“I will miss you nevertheless,” he said.
“We just spent the most glorious evening together, my love.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you again for such a lovely evening. It was the best birthday I could ever wish for.” He flashed his Clark Gable smile, the smile I now realize reminded me of my papa.
“Yes, but I had to share you with all of our guests. I want some time alone with you. Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I haven’t given you your gift.” He took a little box out of his breast pocket.
“You already gave me the perfect gift, Jack. The party.” He just smiled and opened the little box, revealing a beautiful jade ring. “Oh, my love! It matches my earrings.” He put the ring on my finger.
“I know, Cruella. I had it made specially.” He really was the most thoughtful husband.
“Blast,” I said, looking at my watch. “Mama is expecting me.” I kissed him quickly. “I really do love you so much, my Crackerjack. I’m so sorry, but I really do have to run.” I had no idea it would be the last time I told him I loved him, or saw his handsome smile. But I am jumping ahead.
I went to London to see my mama so I could give her all the details about my birthday party, and it really was a lovely afternoon together. We sat in the morning room as we had so often while I was growing up, and it felt like old times.
“Oh, my darling girl, you look magnificent. Tell me you loved your party! Tell me you love the fur coat I got you! Oh, Cruella, tell me you love me, and you’re not angry that I wanted to celebrate with you on my own rather than come to your party!” I was so pleased with Mama’s transformation. She had been a completely different woman ever since I signed over my fortune. I guess it goes to show you that money really can buy happiness.
“Of course I’m not angry with you, Mama! I love you!” I said, laughing, as we air-kissed to keep our lipstick off each other’s cheeks.
“Where is that wretched girl with the tea?” she asked, ringing the bell. “This place has gone to the dogs since you stole Jackson away from me!” She rang the bell again. Just then a scrawny, timid-looking maid came blundering into the room. I hadn’t seen her before. She must have been a new addition to the staff.
“Yes, Lady De Vil?” she asked, her voice squeaking like a little mouse. She looked rather frightened of my mother. Or perhaps it was me she was afraid of. I was becoming quite a well-known socialite, after all. I wondered how my mother could deal with such a creature lurking around her house. She looked like the sort who peeked around corners before entering the room.
“Good grief! My mother has been ringing for tea for what seems like an eternity and you dare come in empty-handed. My servants wouldn’t dream of such slipshod service!” I said, thoroughly frustrated she hadn’t yet brought in the tea.
“Shall I bring the tea then, Lady De Vil?” she asked, clearly afraid to make eye contact with me.
“Forget the tea, Sarah. Have Mrs. Web bring me that bottle I had her get from the cellar. My daughter and I are celebrating.”
“Yes, my lady,” she said, skittering away. I rolled my eyes.
“Really, Mama. This is intolerable. The Spider really should take care to hire better maids. That girl looks like she had just jumped out of her own skin. And do we really have to have her bring the champagne into the morning room? You know how much I detest the the Spider.”
“Oh, Cruella, please don’t ruin our time with your incessant need to call people by silly nicknames. You’d think you would have outgrown it by now. We’re here to celebrate. I want to hear all about your birthday,” she said, looking at the clock.
“Mama, why are you watching the clock? Are we expecting someone?” I wondered where the hell Mrs. Web was with our celebratory drinks. “Really, Mama. How long does it take to grab a bottle and a couple of glasses? And why on earth didn’t they ever send up the tea in the first place? It’s well past teatime! What is Mrs. Baddeley doing down there, anyway? How long does it take to boil water and cut the crusts off little sandwiches?”
“Mrs. Baddeley left us some time ago, Cruella,” Mama said, as if I somehow should have known. “She decided she wanted to work for a smaller household.” I was shocked. I couldn’t imagine Belgrave Place without her.
“Really? You didn’t tell me. Where exactly did she go?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Cruella. Some young couple of no consequence. She said it was a cozy little place, near a park. Though it’s been my experience when someone calls something cozy what they really mean is a hovel. I can dig up the exact address if it means that much to you,” she said, looking at the clock again.
