Goth Girl and the Fete Worse Than Death

by Chris Riddell

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  ‘But,’ said Ada, turning to Marylebone and looking straight into her rather startled eyes, ‘now that my father and I are so much closer and I have my friends in the Attic Club, you could leave, Marylebone, and find happiness in Bolivia.’ Marylebone reached forward and put the red cape around Ada’s shoulders. Then she got up and padded over to the wardrobe and slipped inside.

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  Chapter Ten da hurried up the stairs, to the very top of the grand staircase and then along the attic corridor that ran the length of the east wing. From behind the row of closed doors she heard the low, rumbling snores of the kitchen maids. What with having supper, talking to her lady’s maid and trying on her mother’s cape and admiring it in the looking glass, Ada had quite lost track of the time. The red cape reached almost to the floor, swishing around Ada’s ankles. Its lined hood felt deliciously soft and warm, and when Ada pulled it up over her head and stared at her reflection, she felt wonderfully mysterious. But the best part of the cape was the carefully stitched label:

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  Ada reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner into a dark passageway. She stopped at the iron ladder fixed to the far wall and, swishing back her red cape, she climbed to the top and pushed open the trapdoor in the plaster ceiling. She climbed through the opening into the huge attic beyond. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she called. ‘Have I missed anything?’ Ada stopped on the dusty floorboards and stared. The attic was empty. At its centre was a table made of fruit crates with six old coal sacks stuffed with dried haricot beans around it to sit on. Ada walked over to the table. There was a copy of The Chimney Pot – Journal of the Attic Club on it, next to a wooden spoon, and on each of the bean sacks a handwritten note . . .

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  Wearing her mother’s cape had made Ada feel wonderful, but now she was feeling sad and lonely once again. She’d wanted to tell the Attic Club about the strange visitors that Maltravers had invited to Ghastly-Gorm Hall and ask their advice about how she could help Marylebone. But they were just as distracted by the Full-Moon Fete as everybody else. Well, at least with the Full-Moon Fete tomorrow night, she could talk to her father. Lord Goth would be back from his book tour. Although he always looked rather bored, particularly during the pillow dancing, Lord Goth knew the villagers of Gormless expected him to be at the fete, and Ada knew he didn’t like to disappoint them. She sat down on a bean sack and picked up the copy of The Chimney Pot . . . Ada was the editor of the journal. She collected the accounts of interesting things each member had seen or found, and Emily did the drawings. Then Ada sent them on the Gormless mail coach* to be printed in London. When they came back,

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  a copy was slid under every servant’s door, and others were tied in a bundle and left on the bandstand for the villagers of Gormless to collect. Ada and the other members of the Attic Club often overheard the mysterious journal being discussed but they never said anything because, as Emily Cabbage said firmly, ‘What happens in the Attic Club stays in the Attic Club.’ Ada put down the journal and was just about to leave the attic when a dove flew through one of the small round windows that led out on to the rooftops. It fluttered around the rafters before landing on the fruitcake table. Ada took the note from its leg.

  *The Gormless mail coach is crowded, uncomfortable and unreliable. It stops at every coaching inn and public house on the way from Ghastlyshire to London, which means the journey can take a very long time.

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  So she hadn’t been completely forgotten after all! Ada ran back down the attic corridor and jumped on to the banisters and slid down from the attic, past the murals of goddesses chasing peeping huntsmen and youths staring at their reflections in pools. She whooshed round the bend and slid along

  the third floor, the paintings of the passing by in a blur. Down from the third to the second floor Ada whizzed, past the Dutch paintings of kitchen tables crowded with groceries and washing-up. Round the corner and down to the first floor, then a last whooshing turn and the descent to the entrance hall, watched by the portraits of the previous Lords Goth, all five of them. Ada jumped to the marble floor and ran past the statues and out of the front door. When she reached the Spiegel tent she was quite out of breath. Ada pushed open the double doors and looked inside. There was no sign of Lord Sydney. ‘Roll up, roll up,’ said a gloomy voice, and turning round Ada saw Vlad and the Glum-Stokers standing

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  behind her. Vlad waved an expressive hand at the carriages lined up beside the tent. Their sides were open, and their interiors lit by candles. ‘We’re ready for you,’ said Glad with a sad smile.

