The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel

by Natasha Lowe

  MABEL RATCLIFF,” MISS BREWER REMARKED, staring at Mabel out of eyes that still managed to intimidate, beneath their folds of droopy reptilian skin. “How nice to see you. Five demerits in three days, plus a suspension.” The headmistress shook her head. “That is not what we expect from our girls.”

  “I’m really sorry, Miss Brewer.” Mabel sniffed as she explained what had happened.

  “Don’t you have a handkerchief?” Miss Brewer inquired, and when Mabel shook her head, the headmistress handed her a clean, crisply pressed one from her desk drawer.

  Mabel gave her nose a good blow. “I felt so bad for poor Ruby, and it just seems like a much safer way to fly,” she finished up.

  “Here at Ruthersfield, we pride ourselves on our traditions,” Miss Brewer replied. “Riding a broomstick the way you suggested would be most inappropriate.”

  Mabel bit her lip. “But don’t you think . . . ,” she began, her words petering out as Miss Brewer raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Miss Brewer,” Mabel sighed. “I really didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  Miss Brewer was silent for a while, proceeding to read a letter on her desk while Mabel stood in front of her, folding the handkerchief into a tight square. After about five minutes, the headmistress looked up and sighed. “You can go now, Mabel.”

  “But I haven’t polished your crystal balls yet, Miss Brewer.”

  “Yes, you have, Mabel, rather recently if I recall. You will be better served by going to your sewing class.”

  “We’re making flying cloaks,” Ruby whispered, as Mabel slipped into her seat.

  Miss Seymour beamed at the class. “In honor of your first flying lesson, we’re going to be designing travel wear today.” Her fat auburn ringlets bobbed around her ears like springs. “Who would like to demonstrate?” Winifred stuck her hand in the air, and Miss Seymour pointed her wand at her. “Come on up, Winifred.”

  Fluffing out her skirts, Winifred flounced to the front of the class. “Now, be as creative as you like,” Miss Seymour said, “but remember, these cloaks have to be practical as well as attractive.” Winifred chose a bolt of deep purple velvet from the fabric shelf and spread it over the worktable like Miss Seymour had shown them. “Now draw on your creative magic and picture the cloak in your head, Winifred. Just like you did when you made your spell apron.” Winifred shut her eyes and concentrated. “Wait till you can feel your magic fizzing,” Miss Seymour said. Winifred nodded. “Can you see the cloak clearly?” Miss Seymour asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Winifred sighed. “It’s quite beautiful.”

  “Right then, whenever you’re ready, Winifred. Say the design spell, and remember the upward flick of your wand at the end.”

  Taking a deep breath, Winifred waved her wand over the fabric and called out, “Creataclothis.” A cloud of violet and blue smoke swirled around the fabric, and a whirring, snipping sound could be heard. When the smoke cleared, drifting in wisps across the sewing room, there, draped across the table, was a cloak. Miss Seymour held it up and the girls oohed.

  “It’s beautiful, Winifred,” Florence Steiner said.

  “Yes, simply stunning,” Diana Mansfield agreed.

  “Very nice,” Miss Seymour said, turning the cloak around, “if a touch lopsided, Winifred. And perhaps a little much with the feathers?”

  “A little much?” Ruby whispered to Mabel. “There must be at least a flock of peacocks stuck on there.”

  “I think it’s perfect,” Florence said with a simpering smile. “Well done, Winifred.”

  “Oh, yes, well done,” Diana agreed.

  “Who’s next?” Miss Seymour mused, looking around the room. “Mabel Ratcliff, I think. Come along, Mabel. Let’s see what you can do.” Mabel got up and tramped to the head of the class. She picked out a bolt of brown woolen tweed.

  “That’s a nice practical color,” Miss Seymour commented.

  “So dull,” Winifred murmured. “But practical,” she added quickly, noticing Miss Seymour frowning at her.

  “Now, picture just what you’d like to wear when flying,” Miss Seymour said, turning her attention back to Mabel.

  Mabel scrunched up her face and was silent for a few moments while she thought. “Creataclothis,” she finally said, waving her wand in the air and remembering the little upward flick at the end. This time there was a cloud of brown and green tweedy-colored smoke swirling around the table and a sharp clipping sound from inside. When the smoke cleared, Miss Seymour held up Mabel’s flying cloak. Except it wasn’t a flying cloak at all. It was a pair of men’s trousers. The class burst into raucous laughter, and Mabel blushed.

