The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (21 page)

“You can't lock me in,” she shouted. “They'll know who did it. I'll tell them everything.”

“And who will believe you, over me?” Winifred said. “My father is Lord Winthrop Delacy. He's a good friend of Miss Brewers and he knows I never lie. You probably just came up here to find that stupid cat of yours, and the wind blew the door shut.” Mabel could hear Winifred's raspy breathing, and the sound of glass bottles knocking against each other. There was an eerie silence, and then Winifred screamed, “I'm so tired of you showing me up, Mabel.”

A sick queasiness rose in Mabel's throat. She leaned against the door, suddenly feeling faint. “Winifred, listen to me,” Mabel said, her voice cracking with fear. “You mustn't open those bottles, only the one with a number three on it. That's the bottle with the spell inside. The rest are just wind samples, very powerful wind samples.”

“I don't believe you for a minute, Mabel Ratcliff. Why would I open number three when you've drawn little stars around this one? Given it a ten out of ten? That's obviously your best spell.”

“No, it's not,” Mabel stressed. “The ten is for wind strength.”

“I'm not stupid,” Winifred said. “You just want to make me look bad.”

Mabel heard the girls walking away. “Please don't leave me here,” she begged.

Mabel pounded on the door a few more times, but everyone would be at lunch now. Sinking down on the bottom step, she hunched up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, salty tears slipping down her cheeks.

A
FTER SITTING IN A DEJECTED
heap for a while, Mabel took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, streaking dirt across her face. There had to be another way out of here. She banged on the door until her fists ached, but no one was around to hear her. “I hate you, Winifred Delacy,” Mabel said, speaking the words out loud. She knew Nora didn't like her to use the word “hate,” but right at this moment it was the only possible way to describe her feelings toward Winifred. Trudging up the stairs, Mabel imagined all the things she would like to do to her. Cut off her fat golden ringlets, snip the feathers from her hat, push her into the canal.

The attic was stifling, and a wave of dizziness swept over Mabel. She sat down on a crate, dropping her head between her legs. Where were her smelling salts when she needed them? Mabel thought, feeling like Violet Featherstone, who always seemed to be about to faint.

When the attic door creaked open, Mabel jerked her head up, a wild hope surging through her. Maybe Winifred had changed her mind, or perhaps someone had noticed she was missing during lunch and had come up to try to find her. What she didn't expect to hear was Ruby shouting. “Hey, what are you doing? No! Let me out,” followed by loud banging on the door. And then the sound of her calling rather frantically up the stairs, “Mabel, are you in here?”

“Ruby?” Mabel scrambled to her feet.

Footsteps pounded and Ruby exploded into the attic. “Winifred locked me in,” Ruby fumed. “She said you were looking for me, and that I was to go straight to the attic, because it had something to do with your invention. So like a fool I raced up here, but as soon as I started climbing the stairs, Winifred shut the door on me.” Ruby stamped her foot in frustration. “And it won't open from the inside because I've tried.” Her voice shook with anger. “What on earth was I thinking? But I didn't know where you'd gone,” Ruby reasoned. “And
you were talking to her at the end of class.” She stared at Mabel. “Why did she shut us in?”

“Because she stole my invention,” Mabel said, her lip quivering. “She made me think she had invented something too, and I wanted to see what it was, so she took me up here. I was scared she might have stolen my idea. I never expected her to steal my actual invention.” Mabel watched the color literally drain from Ruby's face. She had pale skin to begin with, but it looked like someone had dipped her in a bucket of bleach. “And that's not the worst of it, Ruby,” Mabel whispered. “She took all my wind samples too.”

“What does that mean?” Ruby said, staring at Mabel.

“It means Winifred is about to unleash a wind that is so concentrated and strong it could . . .” Mabel paused a moment. “Well, I don't know how bad it will be because I never tested past a number five. That was powerful enough to tug laundry off a line, so imagine what a ten could do. Which is the bottle Winifred's planning to open. She thinks it's my best spell,” Mabel explained. “And it's been sitting so long, it will be desperate to get out. Trapped wind is much more dangerous than I realized,” Mabel admitted in a small voice. “You have to handle it very carefully.”

“This is bad,” Ruby whispered, screwing up her face in anguish.

Mabel hurried over to one of the windows. She could see the podium down on the field where the teachers and guests were already starting to gather. Lord Winthrop Delacy sat next to Miss Brewer, wearing a gray top hat, and there was Angelina Tate from the Society of Forward-Thinking Witches, talking to Miss Seymour. The rest of the teachers were taking their seats, and a brass band had assembled in front of the school steps. Mabel could hear them playing a rousing rendition of the Ruthersfield song, “Spells of Glory.” She watched as the girls filed out class by class, filling the chairs in front of the podium. Winifred walked demurely to her seat, giving a low curtsy to the podium before sitting down. She was holding a glass bottle in her hands, and Mabel gave a howl of frustration.

“We have to get out of here,” Mabel said, pushing up the window. “Help,” she yelled, waving madly. But the attic was too far away, and no one was looking up at the window to see them. Besides, the band played so loudly they would never be heard over the noise. “We'd break our necks if we jumped,” Mabel said, looking at the ground.

“Can't you float down, Mabel? You said you floated as a baby.”

“Not anymore. Not for years. And I'm certainly not going to risk it by throwing myself out an attic window.”

“Wait a minute. Look over there,” Ruby said.

Turning around, Mabel saw that Ruby was pointing at an open window on the far side of the attic. “It's still a thirty-foot drop, Ruby.”

“Not down,” Ruby said. “We go up, Mabel. See, the cats are getting in from somewhere.” As she spoke, a black cat leaped through the window.

