Goth Girl and the Wuthering Fright

by Chris Riddell

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  monkeys. Well, anyway, if I had a fine horse and curricle like his, I told him, you wouldn’t see me for dust! . . . What’s this?’ Fancyday picked up the novel and opened it, then let out a squeal of delight. ‘It’s Plain Austen’s latest book – Nonsense and Nonsensibility – in which two sisters fall in love with a couple of clowns! And she’s signed it to me!’ She let out another squeal. ‘Oh, thank you, Ada!’ Fancyday exclaimed as she accepted the cup of tea Ada handed to her. ‘You are the best mistress a lady’s maid could ever ask for.’ Ada left Fancyday happily reading the novel and went downstairs. There was no sign of Flushman, but Bramble Vicarage and William Cabbage stepped out from behind the large marble statue of the three pear-shaped Graces in the entrance hall.

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  ‘I think we’ve given Flushman the slip,’ whispered William. ‘Here, take this.’ He handed Ada a large tea tray. ‘We’re meeting Emily and Bramble’s sisters at the Sensible Folly. I’ve got an idea for a silly game,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to call it snow-traying.’ He took Ada’s arm and they crept out of the house, keeping an eye out for any sign of Flushman. Bramble, clutching his own tea tray, followed. Outside they found Kingsley the chimney caretaker waiting for them. ‘Ada,’ he said, taking her to one side, ‘there’s something I think you should see.’

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  Chapter Eight ingsley led Ada around the front of the house to the Venetian terrace at the side of the west wing. The terrace and the lawn in front of it were covered in crisp snow, and the gnomes in the alpine gnome rockery beyond were up to their necks in a snowdrift. Kingsley stopped beside one of the Byzantine doors and pointed at the ground. Ada looked. A set of footprints in the snow led from the doors, across the lawn and towards the hobby-horse stables behind the west wing. ‘I found these this morning,’ Kingsley said, leading Ada across the lawn. ‘Do you notice anything odd about them?’ ‘Well, whoever made these footprints had forgotten their slippers.’ Ada shivered. ‘It must have been very cold walking barefoot in the snow.’

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  ‘Yes,’ said Kingsley thoughtfully. He paused by the edge of the lawn. ‘What else do you notice?’ Ada gasped. ‘The footprints are changing . . .’ she said, crouching in the snow and tracing the outline of one with a finger, ‘into paw prints!’ She straightened up. ‘How very peculiar.’ ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Kingsley. ‘I followed the paw prints. They lead all the way around to the broken wing and disappear inside.’ ‘We need to have a meeting of the Attic Club,’ said Ada. ‘Tonight.’ ‘I’ll be there,’ said Kingsley, ‘but I’d better get to work – I’ve got snow to clear from my chimney stacks.’ The brushes strapped to his back bristled as he clumped across the lawn, crossed

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  the stable yard and climbed a flying buttress up towards the rooftops. Ada had just turned to go when there was the sound of wheels crunching over snow, and Lord Goth and Countess Pippi Shortstocking came around the corner. They were riding hobby horses. ‘. . . but the trouble with Elsa,’ Countess Pippi was saying, ‘is that she’ll burst into song at the drop of a snowflake. It can be quite tiresome at times . . .’ ‘Ah, Ada,’ said Lord Goth, coming to a stop when he saw her. ‘Maltravers tells me that we have an infestation

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  of monkeys in the library. Do you know anything about this?’ Ada blushed. ‘They’re working for Dr Cabbage,’ she explained, ‘fetching books for him.’ ‘Well, Maltravers caught them doing cartwheels on the furniture,’ said Lord Goth sternly, with a shake of his head. ‘And I’m not sure I approve of primates handling my precious books. Speaking of which, what did you think of my new book?’ Ada blushed even more. ‘Oh, I haven’t quite finished it yet . . .’ Her father looked disappointed and Ada felt a lump in her throat. She hated to let him down. ‘It’s just that I’ve been busy knitting jackets for the monkeys and—’ Lord Goth frowned. ‘Knitting them jackets?’ he said disapprovingly as his gaze fell on the tray in Ada’s hands. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that you’re taking them tea!’ Ada looked down at the ground. She didn’t think her father would approve of snow-traying.

