The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel

by Natasha Lowe

“No, you never know what you’re going to get. That is a very temperamental stew pot,” Violet said. “Sometimes it’s chicken stew, sometimes pork. Last week the poor children had to make do with bean and turnip.” Violet gave a shudder of disgust. “That smelled so nasty.”

  When the children had finished eating, they gathered on the floor at one end of the room, and Violet opened the box of puppets. “What shall we give them?” she asked the other Ruthersfield girls. “ ‘The Snow Queen’? ‘The Princess and the Pea’? ‘The Little Mermaid’?”

  “ ‘The Princess and the Pea,’ ” Mabel said.

  Waving her wand over the box, Violet called out, “Puppetito showiso—‘Princess and the Pea.’ ”

  The box flew open and out danced the puppets. There were the princess and the prince, the king and queen, and into the air floated a bed with about twenty little mattresses piled up on top. Mabel watched the children’s faces more than the puppet show. They were transfixed by the dolls that were dancing and acting out the fairy tale in front of them. When it was over the children clapped in appreciation, and one little girl, who couldn’t have been more than five, ran over to Mabel and wrapped her arms around Mabel’s legs. “Stay,” she begged. “More stew and more show.”

  “Come along now,” the woman in charge said, pulling the little girl off Mabel. “Aren’t you supposed to be working in the laundry, Ann? Off you go.” And she pushed the child toward the door.

  Mabel was silent on the way back to Ruthersfield. She hugged the warm stew pot against her, thinking how different her life would have been if Nora hadn’t taken her in. She might have ended up in a place just like that, and Mabel’s heart ached for the children who didn’t have anyone else to love them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  * * *

  The Ratcliff Family Tree

  DO YOU THINK MY MOTHER was a witch?” Mabel asked at tea that afternoon. She was sitting with Nora in the drawing room, on one of the slippery horsehair sofas. Daisy had made a seedcake and a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

  Nora looked at Mabel and said carefully, “I doubt it, Mabel dear. I mean Magnolia,” she corrected herself. “Witches usually have skills that can help them survive, and I got the feeling your mother was desperate. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to. If she ended up in the poorhouse, they would have taken you from her, and no mother could bear that for her child.”

  “Would I have been sent to the orphanage?” Mabel said. “Like the one in Potts Bottom that we visited today?”

  “I think there’s a strong chance that you would have been.” Nora poured herself out more tea. “I truly believe your mother gave you up because she wished you to have a better life. Because she loved you, not because she didn’t want you.”

  Mabel pulled a slice of cucumber out of her sandwich and ate it. Her lip trembled. “I wish I knew more about where I came from,” she said. Her voice cracked as she looked up at Nora and said, “I’m never going to find my mother, am I?”

  “I’m afraid you probably won’t,” Nora said. And then more softly, “But I’m your mother too, Mabel. I might not have given birth to you, but I love you like a mother.”

  Mabel sighed. “It’s just that the girls at school are always bringing up their witch ancestors, and I know nothing about mine. Who the witches in my family were.”

  Nora didn’t reply right away. “I wish I had those answers for you,” she said at last. “But I don’t. I can’t fill in all the pieces, and that breaks my heart.”

  “So I’ll never know, will I?”

  “Not about your birth family,” Nora said, getting up from the sofa. She walked across to her desk, returning with a rolled up piece of paper. “But these are also your roots, Magnolia.” Mabel had to admit that even though she loved the name Magnolia, it didn’t sound right when her mother said it. Nora put the tea tray down on the floor and unrolled the piece of paper across the delicate walnut table. Mabel saw it was a family tree.

  “But that’s the Ratcliff’s family tree, not mine,” Mabel said.

  “You’re a Ratcliff too,” Nora insisted. “I gave you my husband’s name, and had he been alive when I found you, he would have welcomed you into our little family.” Nora ran her hands over the paper. “There may not be witches in the Ratcliff family, but there were some strong-minded women,” she said, smiling at Mabel. “A lot like you and me.” Circling the name Irene Ratcliff, she said, “Now, it’s rumored that Irene ran off to sea and became a pirate. Quite a woman if the stories about her are true.”

