A flickering shadow out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps I’ve disturbed the bones of Kirkstall monks lying not too far below or the ‘famous’ ghostly butler who allegedly leapt to his death in a fit of passion. More likely Walter Wade, who had the present Mansion built in 1752 or William Beckett looking over his fine wine collection in 1834 or even Gervase Beckett lamenting the fact his overbearing brother Ernest sold the family mansion to Leeds Corporation in 1908.

Who knows what lurks in this underworld?

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