Goth Girl and the Wuthering Fright Read online

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  clothes, doing a balletic jig across the yard. She arrived at the dog cart, did a twirl and released an enormous hairy dog. ‘Georgie Eliot, balletic wordsmith!’ she announced, putting a leash on her dog’s collar, ‘and Flossie my Old Middlemarch Sheepdog. You lead, Flossie, and I’ll follow!’ The old dog tugged on the leash, and Georgie Eliot started to sing, ‘My heart is alive with the sound of

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  ‘Do you have to make a song and dance out of everything?’ sighed Plain Austen. ‘Come, Homily, join us!’ exclaimed Georgie Eliot, waltzing around the yard. Leaning forward in her seat, Ada noticed an extremely small woman standing by the last compartment of the dog cart. As she watched, the woman, who was dressed in white, opened the door. A tiny black dog clambered out and stood at her feet wagging its pompom tail shyly. ‘Ladies and gentleman . . .’ said Georgie Eliot, doing a series of balletic leaps, ‘introducing from the colonies, bedroom poet and philosopher – Homily Dickinson and her Yankee Doodle Poodle, Carlo!’

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  Homily Dickinson blushed shyly and raised the hood of her cape. ‘As to what . . . I cannot . . . say but . . . afterwards . . . shall . . . if only crumpets,’ she said cryptically. Carlo barked a surprisingly deep bark for such a little dog. ‘Can’t tempt any of you to experience the thrill of speed?’ asked Dr Cabbage. The novelists (and poet) all shook their heads. ‘Very well then, see you back at the Hall – hold on tight!’ cried Dr Cabbage, releasing the brake.With a hissing of steam and grinding of cogs the Difference Engine stirred into life once more and crawled slowly back along the lane towards Ghastly-Gorm Hall. ‘Walkies!’ The novelists (and poet) all cried as one. Sir Walter Splott, Plain Austen, William Timepiece Thackeray, Georgie Eliot and Homily Dickinson and their dogs raced past the Difference Engine and off down the lane as snow began to fall. Ada shivered. ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve

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  left my cape!’ It had been so hot in the coaching inn that she had slipped her cape off in the long waiting room and forgotten all about it until now. ‘I’ll catch you up!’ she said to the others and stepped off the slowly moving Difference Engine, despite Dr Cabbage’s protests that they were going much too fast and that she’d never catch up. Ada ran back to the inn and squeezed inside. She found her cape where she’d left it on the back of a chair. Dean Torville was fast asleep on it, resting his head on the soft alpaca-wool lining. Ada did her best not to disturb him, gently easing the fabric from underneath the sleeping dean, only for Dean Torville to wake up with a start, jump out of the chair and hit his head on the low ceiling. Ada apologized profusely but the dean appeared rather dazed and didn’t seem to hear her. Slipping her cape on, Ada hurried back through the tiny rooms and out into the yard. ‘Ada?’ said her father’s voice. ‘What on earth are you doing, coming out of a coaching inn?’

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  Chapter Six da felt her face begin to redden. There in the yard of the Gormless George, sitting in a magnificent sleigh which was pulled by a pair of snow-white horses, was Lord Goth. On one side of him, holding the reins, was a twinkly-eyed gentleman with a large nose. A tiny dog peeked out from the folds of his coat. On the other side of Lord Goth sat a tall woman in a cape. Her blonde hair was beautifully styled into

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  two magnificent plaits and her eyes were ice blue. An even tinier dog, with a quivering nose and enormous eyes, snuggled in her lap.

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  ‘It is the custom for the young of your country to frequent alehouses?’ the blonde woman asked, then gave a tinkling laugh. ‘My Viking ancestors would approve.’ ‘Reminds me of the tale of the little barmaid, half girl, half herring . . .’ said the gentleman with the large nose. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Ada,’ said Lord Goth stiffly. Ada reddened even more. ‘Her governess is on holiday,’ Lord Goth told his companions, ‘and it appears, in her absence, Ada is running wild . . .’ ‘Oh no, not wild,’ protested Ada, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She hated to disappoint her father like this. ‘I came with Dr Cabbage to meet his daughter off the mail coach, Father,

