The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel (18 page)

“Miss Seymour, please,” Winifred said. “Might I do Helping Hands instead of the soup kitchen? I feel I would be much better suited for it.”

“I'm afraid not, Winifred,” Miss Seymour replied briskly. She turned to Mabel and Ruby. “You girls will be taking the stew pot and puppet show along to the orphanage.”

“How appropriate,” Winifred muttered under her breath.

Mabel bit her lip. She would not give Winifred the satisfaction of seeing her upset.

“Why don't you report her to Miss Brewer?” Ruby said, as the girls walked into town behind their group leader, Violet Featherstone. There were three other students doing the orphanage visit. One of them carried the stew pot, and Mabel carried the box of puppets.

“It's
not worth reporting Winifred,” Mabel sighed. “Her dad is on the board of governors and nothing will ever happen to her. I'll just get in trouble,” she said. “Besides, I don't like to be a tattletale. I can deal with Winifred.”

“Excuse me?” Violet Featherstone turned around, giving Mabel and Ruby the full benefit of her icy glare. “A lady talks in a quiet voice. She doesn't gossip like a fishwife.”

“When I grow up,” Mabel murmured to Ruby, “I intend to slouch in my chairs, never wear bonnets, talk about whatever I like, and laugh at the top of my lungs.”

“How unladylike!” Ruby whispered back, and the two girls had to stuff their hands in their mouths to try to muffle their giggles.

The Potts Bottom Orphanage was next door to the elementary school. They were both rather gloomy redbrick buildings with narrow windows and gray slate roofs. Some of the older children from the orphanage were allowed to attend the school, and Mabel watched as a line of girls filed out one door and a line of boys filed out another, all heading home for lunch. The orphan children trooped back around to the orphanage in a ragged group, their hair tangled and their clothes worn. Tagging along behind, they looked greedily at
the stew pot as Violet led the Ruthersfield girls inside.

It was the silence that upset Mabel the most. She had been expecting noise and screaming, considering all the children who were housed in here, but the orphanage was strangely quiet. Rows of cribs held little children and babies. The ones who could stand leaned over the side of their cribs, stretching their arms out to be picked up, while the babies lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling and sucking their thumbs. There were no books or toys for the children to play with, and Mabel cringed as a large woman in a black dress and white cap swept through the room, herding the children into a line. “One at a time,” she ordered gruffly.

The children lined up as Violet waved her wand over the stew pot. “Swellifanto,” she called out in her musical voice. A cloud of fragrant steam puffed out of the pot, and Violet handed Mabel the spoon. “You can fill their bowls,” she said, and as the children filed past Mabel, she dolloped a big spoonful of stew into each wooden bowl. It smelled delicious and looked to be full of carrots and onions and big chunks of mutton. The children stared at Mabel out of huge, hungry eyes, their faces grimy with dirt. Most of them were barefoot, and the ones wearing shoes had string tied around them to keep them on. Mabel spooned out stew in silence. She had never seen anything so sad.

“Can we have more?” a little boy asked, holding out his bowl for a second spoonful.

“Of course you can,” Mabel whispered, hoping she wouldn't get him into trouble. “There's plenty of stew.”

“Does it always make the same kind?” Ruby asked Violet.

“No, you never know what you're going to get. That is a very temperamental stew pot,” Violet said. “Sometimes it's chicken stew, sometimes pork. Last week the poor children had to make do with bean and turnip.” Violet gave a shudder of disgust. “That smelled so nasty.”

When the children had finished eating, they gathered on the floor at one end of the room, and Violet opened the box of puppets. “What shall we give them?” she asked the other Ruthersfield girls. “ ‘The Snow Queen'? ‘The Princess and the Pea'? ‘The Little Mermaid'?”

“ ‘The Princess and the Pea,' ” Mabel said.

Waving her wand over the box, Violet called out, “Puppetito showiso—‘Princess and the Pea.' ”

The box flew open and out danced the puppets. There were the princess and the prince, the king and queen, and into the air floated a bed with about twenty little mattresses piled up on top. Mabel watched the children's faces more than the puppet show. They were transfixed by the dolls that were dancing and acting
out the fairy tale in front of them. When it was over the children clapped in appreciation, and one little girl, who couldn't have been more than five, ran over to Mabel and wrapped her arms around Mabel's legs. “Stay,” she begged. “More stew and more show.”

“Come along now,” the woman in charge said, pulling the little girl off Mabel. “Aren't you supposed to be working in the laundry, Ann? Off you go.” And she pushed the child toward the door.

Mabel was silent on the way back to Ruthersfield. She hugged the warm stew pot against her, thinking how different her life would have been if Nora hadn't taken her in. She might have ended up in a place just like that, and Mabel's heart ached for the children who didn't have anyone else to love them.

D
O YOU THINK MY MOTHER
was a witch?” Mabel asked at tea that afternoon. She was sitting with Nora in the drawing room, on one of the slippery horsehair sofas. Daisy had made a seedcake and a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

Nora looked at Mabel and said carefully, “I doubt it, Mabel dear. I mean Magnolia,” she corrected herself. “Witches usually have skills that can help them survive, and I got the feeling your mother was desperate. She didn't have anyone else to turn to. If she ended up in the poorhouse, they would have taken you from her, and no mother could bear that for her child.”

