03.5 Visitors for the Chalet School (13 page)

Fritzel was quite right; in fact darkness had already fallen when they were still half a mile from the hotel. A few stars were beginning to show in the clear dark-blue sky, and it was very cold. The girls were all weary and footsore, but they were filled with pride at their day’s achievements. They would look back on climbing the Schneebergspitze as one of the highlights of their visit.

When Veronica, with what Joan had once called her “genius for stating the obvious”, paused on the hotel doorstep to declare, “This had been an absolutely topping day,” no one, this time, would even have wanted to contradict her.

Many A Slip …

“Oh, dear, doesn’t the time just simply fly past? We seem to have been here no time at all and now there’s only one week left before we shoot off to Salzburg. I’ve got fond of this place, too.” Pamela Trent gave a small sigh as she closed the catches of her overnight case and looked round to see if Patricia was ready.

Patricia nodded absently; she was busy packing her own case, her hands moving quickly and deftly. “Pam, could you pass me my spongebag and toothbrush, please? They’re on my washstand – no, the other side –thanks terribly; and my hairbrush is in the dressing-table drawer. There, that should be everything, I think.”

She checked the pile of belongings on her bed and, returning to her rapid packing, slipped a neatly folded pair of pyjamas into the case.

It was unlike Patricia not to be ready first, but she had gone round to the Chalet School that morning to hear from Joey Bettany details about the forthcoming weekend party, and this had delayed her.

Today was Monday, and this morning the Londoners were off for their last expedition in the Tyrol. It was to be a three-day affair; they were to visit first the medieval town of Rattenberg-am-Inn and then go on to Innsbruck, where they would remain until Thursday afternoon. There was so much of interest to be seen in and around Innsbruck that a one-day expedition would obviously not have been enough. It would also have been very tiring because the little mountain railway was now closed for the winter, and after a day’s sightseeing they would have been faced with the long climb up the Tiernsee. Accordingly, arrangements had been made for the party to stay two nights at the Maria-Theresia Hotel in Innsbruck’s most famous street.

This would give them nearly three days to enjoy Innsbruck at leisure.

By half-past nine everyone was ready and the party set off briskly along the lake-path to Seespitz and down through the pine woods towards Spartz.

“One thing about having done that climb up the Schneebergspitze, it does make an ordinary mountain path seem like Kensington High Street,” remarked Patricia, as they went downwards at a very fair speed.

“Can’t say I see much resemblance,” laughed Joan, glancing at the pine trees and the stream rushing merrily down the mountain beside the path. “What’s happened to Derry & Tom’s? Oh, well, all right, Patricia; I do know what you mean, of course. Intelligent and quick on the uptake – that’s me!”

“Now, really, Joan! You must mean ‘that is I’, don’t you?” Patricia said with exaggerated primness.

“Whatever would Miss Bruce say to her dear Joanie?”

“Well, I always think it sounds odd to say ‘It is I’,” Pamela commented, “even if it is correct. Oh, I say! Do watch out, Patricia; you nearly tripped over that tree root.”

“And a tree root is something I’ve never noticed growing out of the pavement in Kensington High Street,”

Joan added sweetly.

Patricia smiled, and gave more attention to the path.

Pamela stole a quick glance in Patricia’s direction. She was very fond of her friend and was pleased to see how well and happy Patricia was looking now. “Thank goodness!” she thought. “Her awful cloud of misery seems to have cleared away completely.”

Pamela’s glance had been discreet, but it had not gone unnoticed by the observant Patricia. Many times in the past weeks she had felt grateful for Pamela’s tact and completely unobtrusive sympathy. It had taken Patricia some time to overcome the depression that overwhelmed her on the day of the netball match. But eventually she had remembered her old Scottish nanny’s often-quoted saying. “What can’t be cured must be endured.” Patricia had no intention of giving up the battle, but she did decide to put the whole matter out of her mind, at least until her coming visit to the Russells at the Sonnalpe, and to enjoy her Tyrolean holiday to the full. And, because she had been gifted with unusual powers of concentration, she was able to put her decision into practice.

