03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (24 page)

“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 bluntly, “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 cam 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 bedtime. And, to my mind, the last day of this term jolly well can’t come soon enough!”

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 classrooms, 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, 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 staffroom, as they snatched a brief the privacy of the staffroom, 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 doorhandle. “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 sometime 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 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 temporary abode. “I suppose one or other of us would be banished to the boxroom.”

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 dispatched 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.

Pamela greeted this little performance with amused giggles, but Patricia only smiled vaguely. She seemed very much preoccupied with a letter that had arrived that morning. At it wasn’t from her mother, as Pamela had noted when she handed round the mail at breakfast, wondering for an idle moment who could be writing to Patricia from Edinburgh. Not that she was ever likely to be told. Patricia tended to keep things pretty much to herself.

The journey from Munich to Spärtz was uneventful and late on the Saturday afternoon the Grange House party arrived at the Chalet School. The climb up the snow-covered mountain path from Spärtz had taken most of the afternoon, but when they finally reached the Tiernsee they were rewarded for their exertions: the dark red winter sun was beginning to sink and as, the sunset colour reflected on the snow, the mountain and lake were glowing with the soft radiance of a stained-glass window.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sunset,” Patricia said to Joey that night at
Abendessen
.

“Glorious, wasn’t it?” Jo agreed. “We were able to watch it from the classroom windows, but it must have looked heaps more wonderful from outside.” And she added, laughing, “but of course, we arranged it all specially, you know, just to welcome you back to the Tiernsee.”

“Joey, was that model theatre your work?” Pamela called across the table. “Jolly good for you! I thought it was absolutely spiffing.”

The Chalet girls had spent the whole of that afternoon arranging their Hobbies Club exhibition. At the new school hall was being used continuously for rehearsals, they had set out the various exhibits on tables in the big classroom. One table was allotted to each form, and each table identified by a placard bearing an assumed name, chosen from Greek mythology. When the Grange House party arrived, they were given barely enough time for
Kaffee und Kuchen
before being whisked off to see the show. Miss Bruce and Miss Mortlock were persuaded to act as judges in the competition, and they had quickly reached their decision: the first place and the staff’s cup went to “Pegasus”, the pseudonym chosen by the Fifth Form; especially commended had been Frieda Mensch’s collection of dolls in national costumes, including a particularly charming Tyrolean couple, and Joey Bettany’s marionette theatre.

“Didn’t’ it take you simply ages to make it, Jo?” Joan Hatherley was asking.

“Not really,” Joey assured her. “But of course I did have a lot of help,” she added modestly.

Patricia had been looking round at all the tables. “I don’t see Elisaveta anywhere,” she said now. “What’s happened to her, Joey? Not ill, I hope?”

Joey’s face sobered. “Poor Veta! No, she’s all right herself – at least, I hope she is – she’d been having a go of bronchitis, but it wasn’t that. You see, her grandfather took ill very suddenly. Elisaveta was summoned back to Belsornia in a terrible rush. It’s quite a story. I don’t mind telling you – at least, it’s too long a story for now, so I can’t actually tell you at the moment! No, we haven’t heard any more news yet.” This last was in answer to an enquiring look from Pamela.

“I’m very sorry.” Patricia’s sympathy was obvious from her voice and expression. “I do hope he’ll be better soon.”

Joey said no more. For some reason she could not have explained, she had a presentiment that the King, Elisaveta’s grandfather, was not going to recover from his illness, and she knew that the Princess had shared her foreboding. However, Madge had particularly requested her not to talk of the matter, so she made haste now to change the subject.

As soon as
Abendessen
was over, Bette and Gertrud set off for Le Petit Chalet, where they were to supervise the Juniors for an hour. Meanwhile Miss Durrant and her team of backstage helpers departed to the hall for a final discussion of certain important arrangements involved behind the scenes in the pageant.

One sequence in particular demanded great speed and clear thinking from the helpers. For, as Miss Durrant had stressed to them at their very first meeting, now many weeks ago: “Somehow we have to create an impression that multitudes of people are travelling to Bethlehem. And, since a number of girls are in the special choir, we don’t have an enormous cast to draw on. So we’ve simply got to find some way of changing costumes and so on like lightning. You’ll have to put your thinking caps on,” she exhorted them,

“and use your imaginations!”

Not surprisingly, perhaps, it was Miss Durrant herself who came up with the first idea (that of the adaptable cloaks, which Joey had described in her letter to Patricia). But, to everyone’s astonishment, it was the quiet, almost self-effacing, Luigia di Ferrara who produced the second great brainwave. “Could we not use masks to show the different characters?” she had suggested. “As they do in carnival time in Venice. It is surely quicker to change masks than to change clothes, is it not?” Luigia had sounded rather diffident, but the enthusiasm that greeted her idea left no room for doubt about its success.

Yet another ingenious proposal followed, this one from Rosalie Dene. “What about using those old screens as backgrounds for the tableaux? No, I didn’t mean we’d move them around, they’re horribly heavy. But couldn’t the art classes make suitable pictures to cover them, Miss Durrant? On large pieces of paper, and very simple. They could just be attached with drawing pins, turnabout for the various scenes.”

“What an absolutely splendid idea, Rosalie!” Miss Durrant’s response was instantaneous. “And there’d be no need to pin them up in turns, they could all be attached beforehand, one on top of the other in the proper order. Then all that’s needed for a scene change is for someone to remove the top picture. I’ll see about it tomorrow.”

And as the weeks went by, Miss Durrant’s team became more and more expert in helping the cast with their lightning changes. At first there were minor accidents, as when Lisa Bernaldi was given a modern soldier’s mask when she was actually meant to be a stately medieval lady. Or the time Ilonka Barkocz, who was looking after one of the screens, removed two sheets at once, with the result that the galley slaves in the tableau were shown against a pleasant rural background of yellow cornfields. But these episodes were soon forgotten. And this final evening before “curtain-up”, there were only a few small points that Miss Durrant wanted to go over. “And I do want to thank you all, girls,” she said warmly, when they were making their way back to the common-room to rejoin the others. “You’ve all worked splendidly and I’m sure everything will be a great success.”

For those not involved in backstage activities, the evening passed quietly, and everyone was sent early to bed. There were no protests about this, for the Chaletians were tired after their long day – it had included three strenuous rehearsals as well as the exhibition – and the Grange House girls were beginning to feel the effects of their climb up the mountainside in the frosty air.

Next morning,
Frühstück
was at 8.30 instead of the usual Sunday time of nine o’clock, for a very full programme lay ahead. Today there would be no Mass at the little Catholic Church, but after breakfast informal services were held in the school for both Catholics and Protestants. Then the Chaletians went off to the hall for a quick run-through of one or two points in the play with Mrs Russell, who had arrived the previous evening and would now be staying at the school until the end of term.

Mittagessen
was at twelve o’clock, and afterwards the Chaletians were sent to rest for an hour, while the Grange House girls sat in the common-room and read or chatted quietly. For the time being there was peace in the school. But by half-past one a buzz of anticipation could be heard. There were sounds of doors being opened and shut, footsteps on the stairs and excited voices, quickly subdued, in he hall and corridors.