“Oh, I think they’re beautiful. And your father gave them to you. You should wear them, Cruella, you really should,” she said, handing the box back to me and looking sad. Dear, sweet Anita. Always so loving, so caring and sentimental. “You know I almost wore them to Papa’s funeral. I had honestly almost forgotten about them until that day, but I couldn’t bring myself to put them on.”
“Why, Cruella?”
“I don’t know, I had the strangest feeling while I was holding them. An odd feeling of foreboding, like I would never be happy again. And then I remembered my papa’s story about the earrings. That they were cursed.” A chill ran down my neck, and the fine hair on my arm stood on end. Anita swallowed, nervous.
“You don’t really believe they’re cursed, do you? I’m sure you were just sad about your father passing away. I think you should bring them with you and wear them at school. It will be a lovely way to remember him.” Anita was so sweet that I felt the chill vanish, and the room was filled with warmth again.
“You’re right. I’m being silly. I’m going to put them on right now.” But when I brought them to my ears, it happened again. That feeling of doom. I couldn’t shake it.
“Cruella, are you okay?” Anita asked. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. Perhaps it was nerves. Everything in my life was on the verge of changing.
“Are you nervous about leaving home? Nervous about seeing your mother tomorrow?” Anita asked. I honestly couldn’t say. But the strange feeling stayed with me for the rest of the evening. It invaded my sleep, filling my dreams with pirates, otherworldly magical lands, and a dark forest filled with glowing candles.
By the next morning my trunks were packed, and they were sitting beside Anita’s and Miss Pricket’s, piled high in the entryway at the foot of the grand staircase. I was so happy that Anita would be traveling with me to school, and Miss Pricket was to accompany us for the entire journey to see us settled. She would stay for a fortnight before returning back to London.
All of us were antsy as we waited for my mother to arrive. “We will have to leave soon, Miss Cruella. We don’t want to miss our train,” Miss Pricket said, as if I wasn’t already aware. I certainly wouldn’t miss her flair for stating the obvious. Jackson cleared his throat and tapped on the glass face of his pocket watch to say he agreed. I was honestly rather anxious to see my mother, and all of Miss Pricket’s and Jackson’s fidgeting was driving me mad. I turned to Anita.
“Anita, how do I look?” She smiled, and some of my nerves melted.
“You look beautiful, Cruella, as always.” I wanted to look perfect for Mama. I had put on one of my best traveling dresses in her favorite color, dusty rose, and wore the jade earrings Papa had given me. I couldn’t believe I was going to see her after all this time. And right before I had to leave for school.
“Oh, I see a car now. That must be her,” Jackson said, going out to greet my mother. But when he returned, she wasn’t with him. Instead, a legion of footmen trailed behind him, all carrying boxes. The footmen piled the boxes on the round table in the center of the entryway, crowding the vase of flowers that sat in its usual place. Jackson motioned to one of the maids standing nearby to help the footmen with the boxes that threatened to topple over. “Paulie, help the footman with those packages if you will?” I blinked. And in that moment, I knew. She wasn’t coming.
“Miss Cruella, these packages all have your name on them,” Paulie said. “I will pack them up for you and have them sent along so you can open them at school. But it seems your mother was eager for you to take this one along on your journey,” she said, handing me a rather large white box with a red bow. Paulie steadied the box while I removed the lid, exposing the most magnificent fur coat I had ever seen. It was long and white with a black collar, just like the one she had given me when I was a little girl, but somehow even more lovely. In the box was a small square note card that simply read:
Distinguish yourself.
“Oh, Cruella, it’s lovely,” said Anita, with no hint of jealousy or sadness like Miss Pricket usually displayed.
“Miss Cruella,” Miss Pricket said, in a tone that, for the first time, was obvious in its disdain for my mother. “You won’t need that at school. Let’s leave it here where it will be safe.” I rarely pulled rank with Miss Pricket—she was, after all, my governess, and I was in her charge—not to mention, I trusted her. But something in me shifted quite suddenly, and I heard my voice snap: “My mother would like me to take it along, and I am going to take it.”
