Chapter Text
Hecate Hardbroom hovered outside the door to Julie Hubble’s flat, nervous as she clutched the handles of a modest leather gladstone bag in her gloved hands.
Her attire was far from her usual affair; she wore a round-collared coat of navy wool, and her hair was in a loose low bun at her nape. Some element of disguise was necessary—since for one thing, Julie must not find out she was a witch, and for another, it could change the timeline for both Hecate and Julie on her return to the present.
Just don’t get too attached, she heard Ada’s sage words in her mind, just before she had cast the spell to send Hecate back in time, fifteen years, to when Mildred Hubble was but a newborn child. But there was very little chance of that. Hecate had nothing less than loathing for babies—as well she had reminded Ada when she had suggested that Hecate undertake this task. Moreover, this baby was none other than Mildred Hubble, who, while she had proven herself in later years, was bound to be a handful in her youngest of years. This was hardly her idea of a good time—but, she reminded herself, she was not here for her own amusement.
Hecate knocked on the door and stepped back, wincing under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway—for within, she could hear the wails of an infant, and the “sh-sh-sh-sh-sh” of a soft northern voice she knew to be Julie Hubble’s.
The door opened. A harried-looking woman—Julie Hubble, fifteen years younger, gazed up at her with sudden round eyes, her curls succumbed to an unkempt cloud. For a moment, Hecate thought Julie had recognised her—but that was impossible, for she and Hecate had never met before at this point in time. Hecate herself was uncertain whether she would have recognised Julie at first if she had not been expecting to meet her, for there was something about her that felt quite different from the Julie Hubble she knew. Her face was softer and rounder with youth, and while Julie had never been a particularly smartly dressed person, she now looked thoroughly slobbish in a t-shirt that had several holes in it—unintentional or not, Hecate could not tell—and a pair of pink plaid pyjama bottoms. And there, in her arms was a red-faced Mildred Hubble in a baby-grow, screaming her heart out. Hecate already felt that she was not up to this challenge, and wished she could simply evaporate.
“I’m sorry, can I help you? This— isn’t a good time,” Julie said, attempting to shake her frizzy hair out of her eyes, since both her hands were rather occupied.
Hecate cleared her throat, trying to hide her distress at the sound emitting from the tiny bundle of limbs and lungs in Julie’s grasp. “I’m Margaret Smith, your new nanny.”
A look of pure bafflement crossed Julie’s face. “But I didn’t— I’m sorry, there’s been a mix-up. I think you have the wrong flat. I can’t even afford a nanny.”
Hecate took a breath. She had been prepared for this. “It’s a new government scheme for single mothers. You were lucky enough to be eligible for the trial. Perhaps your welcome pack was lost in the post? I have one here for you.”
Ada had helped her forge a highly convincing letter, accompanied by a booklet detailing the scheme, and it was this that Hecate handed over to Julie.
Julie wrested a hand out from under Mildred and took a brief look at the letter, before she shook her head and shrugged. “So there’s no fee at all? No hidden costs?”
“None at all.”
Julie bounced the still-crying Mildred in her arms, trying to calm her. She looked so worn-out that she was willing to believe anything. “Come in, then, Miss— Smith, was it? Sorry it’s such a mess.”
Hecate followed Julie into a scene of utter chaos and tried her hardest not to let out a scream of her own—managing to temper it to a tiny squeak in her throat. The flat looked like it had been turned upside-down—the various breastfeeding apparatus that Hecate had had the most rapid of primers on before leaving, baby clothes strewn about, soft toys, blankets—and Hecate suddenly realised there was going to be a lot more to her task than just minding a small child.
“Let me take your coat. And can I make you a cup of tea?” Julie asked, clearing a space on a sagging sofa with one hand and clutching Mildred tightly to her chest with the other.
“I believe you have your hands full at the moment,” Hecate responded, suddenly feeling oddly guilty for Julie. Julie was treating her with all the hospitality she could muster in her situation, and it was quite unnecessary. “I am here to help, Ms Hubble. I am not a guest.”
Julie gave a stressed smile and waved to the kitchen area of the open-plan room. “The teabags and mugs are in the cupboard over the sink, and milk’s in the fridge. It should be in date. Er— and hang your coat up anywhere there’s space.”
Hecate removed her coat and hooked it over the top of a collection of Julie’s jackets, revealing the floral calf-length dress of Gwendolyn’s that she had altered to her size. Ada had told her that nannies had to wear things that would be appealing to children, and also let Hecate knew that for women her age, an Ordinary person might mistake her for a grieving widow in her usual black. Hecate had begrudgingly agreed to make the change while she was Miss Smith, though it was the first time in an era that she had worn pastels.
The kitchen was in a similar shambles to the rest of the flat that Hecate had seen so far. There was a small step stool set against the side of the kitchen cabinets that she almost tripped over—Julie Hubble was not a tall woman at all, but Hecate had no use for this, as all the shelves were well within reach for her.
