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

Chapter Twelve

Out of every scenario he’d run about possible pitfalls, this scenario had oddly not been one of them. Injury, yes, but in each of those, Karl had envisioned either death or injury but while conscious. Not this catatonic state. His mind ran all options available, but the only thing he could come to was that they had to abort their mission.

The rope slid through his hands, and he was careful to go smoothly and slowly. Fr?ulein Bridewell was surprisingly calm and capable, and Justine had aided him with no questions asked, and no instructions needed. She was a miracle.

But there was no possibility of him taking anyone to the summit. All of them would be required to figure out a way to get a body down the mountain. This would require complex rope skills, strength, wayfinding, and the only thing mountaineering truly required: an inability to stop no matter what.

Fr?ulein Bridewell would be lowered down next, he thought, then Justine, then he would have to rappel down himself. Not his favorite, given how the rope jerked and halted, but it wasn’t far. Amazing how of all the places things could have turned them around, it was in this protected chimney that the mountain punished them. Not the rock fall. Not the knife’s-edge cliffs in the dark. Not foot slips or even the cold. Proof that again, there were a hundred ways to die on the Matterhorn. No one needed to cut a rope to do it.

“They’re on the ground.”

Fr?ulein Bridewell wrung her hands together.

“Tie in,”

he instructed, hauling up the rope after a tug from below.

Between them, they made quick work of it, and Justine helped again with lowering smoothly and slowly. Once Fr?ulein Bridewell reached the bottom, she tugged the line to signal she was no longer tied in.

“Now you,”

Karl said, looking at Justine.

Her big brown eyes were full of concern and sorrow and anxiety. But Karl did not detect fear. There was longing in there, and for a moment, Karl felt like he could have folded himself up in her, abandoned all he’d ever wanted just for her. But then she stood, and the moment was gone. She tied in, and with a glance and a nod, she disappeared over the edge.

Once she was down, he again hauled up the rope, this time to let himself down the icy face. It was then that he was glad for so many other expeditions treading this trail. The metal piton pounded into the rock had a ring on the end, through which had had tied them. He rearranged the rope, doubling it over so that he could let himself down, and then pull the rope down after. He gripped the rope tightly, and with a pounding heart, stepped backwards over the ledge.

Once down, he concentrated on taking care of equipment. The others crowded around the body of the viscount. Lord Rascomb’s pack had carried the medical supplies, as he was located in the middle of their team. His pack was already emptied, and no doubt they were tending to him, all better prepared medically than he.

But Karl had to figure out not how to care for the man, but how to transport him. If this were open snow fields, he could use all of their extra clothing to create a sled, and they could guide him down. But they’d used the ridge to get them up. How would they manage him on the ridge?

This was the type of problem he hadn’t wanted to consider. It would be painstaking and slow, but his plan was the only option.

“How is he?”

Karl asked, stepping towards them.

They’d spread out their extra clothing, quickly stitching them together to create an insulating layer between the man and the ground. What Karl saw was the beginning of a sled, or perhaps a sling.

Frau Moon moved away to make room for him. And when he saw the injury, his mouth went dry. He sunk to his knees. The blood was slowly leaching from his temple, slowed by the freezing temperatures. But the injury might prove fatal.

“It’s not just there,”

Justine said quietly. “There’s also one on the back of his head. We’ve already bound it.”

Everyone was quiet, awaiting instruction. He waited for Fr?ulein Bridewell, but her face was drawn, her eyes distant. This was her expedition. And this was her father.

“We need to go,”

Justine said quietly.

Karl stood up. “We need to move carefully more than we need to move quickly.”

As he tried to make eye contact with everyone, he realized how dark it had gotten. Descending in the dark would be treacherous. Slow. Another way for a million things to go wrong.

“Every single one of us will be a part of this. We have to. Weight distribution amongst this many should not be a problem. We will create a rotation, just as we have an order of climbing.”

