03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (11 page)

During the weeks abroad there had been so many new interests, so many people to meet and places to see, that she had given little thought to her everyday life. Now she was learning the hard lesson that while people and circumstances may be left behind, sometimes even forgotten, your problems will inevitably catch up with you.

It was not that her mother’s letter contained anything that was in itself shattering. But underneath the recital of trivialities there lurked the assumption that Patricia would soon return to begin the life of a society debutante. This was so confidently taken for granted that it gave her a feeling of helplessness. It was like being trapped and suffocated in a sea of candy-floss.

The letter began with a catalogue of complaints about a manicurist who had been inconsiderate enough to go off and get married, leaving her clients abandoned. Lady Davidson had continued:
I saw your cousin Philippa at the Baxter-Baddeleys’ fork luncheon last Tuesday. I find poor Philippa
really very plain but her dress was quite charming. Her mother tells me they have an excellent new French
dressmaker. I think she sounds just the person to make your presentation dress. So I have made
arrangements for her to see you the minute you get back. Of course she charges the absolute earth, but for
something so important it will be worthwhile. We shall have to get something done about your hair. I
suppose a Marcel wave will be the only answer as it is so straight. It is really too tiresome that you won’t be
home till Christmas. I have so many other arrangements to make for you, and now I can do nothing until
January.

“It isn’t quite so bad while I’m still at school,” Patricia thought as she continued drearily along the path,

“but once I’ve left, what, oh, what shall I do?”

Heedless of where she was going, she let her feet take her where they would and, after some minutes’ blind wandering, found she had come round in a half-circle and was now behind the Kron Prinz Karl, standing beside the little whitewashed church. On impulse she tried the door; when it opened, she went inside.

The church was utterly simple and had no pretensions to beauty, although the frescos on the wall had a certain naïve charm. But within it there was, unmistakably, a feeling of peace. Patricia would not have though of herself as a religious person; nevertheless she sat very still for quite five minutes, absorbing from the tranquil atmosphere something she could sense although she could not have described it. Her troubles did not seem any less, but suddenly it felt more possible to cope with them.

Back at the hotel she met the proprietor’s wife in the hall. Miss Bruce had told Frau Dobler of Patricia’s indisposition, and the kindly Austrian woman was most anxious to know how the young lady was feeling and whether she would now be going to join “
die andere Fräulein
” at the school. When Patricia replied that she would prefer to go and lie down for a while, Frau Dobler immediately offered to bring up some soup and rolls in an hour’s time, and Patricia accepted gratefully.

All this time her friends in the two schools had been engaged in a tremendous combat on the netball court.

There was a good-sized crowd to watch the game, including the Grange House girls not playing in their team and most of the Chalet School Seniors, Middles and staff. The London girls, captained by Veronica Cunningham, had produced a most efficient team; they had been lucky in that all but one of their First Seven were in the group visiting Austria. The Chalet School Seven, who also played extremely well, were having to work their hardest not to be outclassed.

The visitors had the advantage in height and reach; four of their team were tall, topping their opposite numbers in the Chalet team by as much as two or three inches. However, the Chaletians were very quick on their feet, their passing was good, and both Grizel Cochrane and Marie von Eschenau were excellent at shooting.

The score at half-time had been ten goals to eight in favour of the visitors. Then a hard-fought round at the beginning of the second half brought the Chaletians’ score up to nine and they were now, in an atmosphere of tense excitement, doing their utmost to get the vital goal that would make the score level and bring them a chance to draw ahead.

At this dramatic moment Margia Stevens, released at last from the piano, arrived breathlessly to remind Vanna di Ricci that Herr Anserl was expecting her in five minutes for a lesson. Margia had been rather resentful that, because of her lesson, she had been obliged to miss more than half of the long-awaited match.

Indeed she had even asked Mademoiselle Lepâttre if she might be allowed to have the lesson some other time. Mademoiselle sympathized with her disappointment, but said firmly that while she, as headmistress, was quite at liberty to rearrange the girls’ schoolwork, it was out of the question to ask their distinguished visiting piano professor to waste his time without a pupil. Mademoiselle also pointed out that for Margia music was the most important subject in the curriculum; and that, moreover, courtesy demanded she attend the lesson, for which Herr Anserl, by no means a young man, had made a long steep journey on foot all the way up from Spärtz.

