The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (10 page)

“Are you quite sure you're all right?” Mrs. Trimble asked, wringing her hands.

Mabel nodded, her eyes welling up. Now Nanny Grimshaw would be even more cross, because her clothes were dirty. Picking up her broomstick, Mabel started to run, Lightning waddling along after her. Mabel's
lip wobbled as she stumbled around the side of the house. If she had to face Nanny Grimshaw, she would do it from behind Daisy's skirts. With a deep, shaky breath, she pushed open the back door and burst into the kitchen.

“What in heavens?” Daisy said, putting down her rolling pin. She dusted her floury hands on her apron and opened her arms wide. Mabel hurtled into them, smelling apple pie, and the tears that had been building up inside her came flooding out.

“I'm so sorry I'm late, Daisy. I had tea at Ruby's and then I fell off my broomstick. Is Nanny Grimshaw f-furious?”

“Calm down,” Daisy murmured, rubbing Mabel's back.

“I can't calm down. She won't let me play with Ruby again, or have any supper.”

“Miss Mabel,” Daisy raised her voice, “Nanny Grimshaw's upstairs with one of her headaches.”

“What?” Mabel sniffed, pulling away. She looked up at Daisy in disbelief. “She's in bed?”

“Has been for the past two hours. Said I was to make sure you didn't have more than one bun for tea and that you worked on your embroidery afterward.”

“Really?” Mabel started to smile. Relief flooded through her. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes. “I
was so scared, Daisy. I thought she'd be waiting for me with her umbrella.”

“Well, you shouldn't have gone off without telling us,” Daisy said sternly, handing Mabel her handkerchief. “That was naughty. You're lucky your mama is at one of her rose growers' meetings, otherwise you'd be having her to deal with too.”

“I am sorry, Daisy. But Mama would understand. She likes Ruby. And Ruby never asks anyone in for tea, so I had to say yes. And I only flew home with her because she was scared of riding her broomstick.” Mabel took a deep breath and blew her nose. “We have to fly sidesaddle, which is why I fell off. I'd never have fallen if I'd been allowed to ride my broomstick like a bicycle.” Mabel started to cry again, more from relief this time. “It has not been a good day.”

“Sit down and I'll get you a nice mug of cocoa,” Daisy said.

“Can I stay in the kitchen with you, Daisy? Please?” Mabel begged. “I don't want to go up to the nursery by myself.”

“If you sit quietly and don't get in my way. No fiddling with things.”

Mabel settled herself in the chair by the fireplace. She picked up yesterday's newspaper from the top of a stack of papers that Daisy kept to start the fire with. “Suffragettes
petition to give women the right to vote,” Mabel read, studying the headlines. “What's a suffragette, Daisy?”

“I said sit quietly, not pester me with questions.” Daisy shook her head. “Suffragettes believe women should be able to vote too. Not just men. They want equal rights.”

“Are you a suffragette, Daisy?”

“I don't have time to be a suffragette,” Daisy said, pouring milk into a pan.

“It says they've been collecting signatures in favor of women voting and they're going to give their petition to the prime minister.”

“Good luck with that,” Daisy muttered. “He'll never do anything.”

“But if enough people sign it, won't he have to listen?” Mabel asked, staring at the paper. “Maybe I should start a petition, saying we should all be allowed to fly our broomsticks the way you'd ride a bicycle. The girls would love that. We wouldn't be worried about falling off all the time. Poor Ruby is terrified of broomstick flying. Lots of girls are.”

“Now, don't go getting into any more trouble, Miss Mabel.”

“But, Daisy, it would be so much safer. And so much more fun,” Mabel couldn't help adding. “I could get
all the students to sign it, and then I'd give it to Miss Brewer.”

Daisy rolled her eyes, spooning cocoa powder into a mug. “I'm quite sure your headmistress wouldn't approve.”

“I bet Miss Seymour would. I bet she'd think it was a great idea. It can't hurt to try,” Mabel said. “And I wouldn't be breaking any rules. I'll be right back, Daisy.”

Mabel tiptoed into the drawing room and took a sheet of pale blue writing paper out of her mother's desk. Then, listening for sounds from upstairs, she hurried back into the kitchen. Using a corner of the table that didn't have flour on it, Mabel wrote across the top of the paper in her best handwriting: “All Ruthersfield girls should be able to sit astride their broomsticks instead of riding them sidesaddle. The use of cats should be discontinued.” She thought for a moment before adding, “And girls should have the right to wear trousers when flying.” Underneath Mabel signed her name.

