shoulders and feet.
"What's the matter his Why don't you answer ?"
he shouted.
I racked my brains to think of the most tactful way of telling lim what had happened to him. At last I managed:
"Will you please look round you, Father his It's a sort of surprise."
We had put the mattress from the four-poster on the old iron bedstead, with blankets and pillows. The most inviting new stationery was
spread on the rustic table, with stones to use as paperweights.
We had given him the kitchen armchair.
"There are washing arrangements and drinking water in the garderobe," I called down- my enamel jug and basin had come in handily again.
"We think you'll have enough light to work by, now we've cleared the ivy from all the lowest arrow-slits --we'll give you a lantern at
night, of course. Very good meals will be coming down in a basket--we bought a "Thermos" .. " I couldn't go on --the expression on his face was too much for me.
He had just taken in that the ladder wasn't there any more.
"Great God in heaven!" he began--and then sat down on the bed and let out a roar of laughter. He laughed and laughed until I began to fear
he would suffocate.
"Oh, Thomas!" I whispered.
"Have we pushed him over to the wrong side of the border-line ?"
Father mopped his eyes.
"My dear, dear children!" he said at last.
"Cassandra, are you- what is it, seventeen, eighteen? Or are you eight? Bring that ladder back at once."
"You say something, Thomas," I whispered.
He cleared his throat and said very slowly and loudly:
"We think you ought to start work, Father--for your own sake far more than for ours. And we think being shut up here may help you to
concentrate and be good for you in other ways. I assure you we've
given the matter a lot of thought and are in line with psycho-analysis his "Bring back that ladder!" roared Father. I could see that Thomas's weighty manner had infuriated him.
"There's no point in arguing," said Thomas, calmly.
"We'll leave you to get settled. You can tell us at lunch time if there are any books or papers you need for your work."
"Don't you dare go away!" Father's voice cracked so pitifully that I said quickly:
"Please don't exhaust yourself by shouting for help, because there's no one but us within miles. Oh, Father, it's an experiment- give it a
chance."
"But you little lunatic ... was Father began, furiously.
Thomas whispered to me: "I warn you, this will only develop into a brawl. Let me get the door shut."
It was a brawl already on Father's side. I stood back and Thomas
closed the door.
"Luncheon at one, Father," I called encouragingly.
We locked and bolted the door. There wasn't the faintest chance that
Father could climb up to it, but we felt the psychological effect would be good. As we went down the mound, Father's yelling sounded
surprisingly weak; by the time we reached the bridge we couldn't hear it at all.
I said: "Do you think he's fainted?"
Thomas went a little way up the mound.
"No, I can still hear him.
It's just that the tower's a sound-trap."
I stared back at it.
"Oh, Thomas, have we done something insane?"
"Not a bit," said Thomas, cheerfully.
"You know, even the change of atmosphere may be enough to help him."
"But to lock him in--and it used to be a dungeon!
To imprison one's Father!"
"Well, that's the whole idea, isn't it his Not that I set quite as much store on the psycho stuff as you do. Personally, I think knowing he
won't be let out until he's done some work is almost more important."
"That's nonsense," I said.
"If it doesn't come right psychologically from the depths of Father- it won't come right at all.
You can't trammel the creative mind."
"Why not?" said Thomas.
"His creative mind's been untrammelled for years without doing a hand's-turn. Let's see what trammelling does for it."
We went indoors and had breakfast- it seemed awful that Father was
starting his adventure on an empty stomach, but I knew we should be
making that up to him soon. Then I wrote to Thomas's school to say he would be indisposed for a few days, and went up to make the beds.
Thomas kindly undertook the dusting.
"Hello!" he said suddenly.
"Look at this!"
The key to the gatehouse room was lying on Father's dressing-table.
"Let's go in and have a look at those lists you told me about," said Thomas.
As we climbed the gatehouse stairs I said:
"Oh, Thomas, is it like spying?"
"Yes, of course it is," said Thomas, unlocking the door.
I suddenly felt frightened as well as guilty- it was as if part of
Father's mind was still in the room and furious with us for
intruding.
Sunlight was streaming through the south window, the "comic strips"
were still tacked to the bookshelves, Mother's little clock was ticking away on the desk. But the lists weren't there any longer and the desk was locked.
I was glad we couldn't find anything. I felt worse about snooping
round his room than about locking him up in the tower.
Thomas stayed to read the comic strips while I began preparations for Father's lunch. At one o'clock we took it out in a basket- soup in a
"Thermos," chicken salad, strawberries and cream, and a cigar (nine pence).
"I wonder if we're right to pamper him with this rich food," said Thomas as we started up the mound.
"Bread and water would create the prison atmosphere better."
Everything was quiet when we got up to the tower. We unlocked the
door and looked down. Father was lying on the bed, staring upwards.
"Hello," he said, in a perfectly pleasant voice.
I was astounded--and still more so when he smiled at us.
Of course I smiled back, and I said I hoped he had a good appetite.
Thomas began to lower the basket on a length of clothesline.
"It's only a light luncheon, so that it won't make you sleepy," I explained.
"There'll be a bigger meal tonight- with wine." I noticed he had already got himself a drink of water, which looked as if he were
settling down a bit.
He thanked Thomas most politely for the basket and spread the contents out on the table; then smiled up at us.
"This is superb," he said, in his most genial voice.
"Now, listen, you comics: I've had a long, quiet morning to think in-it's really been most pleasant, lying here watching the sky. I'm
perfectly sincere when I say that I'm touched at your doing this to try to help me. And I'm not at all sure you haven't succeeded. It's been
stimulating;
I've had one or two splendid ideas. It's been a success do you
understand? But the novelty has worn off now--if you keep me here any longer, you'll undo your good work. Now I'm going to eat this
delightful luncheon, and then you're going to bring back the
ladder--aren't you?" His voice quavered on the "aren't you?"
"And I swear there'll be no reprisals," he finished.
I looked at Thomas to see what he made of this.
He just said, woodenly: "Any books or papers you want, Father ?"
"No, there aren't!" shouted Father, his bonhomie suddenly departing.
"All I want is to get out."
Thomas slammed the door.
"Dinner at seven," I called- but I doubt if Father heard me as he was yelling louder than when we first locked him in.
I hoped it wouldn't ruin his appetite.
I spent the early part of the afternoon reading the comic strips you
start by thinking they are silly, but they grow on you.
Then I got everything ready for Father's meal- it was to be full
dinner, not just glorified tea: melon, cold salmon (we put it down the well to get it really cold), tinned peaches, cheese and biscuits, a