Goth Girl and the Ghost of a Mouse

by Chris Riddell

  my beauty . . . and my suffering.’ Ada looked at the lock on the manacle around Sesta’s leg. ‘I’m so sorry, there must have been some sort of misunderstanding,’ she said, ‘I will tell my father, Lord Goth.’ But Ada knew that this wasn’t a misunder-standing. Maltravers had invited the Siren and the Harpies to Ghastly-Gorm Hall and imprisoned them, and she had a nasty feeling that she knew why . . . She looked around the Bathroom of Zeus. There wasn’t a miniature pheasant to be seen, and the indoor hunt was set for the night after tomorrow, Saturday night. ‘You are Lord Goth’s daughter?’ said Sesta, still holding her pose, ‘I like you. You are very polite, I think. Not like Lord Goth’s man . . .’ Just then William Cabbage came running through the gap in the doors. He was the colour of shadows and cobwebs but changed to a dusty

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  marble as he caught his breath. Pushing the doors closed, he turned to Emily and Ada. ‘Maltravers!’ he gasped, hastily pulling off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. ‘He woke up . . . He’s coming this . . . way!’ Emily hastily packed up her watercolours, pulled her paintbox on to her back and tipped her painty water into the

  pool. She looked at Ada, then back at William. ‘It’s all right for you, William,’ she said wildly. ‘You can blend in, but there’s nowhere for Ada and me to hide.’ Ada looked around. Emily was right. She could hear Maltravers’s footsteps in the corridor outside as he approached the Bathroom of Zeus. ‘Ada, Emily! Over here!’ Ada looked across the room to the fireplace on the far wall. Kingsley the chimney caretaker’s sooty face had just appeared, upside down, peeking out from below the mantelpiece. ‘Here, take a hand each!’ Ada and Emily rushed over to the fireplace and grabbed Kingsley’s outstretched hands. ‘Take us up!’ Kingsley was hanging by his ankles from some sort of pulley contraption. Suddenly Ada felt herself being pulled up the chimney with

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  impressive speed, as ancient, sooty brickwork whizzed past the tip of her nose in a blur. Moments later they shot out into daylight and came to a halt. Ada and Emily let go of Kingsley’s hands and stepped down from the ornamental chimney pot from which they had just emerged. Over the chimney was a wooden tripod with a rope and pulley attached, together with a weight and a lever which Arthur Halford was holding. He reached out and undid the straps attached to Kingsley’s big, clumpy boots, and the chimney caretaker jumped down from the chimney pot to join them. ‘This is an invention of mine,’ said Arthur proudly. ‘It’s a dumb sweeper – a bit like a dumb waiter but for chimneys.’ ‘A little bit newfangled for my liking,’ said Kingsley, not wanting to be outdone, ‘but good for getting out of scrapes in a hurry.’ He smiled and Ada blushed. ‘William told us to be ready in case you needed

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  help’ said Arthur. ‘Members of the Attic Club stick together.’ ‘Thank you, Arthur,’ said Emily, dusting soot off her portfolio, ‘Maltravers almost caught us. What a nasty man he is! And you won’t BELIEVE who we just met. The strangest creature, but really quite beautiful . . .’ ‘Talking of strange creatures,’ said Arthur, ‘I made an interesting discovery in the old tumble-down buildings behind the hobby-horse stables this morning. You’d better see for yourselves.’

  *Shetland centaurs are just one of a number of mythical creatures living in Scotland. The Glasgow cyclops and the Edinburgh gorgon are well known, but the Arbroath smokie, a fire-breathing mermaid, is more elusive.