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  ‘Never mind,’ said Lord Goth with a sigh. ‘Miss Borgia can’t return too soon in my opinion. And as for these monkeys,’ he added, ‘I shall have to have a word with the good doctor.’ He nodded stiffly to Ada and set off with the countess across the lawn. ‘Now remind me, what tree in particular are we looking for?’ ‘A little one,’ Countess Pippi answered him as they headed towards the hobby-horse racecourse in the distance. ‘Hands Christmas Andersen is very particular about his fir trees . . .’ ‘There you are!’ exclaimed Emily, striding across the lawn towards Ada. ‘Aren’t you going to come snow-traying?’ *

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  Emily and Ada found the others sitting on tea trays at the top of the hill just in front of the extremely well-built copy of a Greek temple. The Vicarage sisters each had a silver tray of their own, while William Cabbage, looking serious and concentrating hard, and Bramble Vicarage, peering shyly through his fringe, shared a large tray of inlaid teak and mahogany. Ada and Emily placed the trays they were carrying on the ground and sat down on them. ‘Girls first,’ said William in a shaky voice. It seemed to Ada that he was having second thoughts about his idea.

  ‘Come on!’ Emily laughed, holding on to her tray and launching herself down the slope. Ada and the Vicarage sisters followed.

  The tea trays took them speeding downhill in a flurry of snow, and Ada felt a delicious flutter in her tummy as her tray soared and dipped over the bumps.

  At the bottom of the hill they stuck out their legs as brakes and came to a skidding, tumbling halt. read the Vicarage sisters’ notes. Laughing, Ada and Emily helped each other to their feet and brushed the snow from their skirts. ‘This is fun,’ said Ada wistfully. ‘I wish the holidays weren’t so short and we could spend more time together.’ ‘We could,’ said Emily, linking arms with Ada

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  and looking out across the lake of extremely coy carp which had completely frozen over, ‘if only you could come to school with me.’ ‘That would be lovely.’ ‘I think so too.’ ‘So do we!’ The Vicarage sisters held up their notepapers. ‘I wish I could,’ said Ada, ‘but then my governess wouldn’t have a job,’ she explained, ‘and Lucy Borgia has been so good to me.’ ‘Good morning, ladies,’ said Dean Torville,

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  skating past on one leg. ‘I’ve just been visiting Mrs Beat’em and saw the lake and couldn’t resist . . .’ Suddenly there was a great harrumphing howl of triumph from the top of the hill and a cry of ‘What a wizard wheeze!’ Looking up, Ada saw Flushman burst out from behind one of the pillars of the Sensible Folly and loom over William and Bramble Vicarage. Flushman didn’t notice William, who had turned white as snow, and he leaped on to the mahogany tea tray, sending him flying. Gripping Bramble in an overenthusiastic bear hug, Flushman launched the tea tray down the slope. ‘Come on, chum! We can do it!’ he roared, his stripy scarf flapping behind him. Bramble’s face was as white as William Cabbage’s as he and Flushman hurtled downhill. As they reached the bottom of the slope the tea tray tipped up, sending Bramble and Flushman sliding across the frozen lake and crashing into the unfortunate

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  ‘I say! Wizard fun!’ cried Flushman, jumping to his feet and sliding across the ice tugging Bramble by his scarf behind him. ‘Let’s do it again!’ Ada and Emily tiptoed on to the lake to help Dean Torville to his feet while the Vicarage sisters hurried after their brother. ‘I’ve got a better idea, Flushman,’ said William Cabbage, hurrying down the slope and gently

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  releasing Bramble’s scarf from Flushman’s enthusiastic grip. ‘Why don’t we play hide-and-seek, just the two of us?’ ‘Yes,’ said Bramble gratefully, ‘just the two of you.’ ‘What are we going to do about Flushman?’ Emily Cabbage asked. ‘Poor Dean Torville sprained his ankle and broke one of his skates. And the Vicarage sisters are worried about Bramble. They keep exchanging
notes about him but won’t let me see.’ It was late, and the Attic Club was holding a special meeting. Emily handed the wooden spoon to William, who had turned the colour of the hessian coal sack he was sitting on. Arthur Halford, Kingsley Travers, Ruby

