by Natasha Lowe
“All right, all right,” Daisy snapped. “You don’t have to say that word out loud.”
“Just rinse the potion in before bed, and tomorrow, when you wake up, you should have long, soft, red curls like Nellie Glitters’s.”
“Ummm.” Daisy chewed on her lip.
“If you’re nervous, Daisy, you could test a bit of your hair first,” Mabel suggested, feeling just the tiniest bit anxious herself. It made sense in her head, blending these ingredients together, but with no one to ask, she couldn’t help thinking about the liver disaster.
“Ummm,” Daisy said again, eyeing the bottle of potion. “I’ll consider it, Miss Mabel. Now, get yourself back upstairs before Nanny Grimface wakes.”
“Daisy, do you think we could petition to get rid of Nanny?” Mabel proposed. “I’ll write one out, and if we both sign it, Mama would have to consider letting her go.”
“Don’t I wish,” Daisy muttered. “Honestly, I’d keep that kipper-stealing cat of yours over old sour face any day.”
Nanny Grimshaw was still snoring away in her armchair when Mabel crept back into the nursery, and by the time she opened her eyes, Mabel was hard at work on her embroidery. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully enough, except for Lightning helping himself to a lamb chop. Mabel had no idea whether Daisy planned to use her hair potion or not. But she had a strong suspicion that the answer was probably yes when a sharp, high-pitched scream woke her the following morning.
Leaping out of bed, Mabel raced across the landing. “Please don’t let Mama and Nanny wake up,” she prayed, flinging open the door to Daisy’s room and giving a rather loud shriek herself. “Daisy?” Mabel gasped, staring at the cloud of bright pink hair puffing upward from Daisy’s head. It had grown at least two feet, but in the wrong direction, and looked rather like an enormous, fluffy candle flame. Curls of pink smoke drifted around it, and reaching out a hand to touch, Mabel was shocked by how warm and soft it felt.
“My hair!” Daisy wailed, turning from her mirror. “What have you done?”
There was a long moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I thought you were going to just test a bit,” Mabel whispered at last, wondering what on earth had gone wrong.
“Easier said than done,” Daisy hissed. She glared at Mabel. “It kept dribbling over my scalp, and I decided it would be better to have all my hair look the same. Big mistake that was.”
“Well, it’s certainly grown. And it is lovely and soft.”
“It looks like the cotton candy they sell at the circus,” Daisy rasped. “I could be part of a freak show.”
“It would make a wonderful hand-warmer,” Mabel suggested, thinking this was rather a good idea. “Tuck your hands inside on cold days,” she added, lifting her arms above her head to demonstrate in case Daisy didn’t understand what she meant.
Daisy grabbed a magazine from her dressing table and held up the picture of a beautiful young woman with long, auburn curls. “I look nothing like Nellie Glitters,” she sobbed. “Nothing at all.”
Mabel had to agree. “You don’t, but we’re not going to give up, Daisy. I’ll keep working on this, I promise.”
“No, you won’t,” Daisy snapped, surprising Mabel with her sharpness. She shook her head vigorously and her puffy pink hair swayed back and forth. “What was I thinking?”
“Will you tell my mother?” Mabel asked, dreading to think what Nora would say.
“I should,” Daisy grunted, narrowing her eyes. “But the truth is I’m too embarrassed to show this to anybody.”
“Would you like me to cut it off for you?” Mabel whispered. “It won’t take long for your old hair to grow back in. And you can cover it with your cap, Daisy. No one will be able to tell.” There was a rather strange smell of burning feathers in the room, which Mabel had only just noticed.
“No, thank you very much,” Daisy said. She glanced back at the mirror and shuddered. “I’ve well and truly had it with your experimenting.”
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
The Society of Forward-Thinking Witches
HAVE YOU NOTICED THAT MISS Seymour and Miss Brewer seem to be spending an awful lot of time together lately?” Ruby remarked one morning. The girls were on their way to potions class when Miss Seymour swept out of the headmistress’s office and hurried off down the corridor. “I’d love to know what’s going on. Whatever it is, it’s making Miss Brewer all grumpy,” Ruby said. “She snapped at me yesterday for having wrinkles in my stockings. But Miss Seymour’s been going around beaming. Mabel? Are you listening?”