Hecate filled the kettle from the tap, trying to avoid the stack of dishes in there presently, and set it to boil. Ada had given her a book titled A Witch’s Guide to Surviving the Ordinary Lifestyle that she had devoured in the days before her departure, so she knew theoretically how these things worked. But, as the book said, if there are no Ordinaries within sight, you may, of course, do things in the usual fashion. Fortunately, the kettle only required one press to switch on, and it commenced a sputtering roar as it began to heat.
To the background noise of the kettle and Julie desperately trying to quiet her baby, Hecate took two mugs from the cupboard—one blazoned with text saying #1 Mum, and another with some kind of cartoon on it that Hecate thought slightly more tasteful than the other choices. She did not often use teabags, but she mused as she poured the water over that this method involved less clean-up than loose-leaf tea. Admittedly, she always used magic for such tasks, so it made sense that Ordinary people might not make time for such things—particularly if those Ordinary people had the sudden responsibility for small, screaming babies. She put a single sugar cube into Julie’s, before crouching to open Julie’s small fridge to see an abundance of expressed milk bottles. She found the cow’s milk, which was mercifully easy to distinguish by its packaging, and added a healthy splash to Julie’s mug. Her own tea she left black and without sugar.
“Let me put this here for you,” Hecate said, setting the #1 Mum mug down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and her own next to it. “And I’ll take this one,” she said, opening her hands out to receive the crying infant Mildred.
Julie gratefully gave Mildred to Hecate, who tried not to let her lip curl in disgust at her and the unsettling feeling of holding her, remembering what Ada had told her about supporting the head. Julie did not notice, fortunately—her eyes filled with tears as she wrapped her hands welcomingly around the mug and sipped the tea. Without the weight of a child in her arms, she looked relieved.
Hecate discreetly cast a calming spell on the crying baby, who settled at once and ceased her appalling racket.
“How did you do that?” Julie gazed in astonishment at Hecate.
Hecate gave a mysterious smile. “Secret of the trade. What’s her name?”
“Oh, this is Millie,” Julie said fondly, stroking the baby’s head. “Mildred. It’s a bit old-fashioned nowadays, I know, but it’s a family name. And there’s no one else whose input means anything, so—”
Hecate did not respond. She was fully aware that anything she said to influence Julie’s opinion could inadvertently change the course of history. As Ada had warned her, any small action could have a ripple effect through time and alter Hecate’s, Mildred’s, and Julie’s present day selves—and was unsure to what extent she ought to be cautious about this.
“How did you know exactly how I like my tea? This is perfect.”
Hecate could hardly have shared a staff room with Julie Hubble for almost a year and not learnt how she liked her tea. “Call it a— nanny’s intuition.”
They sipped their tea without speaking for a little. Hecate was sat bolt upright, concerned that any moment the thin veil of her disguise would be lifted, and that she would be exposed as a fraud. She glanced down at Mildred in her arms, mercifully silent, and realised that the baby had fallen asleep. Hecate wondered, teeth gritted, if there was somewhere she could put her down. She felt extremely awkward holding her—and wondered how she was going to manage this charade.
“Do you own a crib?”
Julie nodded and got to her feet, showing Hecate through to the bedroom where it stood beside the bed. It was much less of a catastrophe than the main room. Hecate put the baby down with some degree of relief, and made a show of tucking the textured cotton blanket around her.
They returned to the sofa and spoke for a while in low voices. Hecate began to describe the duties that she was expecting to perform, assuaging any worries that Julie had about the process. She had a ready-made pack of lies about her experience in childcare, spanning three decades. Being a teacher helped considerably to make these convincing. Julie seemed very trusting—but she also seemed at her wit’s end and would likely readily accept anything Hecate told her.
“I don’t know how I’ve coped these past few weeks,” Julie sighed, brushing her hair back fruitlessly; it flopped back into her face. Hecate thought it looked as though she had not slept or been outside for several days straight. “Being a mother is a lot harder than I imagined. And it’s not something I really chose.”
Hecate had not anticipated the emotional support it seemed like she would have to provide—and found herself questioning why she had thought that Julie Hubble would be a natural to motherhood. Before her was a scared woman in her early thirties, barely holding together under the pressure she was putting upon herself. “Ms Hubble, if you would like to take a refreshing walk outside for an hour or so, I think I can manage on my own for a while,” Hecate suggested gently, opting to divert the conversation away from the absent father.
“Are you sure that would be all right?” Julie said, the expression on her face one of clear bliss. “I’ve not been out for so long and I’ve got so much shopping to do. I’ve almost run out of loo roll. But would it really be okay with you?”
Hecate raised her eyebrows. “That is why am I here—to make your life easier.” It felt uncomfortable to lie to Julie Hubble, but she could not find out her daughter was a witch—and especially not a witch whose powers were at risk of being stolen by the scorned twin sister of the headmistress of a magical school.
