The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (7 page)

“What a surprise, Mabel Ratcliff.” Miss Brewer pinned her hawklike eyes on Mabel, and said, “Follow me to my office.”

W
OULD YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN
what just happened out there?” Miss Brewer said, studying Mabel from across her desk.

“I . . .” Mabel swallowed, not quite knowing how to begin. The silence stretched out, and Mabel could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the room, and the sound of Oscar, Miss Brewer's cat, licking his paws.

“Let me help you,” Miss Brewer said at last. “You were experimenting, Mabel. Again.” Mabel nodded guiltily, and Oscar yawned. “You were doing what you know is against the rules. And it is against the rules because?”
Miss Brewer paused, raising her eyebrows, her jaw clenched tight.

“It's dangerous,” Mabel finished.

“Yes, indeed. Something I remember making quite clear at your interview all those years ago. And a subject we have talked about many times since. It is dangerous to experiment,” Miss Brewer rasped, “when you don't know what you're doing.”

“I didn't mean for that to happen,” Mabel said. “It was just taste enhancer powder and chocolate, but I think I put too much taste enhancer in.”

Miss Brewer frowned. “Taste enhancer is an extremely safe potion. If you used a whole bottle, it would not have had that effect. There must have been something else in there.”

“Only wishing well water, that's all.”

“Wishing well water?” Miss Brewer snapped, leaning forward so the folds of skin on her neck trembled.

“It makes a good mixing solution,” Mabel whispered. “We've used it before.”

“Not with taste enhancer you haven't. Honestly, Mabel. It made the girls desperate for more. They were wishing for another bite before they had even swallowed the first. Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Miss Brewer gave a sigh of frustration.

“I do now,” Mabel said, looking at the rug. “I'm really sorry, Miss Brewer.”

“You will spend the rest of the day polishing my crystal balls, Mabel, and tomorrow I ask that you stay home from school.”

“Am I suspended?” Mabel asked, her voice starting to shake. Only the worst, most disobedient students ever got suspended.

“For one day,” Miss Brewer said. “I will write a note to your mother, explaining the situation. Look on it more as a day of reflection rather than a day of punishment. You are a smart girl, Mabel,” she added in a softer voice. “If you would just stick to the rules.”

Mabel nodded, unable to speak. Her words couldn't get past the lump in her throat. Sunlight streamed through the window, and Mabel blinked back tears, watching the dust motes float about the room. A deep sadness swelled inside her. It wasn't just the shame of being suspended. It was knowing that she could never do the things she wanted with her magic. Years of making sparkling conversation spells, knitting wand cases, and perfecting the waft and glide stretched in front of her, and even though Mabel wasn't wearing a corset, the tightness in her chest was so constricting she could hardly breathe.

“Why did you do it, Mabel?” Miss Brewer asked softly. “What was the point of all that?”

“To make the liver taste nice,” Mabel said, meeting Miss Brewer's gaze.

“Then why not just put it on your own meal? Why get the whole school involved?”

“Because everyone hates liver. And I thought the girls would like it.”

Miss Brewer reached out a hand to stroke Oscar. “You don't have to buy the girls' friendship with clever tricks, Mabel. You have enough to offer on your own.”

Mabel spent the rest of the afternoon polishing all Miss Brewer's crystal balls. Oscar jumped into her lap for company, and his soft, warm presence had a calming effect. It was only when the bell rang at the end of classes that Mabel's anxiety returned. Miss Brewer handed her a letter to give to Nora, and as Mabel got up to leave, she said, “Remember what I told you earlier, Mabel. Look on it as a day of reflection.”

“Suspended!” Ruby and Tabitha gasped, crowding around Mabel in the hallway.

“Suspended,” Emily Bisset repeated, overhearing as she walked by. “Mabel Ratcliff's been suspended!”

“Oh, poor Mabel.”

“That's terrible.”

Word spread like dragon fire, and Mabel had never felt so embarrassed as she shuffled over to join her chaperone group.

