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The outdoor butler held open the double doors as the cooks entered, each carrying a large plate on which their creation was magnificently displayed.
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There were ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd and a shrill ‘Be still, my beating heart!’ from Lady Caroline, as the cooks approached the stage and carefully laid their plates on the long trestle table in front of Lord Goth. Mary Huckleberry had baked a Young Victoria sponge with white chocolate fondant in the shape of the Prince Regent’s new pavilion in Brighton. She handed a large cake knife to her manservant, Hollyhead, who cut two slices and presented them to Lady Caroline and Lord Goth. ‘Good texture,’ said Lord Goth. ‘It speaks to me of sunshine and decadence!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline. ‘No wonder his trousers are so big!’ Hollyhead cut slices from his own cake, a
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Liverpool strawberry roll with a spun-sugar cormorant on top. ‘Good texture,’ said Lord Goth. ‘The Liver bird is just too precious for words!’ trilled Lady Caroline, spitting cake crumbs in her excitement. ‘This has all the bustle and roll of a great seaport!’ The Hairy Hikers looked on nervously from behind their long shaggy beards as Lord Goth and Lady Caroline tasted their giant Geordie scone with black-and-white chocolate ganache. ‘Good texture,’ said Lord Goth. ‘Wild, rugged!’ breathed Lady Caroline, fluttering her eyes at Lord Goth, ‘and unutterably handsome.’
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‘It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Lord Goth,’ said Nigellina Sugarspoon, handing him an extra-large slice of her giant fondant fancy with praline-spoon decorations. ‘Charmed, dear lady,’ said Lord Goth, ‘the texture is really very good.’ ‘Rather dry,’ said Lady Caroline, ‘in my opinion.’ Gordon Ramsgate frowned furiously as Lord Goth and Lady Caroline tasted his ‘Nightmare in the Kitchen’ cake covered in white chilli-chocolate with marzipan figures. ‘Please don’t be upset,’ cooed Lady Caroline. ‘Yours is a magnificent and fiery vision . . .’ ‘Oh, I’m not cross,’ said
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Gordon Ramsgate with an even more furious frown. ‘I always look like this.’ ‘Good texture,’ said Lord Goth. William Flake handed Ruby the outer-pantry maid the cake knife. ‘You cut the first slice, my dear.’ He smiled as he stroked Tyger-Tyger. ‘After all, you’ve been such a tremendous help.’ Ruby blushed with pride as she cut two slices of William Flake’s Jerusalem cake with its fondant footprint on green icing sugar. ‘And did those bakers in ancient times bake upon England’s pastures green?’ mused Lady Caroline. Lord Goth rolled his eyes. ‘Good texture,’ he said. Finally they came to Heston Harboil, at the end of the trestle table.
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His creation was larger than all the rest and rather disappointingly decorated with yellow gloop. ‘This is my “Plum Pudding in Danger” cake,’ said Heston, ‘with gas-proof custard.’ Beside him, Pushkin the fat Muscovy duck nodded in agreement. Just then there was a loud whining howl and the double doors to the Spiegel tent burst open. Two enormous poodles, one white, the other black, bounded into the tent followed by the Grocers of the Night, Didier Dangle and Gerard Dopplemousse and their balloonist, Madame Grand Gousier. ‘Everybody stay just where they are!’ she commanded as the poodles slammed the doors shut and stood guard in front of them. ‘The Full-Moon Fete is cancelled!’ she cackled . . .
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Chapter Thirteen he Grocers of the Night and their balloonist raised their black capes and flapped up into the air, swooping over the heads of the terrified crowd and circling the cooks at the trestle table. Lady Caroline Lambchop fainted and had to be caught by Lord Goth as the three figures closed in. ‘What do you want with us?’ Lord Goth demanded, his brooding eyes alight with anger. Didier Dangle landed at one end of the
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trestle, Gerard Dopplemousse at the other, as Madame Grand Gousier came lightly down to earth in front of Lord Goth. The cooks cowered behind him. Ada edged towards the end of the table, her umbrella gripped firmly in her hand. Glancing in the mirrors, she saw that the grocers had no reflections. ‘We simply want to drink the blood of the finest cooks in England, because it is the most delicious,’ said Madame Grand Gousier with a smile that revealed her white, pointed teeth.
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‘We are, how you say . . . ? Gourmet Vampires.’ Didier Dangle grinned, eyeing Nigellina Sugarspoon. ‘We drink the blood of chefs, and only the best will do,’ explained Gerard Dopplemousse, leering hungrily at the Hairy Hikers. ‘But since you are standing in our way,’ Madame Grand Gousier said with a sinister smile, ‘we shall start with you!’ ‘Now, Ada!’ the leader of the Dorris Men shouted from the midst of the cowering crowd. Ada jumped up on to the table and danced deftly around the Brighton Pavilion, nimbly stepped over the spun-sugar cormorant on the Liverpool roll and dodged the giant Geordie scone.