“Miss Cruella, none of the other girls will bring along such fine things,” she said, more gently this time, but it was too late. I had heard her scorn. I knew how she felt about Mama. And I knew she was wrong.
I simply handed her the note Mama had included in the box, reminding her of what it said. “My mama says I’m to distinguish myself,” I said as Jackson helped me on with my coat. “And I plan to, with style!” I walked out the door, ready to embark on our grand excursion. I felt brave and proud. I was distinguishing myself. Just like my mother.
At first school was everything Anita and I wanted it to be. Our academy was a converted mansion, brick covered with ivy, you know the sort. It had that awe-inspiring architecture one expects to find nestled away in the country, surrounded by rolling hills, groves of trees, and a lavish park on the school grounds. It was really quite beautiful.
Anita, of course, gravitated to subjects like poetry, classic literature, and mythology, while I enjoyed learning about social ranks and the titles that went along with them. Both of us loved our classes in music and painting, but I detested French lessons, while Anita seemed to enjoy them, having proven herself quite good at them in my schoolroom back home. But what we both loved most were our daily walks around the grounds through the park. It was our time to talk about our day, to gossip about the other girls and our instructors.
Anita genuinely liked being outdoors. She could sit for hours just looking at the trees, or the leaves floating down the creek we happened upon on one of our walks. And she loved watching the birds and squirrels. I honestly couldn’t give a damn about nature; I just liked getting away from everyone. I couldn’t stand being locked up with all those simpering, foolish girls, talking of nothing but when they would be entered into society and eventually married. That seemed to be their singular focus: finding the richest, most well-connected man and marrying him.
Within the first few days of my arrival, I realized young women in my social circle went to school not to better themselves, not to learn something of the world, not to have an adventure—but to find a husband. Or at least that was the objective of all the young women Anita and I went to school with. It was likely they would snare husbands right after they were entered into society, and I supposed their education would teach them enough that they could have intelligent conversations in their drawing rooms with their guests. But they would never be permitted to sit with the men after dinner and have the real conversations. The real conversations were reserved for the men. They got to talk about what was going on in the world, the places they traveled, and the books they’d read. We ladies got to speak of the weather and which fork went where in a dinner setting. The more time I spent at Miss Upturn’s Academy for Young Ladies, the more I realized it was absolutely bursting with simpleminded girls who were all relentlessly mercenary in the pursuit of their happily ever after.
I became even more convinced that this wasn’t the life for me.
It wasn’t the life I wanted. I wanted something more. I wanted freedom. I didn’t want to be tied down to a household or a husband. I wanted to do what I pleased, whenever I wanted. And I didn’t see that happening with a husband. Not unless I found someone truly unique and remarkable, like my papa. And I doubted that would ever happen. Besides, unlike many of the girls I went to school with, I didn’t need to marry. I had my father’s money. I had the De Vil name. And I had the most engaging companion I could ever want in Anita.
Despite my unconventional id
eas about my future and how much I detested the other students, I really did love every moment of my education. We were to be made into accomplished ladies. We were taught how to direct a conversation at dinner: how to steer it in another direction if the talk became unsuitable or awkward, how to avoid speaking directly on any subject that was of a personal or sensitive nature, and most important, the virtues of speaking indirectly while making our point clear. I may not have wanted to get married, but I did want to learn how to conduct myself with decorum. I wanted to make my mama proud. And about halfway through our first semester, I learned I was going to have the opportunity. My mama was coming to visit me that day for my birthday. I hadn’t seen her since my father died.
“Anita, I’m a little nervous about seeing my mama.” It was Saturday, and we were sitting in the garden, taking advantage of a rare sunny afternoon. We had spread out a blanket, and Anita had arranged some little sandwiches and cakes for us to enjoy in the sunshine. Her little birthday gift to me.
