The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (5 page)

There was only one girl Mabel couldn't seem to make friends with. And that was Winifred Delacy, or Lady Winifred Delacy as she constantly reminded her classmates. Winifred wore her hair in fat gold ringlets and pranced around school as if she were already in year twelve, and not just a first former. Her father was Lord Winthrop Delacy the third, one of the biggest landowners in the county. He was on the board of governors at Ruthersfield, a fact that Winifred brought up regularly. Mabel had only spoken about a dozen words with Winifred since starting at the academy, and she had a strong suspicion they wouldn't be exchanging many more after Mabel had accidently wobbled into her and knocked Winifred to the ground during dance class. Winifred had left the studio limping dramatically, supported by Diana Mansfield and Florence Steiner, her two chosen friends.

“She's not really hurt,” Ruby said. “She's just pretending to make you look bad.”

“Why?” Mabel asked, sounding baffled.

“Because you showed her up in spell chanting class last week. Not that you meant to,” Ruby added quickly. “But didn't you hear Miss Wiggins call her a growler? Right after she said you chanted like a songbird! And you do have a lovely chanting voice.”

“Oh!” Mabel groaned. “So that's the reason Winifred's been giving me mean looks. If only I'd knocked you over. You wouldn't have minded, Ruby. Why did I have to bump into Winifred? Now she's really going to hate me.”

Things got even worse one Monday when Miss Heathcliff, their spells and charms teacher, called on Winifred to demonstrate in class. “Now, today,” Miss Heathcliff began, “we will be practicing a glamorizing spell, one of the oldest spells in the history of witchcraft.” She smiled at the class and said, “Something you will all be using when it's time to find a husband.” There were some giggles from the girls, and Miss Heathcliff continued, “So we're going to practice ‘glamorizing' on this lovely creature.” She picked up a large, lumpy toad from one of the glass terrariums at the back of the classroom. A number of the girls squealed and covered their faces, but Mabel leaned over her desk, trying to get a
better look. “This is a complex spell, and as first-year students you will be practicing the first step only, making the skin of Mr. Toad here all smooth and glossy, instead of this lumpy, warty surface he has now. Well, come on, Winifred,” Miss Heathcliff said, beckoning her up to the front of the class. “No dillydallying.”

“Winifred, you'll be great at this,” her friend Diana Mansfield whispered. “You know all about elegance and charm.”

Miss Heathcliff placed the toad on her table. “Now, what you have to do, Winifred, is point your wand at him and with three graceful flicks, chant out, ‘Glamaricious!' ”

Winifred moistened her lips. Holding up her wand, she gave it three quick flicks, and in a rather quivery voice, called out, “Glamaricious!” There was a puff of mauve smoke, and when it cleared, Mabel saw that half the toad's back was a smooth velvety green and the other half appeared to be covered in enormous lumpy warts, three times the size of the original bumps. Some of the girls snickered, and Winifred glared at Mabel, which Mabel felt was quite unfair because she hadn't been making the noise.

“You need to practice your wand control, Winifred,” Miss Heathcliff said crisply. She pointed at Mabel. “Your turn, Mabel Ratcliff. And don't try to give him
fur or wings or anything else you might be thinking about. Just follow the spell as instructed, please.”

Ruby gave her an encouraging nod, and Mabel walked to the front of the class. She waited a moment while Miss Heathcliff undid Winifred's attempt. The toad didn't seem to mind. He sat quite patiently, blinking every now and then. Taking a deep breath and concentrating on the spell, Mabel waved her wand at the toad, giving three little flicks and just managing to stop herself from adding a fourth flick to see what might happen. There was the cloud of mauve smoke, but this time when it cleared, the whole class
oohed
because the skin of Mabel's toad was smooth as butter and a glorious, shiny green.

“Beautiful job, Mabel,” Miss Heathcliff exclaimed.

“Well done, Mabel,” Lucy Habersham called out.

Mabel couldn't stop beaming, until she realized that Winifred was scowling at her. “You're such a show-off, Mabel,” she hissed, as Mabel walked back to her seat. “Thinking you're so popular. How dare you make me look bad and laugh at me.”

“But I wasn't,” Mabel whispered, losing all the joy of her success. Winifred turned away, and Mabel was left with the uncomfortable feeling that Lady Winifred Delacy was not someone who forgave easily.