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With a scream of outrage, Madame Grand Gousier grabbed at Ada’s ankles and missed, sending the praline spoons on the giant fondant fancy flying.
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Ada swerved past the ‘Nightmare in the Kitchen’ cake and used the fondant footprint on the Jerusalem cake as a stepping stone to avoid Didier Dangle’s grasp. She leaped down to the end of the table and forced Gerard Dopplemousse back with the tip of her fencing umbrella. ‘Seize the little Goth girl!’ screamed Madame Grand Gousier at the Grocers of the Night. The vampires closed in. Ada twirled the fencing umbrella in her hand and then lunged forward, plunging the point deep into Heston Harboil’s ‘Plum Pudding in Danger’ cake with gas-proof custard. As she pulled
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it out again there was a loud hiss and a cloud of pungent fumes filled the air.
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‘Garlic gas,’ said Heston proudly. Pushkin nodded from Heston’s hat, where he’d taken refuge.
‘Nooooo!’ screeched the vampires, shrinking back as the garlic gas filled the Spiegel tent. ‘Yes!’ said the leader of the Dorris Men, wiping the blue paint off his face with the corner of the trestle tablecloth, revealing himself as none other than Lord Sydney. Holding their noses, the three gourmet vampires launched themselves up into the air, transforming themselves into bats as they did so. Ada stared up at the three black shapes flapping towards the openings at the top of the tent. There followed three loud CLUNKS as each bat hit its head against Maxim de Trumpet-Oil’s latest masterpiece, hanging horizontally below the
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ceiling. It was a perfectly realistic painting of the top of the tent on a circular oak panel. ‘I call it The Illusion of Escape,’ said Maxim modestly. Emily and the Twee Raffelites broke into applause. Lord Sydney Whimsy held out his pillowcase and caught the falling bats one after the other, then tied the pillowcase shut with a flourish. The Dorris Men broke into a cheer. Two loud whines filled the air and all heads turned towards the doors of the tent. Belle and Sebastian had looked up from the pile of toasted marshmallows they’d been guzzling to find two stout leather collars round their necks. Kingsley held the lead to one, and Arthur had the other. They took a bow as the whole tent gave loud ‘hurrahs’.
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‘I’m sorry, Lord Goth, but nothing could persuade me to stay another moment!’ came Lady Caroline Lambchop’s indignant voice. Lord Goth held out a hand and helped Ada down from the table. ‘My brave little daughter,’ he said, ignoring Lady Caroline. ‘Your mother would have been so proud.’ ‘Get out of my way!’ Lady Caroline exclaimed as she barged a path through the villagers and stormed out of the Spiegel tent. ‘On behalf of His Regent’s Secret Service,’ said Lord Sydney, ‘I’d like to thank you, Ada, and your friends in the Attic Club.’ Kingsley and
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Arthur nodded and smiled, and William Cabbage, who’d gone completely unnoticed, fed Belle and Sebastian some more marshmallows. Ruby the outer-pantry maid, who’d had quite a scare, wiped her eyes on her apron. Emily, who was shaking Maxim de Trumpet-Oil’s hand, looked over and smiled. ‘I’ll take the poodles,’ said Maltravers, reaching out to take the leads
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from Arthur
and Kingsley. He glanced over at Lord Goth. ‘If that’s all right with you, My Lord?’ Lord Goth nodded. ‘Lord Sydney says you’ve been most helpful, Maltravers, thank you.’ The outdoor butler bowed, then led Belle and Sebastian out of the tent, followed by Lord Sydney, Ada and the rest of the Attic Club. ‘What about them?’ Ada asked, pointing to the shapes battling to get out of the knotted pillowcase in Lord Sydney’s arms. ‘We’ll take care of things,’ said the Glum-Stokers, rather more cheerfully than usual, as they met them outside. Vlad took the pillowcase and handed it to Glad, who put it in the fourth carriage of the Steam-Traction Carnival and locked the door. ‘Dangle, Dopplemousse and Grand Gousier – last of the notorious Vampire Gang . . . We’ve been trying to catch them for years,’ said Lord Sydney, with satisfaction. ‘The operation’s code-named . . .’
