Penderwicks meets Edward Eager in this moving story “that will remind readers of Roald Dahl’s Matilda ” ( School Library Journal ) about a young witch found in a flowerpot who embarks on a journey to discover her roots. The morning Nora Ratcliff finds a baby in the flowerpot on her front steps her life changes forever. She had always wanted a child, but after her husband passed away, Nora never thought it would be possible. She decides to name her miracle flowerpot child Mabel, and as Mabel grew up, she showed a distinct talent for magic. When Mabel is accepted to the prestigious witch school, Ruthersfield Academy, she excels at the curriculum, especially magic, but is constantly in trouble for experimenting and inventing her own potions. One day she is asked to write a paper on the origin of her magical roots and discovers the truth about her birth after a mean classmate blurts out what everyone seems to know—except Mabel. Mabel is shocked but the revelation does explain a lot. In an act of rebellion, Mabel changes her name to Magnolia and sets out to learn why she was left in the flowerpot and who her birth family might be. Will Mabel find the answers she’s looking for—or will she discover that families are people who love and look out for each other—and that’s most important of all. Natasha Lowe knew as a child that she wanted to be either a writer, an adventurer, or to open a fancy teashop. So she did a little bit of everything, traveling from her native London to America where she ran The Tea House bed and breakfast and wowed guests with her grandmother’s shortbread recipe. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and four children. She is the author of the Poppy Pendle series and Lucy Castor Finds Her Sparkle . The Marvelous Magic of Miss Mabel Chapter One An Unusual Beginning Saturday, April 23, 1887, 10:01 p.m. THE NIGHT MABEL ARRIVED, NORA Ratcliff was getting ready for bed. She had just taken the pins out of her hair and given it a good brush when a soft knocking sounded on the door. “Now, who in the world can that be?” Nora said, tying her nightcap under her chin as she hurried down the stairs. The Ratcliff residence was a sturdy brick house, three stories high, with a profusion of roses blooming in the garden, and when Nora opened the door, their fragrant scent wafted toward her on the warm, salty air. “Hello?” she called out, standing barefoot in her long white nightgown and straining her eyes against the gloom. There was nobody in sight. “Hello,” she called again. A snuffling noise came from one of the large terra-cotta flowerpots that stood on either side of the front door, and hurrying over, Nora Ratcliff found herself looking down into the scrunched-up face of a tiny baby. A blanket of ferns covered the child, and she was nestled in the rich, soft earth, which Nora had been planning to plant lavender in. The baby squished handfuls of soil between her fingers and gazed solemnly up at Nora. She gave a tiny sneeze as an earthworm crawled over her foot. “And where in heavens did you come from?” Nora said, scooping the child into her arms. She hurried down the path and looked back and forth along Oak Lane. On the other side of the road, huddled under a streetlamp, stood a young woman. Her hair was long and matted. She wore a ragged dress, and Nora could see that her feet were bare. Lifting her head, she looked over at Nora Ratcliff and with a great deal of anguish, choked out, “Please take care of my baby,” just as a carriage came swaying around the corner. The woman ran off, and Nora stepped back from the curb, cradling the infant close as the Cranfords’ buggy trotted past. Returning from a late dinner somewhere, no doubt. Mrs. Cranford enjoyed her gossip as much as her food, and the sight of Nora Ratcliff standing outside in her nightgown, clutching a baby to her chest, would certainly set tongues wagging. “I can’t keep you, little one,” Nora said wistfully. Nora’s husband, Dr. Ratcliff, had been dead for ten years now, struck down by the influenza. Her parents were long buried, and she had not been blessed with children of her own. The baby reached out and grasped one of the ribbons on Nora’s nightcap. She opened her eyes wide, and for a few moments they observed each other. From somewhere deep inside Nora, a vast well of feelings bubbled up, feelings from all the years of trying, and all the babies she couldn’t have. It was at that precise instant that Nora Ratcliff suddenly and completely changed her mind. “I shall call you Mabel,” she announced to the night, “after my own mother.” And hurrying back up the path, she was met at the door by her two housemaids, Daisy and Flora. “I thought I heard noises,” Daisy gasped. “Mam, what are you doing out here?” “And what in heaven’s name is that?” Flora said, her eyes fixed on the bundle in Nora’s arms. “It is a baby,” Nora replied, swooping past them into the library. She nodded at the leather armchair, pulled up in