Spring Magic

by D. E. Stevenson

  Frances laughed.

  They talked about various matters after that until at last Elise glanced at the clock and said it was time for the final preparations. Elise herself was already attired for the wedding and, as usual, she looked cool and elegant. She was wearing a silk frock of navy-blue and white with little buttons from neck to hem, and her hat was a navy-blue straw, very crisp and shiny, trimmed with a bunch of small white flowers.

  “You look lovely, Elise,” said Frances. “You always look lovely, of course. I believe you would contrive to look elegant and stylish if you were dressed in sackcloth.”

  “That would be rather difficult,” laughed Elise.

  Frances’s frock was lying on the bed ready to put on—it was made of heavy silk in a soft shade of blue—she lifted it carefully and slipped it over her head and Elise arranged it for her.

  “You should always wear blue,” declared Elise as she stood back and looked at Frances with pride and affection. “It suits you better than anything. It’s a darling frock, Frances.”

  “You don’t think it’s too—”

  “It isn’t too anything,” said Elise firmly. “It’s quite perfect. I like the way the bodice fits in to your figure, and the pleated skirt gives it style . . . now for your hat.”

  The hat was a skull-cap of the same soft blue silk with a little wreath of forget-me-nots round the edge. Frances pulled it snugly on to her head and Elise arranged the golden curls round it.

  They were still engaged upon the important task when the door suddenly burst open and Annie appeared with a large bouquet of pink and white roses.

  “Och, I forgot to knock!” exclaimed Annie.

  “It doesn’t matter a bit,” replied Frances, smiling at her.

  “I’m that excited I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels,” continued Annie. “Mary’s running round in circles like a scalded cat—”

  “Is that for Miss Field?” asked Elise, pointing to the bouquet.

  “I’ll be forgetting my head next,” said Annie. “Yes, it’s for her. It was a soldier brought it. He’s waiting to see if there’s any message.”

  “No, there isn’t any message, thank you,” replied Elise, taking the bouquet and handing it to Frances.

  It was from Guy, of course. Frances had known that he was going to send her a bouquet but she had never imagined anything so magnificent as this . . . it was the largest, the most beautiful bouquet of roses she had ever seen. She stood quite still for a moment, holding, the flowers and drinking in their fragrance; the tears were pricking behind her eyes.

  “It’s a very nice bouquet,” said Elise in a matter-of-fact tone. “It gives you the finishing touch, doesn’t it?”

  “She’s just—beautiful,” declared Annie, gazing at the bride with eyes like saucers.

  Dr. Digby and Ned Crabbe were waiting in the lounge. The former was walking about impatiently and consulting his watch at frequent intervals. “These clocks are all wrong,” he declared. “The right time is one minute to. We shall be late, Major.”

  “It’s a woman’s privilege,” replied Ned, smiling, “and Frances is worth waiting for. Elise will see that she doesn’t keep him waiting longer than is good for him.”

  “Fine woman, your wife,” observed Dr. Digby.

  “Yes,” said Ned simply.

  He had hardly spoken when Elise and Frances came down the stairs and declared themselves ready to start, but now Dr. Digby’s hat had disappeared into thin air, and this circumstance delayed them further.

  “I had it a moment ago,” declared Dr. Digby. “I laid it down on the hall table—I take my oath on that. Somebody must have moved it.”

  After a hurried search the hat was discovered beneath a chair in the lounge, where its owner had put it “for safety;” he seized it and crammed it on to his head, and the little party sallied forth into the sunlit street. As the church was less than two hundred yards away, Elise had decided that it would be simpler to walk the distance than to bother with a car, but she had not realised what an interest Cairn was taking in the proceedings or she would have decided differently. The whole village seemed to have taken a holiday and to have turned out to see them pass. The street was lined with old men and women and children, and young women with babies in their arms. Elise was amazed at the crowd; she had not known that there were so many people in the place. Fortunately, the people of Cairn knew how to behave themselves; they were perfectly quiet, so that except for the uncomfortable feeling that hundreds of eyes were focused upon herself and her companions, Elise would not have known that they were there . . . she glanced at Frances to see how she was feeling, but Frances was walking in a sort of dream. There was a strange otherworldly beauty about Frances today; she seemed full of radiance, as if a light were shining within her, illuminating her face.

