to see it. History
attached to it, romance threw a halo round, there were many stories
associated with it, some true, others doubtful, the more doubtful the
more interesting. Murder had been committed within its walls in the
time of the first Edward; and even down to the Georges; it possessed an
unenviable reputation for dark deeds and mysterious crimes.

It was used as a prison in the Tudor times and tradition said many a
man had been done to death there without just cause.

Men employed at Trent Park in various capacities reported having seen
weird sights: shadowy, wailing figures, mostly women, flitting about,
even rising out of the moat where, it was said, bodies had been found,
or, to be more correct, skeletons.

The villagers of Little Trent shunned it after nightfall; youngsters
were frightened into obedience by threats to bring the moat ghosts
after them.

It was a round keep, built of massive stone, the walls ivy-covered, the
base green with moss, damp and age.

A massive oak door studded with large-headed nails creaked on its rusty
hinges when opened, which was seldom.

A visitor from New York received permission to examine the keep, tower,
and moat in search of historical data and facts. He stayed at the
Sherwood Inn at Little Trent. One evening he returned from his
explorations with a white, frightened face; when questioned he shivered
but gave no answers. He hurriedly took his departure and, from stray
bits of paper in the fire-grate in his room, it was surmised he had
burnt his copious notes about the keep, no doubt being terrified by
some ghostly warning to destroy them.

The ruins of a monastery stood at the other end of the Park. A stately
pile of crumbling mortar, and stones shifting from places they occupied
for centuries. The outer walls stood and inside the square was a
keeper's cottage hidden in a warm snug corner, concealed from prying
eyes, unnoticeable until the ruin was entered.

A curious place to build a cottage, and nobody seemed to know who put
it up or for what purpose the place was selected. It was there when
William Chesney bought the estate and it was a long time before he knew
of its existence.

Tom Thrush, head gamekeeper at Trent Park, occupied it, living there
with his daughter Jane, a pretty girl of twenty, a lonely place for
her; yet she liked it and loved to wander in the woods and roam about
in the great forest bordering on the Park.

Tom Thrush, for many y