“You’d better get a move on, Vanna,” Margia urged the pretty Italian girl, in a loud stage whisper. “Vater Bär is in a jolly fierce mood this morning. He made me go pounding away at exercises and studies for simply hours and only let me have about five minutes at the end for my new piece. And even then he kept bawling at me to go back and play the first line over and over again. I don’t want to hear the words
‘noch
einmal’
again for at least a hundred years.”

Vanna departed with a rueful expression, caused not so much by having to miss the netball match as by a lively dread of the temperamental fireworks she anticipated during her lesson.

“What’s the score, somebody?” Margia demanded, settling herself down among the Middles. All eyes were on the court, where Jo Bettany, playing at centre for the Chalet School, had just managed to intercept a ball intended for her opposite number, Pamela Trent. Jo passed swiftly to Evadne, the Chalet’s attacking centre; then, neatly dodging Pamela, she ran unexpectedly up the court in the direction of their own goal. This was part of a strategy they had practiced under Grizel’s tuition, and the others rapidly fell into their positions.

Joey caught the ball returned by Evadne and sent it with a long high throw right down to Marie von Eschenau, playing at goal attack. Marie, anticipating this, had eluded the vigilance of the Grange House Defence for a moment; the ball passed swiftly, from Marie to Grizel, to Deira O’Hagen and back to Marie, who now prepared to shoot. The watching Chaletians crossed their fingers, for Marie was only just inside the circle. No one had time to be interested in appearances at this tense moment but Marie, the acknowledged beauty of the Chalet School, did look very lovely as she stood, rosy from exertion and concentration, measuring with her eye the distance to the goal. She took careful aim. For one long moment the Chaletians were literally holding their breaths. Then a loud cheer broke out, in which the Grange House party also joined, as the ball dropped, clean and true, right through the net.

“Oh, well played, Marie!” Grizel fervently congratulated her attack. “
Jolly
well played!” As they resumed their positions she gazed round the team, eyes flashing, trying to will them into surpassing themselves. “Ten all! I know we can do it,” she muttered under her breath. “I
know
we can! Buckle to, everyone, and we’ll just show them!”

But the victory was not, after all, to be theirs. Both teams were now on their mettle, and the spectators were treated to some very lively and skilful play as the Chaletians fought desperately to get into the lead. In spite of all their efforts, the more experienced team gradually drew ahead. Veronica Cunningham, Grange House’s goal shooter, seemed to be under a spell that made her unable to miss; no sooner was the ball in her hands than another goal was scored. And Kirsty Robertson, the Grange House attack, was nearly as skilful.

The two made a formidable pair, and just after Veronica had yet again shot successfully for her team, the whistle blew. Time was up; and the final result was a victory for Grange House of seventeen goals to twelve.

Grizel immediately called for three hearty cheers for Grange House, and the Chaletians, including her own breathless and exhausted team, responded with great good will. Veronica’s team gave three cheers for the losers and then Veronica turned to Grizel saying enthusiastically: “Thanks terribly for the marvelous game; I thought your team played simply rippingly.”

The Chalet School games captain determinedly swallowed her disappointment. “Congratulations, Veronica, it was an absolutely topping match and we enjoyed it like anything.”

Then Bette Rincini came forward with some of the other prefects, ready to escort the visitors back to the school where they would be staying for lunch. There was a positive babel of talk as the various groups of girls left the playing field, all chatting away at the tops of their voices.

Joey, looking round the excited throng, became aware for the first time that Patricia was not among them.

During the match Joey had not had a single moment to notice anything outside the game; in any case, she had not expected to see Patricia until afterwards, knowing her not to be a member of the netball team.

Now she seized the chance to ask Pamela Trent what had become of her friend. “Poor old Patricia!” she said with feeling, when Pamela briefly explained the situation. “But you don’t think she’s really ill, do you?

