03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (14 page)

“Sorry, do have one.” Pamela passed the basked to Patricia and then to Joan. “I love these things, don’t you?”

The pretty waitress returned at this moment to see if anything further were needed, then disappeared to the kitchen. “Why do you think it is,” Joan wondered, “that a girl like that looks so gorgeous in Tyrolean dress and those tourists we saw the first week all looked such utterly ghastly sights?”

Pamela and Patricia both giggled at the memory; on one of the early expeditions of their visit they had me a large group of tourists, mostly Germans, who had ill-advisedly got themselves up in Tyrolean garb; on them it had looked neither suitable nor, in the case of the men crammed into
Lederhosen
, comfortable.

When they had finished their
Kaffee
and the bill had been paid, Miss Bruce gave permission for the girls to form into small groups and go off to explore the town. They were to return to the same face at half-past one for lunch. After that there would be time to look at some of the shops; Rattenberg is famous for its glass, and there were numerous shops near the café where this could be obtained.

Patricia, Joan, and Pamela set out down the winding cobbled street, deciding that they would first visit the parish church and then walk up the hill to look at the castle. The church was impressive, although Patricia regretted that the original Gothic building had so many Baroque additions both inside and out. Joan pronounced it all more interesting than beautiful; and Pamela declared that the painting behind the High Altar, depicting one enormous wide-open eye, positively gave her the creeps.

“Perhaps it’s meant to symbolize God the Father,” Joan suggested. “‘Slumbers not, nor sleeps’ – you know.”

“And how do you like
these
?” Patricia drew the others’ attention to a display of reliquaries with somewhat gruesome contents.

They left the church and toiled slowly up the steep path to the castle. Here they were at first a little disappointed, for they found that there were only some ruined walls and a tower remaining of the ancient castle. However, the view from the ramparts, over the town with its many spires and towers, and across the River Inn to the mountains beyond, was magnificent and quite made up for all the exertions of the climb.

Joan got out her Kodak and took a photograph of Patricia and Pamela, standing side by side on what had once been the battlements, and looking out at this panorama. Then Pamela offered to take Joan and Patricia in the same position. “It makes a splendid setting for a picture,” she remarked, holding the camera rather gingerly. “Hang on a mo, Joan. Which one do I press to take the snap?”

“No, not that one, Pam, that’s for time exposures; the one on the right of the view-finder.”

“Oh, I see now. Well, can you both look pleasant again? Right you are … and I hope it comes out.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be a masterpiece.” Joan took the camera and put it carefully back into its case. “Of course, photos aren’t like the real thing, you do miss the colour,” she remarked as the three started slowly down the road back to the town. “But they’ll give me some sort of reminder of the trip. I’ve taken quite a lot since we came to Briesau.”

“Perhaps one day someone will invent something and we’ll all be able to take snaps in colour,” Pamela said.

“Oh, but they already have – it
can
be done now, you know,” Patricia, the scientific member of the trip, was quick to point out.

“Well, I know you get them in magazines,” Joan said, pausing for a moment to remove a pebble from her shoe. “Oh, gosh!
That’s
better. But I’ve never seen ordinary snaps in colour.”

“It’s probably a jolly complicated process,” Patricia suggested. “And terribly expensive. But anyway, Joan, I’d still like to see your photos when they’re ready.”

“And so should I,” Pamela chimed in. “In fact, you’ll probably have to set up a photographic service.

Everyone’s sure to want copies.”

“Well, girls, I expect something just
might
be arranged … if the money’s good enough to tempt me, that is.

Although it is most unlikely – unlikely, you might say, in the extreme – that you poor lowly beings … Oh, all right, Pam!” Joan broke off with a splutter, for Pamela had rolled her handkerchief into a neat ball and lobbed it accurately at her friend’s mouth. Joan returned the hanky good-naturedly and went on unperturbed,

“Have you two seen any of Priscilla’s sketches? Now
they’re
going to be a wonderful record of our trip. You know it would be rather an idea for Prissy to have a show of her pictures at the Stephanie when we get back.

