Goth Girl and the Fete Worse Than Death

by Chris Riddell

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  ‘Your lady’s maid is a bear?’ said Emily, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘Yes and I’ve only just found out,’ said Ada. ‘That explains a lot,’ said Ruby thoughtfully. ‘It does?’ said Ada. ‘Well, when we send meals upstairs, your maid always sends notes requesting honey,’ Ruby replied. ‘And often quince-marmalade sandwiches. She has lovely handwriting for a bear . . .’ Ruby continued. ‘And you say that she’s in love?’ Emily interrupted. ‘How romantic! I’d love to paint her portrait.’ ‘The trouble is she’s so shy that she can’t bring herself to leave my rooms,’ said Ada, ‘and if we can’t coax her out, she won’t be able to marry General Simon Batholiver.’ ‘Well, if you can’t get Marylebone to go to the general,’ said Ruby, delicately attaching a fin to the tail of a sugar mermaid, ‘perhaps you can ask the general to come to Marylebone?’

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  ‘Did someone just mention a general? I consider myself to be a general,’ said a short man in a white military-style hat and jacket who’d just that minute entered the outer pantry from the kitchen garden. ‘General in the kitchen, that is. Heston Harboil, experimental baker. I’ve come for—’ ‘Let me guess,’ said Emily with a smile. ‘The Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off.

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  You’ll find the others in the kitchen. Who’s this?’ She pointed to the extremely fat Muscovy duck that had just waddled in holding a leather bag in its beak. ‘Oh, this is my assistant, Pushkin,*’ said Heston Harboil. He took off his small wire-framed glasses and polished them on the hem of his jacket before returning them to his nose and peering closely at Ruby’s mermaids. ‘Sweet seaweed for the hair, I think,’ he said, ‘and . . . let me see . . .’ He took his bag from Pushkin’s beak, opened it and with a flourish produced a small glass test tube. ‘Sugar cuttlefish – just a dusting to make those scales really shimmer. Here, let me show you . . .’ Ruby was entranced as Heston Harboil sprinkled the glittery powder on the tails of the icing-sugar mermaids, then took off his glasses once more and caught a ray of sunlight from the

  *Pushkin is a talented pastry chef who, as an ugly duckling, was taught in the Kremlin kitchens by a raspy-voiced imperial cook called Peter the Grate. Pushkin doesn’t have teeth but does have a sweet-duck bill.

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  high window in one lens. Carefully he focused the light, heating the powder and turning it into a silvery liquid that covered the tails. Ruby gasped with delight. ‘Now for that hair . . .’ Heston said.

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  ‘Let’s leave them to it,’ said Emily, taking Ada by the hand and leading her outside into the kitchen garden. The kitchen garden was where all the vegetables, fruit and herbs used in the kitchens of Ghastly-Gorm Hall were grown. Tiny tomatoes, odd-shaped cucumbers, giant marrows and monster pumpkins grew in raised beds, together with Cockney apples and pears and Glaswegian gooseberries. Next to the kitchen garden was the bedroom garden, where all the sweet-smelling flowers used in the bedrooms of Ghastly-Gorm Hall grew. Rambling roses, gambolling petunias and rampant pansies sprouted in profusion, flowering beside old meadow plants like Polly-go-lightly, bishop’s slipper and mocking Simon. A gate at the end of the bedroom garden led into the drawing-room garden, which was really just a lawn with garden furniture laid out across it. ‘You know, Ruby’s got a point,’ said Emily, stopping beside a Shoreditch orange-pippin tree

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  and picking an apple. ‘Can you send a message to General Batholiver?’ ‘I can’t,’ said Ada, her green eyes twinkling, ‘but I know someone who can.’

