Evil Thing (Villains 7)

Our solicitor came by the evening after the funeral to read Papa’s will. He was a funny little man, Sir Huntley. He had a round face with small round spectacles, and his jowls jiggled when he spoke. We sat in the morning room, silently watching him go through his papers until he finally arrived at the papers he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began reading.

“‘I, Lord De Vil, being of sound mind and body—’” My mother cut Sir Huntley off. “Please, Sir Huntley, if you don’t mind, just get on with it.” Sir Huntley cleared his throat again, shuffling the papers a little more.

“Very well, Lady De Vil, if that’s what you’d prefer. Your husband, Lord De Vil, has left the entirety of his fortune in trust to his daughter, of which I am to be executor until her twenty-fifth birthday.” The man looked like he might pop with nervousness. Or perhaps he was fearing my mother might explode with anger. I could see by the look on his face he was expecting some sort of tantrum. Some sort of theatrics. But my mother was, at least for the moment, containing her outrage. She just sat there looking at him silently. I don’t know if she was in shock or disbelief. “Lady De Vil, did you hear me?” And then it happened. The explosion he had clearly been bracing himself for.

“Of course I heard you. And what am I to do? What am I expected to do? How am I supposed to live? Can you tell me that?” My mother had startled the man so violently it made his jowls quiver again, but he bravely continued.

“Lord De Vil has made provisions for you in his will. You will be given a lifetime yearly allowance.”

“And the house, its possessions?” she demanded. She stood up swiftly and dramatically, causing the poor solicitor to shrink back in his chair like a frightened, beady-eyed mole.

“Those, too, have been left to Miss Cruella and cannot be touched, along with the capital,” he said, his hands shaking.

She threw her glass, sending it crashing to the floor. Sir Huntley looked scandalized. I swear, if he had been able, he would have sunken into his chair and disappeared.

“If that is all,” she said dismissively, “you may leave now, Sir Huntley.” Mama was angry. Angrier than I had ever seen her. But the funny little man in the tweed suit didn’t budge. He didn’t take her cue to leave even when she stood up.

“I’m sorry, Lady De Vil, but I’m afraid there are conditions Miss Cruella needs to be made aware of before I leave,” he said, looking rather uncomfortable at this unusual and unsightly show of emotion.

“Well then, as neither of you have need for me any longer, I will excuse myself,” Mama said, storming out of the room. And then I was alone, facing a man who looked more like a bulldog in a tweed suit than a solicitor, when all I wanted to do was chase after my poor mama.

Sir Huntley shuffled his papers rather uncomfortably for a few more moments before breaking the silence. “I’m sure your mother is under tremendous stress,” he said, trying to excuse her behavior. “Your father wanted to be clear about the conditions of his will. He wants you to keep the De Vil name, even after you marry. You are the last of the De Vil line. And since there is no male heir, it is up to you to keep the family name alive for future generations.” I quickly agreed, eager to find my mama and console her, eager to tell her I was on her side, eager to see if she had forgiven me for all the terrible things that uppity nurse had said to her. But the bespectacled mole kept talking. “To be clear, Miss Cruella, should you marry and take your husband’s name, the fortune will revert to your mother.”

“I understand what keeping the family name means, Sir Huntley.” The man narrowed his eyes at me.

“Your father was concerned you wouldn’t be properly taken care of should the fortune revert to Lady De Vil,” he said, shuffling his papers nervously again.

“I understand, Sir Huntley. I do. I don’t plan to marry anyone. But if I do, for some reason, go mad and decide to marry, I promise to keep my father’s name.” The man cleared his throat again, clearly still nervous, indicating he had more to say.

“You say this now, Miss Cruella. But there may be a day when you meet someone who changes your mind.” Sir Huntley was right, but neither of us knew it yet.

“It would take a remarkable man to change my mind, Sir Huntley. Someone who wanted the same things I want out of life. Someone willing to give me my independence, and be willing to take my father’s name. Someone like my father. But I doubt I will ever meet such a man, and if I do, I assure you, sir, I will preserve my father’s name. It’s the least I can do for such a great man.” Sir Huntley looked relieved, but still had no intention of letting me go after my mama to see if all was well between us. I desperately wanted to see her before she left for her trip.

“He also left a message, Miss Cruella. It’s rather personal, but I trust you will understand its meaning.” He cleared his throat, continuing. “He said to find someone worthy of you. He said he would rather have someone treat you like a treasure than give you treasures. Someone who shows you his love with his words, and his actions, not by buying you gifts.”

“Thank you, Sir Huntley, I believe I understand,” I said. I stood to signal it was time for him to leave. Sir Huntley was a man who understood social cues, and his job was done. At least for that day.

Sir Huntley and I said our goodbyes at the front door, and Jackson let him out. I was longing to go up and see my mother. But as I turned to make my way up the stairs, I met Anita coming down them. “Cruella, how are you? Let’s go upstairs to your room. You must be exhausted. Would you like me to get you some tea?” Anita was always there for me. Always so sweet.

“Thank you, Anita. But I want to check on my mama.”

By the door, Jackson cleared his throat. “Miss Cruella,” he said, “your mother has already left for her trip. I know she was sorry she couldn’t say goodbye herself.” I was confused, but to say so would show I didn’t know what was going on in my own household. I didn’t want to betray my composure. But I think Jackson read the look of surprise on my face. He knew the rules. He acted as though I knew of my mother’s plans even though I did not. “Her trip around the world, Miss. I’m sure she told you about it, and it’s simply slipped your mind with the recent events. She said to let you know she would be back by the end of summer in time to see you off to boarding school.”

“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 th

e 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.