03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (16 page)

Bette laughed outright and added approvingly: “I think you did very well, Mary. Of course they were being very silly, but it was not bad naughtiness and you were wise to treat it as you did.”

Now it might be thought that the Middles, having so far avoided serious trouble, would have been wise enough to chance their luck no further. But wisdom is not a quality usually to be found in Middles, and the happenings of this particular Monday were still far from over.

It was Rosalie Dene’s turn to supervise the Middles during prep that evening. On looking up from her French essay she was astonished to see that three pictures on the classroom wall were all hanging at extremely odd angles. She was about to get up to straighten them when a smothered snort aroused her suspicions. Rosalie was naturally of a placid temperament, but she was not stupid. Without giving the smallest sign of having noticed anything amiss, she continued with her own work. When she glanced up a moment later, sure enough the pictures had returned to their normal positions; after another short interval she looked up once more, and there they were, hanging wildly askew.

Rosalie looked thoughtfully at the class; they all immediately became ostentatiously absorbed in their work. With great deliberation she took off her watch, laying it on the desk in front of her; then she addressed them conversationally: “When I give you the signal, will whoever is responsible for moving the pictures about please get up and remove their apparatus. Provided everything is finished in three minutes I shall not look up to see who is involved. And just so long as there is no further nonsense this evening, we will say no more about the matter. Otherwise …”, here she let her voice trail off menacingly.

Rosalie was as good as her word, burying her head in her book; so she never knew exactly who had rigged up the ingenious system of threads and strings for moving the pictures about. And throughout the rest of prep, the Middles behaved like angels.

As soon as
Abendessen
was finished, all the Seniors and Middles went off to the big classroom where Matron was waiting to hand each girl a small pile – in some cases not so small – of stockings and other garments in need of repair.

“When the bell rings at eight o’clock, put your finished mending on the table beside that door; leave anything you have not finished tidily folded on your chair.” So saying, Matron departed; and Gertrud Steinbrucke, who was to help pass the time by reading aloud, opened her copy of
Sohrah and Rustum
and began:

And the first grey of morning filled the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.

Miss Annersley had suggested Gertrud read this piece, since she felt it would extend their knowledge of English literature.

Evadne, Margia Stevens and Suzanne Mercier had chosen seats together near the back of the room.

Suzanne was an excellent needlewoman and Margia sewed reasonably well, but Evadne, even after two years at the Chalet School where needlework was compulsory, remained hopelessly inefficient with a needle. Moreover, she utterly detested any form of sewing.

Her charming little face looked a picture of discontent as she sat struggling with the hated mending. At first she did try her best and worked with a fair amount of goodwill. But restless spirits were still bubbling away inside Evadne that evening. Matthew Arnold’s poem did not appeal to her very much, and she soon began searching for a distraction of some kind. She looked across at Suzanne sitting on the far side of Margia; her neat French fingers manoeuvring the need in and out of an incredibly beautiful darn in her petticoat. Then she looked down at her own distorted efforts and her square-fingered hands where the needle somehow never looked at home. An evil inspiration came to her that a very good duel might be fought with needles.

After all, that was what silly old Sohrab and Rustum were doing, having a fight and everyone seemed to think it was mighty noble.

They were well out of Gertrud’s sight, tucked away at the back of the room. No other prefects were present, as it was considered that they were sufficiently sensible to deal with mending on their own. So, bending over and hiding behind the row of girls in front, Evadne proceeded to whisper her plan to the other two. To her astonishment Margia declined to take an active part, and Evadne was unable to persuade her.

Margia was usually ready for any nonsense, but she had, young as she was, the musician’s built-in resistance to anything that might hurt her hands. However, Suzanne was also beginning to feel bored; she had now finished her mending, and she was quite willing to cross swords, or rather needles, with Evadne. Margia was happy to encourage their imbecile scheme and offered to act as referee. They hastily agreed some rules and battle commenced.

