“Yes, her trip, of course.” My mind was reeling. She had been with me in the morning room just moments earlier. “But—her things—how did she pack so quickly?” I asked.
“Her trunks were already packed and waiting in the car,” he said. Already packed. She must have packed them as soon as Papa died. And she hadn’t told me. She’d just left without saying goodbye.
Anita took my hand gently in hers. And even though it felt like my world was falling apart, somehow, that gave me the strength to keep going.
I remember saying something to the effect of, “I see. Very well, Jackson. Miss Anita and I will take our lunch in the dining room today,” or something of the like. I was the lady of the house, after all—that is at least until my mother returned home, and I needed to start acting like it.
Mama was off traveling for that entire summer before I went off to finishing school. She wrote only to make arrangements for the start of the school term, for me and Anita. Looking back now, I think she was angry with me because I was with Papa right before he died and she wasn’t. I think that was the real reason behind her rage, not those lies that idiot nurse told her. I think she was hurt and disappointed she didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye. And I think she was hurt Papa had left me everything. I honestly didn’t blame her. I would have done anything I could to mend our relationship again, but it was impossible to do so when she was away.
Thank goodness for Anita. Thank goodness she was going away with me to school, so I didn’t have to go alone. I had never been to a real school before, only lessons with Miss Pricket in the schoolroom. Not that finishing school was real school. Not really. It was just to teach me how to be a lady, and I knew that already thanks to Mama’s fastidious training. Of course there would be a series of subjects at our disposal, like literature, French, art, and so forth, but the main focus would be how to conduct ourselves properly at various social functions. At least that was my general understanding of things, as far as I gathered from the daughters of the women in my mother’s social circle; they were sent there for a year or longer, depending on how long their mothers wanted them out of their hair before they were brought back home to be entered into society. Thank goodness Miss Pricket was on her way back home to me again. She would make everything clear and handle all the details.
Honestly, the idea of school and everything it was to prepare me for in life seemed a ghastly bore to me, so I couldn’t have been happier that Anita was going to accompany me. In one of my letters to my mother, I had insisted that she make the suggestion to Anita’s guardian. I remember the letter she sent back to me in reply. It was so dry and impersonal. But what bothered me even more was that she had sent no gifts while she was away. Not the entire time she was gone. It was so unlike her. That’s how I knew she had stopped loving me. And I had no idea how I could make her happy again.
But I was young, and I was distracted by the prospect of going away to school with my best friend. Anita and I had decided we would make the most of it. The summer flew by in a flurry. The school provided us with a list of all the possessions I was expected to bring. School clothes were selected, trunks packed, and Mrs. Baddeley was planning to make preserves and other goodies to send along with me. Anita and I felt as if we were preparing for a grand adventure.
Anita fit right into life at my home. She was practically living with me at that point. She stayed over almost every night. The staff loved her. She actually took an interest in Mrs. Baddeley’s stories, and she impressed Miss Pricket with her incessant reading, and how quickly she was picking up French. And as for me, she had become more than just a best friend. She was my family. She didn’t always go on about my mama the way Miss Pricket did, always assuring me of her love, but she comforted me in other ways. She calmed my fears about the future and stayed up to make me tea when I had a terrible dream about Papa. I wouldn’t have survived that summer without her.
While we counted down the days of summer and waited for our real adventure to begin, we did all the things we thought we would have to give up once we were transformed into young ladies. Things only little girls were allowed to do. Every day we did something we had loved doing as children: we had tea parties with my dolls, snuck down to the kitchen and stole tarts while Mrs. Baddeley wasn’t looking, and dressed like characters from our favorite stories and acted them out for Miss Pricket and the servants. But my favorite times during that summer were staying up late at night reading from the book of fairy tales my papa had given me. The night before we left for school, we stayed up well past our bedtime reading together and imagining our own fairy tales.
“I don’t think we have to give up reading our fairy and adventure stories, Cruella,” said Anita.
“I agree! I don’t think I could ever give them up, even when I’m an old lady,” I said. “My favorites are the Princess Tulip stories,” I added dreamily, halfway between our world and the world in which Princess Tulip lived. “She’s so brave and outspoken! She’s not afraid of anything, or anyone, or to say what’s on her mind.”
“But she wasn’t always that way,” Anita pointed out. “Remember the story about her and the Beast Prince? She was very different then.” Anita was right. She had been very different then, but that’s what made Tulip so utterly amazing to me. She had started out a dim-witted princess and turned into this magnificently brave and brazen woman. Anita continued, “My favorite stories are after the Great War, when she helped Oberon and the Tree Lords.” Her eyes widened. “The way she went to the Rock Giants all by herself and talked them into helping the Tree Lords in their fight with the Dark Fairy’s dragon was so awe-inspiring.”
“I know,” I agreed, “that was amazing! But I felt sorry for the Dark Fairy. I can’t believe those witches brought her back to life.”
“Ah, let me guess, you’re talking about Circe and Tulip again.” It was Miss Pricket; she was standing in the doorway. “Cruella, I need you to finish picking out the things you want to take to school with you. Anita is already packed and her cases are downstairs. I would like to see yours down there before this night is through.” As excited as I was about starting this adventure with Anita, I really was nervous about leaving home. I had just lost my father, and it seemed as though I might have lost my mother as well. I wanted to put off leaving as long as I could.
“Yes, Miss Pricket,” I said in a singsong schoolgirl fashion. “I’m sorry we can’t all be as perfect as Anita.” Anita laughed.
“Oh, Cruella. I’m not perfect. I just can’t wait to leave! I’m so excited,” said Anita, blushing.
“I’m excited, too,” I said. “But perhaps a little nervous.” Anita put her hand on mine.
“Of course you’re nervous. You’re leaving home for the first time.”
“How I will miss that sweet nature of yours, Anita,” Miss Pricket said, smiling at both of us.
“Miss Pricket,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you think the other girls will like us? What do you think they will be like?”
“I think they’ll be very much like you and Miss Anita. Though perhaps not so interested in fairy tales, at least not the sort you two fancy, and not quite as smart or pretty, I would wager.”