  “Can we call her a witch?” Mabel said. “She might have been one, don’t you think? Maybe she had the gift very mildly. Maybe she didn’t even know.”

  “Maybe,” Nora agreed, smiling. She bent down and circled Rachel Ratcliff. “Look, we can go right back to the thirteenth century. Rachel Ratcliff was an amazing woman. She mixed herbs and gave them to the sick. Frank did some research on her at one time.”

  “Oh, she sounds like a witch too, doesn’t she?” Mabel said. “It’s just”—and her throat grew tight—“I hate feeling like an outsider. Like I don’t belong.”

  Nora took a deep breath. “You’re not an outsider. Look, here you are.” She gestured at the paper with her pen, hesitating a moment. “Do I write down Mabel or Magnolia?”

  “Well, I still wish you had called me Magnolia,” Mabel sighed, “because it is a beautiful name and it suits me so much better. But I think you should write Mabel,” she said at last. “Even though it’s plain and not very pretty, I’m glad you named me after your mother.”

  Nora smiled, and under “Frank Ratcliff married to Nora Darling—1867,” she wrote “Mabel Ratcliff, daughter of Nora and Frank Ratcliff—1887.” She rolled the piece of parchment back up and handed it to Mabel. Her eyes glistened. “I can’t give you everything you’re looking for, Mabel, but I want you to have this. Because you are a part of this family.”

  “I know that,” Mabel said. “I know,” she said again. “I just wish I had something to connect me to my other family too.”

  “You have your magic, Mabel. No one can take that away from you.” Nora gave a shaky laugh. “That is something you most certainly didn’t get from any of us!”

  “Why did you take me in?” Mabel asked softly. “Did you feel sorry for me?”

  “I took you in because I had always longed for a baby.” Nora’s jaw tightened. “Take no notice of those awful things Nanny Grimshaw said.” She slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. “That is one of my biggest regrets. Not getting rid of Nanny sooner. I should have done a lot of things differently.” She was quiet for so long Mabel wondered if her mother had gone to sleep, but then Nora said, “I should have told you the truth from the beginning, Mabel. I’m so sorry. I just wanted you to feel loved.”

  Mabel had never heard her mother sound so sad. She got up and walked around the table, bending down to give her a hug. “I do feel loved.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Daisy came in to clear the tea things. “You can call me Mabel again, Daisy, if you like,” Mabel announced. “I love the name Magnolia. I always will,” she said wistfully. “But since Mama christened me Mabel, I’ve decided to keep it.”

  “Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Daisy grunted, picking up the tray.

  After tea, Mabel took her satchel of wind samples and Simple Guide to Spell Construction out into the garden. The ache in her chest wasn’t quite so sharp, and she settled herself on the grass, breathing in the heavy scent of Nora’s roses. Most of the bushes were in full bloom. The Royal Duchesses definitely had the most powerful smell, and Mabel decided that she would crush some of the deep red petals and add them to her dryer spell. But first she needed to test the strength of her wind samples, which made her a little nervous, because under the directory of ingredients at the back of Miss Tate’s booklet, it said, “Wind is a highly sensitive element in spells and must be handled with extreme care. Contained wind is a volatile substance and should only be used by the advan
ced witch.”

  Well, she would be extremely careful and start with one of the gentler winds. Then once she had the correct strength down, she could figure out how to make the spell blow for a twenty-minute cycle. That should be enough time to dry most clothes, and if you had heavy blankets on your line, you could simply let another cycle out of the bottle. Mabel pushed her glasses up her nose. Perhaps each bottle could hold ten drying cycles?

  Scrambling off the grass, she ran to the back door and poked her head into the kitchen. Lightning was asleep on the windowsill, and the sweet smell of sugar and strawberries announced that Daisy was making jam. She stood at the stove, stirring a long wooden spoon around the big copper pot, a cloud of sweet steam scenting the room.

  “Is it all right if I experiment with those sheets on the line, Daisy? I need to test out the strength of my drying spell.”

  “So long as you don’t get them dirty,” Daisy said. “They’re the good linen ones from your mother’s bed. It took me an age to wash them and put them through the mangle.”

