Visitors for the Chalet School

by Helen McClelland

  They did not have long to wait. A few minutes later the tinkling of bells drew everyone to the window, to watch the sleigh as it skimmed across the snow towards the front door, with Fritzel proudly ensconced on the driver’s seat.

  ‘What a lovely pony!’ Joey exclaimed.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t he?’ Elisaveta agreed. ‘But actually, Jo, he is not a pony. That is a Haflinger, and I think they are really horses. We have some in the stables at Firarto.’

  ‘Quite right, Elisaveta,’ Miss Maynard put in. ‘And although they’re not very big, they’re strong working horses. He’ll make nothing of pulling the four of us.’

  ‘Well, whatever he is, he’s got the most glorious chestnut coat. And do all Haffle — Haflingers, did you say? — have those pale blond manes and tails? Oh, sorry, Miss Maynard. Yes, I’m ready.’

  ‘There you are then, Elisaveta.’ Miss Maynard had been rapidly pinning the silk scarf in place. ‘Now, if you will wait here for Fritzel, Joey and I will go and get ourselves installed.’

  Meanwhile, Rosa (now in charge of the Chalet School kitchen, since Marie Pfeifen’s departure to the Sonnalpe) and her assistant, Luise, were busy carrying out a large supply of hot bricks, to be placed in the bottom of the sleigh to keep the passengers’ feet warm. Next, they brought a vast pile of rugs and blankets, and a flask of the milky coffee the girls all loved.

  Mademoiselle emerged briefly from her study and stationed herself at the window, ready to wave good-bye. In no time at all, Miss Maynard and Joey had seated themselves opposite one another in the back of the sleigh; while Fritzel, having first carried Elisaveta carefully down the snow-covered path, helped her to squeeze into the space between them.

  ‘No one’s going to let us die of cold, that’s plain,’ Joey gasped as the rugs were piled on top of them.

  ‘I think we shall be glad of it,’ Miss Maynard said. ‘There’s quite a strong wind today. Now, have you enough room, Elisaveta? Good-bye then, Rosa. Wiedersehn, Luise.’

  To a renewed obligato from the bells that hung round the horse’s collar, they were off!

  ‘Oh, isn’t this too absolutely marvellous!’ Joey gazed entranced at the fairy-tale landscape: the pine-woods darkly mysterious, the mountains regal in their snowy raiment, and the lake a glistening diamond in the morning sunshine. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for anything in the world!’ She sat back, revelling in the swift, almost noiseless glide of the sleigh along the frozen lake-path. For a while the only sounds to be heard, apart from the gaily chiming bells, were the hiss of the sleigh’s iron-clad runners, the curiously muted thud of the hooves as the horse trotted gallantly along and, occasionally, a tiny clang as an icicle fell from one of the trees.

  ‘You’d think there’d be more noise from the horse’s hooves,wouldn’t you?’ Joey said, after there had been a long contented silence. ‘I’d always thought they’d ring out on the snow. I’m sure they did when we were sleigh-riding in Innsbruck. What is it, ’Veta?’ for the Princess was shaking her head.

  ‘I rather think,’ Miss Maynard said, ‘that Elisaveta means this horse probably isn’t shod.’ She exchanged glances with the Princess, who nodded. ‘Round here, I believe they often leave horses unshod at this time of year. They probably manage better in the snow without shoes.’

  Once again Elisaveta was nodding.

  ‘How ever do you know so much about horses, Miss Maynard?’ Joey asked admiringly. Elisaveta’s knowledge she took for granted, having seen the extent of the Belsornian royal stables.

  ‘Oh, I used to take quite an interest in horses in my youth,’ Miss Maynard informed her. ‘And people who live in the New Forest see quite a lot of ponies of all kinds, as I’m sure you’ll remember from your visits to Pretty Maids. Goodness me, here we are at Seespitz already!’

  ‘But which way are we going?’ Joey looked round, puzzled. ‘This isn’t the path to Spärtz, is it?’

  They were now well past the Seespitz Gasthof and were swinging round to the right, roughly in the direction of Eben. ‘The sleigh won’t go by the footpath, Joey. It would be too narrow, and there are corkscrew bends in places,’ Miss Maynard pointed out. ‘We must be going by the road the motor-cars use.’