He scanned them again, mentally pairing them by height. It might not be the best idea, since it would pair him and Tristan, which would mean the majority of strength would be there at one time. Not a good idea. “It doesn’t matter what order, other than we maintain it. Four people on him at all times, two people per side. As we traverse down, the top moves to the bottom, and we shuffle Rascomb down this way.”

“That’s going to take too long,”

Tristan objected.

Karl zeroed in on him. “Do you have a better idea?”

Tristan opened his mouth and closed it several times before he shook his head. Karl was grateful that there were no tears, no sobbing. Everyone was in control.

“We must remain focused. We cannot afford a misstep.”

“I’ll start here at the shoulders,”

Justine said, staking her claim. Fr?ulein Bridewell stood opposite her, nodding her head, but not speaking.

“I’ll take feet,”

Tristan said, standing next to his sister.

Frau Bridewell moved opposite her husband. “I’m here.”

Karl nodded to Frau Moon, who nodded back, her face pale and expression grave. Karl tidied up the lord’s pack, tucking the unused items into his own pack and handing the empty one to Tristan, asking him to stuff it into his.

“Then let us begin.”

Karl motioned Frau Moon to take her position next to Tristan, and Karl took his next to Frau Bridewell.

They passed the body forward to Karl and Frau Moon, with Fr?ulein Bridewell and Justine letting go of the viscount’s shoulders as they were passed to Frau Bridewell and Tristan. Fortunately, whoever had done the hasty stitching of the barrier had made the fabric tight enough that the man’s head didn’t fall back, but was rather still supported.

Karl had the man’s thighs, and passed the body on to Justine, moving then to holding shoulders. Frau Bridewell and Tristan scurried to the feet. It was excruciating. But they were moving. Down and down they went, slow step by slow step. Down the rocky formations. More than once they had to stop and readjust and reinforce the sling they’d made under him.

Instead of taking the ridgeline all the way down, Karl took a risk and moved them off to the eastern face of the mountain, at least for a little while. It was dangerous, but what choice did he have? The sunset was almost over. At least once in the snow field, they were able to pad out the sled and slide him down.

Fatigue and despair showed on all their faces. But it was dark now, and they needed to return to the ridge. How were they going to traverse the narrow crest? It wasn’t big enough for the width of two people on either side of a body. Let alone having people go around each other to continue the train they made. The only thing he could think of was suspending the sling, and tying it between him and Tristan, around their waists.

“Halt, please,”

he said. The group stopped, and it was dark enough that when they turned their faces toward him, he couldn’t make out their features. He explained his idea, and thankfully Frau Bridewell knew precisely what to do. She asked for all the rope they had that weren’t their main tether.

In what seemed to be a short time, she’d created a webbing to lay the viscount on, complete with tie-in. Her knot structures were inventive and included ties that he was unfamiliar with. But on each end of the webbing was enough length for Karl to tie the webbing to his tether line around his waist. He shifted the rope so that he faced away from the man’s feet. The women lifted the body, and Tristan tied in on the other side.

Karl had wanted to make sure Tristan would be able to watch over his father.

“You may choose to go in front, to get down to the church quicker,”

Karl said over his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving my father,”

Fr?ulein Bridewell said.

“We’ll stay together,”

Justine said firmly. “We will follow behind, tethered to each other, while you and Tristan carry Lord Rascomb.”

Karl nodded.

“We will return to the ridge and take it all the way back. The same traverse as this morning. Except we will pick up Luc at the camp and continue on to the church.”

“Onward,”

Fr?ulein Bridewell said, her voice pitched higher than before, somehow questioning, not as sure as she’d been hours previous. Karl put everything out of his mind. This was his worst-case scenario. For he didn’t believe the viscount would live until they got to the church. He may have tied himself to an injured man, but he believed he would be putting down a dead one at Schwarzsee.

