Visitors for the Chalet School

by Helen McClelland

  It had been Joey’s turn to look astonished when the girl mentioned Grange House. Now she burst out: ‘But we thought you weren’t arriving till next week; we were told you’d be coming on the seventh of October. Today’s only the fourth. Do they know at the hotel? — because I’m pretty certain they weren’t expecting you today!’

  CHAPTER V.

  GRANGE HOUSE ARRIVES.

  THE three Grange House girls looked at each other in consternation.

  ‘Help! Does that mean we’ve nowhere to stay?’

  ‘What can have happened?’

  ‘I say, what a lark! Orphans of the Storm!’

  The light was now beginning to fade and a chilly breeze began to make itself felt.

  ‘Well, it’s no good hanging round here. We’ll have to buzz off and find the others,’ Patricia Davidson decided. ‘They’ll have arrived by now; they must have got something sorted out.’

  ‘Better cut along with us then — we’re on our way back to Briesau; we can show you where the Stephanie is.’ And Joey led the way at a brisk pace.

  ‘What though the schoolgirl knew someone . . . quite obviously . . . had blundered!’ Joan Hatherley misquoted darkly to herself, as she fell in behind Pamela Trent.

  They made haste up to Seespitz, past the landing stage and along the lake-path; but even so, it was almost dark when they reached Briesau. Before running back to the school, Joey and her companions escorted the Londoners to the hotel. Here the two mistresses, Miss Bruce and Miss Mortlock, and the other nine girls, were awaiting them disconsolately.

  It appeared there had indeed been a misunderstanding over the date of their arrival. The explanation was quite simple: when Grange House’s headmistress had written to confirm their reservations, she had said they would be arriving on the fourth of October; this she wrote as “4 October” without mentioning any day of the week. The figure four in her handwriting had been misread as an English seven, and all arrangements made accordingly for the party’s arrival on the seventh of October.

  ‘I am so sorry, so very sorry, Madame,’ Herr Dobler, the Stephanie’s proprietor, apologised to the worried Miss Bruce, who fortunately spoke excellent German. ‘See, here is the letter. Be so good as to look at it.’

  Miss Bruce scrutinised the words in question and shook her head. ‘Not clear . . . really not clear at all — it is most unfortunate . . . but certainly not your fault . . . The question is . . . what to do now?’

  Matters were further complicated because Herr Dobler, thinking the hotel would be empty, had allowed all his kitchen and domestic staff to go home for the weekend. Hotel workers got very little free time during the tourist season, so naturally they had been delighted to take this short holiday.

  By now it was almost nineteen o’clock — 7 p.m. in English time — and the whole party was looking very forlorn. Miss Bruce had remained calm outwardly, but even she was beginning to wonder about their chances of finding other accommodation at this hour on a Saturday evening, in such a very small place.

  However, she had not been allowing for Austrian traditions of hospitality. Herr Dobler had disappeared to consult his wife; and he now returned beaming to tell them there was no need to worry any more. The bedrooms were always kept in readiness; and, he assured them with many apologies, he and his wife would do all they could to make the gracious ladies comfortable. Frau Dobler would be happy to give them breakfast on the Sunday and Monday mornings. She even began bustling round to see if she could make something now in the way of a simple evening meal.

  However, at this moment a ‘good angel’ arrived: Mademoiselle Lepâttre had heard of the visitors’ plight from Joey and had immediately come round to offer help. Mademoiselle insisted on taking them all back to Abendessen at the Chalet School. She would not consider a refusal. Moreover, she arranged for them to have all their meals, with the exception of breakfast, at the school until Monday. By then the staff would have returned to the hotel and things would be back to normal. Miss Bruce accepted this generous offer with gratitude and relief.

  ‘How awfully kind they are at the Chalet School,’ observed Pamela Trent, as she was getting dressed the following morning in the bedroom she and Patricia Davidson were sharing. ‘And that was a topping supper they gave us last night. Do you suppose they always have meals like that, the lucky things?’

  ‘I think it couldn’t have been anything out of the usual,’ replied her friend. ‘After all, they didn’t get enough warning to put on a special show for us. It certainly was a bit different from the usual school diet.’