Mabel peered across the attic, slowly beginning to smile. “It might work, Ruby. You're a genius!” Picking her way over to the window, Mabel yanked it up as high as it would go and stuck her head out. There was a narrow ledge they could stand on, and craning her neck upward, Mabel saw that it was possible to climb right onto the roof from here. That way they could reach the iron drainpipe at the back of the building and climb down it to the ground.

“I'll go first,” Mabel said, stepping out onto the ledge.

“Wait, Mabel,” Ruby cried. “I'm not sure I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. I'll help you.” Holding on to the gutter, Mabel pulled herself up. “Don't look down,” she panted, her hands growing sweaty as she grabbed at the slates. Kicking and scrabbling, Mabel managed
to haul herself onto the roof, ripping her stockings in the process. She took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves. “All right, Ruby. I can pull you up now.”

“Mabel, I'm really not sure I can do this,” Ruby whimpered.

The band had stopped playing, but Mabel couldn't see across the roof from here, so she had no idea what was going on, until Miss Brewer's distinctive voice drifted toward them. It was impossible to hear exactly what the headmistress was saying, but Mabel caught the odd word or two. “Welcome,” and “our honor,” and “it's a pleasure to have you.” Then the girls started clapping, and another woman, who Mabel guessed to be Angelina Tate, began addressing the crowd.

“Ruby, we have to hurry,” Mabel said. “The girls are going to start demonstrating their inventions next, and I bet Winifred is one of the first.”

“I'm scared of heights,” Ruby whispered.

“Do you want to stay here and I'll go alone?” Mabel offered.

“No, I'm coming.” Ruby slowly inched her way onto the ledge. “I can't let you do this by yourself.” She gasped as a cat jumped out next to her, leaping onto the roof.

“Take my hand,” Mabel said, reaching down. She grasped Ruby's fingers, which were damper than her
own, and drawing on strength she didn't even know she had, Mabel yanked her friend toward her.

“These ridiculous petticoats,” Ruby panted. “They just get in the way.”

“Come on,” Mabel said, scrambling up the gently sloping roof. At the top, she could see the assembly again. Cressida Williams in year three had stepped up to the front and appeared to be demonstrating a magic duster that was floating about the podium, brushing the guests' hats. Mabel could hear faint bursts of laughter. “Please, Ruby. We need to hurry.” Ruby nodded but she didn't move. “You can do this. I know you can,” Mabel encouraged her. “It's not that steep.” Nodding again, Ruby slowly began to climb. As soon as she was near enough, Mabel leaned over and grabbed her hand. Holding tight to each other, the girls picked their way along the roof ridge and over to the heavy iron drainpipe that was fastened to a corner of the wall.

Looking down, Mabel saw that every few feet there was an iron band holding the drainpipe in place. “Right, Ruby. You're going to use the bands to place your feet on,” Mabel said, reaching for the top of the pipe. “Just go slowly and follow me.” She began to descend. Ruby was whimpering softly behind her, and Mabel prayed that they would make it in time. Halfway down there was a creaking sound. Mabel stopped climbing.
She held her breath. After a few moments, she moved again, more cautiously this time, her hands so slippery she found it difficult to hold on. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Mabel started to run, desperate to get to Winifred before she opened the bottle. There was another round of applause. As Mabel dashed across the grounds, she saw Winifred make her way to the front of the podium. She had strung a clothesline between two trees, and a frilly wet petticoat hung from it.

“I call my invention ‘clothes dryer in a bottle,' ” Winifred began, addressing the crowd in a loud, confident voice.

“No,” Mabel yelled, charging over the grass. She lunged at Winifred, but Winifred dodged out of the way. Mabel lost her footing and fell. “Don't open it,” Mabel gasped.

“Mabel Ratcliff,” Miss Brewer roared. “How dare you disturb this event in such a manner, stampeding in here, covered in dirt. This is not how a Ruthersfield girl behaves.” She banged her cane on the podium. “You should be ashamed of such behavior. Brawling like a fishwife.”

Mabel scrambled to her feet. Her braids had come undone, but she didn't care. “Please, Miss Brewer. That is not Winifred's invention.”

“Papa,” Winifred broke in, “this is the girl who got
suspended. The one the Cranfords were telling us about.”

Lord Winthrop Delacy rose from his seat and pointed a finger at Mabel. His face boiled with heat and his hand shook. “That child should be expelled. Accusing my daughter . . .”

“You will go straight to my office,” Miss Brewer said, with another bang of her cane. “Now.”

Miss Reed, the flying teacher, marched down from the podium and took Mabel's arm in a vicelike grip. “I will accompany the child.”

“Thank you, Miss Reed.” Miss Brewer turned back to Winifred. “Please continue, Winifred.”

“No,” Mabel screamed. “It's the wrong bottle, Winifred. Don't open it.”

“Wait!” Miss Seymour jumped up. But it was too late. Winifred was pulling out the cork.

With a loud whooshing sound, a black funnel-shaped tornado spun out of the bottle. Mabel stumbled backward, knocked over by the force of the wind. It howled in fury, tearing the clothesline from the tree and spinning straight at the podium. There was a gasp from the assembled girls as they watched the tornado swoop under the canvas roof and pick up the whole structure, lifting the entire Ruthersfield faculty and all the guests into the air. It spun the podium in wild
circles. Top hats, canes, and glasses came pouring down, followed by a shower of knitted wand cases, the wands scattering all over the grass. Trapped in their seats, the teachers and guests held on tight. One minute they were sitting there in a mass of purple gowns and finery, the next they were all gone. Every single one of them. Except for Miss Reed, who had let go of Mabel and was waving her smelling salts in front of her face, blubbering out a stream of nonsense. In numb shock, Mabel watched the podium hurtle across the sky. The wind taking it away had come from the coast, and that was probably where it was heading, Mabel guessed. Back out to sea.