We all laughed.
"I think Elsa makes up half the things she says," I added.
"Do you believe that about her coming down in the world?"
"I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "There is something about Elsa. She's different. It could be true. On the other hand she might have made it up."
"Like the visions of Pilcher's Peak," said Frieda. "She's going to laugh at us when we get back."
The sound of horses' hooves was soothing as we rocked happily to and fro. I should miss these outings when I left. But it would be wonderful of course to be home with Aunt Patty.
"There's the Peak," said the wagoner, pointing with his whig.
We all looked. It was impressive from this spot. It looked like a wrinkled old face ... brown, creased and malevolent.
"I wonder if it's meant to be Pilcher?" said Monique. "And who was Pilcher anyway?"
"We'll have to ask Elsa," I said. "She seems to be a mine of information on such matters."
We were in the forest now. The wagon drew up and our driver said: "I'll wait here. Now you young ladies take that path. It leads straight up to the base of the rock. There's a big oak tree at the bottom called Pilcher's Oak."
"That's what we want," said Monique.
"Less than half a mile." He looked at his watch. "I'll be ready to take you back say in an hour and a half. Orders is that you're not to be late."
"Thank you," we said and we set off over the uneven ground towards the great rock.
"There must have been a violent volcanic eruption here," I commented. "So Pilcher's was formed and much much later the oak tree grew. Seeds dropped by a bird, I daresay. Most of them are pines around here. Don't they smell delicious!"
We had almost reached the oak growing close to the rock. "This must be it," said Lydia, throwing herself down and stretching out on the grass. "This smell makes me feel sleepy."
"That lovely redolent odour," I said, sniffing eagerly. "Yes, there is something soporific about it."
"What now we're here?" asked Frieda.
"Sit down ... and wait and see."
"I think it's foolish," said Frieda.
"Well, it's an outing. Somewhere to go. Let's pretend we are shopping for gloves for my Aunt Patty. I do want to get her some before I leave."
"Stop talking about leaving," said Lydia. "I don't like it."
Frieda yawned.
"Yes," I said, "I certainly feel like that too."
I stretched myself out on the grass and the others did the same. We lay there, propping up our heads with our hands and gazing up through the branches of the oak tree.
"I wonder what it was like when they threw people over," I went on. "Just imagine being taken up to the top, knowing you were going to be thrown over ... or perhaps asked to jump. Perhaps some fell on this spot."
"You make me feel creepy," said Lydia.
"I suggest," put in Frieda, "that we go back to the wagonette and go into the town after all."
"Those little cakes with the coloured cream are delicious," said Monique.
"Would there be time?" asked Frieda.
"No," said Lydia.
"Be quiet," I commanded. "Give it a chance." We were all silent and just then he came through the trees.
He was tall and very fair. I noticed his eyes immediately. They were piercing blue, and there was something unusual about them; they seemed as though they were looking beyond us into places which we could not see ... or perhaps I imagined that afterwards. His clothes were dark and that accentuated his fairness. They were elegantly cut but not exactly in the height of fashion. His coat had a velvet collar and silver buttons, and his hat was black, tall, and shiny.
We were all silent as he approached- awe-struck, I suppose, devoid for the moment of our Schaffenbrucken polish.
"Good afternoon," he said in English. He bowed. Then he went on: "I heard your laughter and I had an irresistible urge to see you."
Stiil we said nothing and he went on: "Tell me, you are from the school, are you not?"
I said: "Yes, we are."
"On an excursion to Pilcher's Peak?"
"We were resting before we went back," I told him, as the others seemed to remain tonguetied.
"It's an interesting spot," he went on. "Do you object to my talking to you for a moment?"
"Of course not." We all spoke together. So the others had recovered from their shock.
He sat down a little distance from us and surveyed his long legs.
"You are English," he said, looking at me.
"Yes... I and Miss Markham. This is Mademoiselle Delorme and Frâulein Schmidt."
"A cosmopolitan group," he commented. "Yours is the school for the young ladies of Europe. Am I right?"
"Yes, that is it."
"Tell me why did you take this excursion to Pilcher's Peak today? Is it not rather a summer outing?"
"We thought we'd like to see it," I said, "and I probably shan't have an opportunity again. I'm leaving at the end of the year."
He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? And the other young ladies?"
"We shall have another year, I expect," said Monique.
"And then you return to France?"
"Yes."
"You are all so young ... so merry," he said. "It was very pleasant to hear your laughter. I was drawn towards it. I felt for a moment that I must join you. I must share your spontaneity."
"We didn't realize that we were so alluring," I said, and everybody laughed.
He looked about him. "What a pleasant afternoon! There is a stillness in the air, do you feel it?"
"Yes, I think I do," said Lydia.
He looked up at the sky. "Indian summer," he said quietly. "You will all go to your various homes for Christmas, will you not?"
"It is one of the holidays we all go home for. That and the summer. Easter, Whitsun and the rest, well..."
"The journey is too far," he finished for me. "And your families will welcome you," he went on. "They will have balls and banquets for you and you will all marry and live happy ever after, which is the fate which should await all beautiful young ladies."
"And doesn't always ... or often," said Monique.
"We have a cynic here. Tell me," his eyes were on me. "Do you believe that?"
"I think life is what you make it," I was quoting Aunt Patty. "What is intolerable to some is comfort to others. It is the way in which one looks upon it."
"They certainly teach you something at that school."
"That's what my aunt always says."
"You have no parents." It was a statement rather than a question.
"No, they died in Africa. My aunt has always looked after me."
"She's a marvellous person," said Monique. "She runs a school. She's just about as different from Madame de Guérin as anyone could be. Cordelia is the lucky one. She's going to work with her aunt and share the school, which will be hers one day. Can you imagine Cordelia as a headmistress!"
He was smiling directly at me. "I can imagine Cordelia's being anything she wishes to be. So she is a lady of substance, is she?"
"If you ask me she is the luckiest of the lot of us," said Monique.
He continued to look at me steadily. "Yes," he said, "I think Cordelia can be very lucky indeed."
"Why do you say 'can be'?"asked Frieda.
"Because it will depend on her herself. Is she cautious? Does she hesitate or does she grasp opportunities when they are presented to her?"
The girls looked at each other and at me.
"I'd say she would," said Monique.
"Time will tell," he replied.
He had a strange delivery, which was a little archaic. Perhaps that was because he was speaking English which might not have been his native tongue although he was very fluent. I fancied I caught a trace of a German accent.
"We always have to wait for time to tell us," said Frieda rather pettishly.
"What do you wish then, young lady? To take a glimpse into the future?"