03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (2 page)

The two girls smiled shyly at each other. Then Patricia turned to the good-looking woman, with elaborately waved platinum blond hair, who was sitting in a wing chair beside the fireplace: “Mother, this is Juliet Carrick, who knows Miss Bruce.” She motioned Juliet forward with a gauche little gesture.

“How do you do, Lady Davidson?” Juliet had grown so accustomed to the continental way of greeting that, without thinking, she offered her hand, confidently expecting the usual handshake.

While nothing in the older woman’s expression betrayed her disapproval, this minor breach of etiquette was one Lady Davidson did not choose to overlook. Her small china-white hands remained in her lap. After a short pause she said: “Good afternoon, Miss Carrick,” with just the semblance of a smile; it moved her carefully painted lips a fraction but left her eyes completely expressionless.

Juliet became uncomfortably aware that she was still holding out her hand. She withdrew it awkwardly.

Perhaps it was as well that Patricia did not see this little incident. She had been occupied in bringing forward an armchair and Juliet was thankful to sink down into it.

At all their previous meetings Patricia and Juliet had talked easily, always finding plenty of interest to discuss. Today, in the artificial drawing-room atmosphere, both girls felt a certain constraint.

Lady Davidson, with practiced skill, kept the conversation moving on trivialities. At the same time she was covertly sizing up Juliet, trying, as she would have phrased it, to “place her on the social scale”. This was a favourite ploy of hers, a game at which she excelled. However, Juliet puzzled her by not falling into any of the usual categories. (The voice and accent were pleasant; the girl was certainly English, after all; though it
was
unusual to have such very dark eyes with fair hair; skirt and blouse were plain and neat … not hand-tailored of course, not well-off then but apparently a “lady”.) “Have you known Miss Bruce for long?” she asked.

Juliet explained that she had first met Miss Bruce only about ten days ago, when she and Miss Denny arrived at the Leighton Hotel. Then, since rather more seemed to be expected of her, she continued: “You see, Miss Denny lives in Austria, quite near my old school; she’s come to London to be my chaperone until I start at the university, which won’t be …”

“Isn’t it most awfully odd, Mother,” Patricia broke in hurriedly, “that our Grange House party’s going to stay in the very same place where Juliet went to school?”

“Yes, indeed, very strange,” assented her mother, though in tones that lacked any inflexion. “I suppose that must be a German school, Miss Carrick?”

Patricia drew in her breath sharply, and Juliet, noticing something out of gear, hastened to reply: “I suppose it
is
rather surprising, but in fact it’s an English school. It was started by my guardian, Mrs Russell, when she went out to Briesau from England about two-and-a-half years ago.”

Here Juliet became the object of a long speculative look: Lady Davidson was wondering, “Now, which Russells would those be?”

“Patricia, dear, would you ring for tea?” she said while her light-blue eyes continued to scrutinize Juliet.

“Of course there are girls at the Chalet School from lots of different countries,” Juliet ploughed on, uncomfortably away of the gaze fixed on her. “There are a good many Austrians, naturally, and some Germans; then there are quite a few English girls, including Jo Bettany, Mrs Russell’s young sister; and French girls and Italians … and one American … oh, yes, and some Hungarians too.” She drew to a halt, conscious that she was rambling and that Lady Davidson did not appear much interested.

Fortunately, at this moment the maid appeared, carrying an enormous silver tray; on it were a heavily ornate silver tea-service and fragile pale-green cups that seemed to float on the tray like water-lilies. The maid, her expression unvaryingly detached, put the tray down beside Lady Davidson. She then brought a silver cake-stand, with plates of paper-thin bread-and-butter, sandwiches and a magnificent Madeira cake.

After placing a table by each chair, she departed.

“How soon will you be going to the Tiernsee?” Juliet asked, as Patricia handed her a cup of the fragrant China tea. “No, thank you, I don’t take sugar. And will you really be away till Christmas? It’s a bit unusual to be allowed all that time away from school during the term, isn’t it?”

Before replying, Patricia passed the plate of cucumber sandwiches. “Oh, do take two or three, Juliet, they’re so tiny.” She helped herself to a couple. “You see, it’s a bit different at Grange House. These trips actually count as being at school, they’re all part of the Sixth Form course. You know how lots of girls leave school at seventeen, sometimes even sixteen, and go abroad to be finished?”

