The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (12 page)

“Well, every lady needs a full head of hair too,” Mabel whispered to Lightning, as if this could justify
her experimenting again. But hadn't Miss Seymour just said that good ideas were worth pursuing? And this, Mabel felt sure, was an excellent idea. She shivered with anticipation, thinking about the little clump of dwarf beard nestled in her satchel, alongside the twist of brown paper holding a spoonful of dried phoenix flames. She had dashed into the spell room after lunch and gathered what she needed while Miss Mantel was still finishing up her jam roly-poly and custard.

With an undignified bump, Mabel landed in the front garden. She hurried around to the back of the cottage, hoping to catch Daisy alone in the kitchen. As she passed by the greenhouse, she could see her mother inside, scoring the stem of a rosebush with a knife. Looking up, Nora smiled and waved, and Mabel opened the greenhouse door.

“What are you doing, Mama?” she asked, watching Nora bind a small cutting from another plant onto the stem of the bush she had just slashed.

“I'm hoping to graft these two varieties together,” Nora said. “Would you like to stay and assist?”

“I'm afraid I can't. I'm helping Daisy with something,” Mabel replied, glad for once that her mother was so busy. Now all she had to do was stay out of Nanny's way so she could mix up the hair potion. Unfortunately, this was not as easy as Mabel had
hoped, and slipping into the kitchen, she stifled a loud groan. Standing there, with her arms folded, shoulders jutting out like vulture wings, was Nanny Grimshaw. She gave Mabel a sour smile. “A proper lady always uses the front door, Mabel.” Nanny must have been watching from the window, Mabel decided, waiting to pounce as soon as she walked in.

After Mabel had eaten a piece of plain bread and butter, Nanny marched her straight upstairs to the nursery, where she now sat, embroidering a rose onto her tablecloth. Mabel stared at the pink lumpy blob, wondering how many more of these things she was going to have to embroider. “Until it is covered,” Nanny Grimshaw had said crisply when Mabel got up the courage to ask. “Now, enough of your chatter,” she said, and popped a mint into her mouth.

Sometime later, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, Mabel realized that she had been embroidering for over an hour. “Could I take a little break, Nanny?” she asked. There was a crick in her neck and her thumb was sore and tingly from getting poked. Nanny Grimshaw didn't reply, and looking over, Mabel noticed that Nanny's head had nodded forward and a soft snoring was coming from the direction of her chair. Without hesitating, Mabel stood up and crept across the room. This was extremely risky, but she didn't
need long. As soon as she was out of the nursery, Mabel raced downstairs to the kitchen.

“Where's Nanny?” Daisy said, turning around from the stove.

“She's asleep, Daisy, so we have to hurry.”

“Hurry?” Daisy gripped her wooden spoon.

“To mix up your hair potion,” Mabel whispered. She took the bottle of growing powder out of her pinafore, scattering white dust over the floor. “Oh, it's leaked.” Mabel grimaced, wiping her hands down her skirt. “This stuff is everywhere.” Hurrying across to the fireplace, she held open her pocket and brushed the spilled powder into the grate. A clump of something sticky was stuck to the inside fabric, and pulling it free, Mabel realized it was her cobweb experiment. “Interesting,” she murmured, shaking off the powder and dropping it right back in her pocket.

“You're making a huge mess,” Daisy muttered, and then rather more anxiously, “And do we have to do this now?”

“I'm just going to dilute the growing powder,” Mabel said, walking to the sink and dripping some water from the tap into the bottle. The liquid turned misty, and she rushed back to the table, digging the tuft of dwarf beard out of her satchel. She dropped in a few soft hairs, and immediately the potion bubbled up, little woolly clouds puffing
into the air. Whenever one popped, it sounded like somebody sneezing.

“What on earth . . .” Daisy gasped, as Mabel opened the twist of paper and sprinkled a pinch of dried phoenix flame into the bottle. The liquid started fizzing, and they watched it turn a deep, rich red.

“Ohhh, that's beautiful,” Mabel whispered. “Isn't it the most lovely color?”

“Just like Nellie Glitters's hair,” Daisy sighed, staring dreamily at the bottle. Getting a grip on her senses, she added, “But I am not, under any circumstances, putting that anywhere near my hair. How do I know it won't all fall out?”

“Oh, I really don't imagine that's likely,” Mabel said, trying to control her excitement. She didn't want to scare Daisy off. “I've worked with these ingredients before.” Which happened to be true. She had just never mixed them all together. “And think how wonderful it would be if you didn't have to wear the—”

“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.”

H
AVE 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.