Spring Magic

by D. E. Stevenson

  Guy hesitated. He felt like hitting Dicky—it took all his strength to beat down his anger and to keep his mouth shut. . . . After a few moments, he laughed.

  “What’s the joke, Fox,” Dicky inquired.

  “Nothing much,” replied Guy. He had suddenly thought how surprised Dicky would have been if he had received a hefty punch on the jaw.

  Guy was longing to get away. He was full of impatience to see Elise and find out why Frances had gone and where she had gone to, but everything conspired to delay him. He was to be adjutant, now, in Widgery’s place and this would entail a great deal of extra work—different work from what he had been doing. It was a compliment to be chosen for the post, and the extra five bob a day would be a welcome addition to his pay, but he was sorry to give up B Company. Guy had dealt faithfully with B Company and had got it into very good trim—it really was rather a wrench to give it up. Racky would do it quite well, of course; he was glad Racky was getting it. He found Racky and told him that he would hand over in the afternoon, and then he had to find Mark and tell him the news and listen to Mark’s mingled congratulations and lamentations . . . and then he was waylaid by Sergeant-Major Bliss, who had heard about it—heaven alone knew how—and he was obliged to listen patiently to more congratulations and lamentations.

  “All through France,” said Sergeant-Major Bliss, “and never no trouble . . . and there isn’t many officers you can say the same for—I mean, that you can see eye to eye with about everything—but, of course, I knew we wouldn’t ’ave you long, sir. I mean—well—an officer like yourself, sir, is pretty well bound to get on—and I wouldn’t wish anything else, sir, I’m sure. As regards being adjutant, there isn’t any one else would do it ’arf as well, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir; but I ’ope Captain Rackham will see eye to eye about the training—B Company being the best company in the battalion, as you and I know, sir, I shouldn’t like to see anything different—not but what Captain Rackham isn’t a very nice officer—it’s only just about the training—will ’e see eye to eye?”

  “Of course he will,” said Guy. “You’ll get on like a house on fire with Captain Rackham. Everything will be just the same. It’s very nice of you, Sergeant-Major—I mean, it’s good of you to say you’ll miss me. We’ve pulled together a long time now.”

  “Yes, sir, through thick and thin as you might say.”

  “Yes,” agreed Guy. “Yes, by Jove we have . . . I’m damned sorry to give up B Company, I can tell you, but I shall always be interested to—to see how it goes on and all that—and—and I want to thank you for all you’ve done. B Company wouldn’t be what it is if you hadn’t been so keen—”

  “It won’t be the same without you, sir.”

  “Yes, it will,” declared Guy. “It will be just the same if not better. I shall be down on you like a hundredweight of bricks if it isn’t!”

  They laughed—though perhaps not very heartily—and they shook hands very heartily indeed.

  After this somewhat painful interview, Guy rushed about the camp seeing people and making necessary arrangements. It was a quarter-past twelve before he ran his car out of the garage and set out for Cairn, and even then he had several things on his mind—things which he knew he ought to have done. I can’t help it, thought Guy, as he trod on the accelerator and streaked out of the gate. I can do all that in the afternoon. I can’t put my mind to anything until I’ve seen Elise and found out about Frances.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Elise was waiting for Guy in the lounge. She was sitting at the window sewing. She looked up as he came in and said: “Guy, what have you been doing to Frances?”

  “What have I been—”

  “Yes,” said Elise. “Don’t look so surprised. You must know what you’ve been doing.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” declared Guy. “I don’t know what you mean. Where has she gone?”

  “Why do you want to know? I won’t have you playing fast and loose with Frances; she doesn’t understand it—she isn’t that sort of person.”

  “Fast and loose!” cried Guy.

  *“I’ve got very fond of Frances lately,” added Elise.

  “So have I!” said Guy frankly.

  Elise looked up again from her work. “How fond?” she asked.

  Guy hesitated, and then he said: “Well, if you must know, I want to marry her.”

  “You might do a lot worse,” said Elise.