Juliet nodded vaguely.

“Well, instead of doing that, the Grange House idea is that we stay on at school, but go off in a party and travel round the Continent for the whole of the Christmas term. I gather we get pushed off to loads of art galleries and museums and churches and all the rest of it; go to operas and things, you know; and we can practice our foreign languages – well, people who know them can, anyway! Our school’s mad keen on all that sort of thing.”

“Yes, I see. But what made them think of the Tiernsee, then? I mean, Briesau’s a simply topping place, but it’s very small and there aren’t any galleries or theatres nearer than Innsbruck.”

“Well, we’re only in Briesau for one month of the time and that’s to give us what ‘They’ call ‘The Opportunity for some Healthy Outdoor Activities’.” Patricia smiled and it was clear to Juliet that she was quoting. “Last year’s Sixth went to winter sports in Switzerland, and this year it’s to be mountain-walking in the Tyrol for us. I must say, I’m looking forward to it awfully. And especially,” just for a moment she forgot her self-imposed ban on the subject, “as I shouldn’t be doing anything that matters in schoolwork this term anyway, since I’m not in the university group.”

“They certainly couldn’t have chosen a lovelier place for you than the Tiernsee.” Juliet’s tones were warm; she felt it best to skate quickly past Patricia’s last remark. “The scenery’s absolutely marvelous and the mountains are glorious, you’ll have a simply wonderful time. I’m sure you’re all going to love it.” She carefully replaced the delicate cup and saucer on the table at her side. “When will you be in Briesau? I must write at once to the Chalet School people and tell them about your visit. I’m sure they’ll want to meet you.”

Juliet accepted a second cup of tea and listened with interest while Patricia related some of the plans for Grange House’s journey. On the way to the Tyrol they were to spend ten days in Paris and three in Cologne; then, after the month in Briesau, they would visit Salzburg, Vienna and Buda-Pest.

For some time Lady Davidson had been silent. She had worked her way through what was, for so fragile-looking a person, a surprising amount of Madeira cake. Now she began to re-enter the conversation, making an occasional acid-flavoured comment, though always with apparent sweetness. Juliet found herself thinking that Miss Bruce was quite right in saying Patricia’s mother was not a comfortable person. Of course she was as pretty as a porcelain shepherdess, but it was disconcerting that her expression never seemed to change.

When the prim-faced maid arrived to clear away the tea things, Lady Davidson, still curious about Juliet, returned to her gentle probing. “Have you always lived at this place in
Austria
, Miss Carrick?”

“Well, no. I’ve lived there for just over two years, I suppose, since soon after the Chalet School was started.”

“And before that?”

“Before that,” Juliet hesitated and the expectant silence lengthened. “Before that, I lived in India. I was born there.” A shadow crossed her face. Much of her early life, including the time when she was first at the Chalet School, had been unhappy; she had no wish to talk of it.

Now Patricia may have lacked some of the social graces but she was exceedingly sensitive to other people’s expressions of face and voice. Jumping to her feet and muttering something about going upstairs to look at school photographs, she whisked Juliet abruptly out of the drawing-room.

Without a word she led her up three flights of stairs, each narrower and steeper than the last, to her own sitting-room on the top floor of the house. Her bedroom was next door and, in the far-gone days when Patricia had had a nanny, these two rooms had been the day and night nurseries.

Patricia indicated to Juliet the corner of a shabby old sofa, where there was a comfortable-looking cushion.

She herself dropped into an equally shabby armchair. “I’m awfully sorry, Juliet,” she apologized with obvious embarrassment; “I’m sure my mother doesn’t mean to be …” Her voice trailed off, and Juliet hurried to change the subject.

“Look, I’ve brought those photographs of the Chalet School and the Tiernsee that you wanted to see.” She opened her handbag. “And you were going to show me the ones of your play last summer.”

At last the two girls were able to relax and exchange light-hearted gossip about their schools and other topics without fear of adverse comment. After about half an hour Juliet stood up reluctantly. “I’ll have to be getting along now, I’m afraid, or Miss Denny will wonder what’s become of me. You know, Patricia, in no time now you’ll be starting on your travels. Paris first, isn’t it? I’m going to miss you a lot; it’ll be nearly a week after that before I start at college.”