“Sorry. It’s just so hot,” Mabel sighed, wanting to peel off her damp, itchy petticoats. “And my neck aches from practicing swan posture in palm reading. All that sitting still and looking elegant is exhausting.” And pointless, Mabel thought in dejection. It had been two weeks since her suspension, and after Daisy’s refusal to let Mabel near her hair again, a flat heaviness had settled inside her. As if nothing really mattered very much. She had even stopped trying to collect signatures for her petition. “Perhaps it’s the weather that’s making Miss Brewer irritable,” Mabel suggested. “Nanny’s certainly been worse than usual.”
A lot of the cats seemed troubled by the heat too, hissing and scratching and refusing to get on their broomsticks.
“Which is why,” Miss Mantel told the girls in potions class, “we will be making a cat-calming brew. Witches’ cats are high-strung creatures and rather sensitive to the heat.”
“Yes, they are,” Tabitha agreed. “Carbonel nipped me this morning, and kept arching his back when I was flying. I almost fell off.”
“Well, this works like a charm,” Miss Mantel said. “You’ll have your kitty eating out of your hand in no time. It’s a nice, simple recipe, just evening dew and catnip.”
“I wish it worked on nannies too,” Mabel muttered, opening Traditional Magic. “ ‘A way to make your kitty more pleasant,’ ” she read. “ ‘If your cat is prone to biting and hissing, this potion will calm him down, turn him into a gentle flying companion.’ ” Mabel stared at the page. Nanny wasn’t a cat, but maybe a little calming potion would make her more pleasant? Perhaps she’d even let Mabel play outside for a change.
“Why are you taking that with you?” Ruby asked, as Mabel slid a bottle of cat brew into her satchel at the end of class. “Lightning is a sweetheart. He doesn’t need calming down.”
“No, but Nanny Grimshaw does,” Mabel whispered. “I probably won’t use it,” she added, seeing Ruby’s anxious face. “It’s just nice to have on hand. And it’s only catnip and evening dew. It can’t hurt her.”
“You are completely out of your mind, Mabel.”
“You would be too if you had to live with my nanny,” Mabel said, dragging along the corridor toward sewing class.
Miss Seymour seemed in an exceptionally good mood. Her eyes sparkled as she greeted the girls. “Before we start work on our sweet dream pillows, I have a few announcements. First, make sure your hands are dry before handling the phoenix feathers. They stick terribly to sweaty palms. Second”—Miss Seymour looked around the class—“we have an important guest visiting from London tomorrow, so please be on time. Some of you in particular, I think, will be most fascinated to hear what she has to say.” She was smiling at Mabel as she spoke, and for the first time in a long while, Mabel’s toes started to tingle. A soft breeze blew through the open window, stirring the heavy air and bringing with it a waft of possibility.
With all Mabel’s good intentions of getting to school early the next day, she ended up being fifteen minutes late. Nanny had insisted on porridge for breakfast, and Mabel gulped down as much as she could manage before pushing her bowl away.
“Tomorrow’s breakfast,” Nanny said, taking the bowl through to the pantry. “I’m putting it on a high shelf,” she called out, “so that cat can’t get it.” As Mabel tried to leave, Nanny Grimshaw had marched her back upstairs for a clean handkerchief, and then again to change her stockings
, which had a tiny hole in the left leg.
By the time Mabel tiptoed into the great hall and slipped into the seat Ruby had been saving for her, the whole school was already assembled. “Mabel, where were you?” Ruby whispered.
“Couldn’t get away from mean, old Nanny,” Mabel panted. “She will definitely be getting some cat-calming brew tonight. Has anyone noticed I’m late?”
“No. The teachers are all in a flap over this special visitor. I do know it’s a witch,” Ruby whispered, “because she has a broomstick parked outside with letters carved on it. SOFTW—whatever that means.”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Mabel murmured, as Miss Brewer walked onto the stage, accompanied by Miss Seymour and a tall witch in black robes, with bangs of frizzy red hair showing from under her hat.
