Into the Breach With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #3)

Chapter Eleven

Karl did not know why his eyes popped open at the correct hour, only that they did. It was not his place to question the gifts of the world, and one of them was an impeccably accurate internal clock. It was pitch-dark, icy cold, and extremely windy.

He sat up, his head above the windbreak they’d built the night before, and immediately the freezing gusts made his eyes water. He saw Fr?ulein Bridewell awake, already rolling up her blanket bag, her boots tied.

The others began to stir as well.

“Is it time?”

Frau Moon asked, rubbing her eyes.

He watched as Justine rose, her eyes only on Ophelia, as if garnering strength from her friend.

Herr and Frau Bridewell crawled out of their double blanket bag, likely the most snug out of all of them, given they’d had body heat to keep each other warm all night. There was something inherently more restful with another person right there, sharing the air. He’d only ever shared a bag with another man, inside a snow cave, certain they would be dead by morning. It was surprisingly not as harrowing as it sounded. Mostly boring.

Lord Rascomb was the last awake, but the next person to be readied. Karl admired him. He was a practiced mountaineer, steady and strong. He watched over his daughter and every other member of their team constantly, quietly. This was a man who did his duty by his family. It touched Karl this early morning in a way that it hadn’t before. Because he hadn’t been able to see that the man was not only physically caring for his children, but valuing them in ways not many fathers did.

Lord Rascomb made a place for his daughter in a world that didn’t want her to have this dream. To climb a mountain was a feat of perseverance and inner strength as much as outer strength. Neither of those were named as part of the feminine spirit. Years ago, and perhaps still, an aristocratic daughter was supposed to be used to raise up the family with alliances and bring connections to strengthen their social standing. But this man could see the world had changed.

From what Karl had understood from Herr Bridewell, this was far from the first big mountain they’d climbed with Lord Rascomb. If Karl was going to be a father someday, he hoped he would be able to be as clear-eyed as this man. To see his children for what good they could do in the world, not what good they could bring to their family.

In some ways, it reminded him of his Onkel Peter. Yes, he needed help in Zermatt. The inn required so much labor, but he could have hired men for it, even if it might be difficult to get some parts of the year. Knowing Karl’s love of mountaineering, he'd offered it to him specifically. Not because he had a nephew in need. But because it was Karl who needed to be in the mountains.

After securing his own gear, Karl helped Ophelia lay out their rope, organize their packs, and attach the spikes they’d crafted to the front of their boots. It was an interesting design, and he was flattered they’d made a set for him as well. The thick leather straps fit over his boots with a buckle to the side, on the outside of the shoe.

Perhaps this would make the climb easier. Perhaps it was just another thing to weigh them down.

They all worked quickly in the dark, and it was not long until he was tying himself into the rope. The rope that held all of their lives, a daisy-chain of hearts, pounding their way up the side of a cliff.

He gave one sharp tug on the rope, a signal that he was prepared. He felt the rest do so as well, one by one down the chain, and then back up again. He started forward, slow shuffles as he took them down the path, scree rocks yielding beneath his boots and tumbling down the sides of the ridge.

While there was a part of him screaming with nerves, given the dark and the knife’s-edge terrain, he had done this particular climb several times. He’d already been to this summit—twice—but each time was different. The snowfields were different, the rock falls were different, the weather was different, the clients were different.

He had faith in all of them, even Frau Bridewell, who had made an effort in the last weeks to become more confident with her footwork. Still, there were things one encountered on these attempts that one couldn’t predict. And he needed to keep himself alert and open to all of them and their needs.

Behind him, he heard the scree scrape under their boots. Above him, he could hear a cracking boom, signaling an expansion of ice that broke rock away from the mountain. He stopped and listened. There was no rock fall now, but in the morning, when the temperature warmed and the ice melted, there would be.

Speed would be helpful, but he didn’t dare chance it in the dark with six people behind him and a ridge barely wider than his shoulders. A smaller team, or one that had traversed this saddle before, he might. But not today. He picked his way on, grateful when they reached the trough of the saddle and began to ascend again. They would keep at it, slow and steady, until they returned to the Hornli Ridge tonight. He would see them through, usher them as quietly and gracefully as Lord Rascomb had thus far.

