” She turned her nose up at him in refusal. This he considered sufficient encouragement to carry on with his fascinating narrative. “When a young man, I fell in with a dangerous crowd. My closest friend was intrigued by the theater. He convinced us to perform an odious play called Lovers Vows. The lady who played my love interest was the most beautiful creature I ever beheld. She bewitched me body and soul, and I love… I love… I loved her most ardently. Her name was Bianca Francesca Emelia Maria Angelina Rigatoni, and whenever I hear that name, the hair stands up on the back of my neck, my mouth waters, and my palms sweat. Oh, cara mia!” He sighed. “But her betrothed was also a player in our company. Stupid fellow! He could not even memorize his two and forty speeches. Imbecile! One day while Bianca and I rehearsed, the cur saw me grasp her dainty hand to my heart, and he flew into a rage! He challenged me to a duel the next morning at dawn. He took my eye, but I took something far more valuable from him.” “Bianca?” Catherine asked. The count burst forth in a mirthless laugh. “No, no. She broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. She devastated my soul and left me a broken shell of a man, a ship without a rudder, a mere shadow of the man I once was. I was left with no recourse but to flee the country and turn to a life of crime, never to love again.” His eye, which had been cast down in sadness as he regaled her with his tragic story, became animated as he looked her up and down. “Until today, that is.” Catherine shuddered. Her bosom heaved as she wondered what he would do to her. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Henry paused again in his quest as he spied what appeared to be another clue along the road. There in a branch fluttered a scrap of fabric. He grasped it to examine it more closely and, thanks to his superior understanding of muslins, knew in an instant that it was not Catherine’s. Catherine owns no garment of this inferior weave of cloth or hideous shade of puce, he thought. Could he still be on the right path? He charged on despite his misgivings. He had heard tale of an abandoned castle off the turnpike road in this vicinity. He prayed to God that he was not too late. My dearest, loveliest Catherine, he thought, I am coming. Hold fast, and do not lose hope. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Catherine was losing hope. The lusty count stepped toward her lustfully with lust burning in his eye. If he could see out of the other eye, his eyepatch would have been on fire. She sprang from the bed to avoid his reach and pressed her back against the opposite wall. But when she looked up, she saw chains dangling from the wall with manacles on the ends. She was struck with terror to her gothic soul. She screamed and lurched forward into Count Udolpho’s waiting arms. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ As Henry galloped on in the direction he believed the castle to be in, he saw a small path winding up into the hills. When he turned his horse to follow it, he spied yet another scrap of fabric dangling from a branch. As he approached, his nostrils caught the faint smell of Catherine’s sweet scent. Could it be hers? he wondered. He eagerly snatched the white square from the tree and knew it to be her own. He perceived her initials embroidered in one corner, giving him further confirmation that she had traveled this way. Clever girl! She must have tossed this out the window as a clue. He spurred Shadowfax on. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Catherine cried out in horror as the addled Count stroked her cheek muttering, “Oh my dearest, loveliest, Bianca.” Catherine pushed him away crying, “I am not Bianca. I am Catherine. Miss Morland, to you! You… you fake Italian count!” Just as he leaned down to force a kiss upon her lips, suddenly the door flew open. “I am saved!” cried Catherine. But it was a momentary relief, as it was the burly man come to inform his boss that a lone rider was approaching the castle. “Dispatch him,” cried Patch, angrily. Then turning to Catherine and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he added, “This is your doing. You thought to lead a rescuer to our hidden lair!” He dragged her to the wall and roughly secured her wrists into the manacles. “Nooooo,” she cried. “What if I have an itch?” “I have had an itch I cannot scratch for years!” cried her captor. “I will have satisfaction,” he said as he locked the door and put the key securely in his pocket. They heard a ruckus downstairs as Shadowfax reared up and kicked the front door of the castle down on top of the third bandit as the burly bandit looked on in fear. Henry met his eye with such a gleam of purpose, that a chill ran down the