“What are you two going to do later? When is she arriving?” she asked.
“She’s taking me out for dinner. We’re going to the Criterion!” I said. Anita’s eyes got wide. “I know. It’s quite fancy! I’m going to wear my best dress. I can’t wait to see her.” Suddenly, Anita’s face reminded me of how Miss Pricket’s would sometimes look when I talked about my mother.
“What’s wrong, Anita? I can see if you can come along, if you like, so you don’t have to spend the evening alone.” Anita wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
“No, Cruella. You should have some time with your mother on your own. You haven’t seen her in ages. It will do you both some good to spend some time together.”
“Well, how are you going to spend your evening?” I asked. I hated the idea of Anita spending the evening alone, or worse, what if one of those snotty twits gave her trouble without me there to protect her?
“Doing homework, reading. The usual,” she said, picking little white flowers and linking them together by their stems. “Maybe I’ll catch up with Princess Tulip, see how she’s doing.”
“Don’t read too far along without me!” I said. “If you do, you will have to catch me up.”
“Cruella, we’ve read all these stories hundreds of times, I won’t need to catch you up!” She put the string of flowers on my head like a crown.
“There, now you look like a princess,” she said, smiling. “You’re going to have a lovely night with your mama.”
Later that night, she helped me get ready. I must have tried on every single dress I owned. “Don’t forget your fur, Cruella. Your mother would love to see you in it, I’m sure.” She handed it to me. I was so nervous. I hadn’t seen my mama in so long, and she had been so upset with me. I feared she believed what that horrible nurse had said: that I was the reason Papa died. But I pushed all that out of my mind as I kissed Anita on the cheek and went down to wait for the car. But Mama wasn’t waiting for me. It was Miss Pricket, saddled with a bundle of packages and a hamper full of food. I saw that customary sad look she often wore on her face.
I ended up spending my seventeenth birthday with Miss Pricket and Anita in our room, reading well into the night and eating the delicious food Mrs. Baddeley had sent along. It was a lovely evening. I was with two of my favorite people, and I knew my mother loved me. She had, after all, sent me some beautiful gifts.
Though you wouldn’t have known it by looking at her, Anita was really out of place in Miss Upturn’s Academy for Young Ladies. She flourished in her academic pursuits but found all of my favorite subjects foolish. She had no use whatsoever for the more “frivolous” subjects, as she called them. But my goodness, Anita was such a smart little thing. Quiet but not mousy, smart but never condescending. She was sweet, observant, studious, and always conducted herself like a proper young lady. And without me there to protect her, those girls would have eaten her alive!
Thankfully, we spent almost all our time together. We had a room to ourselves; my mama had arranged it. Most of the other girls had to share four to a room, but my family had given the school large endowments, which meant Anita and I were rewarded with more privacy. The room had a lovely view of the gardens; one of the walls was almost entirely windows. The quarters were large enough for two canopied beds, two wardrobes, and two vanities, and had a cozy little sitting area where we shared our morning tea together and chatted before we went down to have breakfast with the other girls. Even though, in the first few weeks, I didn’t like most of the girls at school, I did hope I would turn out to be wrong about them. I was hoping we’d find at least one other girl like Anita and myself who we could bring into our little circle. I decided to start a reading club. A few weeks into the school year I sprang my brilliant idea on Anita.
“What do you think, Anita? It might be a good way for us to get to know some of the other girls,” I said to her one morning while we were getting ready to go down to breakfast. Anita didn’t look convinced.
“I thought you hated all the other girls, Cruella. Aren’t they all spoiled daughters of your mother’s friends?” It was true, most of them were. And I had known some of them since I was young, but I didn’t know them really. Not the way I knew Anita. At most, we had shared occasional polite conversations at various functions.