  They were silent for a few minutes, and then it was Elise who spoke first, “Did you ask her?” she inquired.

  “No,” replied Guy. “No, I didn’t. I tried several times but something always happened—and she was so elusive, somehow. It was awfully difficult to get hold of her, if you know what I mean. I liked her from the very first moment but I couldn’t understand her—I don’t understand her now as a matter of fact. Sometimes she seems one sort of person and sometimes another . . . but I want to marry them all,” added Guy with a grin.

  Elise laughed. “That’s a good thing anyhow,” she said.

  “Yes, isn’t it? One afternoon I pursued her out on to the rocks. We got cut off by the tide—I never told any one because it sounded so damned silly—and Frances behaved like a brick. She was splendid really!—never turned a hair nor said what a mug I was—”

  Elise burst out laughing.

  “Oh, you can laugh if you like,” said Guy, “and as much as you like, but the fact remains. I knew then that she was the woman for me. We talked for hours, and I flattered myself that I had got to know her pretty well and that she—well, that she wasn’t exactly indifferent to my charms, but the next time I saw her she seemed to have drifted away again, and I had to start at the beginning. Since then I’ve been trying to—to get hold of her. I’ve had several opportunities, but I wasn’t sure of her—I mean, I didn’t want to rush in too soon or anything. It was frightfully difficult,” declared Guy, sitting down and running his fingers through his hair. “It was frightfully difficult . . . there was Mr. MacDonald, too—”

  “What on earth has he to do with it?”

  “I don’t know, really,” replied Guy. “I thought he liked her and that she was rather interested in him. We met at the Castle one day, and she offered to help him with his notes. It was odd, I thought. I mean, she’s usually so shy and retiring, and she seemed so matey with the old boy. It gave me a bit of a shake . . . so it went on until last night.” He hesitated, and then continued in a lower tone: “Last night was different, somehow. We seemed to hit it off better than ever. We seemed to be absolutely in tune. I thought it was perfectly airtight, and I was; just going to take the plunge when—when I saw Angela, I thought Frances understood, but, of course, she can’t have understood. She must have thought—oh, lord!” exclaimed Guy, breaking off as the inference became clear. “Oh, lord, what a mess I’ve made of it!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Elise.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” explained Guy. “It was about—about Angela, really.”

  “About Angela?”

  “Yes, you see—”

  “I see you’ve mismanaged the whole thing.”

  “I’ve been a—fool,” said Guy bitterly.

  He had always told Elise everything—or nearly everything—so it was not difficult to tell her the whole story, and somehow, as he told it, things became clearer in his own mind.

  When he had finished Elise said nothing for a few moments, and then she said: “You were right to go straight to Colonel Thynne.”

  “Yes,” agreed Guy. “That was the only ‘right’ thing I did. Everything else that I did—or tried to do—was a complete failure. You always say it’s no use meddling with other people’s affairs. Why don’t you say ‘I told you so’?”

  Elise smiled. “And then you would say ‘How like a woman’!—but as a matter of fact you had to try and help them. You couldn’t have stood aside and let them rip.”

  “I wish I had.”

  “No,” said Elise, shaking h
er head. “No, you couldn’t, Guy. You might have succeeded if you’d had a little luck.”

  Guy saw that this was true, and it comforted him a little. “I’ve seen it coming for some time,” he said. “That’s why I tried to amuse Angela, that’s why I took her about a bit. I took her over to Rithie one afternoon—to the pictures—and I spoke to her seriously about it. She said there was nothing in it at all, that it was just fun, that Widgery amused her. I pointed out that it wasn’t much fun for Tommy, and she was quite reasonable. She said she would be more careful. I felt much happier about it after that. Then Frances told me she had seen Widgery in the woods near St. Kiaran’s Spring—-with a woman. Somehow or other I had a feeling that it was Angela; anyhow, it roused my suspicions again. That was why I dashed after Angela last night. I wish I had left them to stew in their own juice,” added Guy bitterly.

