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a flowing writing robe of purple velvet. ‘Ada, my darling girl!’ he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing over to take the tray from her. ‘What a terrible parent you must think me, sending you away to school and then neglecting to appoint a lady’s maid on your return. And on top of it all, putting the kitchen maids to work picking roses and forcing you to carry my tea tray yourself.’ He swept the papers off his bureau and put the tea tray down in their place. ‘Can you forgive me?’ He smiled, his dark eyes
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eyes twinkling. He poured out two cups of China tea and passed one to Ada, together with a hot buttered trumpet – a teacake in the shape of a musical instrument, one of Ruby’s inventions. ‘Of course I forgive you,’ said Ada, pulling up a footstool and sitting down by the Ripplingdale writing bureau. She loved to see her father like this, happy and light-hearted and, by the look of it, making good progress on his latest epic poem.* ‘I know you love hosting events here at the hall, Father,’ Ada went on, ‘and it’s lovely to meet all the interesting people who visit, but couldn’t you let us know a little further in advance?’ ‘That’s just not in my nature, Ada,
*It hadn’t always been this way. Ada could remember when her father had been cold and distant, but that had gradually changed after the goings-on at the indoor hunt, the Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off and the Literary Dog Show. You can read all about these goings-on in three excellent volumes entitled Goth Girl and the Ghost of a Mouse, Goth Girl and the Fete Worse Than Death and Goth Girl and the Wuthering Fright. They look especially nice in a Ripplingdale bookcase.
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my darling,’ said Lord Goth, standing up and sweeping his writing robe around himself before striding to the tall study windows. There he turned his handsome profile to the light, chin up and brow furrowed. He was a bit of a show-off, Ada had to admit. ‘When my muse speaks to me, I must act or the moment is lost forever,’ Lord Goth explained, turning back to Ada with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Which is
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why, when the idea for Gothstock came to me, I had to act!’ He swept over to the bureau, opened a drawer and took out a piece of paper. ‘See here?’ He handed the paper to Ada. ‘The finest composers in Europe have all agreed to attend. Now all we need is an orchestra, and I’ve given Maltravers instructions to hire the best in the land . . .’ Ada looked at the list of names written in Lord Goth’s elegant handwriting. It was very impressive. ‘But a music festival and an exhibition at the same time,’ said Ada, sipping her tea thoughtfully, ‘isn’t that too much?’ Lord Goth smiled. ‘Not at all! Maltravers is organizing everything.’ Just then there was a soft knock on the door, which slowly opened, and Maltravers the indoor gamekeeper sidled into the room. He was holding a silver tray piled high with letters.
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‘I have the last of the replies to the invitations we sent out,’ he said in his soft, wheezing voice, and smiled thinly, showing his yellow tomb-stone teeth. ‘Any-body who is anybody in Ghastly-shire is coming, my
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lord. The campsite will be full.’ ‘Excellent, Maltravers,’ said Lord Goth, sitting back down at the bureau, ‘but I’m afraid my daughter feels we’re taking on too much.’ Maltravers narrowed his eyes at Ada and she glared back at him defiantly. ‘Rest assured, it’s all taken care of. Nothing for his lordship to worry about,’ he wheezed. ‘The first two bands have already arrived and the orchestra and composers are on their way.’ Ada didn’t trust Maltravers and was more convinced than ever that she should keep an eye on him, but Shaun the Faun had seemed innocent enough so she didn’t say anything. ‘Oh, and this letter arrived for your lordship,’ said Maltravers, plucking an envelope from the inside pocket of his faded frock-coat. ‘I thought you should see it straight away.’ Lord Goth glanced at the coat of arms on
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the envelope. He frowned. ‘Mother,’ he muttered, as he opened it and began reading the letter inside. ‘What is it?’ asked Ada, ignoring Maltravers’s dusty smirk as he retreated from the study. Knowing Maltravers, he would be listening on the other side of the door. ‘Your grandmother is coming to stay, and she’s bringing a small party with her,’ said Lord Goth with a sigh, ‘and you know what that means.’