  “Thanks.” Mabel raced off before Daisy changed her mind.

  She decided to start with a number five wind. Her strongest sample was a ten and her weakest a number one, so five seemed like a good place to start. Taking one of the bottles from her satchel, Mabel pulled out the cork. Immediately a blast of warm wind shot out, tugging the sheets right off the line. “Oh, not good,” Mabel gasped, trying to grab at them. But the wind was far too strong. The laundry tumbled and swirled through the air, catching in the branches of the apple tree. Before Daisy could discover what had happened, Mabel snuck her broomstick out of the house, swung her leg over, and flew up into the tree. Hovering like Miss Reed had taught them, she gently untangled the sheets, praying that Daisy was too busy making jam to look through the window. With her heart racing, Mabel carried the damp bundle of laundry back down. Quickly, she hung them up again and tried with a number four wind. This one was still too strong. The sheets blew off the line and landed in Daisy’s vegetable patch. Hanging them up for a second time, Mabel couldn’t help noticing that the snowy white linen was now streaked and smudged with dirt. Well, she would worry about that problem later, Mabel decided, opening a number three. This time she was thrilled to see the clothes puffing on the line as the warm wind blew around them.

  “Perfect,” Mabel sighed in satisfaction, taking off her glasses and polishing them on her pinafore. The world immediately went fuzzy, and she squinted at the blurry shape marching out the kitchen door.

  “What have you been doing?” Daisy shouted. “Those sheets are a disgrace.”

  “I’m so sorry, Daisy, I really am.” Bravely slipping her glasses back on, Mabel saw the full horror on Daisy’s face. “But I’ve made great progress with my invention.”

  “At the expense of my sheets,” Daisy fumed. “Science might be about getting your hands dirty, but not my sheets. Now, do you know any washing spells?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” Mabel admitted.

  “Then we will just have to do it the old-fashioned way. Unpeg those linens and bring them through to the kitchen, please.”

  Even though Mabel had to spend the next hour scrubbing sheets and rolling them through the mangle to squeeze the water out, she really didn’t mind because her invention was coming along nicely. A warm wind, combined with rose essence and a timing spell, and Mabel was starting to believe she might actually have discovered a way to dry clothes from a bottle.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  * * *

  Success

  THAT NIGHT MABEL DREAMED SHE was living in the orphanage. Instead of ladling out stew, she stood in line with the other children, holding up her bowl to be filled. When she awoke, Mabel was shivering with cold, her covers slumped in a heap on the floor. For a few moments she lay still, watching the pale dawn light creep through the window, relieved it had only been a dream. The clock on the bureau ticked softly, and her breathing began to slow down. She could smell the sweet, buttery scent of Daisy’s breakfast scones baking and feel the warm weight of Lightning, curled up by her feet. Nora was asleep next door, and a deep sense of peace washed over Mabel. Climbing out of bed, she went straight to her mother’s room.

  Nora smiled up at her sleepily. “It’s so early, Mabel. What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Mabel said. “We could fit at least five more beds in my room, Mama. Ruby shares with five of her sisters, and I wouldn’t mind sharing one bit. It’d be cozy.”

  Nora smothered a yawn. “And who are you planning on sharing with?”

  “I was hoping we could adopt some of the orphan children from the village,” Mabel said, staring intently at her mother. She could hear a bird chirping outside. “I’d help Daisy with the extra laundry and cooking and things.”

  “Oh, Mabel.” Nora was silent for a long moment. “That is such a sweet idea, but it would never work. It just isn’t practical.”

  “We could try and make it work. Please, Mama, think about it. Talk to Daisy. You took me in.”

  Nora reached out and touched Mabel’s cheek. “I will think about it, I promise. But sometimes you just have to let life be.” She sighed. “You can’t fix everything, Mabel.”

  “I can try,” Mabel said, her voice quivering. “And I’m going to ask Miss Brewer if we can visit the orphanage every week. Once a month isn’t nearly enough.”

  But when Mabel proposed her idea, Miss Brewer refused to even consider it.

