Goth Girl and the Sinister Symphony

by Chris Riddell

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  mentioned. I’d love to draw you, if you wouldn’t mind.’ ‘Certainly, but it’ll have to be another time,’ said Shaun, trotting away. ‘I’m afraid I’m rather late for rehearsal!’ Just then, there was the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside, followed by a voice that echoed up the grand staircase from the hall below. ‘Where’s that darling little granddaughter of mine?’

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  Chapter Six mily and Ada ran down the hall. There, standing halfway up the grand staircase and gazing up at her own portrait, was Ada’s grandmother. Sparkling Lady Carole looked rather misty-eyed as she turned to the three fashionable young ladies standing beside her. ‘I remember the rose garden so well,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘When Thomas Gainsblossom painted me, he said I was fairer than the fairest rose, but I’m sure he said that to all the young ladies . . . Oh, Ada, there you are!’ Sparkling Lady Carole swept up the staircase to greet her granddaughter. ‘Grandmother!’ said Ada, rushing into Lady Carole’s outstretched arms. Her grandmother’s extremely tall wig wobbled and the little tin cup hanging from the water barrel at her side danced

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  on the end of its gold chain as they hugged. ‘A lovely greeting.’ Lady Carole smiled, stepping back. ‘So natural and enthusiastic. That school seems to be doing you the power of good. Let me look at you . . . My, how you’ve grown! Quite the young lady!’ Ada noticed the three fashionable young ladies looking up at her curiously from the hallway below. Lady Carole beckoned to them and they came up the stairs to greet Ada.

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  The first lady was rather short and wore a sparkly fish-scale jacket with swishy sleeves, and gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘I’m Mademoiselle Badoit,’ she said, and giggled. ‘And where might your papa be?’ The second young lady was rather tall and was wearing a tartan dress with a brocade trim, and had a peacock feather in her fiery red hair. ‘I’m Miss Highland Spring,’ she said in a soft, lilting voice. ‘My, what a bonnie lassie you are. I’m dying to meet your father.’

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  ‘Wasn’t expecting a daughter,’ said the third young lady, who was wearing a red velvet jacket and clutching a riding crop. She had a rather deep voice. ‘Miss Malvern. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Now where’s our quarry?’ ‘Patience, ladies,’ said Lady Carole. ‘There will be plenty of time for auditions . . . I mean, introductions after tonight’s dinner. Maltravers will show you to your rooms, won’t you, Maltravers?’ The indoor gamekeeper was standing at the foot of the staircase looking even more shifty than usual. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he growled. Ada could have sworn that Maltravers was blushing as he

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  climbed the stairs past her and Emily. He led the three young ladies off down the corridor to their rooms. ‘And who might you be, my dear?’ asked Lady Carole, looking at Emily. ‘I’m Emily Cabbage,’ said Emily. ‘Ada and I go to school together. I do like your portrait,’ she added. ‘I think Thomas Gainsblossom was right.’ ‘Oh, you dear, dear child,’ said Lady Carole, smiling delightedly. She turned to a willowy, elegant woman who was standing at the foot of the stairs. ‘Come up and meet my granddaughter and her charming friend,’ she said. The young woman (who was, Ada noticed, extremely pretty) climbed the stairs and joined the three of them beneath the portrait of Sparkling Lady Carole. ‘I suppose you’re looking forward to meeting my father too,’ said Ada. ‘Oh no, that would never do!’ laughed Lady

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  Carole. ‘This is my stylist, a talented young dressmaker I met while taking the waters at Llandudno Spa – a little salty but full of invigorating bubbles. Oh, not you, my dear,’ she said to the young woman, ‘but the water! Though come to think of it, you are bubbly and invigorating and the fastest dressmaker I’ve ever encountered.’ ‘Tailor Extremely-Swift,’* said the young woman, shaking Ada’s hand and then Emily’s. ‘Delighted to meet you both!’ Tailor Extremely-Swift had two pairs of silver scissors in a holster around her waist, and was carrying a pair

  *Tailor’s great-great-grandfather was called Jonathan. He ran a gentlemen’s outfitters in Dublin and wrote a famous travel book called Gulliver’s Trousers.

