‘Except for those people over there with the wagonette we might be the only living creatures in the whole world,’ said Edith, airily dismissing the entire animal kingdom at one stroke.
The sunny slopes and shadowed forest, to Edith so still and silent, were actually teeming with unheard rustlings and twitterings, scufflings, scratchings, the light brush of unseen wings. Leaves, flowers and grasses glowed and trembled under the canopy of light; cloud shadows gave way to golden motes dancing above the pool where water beetles skimmed and darted. On the rocks and grass the diligent ants were crossing miniature Saharas of dry sand, jungles of seeding grass, in the never ending task of collecting and storing food. Here, scattered about amongst the mountainous human shapes were Heaven-sent crumbs, caraway seeds, a shred of crystallized ginger – strange, exotic but recognizably edible loot. A battalion of sugar ants, almost bent in half with the effort, were laboriously dragging a piece of icing off the cake towards some subterranean larder dangerously situated within inches of Blanche’s yellow head, pillowed on a rock. Lizards basked on the hottest stones, a lumbering armour-plated beetle rolled over in the dry leaves and lay helplessly kicking on its back; fat white grubs and flat grey woodlice preferred the dank security of layers of rotting bark. Torpid snakes lay coiled in their secret holes awaiting the twilight hour when they would come sliding from hollow logs to drink at the creek, while in the hidden depths of the scrub the birds waited for the heat of the day to pass . . .
Insulated from natural contacts with earth, air and sunlight, by corsets pressing on the solar plexus, by voluminous petticoats, cotton stockings and kid boots, the drowsy well-fed girls lounging in the shade were no more a part of their environment than figures in a photograph album, arbitrarily posed against a backcloth of cork rocks and cardboard trees.
Hunger satisfied and the unwonted delicacies enjoyed to the last morsel, the cups and plates rinsed at the pool, they settled down to amuse themselves for the remainder of the afternoon. Some wandered off in twos and threes, under strict injunctions not to stray out of sight of the drag; others, drugged with rich food and sunshine, dozed and dreamed. Rosamund produced some fancywork, Blanche was already asleep. Two industrious sisters from New Zealand were making pencil sketches of Miss McCraw, who had at last removed the kid gloves in which she had absently begun to eat a banana with disastrous results. Sitting upright on a fallen log with her knife of a nose in a book, and her steel-rimmed spectacles, she was almost too easy to caricature. Beside her Mademoiselle, her blond hair falling about her face, was relaxed at full length on the grass. Irma had borrowed her mother o’pearl penknife and was peeling a ripe apricot with a voluptuous delicacy worthy of Cleopatra’s banquet. ‘Why is it, Miranda,’ she whispered, ‘that such a sweet pretty creature is a schoolteacher – of all dreary things in the world . . .? Oh here comes Mr Hussey, it seems a shame to wake her.’
‘I am not asleep, ma petite – only day-dreaming,’ said the governess, propping her head on an elbow with a far-away smile. ‘What is it, Mr Hussey?’
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss, but I want to make sure we get away no later than five. Sooner, if my horses are ready.’
‘Of course. Whatever you say. I shall see that the young ladies are ready whenever you are. What time is it now?’
‘I was just going to ask you, Miss. My old ticker seems to have stopped dead at twelve o’clock. Today of all days in the whole bloomin’ year.’
It happened that Mademoiselle’s little French clock was in Bendigo being repaired.
‘At Moosoo Montpelier’s, Miss?’
‘I think that is the watchmaker’s name.’
‘In Golden Square? Then if I may say so, you’ve done real well for yourself.’ A faint unmistakable blush belied the coolness of the French lady’s ‘Indeed?’ However, Mr Hussey had got his teeth into Moosoo Montpelier and seemed unable to let him go, shaking him up and down like a dog with a bone. ‘Let me tell you, Miss, Moosoo Montpelier and his father before him is one of the best men in his line in all Australia. And a fine gentleman, too. You couldn’t have gone to a better man.’
‘So I understand. Miranda – you have your pretty little diamond watch – can you tell us the time?’
‘I’m sorry Mam’selle. I don’t wear it any more. I can’t stand hearing it ticking all day long just above my heart.’
‘If it were mine,’ said Irma, ‘I would never take it off – not even in the bath. Would you, Mr Hussey?’
Jerked into reluctant action, Miss McCraw closed her book, sent an exploratory pair of bony fingers into the folds of the flat puce bosom and came out with an old-fashioned gold repeater on a chain. ‘Stopped at twelve. Never stopped before. My papa’s.’ Mr Hussey was reduced to looking knowingly at the shadow of the Hanging Rock which ever since luncheon had been creeping down towards the Picnic Grounds on the flat. ‘Shall I put the billy on again for a cup of tea before we go? Say about an hour from now?’
‘An hour,’ said Marion Quade, producing some squared paper and a ruler. ‘I should like to make a few measurements at the base of the Rock if we have time.’ As both Miranda and Irma wanted a closer view of the Rock they asked permission to take a walk as far as the lower slope before tea. It was granted after a moment’s hesitation by Mademoiselle, Miss McCraw having disappeared again behind her book. ‘How far is it as the cock crows, Miranda?’
‘Only a few hundred yards,’ said Marion Quade. ‘We shall have to walk along by the creek which will take a little longer.’
‘May I come too?’ asked Edith, rising to her feet with a prodigious show of yawning. ‘I ate so much pie at lunch I can hardly keep awake.’ The other two looked enquiringly at Miranda and Edith was allowed to tag along behind.
‘Don’t worry about us, Mam’selle dear,’ smiled Miranda. ‘We shall only be gone a very little while.’
The governess stood and watched the four girls walking off towards the creek; Miranda a little ahead gliding through tall grasses that brushed her pale skirts, Marion and Irma following arm in arm with Edith bumbling along in the rear. When they reached the clump of rushes where the stream changed its course Miranda stopped, turned her shining head and gravely smiled at Mademoiselle who smiled back and waved, and stood there smiling and waving until they were out of sight round the bend. ‘Mon Dieu!’ she exclaimed to the empty blue, ‘now I know . . .’
‘What do you know?’ asked Greta McCraw, suddenly peering up over the top of her book, alert and factual, as was her disconcerting way. The Frenchwoman, seldom at loss for a word, even in English, found herself embarrassingly tongue-tied. It simply wasn’t possible to explain to Miss McCraw of all people her exciting discovery that Miranda was a Botticelli angel from the Uffizi . . . impossible to explain or even think clearly on a summer afternoon of things that really mattered. Love for instance, when only a few minutes ago the thought of Louis’ hand expertly turning the key of the little Sèvres clock had made her feel almost ready to faint. She lay down again on the warm scented grass, watching the shadows of overhanging branches moving away from the hamper containing milk and lemonade. Soon it would be exposed to the full glare of the sun and she must rouse herself and carry it into the shade. Already the four girls must have been away for ten minutes, perhaps more. It was unnecessary to consult a watch. The exquisite languor of the afternoon told her that this was the hour when people weary of humdrum activities tend to doze and dream as she was doing now. At Appleyard College the pupils in the late afternoon classes had to be continually reminded to sit up straight and get on with their lessons. Opening one eye, she could see the two industrious sisters at the pool had put away their sketchbooks and fallen asleep. Rosamund nodded over her embroidery. By a sheer effort of will Mademoiselle made herself count over the nineteen girls under her care. All except Edith and the three seniors were visible and within easy call. Closing her eyes, she permitted herself the luxury of continuing an interrupted dream.