**

Justine put herself in the back of the line. Ophelia took the lead, as she should. She kept close to Tristan, no doubt able to see her father as the impromptu swing lurched with every uneven step of the snowy ridge.

Behind Ophelia was Eleanor, then Prudence, then Justine. There wasn’t anything Justine had ever experienced worse than this. The nighttime descent was terrifying. But Justine pushed that fear aside, just as she had earlier this morning. The snow was old and tamped from their morning footsteps, which her boots gripped better than the icy slicks of sun-damaged snow on the face. Still, the ridge couldn’t be much wider than her arm span, and that made her heart pound even faster. Worse, she could see them all in front of her, which only allowed her to worry about each of their steps more than she worried about her own.

What would even happen for Ophelia? For Tristan? Right now, it was clear that they needed to get back to Zermatt. The thought of Frau and Herr Brunner comforted her. The inn, cozy, with the smells of roasting meat and beer and wine. It kept her steps more sure, her mind calmer.

It was dark enough that she could no longer see Karl ahead of her. The shapes of her friends obscured most of the view, but even so. The snow kept the path somewhat illuminated. It wasn’t pitch black, but far darker than what was safe. Yet all seemed well within their capabilities, and she was lulled into the familiar rhythm—slower than normal, but familiar all the same. One step in front of the other. Until it happened.

She heard the slip. Instinctively, she threw herself onto the ridge, clinging to a nearby jagged boulder for all she was worth. The cries of her friends were swallowed and muted by the wind. The rope around her waist yanked hard, pulling her off the ridge. She scrambled for purchase, and her boots dug into another boulder.

“Who is with me?”

she cried, not daring to look up. But when she heard nothing but wind, she turned her head.

Ophelia struggled on the ledge of the ridge. Oh God. Ophelia was slipping under the weight of both Eleanor and Prudence, swinging down below.

“Karl!”

Justine shouted. “Karl!”

They needed help. They needed more strength, more bodies, otherwise the four of them would disappear down into the glacier below.

“Hang on,”

Tristan called.

Justine couldn’t hear anything more as her mind clouded over with the hammering of her heart, her blood. When would they get help? She looked over to Ophelia, who had stopped struggling. She was still bent over the edge, but she had found footing, and she was braced. Ophelia looked at Justine, her expression not fearful, not shocked. Of course not. Ophelia was determined, her mouth set in a firm line that even in this darkness Justine could recognize. They were all surviving. That was what was happening, and Ophelia wouldn’t hear of any alternative.

No doubt Ophelia had found a braced position and was waiting it out until Karl and Tristan could help.

Then the weight of the rope at her waist loosened. Prudence must have found some purchase down on the wall of the ridgeline. Using her foot, Justine pulled the slack of the rope up and around another rock and held it there with the weight of her leg. It wasn’t much, but would hopefully provide more friction if Prudence fell again.

It felt like eternity until Karl reached her. Not saying anything, he took the slack she’d gathered and tied into it, bracing himself next to her. “I’ve got it.”

His voice was low in the darkness, and she had never felt more relief in her life. But Justine was still there, still focused, still tied into her friends, a part of the tether that would save the lives of both Prudence and Eleanor as well as Ophelia and herself.

Careful not to disturb any debris, Justine turned around and peered over the edge, still on her belly. She could make out the figure of Prudence below, clinging to the rock. At least, she thought that was Prudence.

“Prudence? What’s happening?”

Justine asked, hoping the wind and the darkness would carry her words to her friend. A swell of gratitude hit her when she heard her friend’s voice.

“Climbing,”

Prudence said. “I’m hurt, but not badly. Eleanor is also climbing. She is worse off than I am.”

“Do you want us to try to haul you up?”

A sob came. “Yes. Yes please.”

Justine looked over to the hunched dark figures of Ophelia and Tristan. “Haul them both up?”

“Yes,”

came Ophelia’s crystal-clear reply.

