The Manor House Hotel is truly a quintessential old hall, with a checkered history to say the least, with numerous sightings of figures dressed in clothing from a time long gone, monks are said to haunt the hotel and spectral children are also seen on a regular basis by staff and hotel guests a like. The team had experienced numerous paranormal events on our previous visit to this location and was so excited to return.
After a brief chat with our ghost hunters, we attempted spirit communication in a group vigil in the Knights hall. First time ghost hunter Michael was literally shaking in his boots as we called out for any sign of spirit activity, Michael screamed as he first heard one significant tap and then two louder taps on the table. After some K2 spikes Shelly exclaimed that she could see the fleeting footwork of some ghostly shadows in the corner of the room, Michael now stated that he would sit in the corner where the shadow movement had now been seen by more ghost hunters.
Michael gamely took his seat and sat where the shadows had been seen, after a few minutes Michael screamed again, as he swore something had grabbed his neck, he ran quickly to the group swearing that he would not return to the corner by himself. As Stuart and Jan walked in the knights room, they heard the noticeable sound of footsteps behind them on the wooden dance floor, as they spun around in unison half expecting someone to be behind them, they realized no one was there they were alone in the room by themselves, and however they tried to recreate the footsteps they couldn't.
Were these the footsteps of the lady who haunts the Knights hall, or the spirit of some former Knight, we then attempted a table tipping experiment where eventually tipped so alarmingly that Sarah stood in disbelief as she stared at the table. We then moved onto the Eden room where the activity was less intense as it had been in the Knights room; however we were stunned when the glass divination experiment brought forward a woman from the other side, who only communicated briefly with our courageous ghost hunters.
As we broke for a drink and a lavish buffet our ghost hunters exchanged their experiences of the night so far, we then moved onto the dining area where we experienced some strange scratching and tapping that we could not account for, or explain, as Rosey always states, "once you can explain the unexplainable then it all becomes boring. Another vigil in the Eden room reported some aggressive table tipping and in the Knights room another vigil witnessed a burst of light phenomena inside the Knights room, about eight feet away from them, this episode delighted and staggered the group that saw it.
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The Ghost of Cwmlech Manor | ogozoqosolym.tk
Lists with This Book. Jul 12, Kathleen L. Maher rated it really liked it. Few books have had this effect on me: I finished in three days, and most of the time, I was reading past midnight to find out what would happen next. The story questions were beyond compelling; they were insistent. Who is the ghost? What are the mysteries lurking in the secret passageways of the manor, and why so much grief and guilt in the eyes of those who live In the Manor of the Ghost? When Devlin Clayborne arranges to have Kaitlyn Dupree marry him, he has no intention of personal interaction Few books have had this effect on me: When Devlin Clayborne arranges to have Kaitlyn Dupree marry him, he has no intention of personal interaction with his beautiful, loving bride.
Instead, he writes a business arrangement wherein she serves as "mother" to his child, and in turn, she becomes lady of the manor. Her reputation for kindness and her love for his son precedes her, and when she comes to stay, he does not account for the way her compassion and tenderness affect him. But will it be enough to dispell the shroud of gloom from the home, or from his soul? Kaitlyn comes to the Manor with reluctance.
The master of Clayborne Manor gives her the creeps. She has heard the ugly rumors about him, and she wants no part of him until her brother-in-law talks her into accepting the contract. She loves his son, but she also feels responsible for the womens shelter from which he threatens to withhold funding if she does not agree to wed.
But she has something that Clayborne needs more than all of his wealth and land and titles. Will it prove enough to go around? Clever writing, a twisting plot, and many slowly unraveling mysteries await in this gothic-feeling romance. Secrets, rumors, and a sparking romance pulled me onward to see if a happily ever after ending would win out as two stubborn souls with painful pasts find solace in one anothers' arms. For a debut novel, Ms.
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Pinson has proven herself with a riveting tale and characters that will keep you guessing. Dec 31, Laura rated it really liked it. In Tina Pinson's book, In The Manor of The Ghost, stories of ghosts haunting the Clayborne Manor abound, based on rumors that Devlin allegedly murdered someone and their ghost was crying out from the grave. An 'arranged' marriage between Devlin Clayborne and Kaitlin DuPree seems just as ghostly, as the marriage revolves around the caretaking of Devlon's son, Derrick.
Anna, Devlin's wife, had disappeared with their daughter, leaving Devlin devastated, while Kaitlin had lost her husband and daughte In Tina Pinson's book, In The Manor of The Ghost, stories of ghosts haunting the Clayborne Manor abound, based on rumors that Devlin allegedly murdered someone and their ghost was crying out from the grave.
