I read this recently and really felt that there was a little part missing at the end this chapter. Also, why are there so few fanfics for this amazing novel?

A Jamaica Inn Ficlet

For a moment, she could only stare; her eyes transfixed on the spot where the vicar had stood, only seconds ago, a silhouette of black against the pale sky.

It was over, then: the wrecking, and the smuggling, the murdering - everything. And the very figure behind it all had been the one man she'd trusted; blindly, foolishly, misled by his costume.

Mary's head still spun with it, nausea stirring within her as she recalled all that she'd confided to him; how she'd spilled everything she'd learned of Jamaica and her uncle, how she'd shamefully confessed to a kiss shared with his brother.

Jem. She turned as she remembered him, clambering weakly across the granite with limbs that trembled, and somewhere behind her a shout rent the air.

'Mary!' - Jem had leapt forwards, and his hands grasped for her as she struggled down from the rock, setting her steadily on her feet before him, his eyes wilder than she had yet seen them. 'I wouldn't have shot had I known you were up there - I could have killed you!'

He clutched her shoulders, gaze quickly travelling the length of her before boring into her own eyes. 'Are you hurt? Did he hurt you, Mary?'

Mary shook her head, 'No. He bound my hands, and gagged my mouth, but he didn't touch me.' She took a breath, emotion threatening to overcome her as she searched for her next words. 'He murdered my aunt, and my uncle Joss.'

'I know,' Jem replied, with a solemn nod. 'He had it coming, did Joss. But it should've been the noose to take him, not a knife in the back. And your aunt did not deserve that either.'

'He would've killed me too, had I not already set out to find him,' she added, and her bitter laugh at the irony became at once a choking sob, her eyes welling with tears that would not be blinked away for all that she tried.

Jem hesitated a second before pulling her to him, embracing her as he had the last time she'd seen him - in her room at Jamaica Inn, when his fist had been bloody from smashing the window, and his fingers had probed bruises of his brother's making.

Mary clung to him, pressing her cheek to his breast, and breathing the faint scent of horses that lingered about his clothing. Jem's hands stroked down her back, long and slim, and soothing as they caressed her. 'You're all right now. You're safe.'