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‘Fashionable ladies,’ said Ada, ‘wanting to marry you?’ Lord Goth nodded broodingly and gazed at the papers on the floor.
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‘I’d better hurry up and finish my poem before they all arrive.’ He straightened his gothkerchief with, Ada couldn’t help noticing, just a hint of a smile.
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Chapter Four da woke to the sound of her wardrobe door creaking open. Shaun the Faun was trotting towards the bedroom door, clutching the umbrella she had given him. She glanced over at the great-uncle clock on her mantelpiece. ‘It’s midnight!’ she exclaimed, and then stifled a yawn. ‘I know,’ said Shaun, smiling timidly. ‘I’m surprised to find you still in bed.’ ‘Where else would I be?’ said Ada sleepily. ‘After all, it’s the middle of the night!’ Shaun chuckled. ‘I keep forgetting how odd you humans are! The afternoon is the time for sleeping, not a beautiful midsummer night like this.’*
*Fauns spend their afternoons, as everybody knows, dozing while listening to lovely, dreamlike music. It is very soothing and keeps them out of trouble. Wardrobes are comfortable places to take a nap in, particularly if they’re full of winter coats.
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‘Is it a beautiful night?’ asked Ada, sitting up in bed. ‘See for yourself,’ said Shaun, pointing to the window with his umbrella. Ada could see a large silvery full moon shining down through the open curtains. ‘It is rather beautiful,’ she admitted, climbing out of bed and putting on her tightrope-walking slippers. ‘I knew you would appreciate it, Miss Ada,’ said Shaun the Faun. ‘Now, would you like to come and meet the band?’ ‘The band?’ said Ada, intrigued. ‘Yes, they’re waiting outside in the garden.’ Shaun the Faun clip-clopped over to the bedroom door and opened it. Ada had to walk fast to keep up as she followed him out of the house and into the grounds. The full moon bathed everything in a beautiful silvery glow and the night air was warm and full of the scent of flowers and freshly scythed hay. At the
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far side of the lake, sitting in the midst of the wild flower meadow, was a group of figures. As Ada and Shaun the Faun approached, they got gracefully to their feet and waved to them.
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‘This is the young lady I was telling you about,’ said Shaun, ‘the one with the wonderful wardrobe.’ A tall woman with wild-looking green hair nodded. She was holding a beautifully woven garland of cornflowers in one hand, which she placed on Ada’s head. ‘A free spirit if ever I saw one,’ she said in a musical voice. ‘I’m Cordelia Coppice, dryad and stylist to shepherdesses and country maidens.’ She
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turned to the others. ‘And these are my colleagues, Clara Clip-Cop, Heggarty Hedgerow and Mariah Weep.’ Clara Clip-Clop, who was half-woman, half-horse, gave a little giggle that turned into a snort.
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Heggarty Hedgerow, who looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, gave an awkward curtsy. As for Mariah Weep, Ada couldn’t be sure, because she was covered, head to ankle,
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in a curtain of weeping willow, but she did click the heels of her sandals together. ‘And I am Björk Björks-dottir, the Icelandic shep-herd-ess and goat-charmer,’ said a small pixie-faced girl reaching out and tickling Shaun the Faun behind his ears. Shaun blushed bright red. ‘We’re the Ladies of G.A.G.G.A.,’ Cordelia Coppice continued, ‘the General Association of Garden Garland Assemblers. We’ve formed a choir and it’s so kind of Lord Goth to allow us to perform at his music festival. It’s just a shame the B.A.D. Boys were invited too.’ ‘The B.A.D. Boys?’ asked Ada.
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‘The Bards and Druids. They’re a band of garden hermits,’ Clara Clip-Clop explained, stamping her hoof. Just then, from across the waters of the lake, came loud shouts and raucous laughter.
Looking round, Ada saw that the lights were on in the Sensible Folly, a particularly well-maintained copy of a Greek temple that overlooked the lake of extremely coy carp. As Ada and the Ladies of G.A.G.G.A.