Anna, Devlin's wife, had disappeared with their daughter, leaving Devlin devastated, while Kaitlin had lost her husband and daughter in a house fire three abiyears earlier. Tina's book has an ethereal essence to it based on the prevailing palpable pain and emptiness, the long absences by Devlin, young Derrick's inability to speak since his mother and sister disappeared, and the moving shadows and eerie noises in the night.
Whoever is behind the moving shadows and the reasons for them being there keeps you guessing who and why till the very end of the novel. The ending was totally unexpected. This is a well-written book with multiple personality clashes, interactions and intense emotions. Although initially feisty about the marriage, Kaitlin agrees to marry for Derrick's sake, and prays for normalcy and reconciliation to occur between father and son, who are on non-speaking terms due to the circumstances. Kaitlin's outgoing presence and interaction with the servants is refreshing and uplifting compared to previous circumstances and rumors.
This e-book was a free Kindle book from Amazon. Aug 03, K. I don't normally like long books since I don't have a lot of time time read considering I work a full-time job including some on call on weekends and I also like to write. In the Manor of the Ghost seemed long to me, but it didn't seem drug out. I really enjoyed it and couldn't wait to see what happened next to the characters.
Who was the ghost? Who was the stranger who hid in the shadows and dark passageways keeping an eye on the manor's occupants? What had happened to make the hero so bitter?
Why was the hero's son mute and could the heroine coax him out of his shell? And then the tureen was empty, and I must run downstairs again to fetch the fish course. When I returned with the baked grayling, Mr. Your resident ghost is precisely why Mr. Whitney wants to buy it. He has a great affnity for the supernatural, does Mr. Whitney of Pittsburgh, America.
By his own account, some of his best friends are ghosts. One way or another. Whitney is very excited. I believe he intends to install a swimming bath in the Great Hall. Mistress Angharad reached for a candlestick. Another time, her look of fury when her hand passed through it might have made me laugh, but I was too furious myself for mirth. It will take that long for the patent office to read your application, and another for them to decide upon it.
A manor in the hand is worth any number of inventions in, er, the bush. Pay me in full on the first of September or Cwmlech Manor is mine, as per our contract. Excellent fish, by the way. Did you catch it yourself? How I got through the rest of the meal without cracking a plate over Mr.
In the Manor of the Ghost
Lucky that Mam was busy with her cooking. The uncomfortable dinner wore on, with only Mr. When I took up the cloth at last and put the decanters on the table, he stood up. I wanted to knock and give him a few words of comfort. But Mam was waiting downstairs with all the cleaning up, and I could think of no comfortable words to say. When the kitchen was tidy, we settled by the fire to drink a cup of tea, too weary to speak. She gaped fit to split her cheeks and went off without argument for once, which was a blessing, since Mistress Angharad was already talking.
The Manor is sold already, to the rich American who likes ghosts and swimming baths. I clutched my cooling tea, half sick with rage and entirely awake. If anyone is to save Cwmlech Manor, it must be the two of us. Pausing only to light the lantern, we crept out of the kitchen and across the yard to the stable, the moon sailing high and pale in a rack of cloud above us.
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Within, all was black, save for the sullen glow of the forge fire. The air smelled like pitch and coal and machine oil. I followed the faint glow of her pointing finger to a table set like a bier under a bank of lights, and the figure upon it draped with an old linen sheet. In truth, it looked eerie enough, bald and still and deathly pale. Mistress Angharad stroked its cheek with a misty fi nger.
I touched the key in its neck.
The door flew open with a crack of splintering wood, and Mr. Gotobed and his two thugs rushed in, waving crowbars. Then the air was filled with whirring gears and thumping treads and grunts and bad language and the clang and screech of metal against metal. From the corner of my eye, I saw her hovering, cloudlike, over the automaton. If it means the end of me, then I will at least have tried. You have been a good friend to Cwmlech and a friend to me as well. The mechanicals froze, of course. The French automaton, however, swung off the table and staggered toward the noise of iron crunching against polished metal.
Not to be outdone by a toy, I snatched up the first heavy tool I laid my hand on and ran, yelling to tear my throat, toward a shadowy figure whose shaven cheeks showed ghostly in the gloom. He swore and dropped the bar. Quick as thinking, they seized Mr. Brown and held them while the automaton who was Mistress Angharad picked up the third thug and slammed him bodily against the wall. Sir Arthur came running up to me, his eyes wild behind his spectacles. What the devil is going on here?
But I think I may have broken Mr. Side by side, we surveyed the workshop then. Like a battlefield it was, with oil stains in the place of blood. Not a mechanical but was dented, and more than one stood armless or headless and dull eyed, its motive force gone. Not a machine but bore smashed dials and broken levers. Most pathetic, the French automaton lay sprawled like a puppet whose strings have been cut, one arm at a strange angle and the leather torn over its shoulder to show the metal underneath. Sir Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.
