After twenty minutes exactly, Bette gave the signal for the return journey to begin and, still chatting away gaily, the girls started back towards Lauterbach, walking mostly in little groups of three or four.
Patricia Davidson, however, lingered behind the rest and wandered along dreamily by herself, utterly absorbed in the beauty of the scenery around her. A gentle breeze had arisen and this, together with the afternoon’s exercise, had brought a becoming rosy pink into her usually pale face. Her expression had lost some of the tenseness it had shown in London; and, in many ways, she looked a different girl from the Patricia who had entertained Juliet Carrick to tea a few weeks earlier.
Being a quick walker, Patricia knew she could easily catch up with the others; she stopped and turned round for one moment’s last look up the valley. There was a feeling almost of homecoming in the silence and peace that settled round her.
As a small child, Patricia had been devoted to her Scottish nanny, a person of enormous kindness who had done her utmost to give the lonely little girl some of the warmth and affection her parents so conspicuously failed to provide. It had been one of nanny’s customs to read aloud to her charge at bedtime, and on Sunday evenings the reading had always been chosen from the Bible, generally from the Psalms. Probably it was some distant memory of that gentle Scottish voice that now came back to Patricia. Without realising that she was speaking her thoughts audibly she murmured: ‘ “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills . . . ”,’ and was startled when a quiet voice behind her finished the line,
‘ “From whence cometh my help”.’
Joey Bettany, noticing that the Grange House girl was lagging behind, had unobtrusively slipped back to see if anything was the matter.
Jo had no use for anything in the way of ‘slushy sentiment’ (as she herself would have described it), but she was intensely responsive to beauty: the tone of her voice now made it obvious she both understood and shared the feelings that prompted Patricia’s quotation.
For a while neither girl spoke; both felt suddenly a little shy. At last they turned reluctantly. And, still in a companionable silence, they began to follow the others, now quite some distance away on the road back to Lauterbach.
And, as they walked, Patricia found, to her own surprise, that she was telling Jo how she had set her heart on a medical career and how everything seemed hopeless because of her mother’s determination to turn her into a social butterfly.
There was some indefinable quality about Jo Bettany that would, all her life, draw others to confide their troubles in her. In spite of the difference in their ages Patricia felt a bond of sympathy with the younger girl as she tried to explain her strong call towards becoming a doctor.
‘But it’s a wonderful thing to give your life to healing sick people,’ protested Joey, who had learned, from observing her brother-in-law and his colleagues at the Sanatorium, something of the dedication a good doctor brings to his work. ‘Why on earth should your mother be so awfully against it?’
Patricia did not make the sharp retort that would have leaped from her in London. Instead she said, after a moment’s pause: ‘I suppose it’s really very difficult for her, Joey. She and my father are separated. He’s been living out in America for ages now, running some huge company. That’s how he got his title, by the way, “services to commerce”, I think they call it, but of course my mother loves it! And I’m sure it’s partly being left on her own like this that makes Mother such a stickler for all the social nonsense. I think she feels people are criticising her all the time. And you see, Jo,’ Patricia stopped for a moment and looked earnestly at her young companion, ‘in a way I really am all she has left. She just can’t — and won’t — understand that I’m not interested in her sort of things . . . being presented at Court, endless parties and so on. And she can’t see how any girl who isn’t obliged to work for a living can want to have a career. I suppose it’s something completely outside her world.’
‘Well, anyway, you mustn’t dream of giving up hope now,’ Joey said stoutly as they moved on again, rather more rapidly. ‘If you’ve got enough grit to keep going, I’m sure you can get there in the end.’
They had almost reached the little Gasthaus. There were cheerful sounds issuing forth, which proclaimed that the other girls were inside.
Jo paused for a moment at the door. ‘You must meet my sister and her husband,’ she said with a purposeful air. ‘He’s a doctor, you know, and he’s head of the Sanatorium on the Sonnalpe that you can just see from Briesau. I’ll tell you about that later, you’ll probably be interested; but we must go in and get our Kaffee or we shan’t get any.’
