Spring Magic

by D. E. Stevenson

  “No,” said Frances, “but I shouldn’t have thought that Guy—”

  “You wouldn’t, would you?” Tommy agreed. “Guy isn’t easy to please, but men are funny creatures. Sometimes the very nicest men fall for the most impossible women.”

  “Yes,” said Frances. She didn’t believe for a moment that Guy and Angela—

  “I’ve got to go away for a day or two,” said Tommy when they had walked on for a little in silence. “I shall have to go and see my mother; she hasn’t been very well. As a matter of fact it fits in quite nicely, because Midge is going to London for a few days to see someone at the War House. I said I would go with him, but Midge isn’t keen on my going to London. He will be busy, of course.”

  “Yes,” said Frances. “You won’t be away for long, will you?”

  “I don’t want to go at all,” said Tommy in a thoughtful voice. “I hate the idea, really. It seems absurd, doesn’t it?”

  “Absurd?”

  “Yes. I mean, it seems absurd to be so—so upset at the idea of going away for a few days.”

  “It will be nice to see your mother.”

  “She’s a darling,” Tommy declared. “She’s a perfect pet . . . and that’s why I can’t understand myself at all. I keep on telling myself how lovely it will be to see her . . . but there’s a sort of cloud. I can’t explain it, but somehow or other I feel as if—as if I were coming to the end of something.”

  “But, Tommy, if it’s only for a few days—”

  “I know,” said Tommy. “It’s quite ridiculous.”

  They were talking so earnestly that they scarcely noticed where they were going. Frances saw the world through a haze, but she knew the way so well by this time that there was no need to think about it. She turned right at the fork and led Tommy up the steep path through the woods.

  “We’ve been talking about me all the time,” said Tommy suddenly. “You’re rather a mysterious person, Frances.”

  “I don’t mean to be,” replied Frances, smiling.

  “Perhaps not, but I was thinking about you this morning and I suddenly discovered how little I knew about you—nothing at all, really. You listen to all I have to say but you never mention your own affairs.”

  “They’re so dull.”

  “All the same, I think you’re beginning to live,” declared Tommy.

  Frances laughed. “Perhaps I am,” she said. “At any rate, I’m beginning to understand what you meant when you said I hadn’t begun to live.”

  By this time they had reached the clearing where the little chapel was situated and, as Tommy was tired after the climb, they found a sheltered spot and sat down with their backs against a wall. Frances endeavoured to interest her companion in the history of the place, but, although Tommy listened patiently to all that she was told, she did not seem very enthusiastic about it. It was a trifle disappointing, of course, for Frances expected others to share her enthusiasms, but presently she realised that it takes all sorts of people to make a world. Tommy was more interested in her fellow-creatures than in things; she lived and moved and had her being in the present . . . so it was quite natural that she should not experience the thrill of being in contact with the past. Having made this discovery, Frances stopped bothering and a little silence fell. The light was fading now and it was getting very late, but it was still warm and comfortable where they were sitting.

  “It’s peaceful here,” said Tommy at last “I’m getting rather sleepy. I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

  “Perhaps we should go back.”

  “Why?” inquired Tommy. “There’s nothing to drag us back. It’s nice here.”

  “Would you like to come and see the chapel and the spring?”

  “Not specially,” replied Tommy frankly. “I know it’s a great want in me, but I never was very interested in history. You go and poke round by yourself—I know you’re longing to.”

  Frances rose. “All right,” she said. “I won’t be very long.” She left Tommy sitting there and went into the little chapel; there was not enough light to see the carving on the slabs, but she did not mind that. It was not the slabs she had come to see—not really—she had another purpose in mind. She clambered over the fallen masonry and made her way down to the spring, and as she went she looked about her in a somewhat guilty manner. There was nobody about, of course; it wasn’t likely that any one would be here at this hour of night, and Tommy was probably asleep by this time. . . .

