Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

I suppose if nothing turns up I'll have to go to London. I could send about ten shillings a week home."

"Well, that's splendid," said Miss Marcy and wrote down: "Mrs. James Mortmain: a potential ten shillings weekly."

"Not all the year round," said Topaz, firmly.

"I couldn't stand it and it would leave me no time for my own painting.

I might sell some of that, of course."

Miss Marcy said "Of course you might," very politely; then turned to me. I said my speed-writing was getting quite fast, but of course it

wasn't quite like real shorthand (or quite like real speed-writing, for that matter); and I couldn't type and the chance of getting anywhere

near a typewriter was remote.

"Then I'm afraid, just until you get going with your literary work, we'll have to count you as nil," said Miss Marcy.

"Thomas, of course, is bound to be nil for a few years yet. Rose, dear?"

Now if anyone in this family is nil as an earner, it is Rose; for

though she plays the piano a bit and sings rather sweetly and is, of

course, a lovely person, she has no real talents at all.

"Perhaps I could look after little children," she suggested.

"Oh, no," said Miss Marcy, hurriedly, "I mean, dear--well, I don't think it would suit you at all."

"I'll go to Scoatney Hall as a maid," said Rose, looking as if she were already ascending the scaffold.

"Well, they do have to be trained, dear," said Miss Marcy, "and I can't feel your Father would like it.

Couldn't you do some pretty sewing?"

"What on?" said Rose.

"Sacking?"

Anyway, Rose is hopeless at sewing.

Miss Marcy was looking at her list rather depressedly.

"I fear we must call dear Rose nil just for the moment," she said.

"That only leaves Mr. Mortmain."

Rose said: "If I rank as nil, Father ought to be double nil" Miss Marcy leaned forward and said in a hushed voice: "My dears, you know I'm trying to help you all. What's the real trouble with Mr. Mortmain?

Is it- is it drink?"

We laughed so much that Stephen came in to see what the joke was.

"Poor, poor Mortmain," gasped Topaz, "as if he ever laid his hands on enough to buy a bottle of beer. Drink costs money, Miss Marcy."

Miss Marcy said it couldn't be drugs either --and it certainly

couldn't; he doesn't even smoke, once his Christmas cigars from the

Vicar are gone.

"It's just sheer laziness," said Rose, "laziness and softness. And I don't believe he was ever very good, really. I expect Jacob Wrestling was overestimated."

Topaz looked so angry that I thought for a second she was going to hit Rose. Stephen came to the table and stood between them.

"Oh, no, Miss Rose," he said quietly, "it's a great book- everyone knows that. But things have happened to him so that he can't write any more. You can't write just for the wanting."

I expected Rose to snub him, but before she could say a word he turned to me and went on quickly:

"I've been thinking, Miss Cassandra, that I should get work--they'd have me at Four Stones Farm."

"But the garden, Stephen!" I almost wailed--for we just about live on our vegetables.

He said the days would soon draw out and that he'd work for us in the evenings.

"And I'm useful in the garden, aren't I, Stephen ?" said Topaz.

"Yes, ma'am, very useful. I couldn't get a job if you went to London, of course -there'd be too much work for Miss Cassandra."

Rose isn't good at things like gardening and housework.

"So you could put me down for twenty-five shillings a week, Miss Marcy," Stephen went on, "because Mr. Stebbins said he'd start me at that. And I'd get my dinner at Four Stones." I was glad to think that would mean he'd get one square meal a day.

Miss Marcy said it was a splendid idea, though it was a pity it meant striking out Topaz's ten shillings.

"Though, of course, it was only potential." While she was putting Stephen's twenty-five shillings on her list, Rose suddenly said:

"Thank you, Stephen."

And because she doesn't bother with him much as a rule, it somehow

sounded important. And she smiled so very sweetly. Poor Rose has been so miserable lately that a smile from her is like late afternoon

sunshine after a long, wet day. I don't see how anyone could see Rose smile without feeling fond of her. I thought Stephen would be

tremendously pleased, but he only nodded and swallowed several

times.

Just then, Father came out on the staircase and looked down on us

all.

"What, a round game?" he said--and I suppose it must have looked like one, with us grouped round the table in the lamplight. Then he came

downstairs saying:

"This book's first-rate. I'm having a little break, trying to guess the murderer. I should like a biscuit, please."

Whenever Father is hungry between meals--and he eats very little at

them, less than any of us--he asks for a biscuit. I believe he thinks it is the smallest and cheapest thing he can ask for. Of course, we

haven't had any real shop biscuits for ages but Topaz makes oatcake,

which is very filling.

She put some margarine on a piece for him. I saw a fraction of

distaste in his eyes and he asked her if she could sprinkle it with a little sugar.

"It makes a change," he said, apologetically.

"Can't we offer Miss Marcy something his Some tea or cocoa, Miss Marcy

?"

She thanked him but said she mustn't spoil her appetite for supper.

"Well, don't let me interrupt the game," said Father.

"What is it ?"

And before I could think of any way of distracting him, he had leaned over her shoulder to look at the list in front of her. As it then

stood, it read:

Earning Capacity for Present Year Mrs. Mortmain nil.

Cassandra Mortmain nil.

Thomas Mortmain nil.

Rose Mortmain nil.

Mr. Mortmain nil.

Stephen Colly 25/- a week.

Father's expression didn't change as he read, he went on smiling; but I could feel something happening to him. Rose says I am always crediting people with emotions I should experience myself in their situation, but I am sure I had a real flash of intuition then.

And I suddenly saw his face very clearly, not just in the way one

usually sees the faces of people one is very used to. I saw how he had changed since I was little and I thought of Ralph Hodgson's line about

"tamed and shabby tigers." How long it takes to write the thoughts of a minute! I thought of many more things, complicated, pathetic and

very puzzling, just while Father read the list.

When he had finished, he said quite lightly: "And is Stephen giving us his wages?"

"I ought to pay for my board and lodging, Mr.

Mortmain, sir," said Stephen, "and for--for past favors; all the books you've lent me-was "I'm sure you'll make a very good head of the family," said Father. He took the oatcake with sugar on it from Topaz and moved towards the stairs.

She called after him: "Stay by the fire for a little while, Mortmain."

But he said he wanted to get back to his book. Then he thanked Miss

Marcy again for bringing him such a good one, and said good night to

her very courteously. We could hear him humming as he went through the bedrooms on his way to the gatehouse.

Miss Marcy made no remark about the incident, which shows what a

tactful person she is; but she looked embarrassed and said she must be getting along.

Stephen lit a lantern and said he would go as far as the road with

her--she had left her bicycle there because of the awful mud in our

lane. I went out to see her off. As we crossed the courtyard, she

glanced up at the gatehouse window and asked if I thought Father would be offended if she brought him a little tin of biscuits to keep there.