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 bothKarl 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.
**
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. Fräulein 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.
Fräulein 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.” Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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.
