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.
**
Chapter Thirteen
At the inn, the dining room was converted into a makeshift hospital. Prudence and Eleanor were ushered in. There was an older woman, round and wrinkled, with an apron tied so far up her stomach the strings were practically tucked under her pendulous breasts. Justine watched as the woman assessed Prudence and Eleanor as they entered the dining room.
A bed identical to the guest beds upstairs was in the room, where Lord Rascomb was ensconced. Tristan and Ophelia looked awful, but they remained at his bedside. Lady Rascomb looked as stylish and alert as ever, sitting beside Lord Rascomb, holding his hand.
For a moment, Justine wondered why Lady Rascomb hadn’t followed the donkey cart out to Schwarzsee. Why did she not look as much of a wreck as Tristan and Ophelia?
There was a small knot in her stomach she didn’t want to acknowledge that wondered why Francis hadn’t come in that donkey cart either. Yes, she knew he was fetching a doctor. And he had not yet returned with said doctor from Zurich either. But still. Wasn’t anyone worried for her? Didn’t anyone need to check on her? Prudence had Mr. Moon, and Eleanor was part of the cluster with Tristan and Ophelia. Karl was out being Karl. And she was just . . . here. But she pushed all those thoughts down. It didn’t matter. She didn’t have an injury. Her family was fine in faraway England. She was being selfish and ridiculous. Better to focus on what needed to be done.
The older woman, a healer? A midwife? gestured to Prudence to sit down. Frau Brunner tried to push Tristan out of the room, but he refused to budge from his father’s bedside. Then she tried to push Mr. Moon out, but he likewise refused. Karl and Herr Brunner were still outside, dealing with the cart. The two older women conversed and then shrugged.
Gently, the older woman had Prudence take off the sling. Ophelia stepped over closer, frowning as she listened. But then she started translating for Prudence, which surprised Justine. When had Ophelia learned picked up this language so fluently?
“She is going to check your shoulder, Prudence.”
Prudence frowned up at Ophelia, clearly thinking the same thing as Justine. “When did you—ow!” Prudence sucked in a sudden breath and turned deathly pale as the healer woman manipulated her arm.
