Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle
the surface. Anyway, a psycho-analyst would certainly ask Father
questions about the time he spent there--in a way, try to put him
mentally back in prison. And then there was the bit about it being
possible that another period of physical imprisonment might resolve the trouble. But Simon said that was unworkable as a treatment, because it couldn't be done without Father's consent-and if he gave it, of course he wouldn't feel imprisoned.
There didn't seem to be anything I could do along those lines.
I glanced through another page in case I had missed something, and came to the description of Simon's face as he lay on the grass with his eyes closed. It gave me a stab in which happiness and misery were somehow a part of each other. I closed the journal and sat staring up into the
dark shaft of the tower. And then I Suddenly the whole plan was
complete in my mind almost to the last detail. But surely I meant it
as a joke then?
I remember thinking how it would make Thomas laugh. It was still a
joke while I put my journals away and began to climb out of the tower-I had to mount the ladder very slowly because I needed one hand for the lantern. I was half-way up when the extraordinary thing happened.
Godsend church clock had begun to strike ten and suddenly, as well as the far-off booming bell, I heard in memory the tinkling chime of
Mother's little traveling clock.
And then my mind's eye saw her face--not the photograph of it, which is what I always see when I think of her, but her face as it was. I saw
her light brown hair and freckled skin--I had forgotten until then that she had freckles. And that same instant, I heard her voice in my
head--after all these years of not being able to hear it.
A quiet, clipped little voice it was, completely matter-of-fact. It
said: "Do you know, dear, I believe that scheme of yours might work quite well ?"
I heard my own voice answer: "But Mother-surely we couldn't his It's fantastic--"
"Well, your Father's quite a fantastic man," said Mother's voice.
That second, a gust of wind slammed the tower door just above me,
startling me so that I nearly lost my footing on the ladder. I
steadied myself, then listened again for Mother's voice, asked her
questions. All I heard was the last stroke of the church clock. But
my mind was made up.
I hurried back to the castle and got Thomas to come out again.
To my surprise, he didn't think my plan was as wild as I did myself- he was dead keen from the beginning, and most businesslike.
"You give me the housekeeping money and tomorrow I'll buy everything we need," he said.
"And then we'll do it the very next day. We've got to act quickly, because Topaz may be home next week."
I didn't mention my strange experience of being advised by Mother; I
might have if he had put up any opposition to the scheme, but he never did. Do I really believe I was in touch with Mother-or was it
something deep in myself choosing that way to advise me his I don't
know. I only know that it happened.
Father went to Scoatney the next morning, so there was no danger of his seeing what I was up to.
By the time Thomas came home I had everything in readiness except for the few things that were too heavy for me to carry alone. He helped me with those and then we made our final plans.
"And we must do it the first thing after breakfast," said Thomas, "or he may go off to Scoatney again."
The minute I woke up on Thursday morning I thought: "I can't go through with it. It's dangerous-something dreadful might happen." And then I remembered Father saying that if he didn't start work soon the impetus might die. All the time I was dressing I kept thinking, "Oh, if only I could be sure it's the right thing to do!" I tried to get more advice from Mother. Nothing happened.
I tried praying to God. Nothing happened. I prayed to "Any one who is listening, please"--to the morning sun--to Nature, via the wheat field
.. . At last I decided to toss for it.
And just then Thomas came rushing in to say that Father wasn't waiting until after breakfast, would be off to Scoatney at any minute- and
instantly I knew that I did want to carry through our scheme, that I
couldn't bear not to.
The squeak of bicycle tires being pumped up came in through the open
window.
"It's too late. We're sunk for today," said Thomas.
"Not yet," I said.
"Get out of the house without letting him see you --go along the walls and down the gatehouse stairs.
Then dash up the mound and hide behind the tower. Be ready to help. Go on-quick!"
He bolted off and I hurried down to the courtyard, pretending to be
very worried that Father was leaving without his breakfast.
"Oh, they'll give me some at Scoatney," he said airily. Then I talked about his bicycle, offering to clean it for him, telling him it needed new tyres.
"Let me pump that back one a bit harder for you," I said, and kept at it until I felt Thomas would have had enough time.