**

Justine was not afraid. Her father and brothers had often lamented that she barreled through situations with a sincere lack of fear that was meant to protect a person. She had always interpreted their worries as she lacked the type of fear a lady would have. Because had she been another boy, they would have shaken their heads with amazed pride.

But now, shuffling in the dark, hugging a rock as a steep scree field backed into a gaping glacier, she did feel a snag of fear. Which was normal, she supposed. The glacier field glowed white and bright in the starlight. She couldn’t decide if the glacier was taunting them with its cold illumination or if it was aiding their climb by providing an extra bit of light to help them navigate the decidedly difficult terrain.

Behind her was a long scrape of a boot missing its ledge. Justine froze, suddenly terrified that one of her teammates had fallen. She braced, but no tug on her tether rope came.

“All is well,”

came Eleanor’s voice.

Justine relaxed and continued on. A glance at what she could see of the horizon told her that sunrise was near. The sky was moving from inky midnight to the deep purple of dawn. The knot of fear in her stomach loosened, and Justine decided she did not like this feeling at all. It didn’t seem helpful, or instructional. This feeling was a hindrance, a vestigial part of her that begged her to sit down and stop.

How was this fear helpful? She’d have to ask Francis when they got back, if she decided she would speak to him again. The triumph of ascending the Matterhorn would prove her point of how this fear was utterly useless. She pushed the feeling down, and urged that knot in her stomach to dissolve itself. It was decidedly not needed today.

After skirting around the rock formation, the area opened up into a snow field. As they all stepped onto the familiar crunch, each of them exhaled in contentment. This felt easy and safe compared to the long slog that dark morning, but she kept her mind from noticing the sharp cliffs that bounded the field on both sides. Behind her, she heard Prudence laugh in relief. In front of her, Ophelia turned around.

“Check in,”

Ophelia announced, her voice quiet, but the air carried it clear as if she were saying directly in Justine’s ear.

“All is well,”

Karl rumbled.

Ophelia repeated the words. Then Justine. Then Lord Rascomb, Prudence, Eleanor, and Tristan. They all breathed heavily, but controlled. The cold nipped at her ears, and she was grateful for the orange-yellow light that was warming the rock they climbed.

“Good,”

Ophelia said, and Justine could hear the smile in her voice, even if she couldn’t quite make out her friend’s face. “Onward.”

Their boots scraped against the old snow and they fell into line, walking in silence. Before long, the incline tilted so steep with no perceivable trail that Ophelia called a halt so they could hitch their skirts up as high as they would go.

“Use the boot spike,”

she advised. “And go on all fours if need be.”

Justine dutifully rucked up her skirt as best she could, grateful that the sunrise seemed slow, bathing everything in the gentle light. The snowfield covered everything, making it nearly impossible to tell where to go. She was glad Karl was there to guide them. Glad that she trusted Karl so completely. Did she? At least with her life, she did. He was competent to a fault.

“Onward,”

Ophelia said, and up ahead, Karl walked.

He stubbed his boots in the snow hard with each step, assuring he would not fall. Occasionally, he needed to fall to his hands to help him climb, but not always. Ophelia did the same with her boots, but she kept her hands out. Ophelia was not one for chances.

So Justine followed Ophelia’s advice, and while her woolen gloves protected her hands from the cold for a few minutes, soon snow stuck between the weft of the fibers.

A female voice cried out.

“Brace!”

Tristan bellowed.

Without thinking, Justine pressed her weight into her hands, hoping her boots had dug into the snow without issue. There was the sound of snow sliding, The rope at her waist tugged hard, pulling her flat to her belly in the snow. Someone had fallen. Justine squeezed her eyes shut. Everyone is safe, everyone is safe, she chanted in her mind, wondering if Ophelia and Karl were thinking the same thing.

Behind her, she could hear movement, but she didn’t dare look, didn’t dare shift her weight.

“Time, please,”

Tristan called.

It was the phrase they’d agreed upon to ask for a pause in action. It could be for injury assessment, or if someone needed to rest. Justine looked ahead, watching as Ophelia carefully turned to look behind them.

