Speaker 1: The specter of the castle by W. T. Linskill. Several
years had elapsed since I met the butler of Lostree
Castle in the Highland Inn. I had just come up
from the south of England for some golf and fresh air,
and was looking over my letters one morning at breakfast
when I opened the following missive Lostrey Castle, Sir, yours
to command, Sir, I have not forgot our pleasant talk
on that snowy night up in the far North, when
you were pleased to be interested in my experiences of Lawsdrey.
Could you very kindly make me any day in time
you choose to fix at Lucre's and oblige your obedient
servant Jeremiah Anklebone p s. I have something to divulge
you connected with Saint Andrew's that may absorb your mind. Accordingly,
I fixed up arrangements and met mister Anklebourne at Luker's,
where we went to the nearest hostelry and of order
the best lunch they had there. Jeremiah looked thinner, older,
and whiter than when I last saw him, doubtless owing
to his frequent communing with spirits. How is law'sry getting on?
I meekly inquired, and what of the ghosts? It is
getting on? Fine, sir, I have had a number of
new experiences since I had the pleasure of seeing you last.
You must understand, sir, that my family for generations have
been favored with occult powers. My father was a great seer,
and my great grandfather, mister Concrickety ankle Bone, of the
Isle of Sky, was a wonderful visionary. Now ankle Bourne
was an interesting old fellow, but he had a tiresome
habit of wandering away from his theme, and as it were,
getting off the main road into a labyrinth of byways,
and one had metaphorically to push him out of these
side lanes and place him on his feet again in
the main road. Before I come to Saint Andrew's castle,
he said, I must tell you about a queer episode
of an astral body at Lowsdrey, at disentangled personality as
it were, push along, I said, and tell me well.
One afternoon after luncheon, the Master and I were in
the dining hall when we saw a gentleman crossing the
lawn towards the castle. He was a tall man in
a riding dress, with curly hair and a large flowing mustache.
He came up to the window and looked in earnestly
at us, and then walked along the gravel walk round
to the castle door. Hullo, said the Master. That is
my old friend Jack Herbert, to whom I have let
Lowsdrey for this summer. What on earth can bring him here?
I'll go to the door myself and let him in.
He never said he was coming. In a minute or two,
the Master came back, looking bewildered ankle Bowne. He said,
that's a very queer thing. There is nobody there. Perhaps,
I suggested the gentleman has gone round to the stables,
and we both hurried off to look, but not a
sign of anyone could be seen, and we stared blankly
at each other. We could not make it out. Two
days after the Master got a letter from mister Jack
Herbert telling him he had had a bad fall off
his horse, had injured his spine and was confined to bed.
Mister Herbert went on to say that two days before,
while he was asleep, he dreamt vividly that he was
at Lawsdrey, that he crossed the lawn to the window
of the dining hall, and looking in saw my master
and the butler. That's me in the room. He was
going round to the front door when he awoke. Now
that was his astrabody that master and I saw. He
lived lostrey, and during sleep he came and paid us
this visit, queer, isn't it ten days after he died?
He wanted to see the old castle before he died,
and his force of will power brought his double self
or astral body to visit us. It is not so
uncommon as people think. Numbers of people are seen in
two places at once, far apart. Look at Archbishop Sharp
of Saint Andrews. He was in Edinburgh at Holyrood, I think,
and sent his servant over post haste to Saint Andrews
to bring back some papers he had forgotten. There. When
his trusty servant went up to his study in the
Novum Hospitium to get the papers from the desk, lo
there was the Archbishop sitting in his usual chair and
scowling at him. He told the Archbishop this when he
returned with the papers to Edinburgh, but his grace sternly
bade him be silent and mention the matter to no
one on pain of death. Now, Sir, it seems that
my master is able to see astral bodies, for he
saw mister Jack Herbert. But I doubt if he could
see a real spirit. Perhaps, Sir, suggested Uncle Boone politely,
he might be able to see astral bodies. Thank you
very much, indeed, I replied, But I'm if I want
to see anything of this sort. But I have heard
a tale of an eminent man in London who took
a nap in his armchair every afternoon, and while asleep
appeared to his friends in different parts of the country.
But I doubt the fact very much, ah, said the butler,
very solemnly. Only about one in a thousand has the
power of visualizing real spirits. Many ordinary persons have long sight,
and some have short sight, but most people are short sighted.
When ghosts are visible, the ghosts are really there all
the time. Some people cannot see them, but can fail
their presence or touch only. Most animals can see spirits.
Sometimes they are killed with terror when they see the spirits.
