Haunted Mansion - part two

In this post I'm taking a look at 50 Berkeley Square. Now, I don't know if this was the influence behind the name of 'The Ghosts of Berkeley Square' but if it's not then that's a bit coincidental, don't you think?

Berkeley Square sits in Mayfair, Central London, in a highly exclusive area. In the middle is a large green space around which is ranged the houses. Within walking distance is Hyde Park, The Mall, St James's Palace and Buckingham Palace.

It feels like a wildly unlikely place to find a haunting, amidst the bustle of life in the capital.

Charles Harper in Haunted Houses, published in 1907 stated that

“… It seems that a Something or Other, very terrible indeed, haunts or did haunt a particular room. This unnamed Raw Head and Bloody Bones, or whatever it is, has been sufficiently awful to have caused the death, in convulsions, of at least two foolhardy persons who have dared to sleep in that chamber…”

The challenge of sleeping in the haunting room was taken up by an unnamed man. A little after midnight, the bell the man had agreed to ring, to summon assistance was heard. Rushing to his aid, his friends found him rigid with terror, unable to tell them what he had seen. He died shortly afterwards.

The house remained empty for a number of years but not necessarily uninhabited. Passers-by told of flickering lights, disembodied screams, and the sound of a body being dragged down the stairs.

The source of the haunting was speculated to be the brother of a former owner, Mr Du Pre. This poor unfortunate was locked in a room for his own safety and was reputedly fed through a hole in the door.

Another contender was a gentleman by the name of Myers who was jilted at the altar and took to be a recluse. The sound of footsteps could be his as he wanders the house by candlelight.

In more recent times, people in the building have experienced the sense of something standing behind them, only finding nothing there.

An employee working in the accounts department of a firm that had the haunted room, reported seeing a column of brown mist that moved quickly across the room.

In my forthcoming novel HIGH SPIRITS, stories abound of lights seen flickering from room to room and local legend tell of a ghostly curator who prowls the Hall at night searching for his lost treasure.

Excerpt

Tommy Pearson was having a good few days off work. He had been in the pub since lunchtime and was now strolling through the park, taking a shortcut to his digs at the lower end of town.

He felt particularly mellow on this warm evening. He’d played the fruit machines and won, got a girl’s phone number, and was looking forward to a lie in tomorrow. Life was sweet.

As he passed by the mansion, he glanced up and saw a light moving from window to window, and his beer-addled brain suddenly recalled something he’d recently read. His first instinct was to run and, always being one to follow his gut; he did just that.