More murmurs behind her, and she could vaguely hear Lord Rascomb’s voice, carried away by the winds. Her woolen gloves were wet now, sodden with the snow that melted in the heat from her hands. So far, her woolen coat kept the rest of her dry.

Then came the words they all waited for: “All is well,”

Tristan said. Then came Eleanor’s voice, and Prudence’s. Prudence didn’t sound herself, so it must have been her that fell. Lord Rascomb turned his head and said it so Justine could understand him once again. She said it, then Ophelia and Karl.

“Onward,”

Ophelia said, and they picked themselves up off the snow.

The sunrise was eerie—not because of the sun or the light, but because of the way the snow reflected it into her eyes. She squinted against its brightness as they climbed. They came to a formation that they would have to climb up like some kind of unusual ladder. They waited as Karl pounded a fresh piton—a metal spike—into the rock.

He used that as the first stepping stone, using the ledges of the rock for the rest. Once he ascended, he called for time, adjusted a second rope, tied to the top of the ledge, and let it down for Ophelia.

Now was the time for their new device. It was a buckle with a spike in it, meant to slide onto their belts and then pass the rope through to hold it in place, allowing the person above to haul them up the side of the rock if need be. The buckle allowed the person who was climbing to not be jerked by the natural give of the rope. The idea was Lord Rascomb’s, and they all wanted to give him credit for it, but he wanted to try out the device before he took any accolades. Well, here was the moment of truth.

Ophelia buckled herself in, the rope attached as it should be to the spiked holder. She looked up at Karl, who was braced against the rocks with his feet, his hands on the rope.

This was the absolute wrong time for her to think him utterly handsome, attractive, capable and . . . some kind of word that she didn’t know yet. His face was set in determination, the light stubble on his cheeks highlighting a primitive masculine cut of his face. He would keep Ophelia safe on this fifteen-foot-high wall. She knew that.

Ophelia stepped onto the piton, and then followed Karl’s same route up. She lifted herself up and over the ledge with no difficulty. Even here, in layers of wool, Ophelia was graceful. She stood and looked down at them, grinning from ear to ear.

But now it was Justine’s turn. Ophelia undid Lord Rascomb’s device, the rope still in place, and tossed it down. Justine let it fall in the snow and then took her turn, fumbling with her own belt, and having trouble buckling in. Her fingers were so cold. She had another set of gloves in her pack. After she got to the top, she would get them out. But for now, she just needed to get through this.

Once the device was in place, she went to put her foot on the piton, only to realize it was quite high off the ground. Still, she hauled herself up and looked over to the ledge that Karl and Ophelia had both used. But her foot wouldn’t reach.

“You must be joking,”

Justine said to herself. The rock wall was cold against her. She was too short to climb this. She hopped back down, and with the only thing she could think to do, she slipped off her boots, tied the laces together, and hung them from her belt.

“What are you doing?”

Ophelia demanded, clearly alarmed at what she was seeing.

Tristan took that as his cue to pay attention and came charging up.

“I’m not tall enough to make the same moves,”

Justine explained. “So I’m trying something.”

And then she worked off her woolen stockings. Was she cold? Absolutely. But skin stuck to cold rock. And she was about to prove it. As long as she moved quickly, everything would be fine, and she could get out every piece of extra clothing in her and Ophelia’s pack and warm up. But she had to get up this wall, and this was the only thing she could think of.

“I can haul you up. You don’t need to—”

Karl called down.

“Too late,”

she said, swinging her woolen stockings at him. She tied them around her waist and stepped onto the piton. Which was so cold, it seared the bottom of her feet. But she’d looked at that rock. Really looked at it. There were smaller ledges that she could reach. And while it took her twice as many steps, she hopped as fast as she could from ledge to ledge, grateful for the failed dance lessons and pointed toes of her youth. Because it was her big toe that balanced on this ledge, and the inner edge of her knee as she pressed herself tight against the wall, that allowed her to monkey up the side just as quickly as Ophelia had done. And when she pulled herself up and over that ledge, the looks on Karl and Ophelia’s faces were priceless.

It was a look she delighted in. Her ability to surprise people was one of her most treasured talents. But she couldn’t bask too long, as freezing as it was. She pulled off the device and tossed it down for Lord Rascomb and pulled on her stockings and boots, already picturing where her dry pair of gloves were in her pack.

