Evil Thing (Villains 7)

“Don’t lie to me, Cruella! And don’t argue with me. I am taking you out of school, and you won’t be seeing that Anita any longer.”

“You can’t keep me from seeing Anita, Mother, you can’t! And please let me finish school. I was so looking forward to going back.”

“It’s not possible, Cruella, not after your embarrassing yourself and our family by defending that common girl! And now I come home to find her here. And from what I hear from Mrs. Web, she was practically living here all summer before you left for school?”

“Miss Pricket said you didn’t mind. You were away! I had no one!”

“Miss Pricket didn’t tell me. That woman was always overindulgent with you. Giving you whatever you wanted behind my back. Insisting I see you in the afternoons before I went out. Insisting she take you gifts for your birthday, sneaking that Anita into the house when I wasn’t here. I was planning to dismiss her myself, but it seems you beat me to it.”

“Well, I regret that now,” I said. And I did. I saw now how it was Miss Pricket who had looked out for me. Who was responsible for all my happy moments growing up. And suddenly, all of Miss Pricket’s sad looks made sense.

“I want Anita to leave first thing in the morning, Cruella. I won’t have her in my house another night. Having her here gives me the most disturbing feeling. Like something predatory is circling my house.”

“Mother, please! What can I do to make this up to you? What can I do to make you let Anita stay?” But there wasn’t anything I could say or do. She had set her mind and heart against Anita, and it was breaking mine.

“Cruella, it’s bad enough Anita has practically been living here, but for you to actually dine downstairs with the servants. For goodness’ sake, we don’t have those sorts of—”

“People, Mother. Those sorts of people,” I said. I realized then that I had been just as guilty as my mother had. All my life, I’d thought of them as ghosts or in-betweens, when really, they were people just like me. They were my family. Maybe even more so than the one I was born into. And here she was forbidding me from seeing my only friend, and trying to make me distance myself from the only people who had really ever cared for me, besides Papa.

“They’re not people, Cruella. Not like you and me! And I won’t have you socializing with them. It was one thing when you were a little girl, but you’re a lady now! And I won’t have Anita influencing you any longer! You’re seventeen, and will be almost eighteen after the season. Old enough to marry. The sooner we get you a household of your own and a husband to rule you, all the better. And that’s the end of it!”

I didn’t return to school after the break, and Mother had made it impossible for me to see Anita. She was away at school while I was back in London, attending every ball and social event my mother could throw at me. It was a nightmare.

I was paraded around like a peacock, decked out in feathers and glittering jewels, and made to endure an endless parade of tedious young men. Looking back, I feel I should have found a way to enjoy myself more. But I resented my mother for keeping me away from Anita. I was brokenhearted, and I made my mother pay for it at every opportunity.

Before she had come home on Christmas Eve I had been longing to mend my relationship with her. Now, here she was devoting all her time to me, buying me the most beautiful clothes and finally giving me the attention I craved, but it felt so wrong. I fought her on it every step of the way.

I corresponded with Anita several times a week, each of us keeping each other up to date on our daily lives and counting the days until she would be home again. Anita’s letters back were always so cheerful. She was, of course, doing well in school, and she was pleasantly surprised that she liked the new girl who had taken my place in her room. I hated the idea of Anita spending time with her new roommate, taking our walks, having our conversations, and reading our book of fairy tales. I wanted her back home where she belonged.

After I was presented at court, the endless balls and glittering social events began.

My mother was just itching for me to accept one of the various proposals I had received from my many suitors. I was a catch, as they say. Titled, and soon to be in possession of an obscene amount of money. Over the course of the season my mother invited a legion of young gentlemen over for dinner, sometimes inviting them to stay for the weekend if they were visiting London from somewhere out of town. Socialite mercenary mothers went to great lengths to find their daughters suitable husbands, and she was relentless.

Every morning it was the same. She’d come into the dining room and tell me what our schedule was for the day—that is, if we didn’t have a visitor we were entertaining. “Good morning, Cruella!” her voice would ring out, and I knew I was in for a matchmaking onslaught.

“Good morning, Mother.” She would grab her coffee and sit down with it at the table with her diary.

“I miss the days when you called me your mama.”

I would roll my eyes and say something like, “Well, as you say, I am a lady now. I’m simply speaking like one.” She would pretend she didn’t hear me and list off our daily events from her diary.

One particular morning, we happened to have a visitor staying with us. He hadn’t made his way to the dining room yet.

“Jackson, is Lord Silverton awake?” Mother asked as Jackson and Jean placed a selection of pastries, fresh fruit, and eggs on the serving table.

“Yes, Lady De Vil, he will be down shortly.” Jackson put the newspaper at the place reserved for him. “I thought Lord Silverton would like to read the paper.”

I smiled at Jackson. “Yes, perhaps he can take a look at the train schedule. I’m sure he’s eager to get back home.”

My mother set her cup of coffee down with an annoyed thump. “Cruella. He’s a very fine young man.”

“Yes, Mother, I am sure he is. But he is also incredibly boring.”

“Cruella, it is the lady’s job to keep the conversation moving. If you’re bored then you’re not doing your job correctly.” She took a pile of invitations from a silver tray Jackson presented to her.

“Oh, I ask him questions, and he’s all too

happy to talk about himself. I just don’t want to listen to another of his tedious stories, Mother. I can only listen to so many tales of horses, fox hunting, and shooting quail. We have nothing in common,” I said, sipping my coffee and deciding if I wanted to eat anything. I felt queasy at the thought of enduring another conversation with Lord Silverton. Oh, he was handsome enough, I suppose. All golden and fair, with delicate features, blue eyes and all that. Perfect and boring, like vanilla ice cream.