The Disturbing Charm

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER X

  DIVAGATIONS OF THE CHARM

  "There's a girl wanted there, there's a girl wanted there, And he don't care if she's dark or fair, There's a nice little home that she's wanted to share."

  Song of the Past.

  The scene with which the last chapter closed would have been furtherundeniable proof to Olwen of the too-potent success of her talisman, hadshe known of it. But how about the working of the Charm, as it had beenmapped out by herself?

  As it was, guessing nothing as yet of how it had drawn to her friend,Mrs. Cartwright, the adoration of quite the wrong man, the girl wasalready in a mood of dissatisfaction. Chiefly, perhaps, because half theday was over, without a word or look for her from Captain Ross. It istrue that the young Staff officer had announced the evening before thathe guessed he was going to take the following day out in the open. Butif her Charm had been strong as she had hoped it, Captain Ross wouldscarcely have wished to leave the hotel for an entire day while she(Olwen) was in it? Yet, how magic had been its effect in the case ofMiss Walsh and her sergeant! They (the fiances) were now inseparable,rather to the scandal of the French contingent, new to the code of theEnglish betrothed. Olwen scarcely had a word with her friend, except forgood night! Well, the unchaperoned Miss Walsh was entirely happy. Thatwas one ray of brightness in the gloom of little Olwen's mood, for evenshe was now coming round to Mrs. Cartwright's expressed view that it wasbetter to be happy with a quite unsuitable partner than to be bored withone who is apparently "cut out" for one. So much for what the Charm haddone for Agatha Walsh.

  But what about Olwen herself? What about Mrs. Cartwright? What aboutlittle Mr. Brown?... To the girl, in her present impatient frame ofmind, there seemed to be absolutely "nothing doing," as Captain Rosswould have said.

  That very afternoon, when she and her Uncle were closeted together inthat bare, shining study-room of his, she had tried to draw a discussionof Mrs. Cartwright into the rewriting of the Professor's article on oldWelsh flower-names, but the old man was not to be diverted from his ownsubject.

  "Never mind Mrs. Cartwright's new dress now, Olwen _fach_," he'd said,indulgently, but firmly. "Clothes, clothes, and stuffs----! Get on withthis, now----" And he had laid down close to her typewriter a furtherpage of notes, in his all but indecipherably small handwriting:

  "Fox-glove--_Bysedd cwn_ (Hound's fingers). Mullein--_Canwyll yr adar_ (Bird's candle). Cotton-grass--_Sidan y waun_ (Moor silk). Snowdrops--_Clych Maban_ (Baby's bells)...."

  Olwen had tapped out a dozen of these names on a fresh sheet of paper,thinking, rebelliously: "Well, I don't see that these are any moreimportant than 'clothes and stuffs' that one's got to _wear_! Certainlynot half as important as an awfully nice woman whom Uncle might bemarrying all this time. I do call it a waste----" Then, as she pushedthe roller of her machine along the carrier again, a more optimisticthought had struck her. "Perhaps he's making up his mind to propose toher _now_."

  "Perhaps he won't----Good gracious, what handwriting! What's this?

  "'Briony--_Paderau gatti_ (Cat's Rosary).'

  "Perhaps he won't just say a word to me about Mrs. Cartwright, or howthat goldeny jumper suits her, on purpose. _He's afraid I might guess!_"

