The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel

by Natasha Lowe

  “Upstairs to bed.” Nanny Grimshaw pointed at the door. “Insolent child.”

  As Mabel shuffled across the room, she decided that a frog was too nice for Nanny Grimshaw. She should be turned into a beetle, and then Mabel could step on her.

  “I couldn’t smuggle you up any pie,” Daisy whispered, slipping into Mabel’s room half an hour later. “Nanny’s watching me like a hawk. But I did want you to have this,” Daisy said, taking Mabel’s petition from her pocket. “It’s still a bit crumpled, but I put the iron on the stove and pressed it for you best I could.”

  “Oh, Daisy, thank you.” Mabel flung her arms around the maid.

  “I might not have time for this suffragette business, but I know a good idea when I see one. I’ve signed my name, see, right under yours.” Daisy lowered her voice. “Just keep it hidden from old Grimface, otherwise we’ll both be in trouble.”

  It was starting to get dark, and Mabel lay in bed wishing that her mother would come home. To stop herself from feeling sad she concentrated on possible ideas for hair potions. If Icelandic dwarf beard didn’t work, she could try dandelion fluff for softness. There were all sorts of interesting possibilities, and Mabel was still coming up with ideas when she heard the front door open. A few minutes later Nora walked into the room, smelling of rose water and fresh air.

  “Mama,” Mabel cried out. “I’m so pleased you’re home.”

  “I heard all about it from Nanny.” Nora sighed, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “She is feeling most upset.”

  “Nanny’s so mean,” Mabel whispered, sitting up. “She hates me.”

  “Now, Mabel, Nanny Grimshaw doesn’t hate you. Quite the opposite, in fact. She worries about you, darling. You have to understand that Nanny is rather old-fashioned. She’s just trying to protect you, that’s all. She doesn’t want to see you get into trouble.”

  “Mama, I don’t think I need a nanny anymore,” Mabel said. “I’m at school all day, and Daisy can help me with getting up and bedtime.”

  Nora laughed. “And what about weekends, and when I’m out at my meetings? I had my nanny until I was sixteen.” She patted Mabel’s hand. “Let’s remember this is Nanny’s home too. She’s been with us for eight years. And I’m quite sure there’s a kind heart under all that frostiness.” Mabel didn’t say anything. She just picked at a thread on her quilt. It was impossible to explain how awful Nanny Grimshaw was to her, because she behaved so differently around her mother.

  “So I’m guessing your first flying lesson wasn’t as fun as you expected?” Nora said, smoothing the collar of Mabel’s nightgown.

  “It’s dangerous, and uncomfortable, Mama. Most of the girls hate it. I’ve already had a fall. So has Ruby. She was really scared. That’s why I flew home with her.”

  “You flew home with Ruby?” Nora said. “Does Nanny know?”

  “No, she was sleeping off one of her headaches. And I shouldn’t have done it without asking, but Ruby was too frightened to fly by herself, and then her mother asked me to stay for tea, and . . .”

  “You had tea at Ruby’s? Good gracious. I did miss all the excitement.”

  “You mustn’t tell Nanny though. Promise me, Mama. I won’t do it again.”

  “No, you won’t. Not without asking.”

  “She has seven sisters,” Mabel continued, “and their cottage is tiny. Her mother made a caraway cake. I didn’t see much of her father. He was on one of the canal boats, but I’m going to ask him if he’ll teach me how to whistle.”

  “Goodness.” Nora smiled.

  “Mrs. Tanner was telling me about Ruby’s great-aunt Ethel. She was a witch in a carnival.” Mabel could see the light from her candle flickering against the wall. “So I was wondering about the witches in our family,” she said softly. “Maybe there are pictures or photographs somewhere. Or stories you can tell me?”

  Nora cleared her throat, but she didn’t speak.

  “The girls at school talk about their roots all the time,” Mabel said. “We all know Winifred Delacy’s great-great-grandmother was a crystal ball gazer to the king of England. And her aunt is a famous palm reader living in Paris. She can go right back to the twelfth century.” Mabel rubbed at the lace on her sleeve. “It would just be nice to have a ring or something, like Ruby has from her great-aunt Ethel. Something to show the other girls, so I can have a story of my own to share.”

