by Natasha Lowe
“My goodness! That does sound exciting.” Nora closed her book and smiled. “Then we must have tea together.”
“Really, Mama?” Mabel could hear Nanny’s shoes clomping down the stairs. “You won’t change your mind? You promise.”
Nanny Grimshaw appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Nanny,” Nora said. “Are you looking for Mabel?”
“Indeed I am,” Nanny replied with a brisk smile. “Come along, Mabel. You shouldn’t be disturbing your mother like this.”
“Oh, she’s not disturbing me one bit,” Nora said. “We’re about to have tea.”
“But, mam, Mabel has her embroidery to do, and a pair of stockings to darn.”
“That can all wait,” Nora said, much to Mabel’s relief. “Why don’t you have a nice cup of tea in the kitchen with Daisy and a read of the newspaper, Nanny?”
“I don’t approve of newspapers,” Nanny said tartly. “And I will take my tea in the garden.” With a sharp nod at Nora, she stalked out of the room.
“I’ll tell Daisy,” Mabel offered, wanting an excuse to go to the kitchen.
“Good thing I made a seedcake,” Daisy said when she heard, dabbing a handkerchief over her cheeks. Beads of sweat glistened on her flushed skin, and she looked awfully hot beneath her bonnet. It was an old wool one that covered her whole head, but ever since the hair disaster Daisy had refused to take it off.
“You’re the best, Daisy,” Mabel said, giving her a hug.
“Sucking up to me doesn’t mean I’ve completely forgiven you, Miss Mabel,” Daisy remarked rather tartly. And Mabel decided that perhaps this was not the best time to suggest trying out another hair experiment.
“Mama says we can have our tea in the drawing room,” Mabel said, tipping a couple of drops of cat-calming potion into the single cup on the small tray. “This is going out to Nanny, isn’t it?” she asked, as Daisy placed a milk jug and a slice of cake on the tray.
“Why are you so interested?” Daisy said suspiciously.
“I just want to make sure Nanny enjoys her tea, that’s all.”
Over cucumber sandwiches and seedcake, Mabel told her mother all about the Society of Forward-Thinking Witches and the competition they were organizing through the school. “Can you believe it, Mama? We’re going to start learning about science.” Mabel swung her feet in excitement. “Why spells work and what happens when you mix different ingredients together. About time too,” Mabel added. “I can’t wait to come up with an invention of my own. Finally, I can start experimenting without getting into trouble.”
“Well, thank goodness for the Society of Forward-Thinking Witches,” Nora said, clinking her teacup against Mabel’s.
Mabel gave a little shiver. “I was thinking about making a pair of magic hands, Mama. You’re always saying you could do with an extra set while you work.”
“I certainly could,” Nora said. “But how would you manage such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Mabel confessed. “I just like the idea.” She was just helping herself to a third slice of cake (making the most of Nanny’s absence) when the drawing room door burst open.
“I think you better come quickly, mam,” Daisy said, speaking to Nora but staring at Mabel. “Nanny’s acting very strange.”
“What seems to be the matter?” Nora got to her feet.
“You’ll see, soon enough.”
Nanny Grimshaw was lying on the lawn in a patch of sun. She had her arms and legs stretched out to the sides and her face turned upward.
“Nanny!” Nora said. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Meow! I’m sorry, mam.” Nanny struggled to her feet. “It just looked so nice and sunny over there.”
“Nanny, are you feeling all right?” Nora asked, while Mabel tried to avoid her mother’s gaze.
“I feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Nanny said, nuzzling her head against Nora’s arm.
“Are you purring, Nanny?” Nora said in alarm. “It sounds as if you’re purring.” Nanny Grimshaw started walking around her in circles, rubbing her head all over Nora.
“Nanny, stop it.” Nora tried to step away. “I think you should go and lie down. Should I call the doctor?”
“I don’t believe there’s any need for that, mam. She’ll be better when she’s had a little sleep. You can help me take her up,” Daisy said, eying Mabel sharply.
Nanny Grimshaw kept stopping to rub against the banisters as they shepherded her upstairs. Mabel could still hear her purring. When they finally got her onto her bed, Nanny Grimshaw smiled up at them and gave a sleepy meow.
