"Of course," said Maud.
They progressed, all three, Roland behind the chair, down the track. The land over the hill was thickly wooded. Through trees Roland saw again, more leisurely, a turret, a battlement, white in the gloom.
" Seal Court," he said to Maud.
Yes. "Romantic," he offered.
"Dark and damp," said the lady in the wheelchair.
"It must have cost a fortune to build," said Maud.
"And to maintain," said the lady in the wheelchair. Her leather hands danced a little in her lap, but her voice was steadying.
"I suppose so," said Roland.
"You are interested in old houses?"
"Not exactly," said Roland. "We wanted to see that one."
"Why?"
Maud's boot sliced into his ankle. He suppressed an exclamation of pain. A very dirty Labrador appeared, out of the woodland. "Ah, Much," said the lady. "There you are. Useless great lump. Useless. Where's your master? Tracking badgers?" The dog measured its blond belly in the mud, agitating its stern. "Tell me your names," said the lady in the wheelchair.
Maud said quickly, "This is Dr Michell. From London University. I teach at Lincoln University. My name's Bailey. Maud Bailey."
"My name is Bailey too. Joan Bailey. I live at Seal Court. Are you a relation?”
“I am a Norfolk Bailey. A relation far back. Not very close. The families haven't kept up-" Maud sounded repressive and cold.
"How interesting. Ah, here is George. George dear, I have had an adventure and been rescued by a knight. I was entrenched on the top of Eagle's Piece, with a huge stone under my wheel and the only way out seemed to be over the edge, most humiliating. And then Mr Michell here came along, and this young woman, whose name is Bailey."
"I told you to keep to the centre of the track."
Sir George was small and wet and bristling. He had laced leather boots with polished rounded calves, like greaves. He had a many-pocketed shooting jacket, brown, with a flat brown tweed cap. He barked. Roland took him for a caricature and bristled vestigially with class irritation. Such people, in his and Val's world, were not quite real but still walked the earth. Maud too saw him as a type; in her case he represented the restriction and boredom of countless childhood country weekends of shooting and tramping and sporting conversation. Rejected and evaded. He was not carrying a gun. Water stained his shoulders, shone on his footwear, stood in drops on the furry ribs of the socks between his breeches and his boots. He considered his wife.
"You're never content, are you?" he said. "I push you up the hill and then you're not content to take it steady on the track, oh no. Any harm done?"
"I do feel a bit shaken. Mr Michell came in time."
"Well, you weren't to expect that." He advanced on Roland, his hand held out. "I'm very grateful. My name's Bailey. The idiot dog is meant to stay with Joan, but he will not, he will go off on his own little expeditions in the gorse. I expect you think I should have stayed up there, ha?"
Roland demurred, touching his forthright hand, stepping back.
"So I should. So I should. I'm a selfish old blighter. There are badgers, though, Joanie. Not that I should say so, encourage trespassers, wildlifers, terrifying the poor brutes out of their wits. The old Japanese juniper's in good fettle, too, you'll be glad to know. Quite recovered."
He advanced on Maud.
"Afternoon. My name's Bailey."
"She knows," said his wife. "So's her name, I told you, she's one of the Norfolk Baileys."
"Is that so? They aren't seen about here very often. Less than badgers, I'd say. What brings you here?"
"I work in Lincoln."
"You do, do you?" He did not ask at what. He considered his wife with some intensity of observation. "You look clammy, Joan. You aren't a good colour. We should get you home."
"I should like to ask Mr Michell and Miss Bailey to c-come to t-tea if they would. Mr Michell needs a wash. They are interested in Seal Court."
" Seal Court isn't interesting," said Sir George. "It isn't open to the public, you know. It's in a bad way. My fault, indirectly. Lack of funds. Coming down round our ears."
"They won't mind that. They're young." Lady Bailey's large face took on a set expression. "I should like to ask them. For courtesy."
Maud's face flamed. Roland saw what was going on. She wanted proudly to disclaim any interest in penetrating Seal Court: she wanted to go there, because of Christabel, because, he guessed, Leonora Stern had been turned away: she felt, he assumed, dishonest in not saying straight out why she had an interest in going.
"I should be very glad of a brief chance to wash," he said. "If it's not too much trouble."
They drove in convoy round behind the great house, on a sopping weed-infested gravel drive, and pulled up in the stable-yard, where Roland helped Sir George to disembark the wheelchair and Lady Bailey. The short day was darkening; the back door swung in heavily under a Gothic porch over which a rose, now leafless, was trained. Above, rows of dark windows, with carved Gothic frames, were dark and blank. The door had been elongated to remove steps, so that the wheelchair could go in. They progressed along dark stone corridors, past various pantries and flights of steps, arriving eventually in what later turned out to have been the servants' hall and was now superficially, and partially, converted for modern living.
At one end of this dim room was an open fireplace, in which a few huge logs still smouldered in a bed of white ash; on either side of this were two heavy, curved and padded armchairs, covered in velvet, a dark charcoal colour, patterned with dark purple flowers, a kind of ^zmoriseà jin-de-siècle bindweed. The floor was covered with large red and white vinyl tiles, rubbed in ridges that betrayed the presence of flagstones underneath. Under the window was a heavy table, thick-legged and partly covered with an oilcloth patterned in faintly tartan checks. At the other end of the room, which later proved to lead out to the kitchen and other domestic offices, was a small two-barred electric fire. There were other, slightly threadbare chairs, and a collection of extremely glossy, lively pot plants, in glazed bowls. Maud was worried by the lighting, which Sir George turned on-a dim standard lamp by the fire, a slightly happier lamp, made from a Chinese vase, on the table. The walls were whitewashed, and bore various pictures of horses, dogs and badgers, oils, watercolours, tinted photos, framed glossy prints. By the fire was a huge basket, obviously Much's bed, lined with a stiff and hair-strewn navy blanket. Large areas of the room were simply empty. Sir George drew the curtains, and motioned Roland and Maud to sit down by the fire, in the velvet chairs. Then he wheeled his wife out. Roland did not feel able to ask if he could help. He had expected a butler or some obsequious manservant, at the least a maid or companion, to welcome them into a room shining with silver and silk carpets. Maud, inured to poor heating and the threadbare, was still a little disturbed by the degree of discomfort represented by the sad lighting. She put her hand down and called Much, who came and pressed his body, trembling and filthy, against her legs, between her and the sinking fire.
Sir George came back and built up his fire with new logs, hissing and singing.
"Joan is making tea. I'm afraid we don't have too many comforts or luxuries here. We live only on the ground floor, of course. I had the kitchen made over for Joan. Every possible aid. Doors and ramps. All that could be done. I know it's not much. This house was built to be run by a pack of servants. Two old folk-we echo in it. But I keep up the woods. And Joan's garden. There's a Victorian water garden too, you know. She likes that."