Read Online I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dodie Smith
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fascinating color. I had the brain wave of sitting on our largest dinner-dish to avoid the dye; the gravy runnels were a bit uncomfortable, though.
I believe it is customary to get one’s washing over first in baths and bask afterwards; personally, I bask first. I have discovered that the first few minutes are the best and not to be wasted-my brain always seethes with ideas and life suddenly looks much better than it did. Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one—unless the medicine-bottle of port that the Vicar gives me for my Midsummer rites counts-I can well believe it. So I bask first, wash second and then read as long as the hot water holds out. The last stage of a bath, when the water is cooling and there is nothing to look forward to, can be pretty disillusioning. I expect alcohol works much the same way.
This time I spent my basking in thinking about the family and it is a tribute to hot water that I could think about them and still bask. For surely we are a sorry lot: Father moldering in the gatehouse, Rose raging at life, Thomas-well, he is a cheerful boy but one cannot but know that he is perpetually underfed. Topaz is certainly the happiest for she still thinks it’s romantic to be married to Father and live in a castle; and her painting, her lute and her wild communing with nature are a great comfort to her. I would have taken a bet that she had nothing whatever on under her oilskins and that she intended to stride up the mound and then fling them off.
After being an artists’ model for so many years, she has no particular interest in Nudism for its own sake, but she has a passion for getting into closest contact with the elements. This once caused quite a little embarrassment with Four Stones Farm so she undertook only to go nude by night. Of course, winter is closed season for nudity, but she is wonderfully impervious to cold and I felt sure the hint of spring in the air would have fetched her. Though it was warmer, it was still far from warm, and the thought of her up on Belmotte made my bath more comfortable than ever.
I ate half my chocolate and meant to offer the rest to Rose, but Heloise was lashing her tail so hopefully that I shared with her instead and her gratitude was so intense that I feared she might get in the bath with me. I calmed her, discouraged her from licking the soap and had just started serious washing when there was a thump on the door.
I still can’t imagine what made me call out: “Come in.” I suppose I said it automatically. I had just covered my face with soap, which always makes one feel rather helpless, and when I rashly opened my eyes, the soap got into them; I was blindly groping for the towel when I heard the door open. Heloise let forth a volley of barks and hurtled towards it—it was a miracle she didn’t knock the clothes horses over. The next few seconds were pandemonium with Hcl barking her hardest and two men trying to soothe her. I didn’t call her off because I know she never bites anyone and I hated the idea of explaining I was in the bath—particularly as I hadn’t even a towel to wrap around me; I had blinked my eyes open by then and realized I must have left it somewhere in the kitchen.
Mercifully, Heloise quietened down after a minute or so.
“Didn’t you hear someone say “Come in”?” said one of the men, and I realized that he was an American. It was a pleasant voice, like the nice people in American films, not the gangsters.
He called out:
“Anyone home?” but the other man told him to be quiet, adding:
“I want to look at this place first. It’s magnificent.”
This voice puzzled me. It didn’t sound English but it didn’t sound American either, yet it certainly had no foreign accent. It was a most unusual voice, very quiet and very interesting.
“Do you realize that wall’s part of an old castle?” it said.
This was not a happy moment as I thought he would come to
I believe it is customary to get one’s washing over first in baths and bask afterwards; personally, I bask first. I have discovered that the first few minutes are the best and not to be wasted-my brain always seethes with ideas and life suddenly looks much better than it did. Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one—unless the medicine-bottle of port that the Vicar gives me for my Midsummer rites counts-I can well believe it. So I bask first, wash second and then read as long as the hot water holds out. The last stage of a bath, when the water is cooling and there is nothing to look forward to, can be pretty disillusioning. I expect alcohol works much the same way.
This time I spent my basking in thinking about the family and it is a tribute to hot water that I could think about them and still bask. For surely we are a sorry lot: Father moldering in the gatehouse, Rose raging at life, Thomas-well, he is a cheerful boy but one cannot but know that he is perpetually underfed. Topaz is certainly the happiest for she still thinks it’s romantic to be married to Father and live in a castle; and her painting, her lute and her wild communing with nature are a great comfort to her. I would have taken a bet that she had nothing whatever on under her oilskins and that she intended to stride up the mound and then fling them off.
After being an artists’ model for so many years, she has no particular interest in Nudism for its own sake, but she has a passion for getting into closest contact with the elements. This once caused quite a little embarrassment with Four Stones Farm so she undertook only to go nude by night. Of course, winter is closed season for nudity, but she is wonderfully impervious to cold and I felt sure the hint of spring in the air would have fetched her. Though it was warmer, it was still far from warm, and the thought of her up on Belmotte made my bath more comfortable than ever.
I ate half my chocolate and meant to offer the rest to Rose, but Heloise was lashing her tail so hopefully that I shared with her instead and her gratitude was so intense that I feared she might get in the bath with me. I calmed her, discouraged her from licking the soap and had just started serious washing when there was a thump on the door.
I still can’t imagine what made me call out: “Come in.” I suppose I said it automatically. I had just covered my face with soap, which always makes one feel rather helpless, and when I rashly opened my eyes, the soap got into them; I was blindly groping for the towel when I heard the door open. Heloise let forth a volley of barks and hurtled towards it—it was a miracle she didn’t knock the clothes horses over. The next few seconds were pandemonium with Hcl barking her hardest and two men trying to soothe her. I didn’t call her off because I know she never bites anyone and I hated the idea of explaining I was in the bath—particularly as I hadn’t even a towel to wrap around me; I had blinked my eyes open by then and realized I must have left it somewhere in the kitchen.
Mercifully, Heloise quietened down after a minute or so.
“Didn’t you hear someone say “Come in”?” said one of the men, and I realized that he was an American. It was a pleasant voice, like the nice people in American films, not the gangsters.
He called out:
“Anyone home?” but the other man told him to be quiet, adding:
“I want to look at this place first. It’s magnificent.”
This voice puzzled me. It didn’t sound English but it didn’t sound American either, yet it certainly had no foreign accent. It was a most unusual voice, very quiet and very interesting.
“Do you realize that wall’s part of an old castle?” it said.
This was not a happy moment as I thought he would come to
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