So saying, she pushed open the door and went inside, followed by Patricia.
CHAPTER VII.
A VISIT FROM MADAME.
JOEY Bettany was never one to leave the daisies flowering over her feet. Three days after the expedition up the Tiern Valley, Madge Bettany arrived at the Chalet School in time for Mittagessen; and she gathered from Joey’s wild gesticulations across the dining-room that her sister had something important to communicate.
After lunch, Madge called Joey to her and remarked that there was really no need for such extraordinary antics. However she did promise to set aside half an hour after Kaffee und Kuchen for a private talk, so Joey was well contented.
The Fifth Form’s lesson that afternoon was science. Had it been a subject that came easily to her, Jo might have been able to let her thoughts wander to the coming interview with her sister. But, after answering a question about magnetic currents with somewhat unscientific vagueness, she caught Miss Wilson’s eye fixed on her with such a chilly gleam that she hastily pulled herself together.
Punctually at a quarter to seventeen Joey arrived at Madame’s study, as it was still called. Characteristically, she plunged straight into an account of her conversation with Patricia.
Madge listened with obvious interest. When Jo finished her tale, and had inveighed vehemently against any mother who would deliberately stand in the way of her daughter’s splendid ambition, Madge looked at her younger sister thoughtfully.
‘I’d very much like to meet Patricia,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve already heard something about her from Juliet, and I’d dearly love to help in any way I could. But you must realise, Joey, that it isn’t an easy situation. I couldn’t possibly suggest that Patricia should defy her mother; that would be very wrong and, in any case, could only lead to more unhappiness for Patricia herself. Do you know, does her father concern himself at all about what she does?’
‘Not very much, I gather,’ replied Jo gloomily. ‘Apparently he’s living in America and hardly ever comes to London nowadays, so I don’t think there could be much help from him. Madge!’ Joey looked earnestly at her sister. ‘Don’t you think you could invite Patricia to spend a weekend with you and Jem at Die Rosen?’ This was the name of the Russells’ pretty home on the Sonnalpe. ‘Jem could talk to her about medicine — oh, I know he wouldn’t be able to encourage her plans,’ Jo had noticed her sister’s quick frown, ‘but she’s bound to be interested in hearing about the hospital and all that, and in just seeing something of a doctor’s life.’
‘Yes, I’ll certainly think about it,’ Madge agreed. ‘And in the mean time, Joey, you must promise me to be tactful; and not to interfere, or say anything that would encourage Patricia to look on herself as a slighted heroine.’
‘Of course I won’t interfere, Madge,’ protested Jo, shaking her mop of black hair into a fine confusion in her indignation. ‘And of course I’ll be tactful. I’ll be as tactful as Solomon and all the ambassadors in Europe rolled into one. Really I will.’
Madge could not help smiling at the unlikely picture presented to her imagination of Joey, her hair standing on end, as a member of the Corps Diplomatique.
Changing the subject, she said: ‘There’s something else I’d like to discuss quickly. Have you any ideas about your birthday this year?’
Something in Madge’s tone caugh
t Joey’s instant attention. ‘No, not really; why, Madge? Have you got some plan?’
Madge nodded. ‘We thought you might like to go and see the Salzburg Marionette Theatre. They are giving some performances in Innsbruck at the end of October, and Jem suggested we take you as a birthday treat. If you like the idea, you may choose three friends to go with us and to come back and spend the weekend up at the Sonnalpe.’
‘Oh, Madge!’ Joey gave her sister a quick hug. ‘You really are an absolute angel; I’ve always wanted to see the marionettes. Perhaps I could invite Patricia to come with us; and I’d like to have Frieda, and the Robin, of course.’
But Madge shook her head. ‘Not the Robin, Jo, I’m afraid; it would be far too tiring for her. She’s only a little girl and not at all strong. But it would be a good idea to include Frieda, because her father has very kindly offered to come up here and drive you all down to Innsbruck, which will save a great deal of time. Let me know soon what you decide, Joey; and now I simply must be off.’ Madge got up rather reluctantly from the comfortable chair where she had been sitting, with Joey on the rug at her feet. ‘I’ve promised to teach the Middles that French game we used to play. Do you remember Je suis allée au marché?’