About ten minutes later, Matron unfortunately had the idea of returning to see how the mending progressed. And it so happed that she entered very quietly by a door at the back of the room. Thus she was well placed to observe the antics of the naughty Middles.

Blissfully unconscious of her presence, they continued with their game. The rules – so far as any existed –were simple: each player tried, using a mixture of speed and cunning, to touch the back of her opponent’s right hand, while evading the enemy’s needle. Margia, in her position of bugger-state, was acting as score-keeper; she was also timing the bouts and urging the players on.

All three knew only too well that they were behaving badly. That the duel also involved a certain amount of risk did not strike them; there was no malice in their contest and neither duelist intended to hurt the other.

But, inevitably, as excitement grew, the jabs sometimes became rather wild.

It was really only the danger of being discovered that made the game amusing. To be obliged to sit almost motionless swallowing their laughter – not to mention the odd involuntary squawk – and trying to appear as prim and solemn as a Victorian tract, somehow made the whole thing seem unbearably funny.

By the time that Matron arrived to stand, waiting like some grim avenging Fury, the tension had mounted to a point where the contestants were weak and helpless with suppressed laughter; tears of mirth were pouring down Margia’s face; and – so mortally infectious is the schoolgirl malady of “giggles” – the girls in the rows nearest to the wicked trio were also beginning to shake.

Matron simply waited for the bell to ring and for Gertrud to finish her reading. Then, in a voice of doom, she informed the three that she wished to “speak to them” after all the others had left the toom.

The icy shock of seeing Matron materialize from nowhere brought the three Middles rapidly back to their senses, and they waited in apprehensive silence to hear what their fate was to be. Matron, under her brisk uncompromising exterior, concealed one of the kindest hearts imaginable; many of her patients would have agreed about this. But she often gave as much outward evidence of kindness as a sergeant-major on parade.

On this occasion, Evadne, Margia and Suzanne had to endure not only many extremely unflattering comments about their childish behaviour but also the prospect of giving up the whole of next Saturday afternoon to sewing under Matron’s personal supervision.

“And if any of you has not sufficient mending of her own to occupy the time – although I’m bound to say that seems most unlikely, with you two, any way”, she glared ferociously at Margia and Evadne, “I shall be delighted to supply her with more.”

Finally she dismissed them with strict orders to apologize to Gertrud and then go straight to bed. This meant they were deprived of the folk-dancing session the others would be enjoying until bedtime.

Five minutes later, three subdued girls might have been seen taking their way slowly upstairs to their dormitories. Even Evadne’s effervescent spirits were quelled. And Matron’s firm action had the effect of discouraging the Middles from further transgressions for a considerable time to come.

Thus ended the day that inevitably became known as “Mischief Monday”.

Thursday afternoon saw the Grange House party arriving back from Innsbruck, very cheerful and delighted with the success of their expedition.

“Only three more days till we leave Briesau,” Joan Hatherley said sadly, as they waited in the Stephanie lounge for
Abendessen
to be announced. Her round, normally cheerful countenance looked a picture of melancholy.

“Isn’t it
four
days?” objected Veronica.

“Well, my dear Miss Cunningham,” – Joan, gazing primly over her glasses, assumed a professorial manner

– “it could indeed be argued that since this evening, it is still Thursday and our departure does not in fact take place until Monday, your point of view could well be considered literally correct. On the other hand, I would point out that our departure has been arranged for such an unholy hour on Monday morning that we shall not be able to profit from… Ouch! That’s my toe!”

“You surprise me,” Patricia withdrew her foot. “And no, I don’t apologize. At least it’s shut you up for the moment.”

“But you have to agree there really is something special about this place,” Joan continued, quite unabashed. “Oh, I know we’re going to heaps of splendid places – Vienna and Buda-Pest and all that. And I’m simply useless at describing things, but don’t you think the Tiernsee is somewhere one’s always going to want to come back to?”

The chorus that greeted this left no room for doubt that all the girls felt the same.