He shook his head. Whitney will have Cwmlech Manor after all. And then we will talk about what to do. When I returned with the tea tray, Mr. Gotobed and his rogues were nowhere to be seen. Two chairs had been set by the forge fire, which was blazing brightly, and the automaton back upon its table, with Sir Arthur beside it, nibbling on his thumbnail.
I poured two cups with sugar and milk, took one for myself and carried the other to him. He thanked me absently and set down his cup untasted. I breathed in the fragrant steam but found no comfort in it. Abandoning my tea, I set myself to search grimly among the tools and glass and pieces of metal on the floor.
Muttering something about putting a sticking plaster on a mortal wound, he inserted the key, turned it until it would turn no more, and then withdrew it.
See a Problem?
The eyelids opened slowly and the head turned stiffly toward us. Sir Arthur whooped with joy, but my heart sank, for the eyes were only brown glass, bright and expressionless. Mistress Angharad was gone. But that would not be truthful. Sir Arthur was convinced that the shock of losing Cwmlech Manor had driven him mad, and Mistress Angharad had a thing or two to say about people who were too clever to believe their own eyes.
I was ready to shut them up in the workshop to debate their separate philosophies until one or the other of them ran down. It can be no more a waste of time than arguing about it all night. In the reign of Harry VIII, masons had known their business, for the door fit so neatly into the stonework that we could not see it, even when Mistress Angharad traced its outline. Nor could all our prodding and pushing on the secret latch stir it so much as a hairsbreadth.
Mistress Angharad put fists on her hips. Very odd it was to see her familiar gestures performed by a doll, especially one clad in an old sheet. It had been worse, though, without the sheet. Mute and inert, an automaton is simply unclothed. Indeed, Mam was in the kitchen, steeling herself to go upstairs and see whether Sir Arthur had been murdered in his bed and I stolen by Mr. Gotobed for immoral purposes. Automaton or not, she was the daughter of a baronet, Mam said.
High morning it was before we gathered in the Long Gallery, Da with his tools, Mam with the tea tray, and Mistress Angharad in my best Sunday costume, with the triple row of braiding on the skirt, and my Sunday bonnet covering her bald head. Da chipped and pried and oiled and coaxed the door open at last, amid a great cloud of dust that set us all coughing like geese.
When it settled, we were confronted with a low opening into a darkness like the nethermost pits of Hell, which breathed forth a dank odor of ancient drains and wet stone. Sir Arthur, shamefaced, followed after, with me and Da behind him, feeling our way along the slick stone wall, taking our breath short in the musty air. It could not have been far, but the dark made the stair lengthen until we might have been in the bowels of the earth.
Ghost Hunting At The Manor House
It ended in a stone room furnished with a narrow bed and three banded boxes, all spotted with mold and rust. He lifted the lids one by one, and then we looked upon the fabled Treasure of Cwmlech. A great deal of it there was, to be sure, but not beautiful nor rich to the eye. There were chargers and candlesticks and ewers and bowls, all gone black with tarnish.
Mistress Angharad picked a ring out of the muddle and rubbed it on the skirt of my Sunday costume, revealing a flat-cut stone that winked and glowed like fire in the lantern light. He laughed, free and frank. When Sir Arthur sat down to dinner in his parlor at last, Mr. Mam cooked the dinner, and served it, too, for I was in my bed at home, asleep until old Mrs. First thing I saw when I came in the kitchen was Mistress Angharad, sitting on the settle in my Sunday costume.
A weight dropped from me I had not known I carried. I whooped joyfully and threw my arms around her. Like hugging a dress form it was, but I did not mind. Is it not a rule of ghosts, to disappear when their task on earth is done? I sat back on my heels.
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Perhaps I am outside all rules now and can make my own for a change. You I need to design a voice for my humanatron. You will learn engineering. Which means I must command tutors and books from London. And new tools and a new automaton from France, of course. Perhaps more than one. I suppose I must write my lawyers first and finish work on the pipe. And the foundation needs work, the masons say. She may be seen by anyone who writes a letter that interests her. Whitney came all the way from Pittsburgh to talk to her. He stayed a month, and Sir Arthur persuaded him to invest in the humanatron.
She travels often, accompanied by her mechanic and sometimes by me, when I can spare the time from my engineering studies and my experiments. Last summer, we went to London, and Sir Arthur presented us to Queen Victoria, who shook our hands and said she had never spoken to a ghost before, or a female engineer, and that she was delightfully amused. Receive notification by email when a new comment is added. You must be a registered user to subscribe to threads. All comments must meet the community standards outlined in Tor. Thank you for keeping the discussion, and our community, civil and respectful.