“On my mark,”

Justine said, scrambling around the rock to reconfigure the rope. She sat next to Karl, seeing the fatigue in his face. “Can you?”

“Of course,”

Karl said, his voice clear, not betraying any hint of exhaustion. They’d been climbing this mountain for well over fifteen hours in the cold. None of them had eaten, and all had performed feats of strength. What were a few more?

The rewards of civilization taunted her: roasted beef that fell apart in her mouth. Potatoes smothered in butter and cream. Soft bread smothered in dripping honey. Sharp, tangy cheddar cheese, the kind that crumbled on her tongue. Big hunks of—

“Ready,”

came Ophelia’s voice.

“Mark. Pull!”

Justine’s mind went utterly still with the exception of this task. “Pull.”

They heaved the rope. Justine gathered the slack that pooled between her and Karl, tying off knots, in case his hands slipped. “Pull.” All four of them heaved again, and again she gathered slack. She could hear the scrambling of hands and feet. They were close. So close. One more. “Pull.”

And then Prudence was pulling herself up over the edge. Justine surged forward, grabbing Prudence under her arms, hauling her onto the narrow ridge. Prudence laid half in Justine’s lap, her chest heaving. As her breath calmed, Justine realized that Prudence was shaking.

Justine tightened her grip around her friend, holding her tight. “I’ve got you.”

And Justine meant it.

They regrouped, and with Prudence’s assistance they retrieved Eleanor as well. Tristan held her as Karl examined her arm and shoulder. Justine gripped Ophelia and Prudence as tight as she could manage. She had all of them. Small, but determined. She would save them all.

**

Karl had a plan. It wasn’t a great one, but it was the only one available to him. Minutes ticked away from them, becoming hours lost. The only hope he had was that the cold somehow helped the viscount, preventing a loss of blood that would have killed him otherwise.

Tying into the rope sling had been far more challenging in the dark, his hands less dexterous after hauling a climber up the side of the Hornli Ridge. The only good thing was that they were closer to Schwarzsee. Closer to shelter and food and help.

When they finally found camp, Karl kicked Luc awake, hoping the man would forgive him.

“Go as fast as you can to Schwarzsee. Get the donkey. The viscount is gravely injured. Send word to Zermatt to bring a healer to Schwarzsee. I don’t care who. Get the midwife if she’s the only one. Have my Onkel send word to Zurich for a physician if there isn’t one in Zermatt. Go fast. He’s dying.”

Luc, bless the man, did not question, did not rub his eyes, did nothing but take off in the direction of the church.

Karl’s back ached from the weight of the sling, but he didn’t dare put down his burden. It would be faster for them to continue carrying him like this rather than try the caterpillar method they’d done on the mountain.

The trail ahead was well-worn, dirt, and wide. These were the easy Alpine trails anyone could traverse. Over his shoulder, he asked Tristan, “We can go faster now. Are you able to keep going?”

“Yes,”

came the firm reply.

“We’ll break camp and meet you down there,”

came a woman’s voice in the darkness. Justine. It was Justine. And he wanted to praise her, but didn’t dare.

“Good,”

he said, and he was already walking. They made the descent quickly, given both their long strides and easy terrain. The church had a lamp in the window, and Karl exhaled in relief. Luc was already here.

It was that same hunched man who opened the door at their approach. “I sent Bernhard down to fetch the physician. I’ve made you some rations and a bed for monsieur .”

They went inside the small white-washed building—which practically glowed in the dark, starry landscape. The clear water of Schwarzsee reflected all of this, a sanctuary far warmer than the day they’d spent on the mountain.

Karl walked them over to the cot—Bernhard’s cot—padded with blankets. He and Tristan carefully unloaded the weight of Lord Rascomb onto it. Karl sank to his knees on the stone floor, the pressure biting into his very tired legs, to make untying from the sling easier. He wanted to lie flat on this floor, letting his back relax from the strain it had endured, but there was more to be done.

“Luc, please fix us whatever you have.”