“I'm surprised they didn't expel her,” Winifred said loudly. “It won't be long before Mabel gets thrown out.”

“Take no notice,” Tabitha said, standing protectively in line behind Mabel. Ruby gave her a quick hug before darting off to join her own chaperone group. Even Violet Featherstone gave Mabel a sympathetic look. The walk home was quiet. Violet flew slowly at the head of the line, and no one spoke.

When Mabel was dropped off, she ran straight to the greenhouse and handed the letter to her mother, wanting to avoid Nanny Grimshaw. Mabel stood in silence while Nora read. She could feel blood pulsing in her ears, and the smell of roses was overpowering. “Are you furious?” Mabel whispered at last.

“I'm disappointed that you've been suspended,” Nora said. “But I'm not cross that you like to experiment, Mabel. Just not with magic, not at school.” Nora sighed and tucked a strand of Mabel's hair that had escaped from one of her braids back behind her ear. “You have to follow the rules. Help me in the greenhouse if you want to experiment. We can work together.”

“But I'm a witch, Mama. I want to experiment with magic,” Mabel said, and to her horror she started to cry. “I'm
not being bad. I just like to invent things.” Her glasses fogged up, and she took them off, wiping them clean on her skirt. “None of the other girls feels like this. They don't care about experimenting. That's why they don't get into trouble.” Mabel kicked at a piece of broken flowerpot. “I wish I was like everyone else, then I wouldn't care either.”

“No, you don't.” Nora gave a wistful smile. “But it's not easy being different. I should know.” Mabel hadn't thought of her mother as different before. She was just her mama, but now that Nora mentioned it, Mabel could see she wasn't like other people's mothers, sitting in the house all day embroidering and entertaining friends. “I must say I think chocolate-flavored liver is rather ingenious,” Nora said, kissing the tip of Mabel's nose.

“Nanny wouldn't approve,” Mabel sighed. “She won't let me have supper, breakfast, or lunch when she hears.”

“This doesn't concern Nanny,” Nora said rather briskly. “It concerns you, me, and Miss Brewer. I will tell Nanny you are not going to school tomorrow, and that will be the end of the discussion.”

N
ANNY GRIMSHAW INSISTED THAT MABEL
work on her embroidery the following day. “You may not be going to school, but idleness is never to be encouraged.” Daisy knew the truth because Mabel couldn't hide it from her, and she made Mabel's favorite treacle tart for lunch. Except Nanny wouldn't let her eat any of it, saying if Mabel wasn't up for school, she certainly wasn't up for treacle tart. Nora had a big meeting of the Rose Growers' Association on Wednesday, so she spent most of the morning working in her greenhouse, and all afternoon writing at her desk. It was such a long, lonely day that Mabel couldn't wait for it to be over.

Walking back into school after her suspension wasn't nearly as bad as Mabel had imagined. She thought everyone would be whispering and pointing at her, but most of the girls in Mabel's class were chattering away about their first flying lesson, which would take place immediately following attendance. Apart from a few sympathetic looks, things seemed just like they always did.

“We all still think it was a good idea,” Tabitha whispered as the girls made their way out to the flying field.

“And the liver was delicious,” Ruby said, “although I couldn't eat a bite of anything right now, I'm so nervous.”

Miss Reed, the flying teacher, had a fierce reputation. They had been instructed to assemble under the large oak tree where Miss Reed would hand out the cats and broomsticks, and a whoosh of anticipation surged through Mabel when she saw all the broomsticks leaned up against the tree, with their smooth, polished handles and thick, new bristles. A number of black cats sat around licking their paws and grooming themselves, and a soft purring filled the air like the quiet hum of bees.

The girls jostled against each other, and Mabel accidently stepped on the soft, polished leather of
Winifred Delacy's left shoe. Winifred poked Mabel in the side. “Stop,” she hissed without moving her lips. “Idiot. You shouldn't even be here.”