“I don’t know what you’ve done, Miss Mabel, but she better be back to normal in the morning,” Daisy murmured.
“Come on, Daisy. You can’t pretend you don’t like her like this. She’s so much pleasanter. I even feel quite fond of her,” Mabel said, stroking Nanny Grimshaw on the back. “Who’s a nice nanny then?”
They left her purring away under the covers, and Mabel had a wonderful evening. She got to eat as many sausages as she wanted, and Nora even read her a bedtime story.
When Nanny Grimshaw came down for breakfast the next day, she gave Mabel a hard, suspicious look. “It appears I was unwell yesterday. Not at all myself.”
“Well, you seem nicely rested now,” Daisy interjected, handing her a cup of tea.
“This has something to do with you, Mabel Ratcliff, I just know it does,” Nanny hissed, “and I intend to find out what.”
Too nervous to finish her last bite of scone, Mabel excused herself from the table.
“How did it go?” Ruby asked when Mabel got to school. She was rubbing at a fresh bruise on her chin. “With your nanny, I mean?”
Ignoring the question, Mabel peered at Ruby’s face. “Where did that come from?”
“I fell,” Ruby admitted. “I don’t want to talk about it though.” She rubbed her eyes. “I just hate flying a broomstick.”
“I’m going to work on getting more signatures for my petition,” Mabel said, feeling a renewed sense of energy. “Then I can take it along to Miss Brewer next week.”
“Tell me about your nanny,” Ruby asked again. “What happened?”
“Nanny Grimshaw made a really nice cat, but I think she got suspicious when she started purring.”
“Just concentrate on the competition,” Ruby begged. “You’re only going to get yourself in trouble.”
This was good advice, and throughout the weekend, Mabel came up with all sorts of different ideas. She considered inventing special shoes for Daisy with springs in them so with one big leap she could be home from the shops. Or a teakettle that called out to you when it was boiling, so even if Daisy was in the garden, she’d hear it screaming, “I’m boiling, I’m boiling.” Or how about dishes that leaped in the sink and washed themselves?
By Monday morning, Mabel couldn’t wait to share her ideas with Ruby. She was also determined to try to gather a few more signatures for her petition. As soon as Mabel got to school, she positioned herself by the academy gates, waving her petition at the girls as they trailed in. “Please sign,” Mabel begged. “Riding sidesaddle with a cat is dangerous and outdated. We’ve got to change the rules.” She managed to secure five more signatures and quite a lot of interest, especially from the younger girls.
“Mabel, you are being ridiculous,” Violet Featherstone said, swooping past her with her chaperone group. “Miss Brewer will never allow us to ride the way you are suggesting. It’s a shocking thing to propose.”
“But why is riding with the broomstick between your legs shocking?” Mabel said, watching Violet’s cheeks turn pink. “It’s sensible. In medieval times witches used to perform in circuses. They would do dives and spirals, and all sorts of acrobatics on their broomsticks.”
“Thank goodness those days are past,” Violet said. “That is not how a lady behaves.”
“I think we should start up broomstick sports,” Mabel suggested, at which point Violet pulled out her smelling salts and stiffly marched h
er chaperone group into school.
Winifred breezed past with Florence and Diana. She gave Mabel a curious look, then leaned over and whispered something to Florence. Every few steps the girls kept glancing back, but Mabel did her best to ignore them. She watched Miss Reed and Miss Seymour land on the pavement and, carrying their broomsticks, they walked toward her, cats trotting behind.
“This is nonsense,” Miss Reed said, frowning at Mabel. “I’m surprised Miss Brewer hasn’t put a stop to it. Causing trouble, that’s what this is. And riding bicycles to school doesn’t help matters,” she muttered under her breath.
Ignoring Miss Reed’s comment, Miss Seymour said, “Have you taken your petition to Miss Brewer yet, Mabel?”
“I’m a little scared of what she might say,” Mabel admitted. “But I will.”
Miss Seymour turned to Miss Reed. “We’ve had five girls end up with concussions this year because of slipping off broomsticks. I think it’s time the school addressed this issue.”