“Would I have been sent to the orphanage?” Mabel said. “Like the one in Potts Bottom that we visited today?”

“I think there's a strong chance that you would have been.” Nora poured herself out more tea. “I truly believe your mother gave you up because she wished you to have a better life. Because she loved you, not because she didn't want you.”

Mabel pulled a slice of cucumber out of her sandwich and ate it. Her lip trembled. “I wish I knew more about where I came from,” she said. Her voice cracked as she looked up at Nora and said, “I'm never going to find my mother, am I?”

“I'm afraid you probably won't,” Nora said. And then more softly, “But I'm your mother too, Mabel. I might not have given birth to you, but I love you like a mother.”

Mabel sighed. “It's just that the girls at school are always bringing up their witch ancestors, and I know nothing about mine. Who the witches in my family were.”

Nora didn't reply right away. “I wish I had those answers for you,” she said at last. “But I don't. I can't fill in all the pieces, and that breaks my heart.”

“So I'll never know, will I?”

“Not about your birth family,” Nora said, getting up
from the sofa. She walked across to her desk, returning with a rolled up piece of paper. “But these are also your roots, Magnolia.” Mabel had to admit that even though she loved the name Magnolia, it didn't sound right when her mother said it. Nora put the tea tray down on the floor and unrolled the piece of paper across the delicate walnut table. Mabel saw it was a family tree.

“But that's the Ratcliff's family tree, not mine,” Mabel said.

“You're a Ratcliff too,” Nora insisted. “I gave you my husband's name, and had he been alive when I found you, he would have welcomed you into our little family.” Nora ran her hands over the paper. “There may not be witches in the Ratcliff family, but there were some strong-minded women,” she said, smiling at Mabel. “A lot like you and me.” Circling the name Irene Ratcliff, she said, “Now, it's rumored that Irene ran off to sea and became a pirate. Quite a woman if the stories about her are true.”

“Can we call her a witch?” Mabel said. “She might have been one, don't you think? Maybe she had the gift very mildly. Maybe she didn't even know.”

“Maybe,” Nora agreed, smiling. She bent down and circled Rachel Ratcliff. “Look, we can go right back to the thirteenth century. Rachel Ratcliff was an amazing woman. She mixed herbs and gave them to the sick.
Frank did some research on her at one time.”

“Oh, she sounds like a witch too, doesn't she?” Mabel said. “It's just”—and her throat grew tight—“I hate feeling like an outsider. Like I don't belong.”

Nora took a deep breath. “You're not an outsider. Look, here you are.” She gestured at the paper with her pen, hesitating a moment. “Do I write down Mabel or Magnolia?”

“Well, I still wish you had called me Magnolia,” Mabel sighed, “because it is a beautiful name and it suits me so much better. But I think you should write Mabel,” she said at last. “Even though it's plain and not very pretty, I'm glad you named me after your mother.”

Nora smiled, and under “Frank Ratcliff married to Nora Darling—1867,” she wrote “Mabel Ratcliff, daughter of Nora and Frank Ratcliff—1887.” She rolled the piece of parchment back up and handed it to Mabel. Her eyes glistened. “I can't give you everything you're looking for, Mabel, but I want you to have this. Because you are a part of this family.”

“I know that,” Mabel said. “I know,” she said again. “I just wish I had something to connect me to my other family too.”

“You have your magic, Mabel. No one can take that away from you.” Nora gave a shaky laugh. “That is something you most certainly didn't get from any of us!”

“Why
did you take me in?” Mabel asked softly. “Did you feel sorry for me?”

“I took you in because I had always longed for a baby.” Nora's jaw tightened. “Take no notice of those awful things Nanny Grimshaw said.” She slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. “That is one of my biggest regrets. Not getting rid of Nanny sooner. I should have done a lot of things differently.” She was quiet for so long Mabel wondered if her mother had gone to sleep, but then Nora said, “I should have told you the truth from the beginning, Mabel. I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to feel loved.”

Mabel had never heard her mother sound so sad. She got up and walked around the table, bending down to give her a hug. “I do feel loved.”

There was a knock on the door, and Daisy came in to clear the tea things. “You can call me Mabel again, Daisy, if you like,” Mabel announced. “I love the name Magnolia. I always will,” she said wistfully. “But since Mama christened me Mabel, I've decided to keep it.”

“Well, I'm happy to hear that,” Daisy grunted, picking up the tray.

After tea, Mabel took her satchel of wind samples and
Simple Guide to Spell Construction
out into the garden. The ache in her chest wasn't quite so sharp, and she
settled herself on the grass, breathing in the heavy scent of Nora's roses. Most of the bushes were in full bloom. The Royal Duchesses definitely had the most powerful smell, and Mabel decided that she would crush some of the deep red petals and add them to her dryer spell. But first she needed to test the strength of her wind samples, which made her a little nervous, because under the directory of ingredients at the back of Miss Tate's booklet, it said, “Wind is a highly sensitive element in spells and must be handled with extreme care. Contained wind is a volatile substance and should only be used by the advanced witch.”