“Mama! Why are you looking at the clock again? Who are we expecting? And where are the bloody drinks?”
“Cruella! Language!” my mother scolded. It was all too funny being back at home. Mama was scolding me like old times—me, a married woman with a house of my own! But that was our dynamic these days. I enjoyed scandalizing her, and she enjoyed calling me out on it. And I don’t think I ever really shocked her. I think she just enjoyed acting as though I had. Or at least that is what I always told myself. It was just our way.
Just then the Spider came into the room—without the bottle, I noticed. “Lady De Vil,” she said. Both of us answered, “Yes?” Only a little thrown off, the Spider continued.
“Sir Huntley is here. I showed him into the sitting room.”
“Please show him in here in a few moments, Mrs. Web. And for heaven’s sake, please do bring in that bottle.”
“Yes, Mrs. Web, why don’t you go get it before you ask in Sir Huntley,” I said, dismissing her.
“Now, Cruella, I won’t have you dismissing the servants in my own home. I know you don’t care for Mrs. Web, but I do have to live with her.” I laughed.
“And I’m very sorry that you do. But why have you invited Sir Huntley? I thought we were spending the afternoon together, to celebrate my birthday.”
“And so we are, my dear. Your twenty-fifth birthday. Your father’s money, your inheritance, is officially yours today, my dearest. I thought you would be eager to make the transfer to my accounts official, as we discussed.” It had completely slipped my mind. Of course I had intended to transfer over the money, but I hadn’t expected to do it that afternoon.
“Yes, of course,” I said, smiling. Though of course it had taken me by surprise, I really was quite happy to do this for my mama. It made me feel proud that I could provide for her in this way. To do something for her after all of her years of devotion to me.
Sir Huntley stood in the morning room doorway and cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, ladies. Mrs. Web said I was to come in.” He was such a timid man. Like a little blind mole who only came out of his burrow to make his clients sign documents. A mole in a tweed suit.
“Yes, please, Sir Huntley, do sit down,” I said, making my mother flinch. I had done it again. I was directing people around in her home. Well, perhaps I was taking possession of the house by directing my mother’s servants about one last time before I gave the house and my money over to her. I didn’t see that then, of course, but now when I think back on it, I am almost sure that is what I was doing.
“I don’t have time to stay, ladies. I’m just bringing by the paperwork you requested.” Sir Huntley shot a nervous glance at my mama. You’d think this was a house of horrors the way everyone tiptoed around us.
“I wonder why you didn’t just have it delivered then?” I asked, trying not to laugh at the poor man. He was shaking so intensely I thought he was going to drop his briefcase.
“I wanted to be sure this was still your wish, Lady Cruella,” he said, this time keeping his hands from shaking by grasping his briefcase so tightly I could see his knuckles turning white. “It’s been several years since we first discussed this.”
“Are you quite all right, Sir Huntley?” I eyed his shaking hands. “Could I perhaps offer you some tea? I’m sure my mama’s maid would be happy to tiptoe down to the kitchen and retrieve some, though it might t
ake an hour or two.” I laughed at my joke, but my mother just glowered at me.
“No, thank you, my lady.” He had a concerned look on his face, and suddenly I felt bad for taking delight in his nervousness. He was just looking out for my interest, just as my sweet papa had asked him. So I reassured him the best I knew how.
“It is indeed my greatest wish, I assure you.” I tried to put him at ease with a smile.
Sir Huntley, with slightly steadier hands, opened his briefcase. He took out the papers, inspected them for a moment, and then placed them on a round table to the left of the love seat that faced the fireplace.
“Well then, if both ladies will just sign, I will be on my way,” he said, and then added quickly, “That is, if Lady Cruella is absolutely sure.”
“I am sure, Sir Huntley,” I said, quite firmly this time. Did he think I was so fickle in my decisions? I could slap the man for asking the question in front of Mama. “Shall we sign, Mama?” I asked. Sir Huntley provided a fountain pen, though at first the blasted thing didn’t work! I had to shake it several times, until finally it sprayed spots of black ink all over him. I stifled a laugh, signing my name on the dotted line. Mama added her signature below mine. And the deed was done. I had given Mama my fortune. And I was happy to do it.