In the space of a few minutes, Julie put on some clean clothes—a pair of jeans and a blouse, which was in Hecate’s eyes an improvement over the pyjama bottoms and holey t-shirt she had been wearing before—threw some things into a handbag, kissed Mildred goodbye, and went out while Hecate drank her tea. A minute later, there was a knock at the door, and Hecate answered to a sheepish-looking Julie Hubble who had forgotten her keys.
“Do try to relax, Ms Hubble,” Hecate reminded her gently, fully aware of the irony of telling this to another person. She barely knew the meaning of the word, and was hardly in a position to recommend it to another person.
Julie only smiled and said, “I’ll try,” and accepted the keys that Hecate held out to her.
With Julie out of the way, Hecate could perform the necessary protective spells upon the flat that she would need to repel Mildred’s would-be attackers. Yet, letting her eyes slide around the mayhem about her, she did not think there was any way she could cast the spell without cleaning her working space.
Julie Hubble did not even begin to realise the stress that Hecate was taking on for her. Far from the pressures of being responsible for baby Mildred’s immediate needs, she was also protecting her from whomever Agatha was sending back through time to steal her powers. As Head Girl of Cackle’s Academy, the teenage Mildred was completely safe from harm—more or less—surrounded by teachers and friends. The baby Mildred had only her rather Ordinary, sleep-deprived mother between her and this malicious witch.
Yet looking about now, Hecate’s current nemesis was the state of Julie Hubble’s flat. She determined where everything ought to be kept and had simply not been put away, and using a series of simple spells, put everything back in order and expunged the layer of dirt from everything, including the neglected dusty skirting boards. All of the miniature clothing that looked like it might have fit a doll rather than a small person, appliquéd with ludicrous designs like personified clouds and anatomically creative animals, was folded into small squares and put away into drawers. She even did the dishes, dried them, and sent them flying off to stack themselves in the cabinets. It was all very little work for Hecate, whose magic had achieved far greater things than this—but even she had to admit that the satisfaction of restoring order to this flat was significantly higher than if she had spent more effort on it.
Mildred was quite entertained by the sight of her and her mother’s clothes whizzing about over her crib. Hecate saw little use in hiding magic from her, since it was unlikely that she would remember any of this, and had not the verbal ability to tell her mother—and besides, Mildred, however young she might be, was a witch, and there were no rules about hiding magic from a fellow witch.
When the enchantments were all in place, Hecate could finally breathe. While they would not suffice against certain spells, they might give her enough time to react if there were any disturbance nearby, or if someone were to try to enter the flat by non-magical means. Soon enough, however, just as Hecate was settling down with a book and a fresh cup of tea, Mildred began to cry. Consulting The Witch’s Guide to Surviving the Ordinary Lifestyle, which helpfully had a section on babies, she decided that Mildred’s cries were possibly because she was hungry. The milk in the fridge needed to be warmed to body temperature, so Hecate let her magic heat the milk through her fingers.
“I hope you appreciate this,” Hecate told Mildred, holding the bottle between her finger and thumb as if she were touching something revolting. It seemed to work, and Mildred went quiet immediately.
The sound of the key in the lock startled Hecate from her reading, but her surprise was nothing compared to the gasp that came from Julie Hubble as she entered her now stringently clean flat, letting the huge 24-pack of toilet roll fall from her arms to the floor.
“Wow!” Julie exclaimed as she walked into the living room, “I thought I’d accidentally broken into someone else’s flat, but then I saw you! You’ve done so much. How did you manage it all?”
Hecate closed her book, which was enchanted to look like a simple clothbound novel, and not like the magical tome it really was. “The usual way,” she replied mysteriously. “I trust that you had a successful outing?”
Julie was still staring amazed at her flat, before she responded, “Got my bog roll, and a bit of food in. Where’s Millie?”
Hecate pointed towards the bedroom. “Asleep. I fed her and changed her while you were out.”
“Oh have you? Thank goodness.” Julie shook her head in disbelief once more. “This place hasn’t looked so clean since I moved in! Thank you so much. Gosh I could kiss you!”
Hecate swallowed hard, alarmed by the very idea of Julie’s suggestion—though, as she reassured herself, Julie could not mean anything by the comment.
Exhaustion had clearly caught up with Julie, because she appeared to shrink a good few inches as she sighed. “I’m absolutely knackered. You don’t mind if I have a little kip?”
“By all means. You do not need my permission to sleep in your own home,” Hecate retorted. “I will watch Mildred in here so that you can have some uninterrupted sleep.”
“Her cries could wake the dead, so I’m not sure I’ll have much luck.” Julie smiled weakly.
“Hopefully we will not have to test that theory.”
Julie gave a slight chuckle, at which Hecate, with a sudden jolt, realised a little of the sardonic wit she had been accustomed to exchanging with the present-day Julie Hubble had been slipping into her speech. She had best avoid such overfamiliarity, out of fear of raising suspicion about her identity.
