The Disturbing Charm

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER III

  THE LAUNCHING OF THE CHARM

  "A field untilled, a web unwove, A flower withheld from sun or bee, An alien in the courts of Love----"

  Kipling.

  Accident decided it for her.

  As she was running down the broad red and white steps at the front ofthe hotel, Olwen met, coming up, the woman whom Mrs. Cartwright hadnoticed at lunch for her hopeless well-off spinsterishness. The Spinstercarried a guide book, a flowering-plant in a pot with paper round it,and a bound map.

  She wore over those expensive tweeds of hers those furs which none butthe young and radiant should venture to wear; grey squirrel. Her facewas blank.

  It lighted into a tentative smile as the young girl turned and ran backa few steps to the top, waiting for her.

  "Good afternoon; we mustn't cross on the stairs," Olwen called. "It'sunlucky!"

  Was it her fancy, or did the Spinster look pathetically pleased becausesome one had said "good afternoon" and had made a playful remark?

  Up the steps she hastened, rather stiffly, her figure being of the kindthat seems all clothes.

  When she got to the top she said, with a shy, effusive little laugh,"Oh, are you superstitious?" and before Olwen could answer, she hurriedon, "Oh, can one order tea here, at any time one likes? Could I order itin my own room, do you think?"

  "I think so," said Olwen, surprised.

  In spite of the gap in their ages, this woman of thirty-five seemed tospeak as if she were a new girl, just arrived at school. In spite of her"set" figure, her mode of dressing, her big nose, there was--yes!something of suppressed schoolgirlishness about her yet. Some are bornwith the saddle to wear, some with the spur, says the proverb. ThisSpinster had the look, not only of having been born with the saddle, butof having been for years under the spur of others. Her timid eyes werethose of a dog who has been turned adrift. They fastened upon Olwen.

  "This is a lovely place, isn't it?" she hurried on as if afraid the girlwould leave her. "Have you been here long?"

  "About a week."

  "Oh, have you? I have only just come. I came just before lunch. I sawyou at lunch, with a tall lady in brown. Are you staying with her?"

  "No," Olwen said, "I'm here with my uncle; I am his secretary."

  "Oh, are you? How nice. I am not with anybody," volunteered theSpinster. Clutching her guide-book and plant and fixing the girl withthat timid yet persistent eye, she seemed ready to stand there and talkfor half an hour. "You are the first person I have spoken to here. I'mquite alone."

  These were the three words which--with all the unspoken, unconsciouspathos behind them--went to Olwen's heart. She tightened her fingersupon what she held in her hand, and she thought to herself, "_Here's_someone who needs the Charm!" Then she thought, caught back a little, "Ican't give it just to the first person I meet. Oughtn't I to see alittle more of her, first?"

  The Spinster's next remarks seemed to fall in with this plan.

  "I oughtn't to keep you here talking, without any hat on.... Oh, d'youalways go without a hat in the woods?... I must just put this plantdown; do come into my room a minute, won't you? It's only on the firstfloor, just at the top of the stairs; yes, do----"

  It was the best room in the hotel to which Olwen followed this newacquaintance of hers; and it seemed crowded with belongings, all veryobviously costly, and all--curiously enough!--quite incredibly _new_.

  "Oh--couldn't you--couldn't you have tea with me?" was the Spinster'snext suggestion. "My name is Walsh; Agatha Walsh. Do have tea with me.Please. I'll order some now----"

  She rang the waiter's bell; and in halting French she ordered the sallowlittle Italian to bring up to her room tea for two.

  "_Simple?_" asked the waiter.

  "Oh--what does he mean?"

  "He means do you want just tea," explained Olwen, "or anything with it?"

  "Oh! Everything there is. You like cake, don't you? Girls do," said theSpinster with that timid, friend-hunting glance. "Jam, and pastries, andthings. Tell him to bring everything, please."

  "_Complet_," ordered little Olwen, feeling a woman of the world incomparison with this stranger who was abashed before waiters.

  "Oh, how well you talk French," murmured the other. "Do sit down here. Iwonder if I shall ever be able to talk it quickly. I've never been inFrance before, do you know? I----Isn't it funny? I have hardly ever been_anywhere_!"

  "_Haven't_ you?" said Olwen--who herself had known her native Wales,Liverpool, the South Kensington Museum, and some other museums in Paris.

  The Spinster broke into further confidences. "Oh, no. You see, I lived avery secluded life. I had to. I lived with an elderly cousin of mine inBuckinghamshire, oh, quite in the country. Here she is."

  From her silver-strewn table the Spinster took an ornate oval frame. Itenclosed the portrait of an old lady in a Victorian cap of lace andribbons, with beetle-brows and a mouth of steel.