large man’s spine. “Where is she?” commanded the young parson. The burly man could not help glancing at the entrance to the stairway before running out the doorway in fear, leaping over his friend’s crushed form in the process. Henry vaulted off of Shadowfax and raced up the spiral stairway, wiping the sweat from his brow with Catherine’s handkerchief as he went along. When he arrived on the landing, he met with a formidable ancient door and he intuitively knew that Catherine was behind it and in substantial danger. The iron lock was nothing to Henry’s boot and he dispensed with it in one swift kick. As Henry stormed in, the count was midsentence, “And that’s when they placed the first bounty on my head …” “Henry,” cried Catherine. “Catherine,” cried Henry at the same moment. “Who the devil are you?” cried the count. “I am your worst nightmare,” said Henry. “Ha!” said the count, “but you are too early! I have not finished my monologue!” “Finish this,” exclaimed Henry, lunging at the man. “You shall not forestall me,” said the one-eyed count angrily. “I was just getting to the good part.” “No part of this is good,” said Henry, landing a blow. “You shall free my dearest love.” “You mean my dearest love,” retorted the count as Henry dodged his flying fist. “Stop this,” cried Catherine. “Your story is compelling. You should write a book about it for the world to read.” The count stopped to look at her. “But I have done so,” he said. “The manuscript is in the chest!” Henry immediately removed the manacles from Catherine’s wrists and she fell into his welcoming arms as the count crumpled to his knees in shame, crying for his poor lost Bianca. After a brief reunion with Henry, Catherine could not help but dart towards the chest and open it. Inside she found the count’s manuscript just as he promised. She handed it to him and said, “Off you go. Find a publisher in London and turn from your life of crime.” “Yes,” he said. “I shall. For, after all, this is England, a Christian nation of laws!” Catherine returned to Northanger with Henry, on Shadowfax, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. When they approached the house, General Tilney emerged with a furrowed brow. “What the blazes is she doing here? I sent her away!” “Do you not realize, Father, the danger to which you exposed this young lady?” “And do you realize, Son, the danger I was saving you from in sending her away.” Then turning to the young lady, he added, “I know it all! You have deceived us! I shall not allow the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune to drag this family down. Your deception shall not be endured.” “But I never deceived anyone,” said Catherine. “Of course you did not,” said Henry. “Father, she was set upon by highwaymen and kidnapped. This is what you exposed her to!” “But she still has her jewelry,” he observed in disbelief. “Highwaymen would have robbed her.” But looking closer he recognized the locket around her neck. “What is this? Have you given her a family heirloom?” “No, …” started Catherine. “It does not signify,” retorted Henry growing agitated, “I found her chained to a wall in the tower of a castle. Chained to a wall, Sir! Can you imagine?” The general at once clutched at his heart. “I am sorry,” he said as he collapsed. “Father,” cried Eleanor, who had just come from the house. “Too late,” he cried, “too late have I realized the error of my ways.” And with that he died on the abbey steps, his head cradled by his daughter. Henry could not a shed a tear for his father. But, placing his arm around Catherine said, “Now we can marry without impediment.” “And I can marry my true love,” said Eleanor, “Count Udolpho.” “Bianca?” exclaimed Catherine in wonder. FINIShttps://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131452#msg-131452Tue, 26 May 2026 04:23:58 +0100 Phorum 5.2.22 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131458#msg-131458 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131458#msg-131458 Steph D Derbyshire Writers' GuildThu, 16 Jan 2025 19:03:07 +0000 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131457#msg-131457 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131457#msg-131457 Beclyn Derbyshire Writers' GuildMon, 13 Jan 2025 03:26:43 +0000 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131456#msg-131456 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131456#msg-131456
I absolutely loved the repetition about England being a Christian nation of laws!!!]]> NN S Derbyshire Writers' GuildSun, 12 Jan 2025 15:40:13 +0000 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131452#msg-131452 https://dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,131452,131452#msg-131452
The Mysteries of Count Eyepatch, or, Catherine, a Young Girl on an Adventure