“Silence,” Miss Brewer barked, although there was no need for such a statement because the girls had already quieted down. “I have always believed in the sort of magical education we offer our students here at Ruthersfield,” Miss Brewer began. She glanced over at Miss Seymour and her jaw tightened. “But it has been brought to my attention recently that as we move toward a new century, it is time for us to re-examine the place witchcraft will take in this changing world.” Mabel felt a thrill of anticipation race through her. She didn’t know what was coming, but words like “change” and “re-examine” were full of promise. “So would you please give a warm welcome to Miss Angelina Tate, who is here to talk about the possibility, and I do stress possibility,” Miss Brewer said, staring straight at Mabel, “of introducing a science program into our school curriculum.”
Mabel clapped as hard as she could. “This is so exciting, Ruby. And what a beautiful name Miss Tate has. Angelina,” Mabel murmured, running the syllables over her tongue. “That is almost as lovely as Magnolia.”
Winifred turned around. “You haven’t even heard what she has to say yet, Mabel.” The way Winifred pronounced “Mabel” made it sound even uglier and plainer than usual. “And why would a witch want to learn science anyway?” Winifred fanned herself with her hand. “It is so hot in here I feel quite faint.” Leaning toward Florence, she whispered, “I wouldn’t wish that color hair on anyone. It’s as orange as carrots.”
“Keep quiet, Winifred, and stop being mean,” Mabel hissed, as the orange-haired lady began to speak.
“It is a great honor to visit with you here today. I am a Ruthersfield alumna myself.” There was another round of clapping, and Angelina Tate held up her hand. “This is the age of science, girls. All around us new inventions are being created. The world is changing fast, and it is important for magic to change along with it.”
“Oh, yes!” Mabel breathed, grabbing Ruby’s arm.
“Until recently we have relied on the same spells that our ancestors used. Traditional spells passed down from generation to generation that will always have a place in society. But now is the time to dare to push boundaries and fly against the wind. To experiment with our magic and see where such new thinking leads us.” Miss Tate paused a moment before saying, “So with the help of Miss Seymour, the Society of Forward-Thinking Witches is going to sponsor a competition here at Ruthersfield.”
“A competition,” Mabel whispered in excitement.
“If I may interrupt one moment,” Miss Brewer said, stamping her cane for silence. “Any girl who chooses to enter will follow strict competition guidelines.” Once again Miss Brewer’s eyes were on Mabel. “Miss Tate has written a simple guide to spell construction with basic templates you can follow. There is a dictionary of ingredients in the back, and she has listed combinations of things that do and do not work well together.”
“Chocolate liver!” someone whispered, setting off a ripple of laughter.
“We want you girls to come up with your own inventions,” Miss Tate continued. “A new spell that will make the running of a household a little easier.”
“Perhaps you could give the girls some examples?” Miss Seymour broke in.
“Of course.” Angelina Tate smiled. “We just ran this competition at L’École Sorcellerie, the renowned school of witchcraft in Paris. The students entered some wonderful inventions—magic slippers that run errands for you, a cake that bakes without an oven while you sing to it, buttons that do up by themselves.” Miss Seymour started clapping, and the girls followed her lead, until Miss Tate held up her hand again. “Most important of all, we want you girls to use your minds, get your hands dirty. Embrace the world of science.”
“I’m not getting my hands dirty,” Winifred said. “I always wear gloves when I mix up my spells. And why would we want to create new spells?” she said, sounding anxious. “The ones we have are perfectly good.”
“Won’t your father expect you to enter, Winifred,” Florence said, “being on the board of governors?”
“I’m sure he will,” Winifred sighed, wrapping a hair ribbon round her finger.
“My papa will certainly complain to Miss Brewer,” Florence whispered. “He thinks we’re far too modern here at Ruthersfield as it is. If he had his way, I’d be home embroidering samplers with Mother all day long.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Ruby said. “Don’t you, Mabel?”
“I do,” Mabel agreed, waving her hand in the air.
“Why do you always have to be so keen, Mabel?” Winifred muttered.
Miss Brewer peered in Mabel’s direction. “What a surprise. You have a question, Mabel Ratcliff?”