“Girls fall off broomsticks because they don’t pay attention,” Miss Reed snapped. “Not because they ride sidesaddle.” She stalked off toward the broomstick shed, and Mabel hoped she wasn’t going to report her to the headmistress.
“I plan to talk to Miss Brewer about this matter myself,” Miss Seymour told Mabel. “Would you like me to come with you when you drop off the petition?”
“I’m going to do it now, before history,” Mabel said. “Before I lose my courage.”
“Then I will have to wish you luck, because I’m on corridor duty, but I can walk inside with you if you like?” Miss Seymour accompanied Mabel as far as the great hall. “Girls, no running in the corridor,” she called out as a group of year-three students raced past. “You know the rules.” Turning back to Mabel, Miss Seymour gave her an encouraging smile. “You’ll be fine, Mabel. Just be yourself.”
It took all Mabel’s courage to knock on the headmistress’s door.
“Come in,” Miss Brewer called out, raising her eyebrows when she saw Mabel enter. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to class?”
Remembering to curtsy, Mabel stuttered, “I . . . umm . . .”
“Well, don’t hum and ha, girl. What are you here for?”
Mabel’s hands were all sweaty as she put the petition down on Miss Brewer’s desk. She could see that the ink had smudged in places. “Some of us feel . . . ,” Mabel began.
“Speak up, Mabel Ratcliff. I can’t hear you.”
Raising her voice, Mabel said, “Some of us feel that riding broomsticks sidesaddle is dangerous.” Miss Brewer frowned and picked up the petition. With a loud swallow, Mabel continued. “Ruby Tanner has fallen off six times. She’s lucky not to have broken any bones. We should ride them like bicycles, Miss Brewer. It would give us much more control, and we wouldn’t need the cats. The cats are only there for balance,” Mabel said, glancing at the headmistress.
Miss Brewer didn’t respond. Her face was stony as she studied the petition. “There are fourteen names on here, Mabel.”
“But a lot of the girls are interested, Miss Brewer. They were too scared to sign,” Mabel added.
“Indeed.” Miss Brewer pursed her mouth. She dropped the petition on her desk and stared straight at Mabel. “You may go now.”
“Might you think about it?” Mabel asked bravely. “Please, Miss Brewer?”
“There is nothing to think about, Mabel. We are dealing with enough change in this school as it is.”
“Yes, Miss Brewer,” Mabel sighed, and dropping a curtsy, she turned to leave.
Chapter Seventeen
* * *
Winifred Causes Trouble
HOW DID IT GO?” RUBY asked as they walked down the corridor to their history of magic class.
“Not well,” Mabel replied, staring at the floor. “Not well at all.”
“I’m so sorry, Mabel.” Ruby touched her on the arm.
Mabel looked up and nodded, pushing her glasses into place. She found herself staring at the back of Winifred Delacy’s golden head. Winifred was walking in front with a group of girls clustered around her.
“And my gown was stunning,” Winifred said. “Everyone remarked on it.”
“She’s talking about the big house party her family had this weekend,” Ruby whispered. “Just wait. I bet she says what a brilliant witch everyone thought she was.”
“Of course, my father had made a corner of the ballroom into my fortune-telling salon,” Winifred continued. “I wore a real gold tiara, and my crystal ball gazing was so admired, Lord Stratton said he would certainly be telling Queen Victoria.”
“Oh my!” Ruby whispered, opening the door of the history room. “Queen Victoria!” She pretended to wave smelling salts in front of her face, making Mabel smile. “I shall faint from the shock!”
History of magic was one of Mabel’s favorite subjects. They had just finished learning about the great rebel witch Annabelle Lewis, who had defeated an evil uprising in 1592, and Mabel decided that Annabelle Lewis was her new favorite heroine. As well as having a beautiful name, Annabelle had flown around the country, trying to gather support, and had been the first witch to stand up to the grand high priestess when it was discovered she was practicing black magic. There had been a song written about her, which they had learned in music class, and Mabel had gone around humming it for weeks.
“Good morning,” said Miss Harcourt, their history teacher, as the girls sat down at their desks. “Today we are going to be studying our own personal histories. Each girl will make a family tree, highlighting her magical roots.”