  ‘On the few occasions there are any,’ Joey said, laughing. ‘But I suppose the farm carts use it too.’ She looked up at the sky, which was showing in a pale blue patchwork through the trees above them, for the sleigh had now entered the woods that lie between Torteswald and Eben. ‘I say, the wind’s getting up a bit, isn’t it?’— Jo drew her hands from under the enveloping rugs and, whipping off one glove, held up a finger. ‘Yes — it’s coming from the north like anything.’

  ‘Joey!’ Miss Maynard said sharply. ‘Put your glove on again this minute. You really must try to remember you are fifteen now, not five. Do you want to get your fingers frozen?’

  The mistress looked round anxiously, for the wind did indeed seem to have risen considerably. Fritzel had appeared so sure there would be no more snow that morning, but it was a worrying possibility.

  For a few moments no one spoke; even Joey being subdued by Miss Maynard’s unusually cutting rebuke. The progress of horse and sleigh was still almost noiseless. But a moment later the intense silence of the woods was disturbed by a new sound — a low and somehow sinister moaning of the wind, gusting through the pine-trees.

  For some reason she could not have explained, Joey felt suddenly frightened. Elisaveta clearly was affected too, for her hand clutched Joey’s under the rugs, and she gazed round, her eyes wide with apprehension. And then, without the smallest warning, the sleigh shuddered to a halt. Fritzel was all but thrown off the driver’s seat. And, had the three passengers not been so tightly wedged together, they would have suffered the same fate.

  Fritzel quickly leapt down to inspect the road in front of them. But, after searching carefully for some yards ahead, he returned, thoroughly puzzled, to say he could find nothing untoward. He hurriedly resumed his seat, and signalled to the horse to move on. To everyone’s astonishment, and Fritzel’s extreme annoyance, the animal refused to budge. Its ears were laid back, its nostrils flaring, and it began obstinately digging in its hooves. Nothing, it seemed, could induce the Haflinger to take one single step forward. Fritzel tried talking gently to it. He produced a carrot from his pocket and tried to cajole the animal into moving. He shouted at it — and shook the reins violently. He attempted with all his considerable strength to drag it forward. At last, completely exasperated and swearing under his breath in, fortunately, incomprehensible patois, he rushed to one of the nearest trees, ripped a branch from it, and advanced on the horse, plainly about to belabour it around the hindquarters. At this, Elisaveta wrenched herself to her feet; and, tearing the scarf from her mouth, she all but yelled, ‘No, Fritzel, no! You must not! Please, please, Miss Maynard, do not let him beat the horse. It is like Balaam’s ass in the Bible — I am sure it knows.’

  At an urgent word from Miss Maynard, Fritzel desisted, and stood looking a picture of bewilderment and frustration; while Elisaveta sank down on the bench. Her brown eyes still flashed with the intensity of her feelings, but the colour that had flooded her cheeks was already fading.

  ‘Elisaveta, my dear child, what can you mean?’ Miss Maynard looked nearly as bewildered as Fritzel. ‘He is only trying to get . . . ’

  But Joey cut in swiftly: ‘Miss Maynard — doesn’t ’Veta mean the horse could know something we . . . ’ In mid-sentence Joey was stopped by an ominous creaking sound, which grew rapidly in volume. And before their eyes a giant pine-tree began, with what seemed incredible slowness, to fall straight across the road, barely twenty yards in front of them. A dull thud echoed through the wood, as the tree finally subsided on the ground, its branches shuddering into stillness through a haze of snowflakes.

  For fully half a minute no one spoke. Fritzel stood, now gently patting the horse, which was still shivering violently. The three passengers in the sleigh sat motionless.

  Joey, cha
racteristically, was the first to recover. ‘I vote we all buy that horse the biggest bag of sugar-cubes he’s ever seen,’ she said, a little shakily. ‘We’d have been in a nasty mess now without him. That pine must have been rotten all through.’ Joey gazed with a shudder at the monster tree lying in their path. ‘It couldn’t have been just the wind.’

  ‘Don’t let’s bother with the reasons, Jo.’ Miss Maynard, making an effort to sound calmer than she felt, got to her feet. ‘Now, I must have a word with Fritzel. No, you stay here. And, Joey, please will you tie Elisaveta’s scarf on again.’ She quickly got down from the sleigh, and began in her fluent German to discuss their predicament with Fritzel. Things, he told her, could have been worse; they were not far from Eben and could be back there in a few minutes. Then the young ladies could rest at the little Wirtshaus opposite St Nothburga’s church, while he went off and found a couple of sturdy friends to help him pull the tree off the road.

