Previously the Prime Minister and his Cabinet met to discuss the state of the world, and it wasn’t up to snuff.
The three Ghosts of Haggismarshe gathered in the manor house’s music room. For the second time, Haggishmarshe’s ghostest with the moistest, Benjamin Patrick Nutt, read the note from Giles, the limping ghost butler of The Times. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe it.
He passed the note over to Earl Grey. Early read it out loud, “I am sorry to inform you. Your mistress, the Lady Marye CaterinaWimpleseed Prissypott of Haggismarshe has drowned. ”
“It can’t be true,” Sir Long John Longjohn Prissypott said. “We would have heard. The Ghost Directory always sends out a communiqué.”
“It must be,” Early said. Tears rolled down his face. “Giles is never wrong on these things. After all, it is The Times giving us the news.”
First Lords. Now this. It was more than the ghosts could bear. They let out a howl of grief that ran through Haggismarshe Manor House. Every servant in the manor ran to the closets and hid, shivering in their shoes. The ghosts were not happy. A truce had reigned for years between ghosts and human. The truce was over. There would be nothing but terror in the manor for the foreseeable future.
Next Week Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.