03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (20 page)

“
Tiens! Mais c’est notre école. Regardez-moi ca!
” exclaimed the Robin, wide-eyed. “
Que c’est joli, n’est-ce pas?
“

“What a charming picture!” Madge said, coming forward and taking it in her hand. “I wonder who can have painted it? I don’t think it was done by anyone at the school.” She looked at the back of the picture:

“The frame comes from Ettersöhn
in Innsbruck, I see, but there’s nothing about the name of the painter.”

“I think, Madame, there are some initials in the corner of the painting,” put in Frieda.

Jo took it and squinted horribly in an effort to decipher the signature. “I think there’s a P and a G…no, more likely an S,” she said at last. “And there’s another letter between them that I can’t make out.”

Elisaveta put out her hand. “That’s a D, surely, isn’t it?”

“P…D…S,” Joey said slowly. “Funny, I’m sure that ought to mean something, but I can’t for the life of me…Oh, yes! Of course!” Joey swung round to look accusingly at Patricia, who had returned to her seat on the sofa and was doing her best to appear unconcerned. “Priscilla Doughty-Smythe! Of course! – that’s who it is. Oh, Patricia, you really shouldn’t have…but it’s utterly gorgeous and I love it…Priscilla is clever…how on earth did you manage to post it here? And how could you be so jolly mean? That ghastly parcel…Oh, but it was worth all the trouble opening it.”

Jo stopped for want of breath. The others were beginning to look and feel more and more at sea every moment; Joey’s outpourings did nothing to help them, and Patricia, her usually pale face rather pink, continued to say nothing at all.

Then a small voice was heard: “Me, I think it is a lovely present, Joey, and you are very lucky. But Joey –you did promise that we would play
Cache-Cache.
Please, may we play now our game before it will be my bedtime?”

Jo looked conscience-stricken. “Oh, Robin darling, I’m so sorry. Of course, we were just going to begin playing, and we’ve been simply centuries opening that parcel. Hurry up, you lot, go and hide…Veta, can you take the Robin? I’ll seek first; I’m going to start counting this very minute – and only to a hundred, mind! So make it snappy.”

Then, as Patricia, thankful to have been spared public explanations, was slipping out of the room to find a hiding place, Jo called softly after her:

“It’s a most awfully decent present, Patricia. Thanks very much.”

The rest of the evening passed all too quickly. Madge insisted that all the girls, including Patricia, must go to bed in good time, since they would have to be up to make a very early start the next morning.

On her way to bed Joey heard her sister call from the
salon
. When she went in, Madge held out two books.

“I promised to lend these to Patricia. Please will you take them to her, Joey-Baba, as I might forget in the morning. Tell her not to bother posting them back to me. She can bring them when she comes at Christmas-time and leave them at the school.”

As she climbed the stairs, Joey glanced at the titles. One was a Life of Florence Nightingale; the other was called simply,
Bernadette
.

“
Joey, ma petite, veux-tu bien venir un instant?
” Today was Tuesday – the first Tuesday of December, for more than a month had gone by since Joey’s weekend party at the Sonnalpe – and French was the official language of the day. Morning lessons had just ended and Joey, on her way to the splasheries to wash for
Mittagessen
, had been intercepted by Mademoiselle Lepâttre.

“
Mais oui, Mam’selle.
” Joey answered meekly, as she felt her heart sink; and, suffering the uneasiness associated with any summons to the headmistress’s study, she followed Mademoiselle down the corridor.

But on this occasion she had no need to worry, or to search her conscience. Mademoiselle merely pointed to a number of letters that were lying on her desk, sorted into six piles. “
Voilà le courier qui vient d’arriver,
”

she said to the immensely relieved Joey. “Please will you take round the letters for the Senior and Middle forms.”

“Would you not like me to take the staff their letters too, Mam’selle?” Joey asked politely.

“But yes, if you please, Jo. And would you also ask Grizel Cochrane to come and see me immediately after
Mittagessen
and bring her timetable with her. Madame wishes particularly to speak with Grizel when she comes here on Friday; and it will be necessary therefore for Grizel to change the time of her piano lesson with Herr Anserl.”

“
Très bien, Mam’selle.”
And, giving the regulation curtsey, Jo left the room carrying the letters.