  “Well, now, I’m not quite sure,” Nora said, glancing down at her hands. “I have never really explored our magical roots.” They sat in silence for a few moments, and then, getting to her feet, Nora picked up the candle. “Time for bed,” she said rather briskly. In the silvery light, Mabel could see the same closed expression her mother always wore whenever Mabel brought up the past.

  Walking across the room, Nora stopped halfway and turned around. “You mean the world to me, Mabel,” she said softly, as if this explained everything.

  After Nora had gone, Mabel lay alone in the dark, wondering what sort of secrets her mother was keeping. And why she didn’t trust Mabel enough to share them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  The Petition

  RISE AND SHINE,” NANNY GRIMSHAW crowed, flinging open Mabel’s curtains.

  Mabel dragged herself out of bed and splashed cold water on her face from the big china bowl in the corner. This was meant to stimulate blood circulation, according to Nanny. Still yawning, Mabel struggled into her uniform. Then Nanny Grimshaw brushed her hair, giving it one hundred firm strokes before plaiting it into two tight braids and tying the ends with purple ribbon.

  “Where is Mabel’s porridge from yesterday?” Nanny Grimshaw inquired, eying the plate of fresh baked scones on the table. “I seem to remember she didn’t finish it.”

  “I’m afraid Mabel’s cat ate it,” Daisy said sweetly, putting a scone on Nora’s breakfast tray next to the teapot and newspaper.

  “Indeed.” Nanny’s lips tightened, clearly not believing a word. “Just one then,” she said. “No need to be greedy, Mabel. And I’d like a kipper, Daisy.”

  Mabel shot Daisy a grateful look. “I’ll be right back,” Daisy muttered, trotting toward the pantry. Mabel could feel Lightning’s soft body pressed up against her legs. Glancing under the table, she saw a fat kipper tucked between his paws. Not wanting to be around when Daisy discovered the theft, Mabel slipped her satchel over her shoulder and bent down. She hefted Lightning into her arms and kicked the kipper away.

  “You’re a naughty boy,” Mabel whispered, as Lightning gazed at her out of big green eyes. He rubbed the side of his head against Mabel’s pinafore, giving a deep rumbling purr.

  “Straight home after school, Mabel,” Nanny Grimshaw ordered. “We will be working on your tablecloth.”

  “Yes, Nanny,” Mabel said, staggering across the room. She grabbed her broomstick from the umbrella stand and was nudging open the back door with her foot, when Daisy let out one of her impressive screams.

  “That beast has stolen a kipper,” Daisy yelled. Mabel let the door slam shut behind her, plunking Lightning on the broomstick and taking off as fast as she could manage, which wasn’t very fast considering she had to sit sideways.

  “You are a useless, furry lump,” Mabel muttered, but there was a whisper of affection in her voice as she flew down Trotting Hill.

  The second Mabel landed, Lightning waddled inside the academy with all the other cats, searching for a sunny corner, while Mabel stood outside with her petition, shuffling her feet and feeling too scared to approach anyone.

  “Can I help you, Mabel?” Miss Seymour said, walking over. She made a slowing motion with her hands as Emily Bisset in year nine swooped by, slipping off her broomstick as she landed. Emily stood up to show she wasn’t hurt, and Miss Seymour gave an irritated shake of her head. “Far too fast.” She peered at Mabel. “Are you feeling all right, Mabel? You look like you’ve forgotten where to go.”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you,” Mabel replied. But as Miss Se
ymour walked off, she hurried after her. “Actually, Miss Seymour, can I show you something?” Mabel’s legs had gone shaky, and she was breathing fast as she held out her piece of paper. “It’s a petition,” Mabel said, her heart speeding up as Miss Seymour started to read. “Ruby and I both fell off our broomsticks yesterday,” Mabel explained, nervously filling the silence. “Ruby hurt her head. That’s why I’m trying to get signatures.”

  Miss Seymour smiled. “Did I give you this idea, Mabel? About riding a broomstick like a bicycle?”

  “Actually you did,” Mabel admitted. “It’s just that I think we would have a lot more control sitting astride than sitting sideways.”

  “I agree,” Miss Seymour said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a pen.

  “You do?” Mabel couldn’t hide her surprise. She watched Miss Seymour hold the paper in one hand and sign her name under Daisy’s.