The hall had gone quiet, and Mabel gulped down her nerves. “I—I just wondered,” Mabel began, wiping her sweaty hands on her pinafore. “I wondered why our inventions had to be only for the household? Could we invent other things too, Miss Tate?”
“Such as?” Miss Tate said, stepping to the front of the stage.
“Well, I’d love to invent a broomstick that would fly to the moon,” Mabel began, startled at the laughter that broke out. “Or shrinking buildings that fit in your pocket so you could move them wherever you wanted.” As she sat down quickly, Mabel’s chair scraped along the floor.
“Interesting ideas,” Miss Tate said, “but right now those areas of science are not ones that women have much experience with. Hopefully in the future this will change.”
Mabel wished she hadn’t said anything, because Winifred was whispering in Florence’s ear, and Florence was bent over, giggling behind her hands.
For the rest of day, every time Winifred walked past Mabel, she made a whooshing noise, sending Diana and Florence into spasms of laughter. When the last bell rang at the end of embroidery class, Mabel’s curiosity finally got the better of her, and she asked the girls what was so funny.
“That’s the noise my invisible broomstick makes when it flies to the moon,” Winifred said, causing Diana and Florence to collapse into fresh giggles.
“Ignore them,” Ruby said, pulling Mabel into the corridor before she could retaliate. “You can’t risk getting sent to Miss Brewer’s office again. Winifred’s just being mean because she knows you’re going to invent something better than she is.”
The girls were hunting for their cats in the great hall when Miss Seymour swept by. She stopped in front of them for a moment. “I loved what you said to Miss Tate this morning, Mabel. It’s good to have dreams to follow. Don’t lose that passion.”
Mabel looked surprised. She blinked at Miss Seymour from behind her thick lenses. “I won’t, I promise. And I’m so excited by the competition, Miss Seymour.”
“I’m sure you are, but don’t get too carried away, Mabel. Overambitiousness is what gets you into trouble. There’s nothing wrong with a simple invention. You’ve got plenty of time to construct that rocket broomstick!” With a warm smile at the girls, she flew on.
“You’re Miss Seymour’s special pet, aren’t you, Mabel?” Winifred said smoothly, stepping out of the shadows.
“Oh, keep quiet,” Mabel muttered, resisting the urge to give Winifred a hard push.
“Well, we all know Winifred won’t be
entering the competition,” Ruby said. “She doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.”
“No, I have far more important things to concern myself with. Like a new dress fitting for a beautiful pale blue satin gown Mama has ordered for me.” Winifred gave her curls a toss. “We’re having a house party this weekend, and I’m going to be allowed to stay up for the dance.” She practiced batting her eyelashes. “Mama says I can tell fortunes if I wish. We have some special houseguests coming to stay. Lord and Lady Gofry from Fandlemarsh and some old friends of Mama’s from Melton Bay.”
“How thrilling,” Mabel said, noticing the way her skin always started itching whenever Melton Bay was mentioned.
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
A Much Nicer Nanny!
THE WHOLE WAY HOME MABEL thought about inventions. If thin, slow-growing hair was something a lot of woman suffered from and didn’t talk about, then maybe a magic hair potion would be a great invention to enter in the competition, assuming she could make it work. And assuming she could convince Daisy to let her experiment again. It wasn’t exactly a household gadget, but it would certainly make a lady’s life much pleasanter. The instant Miss Seymour had handed out the spell construction guides, Mabel had looked up dried phoenix flames in the index. She was fascinated (and a little horrified) to discover that when mixed with a cold ingredient, like a blast of north wind, polar bear breath, or Icelandic dwarf beard, the color changed and the heat source was activated. Which was why, Mabel realized, Daisy’s hair had been so warm. And pink! And all that hot air had made it puff up. Well, at least now she knew, although it would have been nice to have such information before she began experimenting.
As soon as Mabel got home that afternoon, she raced to the greenhouse, but her mother wasn’t there. Mabel found her in the drawing room, scribbling notes and reading about cross-pollination. “Mama, there’s a competition at school,” she burst out. “We get to make our own inventions, and I have to tell you all about it!”