As she looked around for Daisy to see if she would sign too, a loud shriek came from the pantry. Mabel leaped up and dashed across the kitchen, to find Daisy standing in the pantry doorway, hands on her hips. She was glaring at Lightning, who had settled himself
on one of the shelves next to the cream bowl and was calmly licking his paws.

“That creature snuck in here and ate all my cream,” Daisy fumed. “I don't know where he came from, but I want him out of here. Now.”

“That's Lightning,” Mabel said, feeling rather relieved he'd followed her home. She'd forgotten all about him after her fall. “He's my flying companion. He's very friendly,” she said. Giving Daisy an apologetic look, Mabel added, “I'm afraid he's going to be living with us from now on.”

“Is that necessary?” Daisy grumbled. “I would really rather he didn't.”

“If I get enough signatures on my petition, he won't have to,” Mabel replied, hoping this might calm Daisy down. “We'll be able to ride our broomsticks without cats.”

“Well, put my name at the top of the list,” Daisy said. “Pesky beast!” With an indignant yowl, Lightning leaped off the shelf and landed on poor Daisy's shoulders. She screamed and bent over, giving a violent shake. Her cap fell off, but Lightning clung on, pawing at Daisy's bun. “Scat!” Daisy screeched, jiggling frantically. There was a flurry of black fur and Lightning dropped to the floor. Picking him up, Daisy marched right over to the back door and tossed the cat outside.

“Daisy,
I think he caught a vole,” Mabel called out, staring at the furry thing lying beside Daisy's cap. She crouched down and gave it a poke. “No, it's too big to be a vole. And it's all curled up and a lovely glossy brown.”

“Give that back, Miss Mabel,” Daisy cried, rushing into the pantry. “It's mine.” She grabbed the furry thing off the floor, two pink spots of color staining her cheeks.

“Your hair!” Mabel gasped in shock, noticing that the thick, soft bun that normally peeked out from beneath Daisy's cap was no longer on her head. It was, Mabel realized, clutched in Daisy's hands. And even though she knew it was extremely rude, she couldn't stop staring as Daisy reached up behind her and pinned the bun back into place, running a hand over the thin, wispy hair that covered the rest of her head.

“I had no idea,” Mabel blurted out. “That's not your real hair?”

“No, it's not,” Daisy snapped, pulling her cap back on. “And the show's over, so you can stop gawking.” Glancing away, she said, “I'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself, Miss Mabel. It's embarrassing enough, wearing a hairpiece without the whole world knowing.”

“Of course, Daisy. I'm so sorry,” Mabel said, not sure what she was apologizing for but hating to see Daisy so distressed. “I won't say a word to anyone, I promise.”

“It's vain, I know, caring so much about my looks. Always hiding my hair under a cap. But it's so thin, constantly splitting and breaking, and it never seems to grow.” Daisy sighed. “I've always wanted to look like Nellie Glitters, with her long auburn locks, all glossy and thick. Not this thin, brittle stuff I've been cursed with.” She tossed her head, as if she were tossing an imaginary curtain of hair. “I even bought some of that Mr. Pinkham's hair tonic you see advertised in the newspaper,” Daisy admitted. She gave a disgusted sniff. “It promised me thicker, longer hair in two weeks, but nothing happened, apart from my wasting two shillings.”

“I'm so sorry,” Mabel said again, handing Daisy back her handkerchief.

“I'm scared it's going to get thinner and thinner. What if I start to get bald patches?” Daisy blew her nose. “If that happens, I'm never leaving the house.”

Mabel nibbled a piece of roast chicken from the carcass on the shelf beside her. “A hair-growing potion,” she whispered, finding it difficult to ignore the fizzy feeling bubbling inside her. “That's what you want, isn't it, Daisy?”

“Is there such a thing?” Daisy asked, looking uncomfortable and slightly wary. Picking up a jar of sugar, she turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“I don't know,” Mabel said, following along behind.

“You don't know?” Daisy watched Mabel open her satchel and rummage through it. “You mean you're going to experiment, don't you?” She pressed her knuckles against her hips. “After what happened on Monday?” Daisy shook her head and snorted. “Miss Brewer will expel you if she finds out.”