  “There was a rather controversial article in last week’s Magic Cauldron about the dangers of flying sidesaddle,” Miss Seymour said, surprising Mabel yet again. “I’m not sure how well received it was, but it got me thinking.”

  Mabel still hadn’t recovered from the shock as she stood by the gates, trying to persuade a few of the girls to sign.

  “I don’t want to get in trouble,” Beth Harper apologized. “We heard how angry Miss Reed was with you yesterday, and I couldn’t bear to get my knuckles whacked.”

  Martha Davenport told Mabel that she wished she could sign, but if Miss Brewer saw her name on the list, she might tell her parents, and they most certainly wouldn’t approve.

  “My papa thinks that we shouldn’t ride broomsticks at all,” Helen Juniper sighed. “He says as the weaker sex we don’t have the strength for it, and he’s already worried I might faint in the air.”

  “I don’t think we’re the weaker sex,” Mabel said, thinking of Daisy lugging in buckets of coal for the fire, or beating all the rugs in the house to get the dust out.

  By the end of the afternoon Mabel had managed to acquire seven more signatures to add to her petition. There had been a fair amount of positive interest, but only Ruby, Tabitha, four girls in year five, and Miss Seymour had had the courage to sign. Winifred had laughed in Mabel’s face when she heard what Mabel was trying to do.

  “That is the most undignified idea I’ve ever heard of. No lady would dream of riding any way but sidesaddle. You’re going to get yourself expelled if you’re not careful.” Winifred patted her ringlets and put her hat on, tipping it sideways at a jaunty angle. “My papa doesn’t approve of rebel witches. He says a rebel witch is just as bad as an evil witch and should be locked up in prison.”

  “I am not a rebel,” Mabel said hotly.

  “You just don’t want to admit it’s a good idea,” Ruby broke in, “because Mabel thought of it and not you.”

  Winifred turned away and linked her arm through Florence’s. “It’s a terrible idea, and we have to go,” she said, smirking at Mabel. “You won’t believe what my papa is picking us up in—his motor car! We’re the only people in the country who have one. He had it shipped all the way over from France and it arrived today!” With their cats following behind them, Winifred and Florence wafted out of the main building and glided elegantly down the stairs.

  “Come on.” Mabel grabbed Ruby’s arm. “I’ve read about motor cars in the paper. They’re like a carriage you steer without horses.” The girls raced after Florence and Winifred, just in time to see them climbing into a shiny black motor vehicle. Lord Winthrop Delacy sat in the front wearing a leather driving hat and goggles.

  “Oh, that’s a beauty,” Mabel sighed, watching as the car roared out of the gates. “It’s the most amazing invention, Ruby. They don’t need to be fed like horses, or get tired, and can go twice as fast as a carriage.”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Miss Seymour said, standing nearby. “I believe that in a few years’ time everyone will be driving those or riding bicycles.”

  “What rot.” Miss Reed snorted. “A horse or broomstick is far more reliable. I certainly wouldn’t trust riding in one of those machines.”

  “It’s going to be a new century soon,” Miss Seymour said. “Things are changing.”

  “Not for the better,” Miss Reed snapped, and swirling around, she marched back up the steps.

  “Change is never easy,” Miss Seymour remarked, smiling at Mabel and Ruby. “It scares people.”

  “I know,” Mabel agreed. “I only got seven signatures for my petition today.”

  “Well, don’t give up,” Miss Seymour said, pulling on a pair of purple flying gloves. “Good ideas are worth pursuing, Mabel.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  Mabel Experiments—Again

  AS MABEL FLEW HOME (leaving Ruby wobbling her way along Canal Street) she thought about the little vial of growing powder she had managed to slip into her pinafore during enchanted gardens class. They had sprinkled some onto a clump of rather tired-looking morning glories that were now climbing their way merrily up a trellis behind the school. “This will help keep your gardens vibrant and alive,” Miss Spooner had said. “And every lady needs a beautiful garden to entertain in.”

  “Well, every lady needs a full head of hair too,” Mabel whispered to Lightning, as if this could justify her experimenting again. But hadn’t Miss Seymour just said that good ideas were worth pursuing? And this, Mabel felt sure, was an excellent idea. She shivered with anticipation, thinking about the little clump of dwarf beard nestled in her satchel, alongside the twist of brown paper holding a spoonful of dried phoenix flames. She had dashed into the spell room after lunch and gathered what she needed while Miss Mantel was still finishing up her jam roly-poly and custard.