  Then the optimism had faded again into gloom.... Mechanically shefinished her work, stamped the letters, tidied up the table after herUncle had gone. She ought to write home, she knew. She owed letters toAuntie Margaret, who kept the big rambling house in Carnarvonshire forthe family, and to her sisters Peggy and Myfanwy, and to some of thecousins. (The Howel-Jones family was as big and rambling as that oldhouse of theirs.) But Olwen was in no mood for writing any letters ofher own. She took out some picture postcards of the place, one showingthe edge of the pine-forest silhouetted against the sea, one of the_Baissin_ all a-flutter with the sails of yachts (a flight of giantbutterflies) on regatta day, and one of a wave, marbled with foam, aboutto break on Biscay shore. On these Olwen scribbled messages to herhome-people; then she took them up with her Uncle's letters, and ran outof the hotel to post them at the little bureau opposite to where thetramway started for Arcachon. Then, since there was nothing else to dountil dinner-time, she turned to ramble in that forest that seemed tofling out its green, deep arms towards human beings clustered in theirhouses and villas, their hotels, and their chattering groups between itsedge and the margin of the sea. That forest seemed to draw them as if ittoo held at its hidden heart some disturbing Charm, thought Olwenfancifully, as she roamed out westwards, apparently alone, but always inher thoughts accompanied by a sturdy compact form in khaki with scarlettabs, his right sleeve tucked into his pocket, his gaze confident as thetone of his voice. Only, in her inmost thoughts, that voice was not wontto tease and laugh, and "rag" her, as in everyday life. She put, intothe unexpectedly beautiful womanish mouth under that toothbrushmoustache, the tone and the words that she would have wished to hearfrom it ... and one can hazard a guess at the feelings of Captain Rossand of most other young men could they but listen to the dream-languagegiven to the dream-images of themselves by the girls who are interestedin them.

  Little Olwen's guileless imaginings, for instance, murmured, "Olwen! Mysweetheart! My own, sweet, sweet little girl! No, no; I have never caredfor any one else in my life. All my life I have been waiting for YOU;the one girl who was made for me. Tell me you've never cared for any oneeither; ah yes, darling! Tell me. Do tell me. I shan't be able to sleepall tonight unless you do----" Thus the Captain Ross of Olwen's maidenreverie.

  "Then," she mused, with her head down and her eyes on the unseen carpetof pine needles, "I'd tease him for half an hour before I did tell himthere'd never been anybody, _seriously_, but him. And then at last--yes,then I'd let him kiss me. Two or three times running, even," decidedthis abandoned Olwen, as she roamed the forest that might have beenArden, or Eden, or the woods of her native Wales, for all she noticed ofit in her daydream.

  Into that dream there broke a loud and cheerful shout of "Hullo, hullo,hullo, hullo!"

  Olwen jumped on the path, glanced quickly to the right, and then foundthat she had reached, without knowing that she had come so far, thatclearing among the pine-trunks where the paths converged upon thewoodcutter's hut.

  Upon that place the hand of Change had fallen. Those giantbramble-runners had been thrust aside from the entrance to it; a pile ofgreen canvas camp-kit leant against the log-wall; a khaki coat and aservice cap were hung upon the outstretched arm of the nearest tree;and, just within the open doorway, a small figure in shirt-sleeves wasstanding working. With the end of a bough, used as a maul, he wasdriving four stumpy stakes at right angles into the pine-needle strewnfloor of the hut.

  "Harry Tate, in 'Moving House,' that's what this is supposed torepresent!" explained Mr. Brown cheerfully, as Olwen came up. "Whatd'you think of my little grey home in the West? Palatial and desirablefamily residence, is it not? (Not.) Standing in its own park-likegrounds." He dropped the maul. "Allow me----"

  He lifted the little green canvas chair out from among the pile of theother things, pulled the four legs of it into position, and set it on aneven piece of ground close to the doorway.

  "Take a pew, Miss Howel-Jones," said Mr. Brown, and Olwen sat down,laughing. In a whisk the shadowy and adorable companion of her dream hadbeen for the moment banished. She turned to this substantial butunthrilling young man of everyday life.

  "Are you really going to live out here?" she asked.

  "Got to," said Mr. Brown, with a business-like nod of his bullet-head.He returned to his post just inside the doorway, and went on driving inhis stake. She watched him; asked him what those were for?