I
T WAS AMAZING TO MABEL
that Winifred Delacy could carry on a feud for four straight years, but that is exactly what happened. Mabel tried her hardest to be friendly, but she quickly realized that Winifred had no intention of being nice to her, and the best course of action was to stay out of her way. Occasionally, Mabel caught Winifred sneaking glances at her paper during a test, or copying what she was doing in potions class (which wasn't always a good idea), but Winifred would never actually ask Mabel for help. Or say thank you for letting her copy.

“She's a cheat,” Ruby said after a geography test
one day. “I saw her looking at your paper, Mabel. Why don't you tell the teacher?”

“Because then Winifred would hate me even more,” Mabel sighed.

Sometimes Mabel couldn't make up her mind who was worse, Winifred Delacy or Nanny Grimshaw. Actually, that was easy, because for the most part she could ignore Winifred. And ignoring Nanny Grimshaw was not an option, unless it was Sunday, Nanny's day off, and Mabel's favorite time of the week. Not only was she released from Nanny's clutches, she got to spend the entire eight hours with her mother. It was also Daisy's day off, which she usually devoted to drinking tea and reading all about her favorite stage actress, Nellie Glitters, in the magazine
Musical Monthly
.

“I adore Sundays,” Mabel said one weekend afternoon, a few weeks past her eleventh birthday. She was in the garden, watching Nora brush pollen from a little linen bag onto the Royal Duchess roses. Her mother did this every year, collecting the pollen from the wild roses that ran along the hedgerows. They had a much more powerful fragrance than the Royal Duchesses, which looked beautiful but had hardly any scent, and Nora was hoping to cross-pollinate the plants. She'd learned all about it at one of the meetings of the Rose Growers' Association.

“There!”
Nora put down her paintbrush and sniffed. “Definitely more fragrant this summer,” she said, smiling in satisfaction. “Now, time for a nice cup of tea.”

They sat at the table in the garden, and Mabel wriggled her toes in delight. She held a cherry tart in one hand and was pouring over the
Potts Bottom Gazette
, something Nanny Grimshaw never let her do. Newspapers were not for children, Nanny Grimshaw had said firmly, the first time she saw Mabel pick one up.

“Mama, look at this,” Mabel said, dropping crumbs on the paper as she crammed her mouth full of tart.

“Smaller bites, please, Mabel, and don't talk with your mouth full.”

Mabel swallowed and said, “They're inventing a flying machine so that nonmagical people will be able to fly too. Isn't that amazing, Mama? Almost as amazing as electricity!” Last week Mabel had read about a powerful new form of energy that could light a house at the flick of a switch and been so excited by the idea, she had hidden the article under her mattress. “I wish we could use our magic to invent things like that,” Mabel sighed, reaching for another tart. “Imagine a rocket broomstick that could fly to the moon. Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

“Perhaps classes will get a little more interesting now that you're
an Intermediate Witch,” Nora said, giving Mabel a sympathetic smile. She knew that magic hands and crystal ball gazing weren't Mabel's favorite subjects. And even Nora had to admit that learning love charms, or mastering the art of a “sparkling conversation” spell so you could converse with difficult guests at a dinner party, did seem rather outdated these days.

“First broomstick flying lesson on Wednesday,” Mabel said with a shiver. “I'm excited about that. And nervous!” She felt around under the newspaper and pulled out a slim purple booklet. “It will be fun to fly myself to school, though. Only three more days of having to be chaperoned.”

It was a strict Ruthersfield rule that all girls too young to fly must be accompanied to school and back by a twelfth former.

“Do you know the handbook?” Nora asked, helping herself to a cucumber sandwich. “Miss Brewer made it quite clear that no girl would be allowed on a broomstick unless she has memorized the Ruthersfield flying rules.”

“I think so. Can you test me?” Mabel handed the booklet to Nora. Reaching for the last cherry tart, Mabel began, “A witch must always be accompanied by her cat. No flying above the tree lines. No overtaking birds. No acrobatics or reckless steering. A witch must
wear her hat at all times outside the academy. A witch must keep both hands on the broomstick and keep her shoes in her skirt loops. Ummm . . .” Mabel paused a moment. “Oh, I know, don't tell me. . . . No shouting or eating allowed while flying. And most important of all, a ladylike posture must be retained at all times.”

