1980
During my first few guided tours, I’d tried to avoid mentioning the rumours of ghostly sightings at Fyvie Castle. But the minute I stood the visitors around the portrait of Lilias Drummond in her green dress, someone would always say, in an eager voice, “So, is this the famous Green Lady who haunts the castle?”
I realised I had no choice but to bring it into my tour and indeed, having chatted to Silvia over lunch one day, I recognised this was the highlight of the tour for many.
“It’s incredible, Maggie,” she said, putting down her soup spoon, “This is my second year doing the summer tours here, ever since Mr David was forced to open Fyvie to visitors to save it from bankruptcy last year. And it’s the question that’s most often asked.”
I finished my soup and sat back in the chair. “But has anyone in the family actually seen her at night? My lot this morning wanted actual evidence. One said there’s something about roses too. What’s that?”
Silvia dabbed her mouth with her napkin. She was a rather fastidious person, fussy about her appearance, always pushing her old-fashioned spectacles up her nose. She had an air of vulnerability about her. I think she was about my age and at college doing shorthand and typing. She wanted to be a secretary and was hoping Mr David might give her a job once she had her exam results.
“Some people have said that when she goes into the Seton Bedroom, there’s not only a ghostly presence shimmering in green, but there’s also a smell of roses. I’ve no idea why but I tell 134 my groups it’s because she liked to pick roses from the garden the summer before she died.”
“But do they not ask for evidence?”
She shrugged. “You could ask Mr David I suppose, but I just tell them she’s haunted the Seton Bedroom ever since her husband took a second wife who was really young – and then a third one too. All three wives were only about fifteen when they married and by the time number three came along, he was nearly forty years older than her.” She grimaced. “Can you imagine!”
I swallowed. Yes, I could imagine, but I wasn’t going to bring up Len to Silvia, who obviously enjoyed a gossip.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Maggie?”
“No,” I said, perhaps rather too brusquely. I had become such a recluse over the past year, I was unused to doing small talk. I really had to relax a bit in other people’s company. “Sorry, Silvia, that sounded rude. No, I don’t have a boyfriend at university, I just don’t have time, I’m so busy studying.” I forced a smile. “I really want to do well in my Honours years so I can carry on in academia, hopefully do a PhD, but a lot depends on my dissertation.”
“You’re so clever, Maggie. I’d have loved to have gone to university, but I only just made it into secretarial college.”
“But you enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
And I realised I then had to ask about her love life, to deflect from mine. “So what about you? Any boyfriends on the scene?”
Her eyes lit up and she leant in towards me. “I met someone just last weekend at the Young Farmers disco. He’s got my number so I’m hoping he’ll call me.”
“Couldn’t you phone him? Did you not get his number?”
She looked aghast. “I couldn’t do that, it wouldn’t be right. That’s what my big sister tells me, anyway.” She looked up at the clock. “Help, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a two o’clock tour. See you tomorrow.” 135
I watched her run towards the door just as it was opening. She ducked out of the way as Mr David came in.
He walked towards me and sat down. There was something shifty about him. I couldn’t quite decide what it was, but I definitely could not take to him. Silvia had told me his cousin, Mr Charles the owner, who lives with his wife in Tuscany, is much more friendly, a real gentleman.
“Miss Hay. Mrs MacPherson tells me you are doing well with the tours and that the feedback she is getting from the visitors is good.”
“Thank you. I probably over-prepare everything.” I tried to sound light-hearted.
“Over-preparation is better than laziness.” He leant forward. “Is there anything you need from me or anyone in the family? My cousin Charles’s wife will be returning from Tuscany for a short stay. You will no doubt meet her.”
I was about to shake my head, then stopped as a thought occurred. “Actually, the question about Lilias Drummond, the Green Lady, always comes up. Do you know anyone who has witnessed the ghost? Anything I can add to my story about her?”
He sighed. “I’m sure you’re aware by now she has become one of our biggest attractions in a way. Her portrait used to hang – a long, long time ago – in the Preston Tower where your room is, but we decided to move it to prime position at the top of the Great Stair so the tours can see her up close.”
He paused. “My aunt, Charles’s mother, said she was once in the Seton Bedroom late one evening – God knows why – and suddenly felt icy cold and was convinced there was a flash of green coming through the closed door and heading towards the window. But Aunt Ethel was in the early stages of her dementia then so who knows if that was true.”
He stood up. “Now, I must get back to work.”
136And off he strode, again without a goodbye, leaving me wondering what his work actually was.
But I had a blissful afternoon free and I intended to continue researching poor Lilias Drummond. I had just begun reading about her time as a prisoner at Loch Leven Castle and I feared the worst.