  "Yes, this is Miss Walsh; the same name as mine, you see. She never lefther house for the last fifteen years, you know. A beautiful house; suchgrounds! We never went out of them, except the half-mile drive to churchevery Sunday. And of course we scarcely ever saw anybody, except justthe Rector and the old Doctor," the Spinster confided to Olwen. "Allthat money----But, poor thing, she was never really well. Of late yearsshe had to have everything done for her; everything!"

  "I suppose _you_ had to do it!" volunteered Olwen, with a glance at theportrait and a pang of pity for the woman who showed it to her. The girlwas too young to read the whole story as Mrs. Cartwright would havedone; soaring years of a woman's youth harnessed to the bath-chair of abitter-tongued tyrant in shawl and cap! But she guessed that the "poorthing" might more appropriately be applied to Miss Walsh the younger.

  "Oh, well," said the Spinster, gently, "she only had me in the world.Except her nephew. She quarrelled with him. He was very outspoken,and--well, they quarrelled. He should have come in to her money, youknow. She made another will only just before she died, poor thing.That's how----" She gave a gesture that seemed to take in the newportmanteau on the floor, the winking silver-backed brushes on thetable, her own tweeds and furs, the wide view from the window, and thewaiter bringing in the tea-tray. "It all came to _me_!" concluded MissWalsh, diffident, amazed. "I can scarcely believe it _yet_! I couldn'tbelieve I could leave the place and go away for as long as I liked!"

  Olwen asked, "What brought you? Why did you come here?"

  "Oh! because there was nowhere for me to go. I went to London becauseI'd only been there once in my life. Then I went over to Paris becauseI'd never been there. Then I stuck a hat-pin into the guide-book to seewhere I'd go next. It came out here. It seemed like Fate, didn't it? SoI came."

  Olwen looked at her as she poured out the tea. Her wrists clanked withgold curb bracelets (of a pattern as obsolete as was the enormous broochof plaited gold and turquoises at her throat; the heavily set rings onher fingers, no doubt jewellery of the late Miss Walsh). They werechains that had fettered a patient slave--but she was a slave nolonger.

  "I'm so glad!" said little Olwen, impulsively.

  "Oh! Thank you." Her hostess smiled as gratefully as if the girl herselfhad helped to alter that will. "I knew you were sympathetic. I could_say_ things to you. One can _talk_ to some people, can't one?" sheadded, as the waiter went out. "I thought at lunch what a sweet littleface you had, if you don't mind my saying so. There--there's a charmabout it! What is your name?... Olwen Howel-Jones.... Is your tea right?I didn't even know they had proper tea in France now; my cousin neverwould go Abroad because she said they gave you no tea.... Olwen! Howpretty. How old are you? You don't mind my asking, do you? Nineteen? Iwas just nineteen when I went to live at the Grange--Miss Walsh's house.Nineteen.... I always liked young people; but of course we never sawany. My cousin disliked girls as a rule. Even the servants were quiteelderly. I--sometimes" she went on in a rush as of the pent-upconfidences of years, "I longed to see something young, do you know? Isuppos
e _you've_ always.... Brothers and sisters? Lots of cousins? Hownice! And lots of friends, of course...."

  She stopped, she fixed her eyes musingly upon the dainty creaturehelping herself to cherry _compote_ and ended with a shy, quickinvoluntary question.

  "Are you engaged to be married?"

  "Me?" exclaimed Olwen with a swift turn of her little black head againstthe hotel easy chair. She laughed, with the traditional girlishrejoinder, "Oh, dear, no! I don't suppose I----"

  It broke off short on her lips.

  Footsteps, two sets of footsteps, were tramping up the polished shallowstairs outside the closed door. A man's voice rang out as it had rungout that morning under her Uncle's balcony. That accent which was aspenetrating as Scots mist, as clear as Canadian frost, reached her earsin the giving out of this dictum:

  "What I demand in Women is, firstly----"

  Here a door above slammed, cutting off the rest.

  Ah, thought Olwen, "They" were back again already, were "They"?

  This breathless thought made her lose the thread for a moment of whatthis Miss Walsh, the wealthy waif, was pouring out to the first friendlysoul she had encountered in the place.

  Then the girl in love dragged herself back to that polished comfortableroom, that tea-table, that woman who had stuck a hat-pin into aguide-book to decide where to go.

  "Oh, you know, I often used to wonder if I should be an old woman beforeI'd ever made friends with anybody. I used to sit winding wool for mycousin and looking out of the morning-room window at the rhododendrons.Such rhododendrons! Every spring they came out ... a wall of pink! Thenthey dropped their blossoms on the lawn ... a carpet of pink! Everyspring they came again. Not the same flowers; fresh flowers everyspring. Fresh flowers.... But the springs went by, and of course I knewthat I should never come young again----Oh, what is that?"

  For Miss Walsh, taking up the tea-pot, had caught sight of somethingthat Olwen had laid down on the tray while she spread the cherry jam onher biscuits. Hastily Olwen picked it up again. It was the sachet intowhich she had sewn the Disturbing Charm.