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  Kipling and Ada sat on the bean-filled coal sacks around the fruit-crate table and waited for their turn to speak. Moonlight flooded through the round attic windows, bathing the floorboards in a silvery light. ‘I played hide-and-seek with him all afternoon,’ said William, ‘just to give Bramble a break. Then he wanted to look at Father’s inventions in the Chinese drawing room and was very disappointed to find a “Do not disturb” sign on the door.’ William frowned. ‘I feel a little sorry for him. You see, his father ignores him – keeps packing him off to Rugby School even though he is far older than the rest of us.’* He handed the spoon to a worried-looking Ruby. ‘Well, that’s as maybe. But what the kitchen maids and I want to know is who or what has been chewing our boots.’ She shuddered. ‘Mrs Beat’em’s noticed and accused us of playing football in the

  *Josiah Flushman the water-closet tycoon was extremely busy manu-facturing toilets and sadly lost interest in his son soon after he was potty-trained.

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  corridor after bedtime – she’s on the warpath.’ She passed the spoon to Arthur Halford. ‘I don’t want to worry anyone, but last night I looked out of my window in the stables and saw something creeping across the stable yard,’ he said. ‘Something hunched and hairy and wearing a stripy scarf that looked like your friend Flushman’s.’ Ada accepted the wooden spoon from him. ‘Kingsley showed me the footprints this morning.’ She looked from face to face in the moonlight. ‘I think the Attic Club needs to keep a close eye on Flushman,’ she said quietly.

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  Chapter Nine he theme of our dog show is Christmas!’ announced Hands Christmas Andersen, raising his hands to his head and spreading his long fingers. ‘Reindeer hands!’ He chuckled. That morning the library had been cleared of wing-back chairs by the hobby-horse grooms, closely supervised by Maltravers. Now, as everyone gathered in the grey afternoon light, Ada saw that a large wooden barrel filled with earth had been placed at the centre of the enormous Persian carpet. Planted in it was a small but beautifully proportioned fir tree from the grounds of Ghastly-Gorm Hall. ‘Baubles!’ cried Hands Christmas Andersen. ‘Where are my Christmas baubles?’ ‘They’re here, in your flying trunk,’ said Countess Pippi Shortstocking. She nodded with a

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  swish of pigtails to Arthur Halford and Kingsley the chimney caretaker, who each grabbed a handle of the large trunk and carried it over to the tree. ‘Why is it called a flying trunk?’ asked Ada, who was standing on the edge of the carpet with Emily and the Vicarage sisters. ‘Because it came all the way from Turkey in a hot-air balloon,’ explained Hands Christmas Andersen. ‘Fascinating story – I must tell it to you sometime. Now, let’s see what we have here . . .’ He opened the trunk and

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  were full of sparkling glass globes decorated with swirls, stars and snowflake designs. Skipping around the little fir tree he began to festoon it with baubles, his fingers a blur of movement. ‘In my country it is too cold to go outside to the tree!’ he declared. ‘So we bring the tree inside!’ Reaching back into the trunk, he pulled out coils of glittering ribbons and wound them around the tiny tree. Then he took armfuls of candles that he crammed on to the small branches, then

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  tiny parcels, little striped candy canes and small plump cherubs coated in gold leaf. ‘And we celebrate the festive spirit by decorating this, the symbol of the forest. One day everyone will have a beautiful little fir tree at Christmas, decorated just so!’* He stepped back and examined his handiwork. The little fir tree had completely disappeared beneath the jumble of glittery, sparkly, shimmering decorations. Reaching into the flying trunk one last time, Hands Christmas Andersen took out a small doll dressed in blue and white with an oversized head on a spring. He carefully placed the doll at the very top of the little fir tree and waited until its head had stopped wobbling. ‘Elsa the show queen!’ he said, stepping back. The literary-dog-show contestants, who should have been watching but had been distracted by the shelves of books, looked up from the leather-bound volumes they had selected and politely

  *Unlike the Christmas tree, some festive traditions, such as elk decorating and sugar-plum bobbing, have never caught on.