  More people had clustered round the church door and the church itself was packed. It was not dim and cool as Episcopal churches are, but was full of bright sunshine streaming in through the plain glass windows, stretching right across the building like a cheval-de-frise of shining golden swords. The organ began to play the “Wedding March,” and Frances put her hand on Dr. Digby’s arm and began to walk up the aisle. She was glad of that firm, kind arm, for her dream was suddenly broken and she realised that every one was staring at her . . . and then she saw Guy waiting for her at the communion table and everything else was forgotten.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  Cairn High Street was still full of people waiting to see the wedding party go back to the hotel. The bride and bridegroom went first and the guests followed in pairs or in little groups, talking and laughing cheerfully. It was such a lovely day that nobody could help feeling cheerful, the sun was so warm and golden and the sea so blue. Mrs. MacNair had arranged the lounge for the reception; she had ransacked her own garden and those of her friends and the whole room was a mass of flowers—there were banks of flowers in every corner, hollyhocks and lupins, roses and sweet peas, the air was heavy with their scent. The bride and bridegroom stood near the window and the guests filed past, congratulating them and shaking hands. The Listons were amongst the first to arrive. Tillie was looking much more cheerful than usual; she was quite smart in a two-piece suit of beige and brown and a beige hat trimmed with brown ribbon.

  Winkie had a new grey flannel suit, of which he was very proud. “It was a lovely wedding,” he said gravely as he held up his face for Frances to kiss. “I hope you’ll come to my wedding too.”

  “Of course she will,” said Guy. “She’s Jennifer’s aunt, now.”

  The room was filling fast and the noise of talk and laughter was growing louder every moment. Frances saw Dr. Digby making jokes with the minister, she saw Mr. MacDonald talking to Elise. Mark and Barry and Captain Rackham were grouped about a tall, fair girl whom Frances had not seen before. . . . All her friends were here, all except one, and somehow or other Tommy was so clear in Frances’s imagination that she found herself looking round the room for the slim figure, the heart-shaped face, the sparkling green eyes. Angela was not here either, of course, but Colonel and Mrs. Thynne had come. Mrs. Thynne was looking a little out of tune with her surroundings, but the Colonel was laughing and talking and obviously making an effort to join in the fun.

  Presently, at a given signal, the whole party streamed into the dining-room, and were shown to their places at the long table which stretched from end to end of the room. There were far more men than women, of course, and the seating of guests had caused Elise a good deal of thought, but she had managed her difficult job so tactfully that every one seemed pleased with the arrangement. Frances had Guy on one side of her and Colonel Thynne on the other; Dr. Digby was sitting next to Elise—an arrangement which suited him down to the ground. Mr. MacDonald had a very pretty woman on his right, but was talking earnestly to his left-hand neighbour, who happened to be Major Crabbe, and Frances felt pretty sure that Ned would know a good deal about internecine warfare before the repast was over. Miss Stalker had
been placed beside Major Liston, for he was a kind-hearted creature and could be depended upon to entertain her to the best of his ability.

  The luncheon was excellent. They started with salmon and went on to chicken and ducks, accompanied by large bowls of fresh green salad and new potatoes. The pudding course had been the chief difficulty, for the strawberries were not yet ripe, but Mrs. MacNair had made gooseberry tarts which looked and tasted delicious. Mr. MacNair had found a bin of champagne in the recesses of his cellar, and although it was a trifle past its prime and had lost a little of its sparkle, it added greatly to the party spirit.

  After lunch the minister proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom, and this was drunk with great acclamation; Dr. Digby replied for the bride in a neat and very amusing speech; then Colonel Thynne arose and welcomed “the new recruit” in a few, well-chosen words. When he sat down there were cries of “The bridegroom!” and “Come on, Fox!”

