Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

"But it's all right- really it is. There's nothing wrong in it if we love each other."

I turned on him fiercely: "I don't love you. I hate you."

And then I saw the look in his eyes and realized how dreadful it all

was for him--until then I had only been thinking of my own misery. I

gasped out, "No, no- I don't mean that but .... Oh, I'll never be able to explain." And then I dashed through to my room and locked both doors. I was just going to fling myself on the bed when I caught

sight of Simon's present, on the window-seat. I went over, closed the gramophone part and lay with my head and arms on it. And for the first time in my life I wished I were dead.

When it was quite dark I pulled myself together enough to light a

candle and begin to go wretchedly to bed. A few minutes later, there

was a knock on the door to the landing and Stephen called out:

"I don't want to come in, but please read the note I'm pushing through to you." I called back "All right," and saw the note coming under the door. As I picked it up I heard his footsteps going downstairs, and

then the noise of the front door shutting.

He had written:

DEAREST CASSANDRA

Please do not be unhappy. It will come right. It is just that you are so young. I forget that sometimes, because you are so clever. I

cannot explain because I think it would make you feel worse and anyway I do not know how. But there was nothing wrong happened. It was all

my fault. It you forgive me for shocking you so, please write YES on a piece of paper and put it under my door. I am going out now and will

not come back until your light is out so you need not be frightened of meeting me. And I will go to work before you are up in the morning.

We won't talk about it--anyway, not for a long time. You say when.

Truly it is aa right, With love from X X X X X X but not until you want them.

On a separate sheet he had written: "Perhaps this will help you to understand. Of course it is only for when we are married"--and then he had copied out four lines from "Love's Philosophy."

Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine In one

another's being mingle-Why not I with thine his By Percy Bysshe

Shelley. (born t79, died r82.) I guessed he had put Shelley's name and dates so that I wouldn't think he was stealing poetry again. Oh,

Stephen--I know so well why you used to steal it! I long and long to

express my love for Simon and nothing of my own is worthy.

I wrote YES and put it under his door. I couldn't bear not to-and, of course, it was true in a way; I did forgive him. But it let him

believe a lie- that I was upset just because he had shocked me.

Since then, we haven't been alone once. We talk fairly naturally in

front of the others, but I never look straight at him. I suppose he

just thinks I am shy.

Of course the honest thing would be to tell him it will never any good but, even if I could bear to hurt him so, I doubt if I could convince him without owning that I care for someone else because I certainly

showed every sign of its being some good while he was making love to

me. Oh, why did I let him his Let him his You encouraged him, my girl!

But why, why? When my whole heart was longing for Simon! Perhaps I

could understand myself better if I didn't so loathe remembering

it--even now I haven't quite put down everything that happened.

I know this: asking him to go into the wood was a wicked thing, wicked to him and wicked to myself. Truly, being so sorry for him had

something to do with it, but it was mostly sheer wickedness.

And it was only due to Stephen that it didn't turn out much wickeder.

I have really sinned. I am going to pause now, and sit here on the

mound repenting in deepest shame ...... Oh dear, that was a great

mistake! My mind wandered from repenting to thinking it wouldn't have been sin if Stephen had been Simon. And changing them over has made me realize more and more how I have spoilt the memory of Simon's kiss. Oh, how can I face my wretched future his I shall have to be Rose's

bridesmaid, see her living with Simon at Scoatney year after year,

watch him worshipping her. And how am I going to hide my feelings,

when I see them together?

If only I could go away! But the one thing I live for is to see Simon again.

I have just remembered I once wrote that I didn't envy Rose, that I

thought a happy marriage might be dull.

Heavens, what a fool I was! ...... Father is cycling along the lane,

after spending the day at Scoatney again, and the boys will be home any minute now. I suppose I must go down and get tea; tinned salmon would cheer me up most, I think. It is most strange and wretched coming back to the present after being in this journal so long--I have been writing all day with only one break when I took Heloise indoors for her dinner and gave myself a very few cold sausages.

One of my worst longings to cry has come over me.

I am going to run down the mound grinning and singing to fight it

off.

Nine o'clock--written in bed.

Something has happened. Oh, I know I mustn't build on it--but I know I am building.

While we were at tea, a telegram came for Stephen from Leda Fox-Cotton; she wants him to go up to London next week-end. So he went back to the farm to ask if they can spare him on Saturday morning. As soon as he

had gone out, I turned off his wireless and went upstairs to play

Simon's--I never play it when Stephen is in the house. Thomas came

too, and asked me to put the Bach Preludes and Fugues on the

gramophone--he particularly likes them. We lay on the beds listening

companionably. It seems to me that Thomas has been getting much more

grown-up and intelligent lately. He was always bright about his school work, but I never found him interesting to talk to. Now he often

astonishes me.

Perhaps all the good food he has had lately has flown to his brain.

After we had played the Bach records he suddenly said:

"Do you remember Rose wishing on the stone head?"

I asked what on earth had made him think of that.

"Oh, listening to Simon's gramophone, I suppose--it's part of the difference the Cottons have made to our lives. It never struck me

before that Rose wanted to sell herself to the Devil, wished and then in they walked."

I stared at him.

"But Rose isn't selling herself --she's in love with Simon. She told me so and you know she never lies."

"That's true," said Thomas.

"Then perhaps she managed to kid herself--because I know she isn't in love. And she's all wrong for Simon."

"But how can you possibly know that she isn't in love?"

"Well, for one thing, she hardly ever mentions Simon. Harry's sister's in love and she never stops talking about her fiance. Harry and I make bets about it. That last week-end I stayed there she mentioned him

fifty-one times."

"That's nonsense," I said.

"Rose happens to be more reticent."

"Reticent? Rose? Why, she always talks her head off about anything she's keen on. Do you know that in the letter I had from her there

isn't one word about Simon ?"

"When did you have a letter?" I asked.

"Couldn't I see it?"

He said he had happened to meet the postman in the lane a few days

ago.

"And I didn't show you the letter because she asked me not to--but for a very silly reason, so I don't see why I shouldn't.

I'll get it now."

It was a most peculiar letter. There was certainly nothing about Simon in it--but there was nothing about anyone else, not even Rose herself, really. It was just one enormous list of things that had been bought

for her and how much everything cost. At the end, she wrote: "I would rather you didn't show this to Cassandra, because it seems awful that I have so many lovely things when she has so few.