The three girls paused for a moment to look at the view that had just opened up on their right; through a gap in the trees, green fields could be seen and, still far away below them, the church and houses of Spartz.

“It would have been fun if the Chalet School folk could have come with us to Rattenberg,” Pamela remarked. “I thought they were going to.”

“Well, you can understand why their Head wasn’t very keen on the idea,” said Joan. “They’ve been allowed to miss no end of lessons this term already; I’m sure most schools wouldn’t be allowed all that extra time for games and expeditions.”

“Of course there’s a good reason for their getting extra time,” Patricia pointed out. “Apparently, when it starts to snow here it really does snow like anything; they all say they’re sometimes shut up in the house for days on end.”

Patricia’s glance lingered for a moment on the strong jagged outlines of the pine branches silhouetted against the sky. “It must look wonderful at the Tiernsee when there’s snow,” she said dreamily.

“Absolutely ripping,” agreed Pamela. “And it’s just our rotten luck that there hasn’t been any snow yet this year. Deira O’Hagan was telling me that last year the snow had begun at least a week before this. And the year before she thinks it was even earlier, but of course she wasn’t at the Chalet School then.”

“I wonder what it’s like going to school here,” mused Joan. “It must be – ” Here she broke off, for loud shouts could be heard coming from further down the mountain; a moment later Veronica Cunningham, crimson fro indignation and running up hill, appeared at the next bend of the path, and began exhorting them crossly to stop dawdling.

“You really are the pink limit! Miss Bruce and Miss Mortlock are simply livid; all of the others are miles ahead. What in the name of everything have you been doing?” And Veronica vanished down the path with an angry flounce.

The three looked guiltily at one another before breaking into a run. It dawned on them that they must have been standing still for a considerable time, absorbed in their discussion. Conversation had to be shelved while they made all possible haste to follow Veronica.

They did eventually return to the subject of the Chalet School, when they were sitting, hot and breathless, in the train for Rattenberg. The party had only just managed to catch the train, rushing wildly into the station with less than a minute to spare even although they had ran the last quarter of a mile through Spartz in a thoroughly undignified fashion. Fortunately the train had been standing at the platform nearest the entrance, so at least they were spared a dive through the subway to the far side of the station. Even so there had been no time to buy tickets. The station attendant assured the exasperated Miss Bruce that they could get tickets on the train. But he neglected to inform her that there is an extra charge on an Austrian train for going this. It did not amount to a great deal, but nevertheless Miss Bruce was annoyed and spoke somewhat frostily to the three whose necessary delay had caused the party’s late arrival.

Feeling rather subdued, they took their places on the hard benches of a third-class compartment, and for a while gazed out of the windows without speaking a word.

Pamela was first to break the silence. “Do you think you would like to be at the Chalet School, Joan?”

“Shouldn’t like to be at any boarding school!” was the prompt reply. “But if I ever did have to go to one, I must say it seems a decent enough school in lost of ways. I’d be pretty useless at all the foreign languages, of course, but there’d by plenty of chance to learn those. On the other hand, I do wonder the what the standard of general work can be like in such a small school.

“Oh, I think the standard’s quite high,” Patricia rejoined. “Everything I’ve seen and heard points that way.

Take science – they’ve not got much in the way of labs, of course, but I’d say Miss Wilson is a top-notch teacher. And don’t forget that Juliet Carrick – their last head girl, you know – won some kind of maths scholarship to London University, and those aren’t easy to get.”

“That’s true,” acknowledged Joan. “It looks as though the teaching must be all right. I must say their Sixth form are all very bright – heaps better informed about most things than I am, for one. It’s not that I want to criticize, you know, Patricia. It’s just rather difficult to compare their school with ours.”

“I’d be happy to go to any school in such a beautiful place,” said Pamela. “I hate London.”

“Oh,
do
you?” Patricia’s astonishment was plain. “I’m very fond of London, myself. But I shouldn’t mind a scrap going to boarding school. In fact I’d love to be at the Chalet School in lots of ways.” And her lips tightened for a moment.