  “You had to try,” said Elise again. “You might have succeeded. Angela is very fond of you.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “It isn’t nonsense. She would have married you if you had asked her—”

  “Absolute nonsense,” declared Guy. “Why does every one think that? Angela is quite amusing but she isn’t my idea of a wife—never was—and this business with Widgery is proof positive that Angela never had any use for me.”

  “It isn’t, really,” replied Elise. “I think that was how the affair with Widgery started. Angela wanted to show you—”

  “No—”

  “Yes, honestly . . . and then she got swept off her feet. Widgery is very attractive, you know.”

  “Attractive!” exclaimed Guy.

  “He’s so vital,” said Elise thoughtfully.

  Guy uttered a few partially muffled statements about Widgery and his progenitors.

  “Oh, yes,” said Elise, smiling. “I agree with you, of course. He isn’t the type that appeals to me at all, but he does attract some women . . .” She hesitated and then added in a different tone: “. . . Tommy adores him.”

  “I know,” said Guy, nodding. “It’s amazing . . . as a matter of fact it was really for Tommy’s sake that I mixed myself up in the affair. Poor Tommy. You had better go over and see her.”

  “Yes,” said Elise with a sigh. “Yes, I must. I’ll go this afternoon.”

  “Good! That’s settled. Now what about Frances? Where has she gone?”

  “She has gone back to her aunt,” replied Elise, “and if you take my advice you’ll try to wangle a few days’ leave and go after her. It will be much easier to explain everything if you see her.”

  “Much easier . . . besides, I want to see her. Where does the aunt live?”

  “But, Guy, don’t you know?”

  “Would I be asking you if I knew?” inquired Guy impatiently.

  “I don’t know either,” said Elise.

  They looked at each other, and Elise felt inclined to smile at the consternation on his face. “But you said you knew where she had gone!” he cried.

  “I knew she had gone back to her aunt. Do you mean to say you don’t know where the aunt lives?”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” said Guy grimly. “Awfully funny, isn’t it?”

  “But, Guy—”

  “It was a sort of joke,” he continued. “I wanted to know about her, but she refused to tell me, so I said I would guess. I couldn’t, of course. There was something very mysterious about Frances. We kept up the joke all the time—until last night—and she had just begun to tell me—”

  Elise had opened her bag and was holding out a half sheet of paper. “That’s all I know,” she said. “Annie brought it to me this morning after Frances had gone. She left by the early bus.”

  The letter read as follows:

  DEAR ELISE,

  I have been offered a post at a canteen and have decided to take it because it is time I was doing something useful. I feel I ought to see my aunt before I start work, so I am going to spend a few days with her first. I hate saying “good-bye” and I know you feel the same (we discussed it one day, didn’t we?), so I know you will understand why I am writing “good-bye” instead of saying it. Good-bye, Elise, and thank you very much for being so kind to me. I have enjoyed our talks more than I can say. I have had a very happy holiday at Cairn, and have learnt a great deal. When I am settled in my new job I will write and tell you how I get on. I hope I shall see you again some day. Please give my love to Tommy. I do hope she is all right, and that she will feel happier soon—and please give my love to Jennifer and Winkie.

  Much love from

  FRANCES.

  The letter was very short—it was little more than a hasty scrawl—but Guy took some time to read it. He read it over several times before he looked up. “I must find her,” he said at last.

  Elise nodded. “Yes, you must find her. She probably left her address with the MacNairs.”

  He jumped up and made for the door. He still had the letter in his hand and Elise did not ask him to return it.