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  applauded. At their feet their dogs’ tails thumped on the Persian carpet as they wagged. Over by the door, holding Belle and Sebastian’s leash tightly, Maltravers eyed the decorations on the little fir tree with interest. ‘The Ghastly-Gorm literary dog show will take place here in the great library tomorrow night, on Christmas Eve,’ announced Lord Goth, who was standing by the mantelpiece watching proceedings. He looked rather serious and Ada thought he was avoiding catching her eye. ‘Countess Pippi Shortstocking and Hands Christmas Andersen will be the judges,’ Lord Goth told the contestants. ‘There will be three rounds,’ Countess Pippi said, stroking her Lapp Lapdog, Snork. ‘The first round will be fetching, the second will be musical walkies . . .’ ‘And the third round,’ said Hands Christmas Andersen with a flourish of fingers, ‘will be jumping!’ Elsa’s large head wobbled

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  on top of the little fir tree, and from Hands Christmas Andersen’s top pocket Yorick’s little doggy head appeared. The Vicarage sisters gave a shudder of excitement and gathered around him. Hands Christmas Andersen settled himself on his flying trunk and the sisters took turns petting Yorick the Small Dane.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard the tale,’ Hands Christmas Andersen said, spreading his fingers in an expansive gesture, ‘of a wild young man of the moors and his encounter with an intense young governess while out looking for a house to rent?’ The Vicarage sisters shook their heads. ‘Once upon a time . . .’ Hands Christmas Andersen began, and went on to tell a long, involving story that held the Vicarage sisters spellbound. Meanwhile Maltravers had been taking a closer look at the tree, and Ada was sure she spotted him slipping some baubles into his pocket. She was just about to go over and challenge him when she saw the door at the far end of the library open and one of the monkeys enter the room. Ada glanced over to see if her father had noticed, but he was deep in conversation with Countess Pippi Shortstocking, who was cradling Snork in her arms. Ada nudged Emily, and they both watched as the monkey, wearing the suit

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  Ada had knitted him, sidled over to one of the windows and vanished behind the curtains. A few moments later, the monkey emerged, eating a banana. It opened the door and slipped out. The next moment the door opened and William Cabbage stumbled in, helping a dishevelled Bramble Vicarage. ‘I shouldn’t have suggested playing corridor football,’ said Bramble as he was helped to sit down on a library ladder. ‘Flushman was a little

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  overenthusiastic and squashed the football, then pushed me downstairs.’ Beside him William looked around nervously. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll take supper in my room,’ Bramble mumbled. ‘I don’t feel quite myself.’ ‘You were meant to be keeping an eye on Flushman, William,’ said Emily crossly. William turned the colour of the leather-bound volumes behind him. ‘That’s easier said than done,’ he said. Just then Dean Torville limped into the library and waved a greeting to Lord Goth. ‘Thank you for my invitation to dinner, Lord Goth,’ he said:

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  ‘Whoaaa!’

  The dean came crashing to the floor as his foot slid on a discarded banana skin. Lord Goth, Ada, Kingsley and Arthur all rushed over to help him back to his feet. Lord Goth picked up the banana skin and looked at Ada. ‘I’m going to have to speak to the good doctor,’ he said ominously.

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  Chapter Ten y lord, ladies, novelists and poet,’ Maltravers announced in a dry, wheezing voice, ‘dinner is served.’ They were sitting around the enormous table in the steam-engine dining room of Ghastl
y-Gorm Hall. A model railway track led out of a Corinthian-columned serving hatch in the far wall and along a viaduct to the dining-room table. The track went around the table in a big loop, then back through the hatch and down to the kitchens. A small steam engine ran along the track, pulling carriages containing dishes from Mrs Beat’em’s kitchen. The diners could serve themselves as the steam engine chugged slowly past. Charles Cabbage, who was sitting at the far end of the table with William, Emily and Ada,