While we were still in my miniscule office, however, concluding our business, Lady Celia and Alison wandered off into the sitting room. Upon entering they immediately began screaming bloody murder. Blue blood and bumpkin alike, we raced to the rescue, and whereas the others were most certainly confused by what they saw, I understood the situation at once. For there, in her favourite, century-old, straight-back rocking chair, sat the rigid figure of my long-dead Granny Yoder. It was obvious to me that Lady Celia could see Granny, and Granny could see the girl. Alison, on the other hand, has had to take Granny’s ghost, along with germs and Santa Claus, all on good faith. Thank heavens I got to Lady Celia first. ‘She’s harmless,’ I said quickly. ‘Boogers, I am,’ Granny said. ‘You see,’ I said. ‘She can’t even swear right in British.’ ‘But I saw her walk through that wall. She’s a ghost, I’m telling you; a real ghost.’ ‘But I was under the impression that you had ghosts at Gloomandoombucktoothonthemoors, dear.’ ‘Yes, but – but this one is real.