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  Arthur and Kingsley packed up the dumb sweeper, and then Kingsley led them over the jumble of rooftops of the broken wing. He pointed out the most interesting ornamental chimneys as they clambered over tiles,

  tiptoed along roof ridges and trotted down gullies and gutters. Eventually they came to a flying buttress with stone steps that led down to the ground. ‘Take care,’ Kingsley said, smiling at Ada, who felt herself blushing. He turned and trotted off over the rooftops as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Ada held Emily’s hand as they descended the stone steps and followed Arthur towards the back of the west wing. As they got nearer, Ada could see the hobby-horse stables, a long, low building made up of a series of workshops with half-open stable doors. Inside each workshop, grooms dressed in smocks like Arthur’s were hard at work, hunched over forges heating spokes and hammering out kinks in wheel rims, or standing at woodworking benches sanding curved beech chassis. On the walls, beside tools in racks, hanging on padded hooks, were the hobby

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  horses themselves. ‘I look after that one,’ said Arthur, pointing to a splendid bicycle with a carved winged horse on its chassis. ‘Its Lord Goth’s favourite hobby horse.’ They continued past the stables until they came to a series of small sheds with half-collapsed slate-tiled roofs and walls propped up by wooden stakes and scaffolding. ‘These are the unstable stables,’ said Arthur. ‘Very few people come here any more.’ Emily and Ada kept close behind Arthur as he opened a rickety door and stepped into the dark, shadowy interior. It took Ada a little while for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, she gave a little gasp of surprise. Chained to the wall by

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  their ankles were two figures, one huge and one tiny. Both were extraordinary looking. ‘This is Hamish,’ said Arthur, ‘He’s a centaur from Shetland*.’ The centaur gave a little snort and pawed the ground with his hoof. ‘And this is Mr Omalos, a mountain faun from the island of Crete.’ The faun put down the slim volume of poetry he had been nibbling and pulled at the sleeves of his shabby green velvet jacket. ‘This is Ada, Lord Goth’s daughter,’ said Arthur, ‘and her friend Emily Cabbage.’ Emily had already set up her watercolour box and was sketching excitedly. Arthur turned to the faun. ‘Tell them what you told me this morning.’ ‘Well,’ said Mr Omalos in

  a deep, gruff voice that nevertheless had a kindly tone to it, ‘I’m just a lowly faun – half-goat, half-book collector. I have a taste for old books, the dustier the better, but I only nibble round the margins, never the words themselves; the ink can be a little bitter . . .’ ‘What my friend is trying to tell you,’ interrupted the Shetland centaur with a little whinny, ‘is that your father, Lord Goth, invited us here for a country house party. We had invitations addressed to each of us personally, but someone I won’t name ate them after we got here . . .’ ‘Sorry,’ said Mr Omalos, looking sheepish as well as goat-like. ‘Anyway,’ snorted Hamish, ‘that gamekeeper of his showed us to these stables and then chained us up while we were sleeping. It’s not on, I tell you. It might be a wee bit wild and windy in my paddock back home, but at least I have the run of the place!’ The little centaur kicked out with his back legs,

  ‘

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  tugging at the chain, before folding his arms and glaring at Ada. ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Ada. ‘Lord Goth invites all sorts of guests to his country-house parties and sometimes things get a little confusing . . .’ She didn’t want to frighten these poor creatures by mentioning her suspicions about Maltravers and the indoor hunt. The centaur snorted, ‘The porridge oats aren’t bad,’ he conceded. ‘And the carrots are delicious,’ added the faun, ‘though perhaps a little too fresh for my taste . . .’ When Emily had finished her watercolours,

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  she and Ada walked back towards the house. Arthur had left earlier because the metaphorical bicycle race and indoor hunt were only two days away and he had lots to do. ‘You must tell your father what Maltravers is up to,’ said Emily as they approached the Venetian terrace. ‘I will . . .’ said Ada, with a thoughtful frown. She turned to her friend, ‘Have you got any more paper in your portfolio?’ Emily nodded. ‘Then there’s something we need to do first.’ Ada said.

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  Chapter Eight ow good are you at climbing trees?’ Ada asked Emily. They were standing outside the door to the Even-More-Secret Garden. ‘Quite good,’ said Emily uncertainly. ‘Climbing trees is one of my favourite things,’ said Ada. ‘I think I inherited a sense of balance and a head for heights from my mother. She was a tightrope walker from Thessalonika.’ Ada opened her locket and showed
Emily the miniature painting inside. ‘You look just like her!’ Emily exclaimed. Ada smiled, then closed the locket and pointed to a tree beside the high wall. ‘This tree is perfect,’ she said. ‘Just follow me and copy everything I do.’ ‘I’ll try,’ said Emily. She had taken off her watercolour box and put down her portfolio, to make it easier to climb, but