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  ‘Ready for me?’ said Ada. ‘Step this way,’ said Mlad and Blad glumly, taking her by the arm and guiding her over to the first carriage. Three short-eared bats and a flying fox were hanging upside down above a small stage. As Ada watched, they flapped up into the air and began to fly in formation over her head. Then they swooped down to the stage, picked up hoops in their claws and flew back up into the night sky. The flying fox flew through each hoop in turn before performing a somersault. The bats returned to their perches. ‘Well done, Basil. Good job, girls,’ said Vlad unenthusiastically. Mlad and Blad guided Ada to the second carriage, where a row of mahogany cups stood in a row, each with a name carved into it. ‘Nick, Nac, Sarawak, Giverdogger, Bone,’ Ada read. Mlad handed her a toasting fork

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  with a marshmallow on the end. ‘Toast it on a candle,’ said Blad gloomily. Ada did as he suggested, holding the marshmallow over one of the candles that lit the stage.

  A sweet smell rose into the air and, one after the other, a tiny shrunken head peered up over the lip of each mahogany cup. ‘Now throw it,’ said Mlad. Ada tossed the marshmallow towards the cups and Giverdogger opened its mouth extra wide and caught the marshmallow in its teeth. ‘More!’ said Sarawak. ‘More! More! More!’ said Nick, Nac and Bone. ‘Settle down, boys,’ said Glad, mournfully but firmly. She took Ada by the arm. ‘Come and meet Darren.’ A goat was standing on the stage of the third carriage chewing the corner of a copy of the Observer of London. ‘Open this anywhere and ask Darren anything,’ said Vlad, handing Ada the newspaper.

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  Ada opened the paper. ‘What is the circumference of the Prince Regent’s trousers?’ she asked. ‘Baaa . . . sixty-four inches . . . Baaa!’ replied Darren. Ada was impressed. ‘Step this way,’ said Vlad, taking Ada to the fourth carriage, the one marked ‘Private – Keep Out’. The door opened, and Lord Sydney Whimsy stepped out, followed by Maxim de Trumpet-Oil the painter and Heston Harboil the cook. ‘Very punctual, Miss Goth,’ said Lord Sydney. ‘In our line of work, timing is everything.’ ‘Your line of work,’

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  repeated Ada. ‘You mean organizing fetes . . .’ ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Lord Sydney smiled. ‘We are secret agents, Miss Goth,’ he told her, ‘on His Regent’s Secret Service. These are agents 001 to 004 –’ he nodded to the Glum-Stokers – ‘and Heston and Maxim are 005 and 006. I, myself, am . . .’ ‘Baaa . . . 007 . . . Baaa!’ said Darren the memory goat. ‘Indeed,’ said Lord Sydney. Ada swallowed. ‘And you need my help?’ she said.

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  Chapter Eleven arylebone took off her spectacles and polished them agitatedly on her apron. She put them back on her nose, then grasped Ada’s hand in both paws. ‘Lord Sydney is depending on me,’ said Ada. ‘I can’t let him down!’ It was the day of the Full-Moon Fete, or, to be exact, the night. The moon had risen, bright and round, and was casting its silvery light over the house and grounds of Ghastly-Gorm Hall, but there was still no sign of Lord Goth. In a few hours it would be Ada’s birthday, and as none of the Attic Club had mentioned it when she’d let them in on Lord Sydney’s plan earlier in the day, she assumed they’d forgotten. But now she had something far more important to think about.

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  Ada straightened her red cape and picked up her fencing umbrella. ‘How do I look?’ she asked. But Marylebone
had already retreated into the depths of the wardrobe. Glancing over at her eight-poster bed, Ada saw a neat little parcel wrapped in striped paper and tied with a ribbon sitting on her bedspread. ‘You remembered!’ she said. A low growl came from the wardrobe. When Ada got outside she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel and looking down the drive she saw her father coming towards her! He was riding his hobby horse, Pegasus. There was a lady sitting behind him in the saddle, clutching him tightly by the waist. They were followed up the drive by Lord Goth’s elegant touring carriage pulled by two chestnut horses. Lord Goth drew up at the bottom of the steps