Patricia had been idly tracing with her forefinger the outline of a rose on the faded chair-cover. She gave a deep sigh. Suddenly she burst out: “You are so lucky, Juliet … so very, very lucky. I’d give anything to be in your shoes. Oh, I know we’re going to have a simply marvelous trip, and anyway it’ll be marvelous to get away from here, but the time I’m just dreading is when we get back. You can’t think how much I’d love to be coming to university too.”

“
Would
you? But I didn’t know,” Juliet said, a little taken aback. “You’ve never …”

“Oh, I hardly ever talk about it. It’s pretty futile saying anything when Mother simply won’t think of letting me. But I’ve always – always – wanted to study medicine.”

“Medicine?” Juliet sounded still more surprised. “You mean you’d like to be a doctor? But isn’t that rather unusual? For a
girl
, I mean.”

“No so very unusual,” Patricia assured her. “I’m told there are quite a few lady doctors around nowadays.

There was a simply marvelous one when I had my appendix out three years ago. She used to come and talk to me almost every day at the nursing home. I suppose it was meeting her that first gave me the idea. Or, as Mother would say,” (this in cutting tones), “Put this ridiculously silly notion into your head.’”

After a short pause, in which Juliet could sense the conflict underlying her friend’s outburst, Patricia continued more calmly, “I’ve passed Matric in all the right subjects too. If I really tried, I think I’d have a good chance of getting into medical school. But it’s all absolutely hopeless. There doesn’t seem the faintest chance that my mother will ever agree to letting me.”

(Juliet wondered for a moment why Patricia’s father apparently had no say in the matter; it was odd that she had never heard him mentioned.)

“It isn’t even a question of money, either,” Patricia went on with increasing bitterness. “Mother will be only too delighted to dish out far more on my doing a London season and going to boring dances and all that sort of rot. But she thinks I should get to know the ‘wrong sort of people’ at the university; and of course
that
would be a disaster. She even has all sorts of batty ideas about how standing around in hospitals would ruin the shape of my ankles, or some such drivel.”

There was a wealth of scorn in the words. Juliet felt her sympathy go out to Patricia and wished she could do something to help. For the moment she couldn’t even think of anything helpful say; but she resolved to write to her guardian about Patricia’s forthcoming visit to Briesau. Juliet had boundless faith in Madge Russell’s ability to help.

Walking back to the hotel, Juliet was very thoughtful, and Miss Denny noticed she was quiet at dinnertime.

Later in the evening Juliet confided something of the situation at Devonshire Close to Miss Denny, who was not at all surprised; Juliet was only confirming what Miss Bruce had already indicated.

“Probably it will be the best thing in the world for Patricia to get right away for a time,” Miss Denny said kindly. “We must just hope that this trip abroad is going to be helpful for her.”

The September days slipped quickly past. A bevy of relations and envious school-friends waved good-bye as the Grange House party left Victoria Station for Paris. Juliet began to settle down in her new life. And the day arrived for the girls of the Chalet School to return from the many different countries where they had been scattered during the summer holidays.

The school was situated at Briesau on the shores of the Tiernsee, a beautiful Tyrolean lake set high among the mountains above the Inn Valley. Briesau is usually a very peaceful place, but there was little peace anywhere near the Chalet School buildings and grounds on this first day of the Christmas term.

By three o’clock in the afternoon most of the girls had arrived and everywhere there was bustle and chatter.

Snatches of conversation echoed up and down the stairs. Excited groups of friends were exchanging holiday news in the big main classroom. The dormitories were thronged with girls busy unpacking under the eagle eye of the new matron, a small neat woman who, despite her air of instant authority, was making no attempt to quell the high spirits surrounding her.

It was obvious that school rules must be in abeyance, as indeed they always were on the first day of term.

The tremendous noise of talking and laughter would otherwise have earned severe reproof; as would the polygot variety of languages being spoken with such vivacity; for it had been a rule, from the earliest days of the Chalet School, that only English might be spoken on weekdays.