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  she had a pencil behind one ear and a folded sheet of paper in her pocket. Ada climbed up the tree, finding hand- and foot-holds as she went. Emily followed gingerly. Up in the branches, Ada selected one that reached over the wall into the Even-More-Secret Garden and crawled along it. Emily inched along behind her, until the branch spread out into lots of smaller branches with large green leaves and spiky horse

  chestnuts. ‘Spreading chestnut trees are the most fun to climb,’ Ada told Emily, who was holding on tight and trying not to look down. Ada parted the leaves in front of them. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘I can’t!’ said Emily. Below was a small square garden of gravel beds dotted with large smooth pebbles. Unlike the other gardens they’d

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  explored, the Even-More-Secret Garden was spectacularly neat and tidy. At the centre of the garden was an elegant building of wrought iron and glass with a small wooden sign beside it that read ‘The Greenhouse of Harmony’. Looking down from the overhanging branch, Ada could see through the glass roof. Inside the greenhouse were large pots containing strange plants with colourful leaves and exotic fruit hanging down in clusters. Ada saw something else, and gasped. It was as she’d suspected. ‘I don’t think I’ve got your head for heights,’ said Emily, turning green. ‘Can I borrow your

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  pencil and paper then?’ asked Ada. ‘If you can reach them,’ said Emily, ‘I’d rather not let go of this branch.’ Ada took the pencil from behind Emily’s ear and the paper from her pocket and unfolded it. Then she turned her attention back to the Greenhouse of Harmony and the two figures she had spotted sitting inside. They were great apes, with dark brown faces and beautiful orange-brown fur. Both were neatly and fashionably dressed. Ada sketched both of them carefully and was just folding the paper up to put back in Emily’s pocket when she heard a key rattling in a lock. She stayed very still as, below, the door to the Even-More-Secret Garden opened and Maltravers entered, pushing a wooden wheelbarrow. Approaching the greenhouse, he took his keys and unlocked the glass door. ‘The Wildman of Putney and the Wife of Barnes,’ Maltravers said, in his thin, wheedling voice, ‘just look at you! Those west-London

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  intellectual weavers who rescued you certainly have excellent taste in clothes. They should fetch a pretty penny at the Gormless market.’ He reached out and took the Wildman of Putney’s top hat, trying it on for size before dropping it into the wheelbarrow. ‘I’m sure you weren’t this well dressed when the intellectual weavers found you in that travelling circus.’ He untied the Wife of Barnes’s bonnet and pulled the shawl from her shoulders. She looked up at him with sad but kindly eyes. ‘I’m surprised the weavers let you come.’ Maltravers laughed unpleasantly as he took the rest of their clothes and piled them in the wheelbarrow. ‘But then a personal invitation from

  the famous Lord Goth is very persuasive, I find.’ He reached into the pocket of the Wildman of Putney’s embroidered waistcoat, took out a gilt-edged card and placed it in the pocket of his own waistcoat. Then the indoor gamekeeper wheeled the barrow out of the greenhouse and locked the door behind him. Ada waited until she was sure he had gone, before inching back along the branch, helping Emily each step of the way. Finally, when they were safely on the ground, Ada

  *The three-piece suit of armour was specially made for the 1st Lord Goth by his blacksmith and features a single body piece and two helmets, both of which are decoys to prevent the wearer getting his head cut off.

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  showed Emily her drawing. ‘I suspected that Maltravers had something locked up in the Even-More-Secret Garden,’ Ada said triumphantly. ‘And if I’m right, he’s planning to use these poor creatures in the indoor hunt on Saturday.’ ‘That’s very good, considering you were up a tree,’ said Emily, putting the drawing in her portfolio with her watercolour paintings, ‘but now you must go and tell your father about this terrible situation.’ When they got back to the Venetian terrace they found William by the Byzantine windows. He was the colour of white stucco plaster as he stepped away from the wall. ‘I’ve been following Maltravers all day,’ he told them, ‘blending in and trying to get

