I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

is, don’t you?”
    I stared at him and he went on: “It’s the rent -they’ve looked into that little matter, I know, because the usual application didn’t come in on the March quarter-day. Oh, they’re kind enough —the best type of American always is; but they don’t want to get involved with us.”
    I knew Topaz hadn’t told him the truth; partly because she thought it would upset him and partly because she has a sort of women-must-stick-together attitude. I wondered if I ought to tell him myself. And then I decided that if he did feel guilty about the rent it would be a good thing—anything, anything to prod him into working. But as he stood there in his thin old coat, with the March wind blowing his fading gold hair, I felt very sorry for him;
    so I told him there were potato-cakes for tea.
    As it turned out, the potato-cakes were spoilt;
    because while we were eating them, we had one of those family rows which are so funny in books and on the pictures. They aren’t funny in real life, particularly when they happen at meals, as they so often do. They always make me shake and feel rather sick. The trouble arose because Thomas asked Rose to pass the salt three times and she took no notice, and when he shouted at her, she leaned forward and boxed his ears. Topaz said: “Blast you, Rose, you know Thomas gets ear-ache.” And Rose said: “You would bring that up-I suppose he’ll die and I’ll be responsible.” Father said:
    “Damnation!” and pushed his chair back on to Heloise, who yelped.
    And I said: “I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it,” which was ridiculous.
    Stephen was the only person who kept calm; he got up quietly to see if Heloise was badly hurt. She wasn’t, and she came off very well because we gave her most of the potato-cakes. Our appetites came back later when there was nothing worth eating.
    Food isn’t much better, in spite of Stephen’s wages coming in regularly, because we have to go slow until the tradesmen’s bills are paid off. Stephen keeps back a shilling a week; I this exercise book came out of his savings. I have an uneasy feeling he will spend most of them on me; he certainly spends nothing on himself.
    He hasn’t brought me any poems lately, which is a relief.
    That evening of the row was our lowest depths; miserable people cannot afford to dislike each other. Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.
    Had we but known it, our fortunes were already slightly on the mend, for that was the very day Father’s Aunt Millicent died. How dreadfully callous I sound! But if I could bring her back to life, truly I would; and as I can’t, there seems no harm in thanking God for His wondrous ways. For she left Rose and me her personal wardrobe which means clothes, not a piece of furniture as I thought at first. When the Vicar saw the death announced in The Times we entertained a faint hope that she might have left Father some money;
    but she had cut him out of her will and left everything to a hostel for artists’ models—I suppose she thought they ought to stick in hostels and not go marrying her relations. (“Just think,” said Rose, “if Father hadn’t married Topaz we might be rolling in wealth by now.” And I asked myself if I would rather roll than have Topaz in the family and decided I wouldn’t, which was nice to know.) After the first exuberance had worn off, we remembered that Aunt Millicent was seventy-four and an eccentric dresser. But to be left anything at all gives one a lift.
    The lawyers wrote asking us to come to London and pack the clothes ourselves; they said they would pay all expenses.
    The prospect of a day in London was heaven, but the problem of what to wear was sheer hell, particularly for Rose—my clothes don’t bear thinking about, so I just don’t think about them. We sponged and pressed our winter coats and tried to believe that they looked better.
    And then the weather turned fine—those coats were utterly