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  Chapter Four ipping the packet, Ada sprinkled some birdseed on the gravel path. They were standing by the gate to the drawing-room garden. Deckstools, chaises-foldings and swinging armchairs stood in large clusters around collapsible Chippendale tables on the neatly trimmed lawn. A few moments later there was the sound of fluttering wings and a white dove swooped down and landed at Ada’s feet. It had a small roll of paper tied around its leg. The dove began pecking at the birdseed. ‘Can I borrow a pencil?’ Ada asked Emily. ‘Of course,’ said Emily, who always wore a pencil attached to a ribbon around her neck. She slipped the ribbon over her head and handed Ada the pencil, then watched in fascination as

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  Ada gently scooped up the dove in her arms and untied the roll of paper from its leg. . . . she wrote in her best handwriting. Emily held the dove while Ada tied the paper back on its leg, then let it go. The dove flapped up into the sky and flew off in the direction of the Back of Beyond Garden (Unfinished). Just then Ada heard a familiar wheezing voice coming from the opposite end of the drawing-room garden. It was Maltravers. ‘Hurry up, gentlemen,’ he said in a sneering voice. ‘I haven’t got all day, and this furniture won’t fold itself!’ Looking over the gate, Ada saw that Maltravers had the grooms from the hobby-horse stables

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  with him. As she and Emily watched, the grooms began folding up the chairs and tables and stacking them neatly against the garden wall. Maltravers sat down in a swinging armchair and propped his feet up on a deckstool. He pulled an extremely crumpled newspaper from his pocket, unfolded it and began to read. ‘Chop-chop!’ Maltravers voice sounded from behind the copy of the Observer of London.

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  ‘I want the lawn completely cleared.’ ‘That’s my father’s newspaper!’ said Ada indignantly. ‘If he was here he’d be very cross at how creased Maltravers is making it.’ ‘Look,’ said Emily, ‘there’s Arthur!’ Arthur Halford worked in the hobby-horse stables and was a member of the Attic Club, which met once a week in secret in the attics of Ghastly-Gorm Hall to share observations. Ada, Emily and William were also members, along with Ruby the outer-pantry maid and Kingsley the chimney caretaker. Kingsley was quite young to be chimney caretaker, but the last one had run off with one of Ada’s previous governesses, Hebe Poppins. Ada and Emily waved to Arthur, who put down the complicated chaise-folding he was wrestling with and trotted over to the gate. ‘We’ve got to get all this lot cleared away ready for the Spiegel tent,’ he said. ‘It’s where the Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off is going to take place, according to Maltravers, though it’s the first any

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  of us grooms has heard about it.’ ‘Stop dawdling, Halford!’ Maltravers called from behind Lord Goth’s newspaper. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ said Arthur with a shrug. ‘I’ll see you both at the Attic Club later.’ Ada and Emily said goodbye, and had just turned away from the gate when the dove landed on it. ‘What does it say?’ said Emily, wide-eyed, as Ada unrolled the message. . . . Ada read. ‘What does that mean?’ said Emily. ‘I’m not sure exactly,’ said Ada. ‘Lord Sydney is quite mysterious . . .’ ‘I can’t wait to meet him!’ said Emily. *

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  At ten minutes to three, Ada, Emily and her brother, William, who’d found his trousers, stood by the overly ornamental fountain. There was no sign of Lord Sydney Whimsy. William leaned back against a frowning stone goldfish and turned the colour of mossy marble. ‘I wonder where he is,’ Emily said, unfolding her stool and taking her watercolours out. ‘Now, which one shall I paint today?’ she murmured to herself as she looked up at the fountain. It was covered in statues – mermaids, mermen and mer-horses jostled for space with leaping dolphins and reclining sea gods; crowds of water babies clustered around sea-shells while groups of water teenagers skulked behind curling coral. There were so many statues that there was only room in the overly ornamental fountain for a tiny pool into which a thin dribble of water fell from the lip of a sulky-looking sea monster known as ‘Mopey Dick’. ‘I think . . . that one,’ said Emily, opening her

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  sketchbook and beginning to draw a merman in a long cloak and a tall hat fringed with seaweed who was perched on a dolphin. ‘That’s odd,’ said Ada, looking at Emily’s sketch, then back at the merman. ‘I didn’t think mermen wore top hats . . .’ ‘This one does!’ said the statue. It got off the dolphin’s back and climbed down the fountain towards them. As it did so, a cloud of white flour puffed up from
its hat and shoulders. ‘Lord Sydney!’ exclaimed Ada. ‘You