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  hold of those keys of his, but they’re chained to his waistcoat, which he never takes off. I followed him to the kitchen garden, where he pulled up carrots, and then all the way to a secret walled garden. Funny thing is, he went in with an empty wheelbarrow and came out with it full of clothes . . . When I left him he was pulling up floorboards in one of the empty rooms in the broken wing . . . What on earth is he up to?’ ‘Put on some clothes,’ said Emily, rolling her eyes, ‘and we’ll tell you.’ Just then there was a loud bang from across the lawn. Ada and the others turned to see Lord Goth speeding past the rockery in the distance. He was riding his hobby horse Pegasus and had a smoking blunderbuss in his hand. Behind him several of the Alpine gnomes perched high on the rocks had lost their heads. Lord Goth gained speed as he rounded the corner of the rockery and sped along the front of the west wing towards the steps to the

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  portico, gravel flying up from the spinning wheels. Reaching the steps, he dismounted and threw the hobby horse aside. ‘If I’m quick I can catch him at his study door!’ Ada exclaimed as she dashed into the house. ‘See you tomorrow at breakfast!’ she called over her shoulder. Ada ran up the west staircase, along the first corridor and around the corner where the 1st Lord Goth’s three-piece suit of armour* stood. There, coming from the opposite direction, up the grand staircase, was her father. Ada stopped when she saw the expression on Lord Goth’s face. It was a mixture of shock and surprise and sadness as he

  looked into her eyes. Then his gaze travelled from her face down to her slippered feet, and his expression darkened. ‘Father!’ Ada began, ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you like this but I’ve got to tell you about—’ ‘Ada,’ Lord Goth interrupted her in his quiet but elegant voice, ‘you have disappointed me.’ ‘But, Father,’ Ada protested, ‘Maltravers—’ ‘Ada!’ Lord Goth interrupted her again, his voice even quieter and more elegant. ‘It is one of my closely held beliefs that children should be heard and not seen.’ ‘I know, Father, but—’ Ada began.

  ‘And yet I didn’t hear you because you are not wearing the boots I gave you!’ ‘I know, Father, I’m sorry. I forgot—’ ‘Forgot?’ echoed Lord Goth, striding past Ada and grasping the doorknob to his study. ‘Forgot? Do my wishes mean so little to you? Next you’ll be telling me you’ve been up on the rooftops.’ Ada’s cheeks coloured and she stared down at her black leather pumps. Lord Goth avoided looking at her as he pushed his study door open and stepped inside. ‘Whatever you have to say to me,’ he said as a quiet and elegant parting shot, ‘you can say to me over tea in the long gallery the week after next.’ The door to his study clicked shut. Ada turned and walked slowly back down the corridor towards her own room. Next week would be too late. The indoor hunt was the day after tomorrow, on Saturday night. She thought about the poor creatures that Maltravers had tricked into coming –

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  the Siren Sesta and the harpies, Mr Omalos and Hamish, the Wildman and his wife – all of them locked up by the indoor gamekeeper, and all of them about to be chased through the rooms of the broken wing by Lord Goth’s country-house guests. She thought of Maltravers in his room in the Sensible Folly, the five-pound note in the strongbox under the truckle bed and the letter pinned to the wall . . . ‘. . . Hansel and Gretel are looking forward to their big night! Yours in anticipation, Rupert von Hellsung.’ Ada shivered. Hansel and Gretel? Whatever Maltravers was planning, it didn’t sound like a

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  normal indoor hunt. She rea
ched the grand staircase and was about to cross the landing and go to her room when a dark shape soundlessly descended the banister. ‘Miss Goth,’ said a soft-toned voice with the hint of a foreign accent, ‘so we meet at last.’

  Chapter Nine da looked up. The dark shape stepped lightly off the banister and on to the landing. Ada’s new governess held out a white hand which Ada shook. It felt ice cold. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Ada. ‘You can call me Lucy,’ said the governess. ‘I’d like us to be friends.’ Ada smiled uncertainly and wondered how long this particular governess would stay at Ghastly- Gorm Hall. ‘Come up to the schoolroom,’ said Lucy, ‘and we can get acquainted.’ ‘Isn’t it a little late?’ asked Ada. The sun