I Capture the Castle (17 page)

“And Cassandra’s a Reynolds, of course the little girl with the mousetrap.”

“I’m not!” I said indignantly.

“I hate that picture. The mouse is terrified, the cat’s hungry and the girl’s a cruel little beast. I refuse to be her.”

“Ah, but you’d let the mouse out of the trap and find a nice dead sardine for the cat,” said Simon. I began to like him a little better.

The others were busy thinking of a painter for Mrs. Fox-Cotton.

They finally decided on a Surrealist named Dali.

“With snakes coming out of her ears,” said Mr. Fox-Cotton. I haven’t the faintest idea what Surrealism is, but I can easily imagine snakes in Mrs. F-C’s ears-and I certainly shouldn’t blame them for coming out.

After that, it was decided that we should dance.

“In the hall,” said Neil, “because the Victrola’s down there.” Mrs.

Cotton and Father and the Vicar stayed behind talking.

“We shall be one man short,” complained Mrs.

Fox-Cotton as we went downstairs.

I said I would watch as I don’t know modern dances. (neither does Rose, really, but she did try them once or twice at Aunt Millicent’s parties.) “What kind do you know?” asked Simon, teasingly.

“Sarabandes, cour antes and pa vanes?” I told him just waltzes and polkas.

Mother showed us those when we were little.

“I’ll teach you,” said Neil. He put a record on the gramophone-I had expected a Victrola to be something much more exciting-and then came back to me, but I said I’d rather watch for the first few dances.

“Oh, come on, Cassandra,” he said, but Mrs.

Fox-Cotton butted in.

“Let the child watch if she wants to. Dance this with me.” I settled it by running up the stairs.

I sat on the top step looking down on them.

Rose danced with Simon, Topaz with Mr. Fox-Cotton. I must say Mrs. Fox-Cotton danced beautifully, though she seemed almost to be lying on Neil’s chest. Rose’s dress looked lovely but she kept on missing steps. Topaz was holding herself stiff as a poker—she thinks modern dancing is vulgar—but Mr. Fox-Cotton danced so well that she gradually relaxed. It was fascinating watching them all from up there. The hall was very dimly lit, the oak floor looked dark as water by night.

I noticed the mysterious old-house smell again but mixed with Mrs.

Fox-Cotton’s scent—a rich, mysterious scent, not a bit like flowers.

I leaned against the carved banisters and listened to the music and felt quite different from any way I have ever felt before -softer, very beautiful and as if a great many men were in love with me and I might very easily be in love with them. I had the most curious feeling in my solar plexus—a vulnerable feeling is the nearest I can get to it; I was investigating it in a pleasant, hazy sort of way, staring down at a big bowl of white tulips against the uncurtained great window, when all of a sudden I went quite cold with shock.

There were two faces floating in the black glass of the window.

The next instant they were gone. I strained my eyes to see them again. The dancers kept passing the window, hiding it from me.

Suddenly the faces were back, but grown fainter.

They grew clear again-and just then the record finished. The dancers stopped, the faces vanished.

Aubrey Fox-Cotton shouted: “Did you see that, Simon? Two of the villagers staring in again.”

“That’s the worst of a right-of-way so close to the house,” Simon explained to Rose.

“Oh, hell, what does it matter?” said Neil.

“Let them watch if they want to.”

“But it startled Mother badly the other night. I think I’ll just ask them not to, if I can catch them.”

Simon went to the door and opened it. I ran full tilt down the stairs, and across to him. There was a light above the door which made everything seem pitch black beyond.

“Don’t catch them,” I whispered.

He smiled down at me in astonishment.

“Good heavens, I’m not going to hurt them.” He went down the steps and shouted: “Anyone there?”

There was a stifled laugh quite close.

“They’re behind the cedar,” said Simon and started to walk towards it. I was praying they would bolt but no sound of it came.

I grabbed Simon’s arm and whispered: “Please come back—please say you couldn’t find them. It’s Thomas and Stephen.”

Simon let out a snort of laughter.

“They must have cycled over,” I said.

“Please don’t be annoyed.

It’s just that they hankered to see the fun.” He called out: “Thomas, Stephen-where are you his Come in and talk to us.”

