“She’s taking me out for dinner. We’re going to the Criterion!” I said. Anita’s eyes got wide. “I know. It’s quite fancy! I’m going to wear my best dress. I can’t wait to see her.” Suddenly, Anita’s face reminded me of how Miss Pricket’s would sometimes look when I talked about my mother.
“What’s wrong, Anita? I can see if you can come along, if you like, so you don’t have to spend the evening alone.” Anita wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
“No, Cruella. You should have some time with your mother on your own. You haven’t seen her in ages. It will do you both some good to spend some time together.”
“Well, how are you going to spend your evening?” I asked. I hated the idea of Anita spending the evening alone, or worse, what if one of those snotty twits gave her trouble without me there to protect her?
“Doing homework, reading. The usual,” she said, picking little white flowers and linking them together by their stems. “Maybe I’ll catch up with Princess Tulip, see how she’s doing.”
“Don’t read too far along without me!” I said. “If you do, you will have to catch me up.”
“Cruella, we’ve read all these stories hundreds of times, I won’t need to catch you up!” She put the string of flowers on my head like a crown.
“There, now you look like a princess,” she said, smiling. “You’re going to have a lovely night with your mama.”
Later that night, she helped me get ready. I must have tried on every single dress I owned. “Don’t forget your fur, Cruella. Your mother would love to see you in it, I’m sure.” She handed it to me. I was so nervous. I hadn’t seen my mama in so long, and she had been so upset with me. I feared she believed what that horrible nurse had said: that I was the reason Papa died. But I pushed all that out of my mind as I kissed Anita on the cheek and went down to wait for the car. But Mama wasn’t waiting for me. It was Miss Pricket, saddled with a bundle of packages and a hamper full of food. I saw that customary sad look she often wore on her face.
I ended up spending my seventeenth birthday with Miss Pricket and Anita in our room, reading well into the night and eating the delicious food Mrs. Baddeley had sent along. It was a lovely evening. I was with two of my favorite people, and I knew my mother loved me. She had, after all, sent me some beautiful gifts.
Though you wouldn’t have known it by looking at her, Anita was really out of place in Miss Upturn’s Academy for Young Ladies. She flourished in her academic pursuits but found all of my favorite subjects foolish. She had no use whatsoever for the more “frivolous” subjects, as she called them. But my goodness, Anita was such a smart little thing. Quiet but not mousy, smart but never condescending. She was sweet, observant, studious, and always conducted herself like a proper young lady. And without me there to protect her, those girls would have eaten her alive!
Thankfully, we spent almost all our time together. We had a room to ourselves; my mama had arranged it. Most of the other girls had to share four to a room, but my family had given the school large endowments, which meant Anita and I were rewarded with more privacy. The room had a lovely view of the gardens; one of the walls was almost entirely windows. The quarters were large enough for two canopied beds, two wardrobes, and two vanities, and had a cozy little sitting area where we shared our morning tea together and chatted before we went down to have breakfast with the other girls. Even though, in the first few weeks, I didn’t like most of the girls at school, I did hope I would turn out to be wrong about them. I was hoping we’d find at least one other girl like Anita and myself who we could bring into our little circle. I decided to start a reading club. A few weeks into the school year I sprang my brilliant idea on Anita.
“What do you think, Anita? It might be a good way for us to get to know some of the other girls,” I said to her one morning while we were getting ready to go down to breakfast. Anita didn’t look convinced.
“I thought you hated all the other girls, Cruella. Aren’t they all spoiled daughters of your mother’s friends?” It was true, most of them were. And I had known some of them since I was young, but I didn’t know them really. Not the way I knew Anita. At most, we had shared occasional polite conversations at various functions.
However, there was one girl I knew well. Arabella. She was my mother’s best friend’s daughter. I had never really cared for her and had done my best to shield Anita from her since we’d arrived at school. If she got one whiff of Anita’s background we would never hear the end of it. So I was thankful Anita would sometimes come off a little standoffish with people she didn’t know. It honestly made her seem like most of the entitled girls at school. But really, she was just shy and rather focused on her studies.
“I don’t know, maybe we’ll find someone who loves the same books as us,” I said. “I’ll make a posting for our club and put it up on the bulletin board.”
Anita sighed. “Okay, I suppose. Let’s see what happens.” We went down to breakfast together and found our little corner of the room where we usually sat, away from Arabella and her haughty friends. I was working on my posting for the bulletin board and Anita was reading a book we had been assigned when a snotty voice said, “Good morning, Cruella. And who is this? I haven’t met your friend.” I looked up, and my stomach knotted when I saw that it was Arabella.
“Good morning, Arabella. This is my friend Anita.” Anita looked up from her book.
Arabella still wore her hair in ringlets, like she was a little girl. Long blond ringlets that fell softly around her pale face. She looked like a precious doll with her perfect porcelain skin, and her shining blue eyes that looked as if they might have been made of glass. But really, she was a monstrous girl in the guise of an angel.
Arabella was the youngest of one of my mother’s dearest friends. We had been thrust together since childhood, and I wasn’t happy when I found myself forced into her company again once I got to school. My mother had given up years before in trying to make us the best of friends as she and her dear friend Lady Slaptton so desperately wanted. It was clear from early childhood that Arabella and I had nothing in common, much like me and the rest of my mother’s friends’ children. And Arabella really was the worst kind of girl.
“Oh yes, I remember Anita from back home. Your little pet.” She smirked. “What are you working on there, Cruella?” she asked, looking at the posting I was drafting.
“I’m creating a reading club,” I said. Arabella laughed under her breath. “Still reading those silly fairy tales you always talked about when we were young? What was that princess’s name again? Something stupid. Oh yes, Tulip. Have you ever heard of a Princess Tulip? I never have. Then again, I’ve never heard of anyone named Cruella. So what do I know?”
“Yes, I still love those stories,” I said. “And so does Anita.” Arabella sniggered again. “Well then, you’re a perfect match. But I don’t think you will find anyone interested in your fairy-tale club. T
he last thing any of us want to do with our spare time is read more books. You know it ruins your eyes, Anita. You’re going to look old before your time if you keep reading like that.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Arabella,” Anita said, going right back to her book. I could see Arabella’s wheels turning. She was trying to think of something clever to say, but I deflected her.
“I’m sorry, Arabella, Anita wants to be prepared for Miss Babble’s class right after breakfast.”
Arabella huffed. “Well, I won’t bother you any further then.” Her curls spun as she turned on her heels to leave. “See you in class!” she called, her hair swaying and bouncing as she walked away. I swear that girl purposely walked that way to make her hair sway, superficial fool that she was.
“Well, that was a good start. We’re making new friends already,” I said. Anita didn’t even really seem to notice. I knew she wasn’t interested in making new friends, and she was only humoring my idea that we might find a treasure of a girl hidden among all those fools and idiots. Anita was determined to make the best of the education her guardian was providing for her. That was more than I could say for most of the other young ladies attending our classes.
After breakfast, we went to Miss Babble’s class to discuss the book Anita had been so diligently reading during breakfast. It was a Jane Austen story. I can’t recall which one now, but I do remember Anita seemed to be the only person in class who truly grasped the author’s intentions. Miss Babble was always reluctant to call on Anita because she was usually the only person who raised her hand. “Yes, well, if there is no one else … Miss Anita, will you share your thoughts?”
“Miss Austen makes astute observations about the social classes with her various works, never mind how keenly she brings the marginalization of women to the front of most of her stories, most especially young women with few or no prospects.”