“Very well,” he said. He looked defeated. His jowls seemed to hang lower than usual, and his eyes looked heavily hooded as he gathered up the papers and put them back into his briefcase. Then he paused and looked up at me. “Lady Cruella, if you ever need anything, anything at all, please give me a ring.” And like a wounded dog he left quite quickly, before Mama could even ring to have someone show him out.
“Well, that was theatrical!” I said, laughing. Mrs. Web came into the room then. Empty-handed, wouldn’t you know it. “Good lord, woman, where is the champagne?” The Spider just stood there quiet and still, looking as if she had seen a ghost. Or perhaps her own reflection. I turned to my mother. “This is outrageous, Mama. What is going on with your staff? Is everyone hell-bent on driving me mad today?”
“Cruella, what is wrong with you? Do calm down.” My mother put a hand to her forehead, as if I was giving her a headache. “And what are you doing? Stop fidgeting with your earring! Those are the earrings your father gave you, think how upset you’d be if you lost one.”
“They’re bothering me for some reason,” I said, twisting the jade ball again, hoping it would make a difference.
“Well, take them off. They’re making you irritable.” We had completely forgotten about Mrs. Web. She stood there staring at us, looking ghastly, like someone had drained all the blood from her face. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Web? Why have you still not brought in our drinks?” My mother was beginning to sound testy as well. Perhaps I was rubbing off on her.
Mrs. Web just stood there staring for a moment before she finally spoke.
“Lady Cruella, it’s your husband.”
“What about my husband?” I asked, still distracted by my earring and wondering what she could possibly be going on about. “Is he here?”
“I don’t know how to say this, Lady Cruella, but he’s been killed.”
“That’s impossible,” I scoffed. “Jack would never allow himself to be killed! There must be some mistake.” The Spider may have been ghastly, but this seemed like a very cruel trick to play on me, even for her.
“I’m so sorry, my lady, but it’s true. Jackson and the rest of your staff are downstairs. They’re very shaken up.” It didn’t make any sense. Everything felt confusing and surreal. “Why are they here? Where’s Jackson? Send him up so I can speak with him,” I said.
“I think he’s in shock, my lady,” she said, looking at me with pity in her eyes. I couldn’t stand it. Everyone was always looking at me like that, for my whole life, and I had had enough. I couldn’t abide it from her of all people. I just stood there.
“I think my daughter is also in shock, Mrs. Web,” my mother said. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Please send Jackson up here at once so we can speak to him.” Mrs. Web just stood there for another moment, unsure, unmoving.
“Send him up here at once!” I screamed. “Send him up this moment! Do you understand? Go!” The woman went scuttling out of the room, and I was left with my mama. Alone. Was I alone now? Was my Crackerjack really gone? I couldn’t fathom it. I didn’t believe it. There was no way my Jack was dead. Not Crackerjack. He was too strong to die. Too stubborn to allow himself to be killed. It didn’t make sense. There had to be some sort of mistake.
Miss Pricket came into the morning room instead of Jackson. She looked dreadful. Her face, hands, and clothing were smudged with some sort of soot, and her hair was mussed. I felt so relieved to see her that I almost started to cry.
“Miss Pricket! What’s happened? Where’s Jackson?” I said.
“Oh, my lady, I am so sorry,” was all she could say before she started crying so hard she was shaking with every breath.
“What happened? Please, tell me what happened. No one can seem to tell me what’s happened to my husband!”
Miss Pricket looked at Mama nervously. Her hands were shaking.
“Have some brandy, girl, and sit down and tell my daughter what’s happened. This is madness. Where is Jackson?” My mother was raising her voice, clearly as frustrated as I was. Miss Pricket poured herself a little glass of brandy and drank it down all at once, then composed herself.