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  and only popped in for a minute.’ ‘I’ll have to have a word with the good doctor,’ said Lord Goth darkly, glancing along the lane to where the Difference Engine was slowly chugging around the corner. ‘But it’s too cold to sit here discussing the matter. Climb up beside me, Ada, and meet the judges of the literary dog show.’ Ada stepped up into the sleigh and shook the judges’ hands. ‘Countess Pippi Shortstocking,’ said the blonde-haired lady, ‘and this is Snork, he’s a Lapp Lapdog. Say hello, Snork.’ The tiny dog gave a high-pitched bark and blinked at Ada. ‘“Hands” Christmas Andersen,’ said the man with the large nose, raising his hands to the side of his head and waggling his extremely long fingers.

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  ‘Reindeer hands!’ He laughed. ‘It’s my trademark, isn’t it, Yorick? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! . . .’ He ruffled the ears of his tiny dog. ‘What sort of dog is he?’ asked Ada, sitting down beside Hands Christmas Andersen. The tiny dog leaped into her lap and settled itself down. ‘A Small Dane,’ said Hands Christmas Andersen proudly, ‘best in breed at the Elsinore Erudite Dog Show three years running, weren’t you, boy? Yes, you were! Yes, you were . . .’ He frowned as he ruffled the tiny

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  dog’s ears once more. ‘Alas, poor Yorick was disqualified this year for burying his bone in the middle of the palace lawn. The prince went mad when he saw the mess, so we decided to become judges instead, didn’t we, boy?’ said Hands Christmas Andersen. ‘Yes, we did! Yes, we did!’ He took the reins and gave them a shake and the snow-white horses began to pull the sleigh. As they gathered speed, Hands Christmas Andersen began to sing. ‘Tinkle bells, tinkle bells, tinkle all the way. Oh what fun it is to slide in a sturdy Volvo-Sleigh!’ Ada wanted to explain things to her father, but he was listening politely to Countess Pippi Shortstocking, who was telling him about her country estate in Lapland.

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  ‘Every year we have a flying snowman festival using giant catapults and then we go to Elsa’s for frozen yogurt . . .’ she was saying. ‘You must come for a visit – and bring your darling daughter. Oh, Snork, do let go of Lord Goth’s neckerchief!’ The sleigh was travelling fast and as they swerved around the corner Hands Christmas Andersen had to tug on the reins to avoid crashing into the slow-moving Difference Engine. Ada waved to Emily and the Vicarage sisters as they sped past. In no time at all the sleigh reached the gates to the Ghastly-Gorm estate, went through them and started down the drive. ‘Whoa!’ cried Hands Christmas

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  Andersen, tugging on the reins. Up ahead of them two carriages had crashed into each other. The horses’ harnesses were all tangled up and the carriage wheels were jammed together. As the sleigh drew up beside the carriages, two schoolboys in top hats and long knitted scarves climbed down from one carriage and a young man in expensive clothes got out of the other. He was also wearing a knitted scarf, but his was wider and longer than the others’. ‘William!’ exclaimed Ada, jumping down from the sleigh and running over to the youngest schoolboy. It

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  was William Cabbage, Emily’s brother, back from boarding school in the little town of Rugby. ‘Hello, Ada!’ said William, turning the colours of his blue and yellow knitted scarf. William had chameleon syndrome, which meant he was very good at blending in with his surroundings. ‘Wizard prang, wasn’t it, Cabbage?’ said the young man in expensive clothes, bounding across and knocking William out of the way. William fell over but the young man didn’t seem to notice.

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  ‘You must be Cabbage’s sister!’ he said enthusiastically, grabbing Ada’s hand and shaking it vigorously. ‘Bet he’s told you all about me. I’m Flushman the school chum – everybody has to be my best friend or else!’ He threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Wizard wheeze, don’t you think? Decided to invite myself to Cabbage’s place for the hols – they tried to leave without me but I caught up, didn’t I,
chums?’ ‘Yes,’ said William bleakly. He had been helped to his feet by the other schoolboy, who was rather scruffy and seemed shy. He peered back at Ada from behind a shaggy fringe of uncombed hair. Flushman stomped off to try to disentangle the horses, laughing uproariously. ‘He means well,’ said William with a sigh. ‘He’s just a bit too enthusiastic.’ He smiled. ‘Now this is my good friend Bramble Vicarage . . .’ ‘Vicarage?’ said Ada, turning to the shy-looking schoolboy. ‘Are you related to the Vicarage sisters, by any chance?’

