To Journey Together (6 page)

From time to time there were songs, in which most of the people joined. Some of them gay, but others with that simple, nostalgic melancholy found only in folk songs. And no one seemed to be in a hurry here. A meal was something over which you

took your time—an end in itself, not something through which you hurried in order to go on somewhere else.

It was fairly late by the time they finally rose to go, and when they stepped out once more into the glittering, frosty air, Elinor realized suddenly that she was sleepy.

"You can sleep late tomorrow," Kenneth told her, noticing her weariness. "My uncle and I have business to attend to in the morning, and our train for the Tyrol doesn't leave until midday."

"Is it another long journey?" she enquired, trying desperately to smother a yawn.

"Oh no. About a couple of hours to Garmisch, and then Ehrwald is not far beyond that."

"I'm really almost glad," she admitted, as they reached the hotel. "I feel I simply must settle down and digest some of these glorious impressions before I try to take in any more. You know, Ken " She stopped, astounded at herself, blushed and added hastily, "I'm sorry. I mean Mr. Brownlow, of course. I wasn't "

"That's all right." He gave her that quick, amused smile. "Ken or Kenneth will do. I don't think I could be Mr. Brownlow for the next few months. Good night, Elinor."

He parted from her at the door of the lift, leaving her with the distinct impression that, on this evening at least, she had not bored him.

The train which they took the next day was a much less luxurious affair than the express of the previous day. It was even a little primitive-looking, but with an engaging air of leisurely enjoyment about it, as though it were a rather amateur sort of train, given over to pleasure-trips more than the serious business of life.

Most of it was composed of third-class carriages with wooden seats, and the passengers were in every variety of dress, from the neat, respectable garments of ru
ral poverty to the smartest ski
ing kit.

The route wound through heavily wooded country—the very green grass powdered with snow, and the trees leafless against a clear, pale, sky. Occasionally there were glimpses of breathtakingly beautiful lakes, but what made Elinor cry aloud with joy was the first sight of towering mountains sketched on the far horizon.

As they drew nearer, the track wound steeply upwards and the snow, lying lightly at first, became deeper, crisper, and finally covered everything. From Garmisch onwards they travelled through a fairyland of sparkling snow, a frozen, Christmas-card world, with fir trees bending beneath the weight of their soft, white burden, and little mountain villages, with their shining, onion-shaped church towers, clustering under the thick white carpet which would cover them now until spring came to release them.

At the frontier the Austrian officials who came on board the train could hardly have been more friendly or casual. They made one or two jokes in their soft, beautiful German, and generally gave the impression that Customs duties were simply a game in which they had to indulge, even though it was not really much fun. And they finally departed with that most moving of all greetings and farewells—"Gruss Gott".

The train then puffed on a little farther in a leisurely manner and presently arrived at a pretty, wooden station which looked more like a large toy than anything Elinor had ever before regarded as a station. This, it seemed, was their destination.

A number of people got out here and among them Elinor was charmed to see the two to whom she had talked on the train the previous day.

Not that she really had eyes or ears for mere people in those first few moments. She stood on the open platform, waiting while the luggage was slowly taken off the train, and gazed awe-stricken on the mountains which rose on every hand—their jagged summits reaching into the clear, bright blue of an exquisite winter sky. And as she did so there came to her, borne on the fresh, still air of the late after-

noon, the enchanting sound of innumerable, softly tinkling cowbells.

"Well, Miss Connelton, how do you like your first glimpse of Ehrwald?" said a pleasant, faintly foreign voice beside her, and she turned to find the Hungarian—as she still called him to herself—smiling at her.

"It's all so wonderful, I hardly know how to take it in," she admitted. And then she suddenly realized what he had called her. "But I'm not Miss Connelton," she added with a smile.

"No?" He looked rather unexpectedly taken aback. "But isn't that Sir Danniel Connelton you are travelling with? —and Lady Connelton?"

"Yes, certainly. But I'm not their daughter, you know. I am Sir Daniel's secretary, and my name is Elinor Shearn."

"Is that so?" He smiled and looked as friendly as ever. He even called his sister over and explained the mistake they had made. But Elinor had the curious impression that the information she had given him had shaken him more than any information about a virtual stranger had any need to do.

I wish I could find words to tell you how beautiful it all is here [Elinor wrote a few days later to her family!. I am sitting now on the glassed-in balcony of my room, where I bring my typewriter each morning. The sun is quite hot, and the snow is sliding from the branches of the fir trees with a soft plopping sound.

But it is still very much a white world. The snow on the mountains is so thick and so deeply frozen that I suppose it will be a month or more before the real thaw sets in. However, at least the little stream below my window is unfrozen and all day long I hear it chattering over the stones. In the morning and the evening the tinkle of the cowbells sounds above it—and that really is the sweetest sound I think I have ever heard, even in this enchanted place.

She paused and gazed away into the white and gold and heavenly blue of the world beyond her window. She had been pretty busy during the first few days and only now had she had time to write in any detail, and it was important that she should find just the right words to bring the scene before them all, so that she could feel that the family, in some measure, shared these marvellous experiences of hers.

The hotel is a lovely chalet-type of building

[she went on], with lots of polished wood, colour—

washed walls both inside and out, and great tiled

stoves that reach almost to the ceiling.

I think it is patronized mostly by knowledgeable travellers like the Conneltons. For, though there is a much grander hotel quite near, where they have a string orchestra in the dining-room and dancing at night, I gather that we feel rather "uppish" about that, and consider that we are more exclusive and typical of the district!

