Chapter Text
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
Ruey had jumped at the chance to be the one to open up Freudesheim; it was, after all, still home to her in many ways, and she hadn't seen it since Uncle Jack and Auntie Jo had packed everything up and left for Canada. It was also nice to leave the school for a while; all those mistresses rushing around and trying to find jobs for her to do, and she couldn't say no to any of them, not when she was the youngest and the newest member of staff. And most of them still looked at her as though she was a schoolgirl, not someone who'd spent the last few years working very hard towards getting her qualifications to become a PT mistress!
So when Miss Annersley had asked her if she'd like to be the welcoming committee Ruey had only been too happy to say yes. Besides, there was something almost illicit about creeping through the rooms when no one else was there. She even tiptoed into Uncle Jack's study, a place which for the most part was forbidden to the rest of the family. But the thrill of having the pension all to herself wore off very quickly; there was something very cold and lonely about the big empty building, and Ruey recalled herself to the fact she was supposed to be opening up the East Wing for its newest occupant.
She hadn't seen Joan for some time - and only once since she had left school. In her second year at university, Len had got it into her head that she needed to learn to be "a good hostess" before her marriage, and had ended up inviting a large party of girl-friends to her small London flat, where her triplet sisters had somehow produced many of the European "sweet" that they remembered from their schooldays. Len's London friends had exclaimed over the delicacies, while the Chalet School's Old Girls had reminisced about the creamy coffee they had sometimes been treated to.
Joan Slingsby - once Joan Baker - had arrived with Ros Lilley, looking pale and washed out and rather unlike her old self; even her hair was no longer permed, but had been bobbed and left to grow straight. Ruey had exchanged pleasantries with her, but there had been such a crowd there it was difficult to really talk to anyone, and the older girl had left early without even touching any of the food. It wasn't until much later, when the party had been winding down, that Ros had whispered to her that Joan's husband had been in a car crash two weeks before and had yet to open his eyes. Ros had conscientiously brought her along to try and take her mind off things, but how could you take your mind off something like that? Ruey still remembered the long days she had spent wondering if her father was still alive, if he'd ever come back; she'd thrown herself into lacrosse and schoolwork, but it had always been there in the back of her mind. At that was for a man who she'd known was not even particularly bothered about his children. To be so close to losing someone who you actually cared about, and who actually cared about you - Ruey could only imagine what that must have felt like.
She hadn't known Joan that well at school, actually, despite them being in some of the same classes. Ruey had always been in the thick of things, while Joan had only been on the outside edges. It wasn't that Joan had been a loner, exactly, and nor was she unfriendly; it was more that she had just never tried hard enough to fit in. Still, they had been classmates, and Ruey was more than a little pleased that there would be at least one other member of staff who knew her as something other than a former pupil.
The sound of a motor in the drive woke Ruey up to the fact that she hadn't finished making up the beds, nor drawn the curtains: she did so, hastily, and rushed outside to where a young, sad-looking woman stood holding a baby, while Mrs Graves, who had generously offered to collect her from the station, took her trunk out of the boot. "Joan!" Ruey cried warmly. "How lovely to see you again - and this must be Rosie, is it?" To her surprise she felt quite nervous; she hid it, by taking Joan's nightcase from the backseat of the car and asking how the trip had gone.
"Quite OK, thanks," Joan replied, and smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Perhaps she was nervous too; but there was something else as well. Worried lines cut into her pretty face, and there was an air of sadness about her which made her seem much older than she really was. She was still grieving, Ruey realised, although she was probably doing her best to keep on for her daughter's sake.
"Can I leave you two to it?" Mrs Graves asked cheerfully. "The kids are being watched by Celia Everett, and I hate to think what horrendous trouble she's letting them get up to. You're lucky Rosie's only a baby, Joan - not nearly as much trouble!"
Joan's smile was a little more natural this time. "She was grabbing hold of everything on the train," she said. "If it wasn't my necklace it was the hair of the lady in front of us - she wasn't very happy about it."
"I imagine not!" Mrs Graves replied. "Well, once you're settled in you must come over for tea - Jo would have had you if she were here, but as she's not I'll make it my neighbourly duty! Tchüss!"
"Auf wiedersehen," Joan and Ruey chorused, and then glanced at each other.
"Well," Ruey said after a moment. "I'll show you where everything is, and then you'll probably want to have a rest, I suppose. Miss Annersely said to tell you that Abendessen would be at 18 o'clock tonight if you wanted to join; otherwise, Karen will send over some food for you."
"Thank you," Joan replied automatically, "that's very kind of her."
They made small talk as Ruey showed her around her apartments. There was enough room for a small nursery for Rosie, and Ruey had brought over some of Claire Maynards old toys to make the place look more home-like. The East Wing had a small kitchen, too, for those meals that Joan wouldn't be taking with the rest of the staff. Having shown her that much, Ruey wondered what else there was to say: then, fortuitously, she remembered the letter she had received from Auntie Jo, and dug it out of her pocket. "Here," she said, then remembering that Joan's arms were full of baby, she lay it down on the kitchen table instead. "Aunt Joey sent it - it's a welcome letter." Ruey had read it, actually, feeling a brief pang of homesickness as she read her guardian's words - Joan, I hope you will make Freudesheim your home for as long as you need it. Freudesheim is meant to be a 'Happy Home' for whoever is living there.
