The Haunted Castle. Part Three.
Dearest beloved, thoughtful, Tracey,
What an absolute joy and fountain of wisdom you are!
Who would have realised that the problem preventing your communications to me for so long would have led to such revelations. I refer of course to the iron filings, blown across Asia, that affected your emailing capabilities. Outer Mongolia sounds a very inhospitable place for my betrothed. I know that the Government has need of your broadcasting skills, but I do so worry. Take care, and wear a breathing apparatus to protect your lungs, at all times!
You were not to know that, ‘Iron’ is an old cockney rhyming slang abbreviation for…Roof! It comes from the use of ‘Iron Hoof.’ Its shortening was so others, probably the police, would not know of those devilish cockney’s intentions to steal lead from Church roofs. Although not a cockney myself I’m pretty sure I’m correct, but not entirely. No matter, I digress from the real point of this letter.
After reading, and rereading several times, that email of yours affected so cruelly by the polluted air emanating from Russia, I engaged a roofing expert to inspect Castle Barnard’s upper protective coverings, and was Spot pleased or what!
First, I was lucky in finding a locally based expert after confiding with that laundry girl I have previously mentioned. Strange girl, but not all are as perfect as you. How could they be? The man arrived a few days later equipped with measuring tape and clip board which reassured me as to his authenticity. I’m no fool.
The long and short of it all is, actually that’s quite an apt cliché to use, as he was so tall that the strength in his legs had seemed to have gone. He walked as if on stilts! I was dwarfed in his presence. Where was I, ah yes, the outcome. After spending time with Little Willie, who held one end of the tape measure apparently, I need new lead sheeting in places. I thought the builders had covered all that, but sadly not. Can’t have your future home falling into disrepair now can we!
The expert spent a great deal of time, again with Little Willie, in the basement areas. Checking that no damp, or anything else, was rising I expect but that was somewhat mysterious, as neither mentioned what when on. Some folk are plainly strange.
Further news in a moment. It’s past midnight here, those creaking and screaming noises have started again. I really must track down the source.
Meanwhile In Myrtle’s Diary.
That Spot is so stupid that I just knew he would never recognise me when I pretended to be a roofing inspector. He is such a clot that he’ll believe anything. Since dad met his end, under Phyllis the younger, painful, but at least he had a smile on his face, I inherit everything. First though, I must prove that mum has died, and my suspicions that she crashed in the grounds of Castle Barnard are right. Without proof the insurance company won’t pay a penny. She had a collection of stuffed wildlife that’s worth thousands! The regalia she so recently bought, for her succession to the throne of Wales, is another treasure I will sell when ownership is fully mine.
Little Willie is helping me in many ways, some too delicate to mention, so I won’t go there! I have promised him certain favours if he keeps his mouth closed.
I can visit again under the pretext of a roof inspection, but Willie has twenty-four hour access as gardener, come handyman, (he’s very handy) so is more likely to find evidence. I will check all that Willie has; regularly.
Back in The Castle.
“Oh yes, more, hmm, yay, wow. Come on big boy, make Brenda happy. You say you want evidence that I’m dead, no way Jose!….. I’m very much alive!”
I’m back my dearest,
But could not find where those noises emanated from.
They seem everywhere and nowhere, baby! There’s a thought. Could you play that track on Sunday, on your show? Then I’ll know that the iron filings were not attracted my magnetic appeal. I know that you just love to keep in touch with me by electronic means but if you undergoing interference from elsewhere, then at least I will know you have me in your heart.
The good news is the rattling chain noise has vanished. The bad news is, that the screaming is worse.
Have you any suggestions?
Tatty bye for now,
Aunt Alice, Brenda, Tracey Edges and Spot in Female First magazine.
Spot is maturing. He’s becoming quite observant and responsible! LOLOL Does Tracey know she’s “betrothed?” What the heck is Brenda doing to the “Big Boy?” LOLOL Poor thing!!! 😀
How do I know! I make it up as I go along …..LOLOL
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