  With an undignified bump, Mabel landed in the front garden. She hurried around to the back of the cottage, hoping to catch Daisy alone in the kitchen. As she passed by the greenhouse, she could see her mother inside, scoring the stem of a rosebush with a knife. Looking up, Nora smiled and waved, and Mabel opened the greenhouse door.

  “What are you doing, Mama?” she asked, watching Nora bind a small cutting from another plant onto the stem of the bush she had just slashed.

  “I’m hoping to graft these two varieties together,” Nora said. “Would you like to stay and assist?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m helping Daisy with something,” Mabel replied, glad for once that her mother was so busy. Now all she had to do was stay out of Nanny’s way so she could mix up the hair potion. Unfortunately, this was not as easy as Mabel had hoped, and slipping into the kitchen, she stifled a loud groan. Standing there, with her arms folded, shoulders jutting out like vulture wings, was Nanny Grimshaw. She gave Mabel a sour smile. “A proper lady always uses the front door, Mabel.” Nanny must have been watching from the window, Mabel decided, waiting to pounce as soon as she walked in.

  After Mabel had eaten a piece of plain bread and butter, Nanny marched her straight upstairs to the nursery, where she now sat, embroidering a rose onto her tablecloth. Mabel stared at the pink lumpy blob, wondering how many more of these things she was going to have to embroider. “Until it is covered,” Nanny Grimshaw had said crisply when Mabel got up the courage to ask. “Now, enough of your chatter,” she said, and popped a mint into her mouth.

  Sometime later, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, Mabel realized that she had been embroidering for over an hour. “Could I take a little break, Nanny?” she asked. There was a crick in her neck and her thumb was sore and tingly from getting poked. Nanny Grimshaw didn’t reply, and looking over, Mabel noticed that Nanny’s head had nodded forward and a soft snoring was coming from the direction of her chair. Without hesitating, Mabel stood up and crept across the room. This was extremely risky, but she didn’t need long. As soon as she was out of the nursery, Mabel raced downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Where’s Nanny?” Daisy said, turning around from the stove.

  “She’s asleep, Daisy, so we have to hurry.”
>
  “Hurry?” Daisy gripped her wooden spoon.

  “To mix up your hair potion,” Mabel whispered. She took the bottle of growing powder out of her pinafore, scattering white dust over the floor. “Oh, it’s leaked.” Mabel grimaced, wiping her hands down her skirt. “This stuff is everywhere.” Hurrying across to the fireplace, she held open her pocket and brushed the spilled powder into the grate. A clump of something sticky was stuck to the inside fabric, and pulling it free, Mabel realized it was her cobweb experiment. “Interesting,” she murmured, shaking off the powder and dropping it right back in her pocket.

  “You’re making a huge mess,” Daisy muttered, and then rather more anxiously, “And do we have to do this now?”

  “I’m just going to dilute the growing powder,” Mabel said, walking to the sink and dripping some water from the tap into the bottle. The liquid turned misty, and she rushed back to the table, digging the tuft of dwarf beard out of her satchel. She dropped in a few soft hairs, and immediately the potion bubbled up, little woolly clouds puffing into the air. Whenever one popped, it sounded like somebody sneezing.

  “What on earth . . .” Daisy gasped, as Mabel opened the twist of paper and sprinkled a pinch of dried phoenix flame into the bottle. The liquid started fizzing, and they watched it turn a deep, rich red.

  “Ohhh, that’s beautiful,” Mabel whispered. “Isn’t it the most lovely color?”

  “Just like Nellie Glitters’s hair,” Daisy sighed, staring dreamily at the bottle. Getting a grip on her senses, she added, “But I am not, under any circumstances, putting that anywhere near my hair. How do I know it won’t all fall out?”

  “Oh, I really don’t imagine that’s likely,” Mabel said, trying to control her excitement. She didn’t want to scare Daisy off. “I’ve worked with these ingredients before.” Which happened to be true. She had just never mixed them all together. “And think how wonderful it would be if you didn’t have to wear the—”