  “I—I tried to focus on making a cloak, I really did, but my mind kept drifting to those,” Mabel said, nodding at the trousers. She hung her head in shame. “Wouldn’t it be more sensible to wear something like that when flying? Then we wouldn’t have to worry about showing our petticoats,” she mumbled, waiting to be sent right back to the headmistress’s office.

  Miss Seymour looked furious, and Mabel hunched her shoulders, preparing for the angry outburst that she knew was about to come.

  “This whole class is showing great disrespect,” Miss Seymour snapped. “You will all write out one hundred lines for me, saying, ‘I shall treat my classmates as I would expect to be treated myself.’ ” Miss Seymour tossed her head, sending her curls spinning. She took some deep, calming breaths and turned Mabel’s trousers around. “An unusual design, but these are exceptionally made, Mabel. Unfortunately you will not be able to wear them to school because they are not part of our uniform, but your hemming is even and the buttons on the pockets are attractive and practical at the same time.”

  “So your wand doesn’t fall out?” Ruby suggested.

  “Exactly, Ruby. Nice observation.” Miss Seymour raised her chin a notch, and Mabel couldn’t help feeling surprised. There was something bold and slightly defiant about the sewing teacher’s response, as if by admiring Mabel’s trousers she was exposing a side of herself that had been hidden before. Just like her bicycle-riding side, Mabel thought.

  “But, Miss Seymour,” Winifred remarked, glancing at Florence and Diana. “Those are most unfeminine and not the least bit attractive. Girls don’t wear that sort of thing. Men do.” Winifred gave a delicate shudder. “I would rather wear an old flour sack.”

  “Would you please leave the room, Winifred Delacy? I didn’t ask for your opinion, and I’m sure Miss Brewer will have something to say about it.”

  Winifred opened her mouth to complain but thought better of it. She had never been sent to Miss Brewer’s office before, and giving a sulky curtsy, she turned and left the classroom, throwing Mabel a look of fury on her way out.

  For the first time since starting school, Mabel felt as if someone was taking her ideas seriously. That she wasn’t completely insane to imagine trousers would be a much better thing to wear on a broomstick rather than layers of skirts and petticoats. And even though Miss Seymour hadn’t come out and said it, Mabel was certain that the sewing teacher agreed with her.

  “I’ll do half your lines for you,” Mabel offered, waiting in the lunch queue with Ruby and trying to avoid eye contact with Mrs. Bainbridge. “You didn’t laugh at my trousers, Ruby, so you shouldn’t have to do the punishment.”

  “Thanks.” Ruby smiled. “And I thought your trousers were extremely original.”

  “You should be doing my lines,” Winifred said, turning around and glaring at Mabel. “Since it’s your fault we got them in the first place.”

  “I’ll help you, Winifred,” Florence offered.

  “So will I,” Diana quickly agreed. “I’m sure your father will be terribly upset.”

  “I’m sure he’ll complain to Miss Brewer when he hears how I’ve been treated,” Winifred said. She looked down her nose at Mabel. “Miss Brewer should have expelled you, Mabel Ratcliff. I had a stomachache for hours after eating your liver. Why Ruthersfield accepted you in the first place is a mystery. You don’t know the f
irst thing about being a witch.” She gave a disgusted sniff. “You can’t dance the waft and glide. You slouch over a crystal ball. And you have no sense of style. Witches do not wear trousers. Nor do ladies.”

  “My mother says a lady shouldn’t say spiteful things either,” Ruby said quietly.

  “What does your mother know about ladies?” Winifred scoffed. “She’s just a canal worker’s wife.”

  A deep red flush spread up Ruby’s neck, and she flinched at Winifred’s words.

  “You’re so cruel, Winifred,” Mabel burst out. “That’s such a mean thing to say. Why do you always have to be so horrible?”

  For a moment Winifred looked taken aback. She wasn’t used to girls standing up to her, and Mabel felt suddenly nervous, unsure what Winifred might do. Florence and Diana glanced at each other uneasily, and Winifred’s face hardened. “You better watch it, Mabel Ratcliff.” Turning away, she slipped her arms possessively through Diana’s and Florence’s. “Come on, girls. I’ve lost my appetite. Mabel’s probably poisoned the sausages.”