**

Karl had climbed many a mountain. But never in his life had he seen anyone do what Justine had just done. He had not known that legs could raise at that high of angle, and he had to admit, that while this was a most inappropriate time to consider it, he was very, very attracted to this woman. And he wondered how high her legs could go.

He was glad that Lord Rascomb took as long as he did to buckle himself into the contraption he’d devised, because Karl needed a moment to clear his head and focus. But it didn’t keep him from watching as Justine pulled on her woolen stockings again. He didn’t have words for how impressive she was. It would have never even occurred to Karl to do something like that.

If he hadn’t been able to reach, he would have had his comrades haul him up like a cow mired in a mudhole. He would like to try what she’d done, just not in these freezing conditions on the side of the Matterhorn. In fact, he knew just the rock, as it wasn’t far from the inn, perhaps a few kilometers or so away. And it was warm there.

Fr?ulein Bridewell embraced Justine, warming her up and rubbing her arms. Jealousy flared. It was irrational and silly, but Justine loved Fr?ulein Bridewell, and it was clearly reciprocated. And because of that, they were able to express it. Karl did not like that while he hauled Lord Rascomb up the rock, Fr?ulein Bridewell warmed Justine with an embrace. But it was for the best. Justine had made it clear that she did not think much of him. Thought him controlling and oppressive, and not worthy of marrying. To think she accused him of wanting her family’s money.

But he had to focus on this task ahead of him. Justine was a distraction. He was responsible for this team, both on the ascent and the descent. The court cases and the slander against both the senior and junior Peter Tauber, the father and son guides from the Whymper expedition, were a cautionary tale. They continued to guide, but what could have been an absolute triumph became a scandal accusing them of severing the rope out of cowardice, sending those other men to their deaths.

But rock falls, ice fog, glacier fields, cliffs, all of these things sent men to their deaths. A well-placed rock fall would cut the rope for them. There was no need to plot murder or even a possibility to be cowardly on this mountain. If one was cowardly, they would have never made it to the top.

He held the rope steady as Lord Rascomb ascended, but the man was agile and didn’t require any help. The lord pulled himself over the edge, looking pleased with himself. He undid the buckle and surveyed it, as if looking for flaws or perhaps marveling at it instead. “It works well,”

he said, congratulating himself before he flung it down to Frau Moon.

The man chatted with his daughter and Justine, while Karl focused on the rest of the team. It was a slow process, but given how much ground they’d already covered, he was impressed. Between Frau Moon and Frau Bridewell, he checked his pocket watch and then the sky. They were right on time, and his internal clock was just as accurate as the mechanical one.

Part of the hurry was that while they all carried packs with extra clothing, they did not carry much in the way of rations. They would ascend and descend the same day, even though previous expeditions took a week to do the same. Given the extensive writings of Whymper and his own experience, Karl believed they could accomplish it in a single, very long day.

But it was possible to get stuck on the side of the mountain and have to bivouac overnight. It was not a pleasant way to spend a night—cold, hungry, exhausted. He’d done it himself on more than one occasion, and would do it again however many more times were necessary, but it was not an experience he wanted to inflict on Justine. Or any of them.

Once Herr Bridewell—Tristan, as he’d asked Karl to call him numerous times—ascended, they packed up the extra rope and climbing device, checked in with each other, and checked their tethering line. All was in good order, so they again carried on, falling into their prescribed order.

Karl was impressed with how well-trained they were. There was no bickering or jostling for position. While he did miss the good-natured ribbing that was common among other expeditions—the joking insults were humorous—he could honestly say that this was the most well-oiled machine he’d ever worked with.

They climbed the blocky rock formation, its ledges and easy handholds making individual rope support unnecessary. Yet, the security of the climb didn’t stop him from discreetly peeking over his shoulder every once in a while to check on them. There was still a part of him that didn’t believe that this group of women could climb this fast without complaint or trouble.

When he’d guided other tourists on other mountains—those who fancied themselves to be in better shape than they actually were—the men would tough it out despite terrible shoes and blisters. The women were typically so poorly prepared, their dresses too restrictive, corsets too tight, shoes too thin, that they could not manage to go very far without needing to stop and be escorted back down. One woman insisted that he carry her down, which he did, hunched over, with her perched atop him not unlike how Lady Rascomb perched on that donkey the day before.