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  ‘I’m their brother,’ Bramble mumbled shyly from behind his fringe. He yawned. ‘Sorry, I’m rather tired. Flushman follows me everywhere. It’s exhausting, though William does his best to distract him.’ Bramble looked gratefully at William, who shrugged. ‘I’m good at blending in,’ he said, ‘and I’ve been keeping Flushman occupied with a game of hide-and-seek we’ve been playing. ‘The schools of England are very keen on silly games,’ he went on. ‘There’s the Eton Mess Wall Game, where they throw meringues at the side of a building, and the Harrow

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  Harrumph, where everybody puts flowers in their hats and jumps in the river, and of course the Marlborough Mangle, which has no rules at all . . . It keeps boys like Flushman busy so the rest of us can study.’ He looked over at Flushman, who was tugging at the reins of the carriage horses enthu-siastically.

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  ‘If only I could think of a really silly game for Rugby School . . .’* ‘Allow me,’ came Countess Pippi Shortstocking’s voice. Ada turned to see her father and the countess standing by the tangled carriage horses. As everybody watched, Countess Pippi picked up one horse in each hand and raised them effortlessly above her head. ‘How absolutely wizardly wizard!’ exclaimed Flushman, as the countess held the horses in the air and Lord Goth untangled their harnesses and reins. Then she put the disentangled horses back on the ground and walked over to the carriages. She tipped first one then the other on their sides and prised their wheels apart before turning the carriages the right way up again. She dusted the snow off her hands and climbed back into the sleigh as Flushman enthusiastically whooped and applauded. ‘Oh, that was nothing,’ Countess Pippi

  *Although the game of ‘muddy field wrestling’ is played at Rugby School, in which everybody gets as muddy as possible, it’s not nearly silly enough for Flushman, who gets bored easily.

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  said with a smile when Lord Goth complimented her on her incredible strength. ‘You should see me throw a snowman!’ ‘They’re flying in the air,’ sang Hands Christmas Andersen in an unnaturally high voice as they slid on towards Ghastly-Gorm Hall. ‘They’re tumbling through the midnight sky . . .’

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  Chapter Seven he great-uncle clock on Ada’s mantelpiece struck eight, and she opened her eyes. It was cosy and warm in her eight-poster bed, especially with the heavy curtains drawn, keeping out the chill. Ada pulled on her alpaca-wool-lined cape that she’d been careful to place at the foot of the bed the night before and climbed out from beneath the quilt. She poked her head through the gap in the curtains of her bed. ‘Good morning, Miss Ada,’ said Ruby, placing a tray on the more-than-occasional table beside a roaring fire. ‘It’s such a cold

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  morning I thought you might like your breakfast in front of the fire.’ Ruby smiled cheerfully, but Ada could see that she had dark rings beneath her eyes. Stray wisps of hair had escaped from beneath her cap and her apron strings were untied as if she’d dressed in a hurry. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Ruby,’ Ada said, getting down from the eight-poster bed and joining her by the fire, ‘but what’s wrong? You look dreadful.’ ‘Oh, Ada,’ Ruby exclaimed, ‘what a night it’s been!’ Ada pulled up a chair and Ruby sat down. ‘First there were strange

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  noises in the servants’ quarters – whimpers and barks and awful growling . . .’ Ada buttered some soldiers and poured Ruby a cup of tea. ‘But, Ada, I couldn’t – this is your breakfast . . .’ Ruby protested. ‘Nonsense,’ said Ada firmly. ‘You look like you need a strong cup of tea to settle your nerves. Have a soft-boiled egg too.’ She sat down opposite Ruby and patted her hand. ‘I expect you heard the contestants for the literary dog show – probably just settling into their new surroundings,’ Ada reassured her. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ruby. ‘I met Arthur on the stairs this morning and he said that last night the dogs were all in the kennels Maltravers prepared for them in the Whine Cellars, right down in the vaults beneath the house. What we heard was high up at the top of the house, in the attic corridor just outside our bedrooms.’ Ruby’s eyes were as big as saucers. ‘And then, this morning,’ she continued, ‘our shoes outside our

