“Important matters, eh?” the ghost of Jacob said brightly. “That sounds important.”

Jacob tried hard, but he just wasn’t as focused as he used to be. When he lived, or rather existed, in exile in the old chapel around the back of the Hall, he used to sit around quite happily in his ghostly underwear, watching the memories of old television programmes on a set with no insides to it. Most of the family wouldn’t talk to him, but he and I had been good friends since I first sought him out as a child. (Because I knew I wasn’t supposed to.)

Now that he was officially a part of the family again, and had moved back into the Hall, Jacob had made something of an effort to smarten himself up. He still looked older than death, his face full of wrinkles and his bald pate graced with only a few flyaway silver hairs. But he had refined his ectoplasm into a smart tuxedo, even if the material tended more to navy blue than black, and he kept forgetting about the collar. But as a ghost of long standing, or at least a stubborn refusal to lie down, only his concentration held him together. And of late his thoughts had shown a distinct tendency to wander. Which was why every now and again he’d suddenly be wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt over baggy shorts, and a heavy red sash bearing the legend Mortally Challenged. He also left long trails of pale blue ectoplasm trailing on the air behind him when he made sudden movements.

Jacob the ghost was falling apart, body and soul, and he knew it.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms glared at Jacob. He disapproved of the old ghost’s very existence, and didn’t care who knew it.

“Why don’t you find yourself a nice grave and settle down?” he said pointedly. “You know you shouldn’t be here. Family policy on ghosts is very clear. Any ghost that shows up here gets sent on its way sharpish. No exceptions. Otherwise we’d be hip deep in the things by now.”

“I’m exempt,” Jacob said firmly.

“On what grounds?” said the Sarjeant.

“Because I say so, and don’t you bloody forget it. I’m exempt from anything I damned well feel like, on the grounds that I’ll kick anyone’s arse who says otherwise. Being dead is very liberating. You should try it, Sarjeant. Preferably soon.”

“Behave yourself, Jacob,” I said. “Remember, I’ve still got that exorcist on speed dial.”

“We need to talk about the witch’s presence here,” Penny said stubbornly.

“No we don’t,” I said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Molly. “Let’s talk about your presence here, Penny dear. Are you another of Eddie’s old flames, like that appalling Alexandra person?”

Penny snorted loudly. “He wishes . . .”

“Are you going to introduce just anyone you want into the Circle?” said the Sarjeant. “Don’t we get a say in the matter?”