Hecate watched the crib containing the sleeping baby Mildred cautiously. She still looked like the old Mildred, before the appearance-changing mishap. It felt so odd to remember that version of Mildred, because she had grown so accustomed to the ginger Mildred—but all the same, Hecate found herself trying to imagine the long, dangling, chewed pigtails and trailing bootlaces on this infant. Even on the sleeping baby, it was strange how easy it was to mentally picture—but utterly ridiculous. Hecate shook herself.
The plastic ticking clock upon the wall told her it was nearing dinner time. There was still no stirring from Julie’s room—upon which she had cast a sound dampening spell so that no sound would enter and disturb the exhausted Julie. Hecate wondered if she should wake Julie to see if she was hungry, and tentatively opened the bedroom door a crack. A pastel blue duvet was still wrapped over her form, still and breathing quietly.
Hecate had known Julie Hubble for quite some time, but she had never seen her asleep—and why indeed should she have done? Yet now, she found herself drawing closer, crossing the boundary of the sound dampening spell. Julie’s face edged into view, serene at last, with a handful of blankets drawn up to her lips. Hecate was glad to see her looking so at peace, for Julie had evidently needed a rest—and then suddenly became quite self-conscious that she was staring at a sleeping woman. She backed away as silently as she could, crossed the threshold, and closed the door gently.
It was an indisputable fact that from the moment Julie Hubble had set foot in Cackle’s Academy, sparks had flown between them. Julie’s criticisms of her had always managed to hit a sore spot. Julie’s self-assertiveness and defensiveness of her daughter clashed against Hecate’s need to be correct in all circumstances. Moreover, seeing how fiercely Julie loved Mildred reminded Hecate that she had grown up without a mother, and certainly without a parent who would give her that level of support. Over the years, Julie Hubble had risen in Hecate’s esteem—the incident with the Wishing Star notwithstanding, which was not Julie’s fault—until Hecate realised her feelings were much more complex, in ways that Hecate had never wanted to acknowledge.
Hecate took a deep breath, deciding that the smell of food was sure to rouse Julie if she was ready to wake up. Julie did not keep a very well-stocked kitchen, as Hecate had discovered when tidying the flat. She mused that while magic could not create food, it could certainly summon it from her private supplies in Cackle’s—but then, of course, she remembered that she was not in her own time, and it would not be her pantry she was borrowing from, but that of her past self. She cast her mind back fifteen years—she had been over a decade into her confinement at this point, and since she had been used to cooking for herself from a young age, would have had a cupboard rich in ingredients that either her colleagues had brought back from other parts of the world, or that she had ordered from various suppliers.
It was unsettling to think that there was another Hecate Hardbroom locked away in Cackle’s, and Hecate was reminded with a pang for her past self of how she had felt at this point in her confinement—the acceptance had started to settle on her as she had watched each generation of students go through from first to fifth year, knowing that they would see things she never could. Yet now—free to travel where she desired, she rarely did, preferring to keep herself safe in the castle that she knew so intimately in her heart.
There had been concern over whether the confinement spell of the past would drag her back to the castle, or whether her magic would even work in the past due to its being confined to Cackle’s. Under the grave circumstances, Ada had of course contacted The Magic Council for their advice, and they had been permitted to consult the highly secretive Department of Temporal Magic. It was a unique situation—but the research witches there had been fairly confident that the confinement spell of the past would have no effect on the future Hecate, as long as Hecate was sent back in time as herself rather than being sent back into her past self’s body.
They had also said, on a more grim note, that Hecate would be the best choice to travel back in time, since there was no possible way that she would be able to come across herself by accident and cause a paradox, provided that she did not go near Cackle’s. No one would need to perform the necessary calculations and tracking spells to determine which places to avoid—there was only one place she could be.
Hecate realised she had been staring into the depths of Julie’s kitchen cupboards for a while, lost in memory, and brought herself back to the present—or the past. Whichever it was, dinner had to be made.
She managed to scrape together enough ingredients for a fresh batch of rolls and a soup—not too heavy to eat upon wakening, but full of flavour and nutrients. There were some odd ends from the cupboards that she was sure Julie had bought upon an optimistic whim—that one day she would use those lentils or pearl barley—but from their nearness to the expiry date printed on the packaging, must have been obtained some time ago.
Hecate had to pause to attend to Mildred, who chose that moment to awaken and soil her nappy. Fortunately, magic dealt with the matter swiftly and without Hecate having to get too close to anything unpleasant. All the same, she washed her hands thoroughly in the sink, feeling slightly unwell. Hecate had never thought of herself as having a delicate stomach, since she had been Potions Mistress at Cackle’s for enough time that she had encountered her share of smelly cauldrons, but this was quite a different context.
The batch of rolls went into the oven—Hecate had to refer to what The Witch’s Guide to Surviving the Ordinary Lifestyle said on the subject of Ordinary ovens—when the door to the bedroom opened, and Julie stepped out, her hair tousled, back in her pyjamas.
