Chap­ter 24: The Lady Anne, or a Run­away Horse begins dur­ing the fresh­ness of spring when Lord W—- and much of his house­hold trav­el to Lon­don, leav­ing the estate in qui­eter hands. Black Beau­ty and Gin­ger remain behind, tend­ed by the head groom and a few fam­i­ly mem­bers who chose to stay. Among them is Lady Anne, a con­fi­dent and expe­ri­enced horse­woman who takes par­tic­u­lar lik­ing to Black Beau­ty, call­ing him “Black Auster.” She often rides him across the coun­try­side with grace and con­trol, earn­ing his admi­ra­tion for her gen­tle yet firm han­dling. Along­side her is a gen­tle­man named Blan­tyre, who often rides Lizzie, a spir­it­ed but uneasy mare. While Lizzie is high-strung and skit­tish, Lady Anne feels capa­ble of man­ag­ing her and sug­gests tak­ing her for a ride instead of her usu­al mount. Though Blan­tyre advis­es against it, cit­ing Lizzie’s ner­vous­ness, Lady Anne insists, believ­ing her skills will com­pen­sate.

Not long after Lady Anne sets off, a group of young colts gal­lop­ing near­by star­tles Lizzie. Their unex­pect­ed dash across the pas­ture sparks pan­ic in the mare, whose nerves fray under the pres­sure of the moment. With­in sec­onds, Lizzie bolts uncon­trol­lably, ignor­ing Lady Anne’s attempts to rein her in. Despite Anne’s com­posed rid­ing and strong hands, the mare’s fear over­pow­ers any cues. Mean­while, Blan­tyre, hav­ing gone to run a small errand at Anne’s request, returns to find Black Beau­ty agi­tat­ed and with­out his rid­er. The horse’s dis­tress and emp­ty reins sig­nal that some­thing is ter­ri­bly wrong. Blan­tyre mounts quick­ly, sens­ing urgency in Black Beauty’s pos­ture. With­out hes­i­ta­tion, they set off to fol­low Lizzie’s trail, rely­ing on signs left in the dirt and the guid­ance of passers­by who saw the mare rush past.

The chase is intense, with Black Beauty’s speed pushed to the lim­it. Despite the dan­ger, he runs swift­ly and sure­ly under Blantyre’s direc­tion, deter­mined to reach Lady Anne. They cross fields and fences, their hearts pound­ing as every moment counts. Even­tu­al­ly, they spot Lizzie ahead—stumbling and then falling. The mare crum­ples, and Lady Anne is thrown, land­ing hard and lying still. Blan­tyre dis­mounts and rush­es to her side, pan­ic etched across his face. He checks for signs of life and, find­ing her uncon­scious but breath­ing, quick­ly enlists the help of a near­by labor­er to fetch a doc­tor and sum­mon a car­riage from the estate. Black Beau­ty stands beside them, wind­ed but alert, watch­ing the scene with qui­et anx­i­ety. His pres­ence brings a sense of calm, ground­ing the moment in silent strength.

As help arrives and Lady Anne is car­ried home, Black Beau­ty reflects on the chaos. The event under­scores how even the most expe­ri­enced rid­er can be caught off guard by a ner­vous horse and an unpre­dictable moment. Lizzie’s tem­pera­ment, paired with the unex­pect­ed stim­u­lus of the young colts, cre­at­ed a sit­u­a­tion no one could have ful­ly con­trolled. It also reveals the deep bond between humans and horses—how instinct, train­ing, and mutu­al trust can still fall short against raw fear. Yet, with­in the fear and injury, there is resilience. Blantyre’s quick think­ing and Beauty’s reli­a­bil­i­ty helped pre­vent an even worse out­come. The trust placed in the horse and rid­er, though shak­en, is not bro­ken. The care tak­en after the accident—summoning aid, pro­vid­ing com­fort, and ensur­ing recovery—demonstrates a shared respect between species.

This chap­ter serves as a reminder that judg­ment and expe­ri­ence, though vital, must be paired with cau­tion. Con­fi­dence should nev­er out­pace under­stand­ing, espe­cial­ly when deal­ing with an ani­mal known to spook eas­i­ly. The emo­tion­al toll of see­ing Lady Anne fall affects every­one, and Beauty’s thoughts echo the weight of respon­si­bil­i­ty that rid­ers carry—not just for them­selves, but for the lives of those they guide. His reflec­tion is nei­ther crit­i­cal nor bit­ter, but hon­est. Through it, Anna Sewell illus­trates the del­i­cate bal­ance required when han­dling hors­es: respect their nature, acknowl­edge their lim­its, and nev­er under­es­ti­mate the pow­er of a sin­gle, unan­tic­i­pat­ed moment. In this tale of risk and res­cue, the depth of care between horse and rid­er is laid bare—not in the tri­umph of a gal­lop, but in the silence that fol­lows a fall.