03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (10 page)

Eventually, all six rounds were completed and the papers collected for scrutiny. Mademoiselle Lepâttre, with the staff and the visiting mistresses, had been watching the proceedings with not a little amusement.

She stood up now to tell them that the winners’ names would be announced after
Abendessen
. “After that we shall go the hall, where our visitors are most kindly going to give us a short entertainment; and that will be followed by dancing for everyone.”

The shadow portraits were still decorating the walls of the
Speisesaal
when the two schools, now in party array and laughing and talking with holiday freedom, filed in and sat down to the splendid banquet the Chalet School kitchen staff had prepared. Bowls of delicious spicy soup were followed by cold veal and mixed salads, so beautifully arranged that it seemed almost a pity to disturb them … not that anyone allowed this to deter her. Then there was
Blaubeeren Torte
with whipped cream, and finally plates of Viennese honey-and-nut biscuits. To drink there were jugs of homemade orange and lemonade.

“Do you remember gathering blueberries – you and me and the Robin – last summer?” Elisaveta asked Joey across the table.

“Rather!” Joey answered, as she tucked into her plateful with relish. “And I shouldn’t wonder if we’re eating some of them now; I know Marie bottled lots and lots.”

“Well, it may not be considered good manners to talk about food,” Pamela Trent murmured to Grizel, “but, oh golly! What a scrumptious spread!”

“There’s only one thing worrying me.” Joan Hatherley sat back for a moment and beamed at them all.

“And that’s the thought of plunging straight into our little dramatic effort, whatever you might like to call it.

At the beginning of it we are ‘discovered’, as they say, at dinner. And I don’t know if I can bear to look at even a pretence meal after all this!”

Several people glanced up instantly, questions hovering on their lips; but at this moment a signal was given for silence and Mademoiselle Lepâttre invited Bette Rincini to tell them the results of the competition.

Looking extremely pretty in the brown velveteen dress that was the Chalet School’s official evening wear, Bette began her announcement saying that three prizes would be awarded in each of the two sections.

The first prize for identifying the silhouette portraits went to Patricia Davidson and Jo Bettany. Patricia, with a smug expression, whispered to Joey that this must be “entirely due to the excellent handwriting”. The second prize was awarded to Evelyn Barclay and Frieda Mensch; and the third prize, which had been specially reserved for the Juniors, to Amy Stevens and Berta Hamel.

In the second part of the competition the successful Grange House girls were Pamela Trent, Dilys Gainsborough and Priscilla Doughty-Smythe, the two latter being clever but quiet girls, who had not as yet made much impression on the Chaletians.

Gertrud Steinbrücke was surprised and delighted to receive a special prize for her hard work in planning and running the competition. Another surprise came when Evadne Lannis was called out with mock solemnity to receive a prize as “the person whose picture had been most often wrongly identified”. It may have been that Evadne, never renowned for sitting still, had moved while her likeness was being taken.

Certainly it held the record in that no one had guessed it correctly as hers; the varying persons ranged from Inga Erikson, a small Junior, to Matron Lloyd. Evadne was at first inclined to be indignant about the whole thing and said that they were all “real mean”; but she was mollified when she received the charming little leather purse that was her consolation prize.

Once the announcements were finished, no time was lost in transferring everyone to the hall for the rest of the evening’s entertainment. The Grange House girls, in an atmosphere of mounting nervous tension went off to the little green room beside the stage, there to change into a variety of borrowed costumes. The Chaletians sat waiting expectantly in the hall.

Inside the green room confusion reigned. “Whatever has become of my shawl? It was here a moment ago.” Pamela Trent looked round accusingly. “Fiona MacAndrew, you outrageous girl, I believe that’s mine you’ve got on. Oh, well, never mind, I’ll bag this one.”

“Do get a move on, everyone,” Joan admonished them. “They’re waiting.”

“Oh, dear, I feel like death,” moaned Veronica in somewhat affected tones. “I know what I’m going to forget my lines.”

