Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

Life does turn out unexpectedly. I was afraid it might be difficult

being alone with him so much--during the long evenings, with Father

shut in the gatehouse and Thomas busy with his lessons. I couldn't

have been more wrong. After tea, he helps me with the washing-up, then we usually garden--but often in quite different parts of the garden

and, anyway, he hardly talks at all.

He hasn't been to London any more and I am sure he hasn't seen the

photographs of himself--I should have known if they had been sent

here.

It is really a very good thing that he seems to have lost interest in me because, feeling like this, I might not have been brisk with him.

Feeling like what, Cassandra Mortmain? Flat?

Depressed?

Empty? If so, why, pray?

I thought if I made myself write I should find out what is wrong with me, but I haven't, so far. Unless- could I possibly be jealous of

Rose?

I will pause and search my innermost soul ...... I have searched it for a solid five minutes. And I swear I am not jealous of Rose; more than that, I should hate to change places with her. Naturally, this is

mainly because I shouldn't like to marry Simon. But suppose I were in love with him, as Rose is his That's too hard to imagine. Then suppose it were Neil- because since he went away I have wondered if I am not

just a little bit in love with him.

All right, I'm in love with Neil and I'm marrying him and he is the

rich one. A thousand pounds is being spent on my trousseau with furs

and jewelry coming later. I am to have a wonderful wedding with

everyone saying: "What a brilliant match that quiet little girl has made." We are going to live at Scoatney Hall with everything we can possibly want and, presumably, lots of the handsomest children. It's

going to be "happy ever after," just like the fairy tales And I still wouldn't like it. Oh, I'd love the clothes and the wedding. I am not

so sure I should like the facts of life, but I have got over the bitter disappointment I felt when I first heard about them, and one obviously has to try them sooner or later.

What I'd really hate would be the settled feeling, with nothing but

happiness to look forward to. Of course no life is perfectly

happy--Rose's children will probably get it, the servants may be

difficult, perhaps dear Mrs. Cotton will prove to be the teeniest fly in the ointment. I should like to know what fly was originally in what ointment.) There are hundreds of worries and even sorrows that may come along, but I think what I really mean is that Rose won't be wanting

things to happen. She will want things to stay just as they are. She

will never have the fun of hoping something wonderful and exciting may be just round the corner.

I daresay I am being very silly but there it is! I

DO NOT ENVY

ROSE. When I imagine changing places with her I get the feeling I do

on finishing a novel with a brick-wall happy ending--I mean the kind of ending when you never think any more about the characters ...... It

seems a long time since I wrote those last words. I have been sitting here staring at Miss Blossom without seeing her, without seeing

anything. Now I am seeing things more clearly than usual-that often

happens after I have been "stuck." The furniture seems almost alive and leaning towards me, like the chair in van Gogh's painting. The two beds, my little jug and basin, the bamboo dressing table--how many

years Rose and I have shared them! We used so scrupulously to keep to our own halves of the dressing-table.

Now there is nothing of hers on it except a pink china ring-stand for which she never had any rings- well, she has one now.

I suddenly know what has been the matter with me all week.

Heavens, I'm not envying Rose, I'm missing her! Not missing her

because she is away now--though I have been a little bit lonely but

missing the Rose who has gone away for ever. There used to be two of

us always on the look-out for life, talking to Miss Blossom at night, wondering, hoping; two Bronte Jane Austen girls, poor but spirited, two Girls of Godsend Castle. Now there is only one, and nothing will ever be quite such fun again.

Oh, how selfish I am--when Rose is so happy! Of course I wouldn't have things different; even on my own account, I am looking forward to

presents--though ...... I wonder if there isn't a catch about having

plenty of money his Does it eventually take the pleasure out of things?

When I think of the joy of my green linen dress after I hadn't had a

new dress for ages!

Will Rose be able to feel anything like that after a few years his One thing I do know: I adore my green linen dress even if it did cost only twenty-five shillings.

"Only" twenty-five shillings! That seemed like a fortune when we bought the dress.

About has just walked in, mewing--it must be teatime;

that cat has a clock in his stomach. Yes--I can hear Stephen talking

to Heloise in the courtyard; and Father shouting through the gatehouse window to know if Thomas has brought him a copy of the Scout.

(now, what can a grown man want with the Scout?) I wonder if Thomas

remembered the kippers Yes, he did- I have just yelled down to him. He often brings us fish from King's Crypt now. Well, it's said to be good or the brain- perhaps it will help Father. Oh, kippers for tea, two

each!

Three, if anyone wants them.

I feel better.

I must go down and feed my family.

XII

I a" Is Midsummer Day- and as beautiful as its name.

I am writing in the attic; I chose it because one can see Belmotte from the window. At first I thought I would sit on the mound, but I saw

that would be too much- there I should keep re-living it all instead of writing about it. And I must set it down today so that I shall have it for ever, intact and lovely, untouched by the sadness that is

coming--for, of course it is coming; my brain tells me that.

I thought it would have come by this morning but it hasn't-oh, so much it hasn't that I can't quite believe it ever will!

Is it wrong of me to feel so happy his Perhaps I ought even to feel

guilty his No. I didn't make it happen, and it can't hurt anyone but

me. Surely I have a right to my joy? For as long as it lasts .... It

is like a flowering in the heart, a stirring of wings oh if only I

could write poetry, as I did when I was a child! I have tried, but

the words were as cheap as a sentimental song.

So I tore them up. I must set it down simply--everything that happened to me yesterday with no airs and graces. But I long to be a poet, to

pay tribute .... My lovely day began when the sun rose--I often wake

then but usually I go to sleep again. Yesterday I instantly remembered that it was Midsummer Eve, my very favorite day, and lay awake looking forward to it and planning my rites on the mound. They seemed all the more valuable because I wondered if it might not be my last year for

them--I didn't feel as if it would, but Rose outgrew them when she was about my age. And I agree with her that it would be dreadful to

perform them just as an affected pose; they were a bit peculiar last

year when Topaz kindly assisted me and went very pagan. The nicest

times of all were when Rose and I were young enough to feel rather

frightened.

We first held the rites when I was nine- I got the idea from a book on folklore. Mother thought them unsuitable for Christian little girls (I remember my astonishment at being called a Christian) and she was

worried in case our dresses caught alight when we danced round our

votive fire. She died the following winter and the next Midsummer Eve we had a much bigger fire; and while we were piling more wood on, I