First she went to the Sixth form-room; she dashed in and dropped their letters on to Gertrud Steinbrücke’s desk, which was nearest the door. Grizel, occupied in fitting a new nib in her penholder, only nodded absently when Joey gave her Mademoiselle’s message. With a wicked grin Jo turned just as she was leaving the room; raising her arm in a menacing gesture, she croaked out: “Beware the gipsy’s message, oh, Griselda! Beware the dark headmistress, who comes a-visiting from the High Mountain Lands!”

Grizel looked up sharply, about to make some withering comment, but Jo had already vanished. Returning to her struggle with the pen-nib, Grizel did wonder for a moment why Madame should wish to see her; perhaps it had something to do with her Christmas holiday arrangements.

There were only four letters for Joey’s own form. She kept these to the last, and by the time she reached the Fifth form-room the warning bell for
Mittagessen
had already sounded. The two letters at the top of the pile came from Paris and Vienna and were for Simone and Marie from their families. The other two had Hungarian stamps. Joey was now in a violent hurry and, since the top envelope was addressed to Paula von Rothenfels, the only Hungarian girl in the Fifth, she dumped both letters unexamined on Paula’s desk, before hastening to the splasheries to do her interrupted tidying.

After
Mittagessen
the girls were encouraged to get ready with all possible speed for the afternoon walk.

They had already spent half an hour out of doors that morning, enjoying a vigorous game of “French and English” on the snow-covered hockey field. But, now that winter had come in earnest, Mademoiselle was anxious that they should get as much fresh air and exercise as possible, whenever it was fine.

Today the Fifth form decided to leave the Chalet by the gate in the fence at the top of the playing field and walk up the path toward the Tiern valley. Just to make sure, as Joey suggested inanely, that “the Tiernjoch mountains was still there”. They would then make their way down to the lake-side and so back to the school’s front entrance.

Everywhere outside it was intensely still, and the voices and laughter of the girls rang out sharply in the clear air. The pine woods against the snow looked as though they had been drawn by a charcoal pencil on impossibly white cartridge paper.

Joey, with the ever-faithful Simone beside her, walked along at the head of the group, chatting animatedly to Miss Maynard about their plans for the Christmas holidays. Miss Maynard was going back to England, and she had invited Joey and the Robin to go with her and spend Christmas at Pretty Maids, the Maynards’

family home near Lyndhurst in the New Forest.

At first Jo had been disappointed at the prospect of not being with her sister at Christmas time. But it turned out that Dr Russell would have to leave home the day after Christmas to attend a medical conference in Vienna, and his wife naturally wanted to go with him. So Madge had been delighted that the children should accept Miss Maynard’s invitation, and Joey, once accustomed to the plan, found she was looking forward to it quite happily.

“Grizel will come with us as far as London,” Miss Maynard said as they left the Chalet School fence behind. “She is going down to Devon to spend Christmas at home; then in January she’ll come and stay for a week at Lyndhurst; so we shall all be able to travel back here together. We’re going to make it a real English Christmas, Joey; plum pudding and mince-pies and all the usual things. And we have huge log fires in all the downstairs rooms; and fires in the bedrooms too, if it’s cold.”

“How jolly!” Joey said appreciatively. “I must say the stoves we have out here do keep the rooms gorgeously warm, but it’ll be fun to see open fires again, just for a change. Will you have a Christmas tree, Miss Maynard?”

“Oh yes, of course, and a really big one, I hope. We usually have it standing in the bay window in the drawing-room; it’s not in a draught there, which is safer for the candles; and then before the curtains are drawn at night, you can see the lights all across the garden. And Joey, I don’t suppose the Robin knows about hanging up a stocking for Father Christmas to fill; you’ll have to tell her all about that.”

“Rather!” Jo agreed. “That’ll certainly be something quite new for the Robin; she’s always put out her shoes on Christmas Eve. I say, Miss Maynard,” Jo was looking up at the sky above the mountains to the north of them. “Don’t you think those clouds look a bit nasty?”

All three stopped for a moment. The wind was coming from the north, and it had suddenly grown stronger.

Simone gave a little shiver and murmured, “
Tiens, il commence à faire rudement froid maintenant
.”

“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 form 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 classroom; but as ill-luck would have it, Paula did no 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 four, 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.