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watched, the door of the folly burst open and a group of strange-looking figures tumbled out. Laughing and shouting at the tops of their voices, they rolled down the small hill from the folly and crashed into the lake with an enormous splash. Moments later, five heads appeared and the figures started splashing water at each other. ‘Those,’ said Cordelia Coppice sniffily, ‘are the garden hermits. All the rage in fashionable gardens, I believe, but we can’t see the attraction, can we, girls?’ ‘So wild and uncouth,’ whinnied Clara Clip-Clop. ‘Completely out of control,’ complained Heggarty Hedgerow. ‘And very unmusical,’ observed Björk Björksdottir contemptuously. ‘They only formed a band to copy us.’ Mariah Weep gave a little sob from somewhere behind the curtain of willow branches.
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‘There’s McOssian the Tartan Bard, Kenneth Mintcake the Cumbrian Druid, Herman Hermit the Bavarian Bard and, worst of all, Young Thomas Chatterbox and his ventriloquist dummy,
Rowley the Monk,’ said Cordelia, counting the hermits off on her fingers. ‘I see,’ said Ada.
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The B.A.D. Boys had clambered out of the lake and were now chasing each other back up the hill to the Sensible Folly, flicking one another with the wet hems of their robes and laughing their heads off. In fact the youngest one, who was wearing a false beard, had to stop and put the head back on his dummy, which made the others laugh even more loudly. They disappeared into the Sensible Folly and slammed the door behind them. ‘I suppose it’s because when they’re at work they spend all their time on their own in ruins and grottos, being silent and mysterious,’ said
Cordelia Coppice, ‘so when they all get together they are extra wild. Still, it’s no excuse for such behaviour.’ She readjusted the cornflower garland on Ada’s head. ‘I just hope that they behave themselves at this music festival of your father’s,’ she said, shaking her head.
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Chapter Five he sun streaming through her open bedroom curtains woke Ada. Yawning, she climbed out of her eight-poster bed and got dressed as quickly as she could. Outside, it looked like a beautiful summer’s morning and Ada wanted to make the most of it. She slipped into the first thing that came to hand (an inside-out dress by Lady Vivienne Dashwood, the radical philosopher of fashion), then rushed out of her enormous bedroom to the great hall. When Ada arrived at the short gallery, breakfast was waiting for her on a row of silver trays. Mrs Beat’em seemed still to be missing her kitchen maids because the choice was a little disappointing. There were only scrambled eggs, devilled eggs, mollycoddled eggs, juggled eggs, tickled eggs and eggs mashed three ways. Ada
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settled for hot buttered toast and gothberry jam from the Back of Beyond Garden (unfinished).* She was just sitting down to eat breakfast when William Cabbage suddenly appeared in front of the oak-panelled wall. ‘Good morning, Ada!’ he said cheerfully. He turned the colour of the high-backed chair as he sat down on it. ‘I’m going to help Kingsley and Arthur with the village stocks. What are you going to do today?’ ‘Do put your shirt on, William!’ said Emily Cabbage, who had just walked into the short gallery. ‘What a lovely garland!’ she exclaimed as she noticed Ada. ‘Are they cornflowers?’
*The Back of Beyond Garden (unfinished) is rather wild and overgrown but it does have big clumps of gothberry briars laden with delicious gothberries which are like blackberries only blacker.
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Ada glanced over at the Arnolfini mirror that hung on the far wall of the short gallery and saw that she was still wearing the garland that Cordelia Coppice had given her. It was a little squashed. She reached up and straightened it. ‘It was given to me by one of the bands who are here for Gothstock,’ Ada said, taking a bite of
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toast and gothberry jam. ‘They call themselves the Ladies of G.A.G.G.A. and they have a faun called Shaun who plays the pan pipes.’ She chewed thoughtfully. ‘They seemed very nice, but there was another band who seemed a little bit wild . . .’ ‘I see,’ said Emily. ‘In that case I think a meeting of the Attic Club is a very good idea . . . William!’ She turned to her brother. ‘Don’t play with your food!’ William put down the juggled eggs, which were hardboiled eggs with cracked shells where they’d been dropped on the floor. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot,’ said Ada, trying to stifle a yawn. She was still rather sleepy after her late night. ‘My grandmother is coming to visit.’ Emily dropped the little knitted egg jacket she was holding and clapped her hands together. ‘How exciting!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet Sparkling Lady Carole! She looks so interesting in her portrait.’
