I Capture the Castle - Dodie Smith

view--" "I oughn't to have said that," I broke in.

"It's my turn to apologize."

"Apology accepted." He squeezed my hand again, then let it go and sighed deeply.

"Oh, maybe I've got her all wrong--maybe she really has fallen for him.

Why not his Any girl in her senses would, I guess."

I guessed he guessed wrong about that--it seemed to me that lots of

girls wouldn't be attracted by Simon, in spite of his niceness;

and that most of them would be by Neil. The moonlight was shining on

his hair, which was drying curlier than ever.

I told him there was still a bit of duck-weed in it, and he laughed and said:

"That was a darned good swim anyhow." Then Mrs.

Cotton called:

"Come on, you two."

After we had seen them off, the night suddenly seemed very quiet.

I think we were all a little self-conscious. When we were back in the house Father said with a false kind of casualness: "Er -happy, Rose dear?"

"Yes, very," said Rose, with the utmost briskness, "but rather tired.

I'm going straight to bed."

"Let's all go," said Topaz.

"We shall wake Stephen if we wash the glasses tonight."

Stephen had been in quite a while--though I must say he had taken his time seeing Ivy home. I had asked him to come in and drink Rose's

health in the Vicar's champagne but he wouldn't. He smiled in the

most peculiar way when I told him about the engagement; then said, "Oh, well, I'm not saying anything," and went off to bed. Goodness knows what he meant.

I had a feeling that he had kissed Ivy.

I was longing to get Rose to talk, but I knew she wouldn't until the

trek to and from the bathroom was finished; and Father and Topaz seemed unusually slow about their washing.

When they were shut in their room at last, Rose made sure that both our doors were firmly closed; then jumped into bed and blew the candle

out.

"Well ?" I said, invitingly.

She began to talk fast, just above a whisper, telling me every thing.

It turned out I had been right in guessing that she dared Simon into

shaving.

"At first he thought I was joking," she said.

"Then he thought I was trying to make a fool of him and went all dignified. I didn't take any notice- I just had to see him without

that beard, Cassandra; I'd worked up a sort of horror about it. I went close to him and looked up and said: "you've got such a nice mouth -why hide it?"

and I traced the outline of his lips with my finger.

Then he tried to kiss me but I dodged and said: "No--not while you've got that beard," and he said: "Will you if I shave it ?"

I said: "I can't tell till it's off" -and then I ran and got Father's shaving things and Topaz's manicure scissors and a jug of hot water

from the bathroom. We were laughing all the time but there was a

queer, exciting feeling and I had to keep stopping him from kissing me.

He had an awful job with the shave and I suddenly went embarrassed and wished I'd never made him start. I could tell he was furious.

And heavens, he was a sight after he chopped off the long hair with the scissors! I bet I looked horrified because he shouted:

"Go away--go away! Stop watching me!" I went and sat on the window-seat and prayed--I mean I kept thinking "Please God, please God--"' without getting any further. It seemed ages before Simon dried his face and turned round. He said: "Now you know the worst," in a funny, rueful sort of voice; I could see he wasn't angry any more, he looked humble and touching, somehow--and so handsome! Don't you think he's handsome now, Cassandra?"

"Yes, very handsome. What happened next?"

"I said: "That's wonderful, Simon. I like you a thousand times better.

Thank you very, very much for doing it for me."

And then he asked me to marry him."

I didn't tell her I'd heard. I shouldn't like anyone to hear me being proposed to.

She went on: "Then--it was queer, really, because I'm sure I didn't hear you in the tower--I suddenly thought of you. I remembered your

saying I wouldn't know how I felt about him until I'd let him kiss me.

And you were right--oh, I knew that I liked him and admired him, but I still didn't know if I was in love. And there was my chance to find

out with the proposal safe in advance! So I asked him to kiss me. And it was wonderful--as wonderful as--" Her voice dwindled away. I

guessed she was re-living it and gave her a minute or so.

"Well, go on," I urged her at last, "as wonderful as what ?"

"Oh, as ever it could be. Heavens, I can't describe it! It was all right, anyway--I'm in love and I'm terribly happy. And I'm going to

make things splendid for you, too. You'll come and stay with us and

marry someone yourself. Perhaps you'll marry Neil."

