Visitors for the Chalet School

by Helen McClelland

  ‘I think perhaps we had better turn now and go straight back, girls,’ Miss Maynard said as the rest of the form came up and looked enquiringly at her. ‘It may begin to snow again quite soon, and we don’t want to be caught as we were two years ago!’ And she turned to Frieda Mensch, whose opinion about the weather was always valued since she knew conditions at the Tiernsee so well.

  ‘I do not think there will be snow for at least two, perhaps three hours,’ Frieda said cautiously, ‘but it would not be safe to rely on that, Miss Maynard.’

  ‘Alors, nous allons rentrer tout de suite,’ the mistress said with decision. ‘Dêpechez-vous, mes enfants. And keep strictly to the path.’

  Miss Maynard set off rapidly down the track and the group obediently fell in behind her. As they hurried along Frieda asked Joey, ‘As-tu bien trouvé ta lettre?’

  ‘What letter?’

  ‘The one you gave to Paula.’

  Joey looked nonplussed.

  ‘What I mean is,’ Frieda explained, ‘one of those letters you gave to Paula was really for you.’

  ‘How odd! But they came from Hungary. Oh, well, I suppose I didn’t look properly. Wherever’s Paula got to? She might at least have brought the letter for me, the mean thing.’ And Jo looked round indignantly.

  Frieda reminded her that Paula had not been allowed to come on the walk that afternoon, because she was recovering from a heavy cold.

  ‘Oh, bother it all! I can’t wait to see who’s written to me.’

  ‘But you will have to wait,’ Simone remarked tactlessly. Joey glared ferociously at her; but she was obliged to restrain her impatience and curiosity until they got back to school.

  The moment she had hung up her coat and beret and put away her scarf and boots, Joey rushed to their class-room; but as ill-luck would have it, Paula did not appear until just as the bell began to sound for the first afternoon lesson. She did immediately take the letter from her desk and hand it to Jo; but by then Miss Wilson was sitting down at the mistress’s desk, and the geography lesson was about to begin. So Joey could only glance at the envelope, which, she now saw, was addressed to her in Patricia Davidson’s neat handwriting.

  For Jo the afternoon passed with weary slowness. When at last the final lesson ended, Miss Annersley was scarcely through the door before Joey flung open her desk, bundled away her copy of Macbeth and snatched up the letter. Her desk-lid fell back with a resounding clatter.

  ‘I do think you might have given me the letter before.’ she growled at Paula.

  ‘But, Joey, I am so sorry, I have not seen you,’ Paula protested.

  ‘Well, no, I s’pose you didn’t. My own fault for not looking at it properly. Sorry, Paula!’ Joey ripped open the envelope and began to read.

  Patricia was not a person to whom letter-writing came easily. She had managed to cover several sheets, telling Joey about their time in Salzburg and Vienna; but somehow her account did not come to life and tended to read a little like the minutes of a meeting.

  Madge Russell had noticed the same thing when she received the rather stiff formal note of thanks Patricia had written after her weekend at Die Rosen. Madge felt then, as Joey did now, that it was odd how little of Patricia’s personality came across in a letter. Madge had also thought with some amusement of the contrast this made with her sister; of course Joey did sometimes experience difficulties in writing, but generally words would flow from her with the speed that knitting does from the needles of a skilled knitter.

  Jo worked her way through Patricia’s letter and then re-read the final part:

  I am writing this in the train going to Buda-Pest. It isn’t a very beautiful journey but at least it’s not very long.

  Please give my best wishes to Mrs Russell and tell her the books she lent me are most interesting. I’ve finished the one about Florence Nightingale and am halfway through the one about Lourdes.

  Hope everyone is well at the Chalet School. Pamela and Joan send their love. We are all looking forward to seeing you again quite soon. Do write if you have time.

  Yours, Patricia.

  ‘So the book was about that Bernadette,’ Joey thought to herself as she finished reading. ‘Now why on earth should Madge have given her that, I wonder? I can see the point of Florence Nightingale, but why ever Lourdes and St Bernadette? Surely to goodness Madge doesn’t picture Patricia being a nun, or anything of that kind ?’

