Goth Girl and the Ghost of a Mouse

by Chris Riddell

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  ‘I love your slippers,’ said Emily. Together they made their way around the side of the west wing and along the path to the Back of Beyond Garden (unfinished). Ada peered into the thick tangle of briars, hawthorn saplings and towering banks of cow parsley. The roof of the old icehouse was just visible, but there was no sign of the albatross, or the Polar Explorer for that matter. ‘Let’s go this way,’ said Ada, leading Emily away from the icehouse to be on the safe side. They trampled down the long grass, doing their best to avoid stinging nettles and thorny brambles. After a little while Emily stopped, took the wooden box from her back and untied the small stool and water jar. She sat down with the box on her

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  knees and, undoing the brass clasps, opened it. Inside there was a brass water bottle and a dazzling array of water colours with names like Naples Yellow, Alizarin Crimson, Hooker’s Light Green and Payne’s Grey. Emily filled the jar with water from the brass water bottle and took a sheet of thick paper from her portfolio, then used the portfolio to lean on. Ada trampled down the grass, and sat down next to her. ‘What are you going to paint?’ she asked. ‘That plant over there,’ said Emily pointing with her paintbrush to a large shrub with yellow leaves and bright crimson flowers. ‘It’s a Mimsy Borogrove – beautiful specimen,’ she observed. ‘I’ll draw a monster,’ said Ada,

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  opening her crayon box. ‘From my imagination,’ she added quickly. She drew a picture of the Polar Explorer in his big sailcloth cloak, with a white face and pale eyes and black lips and fingernails. She finished by drawing the albatross sitting on his shoulder in white chalk. ‘You’ve got an excellent imagination,’ said Emily. ‘Imagine someone looking like that.’ ‘You’re very talented,’ said Ada, hastily changing the subject. When Emily’s painting had dried, she put it in her portfolio and packed everything up. They were making their way back towards the house when Emily tripped on something in the undergrowth that sent her sprawling. Ada helped her back to her feet and then parted the long grass.

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  There, poking up from a half-hidden stretch of gravel, was one of Metaphorical Smith’s little wooden signs. ‘The Secret Garden Path’, it read. ‘The path is rather overgrown,’ said Ada, ‘but if you look really carefully, you can just make it out . . .’ ‘How exciting! Let’s follow it!’ said Emily. They took it in turns to lead the way, ducking under low branches and jumping over tailing brambles, and following the path deeper and deeper into the Back of Beyond Garden (unfinished). Eventually they came to a high wall with a small wooden door in it. On the door was a battered brass plate, with the words ‘The Secret Garden’ engraved on it. Ada pushed the door, which slowly swung open on squeaky, rusty hinges.

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  She took Emily’s hand and they stepped inside. The Secret Garden was a mess. The grass was as tall as Ada and Emily. Weeds of every shape and size crowded in from the flower beds, and old, gnarled trees with twisting, curling branches reaching down to the ground competed with each other for space. Ada and Emily followed the path, hand in hand. After a few maze-like twists and turns, they came to another wall, even higher than the first, with a wooden door that was even smaller. On the door was another brass plate. This one read ‘The Even-More-Secret Garden’. Emily pushed at the door. Then Ada pushed at the door. Then they pushed at the door together, but it was no good: it wouldn’t budge.

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  ‘How disappointing!’ said Emily. ‘I’d love to see inside.’ Ada stepped back and noticed a keyhole. ‘It’s locked,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t be surprised if Maltravers has the key . . . Oh no, I almost forgot!’ she suddenly exclaimed. ‘It’s Wednesday! Today is the day I take tea with my father in the long gallery! I’d better go back and change! We’ll have to investigate this another time.’ ‘If you still want to join the Attic Club,’ said Emily, when they got back to the Venetian terrace, ‘meet William and me at the top of the grand staircase at ten o’clock tonight.’ ‘I’ll see you there!’ said Ada breathlessly, and dashed off in the direction of her dressing room. When she got there she found her Wednesday-evening clothes waiting for her. She put on the Hungarian frock and jacket and then changed her black pumps for the big, clumpy boots. The great-uncle clock*

  *The great-uncle clock on Ada’s mantelpiece was a present to Lord Goth from his grand-father’s brother, Little Ben, an amateur clock maker who trained mice to run up his clocks and wind them up.