“Mr. Jackson is downstairs with the others. Mrs. Web called for the doctor when we arrived. The doctor is looking at Mr. Jackson now, that’s why I came up.” And she started to cry again. Sobbing uncontrollably, she told the story between great heaving breaths. “Oh, Lady Cruella, I am so sorry. We did everything we could, but the fire was too great. Jackson tried to save him. He wanted to. But the fire was out of control—we couldn’t even get to the study. Our way was blocked, and it was spreading throughout the house. Only those who were downstairs made it out of the house, Lady Cruella. When the fire brigade finally arrived, there was nothing of the house left.” I couldn’t believe it. Jack must have made his way out.
“Are you sure Jack was in his study? Maybe he went out?” I asked, desperate.
“No, my lady. He was in his study all afternoon. Jackson would have known if he went out,” she said, shaking with tears.
“Did the fire brigade find his body?” I asked, convinced he had slipped out without anyone noticing.
“They haven’t, my lady. But they are still investigating, trying to find the source of the fire.”
“Then there is a chance he wasn’t killed,” I said. “Jack can’t be dead. He can’t! I won’t believe it until I see it for myself. Have someone bring a car around.”
“But my lady, there is nothing to see but ashes and ruin. There is nothing left.”
Miss Pricket was right. There was nothing left. The house, all of our belongings. Everything was gone. Jack was gone.
I never forgave Jackson and the others for surviving the fire. I didn’t understand why someone couldn’t save him. None of the servants could tell me what happened. Not coherently, anyway. The only people who made it out of the house unhurt were the staff downstairs. Everyone in the main part of the house was killed. The fire marshal said there was likely some sort of mishap with the fireplace in the study. He said there was an enormous amount of rubbish, papers, and files stuffed into the fireplace, and that he found Jack’s body sitting near the fireplace in what was left of his chair. He thought Jack had fallen asleep sitting there and that’s why he hadn’t realized the room caught fire. That the smoke had caused him to become unconscious and that’s why he didn’t wake.
“Then he didn’t feel pain, he didn’t suffer in the flames?” I asked.
“No, my lady. I don’t think so. There is no sign that he was trying to get out of the room. In cases like this we would see evidence that the person tried to break a window, or make it to a doorway. Your husband was still sitting in his chair.” Then he asked me the unthinkable.
“Was your husband upset about anything, my lady? Had he shared any concerns he may be having?” I didn’t understand. “I’m sorry my lady, but I have to ask. The papers, the debris in the fireplace. There was so much of it. It did look as if he was trying to burn those things on purpose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My husband was the happiest person I know. He wouldn’t do something foolish. And he wasn’t trying to hide some sort of shady skullduggery! I’m not entirely convinced that is his body you found! He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t leave me. He wouldn’t.”
We had no means of identifying Jack’s body, or any of the servants’ bodies that were found in the main house. For all I knew it was one of the footmen who died in Jack’s study, sneaking a drink and a nap by the fire. Nothing of the body’s clothes were left. Nothing of him. I became more convinced that Jack wasn’t home when the fire broke out, so I waited. I waited in the ashes for my love to come home. I refused to leave, sure my Jack would come home to me. Mama finally sent a car for me and had me brought back to Belgrave Place. She had me take my old room, and instructed Jackson and the other survivors of the fire to stay downstairs, out of sight.
I locked myself up in my room for weeks, refusing to eat, refusing to believe my Jack was gone.
I still feel in my heart he is alive.
I stayed locked in my old room at my mother’s for about three weeks before she tried to force me out. But that is another chapter. Another part of the story. I don’t wish to write about that now. It breaks my heart too much. I’d rather keep writing about my Jack. But what else is there to say? He’s either dead or pretending to be dead. At one point I thought maybe he had left for some business trip without telling me. Perhaps some sort of emergency? I didn’t know. I was grasping at any explanation I could think of. But it’s been quite some time now since the fire. Everyone keeps telling me I should accept that the person in Jack’s crypt is really Jack. My beloved Jack. My Crackerjack.
Evil Thing Page 14