However, there was one girl I knew well. Arabella. She was my mother’s best friend’s daughter. I had never really cared for her and had done my best to shield Anita from her since we’d arrived at school. If she got one whiff of Anita’s background we would never hear the end of it. So I was thankful Anita would sometimes come off a little standoffish with people she didn’t know. It honestly made her seem like most of the entitled girls at school. But really, she was just shy and rather focused on her studies.
“I don’t know, maybe we’ll find someone who loves the same books as us,” I said. “I’ll make a posting for our club and put it up on the bulletin board.”
Anita sighed. “Okay, I suppose. Let’s see what happens.” We went down to breakfast together and found our little corner of the room where we usually sat, away from Arabella and her haughty friends. I was working on my posting for the bulletin board and Anita was reading a book we had been assigned when a snotty voice said, “Good morning, Cruella. And who is this? I haven’t met your friend.” I looked up, and my stomach knotted when I saw that it was Arabella.
“Good morning, Arabella. This is my friend Anita.” Anita looked up from her book.
Arabella still wore her hair in ringlets, like she was a little girl. Long blond ringlets that fell softly around her pale face. She looked like a precious doll with her perfect porcelain skin, and her shining blue eyes that looked as if they might have been made of glass. But really, she was a monstrous girl in the guise of an angel.
Arabella was the youngest of one of my mother’s dearest friends. We had been thrust together since childhood, and I wasn’t happy when I found myself forced into her company again once I got to school. My mother had given up years before in trying to make us the best of friends as she and her dear friend Lady Slaptton so desperately wanted. It was clear from early childhood that Arabella and I had nothing in common, much like me and the rest of my mother’s friends’ children. And Arabella really was the worst kind of girl.
“Oh yes, I remember Anita from back home. Your little pet.” She smirked. “What are you working on there, Cruella?” she asked, looking at the posting I was drafting.
“I’m creating a reading club,” I said. Arabella laughed under her breath. “Still reading those silly fairy tales you always talked about when we were young? What was that princess’s name again? Something stupid. Oh yes, Tulip. Have you ever heard of a Princess Tulip? I never have. Then again, I’ve never heard of anyone named Cruella. So what do I know?”
“Yes, I still love those stories,” I said. “And so does Anita.” Arabella sniggered again. “Well then, you’re a perfect match. But I don’t think you will find anyone interested in your fairy-tale club. T
he last thing any of us want to do with our spare time is read more books. You know it ruins your eyes, Anita. You’re going to look old before your time if you keep reading like that.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Arabella,” Anita said, going right back to her book. I could see Arabella’s wheels turning. She was trying to think of something clever to say, but I deflected her.
“I’m sorry, Arabella, Anita wants to be prepared for Miss Babble’s class right after breakfast.”
Arabella huffed. “Well, I won’t bother you any further then.” Her curls spun as she turned on her heels to leave. “See you in class!” she called, her hair swaying and bouncing as she walked away. I swear that girl purposely walked that way to make her hair sway, superficial fool that she was.
“Well, that was a good start. We’re making new friends already,” I said. Anita didn’t even really seem to notice. I knew she wasn’t interested in making new friends, and she was only humoring my idea that we might find a treasure of a girl hidden among all those fools and idiots. Anita was determined to make the best of the education her guardian was providing for her. That was more than I could say for most of the other young ladies attending our classes.
After breakfast, we went to Miss Babble’s class to discuss the book Anita had been so diligently reading during breakfast. It was a Jane Austen story. I can’t recall which one now, but I do remember Anita seemed to be the only person in class who truly grasped the author’s intentions. Miss Babble was always reluctant to call on Anita because she was usually the only person who raised her hand. “Yes, well, if there is no one else … Miss Anita, will you share your thoughts?”
“Miss Austen makes astute observations about the social classes with her various works, never mind how keenly she brings the marginalization of women to the front of most of her stories, most especially young women with few or no prospects.”
Evil Thing Page 5