Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

He cleared his throat and said very slowly and loudly:

"We think you ought to start work, Father--for your own sake far more than for ours. And we think being shut up here may help you to

concentrate and be good for you in other ways. I assure you we've

given the matter a lot of thought and are in line with psycho-analysis his "Bring back that ladder!" roared Father. I could see that Thomas's weighty manner had infuriated him.

"There's no point in arguing," said Thomas, calmly.

"We'll leave you to get settled. You can tell us at lunch time if there are any books or papers you need for your work."

"Don't you dare go away!" Father's voice cracked so pitifully that I said quickly:

"Please don't exhaust yourself by shouting for help, because there's no one but us within miles. Oh, Father, it's an experiment- give it a

chance."

"But you little lunatic ... was Father began, furiously.

Thomas whispered to me: "I warn you, this will only develop into a brawl. Let me get the door shut."

It was a brawl already on Father's side. I stood back and Thomas

closed the door.

"Luncheon at one, Father," I called encouragingly.

We locked and bolted the door. There wasn't the faintest chance that

Father could climb up to it, but we felt the psychological effect would be good. As we went down the mound, Father's yelling sounded

surprisingly weak; by the time we reached the bridge we couldn't hear it at all.

I said: "Do you think he's fainted?"

Thomas went a little way up the mound.

"No, I can still hear him.

It's just that the tower's a sound-trap."

I stared back at it.

"Oh, Thomas, have we done something insane?"

"Not a bit," said Thomas, cheerfully.

"You know, even the change of atmosphere may be enough to help him."

"But to lock him in--and it used to be a dungeon!

To imprison one's Father!"

"Well, that's the whole idea, isn't it his Not that I set quite as much store on the psycho stuff as you do. Personally, I think knowing he

won't be let out until he's done some work is almost more important."

"That's nonsense," I said.

"If it doesn't come right psychologically from the depths of Father- it won't come right at all.

You can't trammel the creative mind."

"Why not?" said Thomas.

"His creative mind's been untrammelled for years without doing a hand's-turn. Let's see what trammelling does for it."

We went indoors and had breakfast- it seemed awful that Father was

starting his adventure on an empty stomach, but I knew we should be

making that up to him soon. Then I wrote to Thomas's school to say he would be indisposed for a few days, and went up to make the beds.

Thomas kindly undertook the dusting.

"Hello!" he said suddenly.

"Look at this!"

The key to the gatehouse room was lying on Father's dressing-table.

"Let's go in and have a look at those lists you told me about," said Thomas.

As we climbed the gatehouse stairs I said:

"Oh, Thomas, is it like spying?"

"Yes, of course it is," said Thomas, unlocking the door.

I suddenly felt frightened as well as guilty- it was as if part of

Father's mind was still in the room and furious with us for

intruding.

Sunlight was streaming through the south window, the "comic strips"

were still tacked to the bookshelves, Mother's little clock was ticking away on the desk. But the lists weren't there any longer and the desk was locked.

I was glad we couldn't find anything. I felt worse about snooping

round his room than about locking him up in the tower.

Thomas stayed to read the comic strips while I began preparations for Father's lunch. At one o'clock we took it out in a basket- soup in a

"Thermos," chicken salad, strawberries and cream, and a cigar (nine pence).

"I wonder if we're right to pamper him with this rich food," said Thomas as we started up the mound.

"Bread and water would create the prison atmosphere better."

Everything was quiet when we got up to the tower. We unlocked the

door and looked down. Father was lying on the bed, staring upwards.

"Hello," he said, in a perfectly pleasant voice.

I was astounded--and still more so when he smiled at us.

Of course I smiled back, and I said I hoped he had a good appetite.

Thomas began to lower the basket on a length of clothesline.

"It's only a light luncheon, so that it won't make you sleepy," I explained.

"There'll be a bigger meal tonight- with wine." I noticed he had already got himself a drink of water, which looked as if he were

settling down a bit.

He thanked Thomas most politely for the basket and spread the contents out on the table; then smiled up at us.

"This is superb," he said, in his most genial voice.

"Now, listen, you comics: I've had a long, quiet morning to think in-it's really been most pleasant, lying here watching the sky. I'm

perfectly sincere when I say that I'm touched at your doing this to try to help me. And I'm not at all sure you haven't succeeded. It's been

stimulating;

I've had one or two splendid ideas. It's been a success do you

understand? But the novelty has worn off now--if you keep me here any longer, you'll undo your good work. Now I'm going to eat this

delightful luncheon, and then you're going to bring back the

ladder--aren't you?" His voice quavered on the "aren't you?"

"And I swear there'll be no reprisals," he finished.

I looked at Thomas to see what he made of this.

He just said, woodenly: "Any books or papers you want, Father ?"

"No, there aren't!" shouted Father, his bonhomie suddenly departing.

"All I want is to get out."

Thomas slammed the door.

"Dinner at seven," I called- but I doubt if Father heard me as he was yelling louder than when we first locked him in.

I hoped it wouldn't ruin his appetite.

I spent the early part of the afternoon reading the comic strips you

start by thinking they are silly, but they grow on you.

Then I got everything ready for Father's meal- it was to be full

dinner, not just glorified tea: melon, cold salmon (we put it down the well to get it really cold), tinned peaches, cheese and biscuits, a

bottle of white wine (three shillings), coffee and another nine penny cigar.

And about an egg-cup full of port which I still had in the medicine

bottle.

We carried it all out on trays just as Godsend church dock struck

seven. It was a glorious, peaceful evening. Soon after we crossed the bridge we could hear Father yelling.

"Have you been wearing yourself out by shouting all afternoon ?"

I said, when Thomas had opened the door.

"Pretty nearly," said Father--his voice sounded very hoarse.

"Someone's bound to pass through the fields sooner or later."

"I doubt it," said Thomas.

"The hay's all in and Mr. Stebbins isn't cutting his wheat for some weeks yet. Anyway, your voice doesn't carry beyond the mound. If

you'll re-pack the lunch basket, I'll haul it up and send your dinner down."

I expected Father to rave but he didn't even reply; and he at once

began to do what Thomas had suggested. His movements were very awkward and jerky. He had taken off his coat and undone his collar, which gave him a pathetic look--rather as if he were ready to be led out to

execution.

"We must bring him pajamas and a dressing-gown for tonight," I whispered to Thomas.

Father heard me and jerked his head upwards.

"If you leave me here all night I shall go out of my mind--I mean it, Cassandra.

This -this sense of imprisonment, I'd forgotten how shocking it can

be. Don't you know what it does to people- being shut up in small