And then, as if she could sense I might say so out loud (I never would, as it certainly wouldn’t have been ladylike), Miss Pricket took my hand, signaling it was time to go back upstairs. And thank goodness she did, because it turned out we had been down there for hours.
“Come on, Miss Cruella. Shall we go upstairs and call Miss Anita to invite her over for tea tomorrow?”
“Oh yes, Miss Pricket! I would love that,” I said as I got down from my stool and took Miss Pricket’s hand.
As I made my way up the stairs holding Miss Pricket’s hand, smiling and waving at Mrs. Baddeley, my heart felt lighter. I was ascending from the darkness of the kitchen dungeon into a world that was real, and beaming with light.
Upstairs, there was life and beauty, and not a speck of flour.
I hated visiting downstairs; it was dark and stuffy down there, and the servants looked like pale ghosts in the low light. But how could they help it, really, tucked away in the basement during the day as they were, never spending time in the sunshine. I think that is one of the reasons they didn’t seem real to me.
Miss Pricket, I suppose, was almost real. She wasn’t exactly a servant, but she wasn’t part of the family, either. She didn’t have her meals with the servants. And she didn’t stay in the servants’ quarters, tucked up in the attic with the rest of them. She had her meals either with me, if my family was out for the evening, or on a tray in her room right across the hall from mine. Miss Pricket could have almost been a lady if she’d dressed like one. And she was pretty enough, underneath her austere governess attire. Her uniform made her look so much older than she was. When I was a small child it confused me because Mama referred to her as an old maid, and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized she was really quite young. She had light green eyes, ginger hair, freckled cheeks, and a slim frame. She was delicate and fragile like a lady. But she wasn’t a lady.
She was an in-between.
When Miss Pricket and I finally made our way upstairs from the kitchen and reached the entryway, I saw our butler, Jackson, approaching the door to let someone in. Jackson was tall, gray-haired, and stoic. There was a dignity about him; he always maintained his composure. He led the household like a great general at war, except without all the shouting. Jackson never shouted. At least he never shouted upstairs.
Jackson opened the door. To my surprise, it was Mama! My heart leaped and I squealed for joy. I didn’t expect her back so soon.
“Cruella, please! Conduct yourself like a lady!” said Miss Pricket, squeezing my hand.
Mama swooped into the vestibule like a movie star, her fur coat gliding around her dramatically. She was followed by several footmen laden with her many packages.
“Hello, Mama!” I said, putting my cheek out to be kissed.
“Hello, Cruella, dear!” she said. Her eyes flicked down to my dress. “I see you’ve been down to thank Mrs. Baddeley for the jelly. Are you just coming up from the kitchen now? Miss Pricket, look at her. Exactly how long were you down there? It looks like she baked a cake herself! I won’t have a daughter of mine looking like a common cook!” I looked down at my dress, mortified. I hadn’t realized. Thank goodness my mother had been thoughtful enough to bring it to my attention, unlike that wretched Mrs. Baddeley, letting me parade around like a flour-covered fool! She probably didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.
“Thank you, Mama.” I stepped back, realizing I was foolish to extend my flour-spattered cheek. The last thing I wanted to do was get flour all over Mama’s beautiful fur coat.
“Your father will be home late this evening, so I will be dining out with the Slapttons before the opera.”
“Oh.” My heart fell. “I thought you changed your mind and decided to have dinner at home.”
“No, my darling. I’m just home to change. You can have your meal with Miss Pricket in the nursery. I’ll come in to say goodbye before I leave.”
“The schoolroom, Lady De Vil,” Miss Pricket reminded her quickly, with a glance in my direction. “It’s now the schoolroom, not the nursery.” Smiling at my mother, she added, “Speaking of which, Miss Cruella is doing very well with her studies, my lady.” Mama didn’t answer. It was as if Miss Pricket hadn’t said anything at all. And why should Mama answer her? She hadn’t directly addressed Miss Pricket. And she probably didn’t care to be corrected by an in-between. I couldn’t expect my mother to remember something as trivial as what a silly room was called. Even if I was quite proud to be spending my days in a schoolroom rather than a nursery.
Miss Pricket’s face fell. I supposed she was upset at being ignored by Mama. Or perhaps it was because Mama was so upset by the state of my clothing. What-ever the reason for her sour look, the in-between took me by the hand and led me up the stairs. We had our usual evening together, after I was made presentable again. The highlight of the evening was Mama coming into the schoolroom to say good night before she went off for her evening plans, her glittering dress sparking in the light, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors, and her bejeweled bag dangling on her arm. Her musical voice bid me good night.
“Have a lovely night, Cruella. Sleep well,” she said, blowing me a kiss. “You can come to the stairs and watch me leave if you like.” And I did. I always did. I loved seeing Mama leave for an evening out.
I’d watch from the top of the stairs as her sparkly dress trailed behind her until she reached the bottom, where Jackson was waiting, holding out her long fur coat. I was breathless as I watched her go. She was the most glamorous woman I had ever seen.
How I envied those fur coats! I couldn’t wait until I got my first one.
I waited until the rumble of Mama’s car was too far off in the distance to hear anymore, and then I went to my bedroom.
Every night was the same. Miss Pricket brought me some cocoa, and we chatted about our day as I drank it. She read to me, and then we made our plans for the next day before she tucked me in. “Should we invite Anita over tomorrow? It’s been a while since we’ve seen her.”
“Yes,” I said sleepily. “I would love that.” It was true. She had been traveling with her family over the summer, so it had been some time since we’d been together. Anita was my best friend, and I had missed her desperately while she had been away. I’d known Anita for as long as I could remember. She was the ward of one of my father’s colleagues and best friends at the House of Lords, and even though Mama didn’t think she was a suitable friend for me because she wasn’t born into a high society family like I was, Papa thought she was a good influence and always insisted she be invited to our family trips and gatherings. Growing up, she was like a sister to me.
Even though Lord Snotton let her live in his home, she wasn’t to be a proper lady herself, not like me. Anita wouldn’t be presented to society. The most Anita could possibly expect was an exceptional education so she could go on to become a nanny or governess in a wealthy household, unless her guardians managed to find a suitable match with a gentleman who didn’t mind her lack of family connections. She could, of course, decide to venture out on her own and become a shopgirl or typist. But why would she want to do that?
It reminded me of that Jane Austen story, oh, what was it called? The one about the two sisters: one married for love and the other married sensibly. And of course the one who married for love was poor, and had to send one of her daughters to live with her sister who had married sensibly. That’s Anita’s story in a nutshell—except Anita’s guardian doesn’t have a handsome son for her to fall in love with and marry. They had two daughters who went out of their way to show Anita she was below them. I wonder if, had I not gotten to love Anita the way I did from such a young age, before my mother told me about her background, I would have felt the same as those wretched Snotton girls. I guess I’ll never know.