  “You girls are here to study the magical arts,” she snapped. “Which is what you should be focusing on.”

  A lot of the girls at school had given up on their inventions. “It’s too hard,” Diana Mansfield sighed in cookery class one day. The girls had just finished learning how to make a surprise cake, which, when you cut into it, sent little sugar doves flying out. The doves sang the national anthem, and it was a favorite parlor game for guests to try to catch the doves and eat them. Winifred’s doves had stuck to the inside of the cake, so when she cut into it, there was just a sad chirping, but no little birds flew out. Mabel’s, on the other hand, sent a great show of doves swooping around the cookery room.

  “My father says women’s brains aren’t designed to invent things,” Diana said, catching one of Mabel’s doves and popping it into her mouth. “That’s for the men to do.”

  “Well, now, I certainly don’t agree with that,” Miss Seymour said rather crisply. She was wearing a badge pinned to her cloak with “SOFTW” written across it, which all the girls now knew stood for the Society of Forward-Thinking Witches. Mabel had seen Miss Brewer glaring at the badge in morning assembly, wrinkling up her nose as if it was giving off an unpleasant smell, and Mabel got the feeling that she didn’t approve. “Women shouldn’t be stopped from doing something they are perfectly capable of, just because they are women,” Miss Seymour said. “Remember what Angelina Tate told us, girls: ‘Dare to push boundaries and fly against the wind.’ ” Her gaze swept around the classroom. “I do hope some of you will be entering the competition.”

  Mabel noticed that Winifred was staring at her, and her eyes looked suspiciously puffy, as if she’d been crying again. Even though she was the most insufferable person Mabel had ever met, she couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Winifred, especially if her father was expecting her to come up with an amazing invention.

  “How is your invention coming along?” Mabel asked Ruby as they washed up their cake pans.

  “Oh, not good,” Ruby sighed. “I’m working on an everlasting candle, but it keeps burning out. I put in oil of unicorn, which is used in the everlasting love potion, so that should keep it burning, but”—Ruby shrugged—“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Try doubling the amount of unicorn oil,” Mabel suggested. “Wax is thick, so you might need more oil to balance the spell out.”

  “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Ruby said, smiling. “And what’s happening with your wind spell?” she whispered.

  �
�I’m going to test it one last time tonight,” Mabel said, “so I’ll be ready.”

  Miss Brewer had spoken to the whole school that morning, announcing that not only would members from SOFTW be present for the competition, but the Ruthersfield board of governors would also be in attendance, along with the Potts Bottom mayor and a number of other local dignitaries. “This will be a big day for our school,” Miss Brewer had said. “A big day in our history, and I expect every one of you girls to behave in a fitting manner.”

  Mabel had spent hours perfecting her invention, mixing a number three wind with a teaspoon of crushed dragonfly wings (for a fluttering motion), rabbit breath for softness, rose essence for fragrance, and some ground shell of a ninety-seven-year-old tortoise for stability. To get the timing right she had mixed the spell for exactly twenty minutes and poured the whole thing back into the bottle. It was now sitting on her bureau along with the rest of the wind samples, which Mabel planned to hand over to Miss Mantel as soon as she could. The potions teacher had been out sick with a summer cold the past few days, so Mabel had drawn little stars on the number ten label, as a warning to herself to handle with extreme care.

  As soon as school was over, Mabel flew straight home. Trying to keep her broomstick level was harder than ever since Lightning had put on weight, due to all the stolen kippers he’d been eating. After a currant bun and a glass of milk, Mabel rounded up Nora and Daisy and ushered them into the garden for her big demonstration.

  “Now, what you are about to see will amaze and delight you,” Mabel said, copying the way the Melton Bay street performers sounded. She waved her hands at the wet laundry hanging on the clothesline. “Imagine this, ladies. You have a fancy party to go to but your favorite bloomers are still wet.”

  “Oh, my, what a disaster,” Daisy gasped, covering her mouth and making Mabel start to giggle. Nora frowned slightly, in disapproval of the word “bloomers,” Mabel guessed, but she could see her mother biting her lip to stop herself from smiling.