“Sorry,” Mabel whispered back. “I didn't mean to.”

“No talking,” Miss Reed barked, marching over and tapping Mabel lightly on the knuckles with her wand. Mabel winced. “Now, girls, I shall call out your names and you will step up to receive your broomstick and cat,” Miss Reed said.

Winifred's name was called first, and Mabel tried to hide her disappointment as Winifred was given the cat she had been eyeing—a delicate creature with a glossy coat that trotted after Winifred, giving little jumps. By the time Miss Reed called Mabel's name, there weren't many cats left, and Mabel was handed a rather sleepy-looking, plump cat that refused to move, so she had to carry him back to her place. She hoped he would be better at flying than he was at walking.

“Now, watch carefully, girls, and I will demonstrate,” Miss Reed said, holding her broom and sitting sideways on it. “Good posture is most important. Straight backs, please, as if you were doing the waft and glide.” Winifred cut her eyes at Mabel and grinned, knowing how Mabel struggled with the waft and glide. “Make sure you slip your skirt loops over your shoes so your gown doesn't blow up when you fly.” Miss Reed lifted
the hem of her skirts to show off two foot-sized satin loops sewn on each side.

“I've been waiting and waiting to try my skirt loops,” Winifred whispered, without getting told off by Miss Reed.

“Position your cat behind you,” Miss Reed continued, “then in a clear, musical voice say, ‘Avante!' ” The girls watched as Miss Reed's broomstick took off and swooped sedately around the field, coming to land under the tree again. “Now, it's your turn, girls.”

Ruby clung on to Mabel as she jammed her toes into the slippery loops. “I feel so unsteady, Mabel,” she said, trying to balance on the broomstick. “This is hard enough. Why do we need to have the cats?”

“I think they act as a rudder,” Mabel said. “Because your balance is uneven when you sit sideways. A cat makes it more stable, you see.”

“Oh, help!” Ruby screamed, sliding backward off her broomstick. She landed on the grass with a thud.

“Ruby, are you all right?” Mabel knelt down beside her.

“Quickly, girls, back on, back on,” Miss Reed ordered, clapping her hands.

“I banged my head,” Ruby whimpered, struggling to sit up. Her eyes were watering.

As Mabel helped Ruby to her feet, she caught sight of
Miss Seymour's bicycle, propped up against the side of the broom shed. Why didn't they fly their broomsticks like that, instead of sitting on them sideways? It would be so much safer, Mabel thought, putting up her hand.

“Yes, Mabel Ratcliff, what is it?” Miss Reed said rather impatiently.

“I was just thinking,” Mabel began, glancing over at Ruby and wondering if she should in fact say what she had been thinking, especially so soon after the liver fiasco. But it was such a good idea, and taking a deep breath, Mabel said, “I was just thinking that there might be a better way to fly on a broomstick. Without cats, I mean.”

There was a rather long silence while Miss Reed stared at Mabel, her face getting redder and redder. “Excuse me?” she finally hissed. “Are you being rude deliberately?”

“No, no, I'm really not,” Mabel replied. The rest of the girls had stopped practicing and were swiveling their heads between Mabel and Miss Reed.

With a furious scowl, Miss Reed said, “Witches have always flown with cats, Mabel Ratcliff. It's tradition.”

“They haven't,” Mabel whispered, glancing at Ruby, who was gingerly rubbing her head.

“You're going to get into trouble,” Ruby mouthed.

“Well, they haven't,” Mabel repeated, tears pricking
her eyes. Miss Reed was making her feel like she had done something wrong. But back in medieval times witches hadn't flown with cats. Witches hadn't flown sidesaddle either. They had learned that in history class last year. Sidesaddle wasn't introduced until the end of the fifteenth century.

“Mabel Ratcliff,” Miss Reed boomed, puffing up like an angry bullfrog. “Just what are you suggesting? After your performance on Monday I'm surprised you even have the nerve to speak.”