‘Rather!’ answered Jo. ‘What a rip — I mean, jolly idea. And it ought to help the ones who find the French-speaking days so hard. Can I come, Madge? I’d enjoy the game too.’
‘Yes, I’d like to have a few people who speak French easily,’ replied her sister. Then she added severely: ‘But first, please go and make yourself respectable. You look a disgraceful sight at the moment.’
Jo grimaced but she departed obediently to brush her hair and then to join the Middles who were gathered in the common-room.
The two days each week of compulsory French and German had been proving very difficult for many of the girls. The mistresses had all discussed ways of helping, and Madge had remembered an old game from her childhood. In this the players all sit round in a circle, and each in turn must tell, in French, what she bought that morning in the market. Her list must include any items mentioned by previous players, and she then adds a new purchase of her own. For the first player it is very easy: she begins, using the formula that everyone must repeat at the beginning of her turn, ‘Aujourd’hui, je suis allée au marché et j’ai acheté. . .’, and then she names in French whatever she bought, perhaps ‘du pain’ or ‘des oeufs’. As the other players join in, the list grows longer and longer, and it naturally becomes more and more difficult to remember. Anyone who makes a mistake or forgets an item forfeits a ‘life’; and those who have lost three lives must drop out of the game temporarily.
The great beauty of the game is that, in striving to remember what others have bought and in repeating the words, the players unconsciously extend their French vocabulary and learn to speak the words correctly and with confidence.
The Chalet School Middles took up the game with enthusiasm. In fact it was to become for some weeks a favourite spare-time amusement; which was just what their wily headmistress had intended.
On this first occasion, things eventually came to an end in laughing confusion. Evadne Lannis, in her very transatlantic French, had managed to work right through a long list of household items; finally she announced with pride that she had bought ‘un éléphant’.
This precipitated an immediate argument with Simone, who had a very literal mind and protested that ‘un éléphant ne se trouve jamais dans un marché’.
Evadne retorted that she was thinking of a market in the East and, ‘there would sure be elephants there; I know, my Poppa’s told me he’s seen them.’
The Middles were now on their own (Mrs Russell having departed for the Sonnalpe as soon as the game got going) and the argument might have become heated. Fortunately Frieda Mensch could often in her quiet way contrive to restore peace; she suggested that perhaps, since it was a French game, they should restrict their imaginary shopping to items that could be bought in France. Joey promptly backed her up, adding that they might adapt the game and play it also in German, buying things obtainable in Innsbruck. In discussing this the original argument was forgotten.
***
Earlier that same Wednesday afternoon, while Joey and her fellow Fifth Formers were struggling to give their attention to the problems of science, the Grange House party had set off to walk up to the Bärenbad Alm.
By now they were becoming quite familiar with Briesau and its immediate surroundings. They had been exploring all through the pine-woods that cluster thickly over the lower slopes of the mountains. And they had walked right round the Seespitz end of the lake, past Buchau on the opposite shore and up as far as Seehof. The Gasthaus there had provided them with coffee and some of the cakes for which it was renowned.
The Bärenbad, at about 4,500 feet, is one of the smaller mountains in the Tiernsee district. The Londoners found it an agreeable climb and not difficult. They were enjoying the way up through the pleasantly scented pine-woods when Pamela Trent suddenly gave a little shriek:
‘Goodness gracious heavens! Did you ever in all your life see anything so enormous?’ She pointed, shuddering, at the ground.
Joan Hatherley, just behind her, stopped dead and looked apprehensively downwards. The others crowded up; Patricia peered over Joan’s shoulder. And then Joan hooted with laughter. ‘Pamela Trent! I’d like to strangle you, I really would. How could you give me a shock like that? I thought at the very least that you’d seen a hooded cobra.’