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  on the bedroom mantelpiece struck five. ‘Mustn’t be late,’ Ada muttered to herself as she dashed out of her bedroom and down the corridor as noisily as possible. When she got to the entrance to the long gallery she stamped her feet extra hard. ‘Come in, daughter,’ said Lord Goth in a quiet yet elegant voice. Ada marched into the room, her footsteps making the teacups rattle. ‘Yes, yes,’ said Lord Goth. ‘You can stop stamping – I can see you now.’ He avoided looking at her directly, she noticed. ‘Come and pour the tea.’ Sitting in one of two wing chairs by a tall window, he was wearing riding boots and breeches and a pale blue tailcoat with silver fur collar and cuffs and one of the magnificent silk cravats that he had made fashionable; they were known as Gothkerchiefs in his honour. He put down the blunderbuss he had been idly polishing and crossed his legs.

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  Ada gave a little curtsy and noticed Lord Goth twitch uneasily when their eyes met. He looked away and gazed up at the portraits on the wall opposite while Ada poured two cups of China tea from the silver teapot on the table. She handed one cup to her father and then, taking the other, sat down on the other chair. For a while neither of them spoke. Ada didn’t mind though. Lord Goth was the most famous poet in England and she was very proud that he was her father. She sipped her China tea. Lord Goth looked out of the tall window at the rolling green grass of the dear-deer park beyond. In the distance, the extremely expensive herd of ornamental Chinese deer were grazing peacefully in the early-evening sun. Next, Lord Goth placed his teacup on the table and gazed thoughtfully at the magnificent plaster ceiling of the long gallery. ‘Maltravers tells me that his favourite trap is missing,’ he said quietly and elegantly. ‘I don’t

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  suppose you know anything about that?’ Ada stared into her teacup. ‘I don’t like Maltravers,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Nobody likes Maltravers,’ said Lord Goth, ‘but he has been at the Hall for as long as anyone can remember and besides . . .’ he continued, still avoiding Ada’s glance, ‘I need him for the indoor hunt. So, no more creeping about outside the Bathroom of Zeus.’ ‘The Bathroom of Zeus?’ said Ada, her green eyes sparkling. She was intrigued. ‘In the broken wing,’ said Lord Goth, turning at long last to look at his daughter, ‘It was built for the 3rd Lady Goth. It is where Maltravers hatches the miniature pheasants . . .’ Lord Goth paused and Ada saw a familiar look of pain and sorrow cross her father’s face. He rose to his feet and, picking up the blunderbuss, he turned to the tall window. ‘Since Miss Delacroix left us, you’ve had too

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  much time on your hands, Ada,’ he said quietly. ‘I think it is high time we considered engaging another governess . . .’ Ada sighed and put her teacup down on the table. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ said Lord Goth bleakly, ‘I have a sudden need to shoot at gnomes.’ Ada left the long gallery and returned to her room, where she found her supper waiting for her. She lifted the big silver lid covering the tray. Underneath was a smellywich (two slices of bread with a piece of Blue Gormly between them), an apple from the kitchen garden and a glass of elderflower cordial.

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  ‘I bet that smells delicious,’ said a little voice close by. Ada looked down and saw Ishmael twinkling palely from the middle of the Anatolian carpet. ‘But being a ghost, I don’t seem to have a sense of smell, or an appetite for that matter,’ he added sadly. ‘Where did you disappear to?’ she asked. Ishmael shrugged. ‘Oh, here and there,’ he said vaguely. ‘Though I always end up back here because, it seems, you’re the only one who can see or hear
me.’ He paused and gave a small see-through shrug. ‘For some reason I don’t understand, I appear to be haunting you.’ ‘That’s fine by me,’ said Ada, who had developed an affection for Ishmael. ‘You can haunt me for as long as you like if it’ll make you feel better.’ The ghost of a mouse sighed. ‘You’re very kind,’ he said mournfully. While Ada sat on her chaise short and ate her