  Frances had brought a little horn cup in her pocket. She took it out and filled it with the sparkling water . . . then she hesitated and looked round again. It was very quiet in the clearing, nothing moved. The sun had gone down but the sky was still clear with reflected light. The sky was lovely: it was pale mauve and amber. There were no shadows now: it was the twilight hour, the magic hour when everything looks different from normal, when white flowers shine like stars in the gloom. . . .

  I don’t believe in it, of course, thought Frances, looking at the brimming cup. I don’t believe there’s anything in it—it’s just nonsense. . . .

  She drank. It was lovely water, very, very cold and very clear. She recognised the smoky taste of which Guy had spoken—it was a queer taste, but pleasant. Frances filled the cup again and drank some more. No good to do it by halves, thought Frances, smiling at her own foolishness.

  The deed was done and Frances was drying the little cup with her handkerchief when she heard a slight sound and, looking up, she saw two people, a man and a woman, at the other side of the clearing. They had just come out of the woods from the direction of the Castle and were standing at the edge of the trees talking to each other earnestly. Frances, feeling slightly ashamed of her magic potations, withdrew behind a piece of ruined wall and waited for them to pass. She could see them—though not very clearly—but they could not see her. They were too much interested in each other to be observant of their surroundings. The man was in uniform; he was tall and broad-shouldered. The woman was small; she had a light-coloured scarf over her head.

  It was so still that Frances could hear the murmur of their voices mingling with the murmur of the spring. They were discussing something. The man was urging his companion to come forward and she was hanging back.

  Suddenly he seemed to lose patience with her. He walked forward and looked to the left and right. “Don’t be a fool,” he said loudly. “We can’t go back . . . the rag-tag and bobtail of Cairn . . . it’s the woods for us, my girl.” He took her hand and they disappeared into the thickest part of the woods.

  Frances knew now who the man was—it was Widgery. She tried to think; she tried to be sensible and calm and matter-of-fact. She tried to make up her mind what she should do. . . . Ought she to tell Tommy what she had seen? I can’t tell her, thought Frances. I don’t know whether I ought to tell her or not, but I can’t. She thought about it again and began to wonder whether she could possibly have made a mistake. Perhaps it was not Widgery after all. She had not seen him clearly because the light was so dim; she had recognised him by his voice and by his words. . She was certain in her own mind that the man was Widgery but she could not have sworn to the fact. She decided that she must hold her tongue; she must wait and ask Guy—he would know what to do.

  Frances straightened herself. Her muscles were so cramped by the intensity of her feelings that she felt quite stiff. She knew that she must go back to Tommy now. It was almost dark and Tommy would wonder what on earth she had been doing. She must go back to Tommy and talk to her as if nothing had happened, as if everything were perfectly all right.

  Poor Tommy, thought Frances. It’s dreadful. It’s simply horrible. I always knew he was a horrible man. I always wondered how she could possibly love him. . . . That was the worst part of it, of course—Tommy loved him.

  Tommy was sitting in exactly the same position; her eyes were shut but she opened them when Frances approached. “Hallo!” she said. “I wasn’t asleep—not really—I was just drowsing and dreaming. Funnily en
ough, I thought I heard Midge’s voice.”

  “You couldn’t have heard him,” said Frances quickly.

  “No, of course not,” agreed Tommy.

  Frances was aware that, although they were agreed upon the point, they meant something quite different—it was just as well that Tommy had not understood.

  “Poor Midge!” continued Tommy, stifling a yawn. “Poor darling Midge. I wonder if he’s enjoying himself as much as he expected.”

  “You’ll get cold sitting here,” said Frances.

  “It’s lovely—not cold a bit.”

  “We’ve got to get back, and it will be dark going through the woods. Do you know it’s nearly midnight?”

  “It isn’t really. I know your watch says twelve o’clock, but really and truly it’s only ten—”

  Frances laughed. “I’m not going to argue with you,” she said. “The clocks in the hotel will all be saying twelve—not at the same moment, of course, but within about twenty minutes of each other—and if we don’t hurry back we shall be locked out for the night.”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” declared Tommy, but she rose and followed Frances down the path. It was very dark beneath the trees, and after they had stumbled on for a few minutes they decided to link arms and hold each other up.