It had been humiliating, yes, and his back hurt for a week. But they paid well, and bought him an excellent bottle of brandy besides, which had helped with his sore muscles.

The snow thinned and scree took over the path. The scree fields made climbing tiring. The give of all those millions of rocks sank their boots with each step, requiring more energy to take the next one, keeping a person always slightly off-balance. At the top of the scree field scramble, the cracking sound that Karl had been dreading boomed above them.

“Rock fall!”

he called down to them. They all crouched down, covering their heads with their arms. At the speed with which the pebbles rained down on them, even a small stone could sever their ropes or kill them with a knock to the temple.

The rain of rocks covered them like a second-long shower, the preamble to the larger chunk the size of two fists fit together that tumbled down around them. Karl hoped that was it, and when the debris stopped, he took a moment to look around, listening carefully.

It was as if they all held their breath, terrified that something larger was coming. But nothing happened, and the world was still. They exhaled. It was then that a small boulder tumbled down to their right, dislodging the carefully balanced scree, and causing a slide off a cliff. Karl sat down abruptly, bracing himself in case the ripple effect took one of them with it.

It stopped a meter or so from where their line braced. He saw every one of their wide eyes stare up at him, shocked that they were that close to what would no doubt be a painful death. He scanned them. Overall in good shape, their eyes wet from the wind, lips dry from the same, and scared. Except, he noticed Justine. She looked defiant. And Fr?ulein Bridewell who looked grim but determined.

He wasn’t sure if he admired them or thought them foolish. But he was convinced that these two could do anything they put their minds to, and hopefully, this mountain would let them.

At the back, Tristan held his shoulder. Karl called him on it.

“Naught but a scratch,”

Tristan said.

“There’s blood,”

his wife called up. She slid down to his position to help tend it. Each of them had two clean rags rolled up exactly for this purpose. It was a jagged climb, and one never knew what would come in handy.

They rested until Frau Bridewell climbed back to her position, letting the tether loosen between her and Frau Moon. And then Tristan said the magic words.

“All is well.”

They called it one at a time until it got to Karl, when he repeated the phrase. It had never occurred to him before to do such a check-in, but he liked it. He wasn’t sure how other expeditions would handle it, wondering if the men who had so much to prove would think it a weakness to say such a thing. But it was helpful. Karl then knew that they were all ready, with injuries taken care of. It helped him set pace.

“Onward,”

said Fr?ulein Bridewell, and he obeyed.

This was a climb that was slow-going, but in that context, they were ahead of where they’d hoped to be. He looked up at the sky. He could carry a pocket watch to seem more professional, but his internal clock was just as accurate. They would not be making the summit today and would have to bivouac on the mountain somewhere.

They were very near where Whymper was turned around on his first attempt to ascend. It was a common place to turn around, given the chimneys that came next.

“Fr?ulein Bridewell,”

he said as they were narrowing back onto a ridge. He wanted to talk before the ridge, as to not promote distraction for anyone.

“I can hear you,”

Fr?ulein Bridewell said.

“We are nearing Whymper’s first turn-around point.”

“Good,”

she said, her voice steady between her shallow breaths.

“I believe we will make his chimney, but that typically takes time, especially with a party this large.”

“We will stay overnight on the mountain,”

she said, no question in her voice. So she had already foreseen this.

“Yes. There are some more welcoming spots above us. And we are nearer to the top than to the bottom.”

“That is some comfort. Let us finish the chimney and stay overnight above that mark. Then we finish the ascent tomorrow morning and descend completely to the church by evening.”

This would have been Karl’s suggestion as well. Staying overnight in the sanctuary of the Schwarzsee church, where they had shelter, food, and warm, dry clothes, was far preferable to another night on the windy Hornli Ridge. If they could manage to drag themselves all down there. “Good,”

he said, and stepped out onto the rocky ridge, using his hands to balance against the boulder that sat off to the right.

He didn’t bother reminding her that descent was as strenuous, if not more so than ascent. That on the descent, the snow-covered ridges could make a person think they would slip and fall at any second. That no amount of rope could save them in a rockslide.

