A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,5

in the icy rain and the wind, which ripped straight though her pretty blue-striped town dress. Surely they shouldn’t be outside in such weather. She’d catch a cold and take ill. A physician would be called for, and he’d say that nothing could be done. She would die. Her story would be serialized in the Illustrated London News, and her mother, who had sent her here, would read it. POOR YOUNG GIRL MALTREATED BY HORRIBLE GREAT-AUNT. There would be illustrations.

“Perfect weather for washing,” declared Miss Henrietta.

She led Annabel to a washroom where there was a wooden tub and a tap for drawing water. She lit a small stove so the water could be boiled. Annabel lifted her skirts and worried for her new boots, which were made of blue leather and had blue ribbon bows. She noticed a spider high up on the wall and shuddered. A pile of dark dresses lay in a basket on the floor.

“I’m sure you have washed clothes before,” said Miss Henrietta. Annabel could tell that her great-aunt knew perfectly well she hadn’t. Miss Henrietta poured the water into the tub.

“I will leave you with the rest,” she said. “The special soap from the Scottish Witches must be grated with a knife—just a teaspoon’s worth, for it has very strong properties. When you have finished, bring the dresses to the kitchen and drape them by the fire.”

Then she was gone without so much as a thank-you, and Annabel was left staring at her shocked reflection in the washtub.

“Washing clothes,” she said to her reflection. She nodded, and her pretty, solemn face nodded in return. She touched a blond ringlet. “With special soap from the Scottish Witches.”

Annabel picked up the purple soap and held it to her nose. It stank. She dropped it in disgust into the tub. The water turned purple and began to froth, and she yelped in fright and fished the soap out.

Would that happen with just a teaspoon of grated soap? Should she tip the whole tub out and start again? It seemed a shame. She looked at the pile of dresses and pushed them one by one into the purple foaming water. She had to kneel down on the dirty ground, which was awful. She swished the heavy dresses until her arms began to ache. When she could stir no more, she sat looking at the water.

Her mother had sent her away, and it was a dreadful thing.

Annabel supposed there had never been a more dreadful thing.

Her mother had sat her down to tell her. “I must go abroad on business. It is long overdue. I cannot explain it to you now, but you will know in time,” she said. “You will live with my two aunts in Spitalfields for some time.”

“Aunts?” Annabel had said. “In Spitalfields?”

She’d never been told she had great-aunts.

“If you listen well, they will teach you many things,” said her mother. “Lessons you now must learn.”

“What kind of lessons?” asked Annabel. “What about Miss Finch’s?”

“Your education at Miss Finch’s is complete,” said her mother. “You will be educated by your great-aunts now.”

“Complete?” said Annabel.

“I will send you a letter when I can,” said her mother, beginning to cry. “Now I must go.”

“I-i-is it because of the puddles?” Annabel stammered. She had rarely seen her mother cry. “I promise I won’t look again. I promise.”

She didn’t want to be sent away. She didn’t want her mother to go abroad on business that could not be explained. Her mother never did anything that could not be explained.

“I can no longer protect you from your destiny,” she replied. “Be brave.”

And in the morning her mother was gone and Mercy was in a terrible state, hurrying and rushing Annabel for her trip to Spitalfields.

Be brave.

She would not think of it. She rested her chin on the tub. It was warm there, and she watched the purple water grow still. No, she would not think of it. She would not think of her mother leaving. She would not think of her father, who was not a sea captain drowned at sea, because that story was nonsense. She would not think of Miss Henrietta waiting, standing in that dark, cluttered shop, frowning.

She would think of the emerald-green ice skates she was to have for her birthday. Her mother had promised them if only she would improve her Latin. Her mother had always said Latin was very important and Annabel should never underestimate when she might need it. But the problem was Latin words