“Ruby says I have great ideas,” Mabel said, pulling a copy of
Traditional Magic:
A Study Guide for the Student Witch
out of her satchel. “And Miss Brewer will never know. This has nothing to do with school, Daisy. I just want to help you.” Mabel looked up at Daisy, and with a great deal of passion said, “No one should have to wear a hairpiece.”

“You know all the right things to say, don't you?” Daisy muttered, starting to line a pie tin with pastry.

“There's a simple growing powder in here. We're making it in class tomorrow. It's meant to be used in gardens, but hair is a bit like a plant, don't you think? It has roots and it grows.”

“That's stretching it a bit,” Daisy said, chopping apples into the tin.

Mabel chewed at her lip. “Perhaps I'll add a pinch of Icelandic dwarf beard for thickness and curl,” she murmured softly.

“Dwarf beard! No thank you.”

“But it's lovely, Daisy. We mixed some with lamb's wool in knitting class last term, and it made the most wonderful fuzzy shawl, so thick and soft it was like wearing a cloud. Oh, and maybe a spoonful of dried phoenix flames for color? The powder is a deep, dark red,” Mabel explained. “Just like Nellie Glitters's hair. We use it to dye blankets because the color never fades. It's also supposed to put the warmth back in a cold marriage,” she whispered. “But only the teachers are allowed to make that potion.”

“Sounds like a lot of nonsense,” Daisy muttered, but she was stroking her neck and sighing, as if imagining what a mane of beautiful curls might feel like.

“Please let me try. We could test a bit of your hair first, and if it doesn't work out, I can fiddle about with some different ingredients and try to invent something that does.”

“Fiddle about?” Daisy raised her eyebrows. “See, you do like to fiddle.”

“Come on, Daisy. Just think how happy you'd be if you looked like Nellie Glitters.”

“That may be, but I'm not sure I want you using magic on my hair.”

“Please,” Mabel begged. “I really believe I can help you.”

Daisy sprinkled sugar over the apples and grated
on a little nutmeg. “I'll consider it,” she said at last, touching a hand to the back of her head.

Mabel gave what she hoped was a confident smile. She didn't have any idea whether she could turn Daisy's hair into a long, thick, auburn mane, but she was dying to have a go.

N
ANNY GRIMSHAW APPEARED IN THE
kitchen just as Daisy was putting her pie in the oven. “I expected to find you in the nursery,” she said, staring down her long nose at Mabel. “Working on your embroidery.” Nanny Grimshaw had decided that Mabel should make a tablecloth, which required endless flowers being embroidered all over it.

“I—I was studying in here,” Mabel said, holding up
Traditional Magic
. “After flying right home from school,” she added, noticing Daisy roll her eyes. “How's your head, Nanny?” Mabel asked, hoping to distract her
from noticing the broomstick petition, which was lying out in full view on the table.

“My head is bearable,” Nanny Grimshaw replied, walking across the room.

Mabel sprung out of her chair. “Shall we go up to the nursery now, then?”

“And what might this be?” Nanny Grimshaw remarked, reaching out a bony hand and plucking up the sheet of blue paper.

“It's nothing,” Mabel said, throwing Daisy a panicked look.

“Nothing?” Nanny Grimshaw held the paper close to her eyes and studied it. Then in one swift movement she crumpled the petition into a ball, dropped it on the floor, and stepped on it.

“That was mine,” Mabel said, wishing she could turn Nanny into a frog.

“And where might you be getting such ideas from? I'm sure your mother would be horrified if she knew you were stirring up trouble, trying to get the girls to sign a petition.” Catching sight of the
Gazette,
Nanny Grimshaw stalked over to the chair. She peered down at the headlines. “This is precisely why little girls should not be reading the newspaper,” she said. “It gives them ideas above their station.”

“Custard or cream with the pie?” Daisy asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Mabel will not be having dessert tonight,” Nanny Grimshaw said. “Until she apologizes for such defiant behavior.” Nanny Grimshaw gave one of her sniffs. “It's a good thing I stopped such nonsense before you took that petition to school, otherwise you'd find yourself in a great deal more trouble.” She stared at Mabel, waiting for her to apologize. But Mabel couldn't say it. She wasn't sorry. Nanny Grimshaw tapped her shoe. “I'm waiting.”