  After Guy had gone Elise sat and thought about all he had told her. It was a tangle, but it could be unravelled, and nobody would be any the worse except Angela. It was a great pity about Angela—she was so young to have wrecked her life—Elise was sorry for her and very sorry for her parents. Freda Thynne ought to have kept some control of Angela—but, unfortunately, Freda was foolish. Elise was sorry for Tommy as well, but she decided that, in the long run, after Tommy had recovered from the shock, she would be much happier. She had never been really happy with Widgery; her life had been one of constant strain. There would be a chance of happiness for Tommy now. Tommy would go to Aberdeen, to her mother; that was the best thing for her to do. Having settled all this in her own mind, Elise’s thoughts were free to turn into a much more pleasant channel—she thought of Frances Field. It did not matter who Frances was nor what her history had been, it was what she was that mattered. Frances was a dear. She was good and sweet and comfortable; there was something very attractive and refreshing about Frances. Elise thought she would suit Guy admirably . . . and she would be a very nice sister-in-law, very nice indeed. Elise had often worried about Guy, and wondered whom he would marry. She was so devoted to Guy that nobody had seemed good enough—only the best was good enough for Guy. She wanted Guy to marry someone really nice, firstly for his own sake, of course, but secondly for purely selfish motives; she and Guy had always been such tremendous friends that it would be a disaster if Guy were to marry someone Elise did not like—or someone who did not like her. Then, latterly, Elise had begun to be afraid that Guy would never marry at all, and would become a confirmed bachelor, lonely and cynical—there was a trace of cynicism in Guy which might easily develop and warp his character—she had worried about that; she had decided some months ago that it was high time Guy found a wife. Guy was so particular, so fastidious; he hated lipstick and scent and coloured nails, he loathed affectation. Several girls had fallen rather heavily for Guy—nice girls too—but he had not even noticed the fact; he had remained heart-whole. Now, at last, Guy had found someone he could love. He had said nothing about “love,” of course, but Elise knew Guy so well—she did not need her t’s crossed nor her i’s dotted where Guy was concerned.

  Elise smiled to herself. It was unfortunate that when at last he had found someone to suit him he should lose her like this—careless of Guy—but in a way it was not a bad thing. It would have been a pity if Frances had been too easy, and Frances might have been too easy, for she was without wiles and had been deeply in love with Guy for some time. (Elise had realised this, of course, and had gone out of her way to warn Frances of what she must expect if she married a soldier. She had warned Frances, not because she wanted to brown her off, but because it was only fair that Frances should understand what she was in for. Unless she loved Guy enough to marry him with her eyes open she wouldn’t be much use as a soldier’s wife. Frances had not understood why she was being warned, but that didn’t matter.) It would have been a pity if Frances had been too easy to win, for men were such od
d creatures . . . men liked to pursue . . . men appreciated their game so much more if it were difficult to approach . . . and Guy was no exception to the rule. It would do Guy no harm to pursue Frances, no harm at all. In fact, if Frances had not been Frances—so absolutely straightforward and honest, so childlike and innocent of wile—one might almost have suspected that she had disappeared like this on purpose to . . . but not Frances, no, definitely not. It was odd that Guy could not understand Frances (thought Elise). She was crystal clear. You could see right down to the bottom . . . but perhaps that was the very reason he could not understand her . . . he could not believe that there was nothing hidden, nothing kept back. Frances might be mysterious about the past—about where she had lived and what she had done—but Frances, herself, was the least mysterious woman that Elise had ever known.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Elise was not used to walking—she considered walking a much over-rated form of amusement—and when she did happen to go for a walk she liked a flat surface underfoot, so she was tired and hot and not quite so trim and elegant as usual when she arrived at Sea View. She had not been there before, and she had heard a great deal about the house—both for and against—so she looked at it with interest. The site was magnificent, of course, nobody could deny that, but site was not everything. Elise shared Captain Widgery’s partiality for modern plumbing, and she was aware of Sea View’s deficiencies in this respect. She liked comfort when she could get it, but, when she could not get it, she did without it uncomplainingly; there were more important things in life than comfort . . . there was love, for instance, and kindness and consideration . . . you could do without electric light . . .

  Elise would have taken even more interest in the little house if her mind had not been full of what she was going to say to Tommy. She had been considering what she would say all the way through the woods, and she was still considering the matter . . . she would try to make Tommy see that it was not the end of everything. She would try to make Tommy take a long view. Tommy must put all this miserable business behind her and go forward; she must be made to think of the future.