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After breakfast, Ada and Emily went upstairs to the extra-long gallery, a high-ceilinged room that ran the length of the central part of Ghastly-Gorm Hall. On one side of the gallery, light came streaming in through the large windows, and on the other side was a stack of paintings in gold frames waiting to be hung on the wall above. A man in shirtsleeves and a tall top hat with pencils hanging from its brim was attempting to climb an extremely wobbly stepladder. ‘You must be Sir Sydney Harbour-Bridge,’ said Emily excitedly.
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‘Hello? Who’s there?’ said Sir Sydney, staring down at Emily through very thick spectacles. ‘I’m Emily Cabbage,’ said Emily, a little taken aback, ‘and this is Ada, Lord Goth’s daughter.’ ‘Do forgive me, ladies,’ said Sir Sydney, the pencils hanging from his top hat jiggling about as he tried to keep his balance on the stepladder. ‘My eyesight isn’t what it used to be and it’s rather dark in here. Now, I don’t suppose you’ve seen my dog, Alsatian?’ He seemed to be talking to the suit of armour next to Ada. ‘He’s just a puppy and he keeps running off the moment my back is turned. Most disappointing.’ ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Emily, taking Sir Sydney’s outstretched hand as he wobbled precariously. ‘May we help, Sir Sydney?’ said Ada politely. ‘If you hold the stepladder steady, Emily can pass me the pictures. I’ve got very good balance.’ ‘Her mother was a tightrope walker.’ Emily
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nodded. ‘And Ada’s inherited her head for heights.’ ‘That is very kind of you,’ said Sir Sydney, climbing down from the ladder gratefully. ‘These are studies of the remarkable creatures I observed on the scientific voyage of the Sausage Dog, the longest, thinnest ship in the Royal Navy, to the recently discovered land of Australia.’ He pointed to the stack of paintings leaning against the wall. ‘Would you care to view them?’
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watercolourist myself.’ ‘Emily is very talented!’ Ada shouted down from the top of the stepladder where she was balancing on one leg. Sir Sydney Harbour-Bridge showed them his watercolours and described the extraordinary Australian creatures he had encountered. ‘The Waltzing Matilda has a very woolly coat and makes an extraordinary sound just like a sheep,’ he said, taking off his extremely thick glasses and polishing them with his gothkerchief. ‘And on several occasions I almost sat on a snapping log lizard, which has sharp
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teeth just like a crocodile’s.’ ‘I think they’re wonderful!’ said Emily. Ada climbed down from the ladder and stood back to admire the paintings. ‘If I ever have my portrait painted,’ she said, ‘I’d like you to paint it, Sir Sydney.’ ‘Hello again!’ said a familiar-sounding voice from the far end of the gallery. Ada turned to see Shaun the Faun trotting towards them, a tiny lion cub gambolling at his heels. ‘I’ve made a new friend.’ He scooped up the lion cub and tickled it behind the ears. It gave a happy little roar. ‘Alsatian!’ exclaimed Sir Sydney Harbour-Bridge. ‘I’d know that bark anywhere!’ He stepped forward and attached a dog leash to the lion cub’s collar. ‘Thank you, young man,’ he said to Shaun. ‘Alsatian really is the most disobedient dog I’ve ever known. Come along, boy, time for some proper walkies.’
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Sir Sydney took
the lion cub from Shaun and put him down on the floor. ‘Good day to you,’ he said, tipping his top hat as he strode off down the extra-long gallery, dragging the reluctant lion cub after him. ‘Do you think he knows his dog is really a lion cub?’ asked Shaun the Faun. ‘He is rather short-sighted,’ agreed Emily, ‘but I think that’s what makes his paintings so interesting.’ She held out a hand to the faun, who shook it. ‘I’m Emily,’ she said.’ You must be the faun Ada
Goth Girl and the Sinister Symphony Page 2