They didn’t answer. We walked towards the cedar.

Suddenly they made a dash for it—and Thomas promptly tripped over something and fell full length. I called: “Come on, both of you-it’s perfectly all right,” Simon went to help Thomas up-I knew he wasn’t hurt because he was laughing so much. My eyes were used to the darkness by then and I could see Stephen some yards away; he had stopped but he wasn’t coming towards us. I went over and took him by the hand.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” he whispered.

“I

know it was a terrible thing to do.”

“Nonsense,” I said.

“Nobody minds a bit.”

His hand was quite damp. I was sure he was feeling awful.

The others had heard the shouts and come to the door.

Neil came running out to us with a torch.

“What, my old friend Stephen?” he cried.

“Are there any bears abroad tonight?”

“I don’t want to come in—please!” Stephen whispered to me. But Neil and I took an arm each and made him.

Thomas wasn’t minding at all—he kept choking with laughter.

“We had a squint at you at dinner,” he said, “and then you all disappeared.

We were just about to go home in despair when you came downstairs.”

Once I saw Stephen clearly, in the hall, I was sorry I had made him come in-he was scarlet to his forehead and too shy to speak a word. And Rose made things worse by saying affectedly (i think it was due to embarrassment) : “I do apologize for them. They ought to be ashamed of themselves.”

“Don’t mind your Great-Aunt Rose, boys,” said Neil, with a grin.

“Come on, we’ll go and raid the icebox.” I once saw them do that on the pictures and it looked marvelous.

I thought I would go along, too, but Mrs.

Fox-Cotton called me back.

“Who’s that boy, the tall fair one?” she demanded.

I told her about Stephen.

She said, “I must photograph him.”

“What, at this time of night?”

She gave a whinnying little laugh.

“Of course not, you silly child.

He must come up to London-I’m a professional photographer.

Look here, ask him—No, don’t bother.” She ran upstairs.

Neil and the boys had disappeared by then. I was sorry, because I was quite a bit hungry, in spite of the enormous dinner; I suppose my stomach had got into practice. I feared that if I hung about, Simon might feel he ought to dance with me—he was dancing with Rose again and I wanted him to go on. So I went upstairs.

It was pleasant being by myself in the house—one gets the feel of a house much better alone. I went very slowly, looking at the old prints on the walls of the passages. Everywhere at Scoatney one feels so conscious of the past; it is like a presence, a caress in the air. I don’t often get that feeling at the castle; perhaps it has been altered too much, and the oldest parts seem so utterly remote. Probably the beautiful, undisturbed furniture helps at Scoatney.

I expected to hear voices to guide me back to the gallery but every thing was quiet. At last I came to a window open on to the courtyard and leaned out and got my bearings—I could see the gallery windows. I could see the kitchen windows, too, and Neil and Thomas and Stephen eating at the table. It did look fun.

When I went into the gallery, Father and Mrs.

Cotton were at the far end and the Vicar was lying on the sofa by the middle fire place reading Mrs. Fox-Cotton’s book. I told him about Thomas and Stephen.

“Let’s go and talk to them,” he said, “unless you want me to dance with you. I dance like an india-rubber ball.”

I said I should like to see the kitchens. He got up, closing the book.

“Mrs. Fox-Cotton said that was no book for little girls,” I told him.

“It’s no book for little vicars,” he said, chuckling.

He took me down by the back stairs-he knows the house well, as he was very friendly with old Mr. Cotton. It was interesting to notice the difference once we got into the servants’ quarters; the carpets were thin and worn, the lighting was harsh, it felt much colder. The smell was different, too—just as old but with no mellowness in it; a stale, damp, dispiriting smell.

But the kitchens were beautiful when we got to them-all painted white, with a white enamelled stove and the hugest refrigerator.

(aunt Millicent only had an old one which dribbled.) Neil and the boys were still eating. And sitting on the table, talking hard to Stephen, was Mrs. Fox-Cotton.

As I came in, she was handing him a card. I heard her say:

“All you have to do is to give that address to the taxi-driver. I’ll pay your fare when you get there—or perhaps I’d better give you some money now.” She opened her evening bag.

“Are you really going to be photographed?” I asked him. He shook his head and showed me the card. It had _____ 
on it, under a beautifully drawn little swan, and an address in St. John’s Wood.

