No 22 - Inveraray. The Musical Wraith.

Inveraray. The Musical Wraith

There had always been speculation if either of the Heads was seen talking to a male of the opposite species the tongue-wagging started with the girls speculating the imagined friendship could lead to matrimony. Most of the time the girls got it all wrong when the male I refer to was a maintenance man or a piano tuner or the like.

It was not a maintenance man or a piano tuner person that was seen embracing Miss Pringle in the high street and on parting gave her a peck on the cheek, but it did start some outlandish rumours.

It was Briggs that witnessed this exchange, if I might call it that. Phaedra, that’s Phaedra Gascoigne, nosey as usual, inquired of him if this ‘exchange’ was it like a ‘wet pash kiss’ or what? Briggs, the caretaker, told her the male in question was Miss Pringle’s brother visiting from the States, so that rumour was quashed even before it took hold and before Phaedra had an opportunity to cause it to blossom.

Charlotte, I assume speaking from experience, said males were more trouble than they’re worth and were a complete and total waste of time.

Charlotte could have a point. There were some strange males requesting to be friends on Tamsin’s Facebook page. She told me one person said his name was Jack but she found it was difficult to elicit his full name. He finally ‘fessed up’ to Rabbit, Jack Rabbit. I told her he just made that up.

Like another chap who said his name was Bob but was also hesitant to divulge his full name; turns out he admitted his full name was Catt. Bob Catt I think it was. I warned Tamsin it was a virtual minefield out there.

Tamsin said he told her he was so wealthy he had his very own shipping container in his front garden. Jessica noted he may be wealthy but he doesn’t display much taste.

Rhonda used to be part of our gang, but she now knocks around with Bethany and her friend Rosemary, ever since she returned from Epsilon or Proximus something or other after a botched experiment by Mr Crisis to get to his home planet.

Nothing mattered. It was the Christmas break and it was going to be a white Christmas.

All the boarders and staff were going home for Christmas as the College went into the recess; exceptions were for any repairs and maintenance that needed doing and security patrols.

I was about to head home to Inveraray Castle. Mr Crisis, who was living in at the college in the vacant care-takers accommodation and who would have spent Christmas on his own, had also been invited. After lunch, Beecham was to pick up Tamsin from Loch Awe which was only about 25 miles from Inveraray.

I do hope mother is not going to try and evoke the castle’s spirits again. There is likelihood as Mrs Dalrymple had been invited, as well as her psychic associate Mrs Pasta. Beecham and his wife Symphony were also invited as was Colonel and Lady (Rowena) Carter-Brown. It was to be a social evening with food, great conversation and drinks.

Colonel Carter-Brown had just finished telling the story about a fox that had been killed after being seen killing his sheep, and had left an orphan fox cub that was now scavenging for food around Ruthin Castle. The colonel, somewhat of an eccentric, was not going to have it killed but trapped to try and have it domesticated.

Our family had known the Carter-Browns for many years. Father had first met Colonel Carter-Brown while the colonel was still in the military. They first met socially at a polo match. Ruthin Castle had been in the Carter-Brown family for centuries. They had one son who was in the military.

I was heartened Mr Crisis did not turn the conversation round to quantum physics or inter-stellar travel. It would have been difficult for any of us to offer any meaningful input, unless of course it was of a spiritual nature, which Mrs Pasta the Italian kitchen hand and her mentor Mrs Dalrymple were the experts.

There were three distinct conversations going on at once. One between father, Mr Crisis and Colonel Carter-Brown, then mother, Rowena, Mrs Dalrymple, and Mrs Pasta and then myself and Tamsin.

It was Tamsin who had arrived about a half-hour earlier that suddenly stood up and said: “shush, can you hear music? It sounds like a harp. It seems to be coming from this room”.

I replied “It might be coming from a radio somewhere. To me, it sounds not so much a melody as a lament”.

Everyone stopped talking and tried to listen for the music’s origin.

There was a knock at the door.

Father put down his drink and walked to the door. The harp continued to play softly. It was Mrs Crocker from the kitchen who in a subdued tone started a whispered conversation with father. She finished. Father nodded and Mrs Crocker left.

Father turned and said “its bad news apparently. Charlie Potter, the gardener has just died. The doctor has been called so he will ascertain the cause of Charlie’s death”. Mrs Crocker related that one of the groundsmen said he had seen Potter earlier in the day when he had returned to the castle to retrieve his overcoat.

Potter had worked for a number of years at Inveraray. He was in the kitchen talking to Mrs Crocker when he told her he felt unwell and needed to sit down. The doctor was called but a moment later his eyes closed and he appeared to cease breathing. Mrs Crocker felt his pulse and whispered “I think Charlie has passed away”.

Mr Crisis interrupted “don’t be too sorry for Mr Potter. He is about to start on a wonderful journey”. When Mr Crisis made a comment it was non-debatable. It was so.

Ignoring the cascading sound of the harp father repeated the story of the young Irish harpist who was killed by Irish mercenaries.

“It is said when a member of the family is about to die harp music can be heard coming from this room, with the last report of this ghostly phenomenon being when the 10th Duke died in 1949. Sometimes a bagpiper has been heard playing on the balcony of the Brown Library. Maybe this could account for the harp music we are hearing right now; not by the bagpiper of course, but the harpist. It is one of the castle’s legends and respects are now being paid at this very moment for a death in the castle”.

It is said legends may be transformed over time in order to keep them fresh and vital, and realistic. Many legends operate within the realm of uncertainty, never being entirely believed but also never being entirely doubted. The legend of the Harpist at Inveraray will always be believed and after tonight certainly, never be doubted. Tonight there were nine witnesses.

There had been no respect paid when the young harpist was hanged in 1644 for just peeping at the lady of the house and, as Tamsin quite rightly pointed out, it was nevertheless somewhat of a harsh sentence for just taking a quick peep at one’s employer, regardless of their state of dress….. or undress.

There was no activity from the bagpiper that evening. Maybe he had not been notified of this poor man’s death.