Catherine was miserable. Her stay at Northanger Abbey had come to an abrupt end. Her ill-judged accusation had so offended General Tilney that he had turned her out of the house unceremoniously. She began to feel like one of the heroines of the novels she so loved to read. However, the feeling was not of adventure but of dread.

To add to her discomfort, she feared she may never see Henry Tilney again. He had left Northanger Abbey to return to his abode, Woodston, and her last interview with him had been devastatingly painful.

As she waited for the carriage to take her to the post, Eleanor hurried to her friend and grasped her hands.

“Let me once again express how sorry I am to send you away in such ignominy,” said she. “I would not have you travel in such a dangerous fashion for the world. If only my father would consent to send a servant with you, my mind would be at ease.”

“Do not distress yourself over a matter that you cannot control,” replied Catherine through tears.

Eleanor produced a small package wrapped in newspaper. “Take this. I dare say your trip away from home has been of such duration that you may not have any money.”

Catherine examined her pocketbook and was convinced that, but for this kindness of her friend, she might have been turned from the house without even the means of getting home.

The carriage was soon announced.

Catherine said, “Please say my farewells to…”

Eleanor replied, “I will tell him… everything,” with a single tear running down her cheek.

With this approach to his name ended all possibility of restraining her feelings; and, hiding her face as well as she could with her handkerchief, she darted across the hall, jumped into the chaise, and in a moment was driven from the door.

While she remained in the Tilney carriage, Catherine could think only of those she left behind, the kindness of the brother and sister and her terrible offense to the general. She reproached the folly that had led her to provoke his remonstrance. How could she have imagined such horrible things about him?

Once Catherine had removed to a hack chaise, her mind turned to the present. The equipage was not as comfortable, the driver brusque and commanding; nothing was familiar. The road on which they traveled seemed bumpy and foreboding. She looked about her and recognized no landmarks.

To settle her mind, she opened up the newspaper-wrapped package that Eleanor had so graciously given her. There was enough money to secure her passage home as well as a beautiful locket. Catherine lifted it and examined it in the light shining through the isinglass window. It was silver with a script “T” engraved in the center. Longing to feel a connection to her friends she was leaving behind, she opened it to find a miniature painting of Henry in one side and Eleanor in the other. She immediately fastened it around her neck amidst her tears.

It struck Catherine that she was all alone in the world, much like a heroine in one of her gothic novels. Aside from the driver, there was no one to protect her from danger. But then she recalled Henry’s wise words to her at Northanger Abbey: “Remember the country and age in which we live,” and she felt more secure. I am in England, a Christian law-abiding nation where roads and newspapers lay everything open.

Henry’s words reminded her of the newspaper in her lap. She noted it was dated only a couple of days before, and, not having a novel at hand, she sought to distract herself by reading it. A headline caught her eye. Highwaymen Attack on the Turnpike Road! I am on the turnpike road, she thought to herself. She read on. “Using the trees along the road as cover, highwaymen have been springing forth upon unsuspecting travelers.” As the carriage rounded a bend, Catherine briefly looked up and noticed a stretch of road ahead with trees lining either side, forming a beautiful green canopy overhead. But her attention could not long be distracted from the newspaper story, which retold an eyewitness account from a traveler who had survived an attack. “Three men on horseback approached the carriage.” Something caught Catherine’s attention from the corner of her eye. She looked up and noticed some men on horseback near the carriage. She shrugged to herself at the sight of fellow travelers on the road and read on. “Soon the three men split up, one on either side of the carriage and one in front.” Catherine noticed something out of her other eye and saw one of the travelers on horseback riding on that side of the coach while another one sped up towards the front. She looked back to the newspaper, “The man in front brandished a pistol and cried out to the driver ….” Then Catherine heard the next line as she read it: “Stand and deliver!” The coach came to an abrupt stop as Catherine saw the next line before dropping the newspaper, “The coach was forced to stop.” She was terrified.

Before she knew it, the door to the coach was wrenched open. A burly, hairy man pulled her from her seat so roughly that she tore the hem of her gown as she exited the coach. “Aw, what ‘ave we ‘ere?” he said smiling. The man turned towards the leader of the gang. “‘Tis a fine miss, Patch, a fine miss all on ‘er own,” then reaching at her throat and grasping the locket from Eleanor, he added, “with a shiny bauble.”

“Unhand me, you lawless rogue,” cried Catherine. Once he did so, she looked towards the front of the carriage and saw the driver on his knees with his hands on his head screaming, “I got nothin’!”

The other man came towards them and looked her up and down. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch. “Patch?” asked Catherine.

“Count Udolpho, at your service,” said the man.

“Udolpho?” cried Catherine. “No. That could not be!”

“Get her back in the coach,” said Patch with a thick Italian accent, as the third man was tying up the driver. “Take my horse,” he added as he jumped to the seat of the coach and took the reins.

“What?” cried Catherine. “Where are we going?”


“To the castle,” cried the count with a nefarious laugh.