  ‘But surely,’ Joey said, as the sleigh skimmed rapidly back to Eben, with the horse now trotting happily once more, ‘the Wirtshaus won’t be open at this time of year?’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it will, Jo,’ Miss Maynard agreed.‘But Fritzel is sure they’ll let us come inside and wait there for the road to be cleared. They may be able to give us some coffee. But even if they can’t, don’t forget that we have a flask with us.’

  ‘Of course — three cheers for Matron! And, Elisaveta,’ Joey gave the Princess a mammoth nudge, ‘you’ll be able to get that scarf off for a bit. How jolly!’

  In the end the clearing of the road was accomplished with remarkable speed — Fritzel luckily having had to go no further than the Wirtshaus to find two strong volunteers to assist him with moving the tree. And, to Miss Maynard’s vast relief, the party was able to set off again in less than an hour. By this time Elisaveta was beginning to look thoroughly weary. And during most of the remaining journey to Spärtz she dozed quietly in the sleigh.

  It was also a great relief to find, when at last they reached the Alte Toleranz, that Captain Trevillion and Alette had not yet arrived, although they had sent a message to say they expected to be in Spärtz by about thirteen o’clock. Miss Maynard promptly arranged for a bedroom to be prepared; and she then insisted that both Elisaveta and Joey should lie down and rest until the Princess’s escorts arrived. ‘We can all have Mittagessen together then,’ she said, as she took the girls up the quaint old staircase to their room. ‘And there will be ample time afterwards for Joey and me to get back to Briesau before dark.’

  ‘To my mind, the last part was just a bit of an anti-climax,’ Joey confided to her friends that evening, when, safely back at school, she was regaling them with a colourful account of the day’s adventures.

  ‘Was Elisaveta all right?’ Frieda asked anxiously. ‘She must have been dreadfully frightened when the tree fell down.’

  ‘Believe you me, we all were,’ Joey shook her head reminiscently. ‘I don’t mind telling you I was shaking all over, and I could feel that ’Veta was, too. It was such a horribly near thing.’

  ‘I am sure that St Nothburga must have been looking after you all,’ Marie von Eschenau said in a low voice. ‘She is known to protect travellers round Eben.’

  Jo looked at her curiously, a strange expression in her dark eyes. ‘Do you know, Marie, that’s exactly what Elisaveta said afterwards. I was saying how the horse had saved us all — and of course he did. But ’Veta said we must also say a special thank-you to St Nothburga, for holding the horse and sleigh back — like keeping her sickle in the air. And she made us all — Elisaveta, I mean — go over to the little church and light a candle at St Nothburga’s shrine. Well, I wonder . . . ’

  ‘I think she was right,’ Marie said softly, her eyes shining.

  ‘I, too,’ Frieda said.

  After a pause Evadne brought them all back to immediate matters, asking bluntl:, ‘D’you think ’Veta’s grandfather’s going to die?’

  ‘Poor Elisaveta — was she very fond of him?’ Margia Stevens enquired, rather more gently.

  Joey had been given permission on her return to tell her friends the reason for the Princess’s departure. Now, for a moment, a picture came back to her of Elisaveta, waving forlornly from the carriage as the train pulled away from the station platform at Spärtz. But she made an effort to respond with conviction. ‘Oh, ’Veta will be all right. She’s a plucky kid, you know. Got plenty of grit.’ She suppressed an enormous yawn. ‘Oh, golly, it’s been quite a day. Just for once I shan’t be sorry when it’s bed-time. And, to my mind, the last day of this term jolly well can’t come soon enough!’

  CHAPTER XXV.

  GRANGE HOUSE RETURNS.

  THE end of the Christmas term was always a busy and exciting time at the Chalet School. Just around the corner waited not only the holidays but Christmas, with all its well-loved festivities and gaieties. Exams were over, and during the last three or four days of term there were seldom any formal lessons.

  Not that this offered any opportunity for idleness. Before the final day arrived, there was packing to be done; desks and cupboards to be cleared of all the inessentials mysteriously gathered there during the term; and the class-rooms, although they appeared always to be kept in a state of perfect neatness, nevertheless had to undergo mammoth tidying operations, supervised by Matron and the prefects.