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‘Baaa . . . the thirty-nine crêpes . . . Baaa!’ said Darren the memory goat. ‘The Glum-Stokers will take them to a home for delinquent vampires,’ Lord Sydney continued, ‘in an obscure coastal village called Eastbourne.’ ‘If you’ll excuse me’ he said, with an elegant bow, ‘there is just one thing left to organize.’ He turned on his heels and disappeared back inside the Spiegel tent. Just then the clock above the hobby-horse stables struck midnight. ‘It’s my birthday!’ said Ada.
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‘I know’ said Lord Goth, waving two grooms over. They were wheeling a beautiful bicycle between them. Ada couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Usually nobody remembers my birthday except Marylebone,’ she said. ‘That will change from now on,’ said Lord Goth. ‘This is my birthday present to you. She’s called Little Pegasus. A hobby pony,’ he added with a smile.
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‘And I painted a birthday card,’ said Emily. ‘And we all signed it,’ said Kingsley. Inside the Spiegel tent the Gormless Quire began a low chorus of ‘For She’s a Jolly Good Marshmallow’ and Lord Sydney stuck his head out of the tent and waved everyone inside. There on the raised table was the most magnificent cake Ada had ever seen. ‘All the cooks helped,’ said Mrs Beat’em, smiling broadly. ‘I made the figure on top out of spun sugar,’ said Ruby shyly. ‘Mr Harboil helped me.’
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Ada was about to thank everybody when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turning round saw Marylebone standing before her, another birthday present in her paws. Behind her large spectacles Marylebone’s eyes brimmed with tears. She held out the neatly wrapped parcel and Ada opened it. ‘Fencing gloves!’ she exclaimed. Ada rushed into Marylebone’s arms. ‘They’re lovely, but coming out of the wardrobe is the best present you could give me!’ she said, hugging her.
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* There was a little growl, as if someone was clearing their throat, and the smallest of the Dorris Men stepped through the crowd as the choir sang ‘In the Bright Midsummer’. Ada stepped back as the figure pulled off its grass skirt and broad-brimmed hat to reveal itself as a short, stout, spectacled bear of military bearing. ‘General Simon Batholiver,’ Ada breathed.
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Epilogue da knocked quietly on Lucy Borgia’s bedroom door. ‘Come in,’ said her governess softly. Ada entered the small room in the turret at the top of the great dome of Ghastly-Gorm Hall. Her governess was lying on her bed. She looked very sad. That evening, just after sunset, Lord Goth, Ada and Lucy had stood on the rooftops of Ghastly-Gorm Hall and waved as the hot-air balloon rose into the night sky. From the basket, Marylebone, General Simon Batholiver and Lord Sydney Whimsy had waved back. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ Lord Sydney had called to Lucy, ‘but unavoidable, I’m afraid, in my line of work.’
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* The Steam-Traction Carnival had left, the Spiegel tent had been taken down and loaded back on to the Cumbrian juggernaut, and the cooks had departed with it, together with the painters in their stagecoach. Ghastly-Gorm Hall was returning to normal. There was a meeting of the Attic Club, and a new edition of The Chimney Pot to prepare, but first Ada had wanted to see how Lucy Borgia was.
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‘Your lady’s maid and her general will catch a sailing ship from Liverpool. Then Lord Sydney says he has urgent business elsewhere.’ Lucy sighed. ‘Who knows when we’ll see him at Ghastly-Gorm Hall again. I did so enjoy helping him with his plan to catch those awful grocers – they give us vampires a bad name. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been there to see it, but, of course, the garlic . . .’ She sat up and looked out of the window. There was no reflection in the dark glass and Ada saw her dark eyes take on a sad, faraway look. ‘He did so remind me of that young painter I knew, so long ago, the one who painted my
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portrait . . . It’s at times like this I wish I could see it again . . .’ ‘I know,’ said Ada, with a smile, ‘which is why I brought you this.’
Old Stumpy
Lincoln Green Hobby Horse
Baa Baa White Sheep
SOOT, STEAM AND SLOWNESS – THE STEAM-TRACTION CARNIVAL
STILL LIFE WITH A MOUSE
NARCISSUS AND DIANA
GIRL WITH A PEARL EARRING
BOY WITH FRUIT ON HIS HEAD
Bring me my bowl of burning gold, Bring me my spatulas of desire, Bring me my whisk, and logs untold, To fuel my chariot of fire! William Flake’s ‘Jerusalem’
Preparations are under way for the Full-Moon Fete and the Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off. Celebrity cooks are arriving at the hall for the big event, and as usual Maltravers is acting suspiciously. On top of all this, Ada’s elusive lady’s maid Marylebone has a surprising secret, and everyone seems to have forgotten Ada’s birthday!
Goth Girl and the Fete Worse Than Death Page 7