  Guy rose to his feet at once. His face was grave, but there was a fleeting twinkle in his eye, and Frances, who knew that little twinkle well, had a momentary pang of anxiety . . . and then she saw Elise smiling at her from the other end of the table, and remembered what Elise had said. “Every one knows Guy—they won’t mind—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Guy gravely, “on behalf of my wife and myself—”

  (Here he was interrupted by cries of “Good old Fox!” and “Well said!” and other evidences of approval.)

  “. . . on behalf of my wife and myself,” said Guy firmly, “I wish to thank you for your good wishes and for all the kind things you have said about us. Far be it from me to say that these eulogies are undeserved—I have too much confidence in your judgment—but it is gratifying to find that we are appreciated at our true worth. Frances—as you and I are agreed—is indeed ‘the top of admiration,’ and you have said that I am one of the best fellows going—a statement with which I heartily concur.”

  (Guy was violently interrupted at this point by shouts of “Modest Violet!” and, “Oh, that’s what you think!” and other interjections of a ribald nature).

  “Yes,” said Guy, nodding his head gravely. “Yes, my wife and I make an admirable couple. There is no doubt of that. It would be difficult to find a couple to match us in good looks and sterling worth . . . but it would be immodest to stress this circumstance,” declared Guy with tremendous gravity, “and modesty is a virtue which I have always respected in others and cultivated in myself.” He paused until the laughter had subsided and then continued:

  “I have been told that the correct thing for me to do is to thank you all for coming here today and seeing us married, but I have decided that this is quite unnecessary, since you were all very anxious to come and are thoroughly enjoying yourselves. The marriage feast was super excellent, thanks to the excellent work of the commissariat under the good generalship of Mrs. Crabbe and Mrs. MacNair, and the bubbly—though a shade less bubbly than it should be—is nevertheless a pleasant and exhilarating beverage.”

  (Cries of “Hear, hear!” and “Mrs. Crabbe!” and “The commissariat department!”)

  “It may interest you to know,” continued Guy, “that during the last fortnight I have received a great deal of advice from my friends. In fact it was hurled at my head both in and out of season. Some of the advice which I received was good advice—which means that it coincided exactly with my own ideas, of course—and some of it was bad—which means that it did not. I was the recipient of congratulations and commiserations—”

  (Cries of “Shame!”)

  “Yes, commiserations,” repeated Guy, shaking his head. “It was the bachelors of my acquaintance who had the temerity to commiserate with me on my approaching nuptials. I feel bound to stress the point so that my married friends may be exonerated from blame by their wives. One might think that bachelors would know very little about matrimony, but that did not prevent them from offering advice on the subject. The advice which I received was conflicting and confusing. Some people assured me that marriage was an excellent institution and that it would be the making of me, while others declared that it would ruin my career, and quoted the aphorism, ‘He travels fastest who travels alone.’ Speaking as a married man—”

  (Here Guy was interrupted by jeers and cries of “Two hours married, old boy!” and “Vast experience, haven’t you!”)

  “Speaking as a married man,” continued Guy in firm accents, “and nobody here can question my undoubted right to speak as a married man, I strongly advise all my bachelor friends to remain single, because—”

  (Roars of laughter greeted this statement and Racky was heard to murmur, “Regretting it already, poor devil!”)

  “To remain single,” repeated Guy, raising his voice above the din, “for the simple reason that the only woman in the world who is my idea of a perfect wife is already safely and soundly married to me.”