The cold was starting to bother even him, so he wondered how the rest of them were doing. He’d always had trouble with circulation in his fourth toes. Not his smallest toes, but the fourth ones, and they were numb and cold. He would check them tonight for frostbite, though he was certain it had not progressed so far.

The rhythm of his boots kept his pace steady, and before long, they were at Whymper’s chimney. It was covered in snow and ice, meaning there were no handholds or ledges to climb. There was no place to pound in a piton. He would have the most difficult job, using the heavy pickaxe he’d hauled all this way, for this area specifically. The rest of the expedition folded in around him, all of them careful with the ropes in a way that should make any leader proud.

If he could describe this moment, of how it felt, he would say it was tense optimism. As he slung off his pack and retrieved the axe, Fr?ulein Bridewell took their attention.

“We are making excellent time. However, this section will likely take longer than the previous climbing section.”

“They were all climbing sections,”

Justine huffed.

Karl glanced up to see her expression. But he watched her exchange smiles with Frau Moon, and he dismissed it. Her mood was still good. Excellent. A poor outlook definitely affected a climber’s physical ability, and he worried that as the day had worn on, so had their optimism.

“Both Mr. Vogel and I anticipate sleeping on the mountain tonight. While this is not what any of us wanted, we are close to the summit. The plan is to climb until nightfall, and then find what shelter we can. Tomorrow morning, as the sun rises, we will finish our ascent, and then use the rest of the day to descend all the way to the church at Schwarzsee. There, we have shelter, dry clothes, and most importantly, excellent rations.”

Karl closed up his pack and secured it, listening to the contented murmurs that the discussion of warm rations elicited. Hunger was the best spice. He looked up at the narrowing wall of ice. It was wide enough that at the beginning, he would have to trust his axe and the spikes on his shoes. Then he could drop the axe to his belt and use his arms and legs to spider walk the rest of the way up.

He had no idea what Justine would do. Perhaps here was where they would haul her up like cargo. Or maybe she would surprise him again. His chest ached with a cold, sharp spike. It wasn’t the air that made that feeling. No, that was pure Justine Brewer. He had to distance himself from her, that was clear. He was their guide, and no more.

Still, his pride was intact once he managed the wall. At the top, he was relieved to see the piton with the ring secured on the end still anchored into the boulder. One thing to help them today. He threaded the rope through the metal ring and tossed one half down to Fr?ulein Bridewell below. He pulled on his leather gloves that helped his grip over his woolen ones, and planted his feet as wide as he could against the boulder.

“All is well,”

he called down, not sure if that was exactly what he was supposed to say in this moment. But Fr?ulein Bridewell would undoubtedly know what he meant by it. Moments later, he felt the line go taut and then the tug as her weight loaded onto the rope. He couldn’t see them down below, could only hear the scrape and scuffle of her boots.

The cold seeped into him, surprising him that there was anywhere left that wasn’t already blisteringly cold. This was no doubt some form of insanity to do this. To pursue these heights, to push oneself over and over again. But if he didn’t have this, what did he have?

An expectation that seemed as dreary and monotonous as the Greek man who pushed a boulder up a hill all day, only for it to roll all the way down once again.

**

Justine picked up the buckle that Ophelia had just thrown down. She peered upward again, stealing one last glance of Karl’s boot and brown leather glove. It was all she could see of him from where she stood. Once again, this was going to be impossible for her. The chimney wasn’t a chimney so much as a sheer wall of ice.

She looked at the sides, thinking it might be easier for her to climb up that instead, but they looked equally impossible. Even taking her stockings off again to climb barefooted wouldn’t work, and she really didn’t want to do it again. She was freezing, and being tucked in these shadows was even colder than walking out on the windy ridgeline that they’d trudged up.

She had the spikes on her boots. And she had a single piton in her pack. They all did. She got it out, not entirely sure what she would do, but she would do something. She couldn’t stand the idea of Karl pulling her up like livestock.

In practice, he’d put them all out on a boulder and climbed to the top himself. From his anchor above, he had pulled the rope taut for each of them, and they had practiced walking up a wall as he pulled them. She could do that, of course. But she wanted to impress him.