  The bell for Kaffee brought her reverie to an end; and she folded up the letter and put it away.

  The rest of that day passed unremarkably, the snow beginning to fall at about half-past sixteen, very much as Frieda had forecast. It did not then go on for long, but the following morning it started again and continued steadily. So there was no going out of doors for the school that Wednesday.

  A rehearsal of the Christmas play was to take place after Mittagessen. As soon as grace had been said, the girls began making their way to the cloakroom to don outdoor clothes. ‘Everyone shall wear boots and, of course, coats, scarves, gloves and woollen caps,’ Gertrud Steinbrücke announced as the line filed out of the Speisesaal. ‘Just as for all walks.’

  ‘Seems a real waste of time, this,’ Evadne grumbled, as she struggled into her overcoat and searched for her scarf, which had chosen this moment to vanish from sight. ‘Can’t be more than a few . . . ’

  ‘Quite far enough in this temperature, my child,’ Joey assured her in lofty tones. ‘You’d be frozen to death halfway. Not to mention, soaked through. It’s snowing cats and dogs out there.’

  ‘Well, you don’t seem in any hurry yourself,’ Evadne retorted. ‘Oh, there it is.’ She rescued her errant scarf from the corner where it had been lurking. ‘You’ve not even started putting your things on.’

  ‘Ah, but then I don’t have to,’ Joey said, with an irritatingly smug expression. ‘No, honestly,’ as several people interrupted their dressing to look at her. ‘I’m not coming to the rehearsal till later.’

  ‘But Joey, are you sure?’ Frieda asked anxiously. ‘Mademoiselle has been saying at Frühstück that all must attend the rehearsal.’

  ‘All except me, she meant. And the Juniors — they’ll be staying in Le Petit Chalet today. Really, truly, Frieda! I’m not in any of the scenes being rehearsed. So I’m off to write an important letter. And of course I’ve got permission. I asked at breakfast-time.’

  Joey attempted to stage a dignified exit, but was brought up short by the arrival of Miss Annersley, who announced from the doorway in her pleasant and carrying tones: ‘Time we were all on our way, girls. Is everyone properly clad? And have you all got your slippers with you? Then, Marie, please will you lead the way.’

  While the throng of girls streamed along the passage and then, with sharply indrawn breath, out into the scurrying snow, Joey took herself off to her form-room. There she settled down at her desk to answer Patricia’s letter. For a while she gazed out of the window, almost hypnotized by the soft, yet relentless, fall of snow. At last, black brows knitted in concentration, she began to scribble rapidly:

  Dear Patricia —

  It has been snowing like mad all day, so we have had no chance to go out. That is partly why I have such oodles of time to write letters.

  Thanks awfully for your letter; it arrived yesterday. It was jolly decent of you to write.

  Lucky you, going to have such a gorgeous chance to look round Buda-Pest. I am longing to go to Hungary one day. Be a dear and send us a picture postcard.

  You know how freezing cold it was that Sunday at the Sonnalpe? Well, in the end the snow actually did not arrive till the middle of November, but then it came with such a vengeance that we were caged up indoors for nearly a week. At least, it felt like a week! When at last the sun came out we had a simply golloptious snow-fight. I had my face well scrubbed with snow. And some unspeakable little horror even tried to put snow into my boots!

  By the way, I hope you will notice in this letter how careful I am being to write correctly. Miss Annersley says th
at contractions shouldn’t — SORRY — should not be used in writing, so I am trying extra hard to remember. It feels a bit like writing with your arms tied behind you. So I guess, as Evadne would say, that a few will creep in.

  At the moment, everyone here has her nose simply glued to the grindstone, working for a Hobbies Club competition that will be held at the end of term. The form that does the most interesting work — in the judges’ opinion, anyway! — will win a cup presented by the staff, and our lot are going to make jolly sure we win it! I’m working on making a marionette theatre, and, as you will guess, I got the idea from the performance we saw that day in Innsbruck. Mine is much more simple, of course — well, it would need to be! But, between ourselves, I think it’s coming off beautifully!