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  of small trunks, one in each hand. ‘I’m staying in my favourite room,’ Lady Carole told Tailor Extremely-Swift, ‘overlooking what used to be the rose garden but is now that new fangled racecourse. Still, you can’t get in the way of progress, I suppose. You can have the room next door; it’s got some curtains I think you’ll like.’ ‘I’ll be along in a minute’ said Tailor Extremely-Swift, and then gave

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  Ada a dazzling smile. ‘But first I’d love to see your wardrobe, Miss Goth. Your grandmother tells me you’ve got a beautiful collection of clothes.’ ‘I’m afraid my bedroom is a little untidy at the moment,’ Ada had to admit, and blushed with embarrassment. ‘It’s my fault,’ said Emily gallantly. ‘I’ve been keeping Ada very busy enjoying our summer holiday from school.’ ‘Oh dear,’ said Tailor Extremely-Swift when Ada opened the door of her enormous bedroom and showed her inside. ‘I can see what you mean.’ They crossed the bedroom and stepped into the dressing room. ‘What’s that?’ said Tailor Extremely-Swift. ‘It sounds like snoring.’

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  Chapter Seven nside the wardrobe they found Shaun the Faun fast asleep. He woke up with a start when Ada tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I should be at rehearsal, but I couldn’t resist a nap,’ he said sleepily. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to wardrobes. My earliest memory as a kid was skipping through a beautiful sunlit forest and then falling out of a wardrobe into an old attic. I suppose I’ve been trying to get back to that forest ever since . . .’ ‘How fascinating,’ said Emily Cabbage, taking her notebook out of her dress pocket. ‘Do you mind if I draw you now?’ ‘Not at all,’ said Shaun the Faun. ‘They’ve probably started rehearsal without me anyway.’ He got to his feet and straightened his jacket

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  before leaning on his umbrella, raising his chin and turning his profile to Emily. ‘We’ll leave them to it,’ said Tailor Extremely-Swift briskly. ‘Now let’s see how much tidying we can get done before dinner.’ She marched back into the bedroom and returned with a great big pile of dresses, skirts, smocks and jackets. As Ada watched, Tailor folded the skirts and with impressive speed stacked them on the shelves of the walk-in wardrobe. She then hung up the dresses and jackets in double-quick time and turned back to Ada, who was only just beginning to sort her shoe pile into pairs. ‘That’s the spirit!’ Tailor said approvingly, before cartwheeling over to the corner of the bedroom and sorting the hat boxes out into a tower from the biggest to the smallest.

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  ‘Throw me the hats, Miss Goth,’ she called, ‘and I’ll box them up!’ Ada put down the pair of clumpy boots she hadn’t worn for quite some time* and crossed the bedroom to the pile of hats and bonnets. Picking up a broad-brimmed cavalier hat, Ada skimmed it across the room. Quick as a flash, Tailor

  *Lord Goth used to believe that children should be heard and not seen, and had insisted that Ada wear big, clumpy boots so that he could hear her approaching and avoid seeing her. Since their relationship improved, Ada hasn’t needed to wear her many pairs of clumpy boots.

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  Extremely-Swift caught the hat in an open hat box and closed the lid. ‘Next!’ she called, with a dazzling smile. Ada threw a sonnet-bonnet, a highland tam-o’-shanter and a Wessex boater, one after the other. With the grace of a ballet dancer, Tailor caught each one in a hat box of exactly the right size. ‘I had no idea tidying my bedroom could be this much fun!’ laughed Ada. ‘Just wait for the shoe juggling!’ replied Tailor Extremely-Swift, catching a bobble-bonnet and stacking the hat boxes neatly in one graceful movement. *

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  It wasn’t long before Ada’s bedroom and dressing room were looking quite tidy, and her walk-in wardrobe hadn’t looked so neat since Marylebone the spectacled bear had been Ada’s maid. Marylebone had bee
n so shy that she had lived in the wardrobe and had hardly ever come out.