Was there bad news in the letter? Or do you think something else is worrying her? Where is she now? Can’t we do something to help?”

Pamela could not help laughing at this barrage of questions, but she answered seriously enough: “I don’t think there’s anything we can do at the moment, Joey. Patricia does occasionally get a spell of the

‘miseries’; and usually she prefers to be left alone until she’s shaken herself out of it.”

Pamela looked appraisingly at Joey; she was not sure how far Patricia had confided in the younger girl.

Before she could say anything else the rest of the girls had caught up with them; they were swept once more into the general conversation which, naturally was still about the match.

“You know, you’ve no need to worry,” Joan Hatherley was assuring the Chaletians as the noisy procession crossed the garden. “It’ll be your turn when it comes to the hockey match. I should think you’ll simply wipe the field with us them. Probably not one of us will survive to tell the tale!”

“An Absolutely Topping Day!”

“Well, well, I’d simply never have believed it possible.” Joan Hatherley stared in apparent astonishment out of the dining-room window; it was breakfast-time on the Thursday following the netball match.

“What wouldn’t you?” asked Pamela inelegantly.

“This gorgeous weather, day after day of it.”

“Gosh, yes! Spiffing, isn’t it?”

“Now
that
, dear girl, is a deplorable expression! Not that I disagree. We jolly well deserve something after last week’s horrors.” But, despite Joan’s forebodings, the spell of fine weather did continue and was to last until almost the end of October. The Londoners were quick to take advantage of it, throwing themselves enthusiastically into a strenuous programme of mountain climbs. First they tackled several of the lesser peaks in the district, and then a proposal was made for an expedition up the Schneebergspitze; a mountain of more than six thousand feet, which stands sentinel a the northern end of Briesau.

When Mademoiselle Lepattre heard of the project, she visited Miss Bruce and advised her most strongly that someone with local knowledge should accompany the group. Although, unlike the great Tiernjoch, the Schneebergspitze was not considered a dangerous climb, the path was not always clearly marked and, in places, was difficult to follow. Mademoiselle suggested they should take as guide Fritzel Pfeifen, whose sister Marie was well known to all the Chalet School, where she had been in charge of domestic affairs until the previous summer.

“Fritzel has lived in this district for all of his life and knows every corner of it,” Mademoiselle assured Miss Bruce. “If he goes with the girls you can feel completely at ease about their safety.”

On the evening before the expedition, Pamela and Joan decided to take a short stroll along the lakeside.

They peered up at the Schneebergspitze towering over them in the gathering darkness.

“Golly! It’s quite a monster and no mistake. Do you thing we’re ever going to get all the way up there?”

Pamela, a doubtful expression on her face, pointed towards the summit.

“Oh, I suppose so, in the end, if we go on putting one foot in front of the other for long enough.” Joan blinked lazily upwards.

“Sounds like that hymn.”

“What hymn?”

“I can’t remember,” Pamela said vaguely. “It just reminds me of a hymn.”

The following morning the girls set off from the Stephanie in the early morning half-light.

“This is an un-Christian hour to take folks up mountains,” Joan Hatherley complained as the party, in varying states of alertness and otherwise, made its way up the lake-side. “I don’t feel remotely awake.”

Certainly Joan’s eyes, behind their round glasses, did look sleepy; but this was their habitual and very misleading expression.

They found Fritzel waiting for them at the first of the silent, deserted landing-stages. From here a few lights were to be seen in the downstairs windows of the Kron Prinz Karl Hotel, but it was still far too early for the few remaining visitors to be up and about.

Fritzel led them, by way of the little plank bridge, across the stream behind the hotel and towards the path they were to take. This was a winding, rugged and narrow track that rose sharply through the pine woods ahead of them. While they were crossing the stream the sunrise was beginning to paint sky, lake and mountains in gold and pink. The girls would gladly have lingered to gaze at the sight, but Fritzel was already starting inexorably up the path, moving at the steady slow-seeming pace of the experienced mountaineer. So they were obliged to plunge into the shadows of the wood and follow him.