Page 22 of The Scholar’s Spy

And then he realized what it was, and he wished with all of his heart that it had been a foreign power, because at least that wouldn’t mean he had to know that Abigail was about to die.

The hillside pathway that curved alongside the cliff, was coming away at the seams, bowing and crumbling at some internal pressure as bits of chalk and rock gave way. The sound was tremendous, the blurry shade and scatter of dust was billowing outwards, and Robert could at least see the vague shape of the dust clouds. The sand beneath his feet shook with the earth’s movements.

Fumbling in the pocket of his waistcoat, cursing himself for not wearing them sooner, Robert snatched up his glasses and shoved them onto his nose.

In the midst of the rockslide, there was the running figure of Abigail. She was scrambling and jumping this way and that as she tried to fight against nature to escape. Her body rose for a moment, and she screamed long and loud and crystal clear. So, for as long as he lived, Robert feared he would never forget the sound of her screech in the air, desperate to somehow rise above the all-consuming wave of rocks, chalk and dust.

He thought he saw her land, scramble forward but then she vanished, claimed entirely by the sweep of the landslide.

Robert’s body was moving before his mind caught up with him. Panic pulsed through him, of a similar taste as he had experienced during the war. Yet this was different because he himself was not in any danger. But that sort of sense was not permeating through him because his limbs dashed forward and toward the now slowing cascade of the landslide, desperate to try and pinpoint where Abigail was.

Never had he felt his damaged eyesight more. Never had he cursed his ill luck and not being closer to save her.

But he refused to think she might simply be gone.

His stumbling legs gave way as he hurried forward back across the sands, and toward the inky blackness, and stilted rockslide that spilled out onto the sands. A calmed part of him wondered if perhaps he could or should hurry back to Lyme Regis and rouse the town up. Get willing volunteers and workers to come help him. It was a big enough landslide that someone else, not just Abigail, might have been caught up in it.

But she was trapped down there, if she had survived, then she was at risk of suffocation or drowning caught beneath those rocks.

With quickened his steps, Robert found himself running now toward the point at where he thought Abigail had vanished.

Given his eyesight, could he be sure? Everything had happened so quickly—could he trust his questionable sight to guide him?

Before him the beach stretched, sunlight bright for late March, beating down around him—it should have been a pleasant day—they should have laughed and talked, and he should never have mentioned such things as liars and corruption. Nor should he have fought or quizzed her.

Guilt, a sensation not often familiar to Robert, flooded through him. Did people ever survive landslides?

Abigail, though, wasn’t people. She was her own strange little being, and as much as she perplexed and confused him, the idea that he could come away from today without her presence, her talk, the quick way she accessed a fossil or society, or the unique way she would watch him, was not an idea he could entertain for long.

In fact, he utterly refused to accept that he would not find her. She was in this chaos in this mountain of rubble, dust, chalk and mud, and he just had to find her.

There was a sound, a shouted cry in the air. Robert blinked, realizing that he was calling, no, shouting for her, desperate for her to respond.

“Abigail!” He was within twenty feet of where he thought he’d seen her disappear. It was the edge of the rockslide, half of the overspill pushing into the water’s edge. He started to climb, his feet rough and difficult to find. Hard to balance in amongst the rocks and slippery chalk, which more often than not, simply gave way beneath his feet. His view blurred from sweat, grit and his own poor eyesight.

Giving up on standing, Robert started to crawl over the remnant of the rockslide. His eyes fixed on where she had been. It was next to a pinkish-red stone, and he made himself promise that he would begin to dig there.

“Abigail.” It had become his mantra. He was repeating again and again, eager that if there was any way she might be able to hear him, she would be reassured—she would know that someone—that he—he was coming for her. She would not be alone.

He set to work, his hands digging into the dirt and rocks, chalk coming away in chunks as he pushed and dug at the spot he told himself she would be. He would find her.

There was a cry in the distance. Others, it seemed, were arriving, but Robert did not look up. The soft mush he was moving was dense, and a horrifying thought was starting to creep into his mind. Even if he could find Abigail amongst this almost liquid-like substance, she might well have drowned—suffocated under such pressing conditions.

Could anyone survive such circumstances?

“Over here.” It was a scared voice, nearing where Robert worked. He glanced up to see Mr. Costigan close by. The younger man looked devastated.

“Did you see someone—” He asked as he surveyed Robert.

“Miss Abigail—she’s—” Robert started to say. He had played the idea in his head. Pulling from this sandy-mud lined grave, dragging her loose, being the hero, but the brutal reality was starting to seep into him as he looked down at his dirty hands, empty of Abigail or any sign of her.

Mr. Costigan glanced around the spot, looking only at the surface area. His youthful face looked kind and scared as he sought out some sign that Robert had been looking for what felt like an age already. “She was here when it happened?”

Robert nodded, not trusting himself to speak, failure and fury at battle within himself. “Somewhere near here.” His voice wobbled.

How long had she been down there? Beneath the rocks? How long could she last? Panic at these questions was pulsing through him.

“Close to that rock,” Robert said. “It was near to her form when she vanished.”