She glanced at Joan, again, feeling awkward and not really sure why, and excused herself. "I ought to get back to school - everyone's still busy getting everything ready, you know, and I should probably be pulling my weight, being the new girl and all..."
"Of course," Joan said, "I expect I'll see you at the school quite a bit, anyway." Ruey left, feeling somewhat relieved, and returned to find that Miss Burnett - no, Peggy - wanted her to check over the school's lacrosse sticks to see if any of the needed mending.
It was actually some time before she got to talk to Joan again - properly talk to her. Once the term started Ruey was frequently busy during and after school hours helping Peggy look over the girls to see who would make up the sports teams this term; and Joan never stayed on into the evenings, preferring to take Rosie back to her own bed when she was done for the day. They'd occasionally see each other in the staffroom, and exchange pleasantries, but there was still that feeling of awkwardness between them, as thought neither of them was quite sure what to say.
Then, one afternoon, Ruey came into the staffroom to find Peggy groaning loudly over a timetable, and asked what was wrong. "Everything!" Peggy replied melodramatically. "No matter which way I work things I can't fit in any hockey coaching for the Fourths. And neither can you, before you say anything! The older girls know you were our lax star while you were here and won't be happy if I take you away from them. I did think that with another Games mistress here we wouldn't have these kinds of problems any more, but as capable as you are you can't be in two places at once."
Ruey flushed at the praise, but already her mind was ticking over. "I know someone who might help," she said. "If she can spare the time, that is. I suspect she's pretty busy-"
"Who?"
"Joan," Ruey replied. Peggy looked thoughtful.
"I thought tennis was her game?"
"In summer, but she was a decent hockey player too - wouldn't even try lacrosse, in fact, she liked it so much," Ruey's tone of voice suggested she still suspected there was something not quite right with anyone who wouldn't play her own favourite sport. "Of course, we'd need to find someone to watch Rosie, if she's agreeable."
"But me, I will watch la petite." Ruey and Peggy turned to see Mademoiselle de Lachenais smiling at them. "I have looked after her before when Joan was needing some time alone to speak with Rosalie and Hilda, and she is most placid. I would be happy to help, as long as it doesn't interfere with my own classes."
"Thank you, Jeanne," Peggy replied fervently. "We'll make sure it doesn't interfere, of course - now all we have to do is ask Joan! You'd best do it, Ruey, since it was your idea."
Ruey wasn't sure that it was a good idea at all, but seeing no help for it she approached Joan as soon as she could. She was sitting at her desk in the office she shared with Miss Dene, paper piled high as usual, while Rosie gurgled happily in her small cot. She was scowling when she looked up, although the expression quickly disappeared.
"Sorry, Ruey," she said with a sigh. "I thought you were another Middle being sent to see the Head - there's been three today so far, and every single one of them has stopped in here on the way to check and see if she's in - hoping she isn't I suppose! How I'm supposed to get any work done with them constantly interrupting me is anyone's guess."
That didn't sound like a good start; but then, that was the longest speech Ruey had heard Joan give since her arrival. "Miss Burnett wants to know if - oh bother! I mean Peggy, of course." Ruey clicked her tongue in exasperation, and Joan nodded.
"Annoying, isn't it? I meant to walk down to the staffroom yesterday and somehow my feet automatically directed themselves to the Senior Common Room. I've just managed to stop calling Rosalie 'Miss Dene', but as for the Abbess-"
"Oh, I know! I don't think I'll ever work up the nerve to call her Hilda, as most of the others do." The two girls grinned at each other, each suddenly aware of a certain kinship between them. Taking the opportunity, Ruey explained to Joan about hockey practice, and her eyes lit up for a moment - and then she shook her head.
"I can't. I mean, I'd like to, but I've got Rosie to consider."
"Mademoiselle said she'd take care of her," Ruey said hopefully. Joan turned and glanced at her daughter, and then smiled - a real smile, this time.
"In that case, I'd be happy to. I really miss Games, you know. It's lovely of Mademoiselle to offer to help. Everyone here has been so generous, letting me keep her with me while I'm working."
"Well, of course," Ruey said, surprised. "I mean - it's the Chalet School. Everyone's always so understanding."
"Yes, I suppose so," Joan said, after a moment. "Was that everything? Only, I've got rather a lot to get through before Abendessen."
Ruey left, wondering if she'd said something to upset Joan somehow. But for the first time that evening, Joan didn't leave immediately after the evening meal, but put Rosie down to sleep in the small, unused office next to the staffroom and joined in the evening gossip. "I wanted to find out what those kids have been up to that got them all sent to the Abbess," she explained to Ruey; but she stayed again the next night, and the one after that, and Ruey soon found that between their mutual love of Games, and their fellow feeling at being the most junior members of staff, they had more than enough in common to start building a friendship on. She even convinced Joan to have another go at lacrosse, and amused her saying that Rosie would have exactly the right build to play in a good fourteen-and-a-bit year's time.
It was funny, Ruey thought, that they had never been friends in school. Still, Joan had clearly changed a lot since then; marriage, motherhood, and losing her husband would do that to someone, Ruey supposed. They were friends now, and that was all that mattered.