Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

spaces his Haven't you heard of claustrophobia ?"

"There's plenty of space upwards," I said, as firmly as I could.

"And you never suffer from claustrophobia when you lock yourself in the gatehouse."

"But it's different when someone else locks you in."

His voice cracked.

"Oh you damned little idiots--let me out! Let me out!"" I felt dreadful, but Thomas seemed quite unconcerned. He hauled up the basket Father had filled, took out the plates and dishes, and put the dinner in. I think he knew I was weakening, because he whispered: "We've got to go through with it now. You leave it to me." Then he lowered the basket and called down, firmly:

"We'll let you out just as soon as you've written something- say fifty pages."

"I never wrote fifty pages in less than three months even when I could write," said Father, his voice cracking worse than ever. Then he flopped into the arm-chair and gripped his head with his hands.

"Just unpack your dinner, will you?" said Thomas.

"You'd better take the coffee-pot out first."

Father looked up and his whole face went suddenly scarlet. Then he

made a dive at the dinner basket, and the next second a plate flew past my head. A fork whizzed through the door just before we got it closed.

Then we heard crockery breaking against it.

I sat down on the steps and burst into tears. Father croaked: "My God, are you hurt, Cassandra?" I put my face close to the crack under the door and called: "No, I'm perfectly all right. But please, please don't throw all your dinner dishes until you've eaten what's on them.

Oh, won't you just try to write, Father?

Write anything-write "The cat sat on the mat" if you like.

Anything, as long as you write!"

Then I cried harder than ever. Thomas pulled me to my feet and steered me down the steps.

"We ought never to have done it," I sobbed as we went down the mound.

"I shall let him out tonight even if he kills us."

"No, you won't--remember your oath." We had sworn not to give in until both of us agreed to it.

"I'm not weakening yet. We'll see how he is after dinner."

As soon as the daylight began to fade, Thomas got the pyjamas and

dressing-gown, and lit a lantern. There wasn't a sound as we

approached the tower.

"Oh, Thomas--suppose he's dashed his head against the wall!"

I whispered. And then a faint, reassuring smell of cigar smoke was

wafted to us.

When we opened the door, Father was sitting at the table with his back towards us. He turned round with the cigar in one hand and a pencil in the other.

"Your brilliant idea's done the trick!" he cried, hoarsely but happily.

"The miracle's happened! I've begun!"

"Oh, how wonderful!" I gasped.

Thomas said in a level, most un exuberant voice: "That's splendid, Father. May we see what you've written ?"

"Certainly not--you wouldn't understand a word of it. But assure you I've made a start. Now let me out."

"It's a ruse," Thomas whispered.

I said: "How many pages have you written, Father ?"

"Well, not many--the light's been very bad down here for the last hour his "You'll be all right with the lantern," said Thomas, beginning to lower it.

Father took it, and then said in a perfectly reasonable tone:

"Thomas, I give you my word I have begun work-look, you can see for yourself." He held a sheet of paper close to the lantern, then whisked it away.

"Cassandra, you write yourself, so you'll under stand that one's first draft can be--well, not always convincing.

Damn it, I've only started since dinner! An excellent dinner, by the

way; thank you very much. Now hurry up with that ladder

--I

want to get back to the gatehouse and work all night."

"But you're in an ideal place to work all night," said Thomas.

"Moving to the gatehouse would only disrupt you. Here are your pajamas and dressing-gown. I'll come along early in the morning.

Good night, Father." He threw the clothes down, shut the door, and took me firmly by the elbow.

"Come on, Cassandra."

I went without argument. I didn't believe Father was bluffing, I

believed our cure really had begun to work; but I thought it ought to have time to "take." And with Father in that sane, controlled mood, I was quite willing to leave him there for the night.

"But we've got to keep guard," I said, "in case he sets fire to his bedding, or something."

We divided the night into watches. I slept -not very well- until two; then took over from Thomas. I went up the mound every hour, but the

only thing I heard was a faint snore round about five o'clock.

I woke Thomas at seven this morning, intending to go up with him for

the first visit of the day; but he slipped off on his own while I was in Windsor Castle. I met him coming back across the bridge.

He said all was well and Father had been pleased with the bucket of

nice hot water he had taken up.

"And I'm beginning to believe he really is working--he was certainly writing when I opened the door. He's calm, and he's getting much more co-operative- he had all his dinner things packed in the basket ready for me. And he says he'd like his breakfast now."

Each time we have gone up with meals today, he has been writing like

mad. He still asks to be let out, but without wasting much breath on

it. And when we took the lantern this evening, he said:

"Come on, come on- I've been held up for that."

Surely, surely he wouldn't carry on a bluff for so long? I would have let him out tonight, but Thomas says he must show us some of his work first.

It is now nearly four o'clock in the morning.

I didn't wake Thomas at two because I wanted to bring this entry up to date;

and the poor boy is sleeping so exhaustedly- he is on the sofa here.

He didn't think there was any need for us to keep watch tonight, but I insisted--apart from the fear of anything happening to Father, the

barometer is falling. Could we remain adamant if it rained heavily?

Thomas is firmer than I am. He sent an umbrella down with the

lantern.

I have looked out of the south window every hour--our main reason for choosing the gatehouse to spend the night in is that we can see

Belmotte Tower through one window and keep a watch on the lane through the other. Though who would come to the castle in the middle of the

night? No one, no one. And yet I feel like a sentinel on guard.

Men must have kept guard in this gatehouse six hundred years ago

...... I have just had another look at the tower. The moon is shining full on it now. I had a queer feeling that it was more than inanimate stones. Does it know that it is playing a part in life again-that its dungeon once more encircles a sleeping prisoner his Four o'clock now.

Mother's little clock is beginning to seem alive in its own right--a

small, squat, busy person a few inches from my hand.

How heavily Thomas is sleeping! Watching sleeping people makes one

feel more separate than ever from them.

Heloise is chasing rabbits through her dreams--she gives little

nose-whimpers, her paws keep twitching. About honored us with his

company till midnight; now he is out hunting under the moon.

Surely we must let Father out tomorrow--even if he still won't show us his work? His upturned face looked so strange as he took the lantern

from us last night--almost saint like as if he had been seeing

visions.

Perhaps it was only because he needed a shave.

Shall I wake Thomas now this journal is up to date? I don't feel at

all sleepy. I am going to put the lamp out and sit in the

moonlight...... I can still see well enough to write. I remember

writing by moonlight the night I started my journal. What a lot has