"I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate anyone tonight. Oh, the relief -the relief of finding I'm in love with Simon!"

I said: "Supposing you hadn't found it, would you have refused him

?"

She was a long time before she answered, then her tone was defiant:

"No, I wouldn't. Just before he kissed me I said to myself:

"You'll marry him anyway, my girl." And do you know what made me say it his Beyond him, on the dressing table, I could see my towel I'd lent him for the shave- all thin and frayed and awful. Not one spare towel have we in this house--" "Don't I know it ?" I interrupted with feeling.

"I won't live like that. I won't, I won't!"

"Well, you'll be able to have all the towels you want now," said Miss Blossom's voice.

"Ever such congratulations, Rosie dear."

"And all the clothes I want," said Rose.

"I'm going to think about them until I fall asleep."

"Would you like the four-poster so that you can gloat in style?" I offered.

But she couldn't be bothered to change.

While I was lying awake re-swimming the moat I noticed my enamel jug

and basin silhouetted against the window; it was queer to think they

had played a part in Simon's shave.

I kept seeing him with two faces--with the beard and without. Then it came to me that there was some famous person who shaved because of a

woman.

I tried and tried to think who it was but I fell asleep without

remembering.

In the very early morning I woke up and thought "Samson and

Delilah"--it was as if someone had spoken the words in my ear.

Of course, it was Samson's hair that got cut, not his beard, so the

story didn't quite fit. But I did think Rose would rather fancy her

self as Delilah.

I sat up and peered across at her, wondering what she was dreaming.

While I watched, it grew light enough to see her bright hair stretched across the pillow and the faint pink flush on her cheeks.

She was looking particularly beautiful--though no one could say Aunt

Millicent's nightgown was becoming. It's strange how different Rose

seems with her eyes closed--much more childish and gentle and serene. I felt so very fond of her. She was sleeping deeply and peacefully,

though in a most uncomfortable position with one limp arm hanging out of the iron bedstead- you have to lie on the extreme outside to avoid the worst lumps in the mattress. I thought what a different bed she

was certain to come by. I was terribly happy for her.

XII am sitting on the ruins beyond the kitchen-where I sat with Neil, three weeks ago all but a day, after swimming the moat. How different it is now, in the hot sunshine! Bees are humming, a dove is cooing,

the moat is full of sky. Heloise has just gone down to take a drink

and a swan is giving her a glance of utter disdain.

Abelard went into the tall green wheat a few minutes ago, looking

rather like a lion entering the jungle.

This is the first time I have used the beautiful manuscript book Simon gave me- and the fountain pen which came from him yesterday.

A scarlet pen and a blue and gold leather-bound book-what could be more inspiring? But I seemed to get on better with a stump of pencil and

Stephen's fat, shilling exercise book .... I keep closing my eyes and basking--that is, my body basks; my mind is restless. I go backwards

and forwards, recapturing the past, wondering about the future--and,

most unreasonably, I find myself longing for the past more than for the future. I remind myself of how often we were cold and hungry with

barely a rag to our backs, and then I count the blessings that have

descended on us; but I still seem to fancy the past most. This is

ridiculous. And it is ridiculous that I should have this dull, heavy, not exactly unhappy but--well, no kind of feeling when I ought to be

blissfully happy.

Perhaps if I make myself write I shall find out what is wrong with

me.

It is just a week since Rose and Topaz went to London. Mrs.

Cotton asked me, too--they are staying at her Park Lane flat-but

someone had to be here to look after Father and Thomas and Stephen;

besides, if I had accepted she might have felt she had to buy clothes for me, as well as give Rose her trousseau. She is wonderfully

generous and wonderfully tactful. Instead of pressing money on us to

pay our way here, she insisted on buying the beaver-lined coat for two hundred pounds.

As for the trousseau, she said to Rose: "My dear, I always longed for a daughter to dress- let me have my share of your happiness."

I was rather surprised that Topaz agreed to go to London, but the night before they left we had an illuminating talk. I came up from the

kitchen with some things I had been ironing for her and found her

sitting on her bed beside a half-filled suitcase, staring at nothing.

"I'm not going," she said, her voice quite baritone with tragedy.