Then, just as I was handing the bicycle over, I remarked casually, "Oh, can you spare a minute to come up to Belmotte Tower his I think you may want to let someone at Scoatney know what's been happening in there."
"Oh, lord, did that last heavy rain do a lot of damage ?" said Father.
"Well, I think you'll see quite a few changes," I said, with the utmost truthfulness.
We crossed the bridge and started to climb the mound.
"One doesn't often see an English sky as blue as this," he said.
"I
wonder if Simon's agent has authority to do repairs to the tower ?"
He went on chatting most pleasantly and normally. All my misgivings
were rushing back; but I felt the die was cast.
"Really, I ought to spend more time in here," he said as he followed me up the steps outside the tower. I opened the heavy oak door and stood back for him to pass me. He climbed down the ladder inside and stood
blinking his eyes.
"Can't see much yet, after the sunlight," he called up, peering around.
"Hello, have you been camping-out down here ?"
"One of us is going to," I said--then added quickly:
"Go up the staircase a little way, will you?"
"The crumbling's worse, is it?" He went through the archway and began to make his way up the stairs.
Thomas had already crept from behind the tower. I beckoned and he was beside me in a flash. Together, we dragged the ladder up and flung it down outside.
Father shouted: "Come and show me what you mean, Cassandra."
"Don't say anything until he comes back," whispered Thomas.
Father called again and I still didn't answer. After a few seconds he returned through the archway.
"Couldn't you hear me calling ?" he said, looking up at us.
"Hello, Thomas, why haven't you gone to school?"
We stared down at him. Now that the ladder had gone he seemed much
further away from us; the circle of stone walls rose round him dungeon like He was so foreshortened that he seemed only to have a face,
shoulders and feet.
"What's the matter his Why don't you answer ?"
he shouted.
I racked my brains to think of the most tactful way of telling lim what had happened to him. At last I managed:
"Will you please look round you, Father his It's a sort of surprise."
We had put the mattress from the four-poster on the old iron bedstead, with blankets and pillows. The most inviting new stationery was
spread on the rustic table, with stones to use as paperweights.
We had given him the kitchen armchair.
"There are washing arrangements and drinking water in the garderobe," I called down- my enamel jug and basin had come in handily again.
"We think you'll have enough light to work by, now we've cleared the ivy from all the lowest arrow-slits --we'll give you a lantern at
night, of course. Very good meals will be coming down in a basket--we bought a "Thermos" .. " I couldn't go on --the expression on his face was too much for me.
He had just taken in that the ladder wasn't there any more.
"Great God in heaven!" he began--and then sat down on the bed and let out a roar of laughter. He laughed and laughed until I began to fear
he would suffocate.
"Oh, Thomas!" I whispered.
"Have we pushed him over to the wrong side of the border-line ?"
Father mopped his eyes.
"My dear, dear children!" he said at last.
"Cassandra, are you- what is it, seventeen, eighteen? Or are you eight? Bring that ladder back at once."
"You say something, Thomas," I whispered.
He cleared his throat and said very slowly and loudly:
"We think you ought to start work, Father--for your own sake far more than for ours. And we think being shut up here may help you to
concentrate and be good for you in other ways. I assure you we've
given the matter a lot of thought and are in line with psycho-analysis his "Bring back that ladder!" roared Father. I could see that Thomas's weighty manner had infuriated him.
"There's no point in arguing," said Thomas, calmly.
"We'll leave you to get settled. You can tell us at lunch time if there are any books or papers you need for your work."
"Don't you dare go away!" Father's voice cracked so pitifully that I said quickly:
"Please don't exhaust yourself by shouting for help, because there's no one but us within miles. Oh, Father, it's an experiment- give it a
chance."
"But you little lunatic ... was Father began, furiously.
Thomas whispered to me: "I warn you, this will only develop into a brawl. Let me get the door shut."
It was a brawl already on Father's side. I stood back and Thomas
closed the door.
"Luncheon at one, Father," I called encouragingly.
We locked and bolted the door. There wasn't the faintest chance that
Father could climb up to it, but we felt the psychological effect would be good. As we went down the mound, Father's yelling sounded
surprisingly weak; by the time we reached the bridge we couldn't hear it at all.