Karl looked down at the viscount, whose pallor was not good. But he could see the subtle rise of the man’s chest, so he was at least still breathing. “Tristan, we will gently roll him to the side to remove the webbing.”

Tristan looked at him with wide blue eyes, his face drawn and finally now terrified. Though they were likely the same age, he looked like a child in this light, worried for his father. “Should we move him?”

Tristan asked.

“The webbing cannot be comfortable.”

Karl gave a grim smile, hoping that would comfort the other man. “And we’ve already moved him down a mountain.”

Karl coaxed him through the steps, moving the body on one side, pushing the webbing as far to the center as he could, and then moving to the other side, pulling it out without disturbing the unconscious man.

Karl didn’t dare pull the bindings away from his head wounds, afraid that it might spark bleeding now that they were in a warmer temperature. Tristan slid down to the floor and gripped his father’s hand, staring at the viscount’s face. Luc arrived with two bowls of some kind of soup, but Karl shook his head.

He touched Tristan on the shoulder and said, “Food is ready for when you are.”

But Tristan refused to look away from his father. “I’m not hungry.”

Karl guided Luc back to the entrance, which was colder than the nave where Lord Rascomb lay. Karl took the bowl. The soup was greasy and barely warm. But Karl didn’t care.

“Where did you warm this?”

Karl asked Luc, wanting to know where the campfire must be, as it wasn’t in this rectangular ice box of a structure.

“Outside. It’s quite small, I don’t think it will last much longer.”

Luc looked embarrassed, as if he were somehow less of a help.

“Good work,”

Karl said, downing the rest of the bowl’s contents. He dug through the other items they’d left here, finding his change of clothes. Dry clothing. Warm clothing. He didn’t relish the idea of disrobing in a church, but he was certain Mother Mary wouldn’t mind at the moment.

**

Justine had never been more focused in her life. She packed up the bag blankets and the cookware while Eleanor wrapped her ankle.

“I think it’s broken,”

Eleanor said quietly. “It’s very swollen.”

“We’ll take care of it at Schwarzsee,”

Ophelia said. Her voice was tinged with urgency. Justine redoubled her efforts to finish packing up the campsite, making sure Eleanor’s and Prudence’s packs were far lighter than hers or Ophelia’s.

“Prudence?”

Justine asked. “What’s your injury?”

Since hauling them back on the ridge, Prudence had not volunteered anything, had not said anything. Ophelia had been focused on Eleanor, whose injured ankle had apparently caused the tumble over the side, pulling Prudence along with her.

“It’s nothing,”

Prudence said, but her voice was strained. As Justine got closer, she could tell that Prudence cradled her arm in her lap.

“Tell me now, and I can help,”

Justine whispered.

Prudence bit back the sob that escaped. “Too much has happened, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“It will be worse if we don’t fix it.”

Justine reached out to touch her but Prudence flinched. “Is it your arm or your shoulder?”

“Both? I don’t know anymore.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’d like to make a sling for your arm. We still have at least another hour down to Schwarzsee. Can you make it?”

“Of course,”

Prudence said, sniffing. But she seemed calmer.

Justine dug in Prudence’s pack, which was closer, and found the only bit of rag left. Thank goodness. All their extra clothing had gone with Lord Rascomb, and most of their clean rags, too. It wasn’t the best, but it was the best Justine could manage right now. She carefully threaded Prudence’s very light pack onto her back, and then created a sling for Prudence.

“All is well,”

Justine said, hoping that her calm declaration would help them. She slid into her heavy pack as the other two women did as well. Ophelia smiled, the hope in her face returning.

“All is well,”

Prudence said, her voice careful. Justine knew she was trying not to betray her pain.

“All is well,”

Eleanor said, equally steady.

“All is well,”

Ophelia repeated. A heavy exhale came from her. “Onward.”