Then we could all see them”

Priscilla Doughty-Smythe, a prizewinner in the shadow pictures competition, possessed considerable artistic talent and a flair for making watercolour sketches. During the recent good weather she had completed a large collection of views of Briesau and the Tiernsee sketched from different vantage points.

She had also painted several from the windows of the hotel, and these included some in Impressionist style done during the days of rain and mist; altogether the pictures covered a wide range.

Patricia and Pamela agreed enthusiastically with Joan’s suggestion for a showing of the pictures, and they decided to put it to Priscilla at lunchtime.

“And you’ve given me another marvelous idea,” Patricia said. She did not go on to explain; and the other two knew better than to ask questions. Patricia, as Joan had once said, could give a first-rate imitation of an oyster when she wished.

After lunch, a most enjoyable meal at the Café Kindler, the afternoon passed only too quickly in visiting the glass shops. Here the girls would instantly have launched into an orgy of buying, for not only was the glass beautiful but the prices, by English standards, were extremely reasonable.

Miss Bruce soon stemmed the flood of enthusiasm. She crisply pointed out that, since they would not be returning to London for nearly seven weeks, a large number of extremely fragile parcels was unlikely to prove an asset on their journey. Reluctantly the girls accepted her dictat that each might buy a maximum of six small or two larger objects.

When all the choices were finally made – and no one who has ever been shopping with even a few girls will doubt how long this took – the Londoners made their way back to the station and collected their cases from the gnome-like station attendant. He informed them that there was no train direct to Innsbruck, and that they must take a local train, leaving in about ten minutes as far as Spartz; there they must change and take the 16.57 to Innsbruck. It all seemed simple enough; nevertheless they were about to fall into another of the minor traps lying in wait for the unwary traveler in Austria.

At Spartz they were the only people waiting on the platform. Spartz is a busy little station at all times; apart from local traffic, many of the mainline trains to and from Innsbruck pass through it. Even in the short time the Londoners stood waiting a considerable number of trains came and went in either direction. The party had been told to wait at Bahnsteig 2, and at about a quarter to five they saw a train appearing from the direction of Kufstein; it roared into the station, slowed down and stopped at their platform.

“But are you sure this is the
right
train, Miss Mortlock?” Patricia asked doubtfully, as the girls streamed forward and began mounting the steps.

“Well, it says Innsbruck.” Miss Mortlock, surprised at the query, pointed to the board beside the door of the coach, which stated clearly “Munchen – Kufstein – Innsbruck.”

Miss Bruce had already negotiated the steep climb up into the carriage but, telling them to wait for a moment, she asked a passenger standing in the corridor, “
Bitte, diese Zug fahrt wohl nach Innsbruck
?” On being assured that it did, she signaled to them all to get in quickly, and a moment later the train was on its way.

It did not stop at any of the little stations beyond Spartz, and in ten minutes they were almost halfway to their destination.

“But surely this
can’t
be our train,” Patricia persisted, looking at her watch with a puzzled expression. “It was only due to leave Spartz about now, and it was going to take nearly an hour to get to Innsbruck.”

“Quite right, Patricia,” Miss Bruce agreed. “Another train altogether … and much quicker … get us to Innsbruck far sooner … not a bad thing either … give us more time this evening … and everyone’s tired now.”

Joan Hatherley wondered, not for the first time, how it came about that anyone who wrote as beautifully as Miss Bruce did, and was as demanding with her pupils over the niceties of English style and rhythm, should always speak so very inelegantly.

The mystery of the trains was solved a moment later when a ticket collector entered their carriage; after seeing their tickets, he informed them politely but firmly that they were in the wrong train. For one horrible moment they thought they might actually be traveling in the wrong direction, but he reassured them; the train was certainly going to Innsbruck. However,
this
was an express train (an “Elizug”), and their tickets entitled them to travel only in one of the slower stopping trains. Another time the gracious ladies must look for the sign “
Personen Zug
“.