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  and climbed off Pegasus. ‘Ada!’ he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. ‘Father!’ Ada ran down the steps and threw herself into Lord Goth’s arms. ‘It’s so good to have you home,’ she said, hugging him tightly. ‘It’s good to be home,’ said Lord Goth. ‘I had to take a detour to meet a sailing ship at Liverpool, but I’ve made it back in time for the Full-Moon Fete.’ He turned and helped his companion off the hobby horse, which was wheeled away by two grooms. ‘This is my friend Lady Caroline Lambchop,’ said Lord Goth. ‘We met on the banks of Lake

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  Windermere and seem to have become inseparable ever since.’ ‘So you’re Lord Goth’s little girl,’ said Lady Caroline Lambchop. ‘How enchanting you look in your red cape.’ She gave a tinkling laugh and Ada saw her father wince. ‘I’ve said that Lady Caroline can help me judge the Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off, whatever that is.’ Lord Goth shrugged. ‘Some foolish idea of Sydney’s. Maltravers has been organizing it.’ Ada smiled knowingly. ‘Then Lady Caroline has promised to go back to her book group and leave me in peace!’ Lord Goth said, and sighed heavily. ‘Oh, Goth, you’re such a tease!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline, seizing his hand and refusing to let go. Just then, there came the most extraordinary sound. It was as if a donkey was having its tail put through a mangle while a cat on a hot tin roof was chased by a wheezing ox. ‘The Gormless Quire!’ said Ada. ‘Right on time!’

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  ‘I suppose we’d better get on with it,’ said Lord Goth without enthusiasm. Coming along the drive were four men in straw top hats playing unlikely instruments as they walked. Behind them came three large ladies singing a midsummer carol called ‘Hot King Wenceslas’. The villagers of Gormless followed behind, holding flaming torches and joining in the singing every so often, then forgetting the words. Last came a group of men with blue-painted faces and straw skirts that reached down to their ankles. They were balancing pillowcases stuffed with straw on their heads and pulling a large wicker basket on wheels in the shape of an oblong sheep. The basket was full of chestnuts. ‘How adorably rustic!’ simpered Lady Caroline Lambchop. The group gathered around the bandstand beneath ‘Old Hardy’ as the full moon shone down on the dear-deer park. The Gormless Quire

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  settled themselves on the bandstand and then began to play a fast and furious tune while the three large ladies sang ‘Once in Royal Tunbridge Wells’. All at once the crowd parted, and the men with blue faces stepped forward. They formed two rows and, in time to the music, began hitting each other over the head with the pillowcases.

  This went on until all the pillowcases were empty. Then the quire played ‘While Shepherds Washed Their Socks by Night’ and the crowd gathered in a large circle while Lord Goth took a flaming torch and set fire to the wicker lamb. The villagers danced around the burning basket until the fire reduced it to ashes, then they ate the roasted chestnuts.* Ada’s chestnut tasted delicious. ‘Thank goodness that’s over for another year,’ Lord Goth whispered to Ada with a little smile. ‘There’s still the raffle,’ Ada reminded him. ‘And those delicious cakes!’ squealed Lady Caroline. ‘It’s just too exciting for words!’ On the steps of Ghastly-Gorm Hall, the Twee Raffelites had set

  *Roasting chestnuts at the full moon fete replaced roasting dormice, which was considered cruel and they didn’t taste as nice.

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  up their easels, each holding a painting under a cloth. The villagers formed an orderly queue while J.M.W. Turnip sold raffle tickets. When everyone, including Ada, Lord Goth and Lady Caroline Lambchop, had bought one, J.M.W. Turnip invited each painter to unveil their masterpiece. Stubby George pulled the dust sheet from his easel to reveal a painting of Lord Goth’s Lincoln Green Armchair. Instead of Sir Stephen Belljar, Stubby George had painted a hobby-horse groom holding the

  Lincoln Armchair by the handlebars. The groom looked a lot like Arthur Halford. Next Romney Marsh revealed his painting. The villagers broke into wild applause. Then Maxim de Trumpet-Oil pulled off the dust sheet covering the small painting Ada had seen him working on at the Alpine Gnome Rockery. Beside her, Ada heard Lord Goth chuckle. The painting was so realistic it looked as if you could reach into the picture and pick the gnome up.