  Frieda Mensch’s effort is a simply gorgeous set of dolls of all nations. Her father sent her lots of little wooden dolls to dress in national costumes, and she wrote and asked if he would send half a dozen more for my puppets. I’ve had to work out the most complicated arrangement of threads you ever saw to make their arms and legs work! Simone is helping to make their clothes, because you know — or perhaps you don’t — how absolutely useless I am at sewing. She’d already finished her own contribution, which is some really top-hole embroidery, and I suppose sewing a few dolls’ clothes is no trouble to her. But, anyway, she has been a real brick about helping. I have made the theatre out of wood, and Simone is now concocting some red velvet curtains for the front. We got the material from Matron in a moment of unexpected benevolence!

  The latest Chaletian magazine has just arrived, so all the world is busy exclaiming over how marvellous it is. Best we’ve ever had, they say, and I rather agree — even though I shouldn’t say so, as I’m the editor. I’ll send you a copy if Maynie will let me have one.

  Nothing specially exciting to report. Oh, yes — there was a little excitement one afternoon last week. That idiotic bunch of Fourth Formers were on their own after lessons for about two-and-a-half minutes, and, would you believe it, they had a competition to see who could build the highest tower on top of her desk. With the expected result! From next door it sounded like some young volcano erupting all over the place! Marie and I rushed to see the fun, but our one and only Grizel had just reached the scene, so we made ourselves scarce, not being very keen to see them all skinned alive.

  Oh, goodness gracious! I nearly forgot to mention the Christmas play. However could I forget when it’s taking up pretty well every moment of the day — apart from the Hobbies competition, of course, not to mention a few little items like lessons. Rehearsals are in full swing now, and it’s really topping having a proper stage for the first time. I should explain that it is not really a play this year, more like a pageant. I mean there are no speaking parts but the story is told in tableaux and mime, with readings going on at the same time — if you see what I mean. Needless to say there are also heaps and heaps of Mr Denny’s favourite carols. Well, in fact they are mostly my favourites too. Specially ‘I sing of a maiden’. I have to sing that one on my own in the darkness.

  Some of the time we have to be terribly quick with the costume changes, to try and give the impression there are crowds and crowds of us — you know the sort of thing. Luckily Miss Durrant had an absolutely splendacious idea, and she and Miss Carthew and a lot of the folk who are good at sewing, like Simone and Suzanne Mercier, have made sort of cloaks that can be folded and worn in all sorts of different ways. They fit anyone, so we can change round, and there are oodles of different colours. I asked Miss Durrant how in the world she’d thought of the idea, and she said they’d used it when she was at college. ‘About fifty years ago,’ she said, but I’m not sure I believe that! Now, if she’d said twenty-five!

  The stage management people seem to have no end of other clever wheezes but I won’t — oh, dear! — will not reveal any more as it would spoil it. You will just have to wait and see.

  Really must conclude this epistle. Bye for now.

  Joey.

  P.S. Look forward to seeing you soon.

  P.P.S. Exams next week! So there are heartfelt groans all round, as you can imagine.

  Characteristically, Joey did not even bother to read through her letter, but simply folded the sheets and crammed them straight into an envelope. This she addressed to the hotel in Munich where Patricia had told her the Grange House party would be staying next. A quick glance out of the window showed that the snow was no longer falling and the sun was shining brightly. With luck Mademoiselle might allow her to take her letter straight along to the Post Hotel. Joey hurried off to ask permission.

  On the way, she barely managed to stop herself whistling joyfully at the prospect of a brisk run in the sunshine. It was so jolly to get out of doors! But, at the thought of Mademoiselle’s disapproval, she hastily composed herself, and she had just raised her hand to knock on the study door when, without warning, it burst open and she was all but thrown into the arms of Miss Maynard.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Maynard. Did I . . . ?’

  “No, no, Joey, it wasn’t your fault.’ Miss Maynard was also gasping slightly. ‘But the odd thing is, I was just on my way to fetch you. Please come in.’ She turned, and Jo, greatly wondering, began to follow her into the study. Whatever could she have done now? And her astonishment redoubled when she saw not only Mademoiselle but also Miss Wilson and Matron sitting behing the headmistress’s desk. All were looking preoccupied. Joey felt her knees begin to wobble . . .

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  A ROYAL SUMMONS.