“Be a nice child and help me to persuade him,” she said. “He can come on a Sunday. I’ll pay his fare and give him two guineas. He’s exactly what I’ve been looking for for months.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” said Stephen, very politely.

“I’d be embarrassed.”

“Heavens, what’s there to be embarrassed about his I only want to photograph your head. Would you do it for three guineas?”

“What, for just one day?”

She gave him a shrewd little look; then said quickly:

“Five guineas if you come next Sunday.”

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to, Stephen,” I said.

He swallowed and thought. At last he said: “I’ll have to think it over, ma’am. Would it be five guineas if I came a little later?”

“Any Sunday you like-I can always use you. Only write in advance to make sure I shall be free. You write for him,” she added, to me.

“He’ll write himself if he wants to,” I said coldly—she sounded as if she thought he was illiterate.

“Well, don’t you go putting him off. Five guineas, Stephen. And I probably won’t need you for more than two or three hours.”

She grabbed a wing of chicken and sat there gnawing it.

Neil offered me some, but my appetite had gone off.

Stephen said it was time he and Thomas rode home.

Neil asked them to stay on and dance, but didn’t press it when he saw Stephen didn’t want to. We all went to see them off-the bicycles were somewhere at the back of the house. On the way, we passed through a storeroom where enormous hams were hanging.

“Old Mr. Cotton sent us one of those every Christmas,” said Thomas.

“Only he was dead last Christmas.”

Neil reached up and took the largest ham off its hook.

“There you are, Tommy,” he said.

“Oh, Thomas, you can’t!” I began—but I didn’t want Neil to call me Great-Aunt Cassandra so I finished up: “Well, I suppose you have.” And I certainly would have fainted with despair if Thomas had refused the ham. In the end, I undertook to bring it home because he couldn’t manage it on his bicycle.

“But swear you won’t go all ladylike and leave it behind,” he whispered. I swore.

After the boys had gone we went back to the hall and found the others still dancing.

“Come on, Cassandra,” said Neil, and whirled me off.

Dear me, dancing is peculiar when you really think about it. If a man held your hand and put his arm round your waist without its being dancing, it would be most important; in dancing, you don’t even notice it—well, only a little bit. I managed to follow the steps better than I expected, but not easily enough to enjoy myself; I was quite glad when the record ended.

Neil asked Rose to dance then, and I had a glorious waltz with the Vicar; we got so dizzy that we had to flop on a sofa. I don’t fancy Rose followed Neil as well as I had done, because as they passed I heard him say: “Don’t keep on putting in little fancy steps on your own.” I guessed that would annoy her and it did; when the music stopped and he asked her to come out into the garden for some air, she said “No, thanks,” almost rudely.

After that, we all went back to the Long Gallery where Father and Mrs. Cotton were talking as hard as ever.

Mrs. Cotton broke off politely as we went in and the conversation was general for a while; but Mrs. Fox-Cotton kept yawning and patting her mouth and saying “Excuse me”—which only drew more attention to it-and soon Topaz said we ought to be going. Mrs.

Cotton protested courteously, then rang for the car. There was a late feeling about the evening—just as there used to be at children’s parties (the few I ever went to) after the first nurse arrived to take a child home.

I picked up the ham as we went through the hall and tactfully kept it under the wrap Topaz had lent me-it was a most peculiar sort of bur nous thing but it came in very useful.

Simon and Neil went out to the car with us and said they would come over and see us when they got back from London-they were driving up the next day to stay for a fortnight.

And so the party was over.

“Great Heavens, Cassandra, how did you get that?”

said Father when he saw me nursing the ham.

I told him, and explained that I had been hiding it in case he made me refuse it.

“Refuse it his You must be insane, my child.” He took it from me to guess how much it weighed. We all guessed—which was a sheer waste of time as we haven’t any scales.

“You’re nursing it as if it were your first-born child,” said Father when it was returned to me eventually.

I said I doubted if anyone’s first-born child was ever more welcome. After that we all fell silent—we had suddenly remembered the chauffeur.

Even when we got home we didn’t all rush to compare notes. I got the feeling that we all wanted to do a little private thinking. I certainly did.