Ghost Stories from Nunnington Hall
I visited the manor house of "Nunnington Hall" in Yorkshire in may 2000. The guide told us about some ghost stories, which should had happened in Nunnington Hall. Here are two stories, told from different persons. You will find three stories, because the third story is a different version of the second one. Have fun and sleep well in the next night.
Here are the three stories:
A 20th Century Sighting of a Nunnington Ghost
(As related by Mrs Susan Clive, the last tennant of the Hall)
In 1937 a young French lady, Mlle Lilette de Foucauld, came to stay at Nunnington Hall. She was put in the Panelled Room. Soon it became obvious that all was not well, and she confessed that she had hardly slept because she was terrified, but had not said anything, fearing ridicule. She said that every night something came through the wall and over her bed (which in those days was against the wall), and went out through the window. She was given another bedroom and had no more disturbed nights.
(Ghosts were never mentioned in Nunnington Hall because the maids might have been afraid to stay!)
The Ghost of the Proud Lady of Nunnington
A long time ago, the wife of the Lord of Nunnington died, leaving him with a son. The Lord married again; his new wife was a beautiful, but very proud, lady who bore him another son.
The proud Lady loved her own son, but hated her stepson. She hated him so much that she kept him locked up in an attic room. The only person who was allowed to visit him was his younger brother, who brought him food and toys, and who played with him as often as he could.
One day, the younger brother came to this room and found that it was empty! The older boy had managed to escape. No one knew how he had got away, nor where he went.
The younger boy was very upset; no one could comfort him. He wandered around the house every day, looking for his step-brother in every room, and calling for him out of every window. One day, he leaned too far out of a window, fell out, and died.
After this, the proud Lady was never happy again. She, too, wandered around the house looking for her son. After she died, the new owners of the house often saw her ghost gliding through the rooms, and many people have heard the soft rustle of her silk dress as she slowly moved out of this room.......
The Proud Lady of Nunninqton
(As told by Thomas & Katharine Macquoid in "About Yorkshire" Chatto & Windus, 1883)
Years ago a lord of Nunnington was left a widower with an only son, and he married a fair young wife; but she was as proud as she was beautiful, and she hated her stepson. When her baby was born she hated her stepson even more, and she wished for his death. Her husband died, and then she became very cruel to her stepson.
The Proud Lady loved her own little boy very much, and wanted to have all the land and money for him, and for that reason she hated her stepson. Every one knew this, and pitied the poor eldest son, but they dared not help him, for they all feared the Proud Lady.
She kept a strict watch over every one. The sound of her step was never heard as she moved about, she trod so lightly, only the rustle of her silk gown, for she always dressed in silks and satins while her stepson had scarcely food to eat or warm clothes to wear. The only one who dared to comfort the poor lad was his little brother, and he loved him very dearly. When ever he could get away from his mother he used to slip up to the painted leather room, the room in which the eldest boy was shut up by himself, and take him cakes and playthings. One day when he went up the painted room was empty - the brother was gone - no one knows how he got away or where he went. It is thought he must have run away to sea and perhaps been drowned. At all events, he was never heard of afterwards. The Proud Lady was glad, but the little boy was very sorry; no one could comfort him.
They used to tell him how he was a great lord now, and had money and lands; but he always said he did not care for that; he wanted nothing but his brother. He never would believe that his brother had really gone away.
He used to go up and down the oak stairs a great many times every day, and walk round and round the leather room, and call for his brother out of the window. At last one evening he leaned too far out of the window to see if his brother was coming, and he fell out, and his poor little head was dashed to pieces on the gravel walk. After that the Proud Lady was never happy again; she would sit for hours talking in a low voice to herself; and every now and then she used to jump up and hurry up the oak staircase as if she were looking for something, and go into the painted room, and look out of the window on to the place where her son was killed; then she would sigh deeply and walk slowly back, and five minutes after she would do all this again. At last she died too, and quite different people came to live in the house - but - often even now at night the rustle of the Proud Lady's dress is heard as she hurries up the stair, and she has been seen to open the door of the leather room, and look out of the broken window, and then a faint rustling of silk is heard as she goes slowly away....