“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 asOphelia 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.
FräuleinBridewell embraced Justine, warming her up and rubbing her arms. Jealousy flared. It was irrational and silly, but Justine loved Fräulein 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, FräuleinBridewell 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.