So naturally there were great rejoicings at supper-time, when Miss Bruce announced an addition to their original plans. Instead of traveling straight back to London from Munich, they were going to return to Briesau for the last weekend of the term; Mrs Russell and Mademoiselle Lepâttre had invited them all to stay at the Chalet School and to see a special performance of the school’s Christmas pageant.

“The journey back here from Munich appears to be simple…and short,” Miss Bruce continued, when the first buzz of interest had died down. “And we can travel to London just as easily from here…only a small alterations in the arrangements… Most kind of Mrs Russell and Mademoiselle to give us this invitation…I felt sure you would all wish to accept and to attend the Christmas play…a fitting way to round off our tour.”

“
And
,” Pamela rejoiced, “we’ll be able to see this place in the snow after all, which we shouldn’t have done otherwise.”

“Not unless it snows before we leave on Monday,” said the ever-practical Veronica.

“And that’s not likely, with only three days to come and not a sign of snow yet – or so I’m informed by those who should know best,” Joan retorted.

Everyone now viewed the inevitable arrival of next Monday far more cheerfully, and they were able to enjoy making plans for a long farewell walk on the Saturday morning. After a lot of discussion, they decided they would go round the Tiernsee and right up to Scholastika at the far end, where arrangements could be made for the hotel to provide lunch.

Patricia excused herself from this conference, saying that she must get started with her packing. Joey Bettany’s birthday celebrations were to take place at the weekend and, as one of Jo’s guests, Patricia would be off to Innsbruck soon after breakfast on Saturday, going on with Joey and the others to spend the weekend at the Sonnalpe. All her packing had therefore to be finished by Friday night; she would take only a small case with her since, on the Monday morning, she would have to walk down to Spärtz to rejoin her party.

Patricia had become particularly attached to the Tiernsee district during the weeks they had spent there.

But, in her case, the sadness of leaving had been tempered by the prospect of this coming weekend. She had looked forward to it enormously and seeing the hospital on the Sonnalpe. And yet, as the day came near, she found to her surprise and dismay that her feelings were now mixed. It was dreadfully puzzling.

On the Saturday morning Patricia woke very early in the room she shared with Pamela. Sleep refused to return. She did not like to put on the bedside light and read, for fear of waking her room-mate. At last, wearing a thick jersey and her dressing-gown over her pyjamas, she slipped out onto the balcony, closing the door quietly behind her.

She leant on the balcony rail, watching the cold grey dawn, as she tried to straighten things out in her mind. Why did she now feel this curious reluctance to meet the doctor and visit the hospital? It had been quite possible for her recently to shelve the whole question of her future and simply enjoy the present. That would not be possible any longer. Perhaps, she thought wryly, a swimmer might feel like this, standing down there beside the lake and trying to find the courage to plunge into the icy-cold, grey water.

And some icy-cold, grey thoughts refused to leave her: perhaps she was not the right person to make a good doctor; perhaps, even if she got the chance, she would fail; then all the battles she would surely have to face would have been fought for nothing. Patricia gave a shiver, caused only partly by the chilly, early morning temperature. Re-opening the French window, she went back into the bedroom where Pamela, not by nature an early riser, was still sleeping peacefully.

Over at the Chalet School Joey Bettany also had wakened extremely early. It was still dark in the Yellow dormitory and very quiet; the only sound, that of gentle, regular breathing coming from the other seven cubicles, told her that everyone else was still asleep. Jo switched on her torch briefly to see the time. Then, it being far too early even to think of sitting up, she lay back on her pillow, picturing the coming day’s events, enjoying them in anticipation.

She had finally decided to invite Frieda and Elisaveta, as well as Patricia, to join the birthday outing. As she had said to her elder sister, “If I invite either Marie or Simone it means one will feel left out; and Simone would be upset even though Marie probably wouldn’t be,
she’s
too sensible. But it’ll be far better all round to choose Elisaveta ‘cos she’s in a different form. Anyway, I’d like to have Veta.”