  "Table," he explained between thumps. "They're lending me a table-topfrom the hotel. (Very decent the old girl was as soon as she realized Iwasn't going to do a flit without paying my bill.) These stakes aregoing to be the four legs, d'you see? Then I stick the festive board ontop of 'em. Old Ross is bringing it along presently; he's been lending ahand."


  "Oh, has he?" said Olwen, looking round with great interest at the restof the furniture. "Are those all the things you've had in Camp, Isuppose?"

  "Things somebody's had in Camp," grinned the little subaltern. "Ithink----Yes, that is my bucket, with 'Brown' painted on it; but none ofthe other things seem to be mine. I've snaffled a lot of other fellows'kit. But then, they've snaffled mine--or where is it? The bed's marked'Capt. Smith,' and the bath 'Robinson'--I'd better paint Crusoe in fronto' that, eh? Monarch of all I survey touch."

  She watched him as he drove in the last stake; then he turned, put downthe clump of wood with which he had been hammering, and began to dragout the light, canvas-covered furniture.

  "Shall I help you with that?" suggested the girl, idly, half rising.

  He waved her back with his pink hands. "No! No! You sit here and watchme and talk to me. Having a pretty young lady to look on and make thingspleasant when you're doing a job of work; what could be nicer?" prattledlittle Mr. Brown, picking up the camp-bed that, under his short arm,gave him rather the appearance of an ant carrying a twig. "There! I'llhave done the lot before Ross comes back with that table-top; I bet he'sgetting in another drink while he's about it. Talking of drinks, won'tyou allow me to offer you a little light refreshment? Such as my humblemansion can afford; here you are----"

  As he spoke he took his knife out of his pocket and gave a cut at one ofthose ten-foot bramble-runners that had sprawled before the doorway ofthe hut. He held it out; it was covered with clusters of those soft,juicy blackberries that grow largest in the shade.

  "Try our fresh gathered fruit, at market prices," chattered theLondon-bred lad; he took the cut end of the prickly runner and stuck itbetween two logs of the wall, just to Olwen's hand. "There you are, yousee. Help yourself, won't you?"

  Olwen picked and ate a couple of the sweet cones, black and glossy asher own little hatless head. Then she held out half a dozen on her pinkpalm to her host. "Won't you have one?"

  "Chuck it in," he said, from where he was squatting turning over thethings in his hold-all, which was spread out on the ground almost at herfeet. "Three shies a penny, Miss! Try your luck----"

  He put back his head, opened his large pink mouth. He looked almost likea big bull-pup, to whom the girl was teaching, with lumps of sugar, thetrick of "Trust" and "Paid for." Smilingly Olwen took aim with oneblackberry after another, missing twice to each one that she droppedinto the mouth not so far from her knee; a babyish game enough! Buttheir combined ages scarcely reached forty-two. Their laughter rangpleasantly through the trees, greeting the ears of Captain Ross as hestrode up with the light wooden table-top tucked under his left arm.

  And it was quite an idyllic little picnic group that met his eyes inthat woodland glade of green and russet-brown: the little lady-bird of agirl, black-headed and red-coated, enthroned there on that camp-chairset under the trees, and taking aim from a handful of fruit at theopen-mouthed, wholesome-faced boy kneeling before those absurdly smallboots of hers.

  Perhaps the little slinger of blackberries aimed more successfully, atthat moment, than she knew; hitting, as Woman often does, another markthan the one at which she looks.

  Perhaps the Authority on Woman was not too pleased to see another manallowed a glance at his (the Authority's) special study, even at a straypage of it?

  But it was with quite a genial "good afternoon" that Captain Ross setdown the table-top beside the other furniture.

  "Well, that's that, Brown," he said.

  "Ah, thank you," from the other young officer. "Much obliged, I'm sure.Now, we'll fix this on to here----"

  Olwen darted forward to help with the table-top, but the two young menhad managed without her.