  Guy waited for the second burst of laughter to subside and then he continued: “Some of you seem to be of the opinion that my wife and I have not known each other very long and that we have taken the plunge into matrimony with undue celerity, but time is relative—as Professor Einstein would tell you if any of you had the patience to listen to him or the brains to understand him—and when two people have been through fire and water together, or, to be chronological, water and fire, they get to know each other pretty quickly. Before we go further,” said Guy, dropping his voice and speaking in a more confidential tone; “before we go any further I should just like to say that my wife is the most courageous woman the world has ever seen. She laughs at tempests and smiles at bursting bombs. Man-eating lions, rogue-elephants and charging buffaloes leave her cool and unruffled. There is only one thing on earth which has the power to strike terror in her breast, and what that one thing is I am bound not to divulge. Thus you will see, ladies and gentlemen, that Mrs. Tarlatan is a fit mate for a man like myself, whose courage is renowned through the length and breadth—”

  (Here Guy was interrupted for some moments by wild cries of dissent and comments of a derogatory nature.)

  “Did someone say, ‘Draw it mild?’” inquired Guy, looking round upon the assembled company with a ferocious scowl. “Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen—and brother-officers—that I have no intention whatever of drawing it mild. If a man can’t draw it strong on his wedding-day I should like to know when he can.”

  (Shouts of “Not once he’s married, that’s certain!”)

  “I have often listened to other fellows making speeches on their wedding-days,” continued Guy with a thoughtful air. “Invariably the poor fish have made a hash of it. They have either lost their heads completely or put their foot in it up to the knee; they have stammered and stuttered themselves into nervous wrecks or produced speeches of such bathos that I felt I wanted to crawl under the table.” Guy paused and looked round and his flashing eye rested for a moment upon several of his brother officers whose nuptials had taken place within recent years. Some of them had the grace to blush. “Poor fish!” said Guy sadly. “What a golden opportunity wasted! The bridegroom’s speech is the opportunity of a lifetime, for it is the one occasion when a man is sure of getting a hearing. His friends have got to listen to him whether they want to or not.”

  (Cries of “Worse luck!” and “You seem to be making the most of it!” and other exclamations of a similar nature were heard on all sides.)

  “Yes, I am making the most of it,” declared Guy. “This is the first speech I have ever made, and for all I know it may be the last. Where had I got to? Ah, yes, the bridegroom. I am aware that the bridegroom is supposed to be of small account on his wedding-day. Some people have the impertinence to think that he is not the best man, but if there happens to be any one present who thinks he is a better man than I am, he has only got to say so and I am willing to take him on.”

  (Shouts of delight from the younger members of the party and cries of “Any time you like!”)

  Guy smiled and continued: “The bridegroom is
the most important person present—much more important than the bride—for he is the prime mover in the whole affair (the case of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert is merely the exception which proves the rule); it is the man who woos and pursues. Sometimes he has to pursue his quarry from one end of the country to the other before he runs it to ground. Is the hunter to be considered of less account than the quarry?” demanded Guy triumphantly. He paused and looked round, but for once there were no dissentient voices to be heard. Perhaps his audience was too dazed by the strangeness of Guy’s simile to find anything to say.

  Guy had now come to his peroration; he drew a long breath.

  “My wife and I—” declared Guy in ringing tones. “My wife and I, having braved the perils of the deep and the perils of the air, having encountered tempest and blitz and won through by our—by the combined forces of our personal courage and endurance, are now preparing to set out upon the path of matrimony with high hearts and—er—er—”

  “Low heels,” suggested Racky.

  “Thank you, Racky,” said Guy. “With high hearts and low heels. The path is a bit stony at times—so my much-married brother-officers have informed me—and, therefore, it is obvious that low heels are the correct wear . . . and now, if you will excuse us, we shall withdraw in a graceful fashion and leave you to eat, drink, and make merry to your hearts’ content . . .”

  Hand in hand Guy and Frances rose and made a dash for the door.

  There were loud cries of “Here, I say!” and “Where are you going?” and “Look out, they’re escaping!” Some of the more temerarious rose to their feet with the intention of following the happy pair and dragging them back to provide the company with further amusement, but they were foiled in their attempt by Ned Crabbe.

  Ned had managed to reach the door in time to open it for the bride and bridegroom, and now he had shut it firmly behind them and had placed his back against it. Ned was smiling . . . and across the breadth of the dining-room his eyes sought the eyes of his wife . . .