Lady Anne Glenconner — friend and confidante of Princess Margaret and best-selling author — grew up at Holkham Hall in Norfolk where the family and their staff lived cheek-by-jowl with a very persistent ghost.
Here, on the eve of Halloween, in a spine-tingling account, she explains how the spectral intruder became the star of her latest murder-mystery...
When I look back on my childhood at Holkham — a colossal Palladian mansion on the north Norfolk coast with a huge, imposing Marble Hall at its centre, ornate state rooms and four enormous wings — I have many fond memories.
We played hide-and-seek and rode our ponies and our bicycles around the 3,000 acres of grounds within the walls of the park.
I adored helping my beloved grandfather look after some of the family treasures, including the Codex Leicester, a priceless manuscript written by Leonardo da Vinci himself.
But I also have some darker memories — of my sister Carey waking up screaming night after night, haunted repeatedly by the ghost of a young woman who had suffered terribly when she lived at the Hall.
We first came across the ghost shortly after we moved into the Family Wing in 1948, having previously lived in a nearby house.
Lady Anne Glenconner (pictured) — friend of Princess Margaret — grew up at Holkham Hall in Norfolk where the family and their staff lived with a very persistent ghost
My family consisted of my father, Viscount Coke, who became the 5th Earl of Leicester on the death of my grandfather the following year; my glamorous mother; my sisters Carey, 14, and Sarah, four, and me, then aged 16.
Carey's bedroom was next to mine so I would regularly hear her scream out in terror. My mother would rush from her own room to comfort her, but Carey was inconsolable, crying and shaking.
This went on for at least a year. At first my mother assumed Carey was simply having nightmares, but my sister explained that she was being woken up by a lady dressed in old-fashioned clothes.
And when she told my parents more details of the lady's appearance, they realised she was describing Lady Mary Coke, nicknamed 'The White Cat' for her fair hair, pale skin and fierce eyes.
Two centuries earlier, Lady Mary had been kept as a virtual prisoner by her husband and his family — in what was now Carey's bedroom. She was long reputed to haunt the house, but no one had warned my sister.
Carey was badly affected by what she saw, always terrified of going to bed, exhausted and nervous, so she moved into a dressing room to sleep. Then a local clergyman came and exorcised the bedroom.
From then on Carey's 'nightmares' ceased, but Lady Mary continued to haunt other parts of the house — and does so to this day.
The household staff certainly knew about the ghost: they called her 'Our Virgin Mary'. She was most often spotted weeping, or flitting along a corridor before vanishing.
On occasion, she was given to mischief and would poke or pinch the servants as they made their way around Holkham, especially in the cellars and the passageways that ran under the house.
I knew of the existence of all these secret passageways, but I certainly never went down there alone.
She claims her sister Carey would wake up screaming night after night, haunted by the ghost of a young woman who had suffered terribly when she lived at Holkham Hall (pictured)
Seventy years later, I can vividly recall the dread of encountering this spectral lady, of suddenly feeling a hand on your back or brushing against your cheek when you thought you were alone.
It is these memories that have inspired my latest book, A Haunting At Holkham, a murder-mystery set there during the war and its aftermath. It draws heavily on my own experiences — with a fictional twist or two.
I'm glad to say that, unlike in the book, there were no suspicious deaths at Holkham in real life. But, the more I have learned about Lady Mary's life at Holkham, the less surprised I am that her restless spirit haunts it still.
She was born Lady Mary Campbell, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, and was just 19 when, in 1747, she was informed that she was to marry Edward, Viscount Coke, heir to the 1st Earl of Leicester and to the splendid Holkham Hall.
She must have been a strong-willed, spirited girl because she made it very plain that she had no wish to marry the viscount: he was dissolute, fond of gambling, cockfighting and women. Lady Mary treated him with disdain, which perhaps he deserved.
But her personal feelings could not stand in the way of a merger between two great families.
Edward, furious at how Mary had behaved during their courtship, abandoned her on their wedding night. In retaliation, she refused to let him consummate the marriage the following night — or ever. This impasse continued month after month, with Mary refusing to emerge from her bedroom.
At first her father-in-law, the Earl, was kindly hoping that she would soften and produce the all-important heir. But he lost patience. Since she refused to leave her bedroom, he had her locked inside it.
He replaced her faithful maid with one who spied on Mary