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  were here the whole time! How clever!’ Lord Sydney stepped down from the fountain and shook his cloak, then picked the seaweed from his hat. He smiled. ‘Disguise is a useful tool in my line of work,’ he said modestly, ‘and flour is a useful tool for disguise. Anyway, I must say, you’ve captured quite a likeness, Miss Cabbage,’ he continued, looking over Emily’s shoulder at her drawing. ‘You have quite a talent. But then so do you, William!’ William was staring at Lord Sydney, his mouth half open, clearly impressed. ‘You must come and see me when you’re older, William. I think you could have a very promising future. Talking of which, what does the future hold for your lady’s maid, Miss Goth?’ ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ Ada began. Lord Sydney took her by the arm and they began to walk slowly round the overly ornamental

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  fountain, arm in arm. Emily carried on painting while William stretched out at her feet and went a gravel colour. They were both listening intently. ‘You see,’ said Ada, ‘your friend Simon’s proposal brought back all sorts of memories for Marylebone. She says she loves him but she’s just too nervous and frightened to leave my wardrobe.’ ‘Ruby wondered whether Simon could come here to Ghastly-Gorm Hall instead,’ said Emily, without looking up from her painting. ‘Ah, yes, Ruby the outer-pantry maid,’ said Lord Sydney with a knowing smile. ‘Very good at cake decoration, I understand. What a talented group of young people you Attic Clubbers are!’ ‘You know about the Attic Club?’ said William, sitting up. ‘But it’s secret!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ Lord Sydney assured him, ‘but two bears in your wardrobe, Miss Goth? I fear it would never work.’ ‘But there must be something we can do,’ said Ada.

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  Two doves came fluttering down and landed on Lord Sydney’s shoulders, one on either side. There was a short pause while he read their messages and sent them off with replies. ‘I am rather busy with this fete just at the moment, arranging tent deliveries, painting stagecoaches, organizing village bands, not to mention other matters . . .’ he said mysteriously. Then he turned to Ada and patted her hand. ‘But I’ll give the problem some thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Goth, I’m due in the village for some dancing lessons and I still have to weave my straw skirt . . .’

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  Chapter Five or the rest of the afternoon Ada and Emily explored the wild and overgrown Back of Beyond Garden (Unfinished). It was Ada’s favourite part of the grounds and the area that the famous landscape architect, Metaphorical Smith, hadn’t quite got round to finishing. It had the Secret Garden at its heart and beyond that, through a little door, the Even-More-Secret Garden. This was where Ada and Emily were growing the more unusual plants they’d discovered in Metaphorical Smith’s ‘Greenhouse of Harmony’.* They

  *The Greenhouse of Harmony was built by Metaphorical Smith for growing delicate plants from very hot countries. He didn’t believe in throwing stones.

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  rather lost track of the time, and it was getting dark when they finally got back to the house. They decided to avoid the kitchens just in case they were still crowded with cooks, and entered the west wing instead, through the Byzantine windows of the Venetian terrace. ‘Who’d have thought an Easter-egg plant could smell of chocolate?’ said Emily. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast,’ said Ada, waving goodbye to Emily at the foot of the staircase. ‘We can repot the purple geranium,’ Emily called back as she walked across the large marble hall towards the east wing.

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  Ada climbed the stairs to her rooms on the second floor of the west wing. She wished she could slide up the banister the way Lucy Borgia did, but her governess had said that Ada wasn’t quite ready for levitation lessons yet. Ada opened the door to her extremely large bedroom and stepped inside to see her supper waiting for her on the more-than-occasional

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  table. She sat down and as she lifted the large silver-domed lid there was a smell of bonfires and a cloud of soft smoke billowed up into the air. Ada looked down to see a little glass teapot with a nightingale for a spout bubbling over a candle. Steam poured out through the bird’s beak in a melodic and haunting whistle. Next to the teapot there was a bowl and a spoon resting on a bed of straw, and a little card . . . Ada poured the soup into the bowl and scooped up a warm, scented spoonful. She took a sip. It was the most delicious soup she’d ever tasted! When Ada had finished it, she realized that she still had Emily’s pencil around her neck. She picked up the card, turned it over and wrote . . .