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  supper, Ishmael told her all about his life. He’d left home as a young mouse, escaped to sea and had all sorts of adventures. ‘. . . Then I made very good friends with two parrots and a toucan . . .’ Ishmael was saying when the great-uncle clock on the mantelpiece struck ten. ‘Is that the time!’ exclaimed Ada jumping up and rushing over to the foot of the eight poster bed where she hid her black leather pumps, ‘I must be going. I’m meeting some friends in the attic. I don’t suppose,’ she said turning to Ishmael, ‘you’d like to come with me?’ ‘I’d be delighted’ said Ishmael, twinkling, ‘and don’t worry, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’

  Chapter Five da tiptoed to the top of the grand staircase as quietly as she could, though it wasn’t easy. The higher she went, the creakier the stairs became, until, as she approached the attic landing, every step caused a creak or a squeak. ‘Very good,’ said Emily Cabbage, who was waiting for her on the landing. ‘I hardly heard you coming.’ Ada noticed that Emily was wearing her outdoor slippers. There was a ripple as William Cabbage stepped away from the plaster wall. ‘Put your clothes on, William!’ said Emily. There was another ripple as William stepped back into the shadows. He emerged a moment later in a flowing nightshirt. ‘Follow me,’ he said. They walked along the attic corridor that ran the

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  length of the east wing past a row of closed doors. The sound of low, rumbling snores filled the air. ‘The kitchen maids,’ explained Emily, ‘They go to bed at eight o’clock sharp because they have to get up so early.’ She stopped outside one of the doors and tapped on it lightly. The door opened and a small girl in a large cap and apron stepped out. When she saw Ada she looked startled, then blushed and gave a little curtsy. ‘Ruby the outer-pantry maid, miss,’ she mumbled. Ada smiled and held out her hand. ‘Please, call me Ada. Lovely to meet you. None of the maids have ever talked to me before,’ she said as Ruby shyly

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  ‘That’s because Mrs Beat’em says we’re not allowed to,’ Ruby said. She glanced at William and Emily and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I won’t get into trouble, will I?’ ‘What happens in the Attic Club stays in the Attic Club,’ said Emily firmly. They continued down the corridor and turned the corner into a dark passageway at the end of which was a ladder fixed to the wall. At the top of the ladder was a trapdoor. Emily climbed the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. She looked down at Ada, who was staring up at her. ‘Welcome to the Attic Club,’ she said with a smile. Ada climbed the ladder, followed by Ruby and William. Stepping through the trapdoor, she found herself in a huge room with a sloping ceiling consisting of hundred of criss-crossing struts and beams. Along one side, close to the ground, were small round windows through which shafts of moonlight shone down across the dusty

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  floorboards. In the centre of the attic was a table made of fruit crates, ringed by old coal sacks stuffed with dried haricot beans, some of which had spilled out on to the floor. Two boys, both a little older than William, were sitting on the sacks. When they saw Ada, they jumped to their feet. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ said William. ‘Ada has come to join the Attic Club. This is Kingsley, the chimney caretaker, and this is Arthur Halford the hobby-horse groom.’ Ada had seen the hobby horse grooms in the grounds of Ghastly-Gorm Hall, but, like the kitchen maids, they never talked to her. Arthur Halford was short, with wire spectacles and unruly fair hair. He wore an oil-stained smock with various tools attached to it and a Gothkerchief knotted at his neck.

  By contrast, Kingsley the chimney caretaker was tall and thin, with spiky black hair and a pair of brushes strapped to his back like two sooty wings. He wore leather knee pads and black boots that were even bigger and clumpier than Ada’s. ‘I used to be the chimney caretaker’s apprentice but then Van Dyke the chimney caretaker ran away with your governess, Hebe Poppins, so I got promoted,’ said Kingsley with a smile. ‘And I look after your father’s hobby horse, Pegasus,’ said Arthur, not wanting to be outdone. ‘I’m getting it ready for the metaphorical bicycle race.’