“What’s that lovely smell? Are you making something for dinner?”
Hecate swallowed and nodded, feeling suddenly as though she had done something wrong.
Instead of exploding into a rage, however, Julie came padding over in her fluffy slippers. “Oh my god, you’re an angel.”
Hecate froze at the compliment, unsure how to react, and decided no reaction at all would be the best. “It— it will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I’d love one, thank you,” Julie replied, a smile warming her face. She sat at the small kitchen table at the wall, where the fabricated nanny paperwork lay neatly—she picked it up to take a closer look while she waited, and Hecate eyed her nervously while she poured Julie a cup of tea. “So you’ll be living in? I don’t have much space, but you’re welcome to the bed. I can sleep on the sofa.”
“I must insist that you use the bed,” Hecate said sharply.
“Or we could share.” Julie shrugged. “I’m not bothered, and it’ll be easier for us to take it in turns to get up if Millie wakes in the night.”
Hecate had not considered this turn of events at all, and felt the colour drain from her face. She had assumed incorrectly that Julie would have had two bedrooms, as she did in Hecate’s present—but no, the other bedroom that would become Mildred’s was in process of being converted into a nursery, with half of the room boxed up—some exercise equipment and art supplies—and not a bed in sight. She tried to arrange her face into a neutral position. It could be quite common for people to share beds in the Ordinary world, for all she knew. But sharing a bed with Julie Hubble?
“It would seem that that would be the most convenient arrangement.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t snore.” Julie chuckled.
No, indeed you do not, Hecate found herself thinking. Julie had been sleeping so beautifully—then she realised that she had no idea whether she herself snored or not, for she had not shared a bed with anyone for many a year.
“Well,” Hecate said, her voice strangely high, “I believe dinner is ready.”
Hecate set out cutlery and brought everything over, insisting that Julie stay seated and not try to help. They began eating in silence, which Hecate preferred, but after a little while, Julie seemed to not be able to resist speaking.
“Miss Smith— or can I call you Margaret?”
“You may,” Hecate responded curtly. She had wished to keep interpersonal relations between she and Julie formal and distant, but now that they were to be sharing a bed, it did not seem like she could insist upon anything other than informality.
“No, wait, hang on—” A huge grin spread across her face. “Margaret Smith, like Maggie Smith?”
Hecate frowned. “I do not personally use that diminutive.” Maggie was as ridiculous as someone calling her Heckie.
“No—like the actor, Maggie Smith?”
Hecate could only look blankly back at Julie.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Maggie Smith?” Julie looked astounded. “She’s in so many things, you must have seen her. Right, tonight we’re watching The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. I think you’ll like her in that. You’ll recognise her immediately, I know it.”
Hecate agreed meekly. She felt it would be rude to disagree—for there was not a chance that she would know who this Maggie Smith was. Inwardly sighing at her unfortunate choice of name, it suddenly dawned on her why Ada had suppressed a chuckle when she had mentioned the name. She made a mental note to ask her why on earth Ada had said there was “nothing at all” wrong with the name she had chosen.
There was a brief pause as they continued eating. Just as Hecate began to hope that that would be the only conversation they would share, Julie nodded towards the mug that Hecate seemed to have claimed as her own. “Good choice of mug. Are you a Labour voter as well?”
Hecate sipped her soup delicately, thinking better of inspecting the mug for clues as to what that meant. “Yes.” She felt that was a safe answer, given Julie’s implication that she was also one.
“Good. The Tories are the scum of the earth. Though between you and me, Tony Blair’s a bit of a tosser too.”
“Indeed,” Hecate said. She recognised the name Tony Blair as being the Ordinary Prime Minister, and surmised that Julie was speaking of politics.
Despite herself, she found her lips curving into a small, amused smile. She had known Julie Hubble was quite the firecracker when it came to things she was passionate about, but had only experienced that side when it came to her defending her daughter. Somehow this politically mindful Julie impressed her quite a bit.
After doing the washing up—a task that Hecate unfortunately had to perform in the Ordinary fashion, since Julie was present—she reluctantly joined Julie on the sofa and resigned herself to watching the Maggie Smith film with her. There was nowhere else she could go, and no excuse that she could give, and it seemed to be a means of passing the time without being asked too many probing personal questions.
Julie had brought Mildred over, and began unbuttoning her pyjama top. Hecate had been watching Julie out of the corner of her eye, wondering what she was doing, but quickly realised she intended to breastfeed. Awkwardness gripped through her as she stared into the blank screen of the television. It was not often that she had caught a glimpse of a woman’s bosom before—never, in fact—and she did not want to be accused of anything inappropriate when it was vital for her to be allowed to stay here. But was it inappropriate for her to see, particularly for a nanny who should have seen this sort of thing fairly frequently? Breastfeeding was natural, Hecate reasoned with herself. There was nothing wrong with it. It was simply that Julie’s openness drew attention to how closed-off she felt.