And so they walked in the dark, in silence. Justine staggered under the weight of her pack, but she had little choice. She certainly couldn’t leave their camp littered all over the mountain, and she would not be coming back up to clean it.

They descended slower than Justine would have thought, but given that Eleanor could barely walk, Prudence was in prodigious amounts of pain, and Ophelia and Justine were weighted down, their pace was understandable.

A small campfire blazed next to the church, and the windows were lit with lamps. It was a welcome sight. Justine no longer cared about food. She wanted dry socks more than anything. She wanted her ears to be warm. Sleep would be nice, but not entirely necessary.

This level of exhaustion exceeded even the early conditioning treks Karl used to take Justine on. She could feel every joint in her body. Her hips ached. Her shoulders burned with the weight of the pack. Even though they were no longer tethered together, she felt the ghost of the rope around her waist. Every so often, she felt a phantom tug that filled her with fear.

Ophelia opened the door of the small church, and Justine felt the urge to cry from relief. They filed inside. Ophelia strode over to the cot in the nave, where all the candles were lit. Tristan looked up at her as she dumped the pack on the stone floor. The expressions they exchanged stopped the rest of the women in their tracks.

“Let me,”

Karl said, lifting the pack Justine carried.

She closed her eyes and let him unthread the straps from her, taking the weight of her burden. She let out a shaky breath, the fatigue clouding her mind. Was the danger over? Could they relax?

“Change into dry clothes first,”

Karl said, gesturing to piles set on the short wooden benches that were this church’s pews. “No one will look.”

Justine nodded. She didn’t even care if someone looked. She was beyond modesty, beyond caring about trivial things like that. The other women stepped forward. Eleanor’s hands were shaking. And Justine had no idea how Prudence could change one-handed.

“I’ll go prepare some food,”

Karl said, stepping out of the low-ceilinged church.

“Sit down,”

Justine instructed both Prudence and Eleanor. Methodically, she pulled the boots off them both, being more careful and slow with Eleanor, considering her ankle. It had swollen to an abnormal size, but Justine couldn’t tell what was bandage and woolen stockings, and what was actually Eleanor.

“We’ll have to take this off,”

Justine said, and Eleanor nodded. Justine worked on the bandage while Eleanor pulled down her shredded woolen stockings. Once everything was off, and Justine could see the bare skin, she was appalled to see the marks in Eleanor’s shin where the binding had kept the swelling down, and the rest of her flesh ballooned out around it. Deep, angry red scrapes laced around Eleanor’s legs. Wool fibers had stuck to the dried blood.

Justine frowned, unsure what steps to take next.

“Bind it first, then put the fresh stockings on,”

Prudence suggested, pulling her own stockings off, one-handed. “We can clean it when we get to Zermatt.”

Justine bound Eleanor’s foot as best she could.

“I can handle the rest,”

Eleanor said. “Help Prudence.”

Justine looked over as Prudence eased off the sling, pain causing silent tears to run down her cheeks. It was then that Justine realized how badly Prudence’s clothes were torn. She was probably as scraped up as Eleanor. “We’ll get you to rights in no time,”

Justine said, hoping that helped.

She aided Prudence with her blouse and skirt, helping her change into a dry shift, and then the rest of her layers, doing her best to avoid the angry bloody wounds that she found peppering her friend’s shoulders. Once Eleanor and Prudence were taken care of, Justine looked to Ophelia.

“I’ll get her to come change,”

Eleanor said, limping over to where Lord Rascomb lay resting on a cot. With the candles surrounding him, he almost seemed dead, like a saint that had martyred himself to a cause.

It wasn’t far from the truth. If he did die, was he a martyr? A martyr to the cause of Alpine climbing? The urge to push oneself to the very edge of human endurance? For Justine felt that way now. She’d thought she’d known it before, but it was nothing compared to how she felt this moment, staring down at her dry clothes, knowing she would feel better if she could change.

She needed to get her boots off. Her toes were numb, and if she didn’t do something, there was a real possibility of frostbite. But she was so tired.