There are balconies and fantastically beautiful views to all the rooms, but I really think I have the

loveliest view of all. From my window I can see right across to the Zugspitze, the highest mountain in our vicinity. There is a cable railway up to the top—Kenneth says the highest in the world—and from where I sit I can see the cars (there goes one now!) swaying up or down on the overhead cable.

Kenneth is going to take me up one day, but it won't be for a while because he is going off tomorrow on a brief tour of some of the holiday centres. I expect we shall miss him.

But Lady Connelton is an absolute darling to me, and Ilsa and Rudolf von Eiberg are charming. Did I tell you about them? They are the brother and sister I met on the train, coming out. They seem to live most of their time in Vienna, but they are partly Hungarian.

How I wish I could talk foreign languages the way they do! Which reminds me to ask—if it's not a tactless question, Deborah, dear! how are the French irregulars coming along? The von Eibergs speak such wonderful English that I feel rather self-conscious about my few scraps of German, though I am beginning to pick up quite a reasonable supply of everyday words and phrases.

Except for the fact that I miss you all, I just could not be happier. If only I could rush home and tell you all about it instead of just writing, it would be perfect. I keep on wondering about Deborah and Henry at school, and Anne at the shop and Edward at the bank. Be sure to tell me all the details when you write. I am longing for news of all the little everyday things.

Wasn't it funny?—the von Eibergs thought I was the daughter of the Conneltons!—which will show you how kindly they treat me. I think they were rather taken aback to find I was only the secretary. I am not quite sure why, for it made no difference whatever in their friendliness. It seems that Rudolf is quite an exhibition skater, and he says he is going to teach me. I can't really suppose that an expert would enjoy stumbling round with

a beginner, but it would be nice to learn. As it is

Suddenly Elinor became aware that someone was knocking on the door of her room.

"Come in," she called, and Ilsa von Eiberg came into the room and across to the balcony.

"Hello." She stood smiling in the doorway. "How hard you work! Do you have to type all through this lovely morning?"

"Oh, no, I don't have to. In fact, I wasn't really working at all," Elinor explained. "Only writing a letter home." And then, as casually as possible, she took the sheet of paper out of the machine, in case Ilsa should see her own name on it.

Her visitor was quick to notice the gesture, casual though it had been, but she mistook the motive.

"Don't tell me you type your love letters!" she said with a laugh.

"My—oh, no! That wasn't a love letter. It was really a letter home—to my family, I mean. I haven't any love letters to write, in any case," Elinor added with candour.

"No?" The other girl seemed both amused and incredulous. "How do you manage that, when you're young and pretty and far from home?"

"By being only two of those things," replied Elinor, with unexpected humour. "I'm not really pretty, you know. I've never been called that before."

"No-o, perhaps not, strictly speaking." Ilsa looked consideringly at Elinor's soft dark hair, her wide grey eyes and her unexpectedly red mouth. "You're something more. You're piquant—what the Americans call 'cute'. And then sometimes, quite without warning, you are very pretty. That's much more intriguing and dangerous than being pretty all the time."

"Is it?" Elinor was dumbfounded. Never in her life before had she heard herself described as intriguing—much less dangerous! And yet this girl said these things with an air of careless conviction there was no gainsaying.

It made Elinor feel strangely excited and yet more self-possessed than she had ever felt before. As though the mere fact that Ilsa von Eiberg found her interesting actually made her so.

"Why, of course," Ilsa affirmed amusedly. And it seemed as though she were prepared to elaborate this fascinating subject further when a clear whistle sounded from the garden, just below the balcony, and she exclaimed instead, "That's Rudi. May I, please ?" And, crossing the balcony, she pushed back the upper half of one of the windows and leaned out, to speak in German to her brother below.

After a moment she looked back at Elinor and said, "He wants to know if you will come skating with us."

"I—I should love to, but—" the self-effacing and shy Elinor suddenly returned, ousting the eager and self-possessed girl she had become for a moment or two—"I don't know the first thing about it. You go together," she urged. "I'm sure it's no fun for experts to have to bother about a beginner."

"But we want you to come. Perhaps we shall make of you an expert too," Ilsa declared good-humouredly.

"No, really!" Elinor was in full retreat now, all her shyness returned. "You had much better go on your own. I'll come down later and watch, perhaps."

Ilsa turned away again to speak out of the window to her brother. But when she drew in her head once more, she said positively, "Rudi declares he won't go unless you come too."

"Oh, but—" Elinor laughed and bit her lip, indescribably flattered and touched that the charming Rudi should make this absurd assertion. "Then I'll come," she said, with sudden decision. "Can you wait just five minutes while I put on something more suitable?"

"Of course. I'll wait downstairs with Rudi. You only need a very wide skirt and some woollies. We'll see about skates when we get there."

Ilsa went out of the room and, full of excitement, Elinor changed quickly to a flared black skirt and

the really beautiful white and scarlet sweater and jacket which were among the things Anne had insisted on her buying. There was a tasselled cap to go with these and even mitt-gloves. And, as Elinor caught a glimpse of herself in the glass, and saw how her grey eyes shone and that her cheeks were flushed, she could not help remembering what Ilsa had said about its being more intriguing to be pretty sometimes than all the time.

A sudden wave of gratitude to the von Eibergs flooded over her. Here was she, the shy, reserved Elinor Shearn, being taken out of herself willy-nilly, and being made to feel that she was someone important and attractive. Why, at home a charge of gunpowder would have been necessary to get her on to a skating rink! But here she was going willingly and happily, in a mood to enjoy herself.

That was what it was, of course. They created the mood of enjoyment, and then caught her while it was still strong upon her. It was sweet of them to bother so much, and their timing was perfect.