  “Thank you for defending me,” Ruby said after they had left. “Winifred seemed really mad, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did,” Mabel agreed, “and I probably shouldn’t have said what I said. But I don’t regret it. Winifred is mean.”

  Ruby gave her a warm smile. “You’re a good friend, Mabel.”

  “That’s nice to know,” Mabel joked rather shakily. “Because with Winifred against me, I need all the friends I can get.” Out of all the girls in the school, she had definitely picked the worst one to make an enemy.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  A Cottage by the Canal

  AFTER COLLECTING THEIR BROOMSTICKS AT the end of the day, Mabel and Ruby watched Miss Seymour wheel her bicycle out of the broom shed. Miss Reed stood nearby with her arms folded, a look of utter disgust on her face.

  “I don’t think our flying teacher approves,” Ruby murmured. “She looks furious.”

  “Gosh, I think that’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” Mabel said. “Can I touch it, Miss Seymour?” she called out.

  “Be my guest,” Miss Seymour replied. “I’m still rather wobbly when I ride, but it’s great fun.”

  “Are you going to come to school on it every day?” Mabel asked, running her hands over the smooth, black, metal frame.

  Miss Seymour laughed. “Gosh, no! I only rode here the past few days because poor Bramble has been suffering with an infected paw. He’s going around limping and refuses to get on my broomstick. And I can’t fly without a cat, of course.”

  Mabel ran her fingers over the shiny metal spokes, touching the chain and the pedals, examining how it was made, and imagining a bicycle that could be ridden across the sky.

  After a few minutes Ruby cleared her throat. “Mabel, I think Miss Seymour wants to go,” she said.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry.” Mabel jumped up. “It’s just so magnificent.”

  “Could we move along, please?” Miss Reed called out, sounding annoyed. “There are girls waiting to take off. You’re creating a holdup.” She waved her arms in furious circles, directing broomstick traffic around them.

  “Time to go,” Miss Seymour said, and climbing onto her bicycle, she pedaled madly toward the school gates, ringing her bell to clear a pathway.

  “First day flying home without a chaperone,” Mabel said, patting the back of her broomstick. “Come on, Lightning.” She hoped the name she had chosen for her cat might give him a little more zip. Not that she expected him to prance about like Violet Featherstone’s cat did. It would just be nice if he moved at something faster than a lazy waddle. Reluctantly he got up off the ground and flopped down behind Mabel.

  “There goes Winifred,” Ruby sighed, as Winifred wobbled past them, her cat perched gracefully behind her. She didn’t look down, but Mabel could see the expression of smug satisfaction on her face. “I just can’t seem to get my balance,” Ruby said, rising a few feet off the ground. “It’s sitting sideways like this. I keep thinking I’m going to slip off again.” She brushed a sleeve over her eyes, and Mabel realized she was crying.

  “Do you want me to fly home with you?” Mabel suggested, knowing this might make her late, but hating to see her friend so upset. “I don’t have to,” she added quickly, not wanting to make Ruby uncomfortable. The girls had been friends for four years now, and although Ruby had been over to Mabel’s house for tea a few times, she had never invited Mabel back. Not that Mabel minded, because Ruby didn’t invite anyone over, saying her house was too small and crowded.

  Ruby hesitated a moment and then nodded. “I won’t be so frightened of falling if I know you’re beside me.”

  “We can’t fly more than six feet off the ground for the first week anyway,” Mabel reminded her. “So if you do fall, it won’t be far.”

  With a great deal of shakiness, Ruby and Mabel turned left down Glover Lane, Mabel’s broomstick dipping at the back because of Lightning’s extra weight. “It’s hard to fly level,” Mabel panted. “And my feet keep slipping out of these skirt loops.”

  “I know. Mine too. You should have worn your trousers, Mabel.”

  “Can you imagine Miss Brewer’s face if I did!”

  “Hey, look out,” a gentleman shouted, as Mabel zigzagged overhead, knocking off his top hat with her shoe. “You beginners are a hazard to pedestrians.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Mabel called back. This was so different from the floating she had done as a child. There was nothing airy or free-form about it. You had to concentrate, and Mabel guessed that their backs would be stiff and achy in the morning from holding themselves so straight.