“Oh, how marvelous,” Winifred said, and then in a lower voice to Florence, she whispered, “This should be fun!”
“But first, let us share some of our memorable witch ancestors with the class,” Miss Harcourt said.
Mabel felt as if her stomach were full of moths. She glanced around the room, seeing if any of the other girls looked troubled by this. None of them did. In fact, as far as Mabel could tell, they all seemed delighted by Miss Harcourt’s announcement.
Winifred immediately put her hand up. “My great-great-grandmother was a crystal ball gazer for the king of England,” she said. “I have one of her original crystal balls. And my aunt is a witch. She lives in Paris. We have strong magical roots, Miss Harcourt.”
“Thank you, Winifred. That is most interesting. Would anyone else like to share?”
Ruby put her hand up. “My great-aunt Ethel was a tea leaf reader in a carnival, Miss Harcourt.” Mabel saw Winifred and Florence exchange grins. “As far as we know she was the first witch in our family,” Ruby added, rubbing her thumb ring. “My parents were really proud when I got the gift.”
“I’m sure they were, Ruby.” Miss Harcourt smiled at Ruby and then turned to Mabel. “And how about you, Mabel Ratcliff?”
Mabel flushed. She didn’t want to be the only one who knew nothing about her ancestors.
“Mabel?” Miss Harcourt prompted. “I’m asking you a question.”
“I . . . ,” Mabel began. She gave a soft sigh. “I don’t know of any witches in my family, Miss Harcourt.” Tabitha gave her a sympathetic look.
Winifred put her hand up again. “Miss Harcourt,” she said, glancing at Diana. “It’s not really fair asking Mabel about her magical roots when she doesn’t know who her parents are.” There was a gasp from the class, and Winifred blurted out, “It can’t be easy being found in a flowerpot.”
Mabel blinked behind her glasses. There was a fuzzy ringing in her ears, and she gripped the edge of her desk, feeling like she couldn’t breathe in enough air. All the girls were staring at her, even Ruby.
“There may be evil magic in Mabel’s past, for all we know,” Winifred continued. “That could be the reason Mabel was abandoned.”
“That is not true,” Mabel burst out, finding her voice at last. “You are lying, Winifred. I hate you.” Mabel pushed back her chair and stood up.
The girls gasped again, more loudly, and Winifred sto
od up too. For a moment she looked frightened, as if she knew she had gone too far. “How dare you accuse me of lying, Mabel Ratcliff. My words are the absolute truth. Miss Eliza Cranford, one of our houseguests this weekend, informed us of your situation.”
“You liar,” Mabel shouted, lurching at Winifred.
Miss Harcourt pulled her wand out of the knitted case hanging from a ribbon around her waist and pointed it at the floor. A cloud of purple smoke shot out with a loud bang. “That is quite enough,” Miss Harcourt snapped. “I will not tolerate this behavior in my classroom.”
Mabel shoved Winifred hard in the stomach. “I hate you,” she croaked, her voice thick with tears. Turning, Mabel ran from the room. She bolted along the corridor and down the stairs, clattering across the great hall.
“Mabel Ratcliff, where are you going?” Violet Featherstone called out. Mabel ignored her and pushed open the front doors. She blinked against the sharp sunlight, blinded for a moment after the gloom of the academy. Stumbling down the wide stone steps, Mabel started to run. She ran as hard as she could, trying to get away from the memory that had surfaced in her head, the memory of a beach on a hot summer day, and Eliza Cranford’s cruel words. “Your mother was an earthworm. She lived in a flowerpot.” That was what Eliza had said, and Mabel cried as she ran down Glover Lane, suddenly understanding what Nora had been hiding from her all these years. Mabel wasn’t her child.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mabel sobbed, pushing past Nanny Grimshaw and into the drawing room, where she found Nora at her desk. “You’re not my real mother, are you?”
Nora flinched and put down her pen. “Mabel, what are you saying?” she gasped. “Where did you get such information?”
“Eliza Cranford,” Mabel cried out. “She was the girl who used to tease me back in Melton Bay. And now I know why. Because you found me in a flowerpot!”