“For heaven’s sake, Veronica!” exploded Joan. “You really are an ass! If you can’t remember the words it doesn’t matter. Just make them up; it’s not Shakespeare, after all. Now listen to me, all of you. Nobody expects anything miraculous from us; they know it’s only a very simple affair, got up on the spur of the moment, so let’s just try and enjoy ourselves; then perhaps they’ll enjoy the two. Dancers, do you remember your cue from moving forward to begin the foursome? Because
that
really is important.” Here Joan looked witheringly at Veronica.

Her brisk words had the right effect. The tension relaxed almost visibly. Pamela Trent, following Joan’s lead, said conversationally to Patricia, “I say, you’ve do look rather gorgeous in that get-up. Shall I help you with the cloak? And what about your hair?”

The minute they were ready, Joan whisked them onto the stage and checked that each was in her proper place. Meanwhile, Evelyn Barcley had gone to the piano; she now began to play a Jacobite tune, “Wha Wad’na Fecht for Charlie?”, and the curtains parted to show a group of people wearing what was clearly intended for Highland dress. The Grange House girls had begged, borrowed and make use of everything tartan they could lay their hands on, including two tartan rugs from Miss Bruce and Miss Maynard, and a tablecloth, in what a leading Paris store called “Ecossaise”, belonging to Mademoiselle Lepattre.

Joan’s little play was extremely simple and had been arranged to fulfill two purposes: first, it was to provide a setting where a performance of the foursome real would arise naturally from the story; then, at the end, it was two lead into an evening of dancing for all those present in the hall.

She had found her slender plot in a tale about the romantic figure of the Young Pretender, Bonnie Prince Charlie.

On stage, as the music faded, the group of Highland ladies and gentlemen, who were sitting at the table, eating, drinking and conversing gaily, could be heard talking of the day’s hunting. The hostess was regretting that all the guests must depart on the morrow.

Suddenly there came a loud knocked the door, and two servants rushed to open it. A lady in grand clothes, who turned out to be the Lady Morag Seton (Joan had been careful to check that all the names she gave her characters were those of families who had supported Prince Charles) entered the room; she was followed by a tall figure, completely enveloped in a long dark cloak, whom she referred to as her serving made, Betty.

Lady Morag took a chair on the far side of the table from the audience; the serving-maid went and stood self-effacingly behind the chair, head bowed.

Lady Morag, an old friend of the hostess, explained how they had been stranded through an accident to one of their horses; she was immediately invited to stay for the night. More “wine” was brought to the table and the glasses refilled.

The conversation now turned to the subject of Prince Charles, who for many months past had been in hiding, pursued by the English. A pretty young girl, Alison Cameron (played by Pamela Trent), told how there was a reward of thirty thousand pounds offered to anyone assisting in the Prince’s capture. This was the signal for the character Veronica was playing to make the second of her two short remarks. Anxious that it should tell, she enunciated very slowly in her clearest First Eleven tones: “Thirty thousand
pounds
! Why, that sum would be a great … I mean, a
fortune
,” she paused, “for a
poor MAN
!”

The upper-crust English voice rang round the hall. Veronica sat back, beaming, obviously relieved that the great moment was past.

The next speaker was visibly shaken. Katherine Blake was renowned for her propensity to giggle uncontrollably; but Joan glared at her with such malevolence that she managed to keep going, though with a distinct wobble in her voice. Managing somehow to suppress their mirth, the others chimed in, agreeing that, although the Highlanders were desperately poor, they would never betray their Prince.

Suddenly Lady Morag turned round to the dark figure, still standing deferentially behind her, and said fervently: “Your Highness, there is no further need of this disguise. We are all true friends here.”

Sometimes the simplest effects are the most telling. There was a warm round of applause from the audience when the serving-maid threw off the huge dark cloak with a splendid gesture, and stood revealed in Highland dress, as Prince Charles Edward himself.

Patricia was the proud possessor of a real kilt, as Joan had remembered when making her plans. It had been a seventeenth birthday gift from her godfather in Scotland, who had had it made to measure for her by a leading Edinburgh firm. Her black velvet doublet was adapted from an evening jacket of Miss Bruce’s, and her splendid white lace ruffles came from the Chalet School theatrical costume box. Her hair had been curled and tied back with a velvet ribbon and, although Patricia had no great acting ability, she looked extremely handsome and regal as she stood to receive the loyal respects of her subjects.