  “Thanks for flying with me,” Ruby panted, heading up toward Canal Street. The road veered off down a grassy track, and Ruby hovered a second, as if she were making up her mind about something. “Would you like to come in for tea?” she finally said. “It’s not a big house, and it doesn’t have fancy things in it like yours, and I’ve got lots of sisters, and it can get noisy and—”

  “I’d love to,” Mabel interrupted, beaming at her friend. “I’d just love to.” Nanny Grimshaw would be cross, but it was worth getting punished for, Mabel decided. If she missed this opportunity, Ruby might not ask her again. And with a sense of recklessness, Mabel followed Ruby down the track that led toward the canal. Two horses clopped along the bank, pulling a barge slowly behind. The barge blew its horn at them, and Ruby gave an embarrassed smile.

  “That’s my pa,” she said, lifting one hand quickly off her broomstick to wave at a man on the boat deck wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a cloth cap. “He’s taking a shipment of stone down to London.”

  “Hello, Mr. Tanner,” Mabel called out. “Nice to meet you.” Ruby’s dad put his fingers in his mouth and whistled at the girls, a loud, sharp whistle that Mabel found most impressive. She decided that if she got to know Mr. Tanner a little better, she would ask him to show her how it was done.

  “Here we are,” Ruby huffed, landing in front of a tiny cottage that sat beside the canal. It was set back from the water a little ways, with a stone wall surrounding the property. “It’s not very fancy,” Ruby apologized, as a woman came out of the cottage. She had a white cotton scarf tied around her head and four little girls hanging from her skirts. They all had the same fine, butter-colored hair and pale blue eyes as Ruby. As soon as the children saw Ruby’s cat, they pounced on him with squeals of delight and carried him inside the cottage.

  “And who is this?” the woman said, pressing a hand against the small of her back and giving Mabel a tired smile.

  “This is Mabel, Ma. She flew home with me because I was a bit scared to try it by myself.” Ruby fiddled with her shirt collar “I asked her to stay for tea.”

  “Pleased to meet you, mam,” Mabel said with a curtsy.

  “Well then, you’d better come in,” Mrs. Tanner said, and before Mabel could finish replying, Ruby’s mother had hustled her inside the cottage and M
abel found herself sitting at a table, crowded with all Ruby’s sisters, eating a piece of caraway cake.

  Seeing Mabel trying to count heads, Ruby said, “There’s eight of us in all. Not counting Ma and Pa of course.”

  “All girls,” Mrs. Tanner sighed, looking around the table. “But I wouldn’t trade a one of them.”

  “Where does everyone sleep?” Mabel asked, realizing right away that this was a rude question and none of her business.

  “Ma and Pa have one room with the two little ones,” Ruby said. “And the rest of us share the other. Three to a bed.” Mabel tried not to show her surprise.

  “Yes, and Ruby is the worst kicker,” one of the oldest girls remarked. “She’s always knocking me onto the floor.”

  “Ruby’s the worst kicker and Ruby’s the only witch,” a little girl cried out, banging her tin mug on the table. “Ruby’s a witch, Ruby’s a witch,” she chanted.

  “That’s enough, Camellia.” Mrs. Tanner put a finger against her lips.

  “Camellia! What a beautiful name,” Mabel burst out. “I love flower names. I wish I’d been called Magnolia,” she added wistfully.

  “Oh, I think Mabel suits you,” Mrs. Tanner said, which was not what Mabel wanted to hear. “Anyway, it took us quite off guard when we found out our Ruby had the gift. I still haven’t recovered from the shock,” she remarked, unable to hide her pride. “None of us have. The only witch we know of in the family is Ruby’s great-aunt Ethel. She was a tea leaf reader in a carnival.”

  “This was her ring,” Ruby said shyly, showing Mabel a thin silver band that she wore on her thumb. It had a green stone in the center carved into the shape of a sickle moon. “I never take it off,” Ruby added. “It makes me feel connected to her.”

  “Ruby’s learning magic like Great-Aunt Ethel did,” another little girl said. “She can do spells. Can you do spells?”

  “A few,” Mabel replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by the small space and all these sisters. “This is a delicious cake,” she said, finishing the last crumb on her plate.