  In a flash she thought to herself: "Yes! she _is_ the one! This poordear, who's never had anything! Before she's quite too old! Somethingought to be done!"

  "... Fifteen--sixteen of those springs," Miss Walsh was murmuring again,"and such appleblossom. But looking at things alone makes spring so muchsadder than winter.... Of course, you'll never have to understandthat--my dear."

  Olwen was thinking definitely and finally, "I must try the Charm uponher. I _will_. It's probably rubbish.... But if it isn't----! Now how doI set about getting her to wear it? I can't say, '_Tuck this inside yourblouse and you needn't be lonely any more, you'll begin to have peoplefalling in Love with you!_' How shall I----?"

  The method seemed to dart ready-made into her head as she held out onher pink palm the tiny square of mauve satin, scarcely larger than apostage-stamp.

  She turned upon the Spinster the appealing smile that had made "littleMiss Howel-Jones" such a successful worker on the last Welsh Flag Day,in Liverpool.

  "Will you buy one? I'm selling these," announced the inventive Olwen."They"--(then to herself, "_Quick, what shall I say?_") "It--it's forthe Croix Rouge."

  "Oh, is it? Oh, yes. What's it supposed to be? A scent sachet? Howpretty," exclaimed Miss Walsh, taking the thing in her hand. "Yes; ofcourse I'll buy one. Where is my little bag?" (Bag, of crocodile andpurple satin, produced.) "I'll give you something at once."

  The "something" proved to be a hundred-franc note.

  "Oh, no! Not all that!" gasped the impromptu Red Cross Flag seller."It's only a franc! I _can't_ take any more!"

  "Oh, but of course you can. It's for the soldiers," put in Miss Walsh, alook of surprise crossing her mild, Roman-nosed face. "Of course youmust take it. I like giving things.... There! Where's the little sachet?How sweet! Did you make it yourself? I must put it in among mywriting-paper." (Case produced, all Bond Street pig-skin andgold-monogrammed A. W.)

  Olwen hesitated. Of course the Charm would be of no earthly good_there_, even if it were of any good at all, she thought, halffluttered, half ashamed of herself. One curious thing she had noticedabout this Charm already.

  Alone with it, the whole incredible theory seemed real. Brought intocontact with other people, it appeared nonsense. Still, since she wasgoing to give it a trial, she might as well do it properly. For a momentshe listened again to the lonely, talkative woman.

  "Oh, you know, I've always longed to give things! Only I've no one togive to. Shopping is lovely, but not when it's only for oneself----"

  "No," absently from Olwen (who sometimes felt she had all Carnarvonshirecommissioning _her_ to shop for them as soon as she got to town). "Thatsachet----" she ventured presently, eyeing the case. "It's supposed tobe a mascot, you know. To bring you luck."

  "Oh?"

  "Perhaps you don't believe in it? But if you wouldn't mind.... To please_me_," said Olwen. "I mean to please the Red Cross! If you'd _wear_ it!"

  "Oh, I must wear it, must I?" (Case opened; sachet pinned by a largepearl bar to the front of the thick white satin shirt.)

  "Er----Not quite like that," from Olwen. "It--I believe it has to beworn hidden. Out of sight somewhere."

  "Oh, yes. Very well." (Sachet unpinned, and refastened to the brocadelining of the tweed coat.) "There!"

  "But you take off your coat in the evening, don't you?" demurred Olwen,quite anxiously.

  Not alone this woman's history might be changed by the wearing of aCharm, but her own. It was her love-story, Olwen's! for which that Charmwas to be put on trial, too. She drew breath quickly.

  "Miss Walsh! I'm so sorry to bother you! But it's something that has tobe _always_ worn about you. Please would you mind pinning it rightinside your blouse? Or--or to the top of your stays! French people oftendo wear a sachet there, don't they? Then I shall--I mean you'll alwaysbe sure about it...."

  "Oh, very well!" agreed Miss Walsh, smiling. She turned her backmodestly upon Olwen, and by the movement of her elbows seemed to be busywith countless fastenings. Then she reached for a gold lace-pin fromher pin-cushion. There were more jerks and fastenings-up, and presentlyshe turned smiling to the girl.

  "I have safety-pinned it right in _there_," she announced, patting aslab of satin over Heaven (and Heaven alone) knew how many layers ofJaeger, whale-bone, coutille, and solid white embroidery, andlong-cloth. "There! Will that be all right?"

  Olwen gave a little sigh; a breeze to carry the ship of this Adventure.It was launched!

  "Thank you," she said. Then she glanced at the hundred franc note in herhand. "But I do rather feel as if I'd got this under false pretences!"

  "Oh, no!" smiled the Spinster. "If the little mascot does really bringme so much Luck, it will be worth a few more francs, won't it?"

  "Yes, indeed," agreed the demure Olwen, feeling as if she exchanged amental glance with the unknown Inventor of that Charm. "It will be worthit."