I said: "Do you think he's fainted?"
Thomas went a little way up the mound.
"No, I can still hear him.
It's just that the tower's a sound-trap."
I stared back at it.
"Oh, Thomas, have we done something insane?"
"Not a bit," said Thomas, cheerfully.
"You know, even the change of atmosphere may be enough to help him."
"But to lock him in--and it used to be a dungeon!
To imprison one's Father!"
"Well, that's the whole idea, isn't it his Not that I set quite as much store on the psycho stuff as you do. Personally, I think knowing he
won't be let out until he's done some work is almost more important."
"That's nonsense," I said.
"If it doesn't come right psychologically from the depths of Father- it won't come right at all.
You can't trammel the creative mind."
"Why not?" said Thomas.
"His creative mind's been untrammelled for years without doing a hand's-turn. Let's see what trammelling does for it."
We went indoors and had breakfast- it seemed awful that Father was
starting his adventure on an empty stomach, but I knew we should be
making that up to him soon. Then I wrote to Thomas's school to say he would be indisposed for a few days, and went up to make the beds.
Thomas kindly undertook the dusting.
"Hello!" he said suddenly.
"Look at this!"
The key to the gatehouse room was lying on Father's dressing-table.
"Let's go in and have a look at those lists you told me about," said Thomas.
As we climbed the gatehouse stairs I said:
"Oh, Thomas, is it like spying?"
"Yes, of course it is," said Thomas, unlocking the door.
I suddenly felt frightened as well as guilty- it was as if part of
Father's mind was still in the room and furious with us for
intruding.
Sunlight was streaming through the south window, the "comic strips"
were still tacked to the bookshelves, Mother's little clock was ticking away on the desk. But the lists weren't there any longer and the desk was locked.
I was glad we couldn't find anything. I felt worse about snooping
round his room than about locking him up in the tower.
Thomas stayed to read the comic strips while I began preparations for Father's lunch. At one o'clock we took it out in a basket- soup in a
"Thermos," chicken salad, strawberries and cream, and a cigar (nine pence).
"I wonder if we're right to pamper him with this rich food," said Thomas as we started up the mound.
"Bread and water would create the prison atmosphere better."
Everything was quiet when we got up to the tower. We unlocked the
door and looked down. Father was lying on the bed, staring upwards.
"Hello," he said, in a perfectly pleasant voice.
I was astounded--and still more so when he smiled at us.
Of course I smiled back, and I said I hoped he had a good appetite.
Thomas began to lower the basket on a length of clothesline.
"It's only a light luncheon, so that it won't make you sleepy," I explained.
"There'll be a bigger meal tonight- with wine." I noticed he had already got himself a drink of water, which looked as if he were
settling down a bit.
He thanked Thomas most politely for the basket and spread the contents out on the table; then smiled up at us.
"This is superb," he said, in his most genial voice.
"Now, listen, you comics: I've had a long, quiet morning to think in-it's really been most pleasant, lying here watching the sky. I'm
perfectly sincere when I say that I'm touched at your doing this to try to help me. And I'm not at all sure you haven't succeeded. It's been
stimulating;
I've had one or two splendid ideas. It's been a success do you
understand? But the novelty has worn off now--if you keep me here any longer, you'll undo your good work. Now I'm going to eat this
delightful luncheon, and then you're going to bring back the
ladder--aren't you?" His voice quavered on the "aren't you?"
"And I swear there'll be no reprisals," he finished.
I looked at Thomas to see what he made of this.
He just said, woodenly: "Any books or papers you want, Father ?"
"No, there aren't!" shouted Father, his bonhomie suddenly departing.
"All I want is to get out."
Thomas slammed the door.
"Dinner at seven," I called- but I doubt if Father heard me as he was yelling louder than when we first locked him in.
I hoped it wouldn't ruin his appetite.
I spent the early part of the afternoon reading the comic strips you
start by thinking they are silly, but they grow on you.
Then I got everything ready for Father's meal- it was to be full
dinner, not just glorified tea: melon, cold salmon (we put it down the well to get it really cold), tinned peaches, cheese and biscuits, a