“No, you mustn’t take me anywhere. I must go home,” she cried back. The carriage began to move. “But this is England. We are Christians. We have laws.” Patch just laughed in response to her cries as the carriage rolled on. “This is not how I wanted to see a castle!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Henry casually trotted his horse up to Northanger, smiling to himself at the thought of seeing Cathering again. He hoped to assuage her anxiety about their last meeting. As he dismounted and sauntered to the door, his sister sprang forth from the entrance.

“Oh, Henry! I am so glad you are here! I am so distressed over what has happened to our poor Catherine!”

“Good God! Is she ill? Has she harmed herself?”

“Harmed herself? Henry, we live in England. We are Christians. But she may very well meet with harm on the road, for she is all alone.”

Henry was puzzled. “On the road? Alone?”

Eleanor raised her handkerchief to her brow. “Our father has turned her out at the break of dawn with no escort and no money!”

“What?” cried Henry in alarm. “But why?”

“I really do not know the reason she has fallen out of favor with him.”

Henry wasted no time turning back toward the stables as he called back to his sister, “I must find her!” Bursting into the stable, he jumped astride the largest, strongest, speediest stallion he encountered, which was also his father’s favorite. Then he said to the horse, “Run, Shadowfax! Show us the meaning of haste!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Catherine gripped the seat of the carriage as it rumbled up the steep path towards an unknown destination. She was terrified, uncertain of her fate. Suddenly, she noticed the newspaper on the floor at her feet. She grasped it frantically, desperately hoping to learn what would happen next.

The article continued. The eyewitness whose account was being given was a gentleman who was robbed and left on the side of the road. “Nothing about a castle!” cried Catherine to herself, throwing the newspaper back on the floor. “What shall I do?”

A few moments later, it occurred to her that the driver would certainly pursue. She looked around for something she could toss out the window as a sign of her whereabouts. She grasped at the locket around her neck but could not bring herself to part with it. She pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and slipped it out the window. It fluttered on the breeze and caught on a low-hanging branch.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, Henry traced her path from the post, and before long, found the driver walking back towards the inn where the carriage had been hired. Henry recognized from his livery that he must be a hired driver and could see that he was distressed.

“Have you seen a young lady traveling alone toward Salisbury?” Henry inquired.

“Aye, the very one. I was driving her along when we were beset by a one-eyed highwayman and his gang! They tied me up, but I got loose.”

“Good God! Quick, man, what happened to the lady?” Henry asked.

“Kidnapped, she was. Said something about taking her to a castle.” The driver continued plodding along as Henry sped forward in the opposite direction. He had not a moment to lose!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The carriage stopped abruptly in front of a large, dark, looming castle. Soon the burly man yanked the door open. Catherine shrank into the corner, but he reached in and grabbed her by the arm. “There’s no ‘iding from me, miss!”

“Unhand me, you brute!”

“Hush now and move along!” he said, pulling her out of the carriage. She managed to gain her footing, and he half-dragged her to the front door where the one-eyed ringleader waited.

“Where do you want her, Patch?” her burly escort queried.

“To the tower,” said Count Udolpho ominously.

As Catherine stumbled into the musty building, she passed the third robber who stood grinning at her with missing teeth. “We’re not often favored with the company of a lady,” he observed.

Patch slapped him with a glove. “That’s enough out of you,” he said in his thick Italian accent. To Catherine, he gestured towards a small archway, a stone spiral staircase visible within. “Up you go, signorina,” he said courteously.

Catherine had no choice but to comply. With trembling limbs, she ascended the stairs, the count following close behind. It occurred to her that she could simply turn and push him down the stairs, but the other two men would take their vengeance and she would still be trapped.

At the top of the winding staircase, she finally reached a dark landing with a wooden door. The count reached around her and roughly opened it to reveal a dank, dimly-lit chamber that contained only an old bed and a chest. “In you go, signorina,” said the one-eyed count, giving her a small shove. As soon as she was inside, he slammed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Catherine burst into tears. What misfortunes would befall her in such a place? Much as she had longed to see a castle, she could have no enjoyment under her present circumstances. The room had a small stained-glass window high up that she could not see out of. She sank onto the bed, raising a cloud of dust, and saw a little mouse scuttle away into a corner.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Henry continued galloping along the turnpike road, he paused to see a scrap of fabric that had fallen on the ground. He immediately recognized it as the sprigged muslin from Catherine’s traveling gown. There were several footprints along the way and scraps of rope that he concluded must have been used to tie up the driver. “A clue!” he shouted in euphoria. “I am on the right path!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Presently, the count returned. He carried a tray containing a crust of bread and goblet of wine. “Eat, drink,” he commanded.

