Here lie the mortal remains of
Christabel Madeleine LaMotte
Younger daughter of Isidore LaMotte
Historian
And of his beloved wife
ArabeI LaMotte
Only sister of Sophie, Lady Bailey
Wife of Sir George Bailey of Seal Court
Croysant le Wold
Born January 3rd 182$
Laid to rest May 8th i8go
After mortal trouble
Let me lie still
Where the wind drives and the clouds stream
Over the hill
Where grass's thousand thirsty mouths
Sup up their fill
Of the slow dew and the sharp rain
Of the mantling snow dissolv'd again
At Heaven's sweet will.
Someone, again not recently, had sheared the hay from the grave, which was surrounded by a low and crumbling stone rim, thrust apart by couch grass and thorny trails of bramble. On the grassy mound lay the ghost of a large, indeed opulent bouquet, held together by bridal wires, now rusted amongst the mop heads of dead chrysanthemums and carnations, the skeletal leaves of long-faded roses. A green satin ribbon, water-stained and earth-stained, held these fragments together; there was a card tied to this, on which was palely visible in typewriting
For Christabel
From the women of Tallahassee
Who truly honour you
Who keep your memory green
And continue your work
"The stones I shaped endure."
Melusina, XII, 325
"Leonora was here," said Maud. "In the summer. When Sir George threatened her with a shotgun.”
“She had a go at the weeds perhaps," said Roland, who felt threatened by damp and melancholy.
"Leonora would be very shocked at the state of this graveyard," said Maud. "She would not find it romantic. I think it's all right. A slow return to nature and oblivion."
"Did Christabel write that poem?"
"It's one of her quieter efforts. You see it's not ascribed. The tombstone mentions her father's profession, and doesn't say a word about her own."
Roland felt briefly guilty of the oppressions of mankind. He said mildly, "It's the poem that sticks in the memory. Rather sinister.”
“As though the grass were supping up Christabel.”
“Well, it was, I suppose." They looked at the grass. It lay damply, in decaying tufts. "Let's walk up the hill," said Maud. "We can look down on Seal Court from a distance. She must have come this way often enough, she was a diligent churchgoer."
From behind the church a ploughed field slanted up to the uncompromising skyline. Silhouetted against the grey sky, on the top, was a figure Roland at first took for a seated monarch by Henry Moore, enthroned and crowned. Then it inclined its head and struggled fiercely with arms pointing earthwards, and Roland caught glints of silver and reconstituted it as a person in a wheelchair, possibly in difficulty.
"Look!" he said to Maud.
Maud stared upwards.
"Perhaps they're in trouble."
"Someone must be with them or they wouldn't have got up there," said Maud reasonably.
"Perhaps," said Roland, setting off nevertheless, his town shoes thickening with mud as he climbed, his hair ruffling. He was in good health, owing to the cycling perhaps, despite carbon monoxide and lead in London streets.
In the wheelchair was a woman, wearing a deep-crowned, wide-brimmed green felt hat, obscuring her face, and a paisley silk scarf at the throat of a caped loden coat. The chair had spun out of the central track along the ridge and was now skewed at the precipitous edge of what would be a steep and stony career. Leather-gloved hands strove with the huge hoops. Leather boots, beautifully soft and polished, rested placidly on the shifting step. There was, Roland saw, a huge flint embedded in the mud under the back of the wheel, preventing all attempts at manoeuvre or reversal.
"Can I help?"
"Oh," on a long stressed sigh. "Oh, thank you. I do s-seem to be b-bogged down." The voice was hesitant, old and patrician. "S-such a b-bother. So so h-h-h-h-helpless. If you please-"
"There's a stone. Under the wheel. Wait. Hold on."
He had to kneel down in the muddy track, damaging his trousers, reminding him of playground agonies; he gripped, tugged, balanced.
"Is the chair stable?" he said. "I seem to be tipping you."
"It's d-designed for s-stability. I have the brakes on."
The full real anxiety of the position slowly came over Roland. Any wrong move, and she would have been over. He inserted his hands into the mud, and scrabbled. He found a not very effective twig and scraped. He used another flint as a primitive lever and finally fell back, clasping the offending object in both hands, damaging the haunches of his trousers too.
"There," he said. "Like dentistry. It's out."
"I am very grateful."
"You were in a bit of a fix. You must have skidded over it one way and then it tipped back and put up this sort of tooth, like a ratchet, look." He became aware that she was trembling. "No, wait a minute, let's get the chair back on the track. I'm afraid my hands are muddy."
He was out of breath by the time he had canted her back, ground her round, settled the chair on the rough track again. Its wheels dripped mud. She turned her face up to him then. It was large and moony, stained with the brown coins of age, thick with ropes and soft pockets of flesh under the chin. The eyes, huge and pale brown, were swimming. From under the smooth, pulled-back grey hair at the sides of the hat trickled large drops of sweat.
"Thank you," she said. 'I had got myself in a very foolish position. I might well have gone over. F-foolhardy, my husband would say. I sh-should s-stay on the level ground. My dependence annoys me."
"Of course," said Roland. "Of course it must. You were all right really. Someone must have come."
"Just as well you did. Are you out walking?"
"I'm visiting. Out with a friend." Where was Maud? "Marvellous air. You can see so far."
"That's why I come up here. The dog is meant to stay with me, but he never does. My husband likes to poke about in the woods. Where are you walking?"
"I don't know. My friend knows. Shall I walk with you, a little?"
"I don't feel very well. My h-hands are shaky. If you would be good enough to come to-the foot of the track, down the wold, my husband-"
"Of course, of course." Maud came up. She looked neat and clean in her Burberry and Wellingtons.
"We got the chair out," Roland told her. "It was jammed on a stone. I'm just going to walk down the hill with this lady-her husband's there-she's had rather a shock-"