Evil Thing (Villains 7)

“Miss Cruella, let me do that,” he said as he helped my papa sit up in bed, putting pillows behind his head.

“There, isn’t that better, Papa? I have Mrs. Baddeley making you something special in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said with his sweet cheeky smile.

“Miss Cruella.” A timid voice came from the doorway. “Did you ask the nurse to bring your father’s record player in here?” Our housemaid Paulie was standing at the door, apprehensively holding the record player.

“Yes, Paulie. Put it over there on the dresser, and tell Mrs. Baddeley my father is ready for his breakfast.”

“Yes, Miss Cruella.” She placed the record player on the dresser as I asked, then paused. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but the nurse is making quite a fuss in the entryway. I think she is leaving.” Before I could say I was happy to see that horrible nurse go, Paulie quickly left the room.

Jackson cleared his throat. “Lord De Vil, is there anything else I can do?” The silent, strong, and stoic Jackson was standing there at the ready, sturdy as ever. He was our family’s rock.

“No, Jackson. I think Cruella has it all in hand.” Papa flashed his smile at me.

“Thank you, Jackson,” I said. “That will be all.” I went about the room opening all the curtains and turning on the record player. Papa’s favorite record was already on the turntable. It was one of his American jazz records, the ones Mama detested, so he always listened to them while he was alone in his study. “We can’t have you withering away in a dark and dreary room, now can we? We need a little life in here.” Papa smiled again and reached out his hand.

“Come here, Cruella. Come sit with me on the bed,” he said. But I didn’t want to. I knew if I sat with him I would cry. As long as I was busying myself around the room, as long as I had something to do, I could hold my composure. But I went to him anyway and tried my best to keep the tears from flooding down my face.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. He was too weak to say more. I could tell it was a struggle to sit up, but what I wanted more than anything in that moment was to dance with him to his favorite song.

“I wish we could dance together, Papa. One last time.”

He laughed. “Like we used to in your room? I would love that, my dear. I’m so sorry I won’t be here to dance with you at your wedding.”

“I’m not getting married, Papa,” I said, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Well, not now, my Cruella, but one day you will. And I only wish I could be there to see it.” I couldn’t hold my tears in any longer. “Don’t cry, my sweet girl. Come on, help me to my feet, my strong girl, and we will dance.”

“Papa, no! You can’t.”

“I am more stubborn than you, my girl. Where do you think you got it from? Now help me up. I want to dance with my daughter.”

And so we danced, as we might have on my wedding day, spinning in slow circles and swaying back and forth until he was too weak to stand. As I was about to help him b

ack to his bed, the nurse bustled into the room.

“What is the meaning of this? Lord De Vil, I must insist you get back into bed. What were you thinking, Miss Cruella? This is very irresponsible of you. You’re endangering your father’s life!” I glared at her. In that moment, there was no one I hated more. I felt myself fill with rage.

“Come on, Papa, let’s get you back onto the bed. I need to go into the hall and speak to the nurse.” After I helped my father and got him settled, I took that horrible girl by the arm and led her into the hallway. “I thought you were leaving. How dare you speak to me like that? I am a lady. I want you to leave this house at once!”

“I will not leave. Your father’s well-being is my responsibility.”

“I am taking care of my father. You are dismissed! Now leave!”

“Taking care of him indeed! Opening curtains, playing loud music, and dancing—with his heart! You are going to send him to his grave.”

“He was already on his way. I want to make sure his journey is a happy one. Not dull and dreary, having to look upon your sullen face. Now get out!” And off she went, complaining as she left, like the fool she was. I was relieved to see her go.

As I was about to go back into my papa’s room, I thought I heard my mother’s voice down in the entry-way. I ran to the landing to see if it was really her. I had lost hope she would come home before Papa passed. “Mama! Up here. Come quickly!” I said, calling from the top landing down to her. She looked up at me, startled, her attention briefly diverted from the wretched nurse, who was gesticulating angrily. My mother’s startled expression turned to wrath as she looked at me, and my heart sank.

She rushed up the stairs. I had never seen her rush anywhere, not once in my entire life. She was in a fit of panic and rage. “Cruella! What is this I hear about you causing havoc in your father’s sickroom? And forcing him to dance? I can’t even look at you! Go to your room and stay there until I’ve sent for you.” I just stood there in shock, not moving. “Cruella, go now or I will slap you.” And she pushed past me into Papa’s room. I didn’t dare follow her in. I knew she would make good on her threat. I wasn’t sure what that damnable nurse had told her, but I didn’t imagine it cast me in the most favorable light. I heard my father’s music abruptly stop with the ugly sound of the needle scratching the record. And then came my mother’s scream.

Papa had died, and I was sure my mother blamed me.

My mother decided to travel the world after the reading of my father’s will, and I didn’t blame her. She was heartbroken. My father’s death was so unexpected. For my mother, one day he was with us and the next he was gone. She wasn’t even able to say goodbye. By the time she was done berating me for all the hateful lies the nurse had told her, my father had quietly slipped away from us. My mother was in shock, and so was I. It was strange living in a world without Papa. I missed his nightly visits and our talks, and I missed his laugh most of all.

And his smile. Oh, how I missed his mischievous smile. I must have sat at my vanity for an hour trying to decide if I wanted to wear the jade earrings Papa gave me to his funeral. I imaged it would make him smile to see me wearing them. But when I put them on, the oddest feeling came over me. It was probably all in my mind, but they made me feel so odd, so unlike myself. And I was already feeling out of sorts, trying to get used to living in this new world without Papa. In the end I decided not to wear them.