“No, I shan’t,” she said petulantly.

“Then you shall starve,” he said simply, twisting his pinky ring.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked desperately. “I have nothing to give you.”

The count raised his exposed eyebrow. “Oh, but you do, my dear signorina. You possess a great treasure.”

“Me?” she exclaimed naively. “I assure you, I do not. You have mistaken me for someone else.”

His gaze turned wistful. “When I first laid eyes on you, I saw at once that you are the very vision of one whom I have loved deeply. I cannot forget her, though she is far away beyond my reach.”

Catherine paused. “That is very sad, but I am not she. You have done a very bad thing, and when you are found out, you will be punished severely. This is England. We have laws. We are Christians.”

“I assure you, no punishment can be more severe than what I have already endured.”

Catherine was intrigued in spite of her situation but could not bring herself to question him. Sensing her curiosity, the count sank wearily onto the chest and began his tale of woe.

“I grew up in a small village in the idyllic Tuscan hills. My boyhood was fraught with agony, as my father was cruel and my mother neglectful. We had a large home, but it was devoid of love.”

“I knew it! You are not a real count!” Catherine exclaimed, triumph shining in her eyes.

“I adopted the name Count Udolpho as my professional pseudonym when I began my life of crime in England. Don’t you think it is a fitting choice?”

She turned her nose up at him in refusal.

This he considered sufficient encouragement to carry on with his fascinating narrative. “When a young man, I fell in with a dangerous crowd. My closest friend was intrigued by the theater. He convinced us to perform an odious play called Lovers Vows. The lady who played my love interest was the most beautiful creature I ever beheld. She bewitched me body and soul, and I love… I love… I loved her most ardently. Her name was Bianca Francesca Emelia Maria Angelina Rigatoni, and whenever I hear that name, the hair stands up on the back of my neck, my mouth waters, and my palms sweat. Oh, cara mia!” He sighed.

“But her betrothed was also a player in our company. Stupid fellow! He could not even memorize his two and forty speeches. Imbecile! One day while Bianca and I rehearsed, the cur saw me grasp her dainty hand to my heart, and he flew into a rage! He challenged me to a duel the next morning at dawn. He took my eye, but I took something far more valuable from him.”

“Bianca?” Catherine asked.

The count burst forth in a mirthless laugh. “No, no. She broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. She devastated my soul and left me a broken shell of a man, a ship without a rudder, a mere shadow of the man I once was. I was left with no recourse but to flee the country and turn to a life of crime, never to love again.” His eye, which had been cast down in sadness as he regaled her with his tragic story, became animated as he looked her up and down. “Until today, that is.”

Catherine shuddered. Her bosom heaved as she wondered what he would do to her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Henry paused again in his quest as he spied what appeared to be another clue along the road. There in a branch fluttered a scrap of fabric. He grasped it to examine it more closely and, thanks to his superior understanding of muslins, knew in an instant that it was not Catherine’s. Catherine owns no garment of this inferior weave of cloth or hideous shade of puce, he thought. Could he still be on the right path? He charged on despite his misgivings.

He had heard tale of an abandoned castle off the turnpike road in this vicinity. He prayed to God that he was not too late. My dearest, loveliest Catherine, he thought, I am coming. Hold fast, and do not lose hope.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Catherine was losing hope. The lusty count stepped toward her lustfully with lust burning in his eye. If he could see out of the other eye, his eyepatch would have been on fire. She sprang from the bed to avoid his reach and pressed her back against the opposite wall. But when she looked up, she saw chains dangling from the wall with manacles on the ends. She was struck with terror to her gothic soul. She screamed and lurched forward into Count Udolpho’s waiting arms.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Henry galloped on in the direction he believed the castle to be in, he saw a small path winding up into the hills. When he turned his horse to follow it, he spied yet another scrap of fabric dangling from a branch. As he approached, his nostrils caught the faint smell of Catherine’s sweet scent. Could it be hers? he wondered. He eagerly snatched the white square from the tree and knew it to be her own. He perceived her initials embroidered in one corner, giving him further confirmation that she had traveled this way. Clever girl! She must have tossed this out the window as a clue. He spurred Shadowfax on.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Catherine cried out in horror as the addled Count stroked her cheek muttering, “Oh my dearest, loveliest, Bianca.”

