Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

of the schoolhouse were open and the children's voices came floating

out, very high and clear. They were doing rounds;

first, "My dame hath a lame, tame crane," then "Now Robin lend to me thy bow," and then "Summer is acumin" which is my very favorite tune--when I learnt it at school it was part of a lesson on Chaucer and Langland, and that was one of the few times when I had a flash of being back in the past. While I listened to Miss Marcy's children singing I seemed to capture everything together mediaeval England, myself at ten, the summers of the past and the summer really coming. I can't imagine ever feeling happier than I did for those moments- and while I was

telling myself so, Simon said:

"Did anything as beautiful as this ever happen before ?"

"Let's take the kids some lemonade," said Neil. So we got two dozen bottles and carried them across. Miss Marcy nearly swooned with

delight and introduced Simon to the children as "Squire of Goandend and Scoatney."

"Go on, make a speech- it's expected," I whispered. He took me seriously and gave me an agonized look. Then he told them how much he had enjoyed the singing and that he hoped they would all come to

Scoatney one day and sing for his mother. Everyone applauded except

one very small child who howled and got under her desk- I think she was scared of his beard.

We left after that and the Cottons said they would drive us home.

Neil went to settle with Mrs. Jakes and I routed Heloise out of the

kitchen- she was bloated with sausage. When I came back Simon was

leaning against the chestnut staring at the schoolhouse.

"Will you look at that window ?" he said.

I looked. It is a tallish window with an arched top. On the sill

inside stood a straggly late hyacinth with its white roots growing in water, a jam jar of tadpoles and a hedgehog.

"It'd be nice to paint," I said.

"I was just thinking that. If I were a painter I believe I'd always paint windows."

I looked up at the inn.

"There's another for you," I told him.

Close to the swinging signboard with its crossed gold keys there was a diamond-paned lattice open, showing dark red curtains and a little

sprigged jug and basin, with the brass knob and black rail of an iron bedstead behind. It was wonderfully pain table "Everywhere one

turns--" He stared all around, as if he were trying to memorize

things.

The Vicar's housekeeper drew the blinds down against the sun, so that the vicarage seemed to close its eyes.

(Mrs. Jakes had told us the Vicar was out or we would have called on

him.) Miss Marcy's children were very quietI suppose they were all

guzzling lemonade.

There was a moment of great peace and silence. Then the clock struck

the half-hour, a white pigeon alighted with a great flutter of wings on the inn roof just above the open window; and Neil started the car.

"Don't you think this is beautiful?" Simon asked him, as we went over.

"Yes, pretty as a picture," said Neil, "the kind you get on jigsaw puzzles."

"You're hopeless," I said, laughing. I did know what he meant, of course; but no amount of pretty-pretty pictures can ever really destroy the beauty of villages like Godsend.

Rose went in the back of the car with Simon.

Heloise and I were at the front--part of the time Neil drove with his arm round her.

"Gosh, what sex-appeal she has," he said. Then he told her she was a cute pooch, but would she please not wash his ears his Not that it

stopped her; Heloise can never see a human ear at tongue-level without being a mother to it.

When we got back to the castle I felt it was only polite to ask them

in, but Neil had made an appointment for Simon with the Scoatney agent.

Simon is obviously most anxious to understand everything about the

estate, but I don't think the agricultural side comes naturally to him.

It does to Neil- which seems a waste when he isn't staying in

England.

"Did Simon fix anything about seeing us again ?"

I asked Rose, as we watched them drive away.

"Don't worry, they'll be round." She spoke quite scornfully; I resented it after the Cottons had been so nice to us.

"Very sure of yourself, aren't you ?" I said.

Then something struck me.

"Oh, Rose- you're not still counting it against them- what I overheard them say about you?"

"I am against Neil. He's my enemy." She flung back her head dramatically.

I told her not to be an idiot.

"But he is- he as good as told me so, before you came this morning.

He said he was still hoping Simon would come back to America with

him."

"Well, that doesn't make him your enemy," I said. But I must admit that his manner to her is a bit antagonistic. Of course, owning

Scoatney is really what is likely to keep Simon in England, but I

suppose marrying an English girl would tend to as well.

"Yes, it does- anyway, I hate him. But he shan't, he shan't

interfere."

She was flushed and her eyes had a desperate look--a look that somehow made me ashamed for her.

"Oh, Rose, don't bank on things too much," I begged.

"Simon may not have the faintest idea of proposing-American men are used to being just friends with girls. And they probably think we're

too comic for words--just as Neil thinks the English country "Blast Neil," she cried furiously. I would rather see her furious than

desperate- it made me think of the day she turned on a bull that was

chasing us. (it turned out to be a rather oddly shaped cow.)

Remembering this made me feel very fond of her, so I told her all the nice things Simon had said about her on our walk to Godsend. And I

made her promise never to tell him I had lied to him- even if she

marries him. I should hate him to know, even though I did do it to be kind. Oh, I see more and more I ought never to have let her get it out of me that conversation I over heard. It not only started her off

hating Neil, but has made her extra relentless to Simon--she will marry him or burst.

We found Topaz asleep on the drawing-room window-seat-she looked as if she had been crying, but she woke up quite cheerfully and said our

lunch was in the oven, between plates (we had it for tea). When we

finished telling her about the Cottons, she said:

"How on earth are we to return their hospitality?

I've been wondering ever since we went to Scoatney.

Dinner's impossible-with no dining-room furniture. Could we manage a

picnic lunch?"

"No, we couldn't," said Rose, "we'd only make a mess of it. Leave them alone--let them run after us."

She went off upstairs. Topaz said: "Don't blame her too much the first time girls feel their power it often takes them like that."

Then she yawned so much that I left her to finish her nap.

I got my journal from the barn and remembered Leda Fox Cotton note to Stephen inside. I told myself it was ridiculous to feel resentful and that I wouldn't even mention the note to him I would just leave it

where he would be sure to find it when he came back from work. I

thought he might not want the others to see it I felt Rose was liable to be scornful -so I took it to his room. I couldn't remember being

there since we first explored the castle, when that was the bit of the kitchen where the hen-roosts were; Father turned it into two little

rooms which Stephen and his mother had--her is just a store-room now.

When I opened Stephen's door I was quite shocked at the darkness and

dankness; the narrow window was almost overgrown with ivy and the

whitewash on the walls was discolored and peeling off in flakes. There was a narrow sagging bed, very neatly made, a once-white chest of

drawers with screws sticking out where the handles had come off, and