“Could you pass the controller?” Julie asked her. “I’ve got my hands full here.”
Hecate cautiously looked around her, wondering what Julie meant. She wished she could check The Witch’s Guide to Surviving the Ordinary Lifestyle, but that was hardly possible right before Julie’s eyes.
“Oh, it’s over there, on the DVD player,” Julie said, pointing at the black box underneath the television.
Hecate was grateful for the instruction, for it would have been impossible for her to find otherwise. She wondered just how long she would have to stay here, and hoped that whoever planned to attack Mildred would hurry up and do so already, so she could return to her own time.
Awkwardly handing over the controller, Hecate resumed her seat, sitting up straight and shaking slightly from the tightness of her muscles.
“Are you all right? You look cold.” Julie reached to the back of the sofa, where a granny square blanket was draped over.
“Oh— no, I am quite—”
But the blanket had already slipped down, and Julie arranged it over Hecate’s lap, and then, shuffling a bit closer, her own. “There, that’s cosy, isn’t it? Sorry, it does get a bit chilly in here sometimes. It’s the single-glazed windows. I’ve been trying to ask the landlord to change them for a while, but he’s always making excuses.”
Julie used the controller to turn the television on, as Hecate adjusted to the warmth of the blanket and Julie’s proximity to her. A few jabs at the screen later with the controller, and the movie started playing.
Hecate made sure to say, “Ah,” in what she hoped was a convincing manner, when Julie pointed out Maggie Smith, her supposed namesake, on her bicycle in the opening scene—quite needlessly, for her name appeared next to her in large bold yellow letters.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Julie sighed happily.
Hecate eyed Julie, who was captivated by the screen. She had not realised that Julie found women attractive—but perhaps it was a neutral observation. Hecate went over all the reasons in her mind as to why speculating on Julie Hubble’s romantic inclinations was a poor expenditure of her time, and tried to focus on the film in case she was expected to comment on it later.
The school reminded Hecate quite strongly of Cackle’s—they wore the same striped ties, and the pinafores were quite like the older style of pinafore that Hecate herself remembered wearing, as well as the sashes, which looked much more appropriate in black than in the house colours, to Hecate’s eye. She had to keep herself from drawing comparisons with Cackle’s—for while the Julie she knew would understand them, this Julie did not know Cackle’s Academy existed, and of course believed that Margaret Smith was a nanny, and not a witch teacher named Hecate Hardbroom.
At first, Jean Brodie’s sharp wit felt familiar and like Hecate’s own, but Hecate realised that she was a deeply flawed character. While her devotion to education was admirable—for Hecate often felt that the girls were her “vocation” as well—Hecate was particularly disturbed by Miss Brodie’s assertion that “safety does not come first—goodness, truth, and beauty come first.” Hecate wondered of the educational benefit of shunning organised work for speeches on culture and art and politics—and not even in a productive fashion. Yet the next moment, she was telling off a pupil for a uniform infraction—now that, Hecate could comprehend, but hardly reflected Miss Brodie’s worldview of valuing individuality.
At first, Hecate felt with a pang of guilt that she was not at all like this Jean Brodie character Julie idolised, and more like the conservative headmistress Miss MacKay. But then as the film progressed, Jean Brodie continued to confused her immensely, appearing to be an enigma given to romantic idealisations and taking time to sit with her students and sharing luncheon with them, while trying to impress the importance of appearing civilised.
Moreover, Hecate was unsettled about the girls’ curiosity about sexuality and hoped she would never inspire such conversations in her students with any interaction she shared with another adult. Her mind cast back to the time Julie Hubble was employed at Cackle’s, and considered how deeply inappropriate it would have been if she had acted upon the tensions she could barely admit to feeling, and particularly so if there had been a witness.
Hecate did not approve of Miss Brodie’s entanglements with distasteful men, and at one point felt like standing up and shouting at the screen at his behaviour, but she would have woken Mildred. But then again, Miss Brodie’s behaviour gave her a similar impulse at times, due to her dubious political affiliation to fascism.
Although they had to pause several times, because Mildred was prone to bursting into screams every so often, the film itself was quite compelling, despite its problems. While she tried to mask her frustration and the mental overload that Mildred’s cries gave her each time they occurred, she felt her patience wearing ever thinner. She had to breathe out and force herself to think of the calming simmer of a cauldron, the wind in the forests surrounding Cackle’s, or a candle’s steady flame in a darkened room. Maintaining the illusion that she was confident with babies was instrumental to her successful stay here.
“Well, what did you think?” Julie asked, as names began to appear on the screen. Hecate supposed the film was over now—she had been paying less attention towards the end, distracted as she was by Mildred.
“I found some of Miss Brodie’s practises and politics— troubling, to say the least,” Hecate began, hoping that this was not too controversial a thing to say.