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  doors . . .’ She took a gulp of her tea. ‘What about your shoes?’ asked Ada. Ruby raised her foot and pointed to a rather scratched and scuffed boot. ‘Chewed!’ she gasped. After two more cups of tea and a soft-boiled egg Ruby had calmed down enough to go back to work in the kitchen. Ada’s promise that the Attic Club would investigate had seemed to reassure her. After Ruby had left, Ada went to the wardrobe in her dressing room to get dressed. Her previous lady’s maid, Marylebone, had always laid out Ada’s clothes for her, but now Ada rather enjoyed doing things for herself. She glanced out of the window. Snow lay thickly on the ground, white and sparkling in the cold winter sun. Descending the steps in front of the Hall, Ada

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  saw the literary-dog-show contestants being taken by their owners for a morning walk. Or perhaps, it occurred to Ada, it was the other way round, because each of the novelists (and the poet) had their nose buried in a book and was being carefully guided down the drive by their dog. Sir Walter Splott had an enormous leather-bound volume which he dropped and Ivanhoe the Lanarkshire Lurcher helpfully retrieved for him, his tail wagging frantically. Plain Austen was reading aloud from a novel,

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  accompanied by elaborate hand gestures, while Emma the Hampshire Blue Bloodhound snuffled, nose to the ground, at her feet. Behind them Georgie Eliot and William Timepiece Thackeray were doing a country dance which involved linking arms and swapping the novels they were reading at regular intervals. Boodles the Mayfair Bulldog led the way while Flossie the Old Middlemarch Sheepdog herded them along from behind. Bringing up the rear, camouflaged in a white cloak and bonnet, Homily Dickinson

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  picked her way delicately through the snow, while, black as an ink blot, Carlo the Yankee Doodle Poodle trotted by her side. As she walked, Homily recited from the slim volume of verse she held in a white-mittened hand. ‘Hope is a thing with feathers, Singing in a tree, Alas, upon thy bough, The cat is now, Creeping up on thee . . .’ Her surprisingly loud voice rose up through the crisp morning air. The dogs all looked far too well behaved, thought Ada, to be guilty of chewing kitchen maids’ boots. Just then there was the sound of hoofs clip-clopping over frozen snow, and down the drive came

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  Ambridge in a trap pulled by a rather grumpy-looking donkey. As she passed, Fancyday waved to William Timepiece Thackeray, who interrupted his dance to give a theatrical bow in response. Fancyday tried to stop the trap, but her donkey, Maddening Claude, stubbornly continued up the drive to the front door. Red-faced, Fancyday jumped down from the trap and stomped up the steps. ‘Get me far from Maddening Claude!’ she stormed. ‘Before I do something I’ll regret!’* Ada turned back to her wardrobe, selected the clothes she wanted to wear – a Newfoundland dress, with felt petticoat, Bergen jacket and Siberian muffler – and got dressed as quickly as she could. Ada knew that if she didn’t, Fancyday would insist on picking her clothes for her and she’d spend the whole morning watching her new lady’s maid going through her wardrobe, picking up and then discarding clothes that Ada would have to tidy away afterwards. Usually

  *‘Far from the Madding Claude’ would later become Fancyday’s first hit song in the popular comic opera ‘Paint your Donkey Wagon’.

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  this was great fun, bu
t today Ada had other things on her mind. She wanted to find out what had disturbed the kitchen maids’ sleep and chewed their shoes. Perhaps, Ada considered, it was a ghost she didn’t know about. She poured a cup of tea and put it next to the Dalmatian divan together with a novel that Plain Austen had given to her the previous evening. She had just placed the book on a cushion when Fancyday came bursting into the dressing room, the back of her hand pressed dramatically against her forehead. ‘What is a poor country girl to do,’ she railed, ‘when stuck with such a stubborn donkey? I was just saying to that nice friend of William Cabbage’s, the one with expensive clothes, at the foot of the stairs . . .’ ‘Flushman?’ said Ada. ‘That’s him,’ said Fancyday, collapsing on to the divan and kicking off her shoes. ‘He was hanging around in the hallway asking if I’d seen any