  Patricia, who always did things quickly, was already dressed; her deceptively simple-looking tweed dress paid tribute to her mother’s excellent and expensive taste in clothes. Wandering over to the window, she stood brushing her thick brown hair and gazing out at the view over the southern part of the lake. The weather was rather disappointing after yesterday’s golden sunshine. But, although the mountain tops were swathed in soft grey mist, the lake looked, not grey, but an intensely dark green; the whole impression was one of peace, with a touch of mystery.

  After an excellent breakfast — all the girls agreed that they had never tasted such delicious rolls — the whole group set out for the Chalet School, where they had been invited to attend the informal service held in the school each Sunday, for those girls and staff who were Protestants.

  ‘Golly! This is certainly quite a place!’ remarked Joan Hatherley, as she and Pamela Trent followed the others along the lake-side. ‘I shan’t make any objections to being here for a month, I can tell you.’

  ‘And nor shall I; it’s absolutely terrific,’ Pamela agreed. ‘Will you just look at those mountains!’

  They turned up the path towards the school, which was set back a little distance from the lake. ‘I suppose that other chalet must belong to the school too,’ Joan said. ‘I didn’t notice it last night, did you?’

  ‘No, but then it was dark. And I didn’t realise they’d got so much land, miles and miles of it.’

  ‘I think perhaps you exaggerate, dear girl! But quite a few square yards, certainly. I suppose that “stockade” ‘s to keep the wild beasts from straying.’ Joan pointed at the high wooden fence encircling the school grounds.

  At that moment a line of Chaletians came marching through the gate in this fence and on down the path towards them. Joan hastily dropped her hand.

  ‘Now where would they be going?’ whispered Pamela. Joan shook her head silently.

  In fact these were the Chalet School Catholics making their way to the tiny white-washed church, with its quaint frescos on the walls, situated behind the Kron Prinz Karl Hotel.

  The Chalet girls were accompanied by Mademoiselle Lepâttre and Miss Wilson, who taught science. They were walking formally, two and two (‘crocodiling’, Joey had once called it), so although smiling greetings were exchanged, there was no chance then for conversation.

  However, there was no lack of talk later on, at Mittagessen in the Chalet School’s big dining-room; nor afterwards, when the girls were getting ready for the afternoon outing proposed by Mademoiselle Lepâttre.

  Just before lunch Mademoiselle had summoned the Chalet School’s Head Girl to her and suggested that the visitors would enjoy a walk up the Tiern Valley, which stretches from Briesau far up through the mountains, eventually leading to Germany by way of the great Tiern Pass. Mademoiselle explained to Bette that she wished the prefects to take entire charge of the expedition. ‘You will have only the older and more sensible girls with you,’ she continued. ‘The younger Middles will not be going. Nor, of course, will the little ones. And as some of our staff are away this weekend, our mistresses will all be needed here. Enfin, c’est très bien . . . it will be a chance for you and our visitors to get to know one another.’

  ‘Will the two Grange House mistresses be coming with us, Mademoiselle?’ asked Bette.

  ‘Mais non, ma petite; they are tired after their journey and would prefer to rest here this afternoon.’

&
nbsp; There was naturally a lot of disappointment among the younger children at missing the treat, especially as this was to include Kaffee und Kuchen at the Gasthaus in Lauterbach, a tiny hamlet through which they would pass both going and returning. But since the expedition would take over four hours it was considered too long and tiring for some of the Middles, and out of the question for the little ones.

  A few of these, who were playing in the garden after Mittagessen, gathered near the gate to watch the party leave. One, who voiced clear dissatisfaction with the plans, was Margia Stevens’s little sister, Amy.

  ‘I think it’s jolly mouldy leaving us behind! Really mouldy!’ she said to Margia, who retorted unsympathetically, very much the elder sister:

  ‘I shouldn’t let any of the staff or prefects hear you using that expression, Amy, or you’ll be in trouble, even if it is Sunday.’

  (There was a very strict rule at the Chalet School against the use of slang.)