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  Then she placed the card next to the empty bowl and glass teapot, blew out the candle and put back the silver lid. She glanced over at the Dalmatian divan and saw that Marylebone had laid out her black velvet cape. ‘I hope you’re feeling better,’ she called to the closed wardrobe door and heard a low growl in reply. ‘I’ve left a copy of my father’s book on the mantelpiece for you.’ Ada put on her cape, picked up her fencing umbrella and went up to the rooftops. *

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  It was a beautiful, clear night and the not-quite full moon shone down on the ornamental chimneys, which cast slanting shadows across the slate tiles. Ada glanced up at the window in the small turret at the top of Ghastly-Gorm Hall’s central dome. It was dark, so Lucy Borgia hadn’t got up yet. Just then she saw a sinister shape pass across the face of the moon. As Ada watched, the shape grew larger in the sky.

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  It was a hot-air balloon! In the sudden flare of the burner Ada saw three figures, dark-eyed and white-faced, staring down from the balloon’s basket. One of the figures leaned over the side as the balloon approached the rooftops and called down to Ada. ‘Little girl, little girl,’ he said, ‘is this the Hall of Ghastly-Gorm, by any chance?’ ‘Home of the famous Poet of the Bicycle, Lord Goth?’ said one of his companions, adjusting his spectacles. ‘Yes, it is,’ said Ada taking a step back and clutching her umbrella tightly as the balloon came lower, passing over the four chimney pots of ‘The Brothers Grim and the Sisters Jolly’. ‘Lord Goth is my father.’ ‘So you must be the little Goth girl,’ said the third passenger in a soft, lilting voice. She wore a large powdered wig and had a black silk scarf wound around her neck. Up close, Ada could see that the basket of the

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  balloon was heavily laden with groceries of all sorts – long loaves of bread, bottles of golden oil, cured sausages tied with criss-crossing string. What didn’t fit inside the basket was strapped to the sides or hung down in sacks on the end of the ropes. ‘Didier Dangle and Gerard Dopplemousse, Grocers of the Night,’ said the man in the spectacles.

  He appeared to be wearing a wig too, though Ada couldn’t be sure. ‘And this is our balloonist, Madame Grand Gousier.’ The three of them nodded stiffly, and none of them smiled as they stared coldly down at her. The balloon hovered above ‘Old Smokey’ and Ada heard a snuffling sound coming from inside the basket. ‘We have deliveries to make,’ said Didier Dangle, ‘for the contestants in the Bake Off of Greatness . . .’ He glanced down at the copy of the Observer of London that he held in his hand. ‘They are the foremost cooks in the land, we understand.’ ‘Heston Harboil is certainly very good,’ said Ada. ‘I’m not sure about

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  the others, but they all seem very keen . . .’ ‘They sound delicious,’ said Madame Grand Gousier, turning up the burner and sending a jet of yellow flame up into the balloon, which began to rise once more. ‘We will deliver our groceries to the . . . tradesmen’s entrance –’ Gerard Dopplemousse winced as he said the word ‘tradesmen’s’ – ‘and be on our way. Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle Goth,’ he said stiffly. Ada watched the balloon sail off, over the rooftops, past the dome and down towards the east wing. She lost sight of it as it came down low over the kitchens on the other side of the house. She turned back to see a dove had landed on the rooftop beside her. She read the message it had brought.

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  Ada couldn’t help feeling a little di
sappointed. She had been looking forward to her umbrella-fencing lesson, and besides, she was curious to know what her governess would make of the Grocers of the Night. Ada didn’t like the look of them. She climbed up on to ‘Antony and Cleopatra’, which was one of her favourite chimneys. Ada liked the stone sphinx supporting the chimney stacks. Just as she was about to tiptoe along its back, a sooty head popped up out of ‘Antony’. ‘Thought I’d find you here,’ it said. Ada blushed. It was Kingsley the chimney caretaker.