Violet Tweedale (1862 – 19th December 1936), was a Scottish author, poet, and spiritualist who lived in Milton Hall with her husband Clarens some time around 1900. In 1919 she published a book called Ghosts I Have Seen and Other Psychic Experiences. In Chapter VIII, “Some Strange Events”, she writes:

After my marriage [in 1891] my husband and I passed some time in the United States and Canada; we then returned to England and took a place in [Milton Hall,] Cambridgeshire. […]

I was resting one afternoon in the summer-time. I had been ill, and was not yet strong enough to lead an ordinary life, and I was lying on a sofa in a top floor room. The room immediately beneath me was the drawing-room, and the weather being hot all the windows were wide open. The house we inhabited was quite isolated in its own park, and the village [of Milton] was about half a mile distant. My husband was from home, and I was alone in that particular part of the house, the servants’ quarters being at the back, and shut off from the rest.

Out of the absolute quiet suddenly came the sound of music. Some one was playing my piano in the drawing-room below. This, in itself, caused me irritation, but no surprise. I was not well enough to entertain callers at tea, due in half an hour, and I had given orders that I would see no one, but it had happened before that the musical neighbors had called, and whilst waiting for me had sat down to the piano.

I was too annoyed to hasten downstairs. I lay waiting for the butler to come to me and inform me why my orders had been disobeyed. Meanwhile I listened to the music, and wondered greatly who the brilliant pianist could be. I did not recognize the music, but it sounded quite modern, and requiring a great amount of technique. The player was, however, a most brilliant performer, who had acquired considerable skill. “Evidently a professional,” I thought, and wondered all the more who it could possibly be.

Still there were no signs of the ascending butler, and time continued to pass. I began to feel obstinate, and determined to remain where I was, until I was correctly informed of the caller’s identity.

The music steadily continued, every note borne to my ears as clearly as if I had been in the room with the performer. “Very wonderful music, but soulless,” I concluded, and though my curiosity was growing every moment my obstinacy prevailed, and I remained where I was. At last, after quite twenty minutes, the music suddenly stopped; it broke off in the middle of a movement.

I rose at once, and went downstairs feeling very cross. I pushed open
the drawing-room door and entered. It was absolutely empty, but the
piano, which had not been opened for several weeks, was open now. I went to the window which commanded the avenue; not a soul was in sight. Then I rang the bell, and when the butler entered the following dialogue took place:

“Who was the caller who has just been?”

“There have been no callers to-day, madam.”

“But surely you heard the piano being played?”

“We heard a lot of music, but we thought it was you playing, madam.”

“Then you all heard it?”

“All of us in the hall heard it, madam.”

I left it at that. Suddenly it came to me that I had better not push my inquiries further. Until that second it had never occurred to me that the performer might be a disembodied spirit.

The butler did not leave the matter alone, but made every inquiry at the Lodge, and also of the out-door servants, but nothing came of it. No one had seen a stranger, and the silver was intact. My maid told me some time afterwards that the household had shaken down to the conviction that I had really been the performer, and that my recent illness had caused me to forget the fact. I let this conviction remain unshaken, but I marveled at the lack of musical discrimination my household displayed. The disparity between my strumming and the brilliant execution of my spirit guest was so vast that I could not even feel flattered by their mistake.