  These activities took place at the end of every term; but at Christmas time there were, in addition, daily rehearsals for the Christmas play to be fitted in.

  ‘And, as if the jolly old play didn’t cause enough upheaval on its own, now tomorrow afternoon is all going to be taken up with this Hobbies Club exhibition,’ Miss Maynard remarked to Miss Wilson in the privacy of the staff-room, as they snatched a brief respite between rehearsals on the Friday afternoon. ‘Not to mention the Grange House lot descending on us. I only hope our revered singing-master won’t keep the choir slaving away too late this evening.’

  ‘Oh, too much hard work never hurts the little darlings,’ was Miss Wilson’s callous comment.

  ‘How do you feel about today’s rehearsals, so far?’ asked Miss Maynard, putting her coffee cup down and selecting a biscuit.

  ‘Could have been worse, I suppose. Oh, bother it all, now you’ve reminded me — I’ve got to search out Grizel Cochrane and discover why on earth she let that group of angels come waltzing on in the middle of the reading, instead of waiting for the carol. The babes can’t be expected to remember everything for themselves. After all, that’s why we have helpers with them. Grizel must have been miles away, and it’s not like her to stand around dreaming,’ Miss Wilson got up and started towards the door, adding, ‘although she does seem rather unlike herself at the moment, now I come to think about it.’

  Mollie Maynard looked at her colleague with an odd expression. ‘Well, keep it to yourself for the moment, Nell, but I rather think I know what’s weighing on Grizel’s mind just now. Madame has decided to make her Head Girl next term after Bette leaves; and for some reason Grizel doesn’t seem too pleased at the prospect.’

  Miss Maynard, as Senior Mistress, had been the first member of the staff to be informed of this decision, which Mrs Russell would be announcing to the school on the last day of term.

  ‘How very strange! I should have thought our Grizel would enjoy the idea of being Head Girl,’ commented Miss Wilson, hovering with her hand on the door-handle. ‘She can be bossy enough at times, if you’ll pardon the slang. Now, Mollie, come along! Into action again, there’s a good girl!’

  ‘Grizel is the obvious choice from most points of view, I suppose,’ Miss Maynard said consideringly. ‘I only hope — oh, all right, Nell, I’m coming,’ and she got to her feet with obvious reluctance.

  ‘Well, it’s no use sitting there dreaming of a peaceful old age,’ Miss Wilson threw over her shoulder as she left the room and swept off in search of Grizel.

  In addition to the play and the Hobbies Club exhibition, arrangements also had to be made for
the visit of the Grange House contingent. They were due to arrive some time on Saturday afternoon and stay until Monday morning. The Chalet School would be breaking up for the holidays on the Tuesday.

  On Saturday afternoon after Frühstück, Mademoiselle announced the names of nine Middles: these girls were to go upstairs, collect their belongings from their dormitories and take them across to Le Petit Chalet, where they would be sleeping for the rest of the term. This would make beds available for nine of the twelve Grange House girls; the other three were to have a small room on the second floor that was empty at the moment. Miss Bruce would occupy the little room reserved for visitors; and Miss Wilson agreed to give up her room to Miss Mortlock and move into the sick-room for two nights. ‘Though don’t ask me what happens if someone actually has the nerve to be ill,’ she said in dry tones, as she carried her things along the corridor to her termporary abode. ‘I suppose one or other of us would be banished to the box-room.’

  Meanwhile, in the Munich hotel where they had been staying during the last ten days, the Grange House girls were feverishly occupied. All their trunks had to be packed — for the very last time on this trip — ready to be taken to the station and despatched straight back to London.

  ‘And please do not forget, girls,’ Miss Bruce warned them, ‘you may all have to open up your suitcases and trunks in London . . . customs examination at Victoria . . . sometimes it is a very searching examination . . . Most important to pack things neatly.’

  ‘Miss Bruce managed to make a customs examination sound a bit like some rather exacting school exam,’ Joan Hatherley remarked to Pamela, as she and her two friends struggled to complete their packing. ‘You can almost imagine she expects the customs officer to produce a report on our packing; perhaps something like, “Folding of garments — Good: A-minus; Allocation of space — Fair: B-plus; General remarks — Could do better; Must try to get her shoes to show a more co-operative spirit”!’ And Joan, who disliked packing, rounded off her little fantasy by hurling three pairs of shoes from the far side of the room into the gaping trunk.