“What are you planning?”

Lord Rascomb asked, his voice dry and gravelly.

She flashed him as much of a smile as she could muster. Her whole body was already tired, just not entirely spent. She had more to give. “Using the piton to anchor my hand and then the spikes on the boots to haul me up.”

He looked at the wall thoughtfully. “I think if you do, it might backfire and cause the whole wall of snow to come tumbling down. Why not just walk up it? You are the lightest of all of us.”

She licked her lips out of habit, immediately regretting it as the cold air seemed almost to stick to her, freezing her further.

“Preserve your strength. We have much longer to go.”

Ophelia’s father put his hand on her shoulder, gentling his advice.

She nodded and put the piton back in her pack. “Walk up,”

she called to Karl.

“Go,”

came the gruff call back.

The tension on the rope pulled even further, and she planted her feet wide onto the wall, one at a time, doing her best not to slide off one way or the other. The worst would be to sway on the rope, crashing from one side to another. It didn’t take long until she was at the top, rolling over the side like a great hog on sunny day.

She grunted getting up just like one, too. It was not the graceful exit she’d hoped for. She unbuckled the device and tossed it down to Lord Rascomb, who would be up next. Would he walk up as he’d advised her to do, or would he attempt the same climb Karl and Ophelia had done?

She slumped against one of the other boulders, feeling wrung out now that she was at a standstill. Ophelia came over and leaned next to her, her body warmth cutting through the chill. They heard the commands from Lord Rascomb below, and Karl’s response. She let herself admire him. Even if he wasn’t an option for a life ahead of her, she still enjoyed the sight of him. Even under the layers of wool, his broad shoulders were evident. The bits of frost on his hat and his woolen trousers highlighted the strain. There was something so very attractive about watching him pull the rope up. He was competent and strong, and those leather gloves he wore to keep the rope from causing rope burns were strangely enticing.

Without meaning to, she pushed away from the cold rock and took a few steps, watching as Lord Rascomb stretched out his legs and arms, the same spidery wall-walking move that both Karl and Ophelia had managed. One that she was laughably too short to even attempt.

Below, Prudence, Eleanor, and Tristan waited, watching Lord Rascomb’s ascent. They didn’t chat, no doubt feeling as cold and tired and stoic as Justine herself felt.

She heard the scrape of his boot before she understood what she saw. Lord Rascomb cried out as he slipped and fell. Karl braced instantly, catching the weight. Lord Rascomb didn’t fall straight down—he fell a few feet, stretching the rope, and swung like a pendulum into the chimney’s side.

Lord Rascomb’s head clipped the side of the chimney with a sickening hollow sound. Justine gasped. The lord went limp, his body swaying, hitting the other side of the rock with a thud like heavy fabric hitting the ground.

Justine felt sick. Ophelia was at her side, her fingers digging into Justine’s arm.

“Get him down, get him down!”

Tristan bellowed from below.

It was clear that Lord Rascomb had lost consciousness.

“I need help with the rope,”

Karl said, his voice strained. “We have to unweight it so I can adjust the rope to let him down.”

Justine came around to where the extra rope was, trying to take up the slack.

“It’s not enough. Someone must guide him down so he doesn’t swing into the sides.”

Ophelia seemed to shake out of her stupor. “Tristan. Climb up and guide him down. Keep him safe.”

The wait seemed interminable. Justine put the rope around her back, hoping the extra friction would help slow the rope from sliding through Karl’s hands. Then she sat on it, to help take the weight from him. Finally, she heard a male grunt, and then heard Eleanor cry, “Go now!”

Karl glanced over at her. She slid her bottom off the rope, and let it slide around her slowly. Next to her, Karl let the rope slide little by little, with Ophelia guiding them with her voice. Justine watched her friend, stoic and in charge. My God, how this changed everything.

Justine hoped that Lord Rascomb would wake up, and perhaps Tristan and Eleanor could aid him back down while Karl, Ophelia, Justine, and Prudence made their way to the summit. But if he didn’t wake up? How were they to get him down this mountain? They certainly couldn’t do it with only half their party. It would take all of them. And it would be very slow. But if they didn’t, Lord Rascomb would die.

If he wasn’t already dead.

**