Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

about forty, small and rather faded yet somehow very young. She blinks her eyes a lot and is apt to giggle and say: "Well, reely!" She is a Londoner but has been in the village over five years now. I believe

she teaches very nicely; her specialties are folk song and wild flowers and country lore. She didn't like it here when first she came (she

always says she "missed the bright lights"); but she soon made herself take an interest in country things, and now she tries to make the

country people interested in them too.

As librarian, she cheats a bit to give us the newest books; she'd had a delivery today and had brought Father a detective novel that only came out the year before last--and it was by one of his favorite authors.

Topaz said:

"Oh, I must take this to Mortmain at once."

She calls Father "Mortmain" partly because she fancies our odd surname, and partly to keep up the fiction that he is still a famous writer. He came back with her to thank Miss Marcy and for once he seemed quite

genuinely cheerful.

"I'll read any detective novel, good, bad or indifferent," he told her,

"but a vintage one's among the rarest pleasures of life."

Then he found out he was getting this one ahead of the Vicar and was so pleased that he blew Miss Marcy a kiss. She said "Oh, thank you, Mr.

Mortmain! That is, I mean--well, reely!" and blushed and blinked.

Father then flung his rug round him like a toga and went back to the

gatehouse looking quite abnormally goodhumored.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Miss Marcy said "How is he ?" in a hushed sort of voice that implied he was at death's door or off his

head.

Rose said he was perfectly well and perfectly useless, as always. Miss Marcy looked shocked.

"Rose is depressed about our finances," I explained.

"We mustn't bore Miss Marcy with our worries," said Topaz, quickly. She hates anything which casts a reflection on Father.

Miss Marcy said that nothing to do with our household could possibly

bore her-- I know she thinks our life at the castle is wildly romantic.

Then she asked, very diffidently, if she could help us with any

advice-- "Sometimes an outside mind .. "

I suddenly felt that I should rather like to consult her; she is such a sensible little woman- it was she who thought of getting me the book on speed-writing. Mother trained us never to talk about our affairs in

the village, and I do respect Topaz's loyalty to Father, but I was sure Miss Marcy must know perfectly well that we are broke.

"If you could suggest some ways of earning money," I

"Or of making it go further--I'm sure you're all much too artistic to be really practical.

Let's hold a board meeting!"

She said it as if she were enticing children to a game. She was so

eager that it would have seemed quite rude to refuse;

and I think Rose and Topaz felt desperate enough to try anything.

"Now, paper and pencils," said Miss Marcy, clapping her hands. Writing paper is scarce in this house, and I had no intention of tearing sheets out of this exercise book, which is a superb sixpenny one the Vicar

gave me. In the end, Miss Marcy took the middle pages out of her

library record, which gave us a pleasant feeling that we were stealing from the government, and then we sat round the table and elected her

chairman. She said she must be secretary, too, so that she could keep the minutes, and wrote down:

INQUIRY INTO THE FINANCES OF THE

MORTMAIN FAMILY

Present:

Miss Marcy (chairman) Mrs. James Mortmain Miss Rose Mortmain Miss

Cassandra Mortmain Thomas Mortmain Stephen Colly We began by discussing expenditure.

"First, rent," said Miss Marcy.

The rent is forty pounds a year, which seems little for a commodious

castle, but we have only a few acres of land, the country folk think

the ruins are a drawback, and there are said to be ghosts-which there are not. (there are some queer things up on the mound, but they never come into the house.) Anyway, we haven't paid any rent for three years.

Our landlord, a rich old gentleman who lived at Scoatney Hall, five

miles away, always sent us a ham at Christmas whether we paid the rent or not. He died last November and we have sadly missed the ham.

"They say the Hall's going to be re-opened," said Miss Marcy when we had told her the position about the rent.

"Two boys from the village have been taken on as extra gardeners. Well, we will just put the rent down and mark it "optional". Now what about food? Can you do it on fifteen shillings a week per head? Say a pound per head, including candles, lamp-oil and cleaning materials."

The idea of our family ever coming by six pounds a week made us all

hoot with laughter.

"If Miss Marcy is really going to advise us," said Topaz, "she'd better be told we have no visible income at all this year."

Miss Marcy flushed and said: "I did know things were difficult. But, dear Mrs. Mortmain, there must be some money, surely?"

We gave her the facts. Not one penny has come in during January or

February. Last year Father got forty pounds from America, where Jacob Wrestling still sells. Topaz posed in London for three months, saved

eight pounds for us and borrowed fifty; and we sold a tallboy to a

King's Crypt dealer for twenty pounds. We have been living on the

tallboy since Christmas.

"Last year's income one hundred and eighteen pounds," said Miss Marcy and wrote it down. But we hastened to tell her that it bore no

relation to this year's income, for we have no more good furniture to sell, Topaz has run out of rich borrowees, and we think it unlikely

that Father's royalties will be so large, as they have dwindled every year.

"Should I leave school?" said Thomas. But of course we told him that would be absurd as his schooling costs us nothing owing to his

scholarship, and the Vicar has just given him a year's ticket for the train.

Miss Marcy fiddled with her pencil a bit and then said:

"If I'm to be a help, I must be frank.

Couldn't you make a saving on Stephen's wages?"

I felt myself go red. Of course we have never paid Stephen

anything--never even thought of it. And I suddenly realized that we

ought to have done so. (not that we've had any money to pay him with

since he's been old enough to earn.) "I don't want wages," said Stephen, quietly.

"I wouldn't take them. Everything I've ever had has been given to me here."

"You see, Stephen's like a son of the house," I said. Miss Marcy looked as if she wasn't sure that was a very good thing to be, but

Stephen's face quite lit up for a second. Then he got embarrassed and said he must see if the hens were all in. After he had gone, Miss

Marcy said:

"No- no wages at all? Just his keep?"

"We don't pay ourselves any wages," said Rose --which is true enough; but then we don't work so hard as Stephen or sleep in a dark little

room off the kitchen.

"And I think it's humiliating discussing our poverty in front of Miss Marcy," Rose went on, angrily.

"I thought we were just going to ask her advice about earning."

After that, a lot of time was wasted soothing Rose's pride and Miss

Marcy's feelings. Then we got down to our earning capacities.

Topaz said she couldn't earn more than four pounds a week in London and possibly not that, and she would need three pounds to live on, and some clothes, and the fare to come down here at least every other weekend.

"And I don't want to go to London," she added, rather pathetically.

"I'm tired of being a model. And I miss Mortmain dreadfully. And he needs me here--I'm the only one who can cook."

"That's hardly very important when we've nothing to cook," said Rose.

"Could I earn money as a model?"

"I'm afraid not," said Topaz.

"Your figure's too pretty-there isn't enough drawing in your bones. And you'd never have the patience to sit still.

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.