“I should hope so. She’s a weird one, Jean Brodie is. I’ve not seen the film in an age, to be honest with you. Maggie Smith is so enigmatic and passionate though. It’s no wonder she won an award for it. But the character herself has a lot of layers. Some I get, others I find just awful.”
Hecate breathed out in some relief. She had been worried that Julie had thought Miss Brodie an ideal teacher or that she shared her views somehow.
“Mostly I just find Maggie Smith really hot,” Julie admitted. “That accent—phwoar!”
A very small sound escaped Hecate’s throat. She was glad her tea had gone cold, for if she had been drinking, she would have spluttered it everywhere at that comment. That certainly blew Hecate’s attempts to not think about Julie’s sexuality out of the cauldron.
Julie continued, apparently not noticing Hecate’s shock, “I’ve had wonderful teachers in the past who’ve really inspired me. They’ve most of them been really loving and caring women. I’m so impressed by people who devote their lives like that—like you must do in your line of work. I hope I can be that kind of mum to Millie. But I’m not sure I’m up to it, if I’m honest. It’s so hard when you’re on your own, like I am.”
The names on the screen continued to slide upwards. Hecate felt caught in a web of her own lies—she was hardly loving or caring when it came to her students at Cackle’s, and while she had been proud of how various students turned out after perhaps a few disruptive years, like Mildred, she knew deep down that this progress had nothing to do with her role as a teacher, and more to do with the way that her mother would raise her.
“I have met many parents in my time as a nanny, Ms Hubble, and I can assure you, you have all the qualities of a wonderful mother.”
Julie put her hand on Hecate’s arm. It was warm through the unfamiliar thin fabric of the borrowed dress. “Thank you. I don’t know if you know how much that means to me.”
Hecate glanced up at Julie’s face, to see her eyes full and glistening with tears. “You are quite welcome, Ms Hubble. I have full faith in your ability to raise little Mildred. You certainly do not need anyone else’s help to raise her—I am merely here because of— the scheme.”
“I’m not sure about all of that, Margaret, but it’s so lovely to have your help. You’ve been an absolute angel so far. And call me Julie. No more of this ‘Ms Hubble’ nonsense.”
Hecate blushed to the tips of her ears. She brushed off the compliment, and suggested that they both try to get some rest while Mildred was sleeping.
Hecate put Mildred down in the crib by the bed as gently as she could, before drawing the soft pink blanket over her and tucking it around her tiny form. In just eleven years, Mildred would be terrorising her in the halls of Cackle’s Academy, simultaneously causing havoc and foiling Agatha’s plans to take over the school. It still amazed her that Mildred could have ever been an infant like this—and even less capable of tying her own shoelaces.
Julie walked over to join Hecate, and whispered, “She’s so peaceful when she’s asleep, isn’t she? Hard to believe sometimes.”
“They all start off so small,” Hecate stated, though it was more of a realisation on her part.
“Do you mind if I pop to the loo first to get ready for bed?”
“Ah—of course, by all means.”
When Julie disappeared into the bathroom, Hecate retrieved her gladstone bag from the living room and perched on the edge of the bed, the bag on her lap, eyes raking her surroundings in anxiety. She missed Morgana, who had been left behind in the future for her own safety. Hecate would never forgive herself if anything were to happen to her, and her presence might have been difficult to explain. Usually Morgana would comfort her in a stressful situation like this. Knowing she was so far away made Hecate feel even more alone.
Julie emerged—since she was already in pyjamas, she had not needed to change. “Bathroom’s all yours. Help yourself to anything you need. I’ll make some space for your things tomorrow so you’re not living out of a suitcase.”
Hecate nodded her thanks, and located the bathroom. She closed the door gratefully, desperate for a moment’s privacy.
The reflection in the mirror made her jump at first, because she did not recognise it. Her hair was in a low bun, slightly looser about her face, and her makeup was different - her lips were a soft pink, her eyebrows were not as heavy, and instead of her usual wingtip eyeliner, she wore a subtle pale neutral eyeshadow. She had researched makeup trends in the year 2006, and while it would be ridiculous for her to replicate the Ordinary celebrity looks, she considered what would have been available in that year and what would be appropriate for a woman of her age and station. It made for quite the transformation.
After performing the necessities, Hecate changed into a long nightdress and silk dressing gown, removed her makeup with a wave of her hand, and took her hair down from the bun until it flowed to her waist in heavy waves. She ran a brush through it to smooth out the dents of a day of being restrained, until she felt marginally calmer.
Hecate closed the gladstone bag and returned to Julie’s bedroom, feeling quite exposed in just her sleepwear. She had not planned on Julie seeing her like this, but it could not be helped.
Julie was sat on the side of the bed by Mildred’s crib, and looked up when she heard Hecate re-enter. She opened her mouth, but her voice seemed to catch on a sound in her throat. “Oh—”
Hecate’s shoulders squared, and she maintained a tight hold on her gladstone, unsure what Julie Hubble meant by her staring.
“Your hair is really— long,” Julie said at last.