"Good heavens, why not?" I asked.

"Because my motives are all wrong. I've been telling myself that it'd be good for Mortmain to be here without me for a bit, and that I ought to see some of my friends- renew my artistic interests, make myself

more stimulating. But the real truth is that I want to keep an eye on that woman and be sure she doesn't see him when he comes up to London.

And that's despicable. Of course I'm not going."

"Well, I don't see how you can cry off now," I told her.

"And you can always put things straight with your conscience by not keeping an eye on Mrs. Cotton. Topaz, do you really think that

Father's in love with her his You haven't a scrap of evidence."

"I've the evidence of my eyes and ears. Have you watched them together his He listens to her as if he liked it, and he not only listens, he

talks. He talks more to her in an evening than he's talked to me all

this last year."

I pointed out that he doesn't talk much to any of us.

"Then why doesn't he? What's wrong with us?

I'd begun to think he was temperamentally morose--that he just couldn't help it--but after seeing him turn on his charm for the Cottons! Heaven knows I didn't expect an easy life when I married him--I was prepared even for violence. But I do loathe morosity."

It was no moment to tell her there is no such word;

anyway, I rather liked it.

"Perhaps Mrs. Cotton will go back to America with Neil," I suggested comfortingly.

"Not she. She's taken the flat for three years.

Oh lord, what a fool I am- how can I stop her meeting him, even if I do stay with her his There are thousands of places they can go.

He'll probably renew his interest in the British Museum."

I must say it was a bit suspicious--he hadn't been to London once while Mrs. Cotton was at Scoatney.

"In that case, you might as well go," I said.

"I mean, it doesn't matter your motive being to spy, if you know very well that you can't."

"That's true." She heaved a sigh that was almost a groan and sounded very histrionic, then began to pack her shroud like night gowns.

Suddenly she strode to the window and stood looking at Father's light in the gatehouse.

"I wonder!" she said sepulchrally.

I obligingly asked her what.

"If I shall ever come back. I've got my cross-roads feeling--I've only had it three or four times in my life. That night in the Cafe Royal

when Everard hit the waiter-was She stopped dead.

"Why did he do that?" I asked with the utmost interest. Everard was her second husband, a fashion artist; her first was called Carlo and

had something to do with a circus. Rose and I have always longed to

know about them.

It wasn't any good. She turned a faintly outraged stare on me and

murmured foggily: "Let the dead bury their dead." As far as I know, Everard is alive and kicking and I never have seen how the dead can go burying anyone.

Nothing of great importance to me happened between the night of the

engagement and Rose and Topaz going to London. Of course, we went to

Scoatney several times but Neil wasn't there. He went off to see the

Derby and other races; it seemed a pity that he had to go to them

alone. After thinking about it a lot, I wrote him a little note. I

can remember it word for word:

DEAR NEIL,

I am sure you will be glad to know that Rose really is in love with

Simon. When I talked to you last, I was afraid she might not be- so

you were justified in calling me a liar, but I am not one now. Rose

told me herself and she is very truthful. To prove this, I will tell

you she admitted most honestly that she would have married him even if she had not been in love. I don't think I quite believe that, but

anyway, please do not count it against her, as she is a girl who finds poverty very hard to bear and she has been bearing it for years. And

as she fell in love with him at the psychological moment, everything

has come right.

I hope you are having a nice time in London.

With love from your future sister-in-law

CASSANDRA

I thought it would be all right to put "with love" in a relation like way--though I am not quite sure if Rose's marriage really will make me his sister-in-law. Perhaps I shall only be Simon's.

I must now go indoors--partly because the sun is too hot and partly so that I can copy in Neil's reply.

Here I am on the bedroom window-seat with a glass of milk and a

now-eaten banana.

Neil wrote back:

DEAR CASSANDRA,

It was nice of you to write that letter and what you say is probably

right. I guess I was being unreasonable and certainly very rude. I

apologize again.

Mother's apartment is so full that I have moved to a hotel, so I have not seen much of them all, but I joined them at a theatre last night

and everyone seemed very happy. It was an opening night and the

photographers made a rush at Mrs. Mortmain, who looked stunning.

I hope I see you before I go back home.

Maybe we can swim the moat again. How are the swans?