Anita was really just a step above an in-between. But she was my best friend and my favorite companion. I didn’t care about her family or her lack of connections. She was the sweetest person I knew. And I loved her.
After we discussed having Anita over for tea, Miss Pricket suggested we read from my favorite book of fairy tales, as was our usual custom in the evenings.
“Should we read a bit about Princess Tulip before you go to sleep? I think we left off right as she was about to talk with the Rock Giants to help her and the Tree Lords protect the Fairylands from a terrible threat.”
“I think I’m too tired for stories this evening, Miss Pricket.” My eyelids were starting to droop, and I was distracted by something. “Do you understand why Mama doesn’t like Anita? Is it really because of her family?”
“I really couldn’t say, Miss Cruella.” I knew that was Miss Pricket’s way of saying she’d prefer not to say, and I respected her for not speaking out against my mama. Though I wouldn’t have minded if she had, because as much as I loved her, I didn’t understand her distaste for Anita.
“I overheard Mama and Papa arguing about Anita, and Mama said the strangest thing. She said, ‘Anita makes me feel like something is stalking my home, circling it, and scratching at its walls. I wish it was a less disturbing feeling.’ What do you think she means by that, Miss Pricket?”
“You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on your parents, Miss Cruella,” Miss Pricket scolded gently. “It isn’t ladylike.” I yawned. Sometimes it was quite easy to be unladylike without even knowing it. So I changed the subject.
“Mama looked lovely this evening, didn’t she, Miss Pricket? Aren’t I the luckiest of girls to have such a beautiful mama?”
“Yes, she looked very lovely, Miss Cruella,” she said.
“And aren’t I the luckiest girl?” I prodded. She hadn’t answered that part of my question. She just sat there with the saddest look on her face. For some reason Miss Pricket always looked sad when we spoke of my mama. And she looked especially sad in the evenings. I smiled at the woman when she kissed my cheek good night, but I felt sad for her. What a lonely life she must have had. Spending her days with a child who wasn’t hers, eating most of her meals alone. No family or friends of her own to love or care for her. I supposed I was the only one, in my own way, who did.
“Good night, Miss Pricket,” I said with a smile, hoping it would cheer her expression, which remained fixed no matter how hard I tried.
But then something surprising happened. Her face transformed after all. “Oh! Cruella! I’m so sorry I forgot. Your mother left some gifts for you on the vanity. Look!” She dashed over to the vanity, bringing the boxes to the bed so I could open them. One box held a beautiful red dress with a matching belt. A smaller box contained shoes and a little clutch purse. The last box I opened was the biggest, and it contained the most magnificent gift of all: a white fur coat with a black collar. I popped out of bed and put it on at once. Even over my nightgown, the coat made me look glamourous.
I looked exactly like Mama. I finally had a fur coat of my very own. And I just knew this was the beginning of an important phase in my life. I was on my way to becoming a glamorous lady. Just like Mama.
“See, Miss Cruella, your mother does think of you. I think she loves you very much,” said Miss Pricket. But the look in her eyes made me feel she was trying harder to convince herself than she was trying to convince me. I didn’t need convincing. I knew my mama loved me.
I turned away from the mirror and gave Miss Pricket a strange look. “What a funny thing to say, Miss Pricket. Of course Mama loves me. Look at this beautiful coat!” Miss Pricket nodded, but her smile looked sad as she put away my gifts.
“Why are you so sad?” I asked her. I suppose I felt a little bad for her. She smiled again but didn’t answer. That’s the thing about in-betweens like Miss Pricket. Because they’re almost real, you almost feel bad for them. You almost like them. But I never did find out what made her so sad. Our conversation was interrupted that evening before she could tell me, because suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“Cruella?” The voice I heard was deep, soft, and questioning.
“Papa? Come in!” I called back. He opened the door a crack, peering in playfully. He wore the same mischievous smile that often greeted me in the evening right before bed. I had the most handsome papa of any of my friends, with his dark hair and wide movie star grin. And he always had a smile for me. He wasn’t one of those stuffy lords, the sort that looked like a giant walrus or stodgy bird. He was handsome and always smiling. Looking back, I do think my mama wished he were a little more serious. Maybe even a little stuffier. I know now she didn’t appreciate that he encouraged my friendship with Anita, or that he didn’t mind when I stayed up all night reading my fairy stories. And I know she didn’t like the funny faces he would make at the dinner table to make me laugh. But for my part, I thought he was delightful.
I could tell Miss Pricket always felt like an intruder when Papa would swoop in for an evening chat before bed, if he made it home in time. She would awkwardly excuse herself and skitter away, more like one of the non-people than the in-between she was. It always made me laugh to see her slink off before Papa would plop down on the edge of the bed with a dramatic thump. He wasn’t a bumbling man, but with me, he liked to pretend he was. It was our special thing. “And how is my girl?” he asked.
“Very well, Papa. I had a lovely day with Mama.”
“You saw her today?” Papa could be so forgetful sometimes. He always seemed surprised when I told him Mama spent the day with me, even though he knew she spent an hour each day with me after my lessons.
“I did, Papa. I saw her for tea like we do every day. We had a marvelous time!”
“Did you, my girl? A marvelous time? Well, that’s very good to hear, Cruella dear.” His eyes landed on the empty boxes at the foot of the bed with a frown. “I see your mother went out shopping again.” I suddenly felt irritated with Miss Pricket for not taking them away. “What did she buy you this time?” he asked, looking a little cross.
“Oh, Father! Mother got me the most topping white fur coat!” I leaped out of bed and tried the coat on for him, twirling around in the mirror. “Don’t I look just like her?”
“Yes, Cruella. I’m afraid you do.”
He looked at me in such a strange way that I stopped twirling abruptly. Had I made him angry? “Papa, are you cross with me?” He scooped me up, twirling me around in circles.
“No, my darling. I’m not cross with you. You look lovely. Let’s dance together.” We danced around my room, which made us both laugh so hard we had to stop and catch our breath. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “Well, I have something for you as well, my dear. It’s not a fur coat, but they do come with an interesting story I think you’ll appreciate.”
Father rarely brought me gifts. He brought me silly smiles, conversation, and affection almost every evening, but he rarely brought me gifts. He had so little time to show me he loved me, busy as he was at the House of Lords. Unlike Mama, who was almost always bringing me home something beautiful.