Once again supplementary fares had to be paid. Miss Bruce, catching Joan Hatherley’s deliberately expressionless eye, was human enough to laugh. And Joan felt an unspoken agreement now existed that there would be no further reference to the morning’s episode.

“All the same,” she confided to her two special friends later on that evening, when they were installed in an enormous, extremely grand room at the Maria-Theresia Hotel, “I’m remarkably glad
that
particular little trouble was
not
any fault of ours.”

At the Chalet School this same Monday had begun quietly enough – on the surface, at any rate.

During the time after
Fruhstuck
that was always devoted to bed-making and tidying in the dormitories, a good many girls must have found their thoughts straying enviously to the Grange House party: those lucky creatures would be on the way to Rattenberg now! And it can well be imagined that every Chaletian would rather have been accompanying the Londoners than settling into the normal Monday morning school routine.

Mrs Russell and Mademoiselle Lepattre, joint headmistresses of the Chalet School, had given much thought to the question of their girls joining Grange House’s expedition. There would have been much to recommend the plan; but in the end, mainly because there were now only two weeks left before the school’s half-term holiday, they had decided against allowing it.

“I’m really very sorry, Elise,” Madge Russell said when they were discussing the matter. “The girls must certainly visit Rattenberg some time – and I’d like to see it myself, wouldn’t you? Joey will be furious with me; you know how keen she is on anything historical. But it would mean upsetting all the timetables yet again; and besides, it would be a very tiring day’s outing for them. I think we mustn’t allow their schoolwork to suffer.”

Mademoiselle had given her wholehearted approval; and added, with a gently humorous smile: “After all, Marguerite
cherie
, it is a
school
that we are running here, and not a
colonie de vacances
!”

The girls had naturally been disappointed when their Heads’ decision was announced, but most of them had accepted it philosophically. However, certain undercurrents of restlessness did begin to stir among the Middles; and when, on Monday morning after prayers, Mademoiselle stood up to make the day’s announcements, she was not unaware of these.

She began by telling the assembled girls that during the coming week they would be reverting to the normal school timetables with only one or two minor adjustments. Today, accordingly, everything would be as usual until
Abendessen
; then everyone would do mending for three-quarters of an hour: “There has been very little time for mending on any of the recent weekends, and I feel sure that many of you” (did she look in the direction of the Middle School?) “will have more than enough to occupy the time.”

Not even the most outrageous Middle would have dared, here in the presence of headmistress, staff and prefects, to groan aloud; but the announcement caused some exceedingly glum faces; no one relished the prospect of giving up forty-five minutes of free time to do her mending, however necessary. Mademoiselle did not fail to notice those black looks; and when she continued, it was in tones still gentle but with a hint of severity:

“
Mes cheres enfants
, during these past weeks you have often been excused from lessons and preparation and have been allowed much extra free time. We have been happy to make these arrangements so that you might profit from the continuing good weather and also enjoy the company of our visitors from London.

Now it is your turn to make up a little for the time which has been thus lost. And we in the Chalet School do not seize all the pleasant things and then complain when we have to give back something in return.”

Most of those who had been looking mutinous now began to feel slightly conscience-stricken. Indeed, Mademoiselle’s words had an excellent effect, and behaviour throughout the school was exemplary during the first half of the morning.

It was while they were having their mid-morning break that an imp of mischief began to whisper in the ear of Evadne Lannis. She and her fellow members of the Fourth form were strolling round the playing field, talking non-stop and with very little eye for the beauties of the autumn scenery around them.

“Suffering cats, it’s beastly maths next lesson.” Evadne gave a heartful grown. “And I’ll give a dollar to a dime that Maynie will be putting the screws on today; she was threatening the most grisly horrors last week.”

“Really, Evvy, your language!” Margia said lightly. “I’d be a bit more careful; you know those prefects have a nasty way of appearing from nowhere.”

Evadne looked around with an air of elaborate unconcern. At that moment there was no prefect to be seen nearer than the opposite side of the field, but she did contrive to lower her normally ringing tones just a little when she continued her plaint: “Gee, don’t I wish I could be sick for a short time, just long enough to miss that old maths lesson.”