Evil Thing (Villains 7)

“Are you quite all right, Sir Huntley?” I eyed his shaking hands. “Could I perhaps offer you some tea? I’m sure my mama’s maid would be happy to tiptoe down to the kitchen and retrieve some, though it might t

ake an hour or two.” I laughed at my joke, but my mother just glowered at me.

“No, thank you, my lady.” He had a concerned look on his face, and suddenly I felt bad for taking delight in his nervousness. He was just looking out for my interest, just as my sweet papa had asked him. So I reassured him the best I knew how.

“It is indeed my greatest wish, I assure you.” I tried to put him at ease with a smile.

Sir Huntley, with slightly steadier hands, opened his briefcase. He took out the papers, inspected them for a moment, and then placed them on a round table to the left of the love seat that faced the fireplace.

“Well then, if both ladies will just sign, I will be on my way,” he said, and then added quickly, “That is, if Lady Cruella is absolutely sure.”

“I am sure, Sir Huntley,” I said, quite firmly this time. Did he think I was so fickle in my decisions? I could slap the man for asking the question in front of Mama. “Shall we sign, Mama?” I asked. Sir Huntley provided a fountain pen, though at first the blasted thing didn’t work! I had to shake it several times, until finally it sprayed spots of black ink all over him. I stifled a laugh, signing my name on the dotted line. Mama added her signature below mine. And the deed was done. I had given Mama my fortune. And I was happy to do it.

“Very well,” he said. He looked defeated. His jowls seemed to hang lower than usual, and his eyes looked heavily hooded as he gathered up the papers and put them back into his briefcase. Then he paused and looked up at me. “Lady Cruella, if you ever need anything, anything at all, please give me a ring.” And like a wounded dog he left quite quickly, before Mama could even ring to have someone show him out.

“Well, that was theatrical!” I said, laughing. Mrs. Web came into the room then. Empty-handed, wouldn’t you know it. “Good lord, woman, where is the champagne?” The Spider just stood there quiet and still, looking as if she had seen a ghost. Or perhaps her own reflection. I turned to my mother. “This is outrageous, Mama. What is going on with your staff? Is everyone hell-bent on driving me mad today?”

“Cruella, what is wrong with you? Do calm down.” My mother put a hand to her forehead, as if I was giving her a headache. “And what are you doing? Stop fidgeting with your earring! Those are the earrings your father gave you, think how upset you’d be if you lost one.”

“They’re bothering me for some reason,” I said, twisting the jade ball again, hoping it would make a difference.

“Well, take them off. They’re making you irritable.” We had completely forgotten about Mrs. Web. She stood there staring at us, looking ghastly, like someone had drained all the blood from her face. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Web? Why have you still not brought in our drinks?” My mother was beginning to sound testy as well. Perhaps I was rubbing off on her.

Mrs. Web just stood there staring for a moment before she finally spoke.

“Lady Cruella, it’s your husband.”

“What about my husband?” I asked, still distracted by my earring and wondering what she could possibly be going on about. “Is he here?”

“I don’t know how to say this, Lady Cruella, but he’s been killed.”

“That’s impossible,” I scoffed. “Jack would never allow himself to be killed! There must be some mistake.” The Spider may have been ghastly, but this seemed like a very cruel trick to play on me, even for her.

“I’m so sorry, my lady, but it’s true. Jackson and the rest of your staff are downstairs. They’re very shaken up.” It didn’t make any sense. Everything felt confusing and surreal. “Why are they here? Where’s Jackson? Send him up so I can speak with him,” I said.

“I think he’s in shock, my lady,” she said, looking at me with pity in her eyes. I couldn’t stand it. Everyone was always looking at me like that, for my whole life, and I had had enough. I couldn’t abide it from her of all people. I just stood there.

“I think my daughter is also in shock, Mrs. Web,” my mother said. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Please send Jackson up here at once so we can speak to him.” Mrs. Web just stood there for another moment, unsure, unmoving.

“Send him up here at once!” I screamed. “Send him up this moment! Do you understand? Go!” The woman went scuttling out of the room, and I was left with my mama. Alone. Was I alone now? Was my Crackerjack really gone? I couldn’t fathom it. I didn’t believe it. There was no way my Jack was dead. Not Crackerjack. He was too strong to die. Too stubborn to allow himself to be killed. It didn’t make sense. There had to be some sort of mistake.

Miss Pricket came into the morning room instead of Jackson. She looked dreadful. Her face, hands, and clothing were smudged with some sort of soot, and her hair was mussed. I felt so relieved to see her that I almost started to cry.

“Miss Pricket! What’s happened? Where’s Jackson?” I said.

“Oh, my lady, I am so sorry,” was all she could say before she started crying so hard she was shaking with every breath.

“What happened? Please, tell me what happened. No one can seem to tell me what’s happened to my husband!”

Miss Pricket looked at Mama nervously. Her hands were shaking.

“Have some brandy, girl, and sit down and tell my daughter what’s happened. This is madness. Where is Jackson?” My mother was raising her voice, clearly as frustrated as I was. Miss Pricket poured herself a little glass of brandy and drank it down all at once, then composed herself.

“Mr. Jackson is downstairs with the others. Mrs. Web called for the doctor when we arrived. The doctor is looking at Mr. Jackson now, that’s why I came up.” And she started to cry again. Sobbing uncontrollably, she told the story between great heaving breaths. “Oh, Lady Cruella, I am so sorry. We did everything we could, but the fire was too great. Jackson tried to save him. He wanted to. But the fire was out of control—we couldn’t even get to the study. Our way was blocked, and it was spreading throughout the house. Only those who were downstairs made it out of the house, Lady Cruella. When the fire brigade finally arrived, there was nothing of the house left.” I couldn’t believe it. Jack must have made his way out.

“Are you sure Jack was in his study? Maybe he went out?” I asked, desperate.

“No, my lady. He was in his study all afternoon. Jackson would have known if he went out,” she said, shaking with tears.