“Well done, Mabel. You have an excellent memory.”

“I bet I get it from Papa,” Mabel said. “Doctors need to remember all those difficult-sounding diseases and long words, don't they?”

Nora got up and started to put the tea things back on the tray, stacking the plates and gathering spoons without looking at Mabel. “Can you take this through to the kitchen, Mabel? It's getting a little cool out here.”

“Of course.” Mabel licked her sticky fingers. She had a feeling that her mother still missed her father more than she admitted, because whenever Mabel mentioned him, Nora always changed the subject. Which was really rather hard since there was so much Mabel wanted to know. What his favorite foods were. The sort of things he found funny. Whether he felt excited when he found out he was going to be a father. “How old was I when Papa got the influenza?” Mabel asked softly. She wanted to know if her father got to hold her as a baby, but there never seemed to be a right time for such a question, especially when her
mother was so good at avoiding all conversations about Mabel's birth.

“Frank died before you were born,” Nora said, picking up her shears from the grass. She gave Mabel a bright smile. “I must prune back the climbing roses,” she murmured. “They are getting quite out of control.”

Mabel let the subject drop. But the following morning, while Nanny Grimshaw was still upstairs, Mabel tried asking Daisy some questions. Like which of her parents she had resembled as a baby? Daisy just shooed her away from the stove and said to stop pestering her, because she needed to get going on the porridge. Nanny insisted on porridge three times a week, saying it was good for the digestion, and if Mabel left any of the lumpy, slimy gruel in her bowl, Daisy had been instructed by Nanny to serve it up again for her breakfast the next day.

“Porridge!” Mabel groaned.

“Oh, here.” Daisy buttered a slice of bread and handed it to Mabel. “Take this outside before Nanny sees. And don't say I gave it to you,” she added, as Mabel escaped into the garden.

Letting out a long sigh, Mabel wondered why grown-ups were so good at avoiding questions. She took off her glasses and cleaned them on her skirt. The sun was bright this morning, showing up the smudges
on her lenses. Not long after moving to Potts Bottom, Mabel had started bumping into things, and her squint got so bad that Nora finally took her to see the ophthalmologist over in Little Shamlington. He had recommended glasses, and all at once her surroundings took on a whole new focus. Everything became crystal clear and sharp edged, and Mabel still took delight in the clarity of the world around her, right down to counting the hairs on Nanny Grimshaw's chin. It was like stepping out of a pea soup fog.

She bent down to examine a cobweb, each tiny thread sparkling with drops of dew like crystal beads. They had been studying cobwebs in potions class, a common ingredient in many type of spells—healing balms, sleeping drafts, comfort cookies—but what fascinated Mabel the most was reading about cobwebs in the big leather encyclopedia her mother kept in the drawing room. Apparently some webs, depending on the spider that had made them, were remarkably strong, and that got Mabel thinking. Spider silk was so fine and light. What if she could find a way to strengthen it further, make it unbreakable, but keep the weight the same? There would be so many amazing uses for thread that strong and light. It would make an almost invisible net that could carry hundreds of pounds in weight, or a rope that could hold a mountaineer but take up no
space in a pocket and weigh almost nothing.

Mabel sighed and stared out across the garden. She had hundreds of ideas buzzing in her head, and nowhere for them to go. The sky was so blue this morning, so full of possibilities, and a sharp longing pierced her. Knowing how much trouble she could get in, but unable to stop herself, Mabel reached into her pinafore pocket and pulled out the glass vial of extra-strength repair potion they had made last week in class. It was supposed to be used to mend broken china. You sprinkled the potion over your shattered plate or vase and the china magically repaired itself. After Mabel had mended the broken cow creamer Miss Mantel had given her, she added a tiny puff of lion's roar to the rest of her mixture, interested to see what might happen. Now, taking the lid off the vial, she sprinkled some drops over the cobweb and waited a few seconds. Then touching the web with a stick, Mabel was surprised to find it didn't break. She dropped the stick on the web and it bounced back up. With a rush of excitement Mabel carefully peeled the cobweb off the grass and stretched it. The threads still held, but its texture had changed. She pulled and pulled, and the web continued to expand as if it were made out of rubber.