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  William, Emily and Ruby each sat down on a coal sack while Kingsley and Arthur shared one so that Ada could take the remaining seat. ‘I declare this meeting of the Attic Club open,’ said Emily, rapping on the table with the wooden spoon Ruby had just handed her. ‘Who would like to go first?’ Arthur and Kingsley both reached for the wooden spoon in Emily’s hand, but William beat them to it. Holding up the spoon, he blended in with the blue-grey shadows behind him. ‘I’ve been doing some very interesting blending-in recently,’ he said, ‘in the oldest part of the house.’ ‘The broken wing!’ exclaimed Ada excitedly. Emily took the spoon from her brother and handed it to Ada. ‘Only the person with the spoon is allowed to speak,’ she told her. Ada took the spoon.

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  ‘The broken wing,’ she repeated a little more calmly before handing the spoon back to William. ‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Two days ago I followed that gamekeeper Maltravers. He was collecting mice from his traps and then resetting the traps with cheese . . .’ From close by Ada heard Ishmael let out a little gasp, but nobody else seemed to notice. Looking down, she saw his outline shimmering at her feet. ‘He opened a pair of doors with brass handles and crept inside,’ William went on. ‘He was definitely up to something. But he closed

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  the doors before I had a chance to take a look.’ Ada took the spoon again. ‘That room is called the Bathroom of Zeus, and it is where Maltravers hatches the miniature pheasants for my father’s indoor hunt,’ she told them. Ruby reached out and gently took the spoon from Ada with an apologetic smile. ‘Mrs Beat’em says she’s fed up with Maltravers and his strange demands,’ she reported. ‘First it was Blue Gormly for his traps, and then it was porridge oats, a whole sackful, and then three smoked salmon, not to mention most of the carrots from the kitchen garden.’ Emily held out her hand

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  and Ruby gave her the spoon. ‘Whatever he’s keeping in there has certainly got an interesting appetite,’ she said. ‘Porridge, smoked salmon, carrots and dead mice . . .’ Ada heard a strangulated sob ending in a squeak. ‘I propose that the Attic Club find out what Maltravers is keeping in the Bathroom of Zeus,’ Emily concluded, looking round the table. ‘If you ask me,’ said Ada, taking the spoon, ‘Maltravers is up to no good.’ The rest of the meeting was taken up by reports from other members. Kingsley the chimney caretaker was a talented climber and had discovered some ornate chimneys* on the east wing that he wanted the rest of them to see. Arthur Halford, meanwhile, was a talented mechanic, and had perfected a safety harness they could wear while they did so. Ruby, a talented cook, reported that she was getting everything they would need for

  *The ornamental chimneys of Ghastly-Gorm Hall are some of the finest in the land. ‘The Barley Sugar’, ‘The Hedgehog’ and ‘The Six Chimneys of Henry VIII’ are among the more ornate examples.

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  a rooftop midnight feast, and William told them that he would borrow his father’s telescope so they could all stargaze. Ada didn’t say anything. Every member of the Attic Club had a special talent, it seemed, except her. ‘What can I do?’ she asked. ‘You have a wonderful imagination,’ said Emily, squeezing her hand. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ At eleven o’clock Emily placed the wooden spoon on the fruit-crate table and they all went off to bed. ‘When’s the next meeting?’ whispered Ada as she parted from William and Emily on the stairs. ‘Same time next week,’ said Emily. ‘But the indoor hunt is on Saturday night!’ said Ada. ‘That’s only three days away!’ ‘Don’t worry, we can talk about our Maltravers investigation at breakfast tomorr
ow,’ said Emily reassuringly. Ada said goodnight and crept back to her room.

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  Glowing faintly in the dark, Ishmael followed her. Ada found her nightgown laid out on the Dalmatian divan and got changed for bed. Then, yawning sleepily, she climbed into the eight-poster bed, blew out her candle and drew the curtains before falling straight to sleep. ‘What a strange day it has been,’ said Ishmael with a little sigh.