‘Terribly sorry, Joan. I didn’t mean to scare you, but — ’
‘Well, you must agree they are jolly enormous,’ Patricia said, bending down to get a closer look at some unusually large snails, which were enjoying an afternoon promenade among the tree-roots and pine-needles. ‘I’ve certainly never seen snails as big as that in England.’
They reached the Alm with no further alarms. The air had a deliciously invigorating tang, and everyone was now beginning to feel hungry. Fortunately they had been warned that the little hut, which sold refreshments during the tourist season, would be closed. They had brought flasks of coffee with them and some cakes purchased the previous day at Seehof.
‘Shall we have our picnic here, Miss Mortlock?’ Joan asked.
But before the young games mistress had a chance to reply, Miss Bruce cut in: ‘No indeed . . . you must use your common sense, girls . . . most unwise to sit in this exposed place . . . don’t want you all catching chills . . . find somewhere sheltered.’
After a little searching they found a sunny corner, tucked away behind some rocks. It was a wise precaution for they were all feeling warm after the climb; and the wind, hardly noticeable down at Briesau, could be felt strongly up here.
All around stretched the magnificent panorama of mountains. Looking southwards, the Zillerthal Alps, bluish-purple in the distance, could be clearly seen; far too clearly for there to be any likelihood of the good weather continuing, though the visitors did not realise this.
‘You tend to come back to the same adjectives all the time in this place, don’t you?’ Joan Hatherley leaned back lazily against a convenient boulder. ‘I’m sure you must all be sick of hearing me say, “What a wonderful view”. I’m quite tired of hearing myself, it just keeps being dragged out of me.’
‘You mean you’re like a minute gun,’ rejoined Patricia, laughing, ‘set to go off every minute with a delighted exclamation.’ Relaxed and happy, Patricia was lying on her back on the springy grass gazing up into the sky.
‘I’ve got a cousin who really is rather like that.’ Pamela Trent was listening, amused. ‘Every few seconds she breathes, “Too, too divine!” It gets dreadfully monotonous.’
‘Talking of adjectives, have you noticed that the Chalet girls hardly ever use slang?’ This was Patricia again.
‘I should jolly well think we’ve all noticed that,’ answered Joan. ‘It seems they have a very strict rule about it. They don’t want the foreign girls to catch any of our more horrible English sl
ang expressions. Their games captain, Grizel Cochrane, was telling me about it; she said it made life hard at times. Well, I can imagine being absolutely sunk myself if we’d got the same rule!’ A faint sardonic smile crossed Miss Bruce’s face. She was sitting a few yards away beside Miss Mortlock. Miss Bruce often had occasion to deplore some of the expressions in use among her pupils, and would have been happy to see a rule against slang at Grange House.
Miss Mortlock looked up on hearing Grizel Cochrane’s name. ‘By the way, Veronica,’ she said to the Grange House games captain, ‘have you talked to Grizel yet about the idea of a netball match?’
‘Yes, Miss Mortlock, I did say something to her yesterday,’ Veronica answered, ‘and she seemed most awfully bucked about it. I’m going to write out the challenge when we get back to the hotel this evening, and then I can take it round to the Chalet School. Is that all right?’
Veronica Cunningham well deserved her position as games captain. She played tennis, cricket, netball and hockey, all exceptionally well, and was excellent at arranging and organising the school teams. However, as sometimes happens, Veronica, instead of taking legitimate pride in her athletic achievements, had a secret hankering to be considered one of the school’s intellectuals. She had a habit of making dogmatic pronouncements on subjects of which, as her hearers were often aware, she knew very little. The girls found this side of Veronica intensely irritating at times. But they all recognised that, with a tennis racquet or a hockey stick, Veronica was superb.
The challenge to the Chalet School’s netball Seven, to meet Grange House’s team, was duly delivered that evening, and accepted the next morning. It was arranged for the match to take place the following Saturday afternoon.
CHAPTER VIII.
Visitors for the Chalet School Page 6