“I’ll go see what we can eat.”

Prudence laid her hand on Justine’s shoulder. That human contact felt so warm and precious. It spurred Justine into movement, and she sat down to unknot her boots.

It wasn’t long before Ophelia joined her on the bench. They exchanged a look of exhaustion and despair. It took all of Justine’s strength to find Ophelia’s hand. But she did, and she held her best friend’s fingers as long as she dared. This was only part of their strength. They were together. And together, Justine Brewer and Ophelia Bridewell could do anything. Anything. Even this.

Finally, Ophelia gave a shallow nod, and they both bent over to untie their boots. Justine felt the sharp sting of open wounds on her own body, but ignored it. She would get to that in Zermatt. They would fix everything later. She wondered if Ophelia was feeling the same way.

When they finished changing, Prudence came in with two bowls of steaming soup, followed by Karl. Luc hobbled in with warmed bread and cold butter, slices of cheese and a pocket overflowing with apples.

“Tea is coming soon,”

Karl said as he handed bowls first to Justine and Ophelia.

Justine glanced over to Prudence and Eleanor, ensuring that they were taken care of.

“I’m going back over to my father.”

Ophelia stood.

Justine watched her friend go, her gait hobbled and raw. Something hurt Ophelia, whether it was a blister on her foot or a hitch in her hip from stiffness, she didn’t know.

Karl watched Justine eat for a moment, but she couldn’t be bothered to feel self-conscious. “I will watch over them, Justine. Eat. Take care of yourself. There are pallets over there—”

he pointed to a nest of blankets on the other wall. “Help is coming from Zermatt. Rest now so you can help later.”

She swallowed hard. There was no flavor in the soup or stew or whatever it was. But it was hot going down into her chilled body, and that was worth it. Her teeth began to chatter. There was comfort from him, even if he didn’t touch her. She wanted him to, wanted to curl up in his arms, hear the rumble of his voice in his chest.

But she’d thrown that opportunity away. Not because she wouldn’t marry him, but because she’d made him feel a fool for thinking it. Her whole body wanted to shiver, but she clamped down, willing herself to be still. “Thank you,”

she managed, her voice scratchy.

“You are welcome.”

Those were formal words. Words that he’d protested about in one of his English language rants. In his language there was a formal and an informal way to speak. In modern English, there were formal terms of address, but that was it. How was a person to know when respectful distance was given and when the informal, friendly words connected them?

But Justine felt that respectful distance in his tone. She heard his formality, accepting it as what she had forced him to use. He ducked outside once again. To check on food, to see if help was close? Justine didn’t know. She ate her bowl of soup, took a bite of cheese, and found that chewing an apple or a piece of bread took far more work than she could manage.

She took off the slippers she’d packed and bedded down, certain she wouldn’t sleep, but needed the rest.

The next moment, everything changed.

It felt as if she’d blinked, but hours had passed. The sun was fully in the sky. Prudence was curled up next to her, breathing deep and rhythmically in her heavy slumber.

Justine sat up. Her head hurt. Her back twinged, as if to contest her head’s priority in pain. There was an ewer of water and two cups sitting on the short bench in front of her and Prudence. She poured a cup and drank, downing it in seconds. Her stomach rebelled at the cold temperature, but she didn’t care. She poured another cup. Looking around, she saw more people.

Mr. Moon leaned against the wall on the other side of Prudence, his arms crossed, his hat clutched in his hand. Justine followed his gaze over to the nave, where there was a crowd around the cot where Lord Rascomb lay.

She didn’t recognize some of them—healers from Zermatt, perhaps? But Tristan and Ophelia both stood there, clearly not having slept. Justine got to her feet, swaying with fatigue. Her feet were swollen, feeling as if the bottoms of them were rounded like a wheel rather than flat. She stumbled as she disengaged from the blankets.