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  ‘Old Stumpy – I’ve taken plenty of potshots at him.’ He smiled. ‘So it’s true what they say about you,’ giggled Lady Caroline. ‘You are mad, bad and dangerous to gnomes.’ Sir Stephen Belljar clip-clopped forward and did an excited clog dance on the steps before whipping off the sheet covering his most famous satirical print with a flourish.

  ‘Quite scandalous!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline, clinging on to Lord Goth’s arm. Finally J.M.W. Turnip stepped up and revealed his canvas. ‘It’s called Soot, Steam and Slowness – the Steam-Traction Carnival,’ he announced.

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  There was a burst of excited applause. It was coming from Emily Cabbage, who was standing at the foot of the steps. ‘Tickets at the ready. Miss Emily Cabbage will now draw the first ticket . . .’ Turnip announced to the crowd. He carefully took off his extremely tall hat and gave it a good shake before motioning for Emily to dip her hand inside. She reached in and pulled out a raffle-ticket stub. ‘Seven, eight, five, six, four . . .’ Emily read out the extremely long number. There was a long pause while everyone looked at their tickets, then several people claimed to have won, only to discover they’d misheard the numbers and Emily had to read them over several times. It all took rather a long time. Finally, after quite a few attempts, Bathsheba Ambridge of the Gormless Quire won, and chose Stubby George’s painting of the oblong sheep, making the rest of the villagers extremely jealous. The other winners

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  were a kitchen maid, who chose the Alpine Gnome, one of the hobby-horse grooms, who chose the Lincoln Armchair, and another member of the quire, Gabriel Acorn, who played the sagbutt and who chose the satirical print. Finally there was only one ticket to be called and one painting remaining. Emily dipped her hand into the hat, pulled out a stub and read out the number. ‘Mine!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline Lambchop, jumping up and down in excitement. Lord Goth had bought her raffle ticket on the condition that she let go of his hand. She pushed her way through the crowd with surprising strength for such a slight figure and grasped J.M.W. Turnip’s carnival painting. She

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  returned to Ada and her father. ‘What a dreadful daub! Here –’ Lady Caroline fluttered her eyelashes at Lord Goth as she handed the painting to Ada – ‘you take it, my dear.’ Just then Maltravers appeared in the doorway of the hall. He smiled a dusty smile as he pointed in the direction of the drawing-room garden. ‘The Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off is about to begin!’ he announced.

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  Chapter Twelve verybody trooped along the gravel path, past the front of the east wing and round the back to the drawing-room garden. When they got there they found the Transylvanian Steam-Traction Carnival in full swing. The bat circus was doing loop-the loops, the shy coconuts were bobbing up and down in their mahogany cups, taking bashful peeks at the crowd, and Darren the memory goat was chewing thoughtfully on the literary pages of the Observer of London newspaper. The Glum-Stokers were lined up, staring miserably at the approaching people. Ada noticed that the leader of the ‘Dorris Men’ glanced over at them and winked meaningfully. ‘A madding crowd, if ever I saw one,’ said Glad gloomily.

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  ‘Move along. Bake off, in the Spiegel tent, that way,’ called Vlad in a monotonous voice. ‘All the fun of the fair, this way.’ Most of the crowd, Ada included, went into the Spiegel tent, though a few turned and walked over to the carnival. The Ambridge sisters were very taken with the bat circus, clapping their hands and exclaiming in musical voices that they’d never seen the like. Ada glanced back as she stepped through the doors of the Spiegel tent. Kingsley and Arthur Halford were

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  lingering in front of Darren the memory goat, whistling tunefully. Inside the Spiegel tent, a hundred decoratively framed mirrors reflected back the faces of the excited villagers of Gormless and the servants of Ghastly-Gorm Hall. Ada followed her father and Lady Caroline Lambchop up on to a raised stage in the centre of the tent, beneath the dome, with its large mirrorball and octagonal openings through which she could see a brilliant white full moon. ‘Make way for the contestants of the Great Ghastly-Gorm Bake Off! Maltravers’s wheezing voice sounded over the heads of the crowd.