Catherine pushed him away crying, “I am not Bianca. I am Catherine. Miss Morland, to you! You… you fake Italian count!”

Just as he leaned down to force a kiss upon her lips, suddenly the door flew open. “I am saved!” cried Catherine. But it was a momentary relief, as it was the burly man come to inform his boss that a lone rider was approaching the castle.

“Dispatch him,” cried Patch, angrily. Then turning to Catherine and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he added, “This is your doing. You thought to lead a rescuer to our hidden lair!”

He dragged her to the wall and roughly secured her wrists into the manacles. “Nooooo,” she cried. “What if I have an itch?”

“I have had an itch I cannot scratch for years!” cried her captor. “I will have satisfaction,” he said as he locked the door and put the key securely in his pocket.

They heard a ruckus downstairs as Shadowfax reared up and kicked the front door of the castle down on top of the third bandit as the burly bandit looked on in fear. Henry met his eye with such a gleam of purpose, that a chill ran down the large man’s spine. “Where is she?” commanded the young parson. The burly man could not help glancing at the entrance to the stairway before running out the doorway in fear, leaping over his friend’s crushed form in the process.

Henry vaulted off of Shadowfax and raced up the spiral stairway, wiping the sweat from his brow with Catherine’s handkerchief as he went along. When he arrived on the landing, he met with a formidable ancient door and he intuitively knew that Catherine was behind it and in substantial danger. The iron lock was nothing to Henry’s boot and he dispensed with it in one swift kick.

As Henry stormed in, the count was midsentence, “And that’s when they placed the first bounty on my head …”

“Henry,” cried Catherine.

“Catherine,” cried Henry at the same moment.

“Who the devil are you?” cried the count.

“I am your worst nightmare,” said Henry.

“Ha!” said the count, “but you are too early! I have not finished my monologue!”

“Finish this,” exclaimed Henry, lunging at the man.

“You shall not forestall me,” said the one-eyed count angrily. “I was just getting to the good part.”

“No part of this is good,” said Henry, landing a blow. “You shall free my dearest love.”

“You mean my dearest love,” retorted the count as Henry dodged his flying fist.

“Stop this,” cried Catherine. “Your story is compelling. You should write a book about it for the world to read.”

The count stopped to look at her. “But I have done so,” he said. “The manuscript is in the chest!”

Henry immediately removed the manacles from Catherine’s wrists and she fell into his welcoming arms as the count crumpled to his knees in shame, crying for his poor lost Bianca.

After a brief reunion with Henry, Catherine could not help but dart towards the chest and open it. Inside she found the count’s manuscript just as he promised. She handed it to him and said, “Off you go. Find a publisher in London and turn from your life of crime.”

“Yes,” he said. “I shall. For, after all, this is England, a Christian nation of laws!”

Catherine returned to Northanger with Henry, on Shadowfax, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. When they approached the house, General Tilney emerged with a furrowed brow. “What the blazes is she doing here? I sent her away!”

“Do you not realize, Father, the danger to which you exposed this young lady?”

“And do you realize, Son, the danger I was saving you from in sending her away.” Then turning to the young lady, he added, “I know it all! You have deceived us! I shall not allow the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune to drag this family down. Your deception shall not be endured.”

“But I never deceived anyone,” said Catherine.

“Of course you did not,” said Henry. “Father, she was set upon by highwaymen and kidnapped. This is what you exposed her to!”

“But she still has her jewelry,” he observed in disbelief. “Highwaymen would have robbed her.” But looking closer he recognized the locket around her neck. “What is this? Have you given her a family heirloom?”

“No, …” started Catherine.

“It does not signify,” retorted Henry growing agitated, “I found her chained to a wall in the tower of a castle. Chained to a wall, Sir! Can you imagine?”

The general at once clutched at his heart. “I am sorry,” he said as he collapsed.

“Father,” cried Eleanor, who had just come from the house.

“Too late,” he cried, “too late have I realized the error of my ways.” And with that he died on the abbey steps, his head cradled by his daughter.

Henry could not a shed a tear for his father. But, placing his arm around Catherine said, “Now we can marry without impediment.”

“And I can marry my true love,” said Eleanor, “Count Udolpho.”

“Bianca?” exclaimed Catherine in wonder.

FINIS]]> Cindy C, Alicia M, and Jen P Derbyshire Writers' GuildSat, 04 Jan 2025 18:32:39 +0000