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  Ada told Tailor Extremely-Swift all about her while Tailor juggled shoes in the air and sorted them into pairs. ‘That’s amazing,’ said Ada as Tailor caught the last pair: black dancing slippers with silver buckles and clickety-clackety heels. ‘Oh, this is nothing,’ said Tailor modestly. ‘Now, dressmaking – that’s my real passion!’ Ada helped Tailor stack the shoes neatly in the racks in the wardrobe. Emily had just finished drawing Shaun the Faun and showed them her notebook. ‘I think you’ve captured Shaun perfectly,’ said Ada, ‘but who’s that next to him?’

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  ‘That’s Mrs Do-As-I-Say-Not-As-I-Do, a mermaid who ran the orphanage for water babies and woodland waifs where I grew up,’ said Shaun the Faun. ‘I was telling Emily all about her. She was very strict and smelled of pondweed . . .’ ‘Shaun ran away and now works for Cordelia Coppice, who is much nicer,’ said Emily. ‘She smells of summer meadows,’ said Shaun, nodding in agreement. ‘Speaking of which, I’d better get back to the lake and help with lunch. We’re having thistles and nettles.’ ‘Sounds delicious,’ said Ada uncertainly as

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  Shaun trotted out of the bedroom. ‘And I must unpack and help your grandmother’s fashionable young ladies get ready for dinner tonight,’ said Tailor Extremely-Swift. ‘They insist on wearing the very latest trends, no matter how flamboyant.’ Ada walked Tailor to the door. ‘My father’s had a new steam engine made for the dining room from the Glasgow locomotive works. You’ll hear its whistle when it’s time for dinner!’ ‘Oh, I won’t be joining you for dinner, Miss Goth,’ Tailor replied. ‘I’m just a dressmaker!’ *

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  Closing the door behind Tailor, Ada turned to Emily, who was sitting at the dressing table looking at the bottles and jars crowding its surface. ‘There are so many of them,’ said Emily. ‘I hadn’t really noticed before, but now your bedroom is so tidy . . .’ ‘I know,’ said Ada. ‘Becky Blunt sends them. She likes me to give them to my father’s guests as free samples, but since we’ve been away at school, they’ve rather built up.’

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  Emily picked up a tin of eyelash polish and examined it. ‘What did you think of Mademoiselle Badoit, Miss Highland Spring and Miss Malvern?’ Ada asked Emily. ‘Well, they certainly looked fashionable,’ said Emily, ‘probably because Tailor Extremely-Swift made their clothes . . .’ ‘I like Tailor – she’s very talented,’ said Ada. ‘And they were all very keen to meet your father,’ Emily continued, picking up a pot of eyebrow paint and turning it over in her hand. ‘I think that’s because Grandmother wants my father to marry again,’ said Ada, ‘but I’m not sure I’d want any of them to be my stepmother.’ ‘No, me neither,’ said Emily, whose own mother was round and cuddly and believed there was more to life than being fashionable. ‘The thing is, I think my father secretly likes all the attention,’ said Ada, frowning, ‘and Grandmother can be very persuasive . . .’

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  Emily took the top off a tub of chin concealer and peered inside. She smiled. ‘Then we’ll just have to do something about it,’ she said.

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  Chapter Eight he long mournful whistle of a steam engine echoed through the passageways and rooms of Ghastly-Gorm Hall. Ada, Emily and William hurried towards the source of the sound. It was coming from the steam-engine dining room and signalled that dinner was about to be served. They arrived in time to take their seats at the magnificent dining-room table with the railway track running round its edges. Lord Goth, who was sitting beside his mother, Sparkling Lady Carole, rose to his feet and bowed to Ada and the Cabbage children. ‘Punctual as always,’ he said approvingly, ‘which is more than I can say for your guests, Mother.’ ‘Miss Tailor Extremely-Swift has volunteered to help Mrs Beat’em in the kitchen, Goth. Apparently all the kitchen maids were busy

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  picking rose petals for this festival of yours. As for my guests, they are fashionably late.’ Just then, the door to the dining room opened and Maltravers the indoor gamekeeper and outdoor butler sidled in.