  Even eight-year-old Robin Humphries, an exceptionally sunny-natured child, added her small protest. As she walked down the path from Le Petit Chalet, hand in hand with Joey Bettany, she was heard to say reproachfully: ‘I have walked much — but so much further than that, Joey; and I would not get tired, no, really, I would not!’ Her dark curls were dancing in her fervour, and her eyes were fixed pleadingly on Jo. ‘And now I shall not see you, my Jo, not all of today, because when you return I shall have gone to bed.’

  They were speaking in French, which had been the Robin’s first language and was the one she still tended to prefer.

  ‘Never mind, Robin darling,’ Joey said comfortingly. ‘Be a good girl, sweetheart, and go off now with Amy and the others; then tonight when we get back I’ll ask Mademoiselle if I may come over to Le Petit Chalet to say good-night and perhaps to tell you a story. That’s a promise.’

  The Robin’s face lifted a little. She thought Joey the most wonderful person in the world; moreover, she was a sensible little girl, trained all her short life to accept arrangements without fretting. With just a small sigh, she got ready to wave good-bye to the party when they set out.

  Pamela Trent, one of the three Londoners who had encountered the Chaletians at Eben, was watching the Juniors with great interest as she waited for the expedition to begin. Her attention was caught by the Robin in earnest conversation with Joey. Pamela was fond of young children and hoped to train as a kindergarten teacher when she left school at the end of the year. Seeing Gertrud Steinbrücke come out of the Chalet, she asked: ‘Do tell me, who is the lovely little girl talking to Jo Bettany? She looks one of the most adorable children I’ve ever seen.’

  Gertrud readily told her the Robin’s name and explained that Robin, whose Polish mother had died nearly three years ago, was Mrs Russell’s ward and Joey’s adopted sister. ‘When she came here two years ago, she was only six years old, such a very small little schoolgirl!’ Gertrud continued, with a smile. ‘And she is still our “School Baby”. But she never has become spoiled.’ Gertrud glanced round towards the front door. ‘Ah, good! Here now are the others.’

  Bette Rincini, accompanied by the other prefects and the rest of the Grange House girls, had just emerged from the house and the word was at last given to start.

  As the wave of girls surged through the gate, Simone Lecoutier ran up. ‘Joey! What has become of Joey? Où donc est-elle allée?’

  Simone tended to be possessive, and at one time she would have done her utmost to monopolise Jo’s company on the walk. But today there was to be no chance of this; and in any case Simone had grown up quite a lot during her two years at the Chalet School. So when Frieda Mensch called out, ‘Will you not come and walk with us, Simone?’ she was able to accept the invitation with a fairly good grace.

  Meanwhile, Joey had already been swept off by a group consisting of Patricia Davidson, Pamela Trent and Joan Hatherley. They were brimming over with questions and Jo was kept busy answering as the party left the school behind and took the path towards the valley.

  CHAPTER VI.

  PATRICIA MAKES A FRIEND.

  IN her excitement, Joey was soon pouring forth such a spate of information, about the names and histories of various places and mountain peaks, as to leave her hearers breathless.

  Eventually Joan Hatherley protested, laughing: ‘I think I’ll need a map to help sort this out. I’m never going to remember it all with my enfeebled brain.’ Joan’s round face and rather child-like expression, accentuated by her round tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, often caused her to be mistaken for less than her seventeen and a half years. Her air of innocence was deceptive: she was keenly observant and possessed a dry sense of humour.

  ‘Is it possible to get maps of this district, Jo?’ asked Pamela Trent, pushing back a dark curl which kept annoyingly straying into her eyes.

  Their group had gone a little ahead of the rest; they were just coming to the bridge across the stream dividing Briesau from the beginning of the Tiern Valley. Jo paused for a moment.

  ‘I don’t think you can get any large-scale maps. Lots of ordinary maps of Austria and the Tyrol, of course. But the Tiernsee and Briesau do look awfully tiny on those. I say, though — I’ve an idea! Why shouldn’t we Chaletians get together and make you a map ourselves? I’m sure Miss Wilson would help. She’ll probably think it’s jolly good practice for our geography, not to mention Guides. We’ll ask her as soon as we get back.’

