Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

shoulders- fancy God giving you that hair but no freckles!" Rose laughed, but she was cross because she couldn't see herself full

length; our long looking-glass got sold. I held our small one so that she could look at herself in sections, but it was tantalizing for

her.

"There's the glass over the drawing-room fireplace," I said.

"Perhaps if you stood on the piano-was She went down to try.

Father came from the bathroom and went through to his bed room. The

next second I heard him shout:

"Good God, what have you done to yourself?"

He sounded so horrified that I thought Topaz had had some accident. I dashed into Buffer State but stopped myself outside their bedroom door; I could see her from there. She was wearing a black evening dress that she never has liked herself in, a very conventional dress. Her hair

was done up in a bun and she had make-up on- not much, just a little

rouge and lipstick. The result was astounding. She looked quite

ordinary--just vaguely pretty but not worth a second glance.

Neither of them saw me. I heard her say:

"Oh, Mortmain, this is Rose's night. I want all the attention to be focussed on her" I tiptoed back to the bedroom. I was bewildered at such unselfishness, particularly as she had spent hours mending her

best evening dress. I knew what she meant, of course --at her most

striking she can make Rose's beauty look like mere prettiness. Suddenly I remembered that first night the Cottons came here, how she tried to efface herself. Oh, noble Topaz!

I heard Father shout:

"To hell with that. God knows I've very little left to be proud of.

At least let me be proud of my wife."

There was a throaty gasp from Topaz: "Oh, my darling!"--and then I hastily went downstairs and kept Rose talking in the drawing room I

felt this was something we oughtn't to be in on. And I felt

embarrassed-- I always do when I really think of Father and Topaz being married.

When they came down Topaz was as white as usual and her silvery hair, which was at its very cleanest, was hanging down her back. She had her best dress on which is Grecian in shape, like a clinging gray cloud,

with a great gray scarf which she had draped round her head and

shoulders. She looked most beautiful--and just how I imagine the

Angel of Death.

The Cottons' car came, with a uniformed chauffeur, and out we sailed. I was harrowed at leaving Stephen and Thomas behind, but Topaz had

arranged they should have a supper with consoling sausages.

It was a huge, wonderful car. We none of us talked very much in

it--personally, I was too conscious of the chauffeur; he was so rigid and correct and had such outstanding ears. I just sat back watching

the darkening fields drift past, feeling rather frail and luxurious.

And I thought about us all and wondered how the others were feeling.

Father looked very handsome in his evening clothes and he was kind and smiling but I could see he was nervous; at least, I thought I could,

but then it struck me how little I know of him, or of Topaz or Rose or anyone in the world, really, except myself. I used to flatter myself

that I could get flashes of what people were thinking but if I did, it was only of quick, surface thoughts.

All these years and I don't know what has stopped Father working!

And I don't really know what Rose feels about the Cottons. As for

Topaz--but I never did get any flashes of knowing her. Of course I

have always realized that she is kind, but I should never have thought her capable of making that noble sacrifice for Rose. And just as I was feeling ashamed of ever having thought her bogus, she said in a voice like plum-cake:

"Look, Mortmain, look! Oh, don't you long to be an old, old man in a lamp-lit inn ?"

"Yes, particularly one with rheumatism," said Father.

"My dear, you're an ass."

We called for the Vicar, which made it rather a squash, what with

Rose's crinoline .. . He is the nicest man- about fifty, plump, with

curly golden hair; rather like an elderly baby-and most unholy. Father once said to him: "God knows how you came to be a clergyman." And the Vicar said: "Well, it's His business to know."

After he'd had a look at us he said:

"Mortmain, your women are spectacular."

"I'm not," I said.

"Ah, but you're the insidious type--Jane Eyre with a touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl. I like your string of coral."

Then he got us all talking and even made the chauffeur laugh the odd

thing is that he makes people laugh without saying anything very funny.

I suppose it is because he is such a comfortable sort of man.

It was dark when we got to Scoatney Hall and all the windows were lit up. There is a right-of-way through the park and I had often cycled

there on my way home from school, so I knew what the outside of the

house was like--it is sixteenth-century except for the

seventeenth-century pavilion in the water-garden; but I was longing to see inside. We went up shallow steps that had been worn into a deep

curve, and the front door was opened before we had time to ring the

bell. I had never met a butler before and he made me feel

self-conscious, but the Vicar knew him and said something normal to

him.

We left our wraps in the hall--Topaz had lent us things to save us the shame of wearing our winter coats. There was a wonderful atmosphere of gentle age, a smell of flowers and beeswax, sweet yet faintly sour and musty; a smell that makes you feel very tender towards the past.

We went into quite a little drawing-room, where the Cottons were

standing by the fireplace with two other people. Mrs.

Cotton was talking up to the moment we were announced; then she turned to us and was absolutely silent for a second--I think she was

astonished at how Rose and Topaz looked. I noticed Simon looking at

Rose. Then we were all shaking hands and being introduced to the

others.

They were a Mr. and Mrs. Fox-Cotton-English relations of the Cottons; rather distant ones, I think. As soon as I heard the husband called

"Aubrey" I remembered that he is an architect- I read something about his work in a magazine once. He is middle-aged, with a grayish face

and thin, no-colored hair. There is something very elegant about him

and he has a beautiful speaking-voice, though it is a bit affected. I was next to him while we were drinking our cocktails (my first--and it tasted horrid) so I asked him about the architecture of the house. He launched forth at once.

"What makes it so perfect," he said, "is that it's a miniature great house. It has everything--great hall, long gallery, central court

yard- but it's on so small a scale that it's manageable, even in these days. I've hankered for it for years. How I wish I could persuade

Simon to let me have it on a long lease."

He said it as much for Simon to hear as for me.

Simon laughed and said: "Not on your life."

Then Mr. Fox-Cotton said: "Do tell me--the exquisite lady in gray-surely she's the Topaz of Macmorris's picture in the Tate Gallery?" And after we had talked about Topaz for a minute or two, he drifted over to her. I had time to notice that Simon was admiring Rose's dress and

that she was telling him about the crinoline- which seemed to fascinate him, he said he must go and see old Mrs.

Stebbins; then the Vicar joined me and obligingly finished my cocktail for me. Soon after that we went in to dinner.

The table was a pool of candlelight--so bright that the rest of the

room seemed almost black, with the faces of the family portraits

floating in the darkness.

Mrs. Cotton had Father on her right and the Vicar on her left.