The train, which had been chuffing unhurriedly along the broad valley that lies beside the River Inn, was now coming near the outskirts of a small town. Suddenly it plunged into a tunnel. When it emerged a moment later the girls exclaimed in delight, for it was as though the curtain had risen on some medieval drama. There was Rattenberg, spread out before them, with its castle set high on a hill, its many churches and spires, and the mountainside behind like a gigantic backcloth.

The train drew up at the platform of the tiny station, and Joan jumped immediately to her feet: “Come on, you two, let’s nip out quickly. We jolly well don’t want to keep anyone waiting
this
time.”

Rattenberg – A Fairytale Town

They were to spend only a few hours in Rattenberg, so, once they were all safely out of the train, Miss Bruce looked round to see if arrangements could be made to dispose of their cases. Each girl had only one small case in addition to her handbag, but obviously sightseeing would be more enjoyable if these could be left at the station.

At first sight there was nobody on the platform. Eventually an old man, in a uniform many times too large for him, looked out of a door and asked to see their tickets. While these were being examined, Joan, Pamela and Patricia kept carefully out of Miss Bruce’s sight, not wishing to remind her of matters best forgotten.

They contrived to take an unlikely amount of interest in a tattered poster at the far end of the platform, which urged them to “
Besuchen Innsbruck
“. “It’s all right; we’re going to, anyway,” Joan assured the poster conspiratorially.

The old man, who apparently combined the offices of ticket collector, porter, station-master and cloakroom attendant, was amiably prepared to let them leave their luggage in his tiny room. As Joan said, there wasn’t much space left for him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Breakfast that morning had been early, and it now began to seem a very long time ago. So, on leaving the station, they first of all looked round for a place to have coffee and something to eat.

The girls were enchanted with the old narrow streets and the houses with their projecting alcoves and windows. The more imaginative began to feel as though they had strayed into some fairytale … a familiar sensation for visitors to Rattenberg.

“Oh, please, Miss Bruce, do let’s go in there for our coffee!” Pamela forgot in her excitement that they were trying to avoid Miss Bruce’s attention; she was pointing to a particularly attractive-looking old house, which had been converted into a café. It had a beautiful wrought-iron sign outside, with the name of the proprietor “Hans Kindler”, and a representation of some kind of animal, probably a chamois. There were also two ordinary printed notices, one saying “
Café, Konditorei. Eis Spezialitat
” and the other “
Zimmer
frei
“. After nearly a month in Austria nobody needed to have any of these translated.

Miss Bruce readily agreed to their going inside; they found their way along a rambling corridor to a pleasant whitewashed room, furnished with traditional Tyrolese wooden furniture. It was quite a large room with a vaulted ceiling, and the walls, judging from the depth of the window embrasures and the entrance from the passage, must have been nearly five feet thick.

A wooden statue of the Madonna and Child, beautifully carved and painted, stood in a niche in one corner, and the tables had brightly coloured Tyrolean tablecloths and mats. The whole impression was simple and delightful.

Even Miss Bruce was charmed. “This is the real thing, Doreen,” she assured Miss Mortlock. “Often they ruin these places … far too many ornaments … and tourist knick-knacks … usually in appalling taste … but this is most agreeable.” She and her young colleague seated themselves at a table beside the huge tiled stove.

The girls were especially impressed by a large painted cupboard and a carved chest; they were so interested in examining these that they were almost reluctant to sit down and drink their coffee.

Meanwhile a waitress, dressed in Tyrolean costume, placed two large steaming jugs containing coffee and milk on the table in the centre of the room; each girl poured out for herself and then went to sit at one of the smaller tables. This arrangement pleased Patricia particularly, since she had a great liking for black coffee and did not often get the change to drink it.

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” Joan said, her left eyebrow topping her right by nearly half an inch. “I think coffee without milk is poisonous.”

“And to think she doesn’t even take sugar in it!” Pamela remarked with a shudder, as she dropped four cubes of sugar into her own very milky drink.

“When you two have quite finished discussing my peculiarities, perhaps one of you would pass me a bread-twist,” Patricia said, sounding just for one moment an unconscious echo of her mother’s lemon-and-ice-cream tones.