  "That's the ticket. Now, Ross! What about this for a scene in aCanadian lumber camp? Yes; there's water over there, and I've got my oldspirit-kettle. Might turn an honest penny, too, by giving teas in theforest. Parties catered for, eh? The Old Bull and Bush touch. Who speaksfor the job of the pretty waitress?" with a cheerful grin at Olwen."What, are you going on, Ross? I thought you'd come to lend a hand at myflit. Don't go. Stop and watch me work, anyway."

  "I guess not," said the Staff Officer, with a flash of his splendidteeth, and with the gesture that always tore at Olwen's sympathy, theforward shrug of the shoulder that should have moved his right arm. "I'djust hate to think I was in anybody's _way_----" He saluted, withoutlooking at Miss Howel-Jones any more than she was looking at him.

  Another moment and his scarlet tabs had ceased to brighten that glade ofa French wood, that heart of a Welsh maid.

  Poor little Olwen sat there by Mr. Brown's hut, feeling as if she couldwith her own hands have pulled it down about his ears, just for sheerexasperation. It's true that he, Mr. Brown, was wearing the Charm thather own hand had tucked into his pocket--but that had no power over herhere. Here she was, left! Left for the rest of the afternoon, possibly,in the company of a young man whom she didn't care if she never sawagain. _He_ could talk to her, it seemed; _he_ could pick blackberriesfor her; _he_ could suggest that she would make a pretty waitress.

  But the one and only young man for whose attentions and compliments shewould have wished--what did _he_ do? Just chucked down, with a carelessword, the table-top that he had been to fetch, and made off without alook or a thought for her, she told herself.

  Yet she was wearing, as she always wore, hidden away next her heart, thedisturbing Charm!

  What was the meaning of that?

  But for the engagement which it had already brought about, Olwen wouldhave been forced to the conclusion that it was all a fraud, that Charm.

  Couldn't be that for some people it possessed power, for others none atall?

  Had it only no effect when it was worn by her, Olwen?

  The "no" to this question came almost as she was asking it; but not inthe way that the girl had wished.

  Little Mr. Brown, having been busy as he chattered, unheeded by her! forthe last ten minutes, had now moved into position the whole of hiseffects--except the canvas chair on which Olwen was sitting. His bluebulging eyes had glanced in her direction several times, as he pulledand shifted and set straight. Now he looked again, and at length.

  "I say, you know, you do look top-hole, sitting there like that," hetold her, suddenly. "Wish I'd got my little kodak that I had to leave atSouthampton after all; I'd take a snap of you, just as you are. Sittingthere, as if it were your own little place, and all----"

  He paused, still looking at her with his head on one side. He had takenhis coat down from the bough, and stood, one arm in a sleeve of it,while he considered Olwen as if from a new point of view.

  He said: "It's just what it wants--what any house or cottage oranything wants. The little missus.... You'll be having a house of yourown, o' course, one day."

  Olwen shook her head. "Never," she said, with all the gloom of atemporary conviction.

  "Oh! Come! Don't say that," Mr. Brown besought her, cheerily. "Courseyou will. All girls say they'll never marry, and all girls _do_, afterall. All the pretty----All the ones like you, I'm sure."

  "I shan't," persisted Olwen, a trifle cheered however. "_I'm_ notpretty."

  "Oh! Who's fishing for compliments?" laughed Mr. Brown. He jerked theother arm into his coat and began to fasten it. "If you don't mind mesaying so, you're the prettiest girl in the place by miles. You are. I'mnot the only person in the hotel who thinks so, either."

  "Aren't you?" said Olwen, with a lift of her head, and of her heart."Who----?"

  "Why that old boy who keeps the hotel; old Leroux. He said you were'_tres jolie_' the other day, when you were passing the steps. I said'wee, wee, _tres_.' You've got such ripping eyes."

  "I don't think they're anything," said Olwen, disconsolate again.