  “Frances,” said Tommy in a low voice. “It’s rather fun doing this together.”

  “I shouldn’t like it if I were alone,” Frances declared.

  The path seemed longer and steeper in the dark, but presently they saw the sea glimmering between the trunks of the trees and knew that they were nearing St. Kiaran’s Cove . . . a few steps farther and they were out of the trees and looking down on to the shore. Suddenly they stopped by one accord, frozen stiff with astonishment. The moonlight gleamed on the water and lit up the scene with a ghostly radiance, and there, in the little bay, were two large rowing-boats full of soldiers. One of the boats had drawn in beside the spit of rock and the men were disembarking. The other boat was waiting its turn, bobbing up and down on the slow swell. For a moment Frances was terrified . . . and then she heard Tommy’s chuckle and realised how foolish she had been.

  “It’s the manoeuvres,” whispered Tommy. “What a lark! Let’s hide, and watch them pass.”

  At one side of the path there was a fork screened by some bushes—it seemed an admirable place to hide. The two girls climbed on to the rock and arranged themselves as comfortably as they could. They could see the path and they could see straight down into the little bay.

  The disembarkation took place in silence: the men got out of the boats and crouched on the rocks, waking until their comrades were ready. Then an officer made a signal and they all rose and followed him. They came straight across the rocks to the path. It was obvious that their leader knew exactly where he was going, and this was not very surprising for their leader was Guy. After Guy came one, two, three . . . twenty men in single file. They passed the rock where the girls were hidden, passed like dark shadows, climbing easily and following carefully in each other’s footsteps. They passed so near that Frances could almost have touched them with her hand. It was thrilling. Even though she knew that it was “only a game,” Frances was thrilled to the core. Her heart thumped so madly that it seemed as though they must hear it. They passed and filed away—it was like a long dark-green snake winding up the path. Mark was the last man to pass; he raised his head when he came to the rock where the girls were hidden, and they saw his face, shining white in the moonlight. For a moment Frances thought that he had seen them, and then she realised that he was looking up at the moon. They passed and filed away, and the sound of their stealthy footsteps died away in the distance.

  Tommy chuckled again. “Fun,” she said. “Hide-and-seek. I wonder if they’ll get through to the Castle. I wonder how Guy knew about this path.”

  Frances knew exactly how Guy knew about the path but she kept the information to herself.

  “It was a detachment from B Company,” continued Tommy. “That’s Guy’s company, of course, and Mark is his company officer. I counted twenty of them.”

  They scrambled down off the rock and went on, but they had only gone a few steps when a tall figure in uniform loomed out of the darkness and barred their passage.

  “Hallo!” said Tommy. “Is that Sergeant Findlater?”

  There were five khaki-clad figures standing round them now, and Frances found the fact a trifle alarming, but Tommy appeared unperturbed.

  “Oh, it’s Corporal Brown!” exclaimed Tommy in a friendly voice. “I didn’t recognise you at first. It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it? I’m Mrs. Widgery, in case you can’t see me in the dark.”

  “Yes, but where have you come from?” asked the man in some bewilderment.

  “Oh, we were sitting on a rock,” replied Tommy. “We saw the others pass. We’re just on our way back to the hotel.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t go,” he said.

  “What!” asked Tommy in surprise.

  “It’s orders,” he explained.

  “Your orders don’t affect us.”

  “They affect us,” he said firmly. “Orders is that nobody’s to pass this way.”

  Tommy laughed. “But we aren’t playing,” she said.

  “My orders is that nobody’s to pass,” repeated Corporal Brown in stubborn accents. “I’m sorry about it, but there it is. Nobody is to pass, so nobody can pass.”

  “You know me—” began Tommy.

