Almost every visit to the morning room to see my mother was the same, but it took my breath away each time I saw her sitting on the leather couch, waiting for me. She was so striking, my mama. Whatever her plans were after our visit in the morning room would determine how she was dressed. Usually it was an afternoon out with friends for tea and shopping. In one of my memories she wears a lovely tea-length dress with a low sash around her hips, as was the fashion then. Her lipstick is a dusty rose color to match her dress, a striking contrast to her long, shining black hair, which she wore bundled up to look like a bob. In the evenings when she would go out, she would wear red lipstick, but never in the daytime. Red lipstick is for evenings, she would always say. Sometimes I still hear her advice echoing in my mind, and when I do I feel as though I am still a little girl.
One particular afternoon stands out in my mind. To be honest, I can’t say if this memory is of one day or many, all jumbled up together in my mind. Still, it shines brightly. My mother was sitting casually on the brown leather couch that was draped with a lavish red throw. I wanted to run into her arms the moment I saw her, but Miss Pricket squeezed my hand, a gentle reminder to act like a young lady. Instead, I stood patiently, waiting for her to divert her attention from the stack of letters and cards she was going through. When she finally looked up at me, I smiled my most charming smile.
“Good afternoon, Cruella, my dear,” she said, putting her cheek out for me to kiss it. “I see you’re wearing that red dress again.”
I was mortified. Mama looked disappointed in me, and it made my stomach drop.
“I thought you liked this dress, Mama. You said so just the other day. You said it made me look pretty.” My mother sighed and put down the letters she was going through.
“That’s my point, my dear. I just saw you wearing it a few short days ago, yet you insist on wearing it again, when I know your closet is bursting with new dresses. A lady is never seen wearing the same dress twice, Cruella.” I was livid with Miss Pricket. How could she let this happen? How could she let me wear the same dress twice?
“Miss Pricket, would you mind ringing for tea? Then, please, the both of you, do sit down. You’re making me nervous hovering around me like a couple of birds.”
“Of course, your ladyship.” Miss Pricket pulled the cord hanging to the left of the fireplace mantel, then sat down in one of the leather chairs across from the couch where Mama and I usually sat. While we waited for our tea, Mama would always ask me the same questions in the same succession. Every single time. She never missed a beat, my mama.
“Are you minding Miss Pricket, my dear?”
“Oh yes, Mama.”
“Good girl. And are you doing well with your lessons?”
“Yes, Mama. Very well. Right now I’m reading a book about a brave young princess who can talk to trees.”
“Stuff and nonsense. Talking to trees, indeed. Miss Pricket, what’s this folderol you’re having my daughter read?”
“It’s one of Cruella’s adventure stories, my lady, from the book Lord De Vil gave her.”
“Ah, yes. Well, I won’t have her ruining her eyes, reading in the late hours.”
“No, my lady. I read the stories to her in the evenings.”
“Very well then. Oh, look. Jackson is here with the tea.” And so he was, closely followed by Jean and Pauline, two young maids in black uniforms with white hats and aprons. I could always tell what time of day it was based on the color of the maids’ uniforms. Mornings and early afternoons they were in pink, and late afternoons and evenings they wore black.
Jackson had a tray with the teapot, teacups, saucers, little plates, sugar, and cream. It was my favorite tea service, the one with the tiny red roses. Jean had sandwiches, scones, and little white cakes with pretty pink flowers on them, everything placed artfully on a standing tray with multiple tiers that she set beside Mama. Pauline, who my mama called Paulie, had a great raspberry jelly sitting prettily on a silver plate. It jiggled as she set it upon the table. “And what’s this, Paulie?” Mama asked. “A special treat from Mrs. Baddeley?” Paulie gave me a sly grin as she answered my mama.
“Yes, my lady, made especially for Miss Cruella.”
“Well, you’d better go down to the kitchen and thank Mrs. Baddeley after we’ve had our tea, Cruella. That was very thoughtful of her to send you a jelly. Though next time, Paulie, have her send it to the nursery. I don’t want sticky sweets in the morning room.”
“It’s the schoolroom now, Mama,” I said quietly.
“What’s that, dear? Speak up. I won’t have you acting the timid mouse,” she said, eyeing the jelly like it might leap off the table and ruin the fine rug at any moment.
“It’s the schoolroom now, not the nursery,” I said, raising my voice a bit.
“Yes, of course, dear, but that detail is hardly worth you interrupting me. Now, you shouldn’t keep Mrs. Baddeley waiting. Are you almost finished with your tea?”
Miss Pricket took my plate piled with little sandwiches and tea cakes with one hand and took my teacup by the saucer with the other, then placed them on the silver tray. “Jean will take these down to the kitchen for you, won’t you, Jean? So Miss Cruella can finish them there.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Miss Pricket. Don’t you think, Cruella? I have to dash out anyway, my dear. I shouldn’t be late to meet Lady Slaptton. If I am, she will speak of nothing else until something else diverts her attention.” Mama then turned to our butler. “Jackson, my coat.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” And out he went, with Jean and Pauline following him from the morning room with all of the tea things.
“Give your mama a kiss before she goes, Miss Cruella,” Miss Pricket said, as if I needed coaxing. But the fact was, I was taking my time. I wanted to see Mama in her fur coat.
“You can follow me to the vestibule if you’d like, Cruella, and see me off before you head down to the kitchen.” Miss Pricket took my hand and walked out of the morning room into the vestibule, the main entryway. It was the grand nexus of our home. One could say it was the heart of the house. In the center of the room was a round table with a vase of flowers that were changed daily. My father often put his hat on that table when he walked in the door. It would, of course, be spirited away by his man to be cleaned before it would be returned to his room, where he would find it the next day. To the right of the main entryway was our exquisite dining room, and to the left was the grand staircase that led upstairs to a sitting room and a ballroom, and farther up still was the floor with our bedrooms. One more flight up were the servants’ quarters, tucked away in the attic. At the foot of the grand staircase was the doorway that led down to the basement, where you could find the kitchen, and where the servants worked. And right across from the front doors was the morning room, the soul of the house.
Jackson and Jean were standing near the front door, waiting for us. Jackson held my mama’s fur coat, and Jean held my mother’s handbag, which glittered in the early evening light. After Jackson helped my mother on with her coat, she patted me on the head.
“Now be a good girl, Cruella. And don’t gorge yourself on sweets no matter how forcefully Mrs. Baddeley insists. Goodbye, my darling. I won’t be home for dinner.” She blew me a kiss and dashed out the door, her long fur coat trailing behind her dramatically. My mother was always off to meet her friends, sometimes not returning home until the early evening. And if Father was away, or late at the House of Lords, sometimes she wouldn’t come home until well after dinner, when I was already in bed.