Mr. Moon pushed off the wall, stepping over Prudence to provide aid.

Justine waved him off. “Thank you, I’m fine.”

She leaned on the wall, scanning the room again. She couldn’t help but notice that there was no one watching over her. No Karl. No Francis. She was on her own. Isn’t that what she’d asked for? Her independence? “Where’s Karl? I mean, Mr. Vogel?”

Mr. Moon nodded toward the door. “Outside. Securing the cart.”

A cart. Definitely one for Lord Rascomb. Justine did not look forward to hiking back down to Zermatt, but needs must. A cup of tea would help her uncontrollable shivering. She didn’t bother putting on her slippers or her boots, not sure her feet would fit in either covering, and padded outside.

Karl held the reins of a donkey, attached to a cart, discussing something with his uncle. Herr Brunner broke into a smile when he saw her.

“Fr?ulein Brewer!” he said.

Justine shielded her eyes against the blinding sun. The air was warm with a chilly undercurrent she had come to associate with the Alps. “Herr Brunner,”

she croaked. She cleared her throat.

The older man said something to her that she couldn’t understand. Hopefully, she couldn’t understand it because it was another language, but she couldn’t be sure right now.

“He says that he is glad you are safe,”

Karl said. The look in his eye made her think that perhaps Karl was glad too. Of their seven-member expedition, Karl, Tristan, Ophelia, and she were the only ones unscathed. Lord Rascomb might die. Eleanor had either a twisted ankle or a broken ankle. Prudence likely had a broken arm. They were lucky.

“Is my brother here?”

Justine asked.

Karl shook his head, and Herr Brunner spoke again.

“Your brother was sent to Zurich to fetch a physician,”

Karl translated. Herr Brunner said something again, to which Karl nodded along. “It will take some time for him to return. We will likely arrive the same time, our donkey cart, and your brother.”

Justine hugged herself. That was a good use for Francis. He did well when he had a task, and fetching a physician from Zurich was important. Lord Rascomb deserved the best care possible.

“Another cart is coming,”

Karl said after a moment. “This one is for Lord Rascomb. I didn’t think you all should have to hike down to Zermatt. I know Frau Bridewell is having trouble walking, and Frau Moon is likewise injured.”

Justine nodded, biting her lip so she would not cry with relief. “Thank you.”

She hobbled over to the edge of the slate porch, where Mr. Luc Meynet sat next to the campfire, a half-smile on his face as he blew smoke rings into the air.

“Pardon me, but I was wondering—”

“Té?”

he asked, cutting her off.

Justine nodded.

The man hopped off his seat and busied himself, taking a moment to shoo her back inside. Karl wandered over, asking the other man something in German.

“He’ll bring it to you,”

Karl said after the conversation was over. “He says he knows how the English like their tea.”

The day passed in a blur. Eventually, they loaded Lord Rascomb into the cart with Ophelia and Tristan and the stranger who was some kind of healer. Herr Brunner and Luc passed out food, begging them all to eat. Justine stared at the mountain and the blue sky that surrounded it. She felt betrayed.

It was silly to think she’d been betrayed by a mountain, but still. They’d worked so hard. All of the training and time—not to mention the humiliation they’d suffered at the hands of the gossip columns and members of the English Alpine Society. There had only been fourteen successful ascents in total in history, but she knew the men of London’s Alpine Society would pin this on them being women, even if it had been Lord Rascomb’s accident that caused them to turn around.

They’d wanted to be the fifteenth. To log their names in history. To prove to the world that women were strong, capable, worthy . Tears stung Justine’s eyes. She was furious. Furious at the Matterhorn for existing, for turning them around, for hurting Ophelia’s father. If she could kick it, she would. Her hands balled into fists.

“Justine,”

Prudence called.

She turned around, seeing the other cart. They were already loading it with their packs. Herr Brunner helped Eleanor and Prudence up into the cart. She wiped a hot angry tear from her cheek and joined them.

**