  “Yes, ma’am,” agreed the Corporal. “I know you all right—it would be a funny thing if I didn’t—but orders is orders. There wasn’t anything about me using my discretion about who was to pass, so if you were the Queen herself it would be just the same. We’ve to wait here for thirty-five minutes and if they haven’t come back by then we’ve to row back to camp. Nobody’s to pass, that was what the Captain said. You heard the orders, Melton.”

  “Yes, that’s roight,” agreed one of the other men in a deep bass voice.

  Tommy saw that it was no use to press the point. “Oh, well, I suppose we shall have to wait here until you go.”

  “That’s all,” agreed the Corporal in a relieved tone, “and it’s only twenty-six and a half minutes to wait now.”

  One of the men spread his coat on the bank and the girls sat down. It was quite dark but there was a half moon floating in the sky. The sea gleamed like pewter. Tommy lighted a cigarette.

  She offered some to the soldiers, but Corporal Brown refused and they all followed suit.

  “We’re on duty,” he explained.

  “We’re at war,” declared one of the other men with a chuckle.

  “We’re Germans landing in Britain,” said a third.

  “Have you killed us?” asked Tommy cheerfully.

  “No,” replied Corporal Brown. “We’ve taken you prisoner, that’s all. We aren’t out to kill women.”

  “What’s happening, exactly?” Tommy inquired.

  Corporal Brown hesitated and then he said: “I don’t suppose it matters, telling you now. There’s four columns converging on Cairn Castle. There’s thirty men from each company taking part in the exercise.”

  “Four columns?” repeated Tommy. “I suppose you’ve got a fifth column inside the Castle.”

  The Corporal did not understand the allusion—neither did Frances, for that matter—so Tommy explained what she meant. “It was when General Franco was marching on Madrid,” said Tommy. “Somebody asked him how many troops he had, and he replied that he had four columns with him and a fifth column in Madrid itself. Now, of course, the term fifth column has passed into everyday use and is taken to mean—well, to mean traitors, really, but that wasn’t General Franco’s meaning.”

  “I never knew that,” declared the Corporal. “I’ve used the term myself but I’m—er—blowed if I knew what it meant.”

  “Which company is Captain Widgery with tonight?” asked Tommy suddenly.

  “He isn’t taking part in the exercise,” replied Corporal Brown.


  “He’s the Adjutant, you see, ma’am,” added one of the other men.

  “I know he’s the Adjutant,” declared Tommy, laughing. “I know that to my cost, but he’s taking part in the game, I can tell you that for certain.”

  There was a little silence. Tommy had spoken so confidently that nobody liked to contradict her.

  “Perhaps he’s with A Company,” said Tommy. “Major Liston is away just now, so—”

  “There’s someone else coming,” said Melton suddenly.

  . They all cocked their ears and listened. Finances heard the sound of a stone rolling down the path, but that was all she heard.

  “It’s them coming back,” said Corporal Brown below his breath.

  “No,” said Melton.

  They listened again.

  “It may have been a rabbit,” suggested one of the other men.

  “No,” said Melton. “It was someone—two people, I think. They’ve gone back now—must have heard us talking or smelt Mrs. Widgery’s cigarette—anyhow, they’ve gone back.”

  “How can you possibly tell?” asked Tommy with interest.

  “I’m a country man,” he replied.

  “He’s a poacher,” explained Corporal Brown. “That’s what he is in private life.”

  They all laughed and Melton joined in the laughter.

  “I’ve always heard that poachers were very useful people to have in a regiment on active service,” Tommy said.

  They chatted quietly after that. Tommy was always friendly, sincerely friendly, with every soul she met, and every soul she met was friendly in return. Frances had sometimes wondered how she had learnt to adapt herself so that all kinds and conditions of people were perfectly comfortable with her. Tonight Frances made the discovery that Tommy did not adapt herself consciously—Tommy loved her neighbour and that was why her neighbour loved her.

  “It’s thirty-three,” said Corporal Brown at last. “Thirty-three minutes. They must have got through.”