When a toast had been drunk, Lady Morag asked that some of the guests should dance to entertain the Prince. This was the signal for the two couples who were to dance the foursome reel to take their places at the front of the stage and for Evelyn Barclay to begin playing a Strathspey tune.

On stage, Bonnie Prince Charlie and his followers watched the dancers with gracious interest, occasionally turning to make a remark to each other. The real audience in the hall sat silent, completely enthralled by the colourful spectacle and the lilting rhythm of the music. In the foursome reel, the graceful interweaving figures that characterize the Strathspey sections have been likened to a ship in full sail. These sections alternate with the wild vitality of the reel proper, and the dance is a delight to watch as well as exciting to perform. There was no doubt of its great success with the audience that night. They applauded vigorously, and, when the dancers had acknowledged the more restrained plaudits of the stage audience, they had to turn and bow to those in the hall many times. When eventually the clapping died down, Prince Charles stood up and, with the particularly charming smile that belonged to Patricia but fitted the princely role so well, thanked the dancers graciously for their merry entertainment.

Then, coming to stand in the middle of the stage, the Prince, with a gesture that included the audience as well as the players, said in ringing tones: “And now, my dear friends, let us all join in the dancing!”

The Prince offered “his” arm to Lady Morag and, over the strains fo the well-known air, “Come o’er the Stream, Charlie”, the couple led the rest of the players, in graceful procession, down the steps from the stage and into the audience. The miniature play was at an end, and dancing now began for the whole company.

Evelyn Barclay at the piano quickened the tempo of “Come o’er the Stream, Charlie”, which despite its Scottish origin makes an excellent Viennese waltz; and, as soon as the chairs had been stacked in a corner of the hall, every girl was ready to accept Bonnie Prince Charlie’s invitation and throw herself joyfully into dancing.

There were a great many extremely tired people by bedtime that night; but it was generally agreed to have been one of the best parties ever held at either school.

On the following Monday good weather at last returned to Briesau. It had still been dull on the Sunday, although not actually wet. Now the sun shone gloriously and, for the first time, the visitors saw the Tiernsee looking just as blue as it did in the brightly coloured paintings that were prominently displayed in the hotel dining-room.

But for Patricia, this was not a happy day. She had awakened that morning with a slight headache –something she would normally have managed to forget as the day’s interests absorbed her. But a letter from her mother was waiting on the breakfast table and it plunged her into deep gloom. The well-meaning attempts of her friends to offer comfort were unavailing. Patricia did not so much reject as seem unaware of them.

When eleven o’clock came and the Grange House girls were about ot set off for the Chalet School, where the postponed netball match was to be played at 11.30, Patricia sought out Miss Bruce. The dull ache in her head seemed now to have become a fiery storm and she asked for permission to remain behind.

“If I could just take a quiet walk in the fresh air and then lie down for a bit, I’m sure I’d feel all right,” she said in matter-of-fact tones, belied by her unhappy expression.

One look at the white face convinced Miss Bruce that Patricia had a real need of solitude. She did not altogether like leaving the girl alone, but realized she was unlikely to come to any harm. So she gave the necessary permission, stipulating only that Patricia should not walk beyond the fence enclosing Briesau and that she must promise, if her headache were not improved by the afternoon, to consult the Chalet School matron about it.

It seemed unnaturally quiet in the hotel after the girls had departed and Patricia was glad to get outside into the sunshine. As Miss Bruce had not restricted her to any particular part of Briesau, she turned first of all away from the lake, taking a path she did not know that led in the direction of the valley. She passed a big chalet, its walls painted with colourful frescos; beside the house a few cows were grazing contentedly, their bells dingdonging in the stillness. The autumn had been so mild that most of the herds were still on the alms high above the valley, where they always go during the summer. Patricia did not know this and she did wonder fleetingly why there were so few cows to be seen, but it was only the most passing thought, for her mind was bitterly occupied with her own affairs.