  "They are," insisted little Mr. Brown, his pink, ordinary face becomingdignified by his sincerity. "And it's not only--not only that you've gota lovely little face. There's--well, I don't know what there is aboutit."

  "A charm, pe
rhaps," suggested Olwen, with would-be irony; but he took upquite gravely: "That's it! Just what I meant. A charm. One sort of feelsglad there is the kind of think walking about. It's like the song

  'When we was in the trenches Fighting beside the Frenchies, We'd 'a' given all we 'ad for a girl like 'er, Wouldn't we, Bill? Aye!'

  Or something of that sort. Really now. Seriously. It is awfully toppingto know there _is_ a girl like you!"

  Olwen shook her head again, laughed, deprecated.... Impossible to assertthat she was offended at his homage, even from the wrong young man. Shelistened as the guileless Brown went on to tell her it was a very luckyman for whom she'd be making a little home, some day; and, by Jove,anybody might envy him----

  "Very nice of you to say so," murmured Olwen, pink-eared, and ardentlywishing that Captain Ross had stayed on to hear this declaration.

  The next remark of Mr. Brown's seemed to have nothing to do with it.

  "Well, the War can't go on for ever."

  "No, I suppose not," said Olwen, uncertainly.

  "And I suppose----Well, it oughtn't to be quite as hard for a chap toget some sort of a posish of his own afterwards," said little Mr. Brown,thoughtfully, and as if he were already looking ahead, to a time when heshould no longer wear that uniform, that belt that he was fastening ashe came and stood nearer to the girl, looking down.

  "I mean to say, I'm not going back to any stuffy shop and serving a lotof old trout--I beg their pardons--ladies with two and a half yards ofecru insertion, pay at the desk, please. Not much. 'Tisn't the life forme; I know it now. They ought to find something different for me, afterthis. They've got to. Don't you think so?"

  "Oh yes," agreed Olwen, a little vaguely.

  "Well! There you are! All sorts of things might happen, with luck, evenif it's no good planning 'em out now," took up the cheery boyish voice;and then there was silence for a moment under the pines.

  Then lowering the voice, he said: "I say, I'll tell you something. Thatlittle mascot I found"--he touched his coat--"that you tucked in therefor me, I'll always keep that. Nobody else shall touch it, you bet."

  Olwen rose from the chair, putting her hand on the back of it. She wassuddenly a little fluttered, as if by some ripple in the atmosphere, setstirring by some small and secret Force. The ripple was setting towardsher this time; not from her, as she was wont to feel when she wasputting out that childish soul of herself towards another man. But ittouched her, the tiny Disturbance.

  "Don't you want this chair?" she asked quickly.

  Little Mr. Brown put his own hand on the back of it, closing his fingersfor one moment over Olwen's--his fingers that had handled laces in aladies' shop, had handled a rifle later, and, later still, ablood-stained revolver.... Decency and honesty were written on everyline of the little fellow's face at that moment; and even if he were ofa pattern that everyday England turns out by the thousand--well, so muchthe better for England.

  Quite simply, and as one stating a fact, he said to the girl beside him:"I don't suppose you've ever let any fellow kiss you?"

  He himself had no doubt kissed girls in dozens, but he knew now thateven to mention the word to this girl was a different thing. It did notneed Olwen Howel-Jones's aghast little "_What----?_" to forbid him to gofurther than the word.

  He took his hand away with a little rueful laugh.

  "'_Archibald_, certainly not!' Eh? _I_ wouldn't have tried."

  "No. Of course not," said Olwen, repressively, but feeling a trifleshaken. Who would have thought of his saying such a thing to her? Whowould have dreamt that the Charm would threaten to work tocross-purposes like this? Her small face took an invulnerable look. Sheswept some bits of blackberry leaves off her skirt, and prepared to turnhomewards.

  He walked with her to where the trees met the telegraph-posts of theshaded road.

  There, as he said good-bye to her, this little young officer added, witha wistfulness: "But I would give anything to!"