  ‘PLEASE sit down, Jo,’ Mademoiselle said gravely. ‘We have had some serious news.’

  ‘Oh, Mademoiselle! Not Madge . . . ’ Joey, ashen-faced, sank on to the nearest chair.

  ‘No, no, my dear child,’ Mademoiselle hastened to reassure her. ‘Your dear sister is quite all right. And Dr Jem, also. Forgive me — it was most thoughtless of me to have alarmed you. No, this news concerns Elisaveta.’

  ‘Elisaveta?’ Joey looked astonished. ‘Well, I knew she’d been having a go of bronchitis, but I thought she was up and about again.’

  ‘Elisaveta herself is making excellent progress, I am glad to say.’ Mademoiselle turned to Matron, who nodded in confirmation. ‘No, this news concerns His Majesty, her grandfather.’

  ‘The King, you mean? Oh, Mademoiselle, is he —?’

  ‘No, Joey. But I am sorry to say that he is indeed very seriously ill. The doctors have expressed grave anxiety; and the Crown Prince has wired to request that we shall arrange for Elisaveta to return immediately to Belsornia.’

  ‘And you can see, Jo,’ Miss Wilson took up the tale, ‘this involves enormous problems. Somehow Elisaveta has to be conveyed to Spärtz. The Crown Prince will arrange for his equerry, Captain Trevillion, and Elisaveta’s personal maid to meet her there and escort her by train to Belsornia. But there’s no easy way of getting Elisaveta down the mountain.’

  ‘What with the snow,’ Miss Maynard put in, ‘and the poor child still being in the sick-room.’

  ‘Which is where she ought to stay by rights,’ interjected Matron. ‘At least for another day or two.’

  ‘But why can’t ’Veta’s father send someone to fetch her from here?’ Jo asked in puzzled tones. ‘Couldn’t Captain Trevillion bring his aeroplane, like he did last summer when . . . ’

  ‘Unfortunately, that would be impossible at this time of the year,’ Mademoiselle answered.

  And Miss Wilson added with a touch of asperity ‘Use your head, Jo! Not even a genius could land an aeroplane at Eben with all this snow. Or anywhere else round here for that matter.’

  ‘And for Elisaveta to walk down that path to Spärtz is entirely out of the question.’ Matron’s tightly pursed lips indicated clearly that nothing would shift her from this standpoint.

  ‘Indeed, Matron, we all of us agree about that,’ Mademoiselle said in her most soothing tones. ‘And Dr Russell would certainly not hear of it.’

  ‘What about a motor-car, then?’ Joey sugge
sted. (For the moment she was so caught up in the situation that she had no time to wonder why four members of staff should be consulting her about all this.) ‘Couldn’t somebody bring one up from Spärtz to collect her?’

  But Miss Maynard shook her head. ‘We thought of that. But it appears the snow is completely blocking the road.’

  ‘Then couldn’t ’Veta be carried down the path?’ And Joey added eagerly: ‘Why, Mademoiselle, two of us could easily take her on a “queen’s chair”. Madge and I often carry the Robin like that.’

  ‘Mon petit — you must appreciate that a tiny eight-year-old is a matter quite different from a girl of nearly thirteen.’ Mademoiselle’s tones were gentle but firm. ‘However, we could in the ordinary way have asked Fritzel Pfeifen or one of the others to carry Elisaveta. It may yet come to this. But Matron feels strongly that Elisaveta is not yet fully recovered from her bronchial attack, and that she must, if possible, be spared a journey of this kind through the snow.’

  ‘Let alone the chance that more snow could start falling at any time,’ Miss Maynard said, looking gloomily out of the window. ‘Although Frieda did seem to think it wouldn’t . . . ’

  ‘Mademoiselle!’ Joey broke in excitedly. ‘Excuse me, Miss Maynard, I didn’t meant to interrupt, but I’ve had a brainwave! I’m sure it’s the answer. What about a sledge? No, not a toboggan.’ (Miss Wilson tried to picture the Crown Prince’s reactions if his daughter was sent careering down the mountainside on a sledge.) ‘I really meant a sleigh.’

  ‘A sleigh, Joey? Mais je ne comprends pas.’