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  ‘Begging your pardon, my lord,’ wheezed Maltravers, his keys rattling as he bent close to Lord Goth’s ear, ‘Mrs Beat’em has asked me to convey her apologies, but due to circumstances beyond her control, the menu for tonight’s dinner will be extremely limited.’ He started backing towards the door. ‘If his lordship will excuse me, I have festival duties to attend to.’ ‘Is there any sign of the orchestra yet?’ asked Lord Goth. ‘Considering how expensive they were, I would have thought they’d be here in plenty of time.’ ‘My very good friend Simon Scowl has it all taken care of,’ said Maltravers, bowing low. ‘Your lordship mustn’t worry. He’s a magician when it comes to unearthing musical talent.’ As Maltravers swept out of the dining room, the whistle sounded again and the sound of chugging echoed up from the kitchens below. Ada leaned over to William Cabbage and

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  whispered in his ear. William nodded, slipping out of his jacket and shirt. Blending in with the wood-panelled walls behind him, he tiptoed out. Just then, from the Corinthian serving hatch by the door, a steam engine appeared and raced down the indoor viaduct and on to the track around the table. It had a tall funnel, pumping pistons and a gold plaque on the front which read The Frying

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  Scotsman. Behind the steam engine were two soup tureens on wheels. Slates were attached to their sides, with Mrs Beat’em’s writing on them in chalk. As the first tureen passed them, Lord Goth seized the soup ladle and served Lady Carole and then himself. The Frying Scotsman rattled past three empty chairs and on towards Ada and Emily and Ada, who hurriedly read the writing on the slates: Cabbage soup, without the cabbages – said the first one. Tomato soup, without the tomatoes – said the second one. Ada quickly ladled soup into the soup bowl in front of her and Emily did the same. ‘It’s just slightly salty hot water,’ whispered Emily. The Frying Scotsman disappeared back through the Corinthian serving hatch pulling the soup tureens after it. The dining-room door opened and the three fashionable ladies entered. Just behind them

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  was Sir Sydney Harbour-Bridge. ‘Do forgive our lateness, Lord Goth,’ he exclaimed. ‘I was sketching what appeared to be a group of giant otters down by the lake.’ He pulled back chairs for the ladies to sit. ‘They seemed to have been trained to sing songs at the top of their voices – quite remarkable! And then, as I hurried here, I came across these heavenly beings!’ Sir Sydney sat down with a flourish and took off his spectacles, giving them a good polish with the ends of his gothkerchief. The three fashionable ladies smiled at Lord Goth and fluttered their eyelashes. In Mademoiselle Badoit’s case, the effect of this was offset by her bright red cheeks and thickly painted arched eyebrows. Miss Malvern, on the other hand, had heavily polished eyelashes and a mask of eyeshadow that made her look like a winking badger. Next to them both, Miss Highland Spring might have been fluttering her eyelashes but it was impossible to say because

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  of the layers of face powder she was wearing. Lord Goth seemed at a loss for words, as did his mother, Lady Carole, at least for a moment. ‘My dear young ladies,’ she said at last, ‘where ever did you get that make-up?’ ‘Vanity Fair,’ said Mademoiselle Badoit. ‘By Becky Blunt,’ said Miss Highland Spring. ‘Because we’re worth it,’ said Miss Malvern, and winked at Ada and Emily. ‘Do you think we went a little too far with the make-up advice?’ whispered Ada. ‘Not if you don’t want a new stepmother,’ giggled Emily. ‘Quite extraordinary,’ Lord Goth was remarking. ‘Don’t you think so, Mother?’

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  But Lady Carole wasn’t listening. Instead she was gazing through the tall elegant windows of the dining room, at the rolling parkland and the beautiful golden summer’s evening that was unfolding outside.

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  ‘I was just remembering evenings like this when the two of us would walk in the rose garden and talk for hours about our hopes an
d dreams.’ She placed a hand on her son’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You would have been no older than Ada is now. How we used to love our talks. It’s so important, isn’t it, Goth, my dear, for a child to have a mother’s guiding influence?’ Just then there was a loud whistle and The Frying Scotsman appeared through the serving hatch and approached the table pulling carriages with bowls piled