I pulled the bell rope and ordered some spirits for
the butler. I don't think that will kill you with terror,
I said. When it arrived. He looked grateful, and remarked
what talking was dry work, however interesting the subject might be.
Now look here to uncle Boonne, I said, you know,
I dare say the stories about the cathedral, the haunted
tower and all that. Please tell me what your experiences
have been there. Ankle Boone's whole appearance suddenly changed. He
gripped my arm violently, shivered and shuddered, and turned ghastly pale.
I thought he was going to have a fit. For
pity's sake, Sir, he said, trembling, ask me nothing about that.
There is something too terrible there. But I dare not
reveal what I know and have seemed to any one.
Do not allude to it again, or it will drive
me mad. He lay back in his chair for a
few moments, with his eyes closed and shaking all over,
but he gradually recovered his usual appearance. I wish to
tell you about the castle specter, he said weakly. I
must confess that I felt nonplussed and disappointed at the
turn the conversation had taken. As whatever my private opinion
was regarding the worthy Jeremiah's curious statements, still, I felt
anxious to find out his expli raidances at the cathedral particularly. However,
I swallowed my disappointment like a trojan and begged him
to proceed. He gulped down his spirits and informed me
he felt better again, but it did not seem quite
himself for some time, well, sir, he said, I often
used to climb over the cattle wall after dusk and
smoke my pipe and meditate on all the grand folk
that must have been there in by gone days before
the smash up. I thought of lovely young Queen Mary
of Mary Hamilton and her other Mary's, of Lord Darnley,
of the port Castellar, of Lord Aaron, and the Duke
of Rothsty, and all the Stuart Kings that used to
be there. Then I thought of prior Hepburn and poor
murdered Cardinal Beaten, and of monks, knights and lovely wenches
that used to frequent the old place. I loved it,
for I have read history a lot. One could not
help thinking of the feasting, revelry and pageants of those
interesting old times, and the grand services in the churches,
and what fine dresses everybody wore. I saw he was
going bang off the subject again, and when he began
to tell me there were lots of ankle bones in
Norman times about five share. I had to pull him
back with a jerk to his ghost at the castle
very well, Sir. I was in the castle one evening,
and I was sitting on the parapet of the old
wall when I saw a head appearing at the old
broken steps on the east side of the castle that
once led down to the great dining hall. I knew
no one could now come up that way without a
ladder from the sea beach. And when the figure got
to the level ground, it came right through the iron railing,
just as if no obstruction were there. I stared hard
and watched the advancing figure. It looked like a woman.
I had heard of the Cardinal's ghost and wondered if
it could be his Eminence himself. Nearer and nearer it came,
and although it was a gusty evening, I noticed the
flowing garments of the approaching figure were quite still and
unruffled by the wind. It was like a moving statue.
As it passed me slowly a few yards away, I
saw they were not the ropes of a cardinal, but
those of an archbishop. I am a churchman and know
the garments quite well, I saw all his vestments clearly,
and I shall never forget the pale, ashen set face
and the thin, determined mouth. Then I noticed one very,
very strange thing. The statuesque tall figure had a thick
rope round the neck, and the end of the rope
was trailing along the grass behind it. But there was
no sound whatever. On it went and began to climb
the stairs to the upper apartments. I tried to follow,
but could not move for a bit. I felt as
if I was mesmerized or paralyzed. I was all in
a cold sweat too, and I was glad to get
away from the castle at last and hurry home. I
haven't gone so fast for many years. When I went
next day to Lawsdrey and made a clean breast of
the whole affair to Master. Would you know him again,
he asked me, ay, I replied, I would know that
face and figure among a thousand. Come to the study,
said the Master, and I will show you some pictures.
We went, and I looked over a number of them.
At last I came to one that fairly transfixed me.
There was no mistaking the face before me was the
picture of the specter I had seen the previous night
in the ruined castle of Saint Andrew's. Well, ankle Bourne
said the Master. This is really wonderful, and you actually
saw the rope round the neck? I did, I said,
as I am a living man. But who is it?
It is not the Cardinal, No, said the Master very gravely.
This man was publicly hanged by his enemies on a
gibbet at the market cross of Stirling on April first,
fifteen seventy one. But who was he? I asked, imploringly.
The man or ghost you saw, said master, was Archbishop
joe On Hamilton of Saint Andrew's in his own castle grounds,
where he once reigned Supreme. I said farewell to mister Anklebourne,
and as I thought over his extraordinary story journeying home
in the train, I could not help repeating over and
over again to myself that very curious name that seemed
to rhyme with the motion of the train. Concrickety ankle Bourne.
End of The Specter of the Castle by W. T.
Linskill