Hecate, feeling hot in the ears suddenly, strode over to the side of the bed across from Julie, and put her bag down.
“I used to have long hair—not as long as yours, mind—but it was a lot of upkeep, so I went shorter just before I had Millie. I felt so much lighter. I wish I’d done it yonks ago.”
Not fond of having attention drawn to her appearance, Hecate remained stony in her silence. She set her jaw and barely put her weight on the bed as she sat down, unsure whether taking off her silk dressing gown would expose too much skin.
“I’m sorry this might be awkward for you, sharing a bed with a complete stranger,” Julie continued, her speech noticeably faster than usual. “It’s not ideal, but it is what it is.”
Hecate took a breath in while she thought about how to respond. She was not supposed to be Hecate Hardbroom, but Margaret Smith, who was kindly and confident and good with children. She unwrapped the dressing gown from her body and slipped it off her shoulders, turning back to Julie. “Of course, Ms— Julie, I don’t mind at all. My apologies, I am merely tired after a long day.”
“You must be. All that cleaning up and cooking!” Julie’s eyes lingered on her for a moment more, before she lay down under the duvet and laid her head of golden curls down on the pillow, facing away from her.
Hecate followed suit, drawing the duvet over herself. She realised at once that there was only a finite amount of duvet; at the edge of the bed, there was not enough for her to be able to cover herself with it fully and allow Julie a sufficient amount. She shuffled as far into the bed as she could without being too close to Julie, trying not to think about the proximity of her limbs that were sure to be warm and inviting.
A chill shivered over Hecate’s body. In the darkness, she could hear the beginning sounds of Mildred fussing—the sound Hecate had deduced that she made before crying, usually. There was no duvet covering her—for Julie had curled it about herself in a cocoon, and Hecate’s side of the bed was completely bare. Sighing, Hecate wrapped her dressing gown about her, crossed around to the crib, and scooped Mildred up in her arms, blanket still tucked about her.
Julie was fast asleep still, so Hecate took Mildred into the living room and closed the door, just as she started to let an unhappy wail out of her tiny lungs. Hecate considered that she was hungry, so tried to warm a bottle of milk as fast as she could, while attempting to bounce Mildred in her other arm just as she had seen Julie do the other day. But it was no use—the jerky motion appeared to aggravate the tears, and the bottle was rejected at once.
Nothing else appeared to be wrong, as far as Hecate could tell, and yet still the crying continued. Hecate frowned—she did not like failure, and was rapidly growing frustrated. Just as she was about to cast a calm emotions spell, the door to the bedroom opened, and Julie Hubble’s bleary eyes blinked at the sight of her.
“Everything all right? Do you need any help? Oh, Millie!” Julie came rushing over, touching her wrinkled red forehead. “Do you think she’s ill?”
Hecate looked up in shock, glad that she had not been casting the spell when Julie had come in. “No, she is fine,” Hecate said, wincing as Mildred let out a particularly loud screech almost directly in her ear. “She just needs to calm down.”
Julie hovered at Hecate’s elbow. “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Quite sure,” Hecate retorted, an eyebrow raised. “You should go back to sleep and let me handle this.”
Julie looked unsure, but she gave a huge yawn that betrayed her tiredness. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”
The door closed behind Julie, and Hecate waited a few moments before casting the calm emotions spell, this time more discreetly. Mildred’s face restored to a normal colour, though she still looked unsettled.
Hecate’s eyes swept about the room in her panic, trying to find something that would help. There—Hecate’s book lay on the side table by the sofa. She say down with Mildred laying against her shoulder, and began to read from it—it was merely an instructive volume on potions, and the page she had opened it on was a list of ingredients—but the low timbre of her voice appeared to quiet little Mildred, whose breathing became deep, and she lulled against Hecate’s neck.
Peace at last, Hecate thought gratefully, but as soon as she made to stand up, Mildred gurgled and gave a heaving sob. It would have been inadvisable to cast yet another spell on her so soon after the first, so Hecate shushed her as gently as she could, annoyed at herself for having celebrated too early. She found herself wishing she were back at Cackle’s in her own time, with Morgana on her lap comforting her with purrs, rather than attempting to give comfort to this baby who was abrasively loud and helpless and fragile.
She thumbed open the book again, but the words no longer had any effect on Mildred—so Hecate wrapped her securely in the blanket and walked about with her, back and forth across the small room impatiently, and cast a sound dampening spell on Julie’s room—only one of them need suffer tonight.
Hours seemed to pass before Mildred finally wore herself out from crying—Hecate had tried the book again, and this time it had worked. Remembering how moving had woken the child before, Hecate sat with her on the sofa, eyes aching with tiredness, realising she could not go to sleep. If, in the future, Hecate was ever fortunate enough to enter into a romantic relationship with another person, she would remember this moment as the reason she never wanted to raise a child. She had raised enough children in her time—larger ones with marginally more reasoning power—and that was more than enough for her.