  It can be related in passing that Miss Wilson, who was responsible for geography as well as science throughout the Chalet School, was delighted to approve this scheme. The Fifth, Joey’s form, were entrusted with the map-making. With Miss Wilson’s assistance, they were able to produce a clear and workmanlike map of the Tiernsee and surrounding districts, and the visitors found it of great practical help.

  The valley road lay partly through woods and partly through open meadows. Everywhere it was intensely still, the silence broken only by the laughing chatter of the girls and occasionally, as they went higher up the valley, by the distant tinkle of cow-bells.

  ‘Whatever is that over there?’ asked Patricia Davidson suddenly, pointing to her right when they were about three miles along the valley. ‘Surely it can’t be a road? I pity anyone walking along that!’ Frieda Mensch looked round and smiled when she saw where Patricia was pointing. She explained that Patricia was actually looking at the stony bed of a large stream: this always dried up completely during the summer, although in just a few weeks’ time the stones would be covered again by the noisy stream rushing down to the Tiernsee.

  ‘You’ll have to come up here and see, later on this month. It’s quite worth the journey, I can tell you,’ declared Joey.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’re right — must be, of course — but at the moment it’s quite hard to believe it’s really a river bed,’ said Joan Hatherley.

  And Pamela Trent, whose black hair and deep blue eyes were inherited from her Irish mother, observed: ‘Indeed, yes! Now I could show you quite a few roads in the west of Ireland that look just like that! We go every summer to stay with my grandmother, and my father always complains that he can’t tell the road from the bog!’

  At the mention of Ireland, Pamela became caught up in an animated conversation with Deira O’Hagan, one of the Chalet School prefects, a good-looking Irish girl whose family came from County Cork. Deira and Pamela had to answer a lot of questions about Ireland. In particular, Bette Rincini and Gertrud Steinbrücke, both Tyroleans, were interested to hear more about a country of which they knew very little.

  The road was getting gradually steeper and rougher as the party went further up the valley. They were now nearing the foot of the giant Tiernjoch, the highest mountain in the district; its steep summit was still wreathed in clouds, although the afternoon sun had long since chased away the morning’s mist from all the lower peaks and the sky was a soft blue.

  Bette Rincini, as Head Girl, was mainly responsible for the expedition; consulting her watch, she called out that there would now be a t
wenty-minute interval, after which they must start the return journey. During the pause they could either rest and enjoy the view, or push on a little further to see whether there might be an even better view round the next corner.

  Bette rejoined the group she had been with, who had all chosen to sit and rest; and conversation was resumed.

  Joan Hatherley, sauntering up with Joey, broke off the discussion they were having about Bleak House to remark: ‘How simply marvellously your Head Girl speaks English! I’m rotten at languages myself. Of course some of our girls are very decent at French but even they don’t speak it as well as lots of your foreign girls speak English. Oh, dear!’ Joan stopped, one eyebrow raised and a comical expression of distress on her round face. ‘I’d quite forgotten; we’re the foreigners here, of course, how very stupid of me! Any way, I’m simply green with envy of Bette; and Gertrud speaks terribly well too, and so does that one over there; sorry, I’ve forgotten her name.’ Here Joan indicated Grizel Cochrane who, back towards them, was sitting a few yards away, discussing with a group of the visitors whether tennis or cricket was the better summer-time game for girls’ schools.

  Not a muscle in Joey’s face flickered; with a churchwarden-like gravity she assented, ‘Yes, Grizel does talk fairly good English.’

  Then she called out, ‘Hallo, Griselda! Joan here has been admiring your English. I was just going to tell her that of course you’ve been at school here for two and a half years and it’s helped you to make quite amazing progress.’

  ‘Really, Joey, you are too silly!’ Grizel almost snorted with indignation. ‘I am English, of course,’ she said abruptly to the somewhat abashed Joan. ‘That’s just Joey’s idea of a joke. And pretty feeble too.’

  Grizel always tended to become excessively ruffled when she was teased, though she was, gradually and painfully, learning to be less touchy. She did now manage to join, a little reluctantly, in the laughter which greeted Joan’s mistake.